Chapter Two. The cold, sleek steel greeted Grace’s palm, and she drew the scalpel across Chester Brown’s neck

“Number ten, please.”

The cold, sleek steel greeted Grace’s palm, and she drew the scalpel across Chester Brown’s neck. She exposed the artery and began the common procedure of a carotid endarterectomy. Her eyes and hands worked in tandem, manipulating the instruments and directing her team. She inserted a stent to hold the artery open while she removed a buildup of plaque from the inner lining of the artery wall.

No matter how many times she operated, she always marveled at the human body. As a vascular surgeon, she lived in awe of the tiny network of arteries and capillaries that were the freeway of circulation and a network for life. Years of training and hundreds of hours spent studying in the library, poring over tens of thousands of pages of medical tomes culminated in the fluid and intricate movements that saved her patients’ lives and earned her a position as a respected medical doctor.

“Grace, his pressure’s dropping, ” Eva, the trauma nurse, warned.

She glanced up at the monitor and barked a series of orders that sent the other team members scurrying around the operating room to comply with her demands.

“Dr. Owens, are you sure we should continue? ” the anesthesiologist asked.

She took a deep breath and read the monitors. They had just found the blockage, and they could still turn back. Yet, if she cancelled the procedure, one that was critical for his survival, she’d have to reschedule and subject him to another round of anesthesia. She looked at his face. He still seemed to smile at her under the cloak of drugs. He was seventy-two, and every trip into the OR could be his last.

“Let’s proceed, ” she said, glancing into Eva’s brown eyes.

She refocused her concentration, silencing the extraneous noises around her. Successful surgery combined the standard textbook procedure with a keen sensitivity to the innate differences of the human body. Everyone was the same, and, yet, everyone was unique. A good surgeon individualized each procedure for each patient. Natural talent also helped—and sometimes saved the day.

An hour later she greeted Edna Brown and two of the children in the family waiting area of St. Benedict’s Hospital. Although Edna wore her perpetual smile, Grace could see the worry behind her eyes. She touched her shoulder gently. “It was rough there for a minute, but he’s fine and he’s resting now.”

Edna pulled her into an embrace. “Thank you so much, Dr. Owens. I don’t know how I would live without him.” She fished a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes.

Grace smiled, exhausted. “You’re welcome, Edna. The nurses will let you know when you can go in.”

Edna gripped her hand tightly. “God bless you, Dr. Owens. You’re an extraordinary woman.”

She nodded at the family and headed down the hallway toward the doctor’s lounge, somewhat stunned by the comment. Family members routinely thanked her after surgery, but no one ever referred to her as extraordinary. In fact, most of her friends would probably agree that she was quite the opposite—extra ordinary. They often kidded her about her mundane life, sometimes to the point where she wanted to shout in their faces, “I’m a respected doctor! Every day I get out of bed, knowing that by the end of the day I will have saved a life or possibly killed someone, a person who depended on me. I feel pressure that you will never understand.”

But she couldn’t explain her world to anyone else. She was a true Gemini, a two-sided paradox with a curtain between her personalities. She felt it was necessary to protect herself—from herself. She knew the only way she could routinely face the daily life-and-death decisions with a galvanized consciousness was to balance her difficult occupation with a steady and predictable home life.

The workweek drained her of courage and waywardness. She envied those who lived with abandon, jumped into relationships based on their gut feeling, visited exotic places and rarely thought of the long-term consequences when making decisions. She yearned to expand her so-called horizons, but she worried the price would come in the operating room, at a moment when she needed to make a split-second, bold decision.

In a recurring nightmare, she’d just completed a skydiving lesson when her pager went off, summoning her to the hospital. Suddenly she was standing over a patient, repairing his aorta, and he flat lined. She stared at the monitor, watching the horizontal green line and hearing the monotonous beeping—and did nothing. Her staff yelled at her, begging for direction, but she stood frozen over the dying man, holding the metal instruments in her useless hands. She looked down apathetically at the corpse and dropped the tools into his open chest cavity. Then she usually woke up, drenched in sweat, her entire body shaking. It was a premonition, a warning. And she knew to heed it.

She went back through the trauma ward toward the doctor’s changing room and noticed Eva leaning over the counter at the nurse’s station. She was gesturing, probably telling a humorous story. Eva Castillo was known for her endless ER anecdotes, all of which she picked up from her first nursing gig in South Central Los Angeles, her hometown. She’d seen more shootings, stabbings and overdoses in those two years than Grace had experienced throughout her entire ten year career. And as Eva’s former girlfriend, she’d heard all of her stories—several times.

Their eyes met for a second as she passed, and she nodded before looking away. Somehow they’d managed to remain professional even after the breakup last year, not only working in the same hospital, but frequently the same OR. Eva was the top surgical nurse at St. Benedict’s and, despite their past, Grace’s anxiety lessened whenever she saw Eva’s dark brown eyes staring at her from above her surgical mask.

“Grace.”

She turned back, hoping she didn’t look too eager. She’d taken the breakup quite hard, and instead of moving on she’d chosen to sweep the relationship into a corner and ignore her feelings, burying herself deeper into her work. At least that’s what Margo had told her.

“Hey.”

“That was really good today. I wasn’t sure how that one was going to end.”

“I wasn’t sure either. It was a lot of teamwork.”

Eva shook her head and chuckled. “There wasn’t anything team about it. You called the shots and we just followed. You were really bold and took a risk. It was gutsy to keep going. When it comes to your job, you know just what to do, when to take a chance, ” she added.

“So, are you saying I don’t know what to do in my personal life? I’m just competent professionally? ”

Eva sighed and looked away, obviously trying to respond carefully. Grace’s gaze settled on her strong arms, muscular from her morning rowing sessions. She knew that under the baggy scrubs was an incredible body that had activated her libido any time Eva stripped off her clothes, which was frequently, since she enjoyed sex immensely. She enjoys everything. That’s why you have nothing in common with her.

“Look, Grace, it just slipped out. I’m not trying to start anything here. I was just complimenting you.”

Eva walked away, leaving her speechless. She felt instantly embarrassed about her response to Eva’s innocent comment. But was it so innocent? She said what was really on her mind, even if she didn’t mean to.

Grace quickly changed, made her rounds and two hours later headed to the doctor’s parking garage. By the time she settled into the BMW’s leather seat her bones felt heavy, and she could barely turn the ignition over. She hated long surgeries, although she never noticed the fatigue while she operated. It remained in a holding pattern, exploding once she’d exited the OR and returned to the routine of work.

She lowered the windows, enjoying the cool October weather. The terrible summer heat had finally broken and the car no longer felt like a sauna each time she climbed in. Phoenicians were finally reaping some dividends for enduring triple-digit temperatures for three months.

She checked her watch, noticing that she would be late for dinner with Margo. She longed for a hot tub and a glass of merlot. Yet calling and canceling on her best friend would be more effort than it was worth.

“Just go, ” she muttered.

She found Margo already in a booth in their favorite restaurant, the Monastery. Always ready to lead her down the path of sin, Margo had ordered a glass of merlot for her and she quickly took a sip.

“How’s the wonderful world of doctoring? ”

“Tiring today. I had surgery.”

“Everything go okay? ”

She nodded. “It had its moments, but he’s fine.”

Margo knew not to probe further. Grace rarely discussed patients with any of her friends, determined to separate her work and personal life. She also learned from the few times she’d sought Margo’s advice about a medical dilemma that she quickly became bored with the topic.

Instead, she bantered with Margo about the fashion choices of the patrons around them, only half listening as Margo listed the many reasons why Capris weren’t really pants. It wasn’t until she pulled a small wooden box from her purse that Grace looked up with complete interest.

“What’s that? ”

“This is an un-birthday present. Go ahead and open it.”

She released the small metal clasp and stared at a vial filled with lavender liquid. She picked it up and studied it. “This is lovely, Margo. What’s inside? It can’t be food coloring, can it? I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Uh, no, ” Margo said, taking a sip of her martini. “It’s something I picked up on my last trip to South America. It’s a potion called Root of Passion. Whoever drinks it increases their passion and loses their inhibitions.”

She laughed loudly. “You’re kidding, right? You didn’t pay for this did you? ”

Margo stared at her seriously. “I did. I bought it for you, and I think you should drink a little.”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you insane? Do you really think I’m going to ingest any foreign substance without knowing exactly where it came from? I’m a doctor. ”

“I know that, Grace, and I expected you to be skeptical—”

“And you’re not? If you’re so keen on this drink, why don’t you try it? ”

“Well, the last thing I need in my life is more passion, and, according to the woman who sold it to me, it wouldn’t work on me. It has to be a gift.”

“How convenient, ” she snorted. “No way.”

She pushed the box away and motioned to the waiter. “Now, what I really want is another glass of merlot, one that is approved by the FDA.”

Margo held the vial up in front of her. “Before you say no for good, I want you to study this like the scientist you are.”

She shook it and the potion swirled inside, the lavender separating. Grace could see the individual red and blue colors. Maybe you shouldn’t have another glass of wine.

“I’ll admit that it’s beautiful, but there’s no way. Not gonna happen.”

Margo sighed. Before Grace could stop her, she’d uncorked the vial and taken a sip.

“Are you crazy! ” she bellowed, in a voice that drew the attention of many customers.

Margo licked her lips. “Not bad. It actually tastes like pineapple.”

Grace studied her, watching her color, her eyes. If she went into shock or respiratory failure, Grace would need to perform CPR. Of course, if the potion was poison, then she was helpless. Even after the paramedics arrived, she wouldn’t be able to tell them anything about the lavender liquid—its content, origin, even its scientific name.

“I can’t believe you did that, ” she said, as Margo reached for her martini. Grace grabbed her wrist. “Do you really think you should be drinking? What if the potion and alcohol don’t mix? What if the combination is toxic? ”

Margo removed her fingers and sipped her drink. “Honey, I didn’t notice any labels about avoiding alcohol or heavy machinery.” She looked around the restaurant and grinned. “I feel fine. Just like the gorgeous saleslady promised. She said that it wouldn’t have any effect on me. I guess she was right.” She held up the vial. “Now, it’s your turn. I’ve proven that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Hell, Grace, it’s probably a hoax. It’s probably just water and some sort of coloring mixed together. What’s the harm? ”

She held up her hands, as if to push the vial away. “I’m not doing this, and I’m not having this discussion with you.”

Margo sighed and returned the potion to her purse. “You need to, sweetie. You’re in a holding pattern, and you need to spice up your life.”

“Why? I’m completely happy. I’m a highly successful surgeon, who’ll probably be a full partner in the practice within two years. I own my home, and if I do say so myself, I’m in pretty damn good shape.”

Margo nodded. “All true. Which is why you are an incredible catch for a lucky woman. You just need to make yourself available.”

“I am available. I date.”

“When? Since Eva left, you’ve rarely been out to dinner.” She took a deep breath and stared at her. “You’re no fun.”

“Ouch, Margo. That hurt.”

“I’m sorry, but you need to know, and it’s not just my opinion. Michelle agrees with me. But most of all, Eva agreed with me.”

She wasn’t surprised that Michelle, an old friend from high school, would hold that opinion but the mention of Eva reminded her of their previous conversation a few hours before.

“When did Eva say I wasn’t any fun? ”

Margo snorted into her martini. “Too many times to count. You were never there, honey. You weren’t available, either physically or emotionally. It was all about work and getting ahead. Why do you think she broke up with you? ”

She shrugged. She’d always suspected that Eva had been unfulfilled in the relationship, but neither of them really talked about the breakup. It had just happened—slowly—like a tire losing air. Eventually Eva just stopped calling, and she realized she was spending her Saturday nights alone.

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? ”

“Would it have mattered? ”

“Probably not. My career is the most important thing in my life. It’s—”

“The only thing in your life. Nothing else exists.”

“That’s not true, ” she said, but she knew her protest was weak. “I mean, I have friends, interests.”

Margo pointed her olive at Grace. “Interests? You have a passing interest in art but you have no hobbies. Your friends tolerate you, honey, because we love you. Even when you ignore us, don’t call, or cancel on us, we still love you. Eva thought she deserved more and she did.”

“I thought you didn’t know why she broke up with me.”

Margo stared at her intently. “I lied. She told me you would never jump into life. You would never fully enjoy being with her. She couldn’t deal with it. I’m sorry to tell you this.” She clutched Grace’s wrist and stared at her. “Hear me, sweetie. You’ve got to climb the rickety ladder up to the top of the tree of life. You can’t be content with the fruit at arm’s reach. The best stuff is up high.”

She hung her head, disappointed and embarrassed that Margo had kept such a secret from her. She finished her wine in silence, no longer interested in dinner. Margo said nothing when she excused herself after draining her glass. She wanted to take a drive to clear her head, but the wine wrestled with her fatigue, and she found herself very sleepy. All you need is a DUI, Gracie. That would spice up your life.

She went home, drew a bath and poured a glass of merlot. As she settled into the tub, the swirling blue bath salts reminded her of the Root of Passion. There was no way she’d ever try it, but the idea of a potion that could free her from her anxiety was interesting. What if something like that could exist?

Fat chance.

Still, Margo’s revelation about Eva cut deep. Why hadn’t Eva told her? Was she that hopeless? Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked them away. Love wasn’t worth it. Romance was too hard, at least for her. She leaned back and closed her eyes, imagining the lavender separating in the vial.