I try very hard to make her laugh, which I've never had any problem doing, but she always looks sad after she does. Like she feels like my taking this day off is just a means to an end. I'm beyond frustrated but keep trying, I owe it to her and Luna to make this marriage work.
We go through the motions of 'expecting married couple' until around 3 pm when Helen sends me a text to inform me that my next appointment had been scheduled for two days from today. I reply, "okay thanks, see you then," and quickly lock my screen.
Georgia notices my not so covert action and questions softly. "Who was that?"
I swallow thickly, feeling a faint tickle as I did so. Did that look guilty? "Just Dr. Sharpe," I reply trying to force a relaxed voice.
"Who's that?" She asks trying to be casual, but I hear the suspicion in her tone. She thinks that Helen is some other woman. I sigh internally, so that's what she thinks of me. I would never cheat on her. Not ever! But I can't really blame her for not trusting me, I don't have the greatest track record of telling her the truth.
"Remember when I told you about Dr. Helen working at the hospital. She was just..um, confirming some patient information." It's not a complete lie, but it is one of omission.
Georgia's eyes go wide with excitement. "I completely forgot you said that she works with you. I hope I get to meet her!"
I chuckle that Georgia is so excited about meeting Helen. While in Connecticut with her mother, Georgia had been watching a lot of daytime television. Of course, most of it was salacious gossip shows and soap operas, occasionally the medical corner of programming would feature none other than Dr. Helen.
Helen was definitely a person that people were always excited to finally encounter. I know I was just a little starstruck upon meeting her in person, but it wasn't entirely due to her celebrity status. I read her file and knew full well who I was meeting from the serious physician aspect, the other stuff like her confidence and the way her eyes scrunched up when she smiled, were just heaped on the pile. I was so wrapped up in that brief musing that I completely forgot that the only reason I answered her text in the first place was that she was also my doctor, who just happened to be confirming my radiation consult.
Then Georgias voice broke me away from any further thoughts."Wow, Max, calls from the mayor and rubbing elbows with celebrity doctors. Next thing you know you'll get offered your own show by Oprah."
I smile at Georgia, elated that she seems to be having fun teasing me again, while silently thanking Helen for being the icebreaker. Maybe there is hope for Georgia and me yet.
But I know by tomorrow I'll be back to work and this little bubble that I created at home, while on bed rest with my wife, will be pushed to the back of my mind. It will be all adrenaline-fueled chaos, helping patients and doing everything in my power to change New Amsterdam for the better. Just thinking about my next day at work fills me with a rush that no thrill ride could equal and while these quiet moments were nice, I hated being idle.
The thought makes the guilt of the past few months settle uncomfortably in my chest. It's only then that I realize that deep down, I really had no intentions of slowing down for her.
**
I walk into the hospital ED overhearing the grumbles over surveys and lackluster coffee. No one ever seemed satisfied, but these were problems I could solve. Rewrite the survey, check. Find out what the ED does to make their coffee superior, on it.
I find Helen on her way in through the ED. How in this whole sprawling hospital she and I are able to run into each other so frequently, I'll never know? My joke falls flat, and I try to get Helen to support my good humor. She smiles kindly and walks with me confirming the anomaly of the hospital coffee hierarchy.
As we match strides, I realize she's like my work wife. People have those right?
Helen knows all my professional secrets, some personal ones too. When no one gets my jokes, she does, and even though she may not laugh at them, she still smiles at me indulgently. Maybe it's because I'm her boss, or maybe….No, I stop that thought before it gains any traction. It's because she just gets me. Because we are friends.
We walk down the hall remarking on the "Nutella" in my throat, I lean in to hear her follow along with my code word and get a whiff of her perfume. God, she smells good. What is that rhubarb? Sandalwood? I want to ask but it would be totally inappropriate.
We part with me promising to get whatever was causing my scratchy throat checked out before she heads in the opposite direction, which was nowhere near her office. Weird.
I'm meeting with the journalist that HCC has sent over to do a piece on the hospital or at least that's what they think. I have a plan for this experience and I'm sure it was nowhere near the puff piece they intended.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Teenage gunshot victims come into the ED injured at the hands of the NYPD. I fly into action, but at every turn, I'm cornered by this shadow of a man seeking a scoop and forcing me to play babysitter. I want him to see the bigger picture of the issue and not just the obvious one. The story is not the police or government per se, it was the violence that the city has been engulfed with for almost a century. Victims' innocent and otherwise clinging to life for trespasses ranging from personal conflicts gone bad to murder or even just running because you're late for school. This whole thing is nothing short of a nightmare. How can we heal when the people of the world seem hellbent on destroying each other faster and more lethally every day..
Then I spot my amazing friend Helen. Just the person I need to see on a day like today. But she is suddenly dodgy and distracted. I texted her earlier and didn't get a response and I had been worried about her all morning. She looks so solemn and there's that bleak expression again and I don't think it's entirely related to the current situation.
As she whips away from me, her perfume leaves its alluring calling card and I sigh trying to push down the sensation it leaves in the pit of my stomach. I hope I get off the couch soon because it seems like deprivation of physical contact is causing my desires to be misplaced on the one person they can never be focused on.
"What's going on with you?" I ask. Something heavy is on her mind and as her friend, I want to help, just like she's helped me.
"Nothing," she replies unconvincingly.
I know that nothing. I invented that, nothing. I remind her that she knows my deepest, hairiest, secret but she doesn't budge on her resistance towards letting me know what's causing her such distress. My confidant looks up at me like she has some things that keep her up at night too and I can't stand that anything has the power to knock her off her game and the fact that she's not ready to open up to me in kind stings a little. Her next words sought to cut my probing off at the knees, as she redirects the conversation to my 'Nutella' and not her.
Then there was a shout in the ED that catches my attention. When I try to diffuse the situation, it only seems to make the highly agitated teenager even more volatile. It's only when the shoving starts that I feel the escalation of this situation. I eep my stance wide, trying to shield Helen with my body, knowing she is very close to being in the strike zone. I hear her shout Max before the stinging pain riddles my face and I'm flat on my ass.
As she hauls me up ushing me to a chair, she's grabbing my hands to clear it from my face so she can assess the damage. Her delicate fingers graze right below my eye tenderly, it's starting to swell and throb, and I wince. She starts checking me for a concussion and has Casey order a CT to make sure I didn't have any neurological damage. Her face while worried, looks completely exasperated at me.
"Why in god's name would you step in between that whole mess in your condition?"
"I tried to stop something bad from getting worse" I shrug as if it was the most obvious answer, because it was to me.
A small smile graces her lips, and she places her soft hand on my face in a gentle gesture while shaking her head at my absurdity. I fight the urge to cover her hand with my own and lean into it. Being touched by Helen Sharpe seemed like the most natural feeling in the world. But I quickly recognize that it's also a potentially dangerous one. Why did I always feel so comfortable accepting her affectionate touch?
She stays like that, hand on my face which to the casual observer could be viewed as her steadying my head as she tries to assess my injuries. But it feels like there's more to her touch. She's looking into my eyes searching for something, anything to explain why I'm wired the way I am. I can hear her unspoken questions; do I have some sort of death wish? Why was I so adamant about being in the middle of chaotic things? Why wasn't I more careful?
Her dark eyes stare at me with such concern, that I realize that I finally got to see the look of pure compassion that her patients often see. So unguarded and soft, so full of care. I could see how deeply concerned she was for others and why she felt the need to protect herself to the point of feeling nothing. While it was probably only a few moments, our nonverbal conversation felt like it took hours, our trance was only broken when Casey ushers me away for a CT scan.
My scans come back clear, so here I sit in the ED breakroom with an icepack on my face. Why do I always seem to be wedged in between the rock and the hard place, or more accurately a fist and my eye socket? My face hurts so bad I can barely think. Serves me right for the thoughts that were flourishing in my mind only moments prior, not to mention the ones I had post punch.
When Helen walks in, all smiles and veiled sympathy wrapped in humor, my heart soars. A different punch, this one to my heart clenches, and something new blooms in my chest. I don't have a name for it, at least not one I'm willing to admit, but it expands as her smile widens.
As we talk about my steroid treatment a sudden realization dawns and she hurries away towards the OR looking for Hartman and Reynolds. She's figured out something, but my brain is too addled by pain and too slow to catch up to her train of thought. Her brilliance as usual has me enthralled.
That's my girl! I think proudly. Wait, NO! She's not mine. But, she is my friend. That's my friend. Better? No, that sounds weird. Forget it.
The one that should have survived this whole ordeal is gone way too soon. another victim of the reality we live in. Although I can't completely understand the anger his family must feel. I understand the grief all too much. I stand in my office contemplating the horrors of the day, my mind is so far away from here and with two families that will have to come to terms with the consequences of today. The bullet mangled and in pieces serves as a physical reminder of why I do what I do. I save people, no matter the reasons they end up in the hospital. I'm lost in thought when she comes in.
Helen stands in front of me her expression guilty and sad and finally confides in me about her fertility issues and the baby she wants to have. It's not the secret I expected from her, so the only response I can come up with is "Okay". I don't know how she took that other than me accepting her statement, but it makes me think of the child I'm expecting and have the briefest flash of her as a mother.
I envision Helen, heavily pregnant and asking for my input into our child's baby gear much like I'd done with Georgia all yesterday, and the thought shakes me to my core. I take a steadying breath. Where did that come from?
That brief lapse of propriety notwithstanding, my heart leaps that she trusts me this much to unload something so private. It's only when she approaches me and encloses my waist in a hug, that I give that feeling a name. I can't help myself and surely can't fight the impulse that leads me to hug her back. This friendly comforting gesture goes to a full-body embrace with our arms completely wrapped around each other. In this instant I know where this thing between us is going is destructive, but I can't help it. The feeling was almost like a thunderbolt ricocheting through my whole body. I'm starting to have those fluttering sensations in my chest that tell me that my feelings towards Helen are becoming something that is definitely more than platonic. So, this hug needs to end before I lose any remaining deniability.
She breaks away with a soft smile that I return, albeit a little strained, as she leaves my office, completely unaware of the battle raging with my conscience.
I turn back to the window to look out at the rest of the city. Millions of people living their lives with their own problems, just trying to make it through each day. Yet here I am creating problems in my messy life by getting way too familiar with my doctor. I need to stop this. I need to go home to my wife and love her like she deserves and stop whatever this is between Helen and me.
Falling for Dr. Helen Sharpe is absolutely not an option.
Chapter End Notes
Only after I wrote this chapter and gave it a name did I remember the lyrics to Maroon 5's Secret and I felt these lyrics so hard that I couldn't ignore how well it lines up. I know it's cheesy, but here we are. I know I don't know youBut I want you so bad
Everyone has a secret
Oh, can they keep it?
Oh, no they can't