“This is something I want you to see,” Wadley said.
Angela stepped over to the ‘scope and sat opposite her mentor. Their knees almost touched beneath the table. She put her eyes to the eyepiece and peered in. Immediately she recognized the specimen as a sample of breast tissue.
“This is a tricky case,” Wadley said. “The patient is only twenty-two years old. We have to make a diagnosis, and we have to be right. So take your time.” To make his point, he reached under the table and grasped Angela’s thigh just above the knee. “Don’t be too impulsive about your impression. Look carefully at all the ducts.”
Angela’s trained eye began to scan the slide in an orderly fashion, but her concentration faltered. Wadley’s hand had remained on her thigh. He continued talking, explaining what he thought were the key points for making the diagnosis. Angela had trouble listening. The weight of his hand made her feel acutely uncomfortable.
Wadley had touched her often in the past, and she had had occasion to touch him as well. But it had always been within acceptable social bounds, such as contact on an arm, or a pat on the back, or an exuberant hug. They had even done several “high fives” during the softball game at the Labor Day picnic. There had never been any implication of intimacy until now, when his hand remained rooted to her leg with his thumb on the inside of her thigh.
Angela wanted to move away or remove his hand, but she did neither. She kept hoping that Wadley would suddenly realize how uncomfortable she felt and withdraw. But it didn’t happen. His hand stayed on her thigh throughout a long explanation about why the biopsy had to be considered positive for cancer.
Finally Angela got up. She knew she was trembling. She bit her tongue and turned back toward her office.
“I’ll be ready to review those hematology slides as soon as you are through with them,” Wadley called after her.
Closing the connecting door between the offices, Angela went over to her desk and sank into her chair. Near tears, she cradled her face in her hands as a flood of thoughts cascaded through her mind. Going over the course of events of the previous months, she recalled all the episodes when Wadley offered to stay late to go over slides, and all the times he appeared when she had a few free moments. If she ever went to the coffee shop he appeared and always took the seat next to her. And as far as touching was concerned, now that she thought about it, he never passed up an opportunity.
All at once the mentor-like effort and demonstrative affection Wadley had been expending had a different, less generous, more unpleasant connotation. Even the recent talk of attending a pathology meeting in Miami during the next month made her feel uneasy.
Lowering her hands Angela stared ahead. She wondered if she was overreacting. Maybe she was blowing this episode way out of proportion, getting herself all worked up. After all, David was forever accusing her of being overly dramatic. Maybe Wadley hadn’t been aware. Maybe he’d been so engrossed in his didactic role, he didn’t realize what he was doing.
She angrily shook her head. Deep down she knew she wasn’t overreacting. She was still grateful for Wadley’s time and effort, but she could not forget how it felt to have his hand on her thigh. It was so inappropriate. He had to have known. It had to have been deliberate. The question was what she could do to put an end to his unwanted familiarity. After all, he was her boss.
At the end of his office hours, David walked over to the central hospital building to check on Marjorie Kleber and a few other patients. Once he determined that all were doing well, he stopped by to see Nikki.
His daughter was feeling fine thanks to a judicious combination of antibiotics, mucolytic agents, bronchodilators, hydration, and physical therapy. She was leaning back against a pile of pillows with a TV remote in her hand. She was watching a game show, a pastime frowned upon at home.