Heart Like Mine (37 page)

She sighed. “You know, three weeks ago, completely against my will, I took that elevator down to the third floor, expecting to come running back up with my tail between my legs.”

“But you didn't.”

“I didn't.” Delaney shook her head. “I always wanted to be a doctor, Meg. Always. And then when it became horribly clear that it was never going to happen, I was so—lost. It's all I'd ever planned to do. It's what I'd planned to be. It's what was finally,
finally
going to make my dad proud, you know?”

Megan nodded, but didn't speak.

“And then it all went down the toilet, and I wandered around for weeks thinking I was a failure, that I was never going to be able to affect lives the way I'd planned to, that I was never going to be able to—I don't know, it sounds stupid—never going to be able to save anybody.”

She broke off as her throat tightened. “Dammit, I wanted to save
some
body.”

Megan put a hand on her shoulder. “Delaney, you
are
affecting lives. Every day you are.”

“I know. But I've been doing it from a distance. I've kept myself insulated in our little carpeted suite with the locking doors and big desks. It's not reality. It's not this hospital's reality. It feels like, all this time, I've been kind of phoning it in, not daring to get down and dirty in the mud.”

“Not true.”

“Totally true. You know I'm right. I was so afraid to get close to patients—so afraid to care about them as any more than numbers. And what did that get me? A bigger cubicle and the ability to go home at night not knowing anybody's face, or anybody's parents, or anybody's problems beyond their ICD-9 codes on a damn report.”

“You're doing important work. You know you are.”

“I know, but what I don't know is whether it's the kind of work I
want
to do anymore.”

“What—
do
you want to do?”

“I think I want to work with patients, Meg. You're going to think I've lost my mind here, but after spending just two weeks on that floor, I don't even know if I care about a windowed office. I want to do a job that lets me feel like I'm doing something to make these families' lives better on a daily, hourly basis. Something I can see, not something on a spreadsheet.”

“Has it occurred to you that if you were no longer in your current position, then you'd actually be free to date Joshua?”

Delaney looked down at her desk, tears poking at her eyes. “Pretty sure that's off the table, Meg.”

Just then Delaney's intercom buzzed, and she pressed the button. “Delaney Blair. Can I help you?”

“It's Gregory. Can you come into my office, please?”

Delaney's gaze flew up to meet Megan's. “I'll be right in.”

She took her finger off the button, but didn't move.

Megan looked at her, eyebrows up in fear she didn't even bother to hide. “What do you think it's about?”

“I don't know.” Delaney's voice was a defeated whisper. “But I have a feeling I might be getting a new Mercy mug.”

“Stop it. No. It can't be that.” Megan started pacing. “You said they didn't even get a chance to talk about it at the board meeting. No way are you being fired because of Dr. Mackenzie.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I'm being fired because I did a dismal job on the most important project I've ever been assigned.” Delaney shook her head, pushing her feet into her heels. “Or maybe … maybe I'm just about to become the latest casualty of the Mercy budget crisis.”

 

Chapter 33

When Delaney walked into Gregory's office, struggling to keep her shoulders back and her chin up, she felt her eyebrows pull together as she saw a man with a shock of white hair sitting at Gregory's desk, his back to her.

Gregory walked toward her, motioning her in and closing the door behind her. “Delaney. Thanks for coming in. I have someone here who wants to see you.”

Delaney felt her feet go leaden as she walked across the office. She didn't remember anyone from HR having hair like this, but didn't companies hire people just to come in and do the layoff dirty work? Was this her personal escort?

As she reached Gregory's other guest chair, the man turned toward her, an affectionate smile on his face, and she felt her eyes widen as she recognized him from the fund-raiser.

“Oscar?”

He stuck out his hand, shaking hers warmly. “Hello, Delaney. I was just telling Gregory about our mutual escape to the balcony last week.”

“I wasn't escap—”

“It's okay.” He winked. “Everybody needs to escape sometimes. Hospital fund-raisers can be deadly.”

“Have a seat, Delaney.” Gregory pointed to the chair. “We have something to discuss.”

She sat down gingerly, wheels turning madly in her brain. Who
was
this Oscar? And why was he sitting here in the CFO's office with the comfort of someone who was headed out for golf with Gregory in ten minutes?

“I couldn't help but see the news,” Oscar finally said. “I want to commend you on your efforts with the shooter.”

“Thank you.” Delaney shook her head. “But it was Joshua—Dr. Mackenzie—who really saved us. It's him you should be thanking, in truth.”

Oscar shrugged. “From all reports, it was a team effort, both during and after the event.” He raised his eyebrows. “The same team I heard you speak of at the fund-raiser, yes?”

She nodded slowly. The way the nurses had handled things on the floor after the police had left had been nothing short of mind-boggling. Between the crisis counselors and the medical personnel, the kids
and
the parents had been smiling by the end of the day.

“I have a confession to make to you.” Oscar pulled out a business card. “I told you I am an inventor of useless things, yes?”

“Yes.” She nodded again, tipping her head. “You did.”

“You see,
I
think they are useless, but other people? Not so much. I have managed to make enough of a living to support my family.” He held up a hand to stop her from replying. “And the rest, I like to give. Today, I am here to give you some of the rest.”

She smiled, thinking of the five dollars he'd given his wife at the fund-raiser. “Oscar, that's very generous of you, but truly, you already gave money at the fund-raiser. Please don't feel like you should give more.”

He waved a hand dismissively, reaching into the inside pocket of his threadbare suit jacket. “The check is already written. I wish for you to take the money and decide where it will be of the best use. I have written it to Mercy Hospital Pediatric Department, but Gregory has been left with strict instructions that you are to manage how it is spent.”

He handed her an envelope, then pushed himself out of his chair. “I don't know how you fared with the other guests at the dinner, but I have a feeling that if you spoke to them with the same—heart—you showed me, you will not need my paltry check.”

He bowed slightly. “You will do good work, Delaney.” He pointed to the envelope. “Maybe this will help.”

“Thank you, Oscar.” She reached out to hug him, and he hugged her back, then patted her lightly on the shoulder.

“All right, then. I must go. My wife and my coffee are probably both getting cold in the cafeteria.”

He shuffled out the door, closing it behind him, and Delaney watched him with an affectionate smile. Then she turned around and sat back down, fingering the envelope. The man looked like he could barely spare coffee money. Maybe she could pretend to lose this envelope so that the money would never leave his account.

Gregory nodded toward the envelope, a small smile on his face. “You going to open that?”

“I don't know. I feel terrible. He's such a sweet old man.”

“That he is.” His smile grew. “Open the envelope, Delaney.”

She slid her finger along the flap, opening the envelope and plucking the check out. With Gregory's eyes firmly on her, she unfolded it, then saw her fingers begin to shake before she even felt them. Her jaw dropped as she looked at Gregory, and she felt her eyes go wide.

“A million dollars?”

Gregory grinned, but didn't speak.

She flipped the check over, looking for an indication that it was a joke of some sort—like those fake lottery tickets you could buy. But no. It was just a normal, run-of-the-mill check from a personal bank account in Maine.

“You had no idea who you were talking to that night, did you?” Gregory got up and came around to lean against his desk.

“I
still
don't have any idea who I was talking to, apparently.” She looked at the name on the check, for the first time seeing Oscar's last name. “Moriarty. Oscar Moriarty. This isn't—it couldn't be—no way.”

“Yes. The same man the Moriarty Wing is named after. Oscar donated the money to build it ten years ago.”

“Oh, my God. He never said anything—said he was here on vacation with his wife. He told me he gave her five dollars for the auction baskets, Gregory!”

He laughed. “He prefers to stay under the radar. Didn't want that wing named after him, but his wife insisted. He's given this hospital millions over the years.”

“Why?” Delaney felt her forehead crease. “Why us?”

Gregory's face grew serious. “He is acquainted with your father. He knows about your brother.” He sighed sadly. “And he had a little boy once … one who spent most of his very short life here at Mercy.”

*   *   *

Josh sat at his computer later that morning, trying to teach himself how to use the damn online lab system to see his patients' results, all the while knowing he was definitely not in the right frame of mind to be attempting new technology right now.

Movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see a feminine arm holding a large cup of coffee.

“Very funny, Therese. I'll acknowledge my bad mood, but I still don't bite.”

The arm lowered, but instead of Therese, a woman he didn't recognize stepped tentatively into his office. She had long blond braids and a skirt right out of the seventies, but somehow the look worked for her.

“I heard this was the way to your heart. Or at least your ears.”

She set the coffee on his desk, then headed back out into the hallway while he watched, mystified. One moment later, she backed in, rolling a cart with four huge file boxes on top of it.

“What is this?” He cocked his head suspiciously. “Who are you?”

She ignored his second question. “This”—she gave a mighty yank to get the back wheels over the threshold, almost landing on her butt in the guest chair—“is something I bet you've never seen, but I decided you need to.” She reached into the box closest to him and pulled out a folder, holding it out to him. “Exhibit A.”

He took the folder, shaking his head.

“I don't want to sound rude here, but are you sure you're in the right place?”

She sat down in his guest chair, crossing her legs like she had all day. “I brought you coffee, didn't I? I figure that buys me fifteen minutes, whether you know me or not.”

He shook his head again. “I'll give you five. Ten if you tell me who you are.”

She shrugged. “Five should be enough, actually. I just started high on purpose.”

“Okay, what am I looking at?” He opened the folder, which was full of neatly aligned papers. The first page was a typical grant summary page he'd seen a hundred times. This one was for the first child life specialist role they'd ever funded, back three years ago.

The woman didn't answer—just handed him another folder. When he opened it, there was an identical first page, this one for a grant they'd used to purchase diabetes education software last year.

“Here's another one.” She handed a third folder across his desk, but he already knew what it would contain. He didn't open it—just leveled a look her way.

“Why are you showing me grant paperwork?”

“Because I think there's something you don't know about most of the grants this floor has received over the past five years.”

“And that is?”

“Check out the last page of each of those folders—where the original grant proposals are.”

He narrowed his eyes, but dutifully opened the first folder again. On the last page was a neatly typed proposal, listing a collection of reasons Mercy Hospital was seeking funding for the child life position, as well as how the position would improve patient comfort and care. He'd done more than one of these during his tenure—he just didn't have time to do nearly enough of them. It was diligent, detail-drowning, backbreaking work.

“Flip it over,” the woman said. “Check out the signature.”

He sighed as he turned the page over, eyes freezing when they landed on the loopy signature of none other than Delaney Blair. He closed his eyes, suddenly knowing exactly who this woman must be.

He closed the folder, then opened the other two, already knowing what he'd find. Delaney's signature on those, too. He closed them and handed them back to her, then sat back in his chair, mind whirling.

“You must be Megan.”

“I am.”

“And—I'm assuming this entire cart of grant paperwork has Delaney's signature on the last page?”

Megan pointed at the cart. “Research and proposals. There's another cartful upstairs, but I was hoping one might be enough to make my point.”

“Did she send you down here?”

Megan paused. “If you know her at all, you'd know the answer to that. She would kill me if she knew I was even here.”

“Why
are
you here, then?” He pointed at the cart. “Why the dramatic demo?”

“Because.” She stared at him for a long moment, looking like she was gathering her words. Then she shook her head and cringed. “Because it's obvious that the two of you fell hard and fast for each other, and you're being a pigheaded idiot not calling her back.”