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stopped at the curb in front of the West Campus of Beth Israel and cut the engine. Cameron reached for the door handle. He halted her progress.
    “ Not so quick. Are you forgetting? You promised me your number?”
    Cameron nodded nervously. She said her number slowly, watching him enter it into his phone. The next moment her phone rang.
    “Now you have mine.”
    He leaned over and pulled her back to him. “You don’t think I’m just going to let you go so easily, do you?” He kissed her, a long, deep, promising kiss.  “Tonight. Dinner. Do you like Italian? I know a great place down in the North End.”
    “ I love Italian,” she answered, certain her face beamed her joy at his words. She didn’t care whether he knew.
    “ I’ll call you later,” he promised. He kissed her again.
    She glanced back at his departing car as she entered the hospital.   Oh, good Lord, I feel like a giddy teenager.
     
    Cameron swiped her ID and entered into the transplant unit. She had left Meghan’s gift in her locker. She needed only to retrieve it and make a quick exit. Immediately, she noticed activity surrounding her patient, Brenda Harris, a fifty-one-year-old mother of three with a concerned husband.
    Diagnosed with end-stage biliary cirrhosis, the patient had received a liver transplant less than a week ago. She had been doing so well. Complications must have arisen.
    The poor thing had already gone through so much. The disease had gone undetected for years. The symptoms she had displayed had been explained away by other issues. Looking back on her health history, the chart confirmed that her thyroid and gallstone problems had been symptoms of her underlying disease.
    Mrs. Harris had learned to live with her arms and legs itching and the fatigue. Unfortunately , it wasn’t until she developed jaundice that the cause was determined. By that time, her liver had been damaged beyond its ability to heal.
    “ Problems, Liada?” Cameron asked one of her co-workers at the nurses’ station.
    “ Afraid so,” Liada answered. “Been working on her all night. Labored breathing, ph dropped, pCO2 rose, lactate increased back up to over six. Dr. Levine’s afraid she’s going to crash. Probable blockage.”
    Cameron watched the patient being wheeled out. The pale, frail woman, barely conscious, struggled to speak. Her face constricted with fear, whispering, “Not yet. Not yet.”
    Cameron had been her nurse long enough to read her concern. “Liada, you have her husband’s number?”
    “ He’s already been called. He’s on his way in,” Liada answered.
    “ I know. I know,” Cameron said, quickly dialing up the number. She rounded the desk with her phone in hand. “Just a sec, guys.”
    Talking quickly into the phone, Cameron placed it to the patient’s ear. “Mrs. Harris, you don’t have time to wait for your family to get back down here. They wouldn’t want you to wait. I have your husband, George, on the phone. Don’t worry if you can’t talk. He’s going to talk to you. Okay?”
    The surgical tech helped hold the phone to the patient’s ear. Cameron watched as the stretcher disappeared down the corridor. She sighed. She needed to get what she came for and leave.
    “Didn’t think you were working today,” Liada said. “Did Peggy call you in? It’s been off-the-wall busy.”
    “ No, I’m off until Monday. I left Meghan’s present in my locker. Just picking it up.”
    “ Sure you don’t want to work? Yvonne called in sick. She was supposed to work a double tonight. Think she’s worried about the forecast. Nor’easter.”
    Cameron turned to the voice behind her —her supervisor, Peggy Sullivan. “Sorry, not this weekend.”
    Cameron saw the look of disbelief on Peggy’s face. No, she had hardly ever turned down overtime. She walked back through to the locker room. She briefly thought of the storm and whether it would cancel her date. She smiled to herself. No, she couldn’t imagine Mr. Kennedy allowing