Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ron’s hands shook as he laid his folded shirts on top of his slacks inside the suitcase. Good thing he wasn’t scheduled to perform surgery today. He hadn’t been this nervous since the first operation he’d done during his residency. Memories washed over him of the beetle-browed supervising surgeon standing so close he could smell the man’s breakfast on his breath. Afterward, the doctor told him that he had the best hands he’d seen in a decade, but that hadn’t assuaged the jitters. Was the man still terrorizing residents, or had he finally retired?
He tossed his toiletry bag and some socks on top of his clothes. His gaze circulated the room then landed on his Bible lying on the nightstand. He picked up the leather-bound volume and stroked the cover. Can’t forget this.
