Destroy (A Standalone Romance Novel) (6 page)

Chapter
6

On Sunday morning, I took
a bus and spent part of the day at the flea market, which Mrs. Camborne had
recommended for me to visit. I found almost everything I needed to add to my
décor. I found a sound system cabinet that only cost me ten bucks and a couple
of items for the kitchen and bathroom. Laden once again with shopping bags and
furniture, I had to take a cab to go home. A vehicle would definitely be a plus
on days like that one. Yet, my finances were not allowing for the monthly
payments associated with a car–plus gas, insurance, maintenance, etc. I
couldn’t see myself working to pay for a vehicle I would only use once in a
blue moon.

When I got home and set
everything up, I began feeling as if this was not just an ‘apartment’ but ‘a
home’ where I would be pleased to return after work. Talking about work, I was
avoiding the thought of walking to the hospital the next day and meeting my
colleagues—as well as the chief medical resident. It was a daunting prospect
for sure.
 
I had called Allie the day
before and she told me about her first day in Chicago. She had taken the ‘bull
by the horns’ as it were and had gone to meet the resident doctor who was going
to look after the interns at her hospital.

“He’s such a sweetheart,”
Allie said. “He’s taken me to visit a couple of his patients already and didn’t
mind talking about everything that was going to happen on Monday.” I silently
wished I had the guts to do just that–visit the hospital ahead of time.

“Do you know how many
interns they have taken in this year?” I asked.

“Just a dozen I think.
They want more doctors on their surgical teams and a couple more in the
emergency department. What about you? Did you have a look at what you should be
expecting?”

“Well…no. I’ll leave it
for Monday morning. I’ll be on equal footing with everybody else then.”

“You mean you’re too
scared to face the music, aren’t you?”

Allie knew me all too
well. “I guess so. I can hide behind a few people then, and stand at the back
of the room sort of thing.”

“As if your resident
doctor is going to let you hide for very long.”

“I know, Allie, but I
don’t have your guts. I’ll just see what happens on Monday.”

After a few more parting
words, I hung up, feeling annoyed.
You’re
a coward, aren’t you?
I told myself as I prepared dinner.

And then it was Monday
morning. I turned on my belly and hid my head under the pillow. If I wanted to
be on time for my first day, I had to get a move-on. I literally dragged myself
out of bed, put on my tracksuit, and went to the bathroom to put my face under
the sink faucet. I needed a kick in the butt. I switched the coffee maker on as
I ran out the door, and rushed down the stairs. I jumped on the spot, did a
couple of stretches in the front yard, and began jogging toward the park.

I wasn’t alone. There
were a couple or three people running the lap surrounding the woods and
playground. It was only seven a.m. but it seemed that a lot of people were out–
probably going to work already
. While
running the second lap around the park, I saw a young woman in the distance.
She was pacing herself, same as I did. No running wild, just jogging a lap or
two, nice and easy. Seeing other people than myself around made me feel better.
After all, humans are social animals. Apart from a few exceptions, we like to
see people around us. And I’m not one of the exceptions. I don’t mind being
alone, but I’m not your typical loner either. This girl, the one trotting in
front of me, slowed down to re-adjust her earphones. She was listening to her
iPod or maybe she had some iTunes on her phone. That was something I hadn’t
done yet. I made a mental note to record a few things on my phone, so I could
listen to a rhythmic melody while I jogged.

As soon as I arrived on
the third floor of my building, I saw the bag in front of the door. I didn’t
have to worry or wonder what it was–I knew it already. Mrs. Camborne had baked
some other goodies for me.
I better get a
roommate pretty fast,
I thought,
otherwise
I’ll have to go on a diet sooner rather than later.
Besides, I don’t mind
eating a muffin once in a while, but that’s not part of my every day breakfast.
Cereal, fruits, milk, toasts (maybe), yogurt and, coffee are my favorites. However,
as I opened the bag, I was surprised to find a small tray of vegetable lasagna.
Good grief! The woman is impossible.
Anyway,
I was grateful, in a way. I knew I probably would never have time anymore to
cook such a dish for me alone, too much time and a lot of effort for one meal. I
took the tray out of the bag and put it in the freezer. I wasn’t planning on
eating much of anything that night. I would probably toss a salad and have a
light dinner. I hate feeling like a stuffed turkey in the evening.

When I came out of the
shower, dried myself off and let my hair out of my towel turban, I felt good
somehow. I was rested and ready to tackle the day.

An hour later, I walked
in the hospital. Looking around me, I had to admire the modern foyer, the
well-designed directory, the ample seating and the soothing décor. Nothing like
it used to be in the old days. No smell of ether either–only the smell of
flowers and greenery emanating from the flower shop near the reception desk.

Since I had received a
letter telling me which floor and department I had to look for, I didn’t have
to ask any question from the administration girls behind the desk. I made my
way to the elevator and pressed “5”. The interns’ office and lunchroom were
located on that floor.

As I came out of the
elevator, I noticed a half dozen people gathered around a table at the far
corner of the room. A woman turned her head and looked at me before cracking a
smile. She got up and came toward me, a hand extended.

“I am Doctor Kerry
Rosalind,” she said, shaking my outstretched hand. “I’ll be your resident
supervisor. Welcome aboard, Dr. Williams.”

My heart was thumping so
heart against my ribs; I thought I was going to have a stroke. “Thank you,
Doctor. Am I late?”

“No, no, not at all, Dr.
Williams, there are another four bodies to come to the slaughter,” she joked.

She wasn’t wrong. I
certainly felt as if I was going to be killed in the next few minutes, falling
dead under her questions.

Dr. Kerry Rosalind was a black
woman in her late thirties. She was tall and looked as if she spent time on her
grooming; her hair was coiffed to perfection. She wore a little discreet
make-up and seemed comfortable in her skin.
Nice
lady,
I thought.
Probably tough as
nails, though.

She introduced me to the
group. There were three men and three women sitting around the table. One of
the women attracted my attention immediately. She was a lovely girl. A nice
face surrounded by beautiful, curly, black hair. Tiffany Jenson was her name. I
sat beside her.

No one said a word for a
moment until Dr. Rosalind asked everyone to tell the group where they had
studied and where they expected to go from that moment forward. Gerald Houston,
the bragger of the bunch, had studied in Ohio and was on his way “to become the
top surgeon in the house,” he said mockingly. But I think he meant it.

When Tiffany’s turn came,
she said she was the lucky one. She studied in D.C. and didn’t have to move to
come to this hospital for her internship. She wanted to work in the emergency
department as soon as possible.

As for me, I told
everyone that I had studied in New York and just moved here last week. When it
came to what I wanted out of the internship, although I had not given it much
thought until that minute, I said I wanted to become a resident surgeon in that
very same hospital.

That remark ignited a
moment of silence among the group. All eyes turned to Dr. Kerry.

“I guess I could always
use another right hand,” she said jocularly.

That did it. The ice was
broken. Everyone erupted in nervous laughter as the last of the new interns
made their way to the table.

Since the four of them
were late, the six of us made quick work of putting these stragglers on the
spot and fire all sorts of questions at them until Dr. Kerry stopped us and
declared our first meeting adjourned.

She then showed us to the
locker rooms where we could find our lab coats, our scrubs, if we were ever
called to assist a surgeon in the operating theater, and boxes of gloves. Each lab
coat was emblazoned with the hospital coat of arms and motto. Our nametags had
already been engraved and available on the shelf of the locker.
Who ever
had designed these lockers to provide the doctors
with the necessary clothing and accessories, seemed to have thought about
everything, for there were boxes of Kleenex, spare coat hangers, and even a
padlock for the door. I was impressed.

As soon as I put the lab
coat on and pinned my nametag to the breast pocket, I grabbed a couple of pairs
of gloves out of the box and slipped them in my pocket. I was about to lock the
door with the padlock when I recognized Tiffany’s timid voice behind me.

“Are you ready to do
battle?” she asked.

I clipped the padlock
closed and turned to her. “As I’ll ever be, I guess,” I replied. “And you?”

“A bit nervous. I hate
exams and quizzes. And this feels exactly like the day before those dreaded
finals. Mind you, I don’t think Dr. Kerry is going to grill us on our first day.
What do you think?”

It sounded more like a
plea for reassurance to me than a question. I stretched an arm across her shoulders
and said, “Let’s not worry about anything, okay?”

With a nod, Tiffany just
smiled at me.

The day went by at an
incredible pace. Between introducing ourselves to the nursing staff; making our
morning rounds with Dr. Kerry; watching a surgical procedure on the pancreas of
a cancer patient; visiting a couple of amputees in the re-
hab
center and finishing the day with a visit of the children’s ward; I thought my
legs wouldn’t carry me as far as my home that evening. I was exhausted.
 
According to Dr. Kerry, this had been a slow
day for us. We hadn’t gone through the emergency department yet; we hadn’t
attended to ICU patients; and we hadn’t had time to review what we did that
day.

Instead of going straight
home, I decided to take a breather in the ground floor bistro. Maybe I would have
an herbal tea with some biscotti, which I had spotted passing by the place that
morning–which seemed eons ago now.

Tiffany was on her way
out of the door when she spotted me and walked in the café. She came to stand
beside me and order “the same” for her.

I was surprised but
smiled. Obviously, she found me good company, or, at least, I hoped she did.

As we sat down at a table
near the window, she said, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to impose, but I heard you
say that you came alone from New York....” She paused. “Are you renting an
apartment around here?”

I recognized the shyness
in her again. When timid people need to express themselves, they come right out
with what they want to say. Tiffany had a question and she posed it.

“Yes,” I replied, dunking
the biscotti in my tea. “What about you; where do you live?”

“That’s why I wanted to
talk to you,” she said almost inaudibly. “I live with my parents.” I raised an
eyebrow. I couldn’t imagine myself still living with my mom and dad at this
point of my life. “I know,” Tiffany went on, “I’m too old. But I can’t see
myself moving out on an intern’s salary.”

“I know what you mean,” I
put in. “But I had no choice.” I paused to finish munching on my biscotti, sipped
a bit of the tea and looked into those gorgeous hazel eyes of hers.

“Would you mind sharing
your place with me?” Here we were again–a direct question, which demanded a
direct answer.

“No, I wouldn’t mind, but
maybe it’s not going to be as comfortable as living at home.”

“Oh don’t worry about
that. I’m dying to cook my own meals, and watch my own programs on TV. Dad has
taken possession of the remote a long time ago and although I’ve got a small TV
in my room, it’s not the same. Anyway, I was just asking.”

“And you did well to ask,
Tiffany. I would love to have a roommate. I actually need someone to share the
expense with me.”

“Great. I can certainly
do that. And I can bring a car into the deal, too,” Tiffany added with a broad
smile adorning her lips.

I was staring by this time.
Although I didn’t want to depend on a car to go shopping or go anywhere in the
neighborhood, it was going to be a nice change to pay for gas rather than paying
for a taxi fare any time I wanted to go somewhere farther afield. Whenever we
would have time, maybe, Tiffany could take me to visit Capitol Hill, and…go to the
flea markets with me, or simply show me around her city.

I returned the smile,
finally, and nodded. “You got a deal, Tiffany!”

A half an hour later,
Tiffany parked her car at the back of Mrs. Camborne’s building and followed me
to “our” apartment. She looked around the place and seemed pleased with the big
bedroom that was to become her domain. In the living room, she made a beeline
for the turntable and the stack of records, which I still needed to sort.