Page 76 of Ten Day Affair

My father stands outside the CFO's office, manila folder tucked under one arm. His face betrays nothing, as always. He wears the perfect surgeon's mask of calm competence.

"Dad." My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "I was just?—"

"You got my message about Friday?”

I nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah, I got your text. Thanks for the heads up."

His eyes, the exact hazel shade as mine, soften slightly. "I thought you'd want to know."

"Curious, when was the vote date set?"

A pair of administrators pass by, and my father gently takes my elbow, steering me toward an empty consultation room. The click of the door behind us feels like a thunderclap.

"It's been the proposed date for over a week. Yesterday morning, it went from proposed to set. Why?"

He fucking knew this whole time we've been doing whatever this shit is. Fucking, I guess. And he knew it was set last night and didn't say a goddamned word to me. I'm pissed.

His voice carries that gentle weight he reserves for delivering difficult news. "This vote was inevitable, Sam. If we want the hospital to survive, something has to give."

"So, everything comes down to profit margins now? I guess you'll vote for the reorganization, too. You want thisto be some rich man's concierge hospital, closed to anyone who can't afford to pay for healthcare?"

The pressure in my chest expands.

"You know money isn't what I care about."

"Sounds like it."

"Profit margins are a stark reality, Sam." Dad runs his hand over his tie, a nervous habit he's had my whole life.

"From where I stand, it looks like we're abandoning everything Mom worked for. Why be on the board if you're going to vote with everyone else? Who is standing up for what you and Mom said is important? You're just another suit."

The fluorescent light catches the silver in his hair. When did that happen? When did my father start looking old?

His eyes meet mine, steady and clear. "I don't know how I'm going to vote, yet."

"I trust by now there is some extensive chart showing your choices. It should be a no-brainer. Mom's vision, or some exclusive club. They couldn't be more different."

"No one gets healthcare if the hospital closes." His tone softens around the edges.

"I'd rather it close than turn it into whatever the greedy bastards want."

"Sometimes, compromise is necessary for survival."

The word "compromise" sits bitter on my tongue. Mom never compromised on patient care. Not once.

Dad straightens, squeezing my shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Sam. For fighting, for caring this much." His eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Sure."

I'm not normally disrespectful to my father, but I can't believe what is coming out of his mouth. I'm so upset rightnow, I could breathe fire, but I'm giving him as much restraint as I can muster.

"No matter what happens Friday, I want you to know I'm proud of you."

It should feel like a warm blanket, his approval. It should wrap around my heart and calm the storm brewing there. Garnering his explicit approval has never been a given.

"Thanks, Dad." I force my lips into what I hope resembles a smile.

He pulls me into an awkward hug. The familiar scent of his aftershave, the same brand for twenty years, fills my nose. For a heartbeat, I'm ten again, believing my father can fix anything.