It was August 26, 1998.
As Dr. Mike Horton woke up from an altogether too brief nap by rolling off the side of his
office couch and hitting the floor with a thud, he had a feeling it was going to be a really
bad day. He stood up slowly, most of his muscles aching from the posture he'd assumed on
the sofa.
Well, I've had worse, he thought to himself as he rubbed his sore backside. Probably
nothing could top the day he was awakened from sleep to find himself stripped naked, in
bed with a strange woman named Shelly, while being serenaded by the dulcet tones of
Carrie screeching at the top of her lungs. Ah, yes, that special day when he found out
exactly how low Craig Wesley could go in the quest for the position of Chief of Staff.
What was he thinking? The worst day of his life was exactly twelve months ago. 52 weeks. .
.. 365 days. . . 8, 760 hours. . .
Horton, stop it already. You're giving yourself a headache!
That was the day he did the stupidest thing in his entire life. He let Carrie Brady marry
Austin Reed without saying a word to her about the way he felt about her.
Yes, I do believe that is a day that will live in infamy. Speaking-now was never my
forte, was it? Always more of a forever-holding-my-peace kind of guy.
There were days when Mike wished that he didn't put other people's interests before his
own all of the time, days when it would be nice to be a little selfish, just for a little while.
That had been one of those days, but there had never seemed to be the right moment. . .
He looked at his watch. A few minutes before 10 a.m. His eyes widened as he suddenly
remembered why he'd had to wake. Mike shoved his arms into his lab coat and ran a hand
through his hair.
Pray to God she won't kill me for being late.
So this is the infamous Salem University Hospital? Augusta thought to herself as she got out
of the cab. Strange, not as imposing as Mike said it would be. But then again, if my
grandfather had been Chief of Staff here I suppose it would be a bit intimidating trying to
follow in his footsteps.
She walked through the automatic doors and headed towards the reception desk.
"May I help you?" asked the receptionist.
"Dr. Augusta Fredericks here to see Dr. Michael Horton."
The receptionist dialed Dr. Horton's extension as Augusta folded her arms and leaned her
elbows on the counter.
The ringing of the telephone almost made him jump out of his skin.
"Dr. Mike Horton?" the pleasant voice on the other end of the line asked.
"Speaking," he replied.
"Dr. Fredericks is here to see you."
"I'll be right down."
Mike fairly flew out the door after he replaced the receiver back on the cradle. He just
hoped he hadn't kept her waiting too long. . .
