Page 58 of The Fall
I spent the majority of the first half of my day getting my desk in order for the next resident. It could take days for me to get a position in the oncology department, weeks possibly if there wasn’t anything available, but I wanted to get a head start.
At lunch, I saw Dean in the cafeteria, eating alone and playing with his tablet. He seemed to look up as if he knew of my sudden appearance. I gave him a wink and a genuine smile as I grabbed a sandwich and drink before joining him. He seemed stunned at my easy approach and demeanor.
“Hi,” I said happily as I pointed to the chair next to him. He nodded, allowing me to join him.
“Dallas, I was going to call you last night, but you were so upset …” He looked at me, his head tilted to the side. “Doesn’t seem like the case today.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said ruefully. “I’m good.” I cracked open my drink and sucked the small amount of spray that came with it. “Mom’s eggs benedict are the cure for everything.”
Dean looked at me warily, “Dallas, I just wanted to say, yesterday—”
“We have a past. We dated. That was then. That needs to be enough for you. You said let’s be friends. I want that. I think we can handle it.”
“Okay,” he conceded. His disappointment was evident, but I ignored it. I didn’t bother to look at him until I was half done with my sandwich.
“Dean, I want to be an oncologist. I’ve requested a permanent transfer to that department.”
“What the hell happened last night when I left you?” He leaned in, watching me carefully.
I shrugged. “Wine, my mom, and a good night’s sleep.”
“Wow, your mom told you to shoot me down,” he said, incredulous. “What did I ever do to her?”
“We didn’t talk about you,” I lied. “Besides, we dropped that subject,” I reminded him. “And now I’m asking you if you think I’d be a good oncologist.”
“If that’s what you want, yes, Dallas, I think you will be amazing at whatever specialty interests you,” he assured me. “Lord knows, you’re a determined woman,” he finished. His double meaning wasn’t lost on me.
“Great, you take vaginas. I’ll cover the tumors.” He chuckled, and I smiled broadly.
“It’s good to see you smile. You haven’t done a lot of that since I’ve been home.”
“I’ve had a lot to figure out. You want chocolate? I’m dying for some.”
He looked at me strangely. “Sure?”
“Do you have an hour?”
“Two actually, now that my last appointment canceled,” he muttered, following me to the trash.
“Great.” I grabbed his arm and whisked him into the elevator to the children’s ward, where they were serving ice cream. Most of them were very sick from treatment but still managed a smile and had a joke or two. Dean seemed fascinated by their strength, as was I. I once spent an entire day studying their cases and was blown away by what some of the children had to endure at such a young age.
I would catch Dean looking at me from time to time as I hung out with my favorite kid, Ollie. We’d snuck away from the crowd to join him in his private room. He was the child of a wealthy ranch owner and had spent the majority of his youth in and out of the hospital. He was older than the others and had a tell-it-like-it-is personality. It seemed most of the sicker kids—the long-term survivors—had decided they had no time for bullshit. Thirteen-year-old veteran, Ollie, with his copper hair and dark blue eyes, took in Dean as he extended his hand.
“Is this your boyfriend?” Ollie asked me as he shook Dean’s hand.
“He was a long time ago. He sucked at it,” I said as Dean’s mouth dropped open, and Ollie burst out laughing.
“She’s a looker, doctor. You’re an idiot,” Ollie said, amused as he watched us both.
“I’m making a comeback,” he said, giving him a wink. “And she’s lying,” Dean said, looking over at me pointedly. “I was awesome.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Ollie said, retrieving his hand. “So, Dr. Whitaker, are you going to give this slob another chance?”
I ignored them both, countering with a statement of my own.
“You look good today,” I remarked of Ollie and the new hair growth on his head.
“I’m going to grow it in for our date,” he said sweetly.