She turned back to him. Her eyes were dark and filmy, and as drawn and sad as he had ever seen them. 'What is it? ' she asked wearily. 'I. I'm sorry.'
'Don't apologize to me, Zack, ' she said. 'What you're doing, you're doing to yourself. You've got nothing to apologize to anyone else for.
'I'm sorry for not listening to what you're trying to say. How's that?'
'Whatever.'
'Suzanne, you don't understand.'
'Don't I? You forget that I was married to the master of melancholy.
Unfortunately for you-for us-I understand too well.
I feel terrible about what happened to your father. I would no matter who he was. And I don't blame you for being upset-but it should be at the situation, Zack, not at yourself… at the vagaries of life and of medicine, not at the fact that you're not perfect. I'm sorry, but after all those years of Paul, I have no patience for this kind of talk.
Life's too short. I simply have no patience for this at all.'
She headed for the door. 'Suzanne, please. Don't go.' He crossed to confront her. 'I don't like the way I've been sounding, either. Really I don't. But I've never had anything backfire on me like this before, and 'And what? ' She was keeping her distance. 'And… nothing. I understand what you're saying. Let's leave it at that. It's all beginning to sink in. And… and I'm going to be okay. Really I am…
Could you stay? Just for a bit?
' She eyed him warily. And then, for the first time all morning, she smiled. It was a tired, five A. M. smile, but it was vintage Suzanne Cole. 'Sure, Doc, ' she said. 'I can stay for a bit if you want me to.
You know, what goes around comes around. That definition of friend you once wrote for me cuts both ways, the one who helps you find the tools when you can't seem to find them for yourself.'
She led him to the couch and laid his head on her lap. 'You've got to face it, Zack, ' she whispered, stroking his forehead. 'No matter how much you want to take off, no matter how much you're hurting, you've got to gp back into that hospital, pick up the pieces, and get on with business. There's too much at stake not to. Way too much.'
'Way too much, ' he murmured. Slowly, his eyes closed. His breathing grew deeper and more regular. In seconds, he was out. 'Please, Zachary, ' she urged softly. 'Please don't run.'
She lowered his head onto a pillow, brought his clock radio in from the bedroom, and set it for nine. A call to the O. R. would delay or postpone anything he had scheduled, and one to his office nurse would buy him time there as well. The next move would be up to him. She was gathering her things when she spied a copy of one of her favorite pieces of medical writing, Davenport's classic treatise on the principles and art of clinical medicine. The slim monograph was wedged on the bookshelf between several huge surgical tomes. She opened it to a passage that she had read enough over the years to know nearly by heart, marked the page for Zack, and then slipped out the front door into the cool, hazy July morning. Provided Toby Nelms was reasonably stable, there was still time to have a cup of coffee with Helene, to get Jennifer dressed and off to day camp, and to shower, before making rounds. She was nearing twenty four hours without sleep, but as she so often told her anxious patients, nobody ever died from lack of sleep. 'Hello, Whitey?… Frank Iverson here. I'm glad I found you in. I know you're due to open in a bit, so I won't keep you… Yes, well, I guess everyone in Sterling knows about it by now. Goddamn Beau Robillard. Never did a single decent thing his whole life, and now, he can't even die without hurting someone… The Judge is doing okay, itey. John Burris, the neurosurgeon who operated on him, is sending him down to Concord early this afternoon by ambulance … Well, I'm afraid you heard right. As things stand, he's paralyzed from the waist down. But Burris isn't making any predictions, and we're all hopeful as hell this is just a temporary condition. The Judge is tough, as we both well know. If anyone can beat this thing, he can…
Say, Whitey, actually there're two reasons I'm calling. First was to touch base with you about the Judge, and second was to tell you that I spoke to Sis Ryder in dietary about next month's meat order.
She's agreed to try allowing your place to handle the whole thing rather than going through the Ultramed purchasing office. Just to see how it all works out… Oh, you're welcome. You deserve the chance. Oh, listen, there is one other thing. Needless to say, the Judge is in no shape to make that meeting this morning… No, I'm afraid there's no way to delay the meeting. The contract calls for the sale to be finalized at noon unless there's a buy back vote by the board. I did speak briefly with him a few minutes ago, and he seemed content just to let each board member vote his conscience on this thing, and let the chips fall where they may. But Whitey, since you'll be running the meeting, there's one big favor you can do for me. I'd really appreciate it if that vote later this morning could be by closed ballot… I know that's not how you usually do it, but don't you think that would be the fairest way? Do this for me, Whitey, and I promise you that dietary contract will be just the beginning… Excellent, excellent. Hey, then, I'll see you at the meeting. And Whitey, thanks.'
Frank replaced the receiver in its cradle, sipped his morning coffee, and then drew a careful line through Whitey Bourque's name on the block-printed list of business he had to attend to that morning. Before becoming administrator of Ultramed-Davis, Frank had never in his life made a list of things to do. Lists were for morning people, for grinds and drudges, for catchers and linebackers, not for quarterbacks. They were for draught horses, needing to know in advance precisely where they would be clopping to and when, not for thoroughbreds. However, four years of exposure to the efficiency and effectiveness of Ultr'nia's data banks, plus the pressures of juggling a dozen or more difficult situations at once, had changed him. Now, he began each day with a carefully drawn-up menu. Frank liked to look on his emergence as a list-maker as one of the more visible manifestations of his adaptability and maturity. And of all the lists he had ever made, the one for this morning was easily the most exciting. He scanned the roster of members of the board to assure himself that everything was in order for the meeting. It had taken a hell of an effort, but with the Judge's influence virtually neutralized, he had used the promise of a closed-ballot vote, plus certain other inducements, to capture the additional members he had needed to block the buy back. The votes-six in all-had not come cheaply, but he had done what he had to do. The sudden turn of events had him giddy. The whole thing was unbelievable-absolutely incredible, Zack teetering on the edge of oblivion at Davis, waiting only for the smallest nudge, the Judge eliminated from attending the decisive board meeting. He couldn't have scripted it better if he had tried. With Mainwaring due back from Georgia any time, everything had fallen into place everything, that is, but one minor exception. After brief thought, Frank took a black magic marker from his drawer and eliminated Call Lisette from his list. 'Fuck her, ' he muttered. The woman deserved neither the call nor the apology he had considered making. In fact, if there were to be any apologies, they would come from her. She would see the truth on her own-come to understand what she had pushed him to do-or she would lose out. The house, the car, even the children. She would lose out big. He had more than enough friends in high places to ensure that she paid for her desertion. This was simply not the day for dealing with a whiny, passive bitch like Lisette. This was a day of triumph. If she didn't choose to be available to share it with him, that was her problem. He took his list and carefully added, Check with A. D. re, tonight. Perfect, he thought. Annette Dolan was the ideal choice to help celebrate the remarkable turn of events. He keyed the intercom. Moments later, Annette knocked softly and slipped into his office. She was wearing a tight plaid skirt and a beige, short-sleeved angora sweater that seemed to be straining to cover her breasts. 'G'morning, ' he said. 'Morning, yourself.'
She stood primly beside his desk, her hands folded in front of her skirt, her arms pulled tightly downward, lifting her breasts together in a way that made them look even more spectacular. 'I… um… I have some Xeroxing I need done, ' Frank managed. He passed some papers across to her. 'Twenty copies. No, make that thirty. You ah… that's a great sweater.'
'Thanks.'
'Do you think you might be able to wear it to work tonight? Say at eight?'
'Oh, Frank, I don't know. My mom's not feeling too well.'
'I'm sorry to hear that…'
He hesitated, and then reached into his desk and brought out the iamond necklace he had planned to give Lisette for her birthday, '… because I was kind of hoping you'd wear this at the same time.'
Annette's eyes widened. 'Oh, Frankie, it's beautiful, ' she said. 'It's the most beautiful necklace I've ever seen. You're so good to me.'
'That's because you're so good to me, About tonight? She ran her fingers over the piece. 'How could I say no?'
'I don't know… How could you? ' He pulled her to him and kissed her, sliding his hand over her skirt and then
