How Much I Feel - Marie Force Page 0,91

the midst of all this nonsense. Anyway, I’m not sure if you still need the testimonials, but figured I’d send them along. Thanks for all you’ve done to help Dr. Northrup.

All best,

Terri

I feel absolutely dead inside reading that message, hearing how excited his former colleagues are that he’s returning to them. I read through the testimonials from thankful patients, family members of patients who died despite Jason’s heroic efforts and colleagues who sing his praises as a physician and human being.

I add each one of them to the PowerPoint presentation, which includes a cascading array of testimonials. I realize there’re probably too many of them, but in light of what we’re trying to accomplish, I include them all.

I add the bullet points Jason emails me about his research, save the file on our internal server and share a link to the latest version with Mr. Augustino.

An hour later, he comes to my office, knocking on my open door before he steps inside. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“I saw the latest version of the presentation. It’s outstanding. Kudos, Ms. Giordino.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re happy with it.”

He sits in my visitor chair, seeming morose. “It may all be for nothing. Did you hear that New York invited him to return?”

“I did hear that.”

“I spoke with the chair of our board earlier, and she feels it would be inappropriate for us to proceed with him in light of this development.”

My heart sinks. “So that’s it? It’s over, then?”

“I believe it is.”

“Oh, well.” I can’t break down in front of my boss. I won’t cry at work. But I want to. I really, really want to.

“You did great work on this project, and I’m pleased to offer you the director’s position if you’re still interested. You’d be charged with hiring your own assistant to replace yourself.”

Crushing lows, soaring highs. I can’t keep up with this roller-coaster ride I’m on. “I . . . Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you for the confidence you’ve placed in me.”

“The board is interested in doing more of the kind of community outreach you coordinated for Dr. Northrup. I’d like you to oversee that as part of your new duties.”

“I can do that.”

“Excellent.” He leans across my desk to shake my hand. “Congratulations, Ms. Giordino.”

“Please, call me Carmen.”

“I’d be happy to. I’m Roy.”

I should be thrilled. I’ve been promoted in my second week, I get to hire my own assistant and I’m on a first-name basis with the hospital president. But I’m not thrilled. I’m heartbroken for myself while happy for Jason. The wide array of emotions is almost too much to process.

A wrong has been righted. That’s what matters here, or so I tell myself.

I force myself to keep my emotions locked away until I can fully wallow in them later. “I talked to my parents, and they said to let them know when you and Mrs. Augustino would like to come in for dinner. They’d be delighted to have you.”

“That’s wonderful. My wife will be so excited. She loves the Cuban food at Giordino’s. I’m partial to the Italian myself. Our anniversary is on July twelfth.”

“I’ll get you a reservation for seven?”

“That’s perfect. Thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

Mr. Augustino—Roy—leaves my office, and I try to refocus on the notes the former director left me about ongoing projects, upcoming events and other things that’ll require my attention as the new director.

I can’t concentrate on anything, so I decide to take a walk to clear my mind. I wander through the hospital, getting to know the place as I go. In the elevator, I randomly choose the fourth floor, which is labor and delivery. I pass the closed doors to the neonatal intensive care unit where premature babies fight for life. I watch as an elated couple is escorted to the elevator from the other side of the long hallway. The woman is in a wheelchair with a baby in her arms as the man follows behind her, carrying the baby’s car seat.

I wonder what it would be like to be that woman, on my way home to start the next phase of my life with my child and the man who loves me. If Tony had lived, that would’ve been us, at least twice by now, if not three times. We debated how many children we wanted. Two for sure, with more open for negotiation we never got to have.

On the sixth floor, where the oncology department is housed, I encounter a young male patient attached to a rolling IV stand, walking