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“One of the many reasons you all love me.”
“True.” I open another mini peanut butter cup, and before popping it into my mouth, I admit a partial truth: “You were right. I feel more like myself than I have since the shooting.” If I could just be rid of whoever is stalking me, I’d be fantastic. I’d be ready to set my return to work date.
Alice is visibly relieved. “I hoped it would remind you as to why you became a doctor, Laura.”
“I never forgot that, Alice. I remember why every time I look in a mirror.”
Alice jerks her chin to the wall where a mirror hangs. “Go look into it now. Tell me why you want to remain a doctor.”
I toss the bag of Reese’s on the coffee table and stand. Staring at my reflection, my eyes meet those of the woman in the mirror. I did something similar when I was eighteen, a junior at Skidmore back after a holiday break. I’d recently learned about my family history—our true history. The history of Amaryllis—a history based on lies, deceit, kidnapping, torture, and found family.
A history I channeled into empathizing with the patients in the ER until life was shot out in front of me.
How many of them face what you’re going through every day? An insidious whisper worms its way into my thoughts for the first time. How many patients have I treated and streeted who face that kind of fear and channel it. Becoming stronger from it.
Like my mother did.
I once looked in a mirror and believed one day, I’d be able to give my talent to people who were victims of trauma the way my mother was. Now, as I face my reflection, I stare down the woman I’ve become, the doctor I still am. I don’t hesitate. “Because one day, someone who hasn’t come into my ER is going to need the help only I can give them by having lived through this experience. My change is going to affect their future.” And I don’t just mean living through the shooting.
“What’s changed?”
Life since the shooting, including my stalker, flashes through my mind. “Maybe I’ll have more compassion because I’ve lived through their fears? Maybe I’ll understand their anxiety because I, too, have that? Perhaps I’ll take the time to appreciate every miracle for what it is instead of lambasting what could be.”
I meet Alice’s eyes and what I don’t say is almost more important than the words I speak. “I’ll always grieve the loss of my friends, my colleagues. But I’m not to blame for what happened.”
“No. You’re not.”
“It feels good to finally believe that.”
She gestures me back to my chair. “Tell me if you’ve been having any episodes while you’ve been working with Bailey?”
“None.” I walk Alice through a normal day of how I’m Dr. Laura Lockwood first, including Bailey’s dreaded PT.
She cackles when I tell her about how I presented Bailey with miniature buttercup cupcakes. “I’d have let you torment me through PT for those as well.”
“Alice, it’s a wonder your teeth don’t rot out,” I remark dryly.
We both guffaw, knowing it’s the truth. After our laughter subsides, she asks, “What do you do after?”
“Then Dr. Laura fades away and nanny Laura kicks in for the rest of the day.”
I explain the “Summer of Fun” list, how I took Bailey to the beach, and some of my ideas for her other items. When I finish, Alice switches gears.
“No problem with the patient exchanges?”
“None,” I assure her.
“No problem charting?”
“No.”
“No problem—”
I interrupt her. “Alice, I’m not kidding. Everything is perfect. Except ...”
“Except?” she probes.
I flush.