When We Were Young

Chapter 1

June 2018

Present Day

The office phone rang once.

Reaching over the stack of court filings on her desk Amalia grabbed the large conference line distractedly. "This is Amalia." Her voice sounding a little sharper than she had intended, it was a Sunday after all, 10 a.m. on a Sunday, but still.

"Hi, Ms. Kane," answered Carrie, the new, perky receptionist for the Justice Department's White Collar Division. "I have a Dr. Ellis on the phone for you."

"I'm sorry what?" She said only half listening as she continued to type up file notations.

"Um," Amalia could hear the shuffling of papers on the other end as Carrie looked for something. She was young and upbeat but needed to work on her professionalism, Amalia thought absently.

"A Dr. Steven Ellis, he's calling from Santo Padre Regional Medical Center..."

Santo Padre. Her heart clenched. Carrie had her full attention now.

"...he's calling about..."

"Put him through." Her sharp interruption cut Carrie off immediately.

"Yes, right away Ms. Kane."

She replaced the receiver and took a deep breath, staring at the large number one on the conference line. A moment later her phone began to beep, and the light flashed red. Exhaling her earlier breath, she picked up the line. "This is Amalia Kane."

"Yes, hi Ms. Kane." The clinical voice on the other line waited for a breath clearly expecting an acknowledgment. When she remained silent, he continued. "I'm Dr. Steven Ellis, calling from Santo Padre Regional Medical Center." The voice on the other line stopped again awaiting a response.

"What happened?" Amalia clenched her hand into a fist, a sick sense of dread washing over her as she stared at the blinking number one.

"I'm calling about a patient who was admitted this morning, a Ms. Dora Santos; she has you listed as her emergency contact and I..."

She cut him off immediately, "What happened? Is she alright?" Amalia could not help the strain that flooded her voice.

"I'm afraid she suffered a heart attack this morning. We have her stabilized, but we are rushing her into surgery to assess the extent of the blockage and the damage. She does not have an advanced directive on file with us, and we need to discuss what to do in the event that..." He left the sentence hanging; silence stretched over the line as the seconds ticked by.

Amalia's knees buckled, her hand reaching out as she leaned forward to catch herself, spilling her steaming cup of coffee all over the recent interrogatory copies from the Mickelson case.

"Shit!"

"I'm sorry?" The doctor queried on the other end of the line.

"Anything you have to do doctor, anything to save..." She could not finish that sentence. Taking a breath, she collected herself. I'll be on the next flight out. Please let me know as soon as she is out of surgery, I..." She paused a moment, "please, take care of her...please."

The voice on the other end lost the clinical tone that had been an undercurrent for most of the conversation. "We'll do all that we can."

"Thank you." With that, the line went dead. She blinked for a moment staring out her office window at the fluffy white clouds that dotted the sky, hinting at an afternoon shower. It was June, and though the temperature has just beginning to climb, it would be blistering today. She could just see the top of the Washington Monument and the throngs of tourists already lining up for the Newseum. She never understood why tourists chose summer to visit the nation's capital; summer in D.C. had to be one of the worst times all year.