Remission by Ofelia Martinez
Chapter 23
The Truth
Deciding what to wear to a meeting with my nemesis was no easy task. I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression by trying too hard, but I also needed to feel confident. In the end, I selected dark denim jeans, a burnt-orange chunky sweater, and topped the outfit off with knee-high brown boots. I left my long waves loose around my shoulders and took a deep breath in front of the mirror. You got this, Carolina.
Fall had barely begun to turn the city umber, but the chill was already prominent. Hector had coffee waiting on the table by the time I arrived at the café. He wore a thin, grey sweater that clung to every muscle of his torso—not that I noticed—with jeans and white sneakers.
“Carolina,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
“Dr. Medina,” I said curtly.
“I can get you a different coffee if you’d like. This one is probably cold.”
I’d intentionally shown up twenty minutes late for our meeting. He needed to know who had the upper hand here. I held the cards, and that had to be clear.
“This is fine,” I said, without tasting the coffee.
“You are never late,” he noted.
“I’m never late when it’s something important.” I took a sip and tried to ignore the smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Dr. Medina, I’m a busy woman. You said you have a lot to say to me, so I suggest you get started.” I glared at him.
“Can we start by using first names?”
“No.”
He drew his hands up in defense. “Okay. This will do for now.”
“What do you want? Why are you here?” I shot each question at him rapid-fire.
“I’m here for you.”
I scoffed. Was he trying to pull this same old shit again? He couldn’t be that stupid.
“I am,” he repeated. “I stayed away as long as I could, but I figured it had been long enough.”
“Speak clearly. I don’t have time for games.”
“I’m not trying to play any games. I swear.”
“Then, please, tell me why you are here.”
“I think it’s time you heard my side of the story.”
“Are you talking about what happened when you were last at Heartland Metro?”
He nodded.
“The right to tell your side of the story passed you by nearly seven years ago, Doctor.”
He closed his eyes at my cool tone. “Just as well,” he said. “I’d very much like to tell you what happened from my point of view. I owe you that much.”
“You have no idea exactly how much you owe me.”
Hector leaned back in his chair. He cleaned his glasses once before putting them back on his face and started speaking again.
“I’ll get to it then. I submitted the paper we worked on after the last edits you sent me. At the time, I didn’t realize Chief Stuart had a personal relationship with someone from the editorial staff at the medical journal.”
“That son of a bitch,” I hissed.
Hector nodded again.
“He knew we were submitting the paper soon. He alerted his contact at the journal, and the request to change authorship to me was made without my knowledge.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better, Hector? That you didn’t want your name listed as PI? Because it doesn’t. You should have requested a correction.”
“I couldn’t. My hands were tied.”
“That’s convenient—”
“Please, Carolina. Hear me out. I think you’ll be glad you did.”
I tried to relax my muscles a bit, but the tense situation made it difficult. “Go on.”
“The night before the article would be uploaded to the journal website, I was paged to the hospital. When I got there, they told me to report to the chief’s office, and he told me what he had done.
“I told him I would request the correction, but he ordered me not to. He had leverage over me at the time, and my hands were tied. Believe me, Carolina. If I could have fought it, I would have. We had a heated conversation, and I gave him an ultimatum. Either the authorship would be corrected, or I would end my contract at Heartland Metro.”
“He told me your contract was over at the conclusion of my trial,” I said.
“It wasn’t. I had an ongoing contract, but I had the prerogative to end it whenever I wanted. It was one of the perks of being in that position.” His ego reared its head.
“Don’t get so cocky, Doctor. Don’t forget that he chose to keep the authorship in your name instead of keeping you.”
“Touché,” he said.
“What I don’t understand is why did he do it?”
“I have my theories, but it’s probably better that you talk with him directly.”
“Chief Stuart is no longer at Heartland. He retired a couple of years back.”
“Yes, I know. Once he retired, I requested the correction in the journal of medicine.”
“That was you?” I asked, my heart quickening in pace. He had fixed it. All this time, I had no idea why, years later, the journal had reached out to me with the correction. Did Hector think I was going to thank him for doing the very least he could have done?
I shrugged. “But I’d still like to hear your theories about why Dr. Stuart did it.”
“All right. Do you remember when the results first came in? A doctor from Peak View in California was interested in you?”
“Yes. I remember. I turned their offer down.”
“They didn’t pull it?”
“No, why?”
“The chief wasn’t too happy about the attention you were getting. When Peak View expressed interest, the chief perked up. He couldn’t afford to lose you, but he couldn’t afford a hefty competing offer while at the same time offering Dr. Keach the fellowship and an attending position.”
“He was always going to have to make that choice.”
“Yes. But was Heartland’s offer even close to Peak View’s?”
“Initially, it was, but it was conditional on the retirement of an attending who would leave the spot open.”
“Did it change after the article was published?”
“Yes. It went quite a bit down.”
“And I bet you had already turned down all other offers, thinking you had the luxury of staying in your hometown.”
“He was running out the clock,” I said.
“It’s all speculation on my part, but I have a feeling that version of events is pretty close to the truth. The only other thing I could come up with was that his relationship with the Keaches was deeper and more twisted than we knew. He clearly wanted to sabotage your chances.”
“He sabotaged more than just my chances,” I said dryly.
“I’m sure it must have been tough. Carolina, what happened after I left?”
I cupped the mug between my hands, seeking warmth, and narrowed my eyes at him. Here went nothing. “You took my reputation with you,” I said. “It took me a long time to gain back the trust of my colleagues, and it was two years before I could get a doctor to sign on to a grant proposal of mine again.”
“I’m so sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.”
“I’m not sure I believe you,” I said.
“You are smart. You shouldn’t believe me. I wouldn’t take my word for it if the situation were reversed.”
He let a long silence pass before he spoke again. “Despite all the damage I did, your second trial was another success. I have to admit, I was surprised by the numbers. It’s rare to see two back-to-back trials both so highly successful.”
“Yeah, well, I had something to prove at that point. You know what the shittiest part of it all is?” I asked him.
“What’s that?”
“You remember that supplemental grant proposal we submitted, to keep following up on the patients from the first trial?”
“Yeah, vaguely.”
“The grant got funded.”
“It did? That’s great! Why is that the shittiest part?”
“Because to the world, it was your trial, but in reality, I had to deal with all the work involved.”
Hector chuckled. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe you’ll let me make it up to you one day.”
I found myself smiling despite myself. That supplemental grant had actually been a lifesaver—a flotation device in a vast and empty ocean. It had kept me occupied, and I got to stay in touch with my patients. The money awarded with the grant kept my foot inside the door at Heartland when all signs pointed to my termination.
“Can you give me time, Carolina?” he asked.
“Time for what?”
“To show you that I’m telling you the truth. That I’ve never lied to you, and I never would.”
I nodded, without permission from my brain.
“You look the same,” he said, changing the subject.
It was a lot to digest, so I didn’t halt the change in the conversation’s direction.
“Wish I could say the same. You look older,” I clipped.
Hector chuckled. “Yeah. I’m an old man. You must forgive me. We old men are stuck in our ways.”
I knew he was eleven years my senior. It was a gap that hadn’t bothered me back when I was hoping for more from him. Dad had been nine years older than my mother when they met, and they were the happiest couple I’d ever known.
“I’m not sure what you are expecting from me, exactly.”
“I expect nothing,” he said. “I only hope for time.”
I was still suspicious, but my walls began to crumble the more he spoke. Everything he said made sense. I’d come into the café ready to tell him off, and yet here I was, doubting everything I believed I knew about him, and what had happened all those years ago.
“Listen, I have some things to get ready and some errands to run.”
“Sure. I don’t know how I feel about everything you’ve said, but I promise to think on it. There are still holes in this story.”
“There are,” he said. “Would you please have dinner with me on Friday? I’d like to fill in those gaps—start earning your trust back.”
“I don’t know, Hector. Don’t you think it’s better to let bygones be bygones?”
“No,” he said. “Not when you don’t have all the information. Just think about it. Here’s my card.”
I looked at the simple white card with his name, email, and phone number. The anger flooded back at the memory of that day when I had called him for an explanation, and his phone had been disconnected.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” I said.
“I’ll keep trying.”