Mitch put his phone away. He needed some time—time away
from the hospital, time away from laboring mothers, and time
away from Amanda. Was she getting annoying, or was he falling
in love with her? No, definitely not love, thought Mitch.
He changed out of scrubs and into his winter running gear
and took off at a slow jog, heading west toward Central Park. He
settled into his stride, which was interrupted every so often by
needing to lunge over a puddle of slush. It felt good to run, and
as usual, his head started to clear. He took stock of his life. Metro
had come a long way from where it was just ten years ago, floun
dering financially, almost forced to shut its doors. He had helped
turn it into one of the leading hospitals in New York. He hadn’t
let that slip by his father’s attention. He made sure his father read
every article about Metro’s comeback and the number of times
Mitch’s name was mentioned. Of course, his father had never
acknowledged those articles, instead criticizing Mitch about his
life. He always had something to say about his gold digger of a
wife and spoiled kids, or his choice of medical specialty. Metro
wasn’t a worthy hospital in his father’s eyes, because of the sim
ple fact it wasn’t Columbia University’s teaching hospital. Mitch
didn’t know why he put up with the degradation from his father.
But someday, he would show his father that he could live up to
the old man’s expectations.
Mitch crossed Fifth Avenue and entered the park. Today, he
needed this run mentally as much as physically. He could easily
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THE VERY BEST OF CARE
cover the half mile over to Central Park West and back and
hardly break a sweat.
His wife had been shushed by Mitch’s lawyer, warning her
to stop threatening Mitch with divorce. What did she want?
Divorce or a bigger allowance? She couldn’t have both. The kids’
tuitions would be taken care of, and each would have a sizable
trust fund started very soon. She should be happy with that.
His thoughts shifted to work. He wasn’t sure what was hap
pening with the project and was beginning to question what he
wanted out of it. The stress was getting to him—constant jug
gling to keep too many balls in the air at once. Was the risk
worth the money?
His father’s latest criticism was how Mitch had used his posi
tion at WMI to get his best friend from prep school a job at the
company. His father called it pathetic nepotism.
“Can’t that dopehead get his own job without your help? I’m
telling you, he was a no-good kid back in high school, and he’s a
no-good adult now.”
His father was pretty much right. Tommy hadn’t amounted
to much after being kicked out of prep school and sent to reform
school. But Mitch couldn’t turn his back on his best friend. He’d
just had some bad luck. The least Mitch could do was lend him a
hand and get him a low-level maintenance job at WMI.
Once back at the hospital, he dashed up the stairs to the doc
tors’ lounge and changed into his casual clothes—a sports jacket
and jeans. He was going for a beer at Evening Rounds. He was off
duty until tomorrow morning. He stopped to call his wife to tell
her his plans. He’d be staying in their in-town apartment rather
than risk the drive home in this crappy weather.
He walked into the bar, hoping to find an unsuspecting young
nurse looking for a rich, handsome doctor to go home with. That
fantasy burst when he found a group of physician friends sitting
around a table.
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JULIE HATCH
“Yo, Mitch! Come join us. And bring a round of beers with
you.” This was followed by loud laughter in agreement.
Mitch ordered beers for the group and a beer and a shot for
himself. He settled in with his friends and enjoyed the male
bantering that went around the table. War stories of emergency
rooms and ORs. Mitch loved it.
He ordered another beer and shot for himself. “Anyone else?
Who wants to join me?”
“Thanks, Mitch, I’m headed home. The wife’s holding dinner
for me.”
“Nope, gotta go. I’ve got a date tonight.”
“You? Are you kidding?” A couple of them playfully punched
the date guy in the arm.
Still joking around with each other, the men put on their
jackets.
“Thanks for the beers, Mitch.”
“Catch ya later, man.”
Someone else said, “Be good! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,”
followed by laughter
