call.”
Becky straightened. “Great. Thanks for calling me back. I wanted to ask you about Dr. John Grant.”
There was silence, then the woman answered in a cautious voice, “What about him?”
Frowning at the peculiar answer, Becky pulled a pen and pad of paper from her purse. “You remember the Best Patient Relations thing, right?”
“Of course. You have a question about it?”
Becky tapped her pen on the pad on her knee. Something about the woman’s manner didn’t quite seem right. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t being friendly. It was the whole attitude, which was almost hostile, definitely defensive. Biting her lip, she framed her next question with care. “I wondered how long Emergency Medicine has recognized doctors for patient relations.”
“Have you read the article?” Dee’s voice sounded impatient.
“Actually, I haven’t had an opportunity. I’m doing some background research for an assignment where I’ll follow Dr. Grant around the hospital for a month and blog about my experiences. The hospital thinks it will be good PR.”
Silence fell again, but this time it was broken by what sounded like a snort of laughter. “And what do you think?”
“I think it’s a bunch of BS.” Becky clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words were out.
The other woman laughed out loud this time, and the timbre of her voice changed to one of gentle amusement. “I think you’re absolutely right. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound confrontational. I had some personal experience with Dr. Grant while researching my article about patient relations, and it was a very emotional time for me. I don’t particularly like to relive it. When I wrote the article, though, I mentioned my experience as an example of particularly good patient relations. Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but the Best Patient Relations thing has been taken much more seriously than I had originally intended.”
Becky wondered what kind of “personal experience” the reporter had had with John. Could she have fallen for his charms as so many other women had? Not that it mattered, she reminded herself.
“Was that all I could help you with?”
“Oh, yes, sorry.” She blinked in the fading sunlight shining through her windshield. “Thank you. I’ll read the article.”
“Good idea, and best of luck to you. I’ll be watching for that blog.”
* * * *
John Grant sat at his desk at the end of his shift, going over the charts and paperwork that never seemed to lessen. It was all part of being a department head for a large community hospital, but it sometimes took him two hours past his shift to finish his work.
Of course if he didn’t stop gazing at charts without seeing them, he’d be there much longer than that. He forced himself to focus, initialing only after scrutinizing each order and chart. After fifteen minutes, he got up to check a case in one of the reference books on the shelves lining the opposite wall and found his mind wandering again, straight back to the moment he’d caught sight of Becky in the reading room.
What the hell had she been doing there, anyway? John slammed the book shut. And why did it bug him?
He frowned, wishing for once his office was a little more than the tiny closet it was. He felt cramped and restless. Maybe he’d been working too much, but that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.
Next week likely wouldn’t be pleasant. He didn’t look forward to having a shadow, even an attractive one like the new PR manager. Becky couldn’t be much happier about the assignment than he was. Remembering the way she’d tried to hide when she’d blundered into the tech and the warm flush on her cheeks when her gaze met his, he smiled.
He sat at his desk again, wondering if the opportunity to spend a little time with the attractive new hospital employee would be a bad thing.
* * * *
When Ellen got home, Becky told her about her adventures in the radiology reading room. Ellen spent a good five minutes laughing, then giggling, then finally shaking her head, still snorting. A reporter for the local newspaper, Ellen spent long hours in the office, sometimes not getting home until what Becky’s mother used to call “the wee small hours” of the morning. Ellen knew the mayor and town manager by name and was included in all the social events in town. She was always privy to anything going on and had even been invited to the governor’s mansion twice. To top it all off, she was perfectly beautiful, had an active social life and had been Becky’s best friend since college, so as always, she knew exactly what was wrong with Becky.
“Don’t sweat it, kid. You’re just horny.” Ellen pulled a beer out of the fridge. “It’s perfectly natural, you know. I mean, I can’t believe you stuck with Bradley as long as you did. How long has it been since you had sex? Six months? No wonder you’ve got a crush. Is this guy available? You could do worse than a cute doctor.”
Becky winced, whether at the mention of her former boyfriend, or the thought of not having sex, she didn’t know. “Nine months, and he’s not cute.” She paused, taking a sip of the beer Ellen provided her. “He’s, well, something else entirely. I don’t even get it. He doesn’t look anything at all like Bradley. He’s older for one thing, and Bradley was really much better looking, if you get right down to it. I just don’t understand the attraction.”
“Why not? Now that you finally got rid of Bradley, maybe your subconscious is telling you to be glad of it and get yourself a real man.”
Becky smiled and took another sip. She made it a rule to ignore most of Ellen’s remarks about Bradley. After all, when your boyfriend dumps you, your best friend is supposed to hate him, isn’t she? After giving Ellen a quick hug, she wandered into her bedroom and checked her fax machine.
Adam had finally faxed her the Emergency Medicine article that had started the board’s interest in John Grant, M.D., and Becky read it with interest. The article began with a focus on some pretty straightforward theologies of how involved an emergency room doctor, technician and nurse can and cannot get with patient care. Then Dee Martin switched gears.
While I researched this article, I had an unfortunate opportunity to experience an emergency room firsthand. In April, I visited my sister, Julie, in Asheville, NC, and we went out for drinks. Some male acquaintances of Julie were at the bar we went to, and Julie decided she’d like to go with them to another bar. Tired from my trip, I decided to return home, and Julie gave me the keys to her apartment. Around two o’clock in the morning, the police called. Julie had been raped and beaten. I rushed to the emergency room of Buncombe Community Hospital.
The moment I entered, I was on familiar turf, although it didn’t really reassure me given the circumstances. I could tell immediately I was in an emergency room like many others in the nation. The staff was busy, bustling and ready to get the patients out the door in one form or another. What this emergency room had that no others did was a doctor by the name of John Grant.
Dee went on to describe her panic as she waited to hear about her sister, how she answered questions from the police and finally received word from John that Julie was in surgery, but that she would make a full recovery.
He made no apologies for the delay, but he honestly seemed to regret that it had exacerbated my worry. He took me aside and gave me a full account of my sister’s injuries. I knew he was busy, but he stayed with me, even when I broke down and cried. I realized then what I wanted and what all patients want when they enter an emergency room. What people need from the ER is a caring place to begin recovery, whether they are the patient or someone who cares about the patient. And that’s what Dr. John Grant provided for my sister and me.
After she finished the article, Becky sat thoughtfully for several minutes. Obviously, John’s professionalism could not be questioned, regardless of what the