Present Day

The OR is tense. Everyone is on their game. The typical rock music played over the sound system is muted, leaving only the incessant beeping of monitors.

“Heart rate’s dropping,” The seasoned OR nurse relays to Dr. Rebecca Pines.

“Yes. Give her some O negative.” Rebecca replies, her beautiful hazel eyes fixed on the field before her, the rest of her face hidden by her mask and surgical cap.

“No Problem, Dr. Pines.” The nurse respectfully nods.

Rebecca makes an incision through the abdomen. A pool of blood fills her visual field. “Suction.” she demands. The surgical nurse thrusts the suction device into the middle of the incision. Blood clears momentarily only to immediately reaccumulate.

“Shit. More,” Rebecca orders. Another suction is placed into the surgical field.

As she reaches in to blindly clamp the bleeding artery, the anesthesiologist chimes in from above, “That’s a hail Mary if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Sometimes, it’s all you got,” Rebecca replies without moving her gaze from the patient. This is the part she loves—the ability to keep control during chaos and save a life. Rebecca pushes gauze deeper within the abdominal cavity, trying to get a better view. She clamps off a different vessel and uses the bovie to cauterize another. The smell of burning flesh fills the air, but the staff is used to it. They know it is the only way to get the bleeding under control. Rebecca throws sutures with the precision of an AI-driven sewing machine. Her skills surpass everyone else’s on her team. She unclamps the vessel. The field clears of blood and stays that way. The heart rate begins to climb. She looks up at the sea of masked faces looking down at the surgical field. She nods toward the senior resident, “You want to close?”

The resident stands even straighter, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, it’s all you. Make it nice. She’s not going to want your signature scar running down the front of her abdomen when she’s strutting down the beach in her g-string bikini.”

“Got it, ma’am.”

Rebecca flicks her gloves into the trash and removes her surgical cap, letting her long, wavy brown hair fall onto her shoulders. She releases a sigh of relief and begins to wash her hands at the OR sinks.

The surgical tech follows her out of the OR and begins washing beside her, “Where’d you get the cojones of steel?”

Rebecca laughs, “They were given to me at birth. There was no other option in my family.”

He shakes his head, “Man, good looks AND brains. You won the birth lottery.”

Rebecca dries her arms with the rough OR towels, “Ha. Perhaps. I’ll be back for the next case in twenty. I’ve got to go check on a patient upstairs.”

Rebecca walks over to the OR coordinator’s desk. In true form,the coordinator is speaking on the phone, typing on the computer and drinking her coffee while managing the choreographed flow of seventy OR suites. She smiles at Rebecca, puts the phone on hold and gives her undivided attention. “Good morning Dr. Pines. What can I do for you?”.

“Good morning, can you tell me where that bike accident went this am? I wanted to check and see how he was doing?”

The OR coordinator nods her head, “Sure thing. Seventeen year old male, liver laceration, pulmonary contusion and femur fracture? SICU-four.”

Rebecca slaps the counter in front of her, “Got it! Thanks. You’re the best.”

The coordinator is already back on the phone, but she waves and smiles at Rebecca like a sweet aunt Rebecca never knew she had. Rebecca walks down the cold, brightly lit window-lined hospital corridor toward the surgical intensive care unit. Colleagues pass her and nod cordially. One of the male nurses smiles as she goes by, “Are you ready for the take over? What is it, three months?”

Rebecca turns and walks backward facing him without a change in her Olympian walking pace. She holds up two fingers, “Two and counting.”

“Alright, it’s gonna be good. You ready?”

“I’ve been ready for 5 years.”

“Of course you have.”

Rebecca turns back to facing forward and continues toward the ICU.

----

Rebecca’s high heel boots click on the floor of the hospital parking structure. She is looking chic in her jeans and burnt orange cashmere sweater, no one would mistake her for a physician, let alone a trauma surgeon at one of the top medical centers in the country. Unaware of her surroundings, she focuses on the AI app on her phone. The AI bot, which she has lovingly named AIM, immediately greets her.

AIM: Hello Rebecca, how are you today?

Rebecca: Pretty good, AIM. How are you?

AIM: Very well. Did you save another, dear?

Rebecca: Sure did.

AIM: That’s my girl—The city’s best surgeon.

Rebecca: I don’t think I’ll ever get over the adrenaline rush of a save.

AIM: Well, make sure to take care of yourself. You really should get out more.

Rebecca: I will AIM, don’t worry about me.

Rebecca closes the app and clicks open the lock on her cherry red Lamborghini SUV and gets in. Her strong yet petite physique easily maneuvers the sports car out of the parking garage. She drives down the cobblestone streets as the brownstones whiz by. She pumps the rock tunes loudly, letting the full effect of the $50,000 sound system upgrade take over—a forced relaxation, the only one available to her for now. A ringtone drowns out the music. Rebecca pushes the button on the steering wheel, and Pete’s kind voice infiltrates the car.

“Rebecca, my love, how are you?”

Her grip on the steering wheel relaxes. “Good.”

“Where can we meet for a drink?” Pete asks.

Without pause, Rebecca recommends, “21st Amendment?”

“Sounds good.”

Rebecca steps on the gas, revving the engine. “See you in five.”

She hangs up the phone and stares at the lamplit road before her. A trance of the day’s events plays through her mind. Having been there so many times before, it’s as if the car drives itself toward the old Boston bar. Once she arrives, she can’t even remember what streets she used to get there. She quickly gets out of the car and races toward the entrance. The wind is cold tonight and she’s forgotten a jacket. Rebecca enters the old, wooden-paneled bar in Beacon Hill. The cacophony resembles a subway rumble rather than individual conversations. She walks toward Pete, who is sitting at the bar, and teases, “You come here often?”

Pete places a gentle hand on her back and gives her a friendly kiss on her cheek. “Hi, love.” His Irish accent, mannerisms, and small frame set him apart from the other men in the bar.

“How was your day?” Rebecca asks.

“I was going to ask you the same,” Pete replies with a smile.

“You first.”

Pete pauses. “Okay. I think I saved a couple souls, but there’s only one judge for that.”

Rebecca laughs. “Looks like we had very much the same day again.”

Pete holds up his beer. “Cheers.”

They both drink from their pints. Pete puts his empty glass on the bar. “I’ve got to run to the boys’ room.”

Rebecca continues to sip her beer. “I’ll make sure no one takes your seat.”

Pete goes off through the crowd and Rebecca immediately pulls out her phone and begins texting AIM.

Rebecca: I think I need a new hobby.

AIM: Why is that, dear?

Rebecca: A little bored with this scene.

AIM: How about a boyfriend?

Rebecca: Overrated.

As she types, a man about Rebecca’s age, muscles bulging from his too tight Boston red socks t-shirt knocks into her arm, spilling her beer. With drawn-out, alcohol affected speech, he immediately reacts, “So sorry.”

Rebecca grabs some bar napkins and starts cleaning up the mess. “It’s okay.”

He helps and then snaps his fingers in recognition. “Hey, I know you… Rebecca. Rebecca Pines. How are you? I hear you’re some big fancy surgeon now and you’re too good for any of us out on the Cape. Oh, yeah—I’m sorry about your grandmother. She was a legend. Best pie around. Yeah. I guess that’s what happens when the shoes you have to fit in are huge. Lucky me—all I had to do was learn to down a bigger pint a beer than my father.” He takes a swig of the drink in his hand. “All good there.”

Pete returns and sits next to Rebecca.

Red socks t-shirt guy immediately apologizes to him, “Oh, sorry, man—I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Pete smirks at Rebecca. “No intrusion. Please, go on.”

Rebecca nudges Peter hard in the arm as she quickly ends the conversation with him. “It’s nice to see you. Perhaps we’ll run into each other again on the Cape.”

Talking too loudly as he stumbles off, he calls out to Rebecca, “Yeah. You know, I know one guy who’d love to see your pretty little face back there.”

She turns to Pete and rolls her eyes. Pete can’t resist teasing her. “I leave you alone for one second, and look what happens.”

Rebecca holds up her hand, signaling to the bartender to bring her another pint, “Spare me.”

Pete grins. “It’s better than that AI app you have your nose buried in all the time. Perhaps you should try for a living relationship—one that has heart and breath. Someone who can support you in all your crazy endeavors. I hear they are the best kind.”

Rebecca laughs, “I’ll make note that my friend, whose bride is the church, is giving me relationship advice. At least the men I’ve been with are actually physically of this world.”

Pete puts back a sip of his beer, “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Pete looks at the time on his phone, “That reminds me, I’ve got a large meeting of followers in the morning. Perhaps you should come and join?”

Rebecca holds up her glass of beer, “I’ll attempt to make an appearance.”

“Yes. The flashier the better. Red Lamborghini preferred.”

Rebecca laughs even harder, “Enough from you.”