Тесс Герритсен – Under The Knife (страница 8)

“You mean except for being unemployed?” She managed a sour laugh. “Just terrific.”

“I heard the old man pulled you out of the O.R. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t really blame it on old Avery. He was just following orders.”

“Bettencourt’s?”

“Who else? He’s labeled me a financial liability.”

Guy snorted. “That’s what happens when the damned M.B.A.’s take over. All they can talk about is profits and losses! I swear, if George Bettencourt could make a buck selling the gold out of patients’ teeth, he’d be roaming the wards with pliers.”

“And then he’d send them a bill for oral surgery,” Kate added morosely.

Neither of them laughed. The joke was too close to the truth to be funny.

“If it makes you feel any better, Kate, you’ll have some company in the courtroom. I’ve been named, too.”

She looked up sharply. “Oh, Guy! I’m sorry….”

He shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I’ve been sued before. Believe me, it’s that first time that really hurts.”

“What happened?”

“Trauma case. Man came in with a ruptured spleen and I couldn’t save him.” He shook his head. “When I saw that letter from the attorney, I was so depressed I wanted to leap out the nearest window. Susan was ready to drag me off to the psych ward. But you know what? I survived. So will you, as long as you remember they’re not attacking you. They’re attacking the job you did.”

“I don’t see the difference.”

“And that’s your problem, Kate. You haven’t learned to separate yourself from the job. We both know the hours you put in. Hell, sometimes I think you practically live here. I’m not saying dedication’s a character flaw. But you can overdo it.”

What really hurt was that she knew it was true. She did work long hours. Maybe she needed to; it kept her mind off the wasteland of her personal life.

“I’m not completely buried in my job,” she said. “I’ve started dating again.”

“It’s about time. Who’s the man?”

“Last week I went out with Elliot.”

“That guy from computer programming?” He sighed. Elliot was six-foot-two and one hundred and twenty pounds, and he bore a distinct resemblance to Pee-Wee Herman. “I bet that was a barrel of laughs.”

“Well it was sort of…fun. He asked me up to his apartment.”

“He did?”

“So I went.”

“You did?”

“He wanted to show me his latest electronic gear.”

Guy leaned forward eagerly. “What happened?”

“We listened to his new CDs. Played a few computer games.”

“And?”

She sighed. “After eight rounds of Zork I went home.”

Groaning, Guy sank back in his chair. “Elliot Lafferty, last of the red-hot lovers. Kate, what you need is one of these dating services. Hey, I’ll even write the ad for you. ‘Bright, attractive female seeks—’”

“Daddy!” The happy squeal cut straight through the cafeteria’s hubbub.

Guy turned as running feet pattered toward him. “There’s my Will!” Laughing, he rose to his feet and scooped up his son. It took only a sweep of his arms to send the spindly five-year-old boy flying into the air. Little Will was so light he seemed to float for a moment like a frail bird. He fell to a very soft, very safe landing in his father’s arms. “I’ve been waiting for you, kid,” Guy said. “What took you so long?”

“Mommy came home late.”

“Again?”

Will leaned forward and whispered confidentially. “Adele was really mad. Her boyfriend was s’posed to take her to the movies.”

“Uh-oh. We certainly don’t want Adele to be mad at us, do we?” Guy flashed an inquiring look at his wife Susan, who was threading her way toward them. “Hey, are we wearing out the nanny already?”

“I swear, it’s that full moon!” Susan laughed and shoved back a frizzy strand of red hair. “All my patients have gone absolutely loony. I couldn’t get them out of my office.”

Guy muttered grumpily to Kate, “And she swore it’d be a part-time practice. Ha! Guess who gets called to the E.R. practically every night?”

“Oh, you just miss having your shirts ironed!” Susan reached up and gave her husband an affectionate pat on the cheek. It was the sort of maternal gesture one expected of Susan Santini. “My mother hen,” Guy had once called his wife. He’d meant it as a term of endearment and it had fit. Susan’s beauty wasn’t in her face, which was plain and freckled, or in her figure, which was as stout as a farm wife’s. Her beauty lay in that serenely patient smile that she was now beaming at her son.

“Daddy!” William was prancing like an elf around Guy’s legs. “Make me fly again!”

“What am I, a launching pad?”

“Up! One more time!”

“Later, Will,” said Susan. “We have to pick up Daddy’s car before the garage closes.”

“Please!”

“Did you hear that?” Guy gasped. “He said the magic word.” With a lion’s roar, Guy pounced on the shrieking boy and threw him into the air.

Susan gave Kate a long-suffering look. “Two children. That’s what I have. And one of them weighs two hundred and forty pounds.”

“I heard that.” Guy reached over and slung a possessive arm around his wife. “Just for that, lady, you have to drive me home.”

“Big bully. Feel like McDonald’s?”

“Humph. I know someone who doesn’t want to cook tonight.”

Guy gave Kate a wave as he nudged his family toward the door. “So what’ll it be, kid?” Kate heard him say to William. “Cheeseburger?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream. Now that’s an alternative I hadn’t thought of….”

Wistfully Kate watched the Santinis make their way across the cafeteria. She could picture how the rest of their evening would go. She imagined them sitting in McDonald’s, the two parents teasing, coaxing another bite of food into Will’s reluctant mouth. Then there’d be the drive home, the pajamas, the bedtime story. And finally, there’d be those skinny arms, curling around Daddy’s neck for a kiss.

What do I have to go home to? she thought.

Guy turned and gave her one last wave. Then he and his family vanished out the door. Kate sighed enviously. Lucky man.

* * *

AFTER HE LEFT his office that afternoon, David drove up Nuuanu Avenue and turned onto the dirt lane that wound through the old cemetery. He parked his car in the shade of a banyan tree and walked across the freshly mown lawn, past the marble headstones with their grotesque angels, past the final resting places of the Doles and the Binghams and the Cookes. He came to a section where there were only bronze plaques set flush in the ground, a sad concession to modern graveskeeping. Beneath a monkeypod tree, he stopped and gazed down at the marker by his feet.

Noah Ransom

Seven Years Old

It was a fine spot, gently sloping, with a view of the city. Here a breeze was always blowing, sometimes from the sea, sometimes from the valley. If he closed his eyes, he could tell where the wind was coming from, just by its smell.

David hadn’t chosen this spot. He couldn’t remember who had decided the grave should be here. Perhaps it had simply been a matter of which plot was available at the time. When your only child dies, who cares about views or breezes or monkeypod trees?

Bending down, he gently brushed the leaves that had fallen on the plaque. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet and stood in silence beside his son. He scarcely registered the rustle of the long skirt or the sound of the cane thumping across the grass.

“So here you are, David,” called a voice.

Turning, he saw the tall, silver-haired woman hobbling toward him. “You shouldn’t be out here, Mother. Not with that sprained foot.”

She pointed her cane at the white clapboard house sitting near the edge of the cemetery. “I saw you through my kitchen window. Thought I’d better come out and say hello. Can’t wait around forever for you to come visit me.”