Unexpected Gift(7)

I had to call it. I hate calling Time of Death. Everything about it is so final and clinical. I turn on the faucets with my elbows and wash my hands. I replay every move I made while I operated over again in my mind, but everything I did was perfect.

I never know fault. Perfection is key in my job.

“Damn it,” I repeat, drying off my hands. I hit the button for the door and dread every step. Preparing for surgery, cutting into people’s brain, or even finding out that the diagnosis has no hope; it doesn’t compare to telling the family their loved one died.

As I stride down the hall, Charles Lovejoy, one of my good friends who is also a General Surgeon here, slaps his hand on my back as we make our way to the waiting area. He must have seen the look on my face because he doesn’t ask how my surgery went. He doesn't need to.

“Good luck.”

I give him a sad smile before we part ways. “You, too.” It seems he doesn't have good news either. Fuck. This job really sucks sometimes. I rub my eyes, trying to bring some type of life back into them, before walking over to Jason Castle's wife, Samantha. She holds their son in her arms.

Their newborn son.

Damn it.

The hallways seem to get smaller and smaller whenever I'm walking down these halls on my way to deliver bad news. The moment my footsteps onto the different colored tile, Samantha zeroes in on me and smiles. She bounces the baby in her arms, tapping him on the back to soothe him as he cries.

I feel you, little dude.

“Dr. Jackson. Shh, he is settling,” she whispers, putting a finger over her lips— poor woman. I can’t imagine how tired she is. Between the baby and her husband, she has permanent dark circles under her eyes. And here I am, about to ruin her life.

I really hate my jobs sometimes.

“So, how is Jason?” The smile fades from her face when she sees the look on mine. “No.” She shakes her head, grabbing onto her son a bit harder than before. “No. No. No. You said, you’d save him! You said—” She covers her mouth with her hand, muffling a sob. “You said you’d fix him! You lied. You’re a liar.” She pushes me with her empty hand. “You said—”

I step closer, taking her and the little boy in my arms. “I know what I said. I’m sorry. He had a heart attack on the table. It was something we couldn't have predicted or stopped.”

She stares up through her thick, wet lashes. “It didn’t have anything to do with his brain?”

“No, nothing. Really, it was something that just happened. I’m so sorry for your loss, Samantha. I’m so sorry.” It is hard not to get emotional when telling the families, the worst news they will ever hear.

I mean, I am the one who sees the patients for the last time. I’m one who is there when they take their last breaths. Jason won’t hold his baby again. Or kiss his wife. Hell, he'll never make love to his wife again. I stole all of his last moments, and that is a hard pill to swallow. It sucks to be that man.

“He won’t know his father,” she bounces the baby as he cries.

I close my eyes, trying not to get my heart involved, but the louder the baby cries, the more it shatters. “I’m so sorry, Samantha. We did everything we could.”

My phone vibrates in my coat pocket, ripping my attention from Samantha. “Excuse me. I have to take this.” I rub her shoulder one last time before I walk away, leaving yet another distraught person in my wake.

I nod to the nurses and they give me winks and smiles, but I’m not in the mood for flirting. Kicking open the double doors, I swing into the on-call room and pull out my phone to see a few missed calls from Molly.

Molly never calls me. I won’t lie. For a moment, I think maybe my best friend’s sister wants me and is calling for a good time, but then I remember how much she hates me. “Four texts and two voicemails. What in the world?” My thumb swipes the screen as the door opens and I see that Charles is standing on the other side.

I turn my head to see him lean his back against the door and exhale a breath. “I hate doing that.”

“Tell me about it. I just lost a patient with his head wide open, but he had a damn heart attack. I just had to tell his wife and newborn baby.”

“Ah, shit. I’m sorry, Caden. That’s really hard. You okay?”

I flip the phone in my hand before putting it back in my pocket. “I’m fine. You know, they say it gets easier after the first time, telling people about their loved ones dying”—I shake my head— “But it never does,” we say in unison.

I let out a sad laugh, running my hands through my hair. “Yeah, it doesn’t. What about you?”

“Ah, well. Mine was an older man. He was seventy-five. Tumor in the liver, but when we got in there... Well, we couldn’t resect it. It had spread everywhere and taken over everything. So, he lived a full life, but it didn’t make it any easier telling his wife of fifty years.”

“Fifty? Wow. I can only imagine. How great would that be?”

He scoffs. “You would never.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, annoyance and disbelief shredding my voice.

He lifts his hands in surrender. “Hey, you know I didn’t mean anything by it. You and I both know you like all women way too much. You’re a good-looking guy. And you like women to know it. I’m just saying that you like to use it, and there is nothing wrong with that.”