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Josephine smiled again, but her gaze stayed on Giselle’s face, watching her too closely. Giselle hated this feeling—the sense that someone could see right through her.
After a beat of silence, Giselle stood up, heading for the coffee machine.
“Well, you’ll figure it out. You’re a brilliant surgeon, Giselle. But brilliance doesn’t have to be lonely,” Josephine pointed out.
Giselle didn’t respond. She didn’t need to explain—not to her, not to anyone. She wasn’t here for a pep talk.
“I’ll let you settle in,” Josephine walked to the door. “We’ll catch up later.” She paused by the doorway, looking at Giselle once more. “I’m glad you’re here. We all are.”
Giselle forced a tight smile. “Thanks.”
Josephine was halfway out the door when Giselle called, “Dr. Mars?”
Josephine turned. “Yes?”
“The plaque at the door,” Giselle said. “It needs to change. I’m Giselle Carlisle now.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Josephine smiled. “How much time do you need to get acclimated before I introduce you to the staff?”
“Time?” Giselle scoffed. “I’m good to go.”
2
ADDIE
“Thanks, Alex,” Dr. Adrienne Wolfe said as she stepped out of the car.
Alex gave her a quick nod before pulling out and disappearing into the morning traffic.
Alex wasn’t a full-time driver. She just came on mornings like this when Addie needed to get Sophie, her five-year-old, to school before she hurried over to work.
She’d drive herself, but a previous accident had made driving almost impossible for her. Even though years had passed, she still wasn’t willing to risk the life of her five-year-old angel.
The pediatric wing was already buzzingwith life when she arrived. The colorful shapes painted on the walls blended with the bright colors of the nurses’ scrubs as they moved quickly through the rooms, their voices mixing with the soft hum of machines and the occasional sound of laughter from the children.
It was a typical Phoenix Ridge energy.
“Morning, Dr. Wolfe,” one of the nurses said.
“Morning, Dana,” Addie replied, giving her a quick nod as she passed by. There was something eccentric in the floral and fruitiness of her perfume. It paired wonderfully with the large smile on her chubby face and the delicate flower petals on her scrubs. “How’s Lucy doing?”
“She’s a fighter.” Dana stopped and turned, the curls of her brown hair clinging to her face. “Vitals are stable, but she’s still not eating much.”
Lucy was a six-year-old who’d recently come out of surgery. She’d been saved from a burning house by the Phoenix Ridge Fire Department, and still hadn’t recovered from the shock.
Addie frowned. “I’ll stop by her room in a bit.”
“Thanks,” Dana said.
Addie moved down the hallway, greeting the rest of the staff and patients as she went. The hospital was like a second home to her. Scratch that—the hospital was family.
It didn’t take much to fall into the rhythm of things. Everything was familiar, from the sound of the pagers to the sterile smell that clung to every surface.
She turned from the hallway and walked into a room. The blue-and-cream paint on the walls mimicked overlapping ocean waves and sandy shores.
Her patient, Annie, was on the bed and connected to a CPAP. Annie was a six-year-old with respiratory infection, but she was always as calm as a dove.
They usually matched their patients’ energy to their rooms, and just like the beachfront, Annie’s aura was soothing.