would have stopped me from approaching her.
Turning around, I started back to the diner only to have the path blocked by my angry waitress and the manager. “Sir, you must pay for your food!”
FOR AS LONG AS I could remember, I’d wanted to be a doctor. It had been my dream to roam the halls of the Susannah Blackwood Medical Center, first as a wide-eyed resident, then confident fellow, and one day, a respected surgeon. I wanted it all—the white lab coat, the stethoscope, the bags under my eyes from working sixty hours a week, and even the mountain of debt if need be. So what if I ate ramen and ravioli and lived in a box for the rest of my life? I was convinced nothing could dissuade me from my dream.
That was until I spent the last six weeks inside these very walls, having my heart ripped out of my chest continuously.
As the elevator doors opened and I rushed onto the third floor, inhaling a lung full of disinfectant, I worried it would be too soon before I saw another hospital again. Mustering a pitiful smile for the cheerful staff and worried families I passed in the hall, I made my way to the wash station. Understanding how vital this step was, I forced myself not to rush through scrubbing my hands properly as I waited for the light above the sink, a clever timer, to turn colors. The moment the glow turned from ominous red to bright green, I was off, rushing for the private room I’d called home these past weeks. The curtains had been drawn for privacy, but the moment the glass door slid open, my gaze connected with my father. Despite the coach’s uniform he’d worn proudly for years, he appeared haggard as he waited for me on the sofa that pulled out into a bed.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Crossing the small room, I sat in the specially designed recliner near the sofa. “The interview ran longer than I thought it would.”
Coach waved me off as he stood. He was due back at the school any moment now, but he didn’t seem to care as he stared at the small bed encased in hard plastic with holes cut in the sides for the doctors and nurses to work through.
“How did it go?” he asked, his voice hoarse as if he hadn’t used it in years.
I shook my head, already knowing I didn’t get the job. The interview had been a complete disaster. First, I’d shown up fifteen minutes late because I couldn’t seem to find the courage to leave the hospital. Today had been the first time since I was wheeled through the doors six weeks ago. The manager had been kind enough to interview me anyway only to discover that I wasn’t willing to give up a single day of the week. My anxiety-riddled brain wouldn’t allow me to. And if that didn’t leave a bad enough impression, I couldn’t seem to focus on a single question he’d asked, making him repeat each one twice. My mind and heart, despite my best efforts, had been here.
“Perhaps it’s for the best,” he whispered when I knew he wanted to lecture me again instead. The room had sound-activated lighting built into the wall that changed colors when the volume became too loud. My father and I had learned that the hard way. “Your place is here.”
“And when the hospital hands over the discharge papers?” I argued for the umpteenth time. “What then? Where will I belong then? I can’t go back to Harvard.”
At least, not without a way to pay for it. The Theodore Lidle Foundation had given me until the end of the semester to improve my grades and keep my scholarship. Since a cruel twist of fate forced me to take the semester off, that was no longer possible. I’d lost everything.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said as if we hadn’t already been denied the aid I’d need to continue school. My father’s salary was too high for need-based aid and too low for the private loans needed to cover my tuition. My only option was to accumulate enough debt to drown and send me to an early grave. Being virtually penniless was something I decided long ago I’d be willing to do, but for some reason, I hesitated.
I stubbornly kept my gaze on the clear, blue sky mocking me through the window rather than seeking out the incubator surrounded by what seemed