29

Brandon left for his shift at Northwestern before dawn, and Emily woke up to the smell of his coffeemaker wafting up delicious scents of caffeine goodness as she lay in the bed in the guest room. She would swing by the doctors’ lounge on her way out after her meeting with Dr. Claiborne to see him.

Emily reached up in a huge stretch. Sleep had been good. Very good. Brandon had a knack for picking luxurious mattresses and bedsheets and she had melted into them, falling asleep within seconds of hitting the down pillow. For a change, her dreams had not tormented her; they had been nondescript and tonally gray. But when she opened her eyes, only one vivid image sprung to mind. Sandi Parkman’s fifteen-year-old yearbook picture.

Emily made her way into the kitchen and poured herself a mug of coffee. She pulled her laptop from her handbag and hit the power button. She wanted to see what she could discover about James VanDerMuellen from an Internet search.

She Googled his name and came up with several matches. She soon found the right James, recognizing him from a high school baseball team photo. He was listed as a broker on the New York Stock Exchange. But that job had ended over a year ago. She tried LinkedIn. No record. She looked on Facebook. No account. Twitter and Instagram. Nothing. She found an old New York City address, but nothing current. It was like he’d dropped off the map. He didn’t even have a driver’s license. She hunted for about an hour, determining that he must have gone off the grid.

Emily wondered what Nick was finding out from Paul and the rest of the pack about James and his whereabouts.

Emily clicked over to Paul’s Facebook account. His last post was from two years ago, but she thought it might send her on a trail to see who else was connected to the pack and if they were still in touch.

Click after click. Down the Facebook rabbit hole, deeper and further into one account linked to another and another. They all seemed to be connected through Freeport High School’s alumni page. Some of the names she recognized, but most she didn’t. None of them mentioned James. It was like Nick said. He had graduated and disappeared.

Through another series of clicks, Emily landed on Tiffani’s page. Last post was sixteen months ago. She tried finding her on Instagram. Bingo. It was littered with GIFs and memes and animal videos. And tons of staged selfies of Tiffani. Group shots at the strip club with the girls. Selfies at bars doing shots. Selfies with her and a girlfriend puckering up in the stands with fans at a hockey game. On the ice with hockey players. Tiffani posing in a bikini next to a souped-up sports car. Tiffani posing in short cut-offs with a monster truck. With each vehicle she was with a different guy. So many guys! Was this business or pleasure? Emily thought. Or maybe a bit of both?

Emily scrolled down until she stopped at one selfie. Tiffani in short-shorts, a tank top with chest overflowing. The odd thing was that only half her body was in the frame, the rest centered on a lake-and-sunset landscape. Emily tried to place the lake. It was a vast body of water. No shoreline. Almost like an ocean. Cancun? Hawaii? Caribbean? The water was dark midnight blue. Not tropical. It resembled one of the coasts. Maine or San Francisco? Perhaps even right here near home, Lake Michigan. Emily stared at the picture and noticed a smooth-skinned, very tanned male hand draped around her shoulder. Tiffani had cut the guy out of the frame. Odd. Why didn’t Tiffani want to show off this guy?

Emily studied the image more. There was a distinct ring on her left hand. Emily dropped the picture onto her desktop and zoomed in. The quality pixelated, but she could make out a brushed platinum band with a diamond-cut black onyx stone embedded in the band and surrounded by six tiny diamonds on each side. Stunning. Modern. Very unique. Custom design for sure. She grabbed a screenshot and filed it away as the sun broke into the kitchen, flooding it with welcomed daylight.

Emily checked the time. She had been surfing for almost two hours. She chugged down the rest of her cold coffee and closed her laptop. In an hour she was to meet Dr. Claiborne in his office at Northwestern University Hospital.

*   *   *

After a quick shower, Emily shoved her last few belongings into a paper grocery bag, slipped her handbag over her shoulder, and was out the door. Thankfully, Brandon had packed all her boxes in her Leaf the night before, and the car was crammed floor to ceiling. She buckled into the driver’s seat, a little worried about the tiny sliver of visibility she had out the back window.

Emily kept checking the time. Dr. Claiborne was a stickler for punctuality. She grabbed a parking ticket and slotted her car into a narrow visitor parking spot. With thirty seconds to spare, Emily traveled down the familiar hallway on the seventh floor to Dr. Claiborne’s office. At exactly 8:30, Emily knocked at the half-open door and poked her head in. Dr. Claiborne looked up from his desktop microscope and cracked a broad smile when he saw her.

“Emily! Come in, come in. How nice to see you.” He rose to greet her with a firm handshake, never breaking from his professional demeanor. Dr. Claiborne was not the hugging type. A welcome relief to Emily, who was not a hugger either.

“It’s nice to be back. Feels like a lifetime since I was last here.”

“You experienced a lifetime’s worth of adventure, that’s for sure. Please sit down.”

His hand directed her to the living room set up on the side of his office, where she had sat in his counsel before or after a surgical procedure more times than she could remember. He sat in his leather roller chair across from her, and she drew contentment from his excited expression. “They can’t stop talking about your miracle appendectomy two months ago. You became an instant legend.”

Emily laughed a little. During her last surgery rotation, she had discovered a burst appendix hiding behind the lower colon and saved a man’s life. “I’m just glad it worked out the way it did. How’s the patient?”

“Excellent. Full recovery.”

“Wonderful.”

“I would ask how you are doing, but I suspect you don’t wish to discuss it, knowing you.”

Emily gave him a weary smile. “You’re right. But I’ll be fine.”

“You always are. Your father was a great man, and I’m glad you were able to be with him during his final days.” His knowing smile brought her comfort.

“It wasn’t enough.”

“You reconciled, I take it?”

“We did.” She felt her throat tighten.

“That makes me very happy. Family should be united.” Dr. Claiborne rested a gentle hand on her arm. “I have a feeling you’ll see him show up every time you lift a scalpel. You’re quite his legacy. I’m sure he was very proud of you.”

Emily nodded as a spasm of grief pulsed through her, and her smile faded. She was not accustomed to such sentiments from the stalwart mentor who rarely showed emotion.

“We would not be human if we did not suffer. One could say it is what gives life its deepest meaning,” Dr. Claiborne said.

All she could manage was a nod.

“I understand you requested a twelve week family leave of absence?” he said.

“Yes. I have to get things in order with my father’s business and estate. And, wouldn’t you know it, I’ve been roped into another death investigation case—at least until the county can find a new medical examiner to do the autopsies. Eventually they’ll have to elect a coroner position, too. Unless they can find someone fit to do both jobs, like my dad.” And, who knows, maybe that’ll be me, she wanted to add, but she kept it to herself.

“That’s a tall order indeed,” said Dr. Claiborne. “I’m glad to hear you’ll be returning to Chicago.”

“I’m not sure,” Emily hesitated. “One day at a time.”

“Well, perhaps I can sweeten the pot for you.”

Emily lifted a hopeful gaze to his. “How’s that?”

“Emily, you must know that your track record at U of C the past few years has been exemplary.”

“Thank you. I … learned from the best.”

Despite the fact that most surgeons had egos the size of Lake Michigan, Emily couldn’t imagine anything about Dr. Claiborne being selfish. Devoted husband, father, grandfather. Head of the surgical department. He was always putting his family, his patients, his residents, and his desire to advance surgical research ahead of himself.

“I’m planning to retire next year. And I have a few people in mind to take over my position as surgical department head.”

Certainly he wasn’t going to ask her to throw her hat in the ring? She would need decades of experience before anyone would ever consider her.

“Then there’s my private surgery practice. Out in Rolling Brook Hills. I want you and Brandon to take that over. If you like, you’ll be able to complete the last two years of your residency at the surgery clinic under my supervision.”

Rolling Brook was in the suburbs where Brandon’s parents lived and a good thirty miles from downtown Chicago. What about the university hospital? The perfect brownstone? Thai food within walking distance? Emily felt her eyes getting dry. When was the last time she’d blinked?

“Does Brandon know about this?” Emily could already hear Brandon’s mother’s cries of joy. She would have a plot of land picked out and a contractor on-site before tomorrow morning to build her and Brandon’s mega-mansion next to theirs. And babysitting. Oh, she would be all over babysitting. And she would be all over their lives. Twenty-four/seven. Emily felt her esophagus closing. Breathe. Breathe.

“I have not asked Brandon yet. I wanted to talk to you first. What do you think?”

“I think … I think it’s very generous.”

“Well, understand you would be buying into the practice, of course. But it’s in the black. Well established. No start-up costs. You could both hit the ground running.”

“Yes. Wonderful. Thank you,” was all Emily could release from her pinched throat.

“You two are the best I’ve ever trained. And I know you have a promising future together. How are the wedding plans coming along?”

“I … they …” She was suddenly very grateful to Brandon for not having said anything at work. Emily decided not to let Dr. Claiborne know that their promising future had been downgraded in status from certain to mere possibility.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. Of course you’ve been a bit preoccupied lately.”

“I’m so honored by the offer,” Emily said, putting on a confident tone to cover her shock.

“Of course, talk it over with Brandon. Formulate your questions, and we’ll meet soon to get formalities started.”

He was already getting his hopes up, and she wasn’t about to dash them. She was glad her next stop before leaving was to see Brandon. They needed to nip this in the bud. Now. Emily wondered if this was the kind of opportunity Brandon would take. It would be in line with everything he had said he wanted. She was sure he would jump at the chance.

Emily thanked him again, and he walked her to the elevator and made her promise to check in every week.

As she traveled down to the doctor’s lounge to meet Brandon, her mind fixated on what had just happened. It was the first time in her professional career that the doors of opportunity were opening in all directions. Before now, her hardest choice had been which medical school to attend. There had been only three top contenders she had wanted to consider. Two of which were in Chicago. And she hadn’t wanted to leave Chicago. So it had come down to scholarship money. The University of Chicago had a better scholarship package. Decision made.

Now, multiple offers—good offers!—were being thrown at her. All of them were great. She could see herself thriving as a professor, a surgeon, or a medical examiner.

Who did she want to become?

Her fifteen-year-old self would have answered that in a heartbeat. Stay in Freeport County working with Dad.

But how did she define herself now?

The Emily in her twenties had found her identity as an up-and-coming top surgeon.

Now, with her thirties peeking out on the horizon, she found herself considering more altruistic paths. How might she best use her talents to shape the future and future generations? Where and how could she give back?

*   *   *

Emily’s thoughts took her all the way to the doctors’ lounge, and she was about to turn the handle when her gaze drifted through the small window in the door to a scene happening on the couch. Brandon and another resident, Elizabeth, a woman Emily had gone through med school with, were sitting close. Legs touching. Brandon was showing her something on his phone, and their heads were tossed back in laughter. Elizabeth brushed her hand against Brandon’s. He stopped laughing and turned to her. Emily’s stomach dropped. Was there something between them? She knew that look. Brandon had looked at her like that a million times. Even last night.

Emily let go of the handle and it unlatched with a click, snapping Brandon’s attention to the door. For a brief second, their eyes met through the window. Then Emily bolted, her feet slapping the cement floor, her eyes laser focused on the elevator doors as she bound past patients in wheelchairs. She nearly ran into a nurse exiting a room.

“Emily. Emily!” Brandon’s voice belted through the hallway. Staff and patients turned their heads to see what the commotion was all about.

Emily slowed remembering that she wasn’t supposed to be running in a hospital. Only during emergencies. This is an emergency! She reached the elevator and lunged out with her index finger for the down button.

“Emily, can you wait? Please. What’s going on?” She glanced over her shoulder. Brandon was marching toward her.

Why is this darn elevator so slow! It would never make it here before Brandon pounced on her. Emily spun around toward the exit to the stairwell and busted through the door. The door slammed closed and she raced down the stairs. Seconds later she heard the door open two flights above her.

Brandon was on her tail by the time she reached the bottom.

“Emily. Stop. This is silly.”

She whipped around.

“I thought you were going to text me when you were on your way,” said Brandon, his face flushing red.

“So you could hide your little tryst?”

“Please … there’s nothing …”

“Why didn’t you just tell me last night?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

She barreled out the side door that led to the parking garage. For a second she didn’t know which way to visitor parking.

Brandon pointed east. “It’s that way.”

“There’s nothing more I have to say to you,” she told him as he followed her.

“Em, it’s not what you think.”

“What is it, then?”

“Friends. You know Elizabeth.”

“It looked intimate,” said Emily.

“What? I can’t have a laugh with a good friend? Besides, look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t been hanging out with Nick what’s-his-name.”

She hated that he’d brought up Nick. She had drawn clean lines in the sand between her and Nick.

“I’m not seeing Nick!”

“I swear to you, there’s nothing romantic going on between me and Elizabeth.”

Emily knew what she had seen. “You know what? Even if there is, we’re not together, right? So no worries, okay? Do what you want.”

She pressed on toward her Leaf.

“Em, please. Thanksgiving is right around the corner. I was hoping you would join us?” Brandon asked.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“My mom would love to see you.”

Of course. It was always about pleasing his mom.

When Emily didn’t answer right away, he added, “Is that a yes? Mom wants a head count for the caterer.”

“You haven’t told them about us.” It hit her. “That’s why you didn’t cancel the Palmer House.”

Brandon shrugged. “I’m an optimist, Em. You know that. I want you. I always have. And especially after last night. It was like old times again.”

Old times were gone.

This was a new day. New choices. New Emily. Whatever those meant. What she decided to do in the future would be hers. And hers alone. She would not be made the fool.