expectant mothers have around here.”
Monica glanced at Eli. He sat slouched in his chair, staring at something
on the far wall. His brow had a distinguishable crease, visible evidence of his
frustration.
“As a member of this staff, I have a vested interest in the well being of
this community, Dr. Slessinger. I’m confident we can raise enough money to keep
the Parenting Center running,” Monica finished.
Elijah straightened and turned to her. “This is a state-run hospital. We
don’t have the same donors as the fancy private hospital you probably worked at
before coming here.”
“I worked at a university hospital, which was funded by the state of
Missouri,” Monica clarified.
A shadow of annoyance floated across his face. “I’m just trying to be
realistic here. The event’s past supporters have been the people who live in
this community, and I can guarantee attending some hospital banquet is not high
on their priority list this year.”
“Then we take it out of the community. The entire city can be in on it,”
Monica countered.
“Did I mention the time constraint?” Slessinger interjected. “The Board
of Health and Hospitals isn’t on the same fiscal calendar as the rest of the
state departments. Funding for this year ceases at the end of the year. We have
to have our proof of payment by the end of November. We have a little over
three months to pull this off.”
“Forget it.” Eli bounded from the chair.
“No,” Monica said. “This can be done.”
The beeper in the breast pocket of his scrubs went off. Eli unclipped it
and read the small LCD readout. “It’s OB.” He looked over at Dr. Slessinger. “I
don’t know what to tell you, Will. Millgram worked like a dog on this banquet
every year, and the amount he cleared would hardly pay for the center’s
utilities.”
“Just think on it, Eli. We can’t let the center go down without a fight.”
The beeper sounded again. “I have to go,” he said. “The last thing I want
to see is the Parenting Center close, but unless we can pull off a miracle, we
need to start informing patients that they’ll need to look for alternative
care.”
He left the office and a heavy feeling remained: the foreboding scent of
doom was acrid in the confined space. Dr. Slessinger rested his fingertips on
his lips, and sighed. “I hate to admit it, but he’s right. I need to accept the
fact that the center is going to close.”
“No, it won’t.” Monica said.
This banquet was her golden ticket, the opportunity she’d been hoping
for. Her skills in the emergency room may get her foot in the door, but after
being passed over countless times back in St. Louis, Monica knew being a good
doctor would only take her so far. Those who went the extra mile, who presented
the whole package, were the doctors who became a part of the team.
So what if her personal life was boring as hell? Being at the top of her
profession more than made up for it. And if she really wanted to make the kind
of impression that got her name on a
parking spot, she needed to save the day, or in this case, Methodist Memorial’s
Parenting Center.
She could do this. She had worked on campaign fundraisers for Patrick’s
father. Raising money, even during hard times, could be done if you took a
clever approach.
Monica refused to let Slessinger’s enthusiasm die, not when he’d just
delivered her way into the old boy’s club on a silver platter. “I don’t care
what it takes,” Monica said, fierce determination etched in her words. “I won’t
let them shut the door to the Parenting Center.”
Chapter Seven
For the third time, Jeffrey placed the cellophane-wrapped roses back in
the refrigerated display case, then took them out and put them in his shopping
cart. He looked at the price sticker and almost returned them to the cooler
again. It was an expense he could not afford, but with so much at stake, he was
willing to pay the price.
He’d do just about anything to
Monica glanced at Eli. He sat slouched in his chair, staring at something
on the far wall. His brow had a distinguishable crease, visible evidence of his
frustration.
“As a member of this staff, I have a vested interest in the well being of
this community, Dr. Slessinger. I’m confident we can raise enough money to keep
the Parenting Center running,” Monica finished.
Elijah straightened and turned to her. “This is a state-run hospital. We
don’t have the same donors as the fancy private hospital you probably worked at
before coming here.”
“I worked at a university hospital, which was funded by the state of
Missouri,” Monica clarified.
A shadow of annoyance floated across his face. “I’m just trying to be
realistic here. The event’s past supporters have been the people who live in
this community, and I can guarantee attending some hospital banquet is not high
on their priority list this year.”
“Then we take it out of the community. The entire city can be in on it,”
Monica countered.
“Did I mention the time constraint?” Slessinger interjected. “The Board
of Health and Hospitals isn’t on the same fiscal calendar as the rest of the
state departments. Funding for this year ceases at the end of the year. We have
to have our proof of payment by the end of November. We have a little over
three months to pull this off.”
“Forget it.” Eli bounded from the chair.
“No,” Monica said. “This can be done.”
The beeper in the breast pocket of his scrubs went off. Eli unclipped it
and read the small LCD readout. “It’s OB.” He looked over at Dr. Slessinger. “I
don’t know what to tell you, Will. Millgram worked like a dog on this banquet
every year, and the amount he cleared would hardly pay for the center’s
utilities.”
“Just think on it, Eli. We can’t let the center go down without a fight.”
The beeper sounded again. “I have to go,” he said. “The last thing I want
to see is the Parenting Center close, but unless we can pull off a miracle, we
need to start informing patients that they’ll need to look for alternative
care.”
He left the office and a heavy feeling remained: the foreboding scent of
doom was acrid in the confined space. Dr. Slessinger rested his fingertips on
his lips, and sighed. “I hate to admit it, but he’s right. I need to accept the
fact that the center is going to close.”
“No, it won’t.” Monica said.
This banquet was her golden ticket, the opportunity she’d been hoping
for. Her skills in the emergency room may get her foot in the door, but after
being passed over countless times back in St. Louis, Monica knew being a good
doctor would only take her so far. Those who went the extra mile, who presented
the whole package, were the doctors who became a part of the team.
So what if her personal life was boring as hell? Being at the top of her
profession more than made up for it. And if she really wanted to make the kind
of impression that got her name on a
parking spot, she needed to save the day, or in this case, Methodist Memorial’s
Parenting Center.
She could do this. She had worked on campaign fundraisers for Patrick’s
father. Raising money, even during hard times, could be done if you took a
clever approach.
Monica refused to let Slessinger’s enthusiasm die, not when he’d just
delivered her way into the old boy’s club on a silver platter. “I don’t care
what it takes,” Monica said, fierce determination etched in her words. “I won’t
let them shut the door to the Parenting Center.”
Chapter Seven
For the third time, Jeffrey placed the cellophane-wrapped roses back in
the refrigerated display case, then took them out and put them in his shopping
cart. He looked at the price sticker and almost returned them to the cooler
again. It was an expense he could not afford, but with so much at stake, he was
willing to pay the price.
He’d do just about anything to
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