could be a madman — hyper and quite tough on the surgical crew.
Millwood, Berenger's protege on the transplant team, was quite the opposite — calm and positive even in the most critical, gut-wrenching crises. Natalie's first case observing the man was the twelve-hour replacement of a leaking aortic aneurysm and dysfunctional aortic valve. He sang opera softly throughout the grueling, eventually successful procedure, not once raising his voice or losing his composure. In her heart, Natalie knew she wanted to emulate Millwood when — make that if now — it was her turn in the number one position at the table, but in her head, she suspected she would be more like the flamboyant, volatile Berenger.
'So, how goes it?' Millwood asked, moving in next to her midway down one of the straight-aways.
'Ever had road rage?'
'Maybe once.'
'Well, I have it all the time now, whether I'm in a car or not, and it's directed at virtually everybody. It's a wonder I haven't ground my teeth down to nubs.'
'Have you seen someone?'
'You mean like a dentist?'
'At least you're still funny.'
'I love that you appreciate that I'm funny. You're like the only one. If you mean am I seeing my therapist, Dr. Fierstein and I are having mini-appointments almost every day. Ten or fifteen minutes. They're all the same. I tell her I feel like I'm going to kill someone, anyone, and she tells me that would probably only make matters worse. Sadly, I'm not sure she's right.'
'When it's appropriate, Doug and I will go to bat for you with one of the other surgical programs. I promise you that.'
'But first I've got to come to peace with what I've done wrong in school, and what I did wrong in the Metro ER.' She held up her hand to keep him from reiterating that, in fact, if she had done nothing wrong she would still be in school. 'I know. I know,' she said.
'Used together like that, those are two of my least favorite words,' Millwood said.
'I know.'
'On your left!' a voice from behind called out.
Two boys, wearing the purple and white of perennial track power-house St. Clement's, flashed past them on the inside, forcing them to move to the right. Then, in unison, the youths glanced back, their expressions scornful condemnation of the policy that would allow just anyone onto their track.
'Easy,' Millwood muttered. 'They jail people for what you're thinking of doing. You don't have a weapon anyhow.'
'Don't be so sure.'
'So, Doug tells me you're spending quite a bit of time in the lab.'
'What else do I have to do? The other techs want to kill me for making them look bad by being the first one in and the last one out, only they don't appreciate that I don't have anything else to do. They also don't know that just on general principles, I want to kill them more.'
'What time did you say your shrink appointment was today?'
'You think I'm too angry?'
'I wouldn't be much of a friend if I just kept telling you that you were right all the time. You know I adore you, Nat, but I have to agree with what Goldenberg said about that hard edge of yours getting in the way.'
'I am who I am. You of all people should appreciate that.'
'You mean because I'm gay? That's what I am. I wouldn't want to change that even if I could — which I can't. The kind of person I am is another story, and as wonderful as you are, you have a chip the size of Minnesota on your shoulder that's getting in the way of- '
'On your left!'
Once again, the St. Clement's runners rudely forced them to the right.
'Hey, guys!' Natalie called.
'I don't think I want to see this,' Millwood muttered.
Up ahead the boys stopped and turned. They were older than Natalie had first thought — probably juniors or seniors. One of them, curly blond hair, some residual acne, kept trotting effortlessly in place, while the other, swarthy and utterly self-assured, took a step back toward them, hands on hips, head cocked. Natalie had no doubt that this was hardly the first time the youths had asserted themselves this way with recreational joggers. She felt Millwood's mute plea to forget the whole thing, but there was no chance. He was right that she didn't have a gun to shoot them with, or a knife with which to carve them up, but she did have her legs.
'Why didn't you just go around us?' she asked.
'Because we're serious runners in training, and you're joggers who could be running anyplace.'
Wrong answer. Natalie saw Millwood step back, arms folded.
'Is that so?' she said. 'I'll tell you what, serious runners, if either of you can beat this old, broken-down lady jogger back around to this spot, my friend and I will leave and go trot about someplace else. But if you can't beat me in a quarter mile, we'll keep our spot here, and you two can move way to the outside — or better still, go sit down on the grass and watch until we're finished.'
The youths exchanged looks and smiled knowingly. They were both good, Natalie realized, maybe very good. But hopefully not good enough. She was a distance runner, and a quarter mile was a sprint, but at that moment, she needed nothing more than to beat them. No, she needed to crush them.
Natalie stepped out of her warm-ups as Millwood moved aside.
'I'll call the start,' he said, helpless to alter history in advance.
As she lined up on the outside of the two teens, Natalie felt the familiar, fierce rush of competition course through her. You are not going to beat me…You are not going to beat me…You are not going to send that man out of the ER without a CT scan…
'Ready…get set…go!'
The youths were fast and arrogantly warm to the challenge of a race — especially against an older woman jogging on the track with a middle-aged man. Still, within the first twenty yards, Natalie knew that unless they each had rockets strapped to their legs in reserve, they were in for a rude surprise. The two of them seemed about equal, and ran that way — shoulder to shoulder. For a time, Natalie stayed back, drafting in the twin shadows. But a quarter of a mile was just that, and she was in no mood to nip these rivals at the finish. They both needed a profound attitude adjustment. Nothing close. The blond was Cliff Renfro, the darker one Sam Goldenberg.
'Hey, fellas,' she called, 'on your left!'
The two looked back, clearly startled that she wasn't far behind. It took only that instant for her to burst between them and accelerate away. Whether or not the teens could have run better had they known how fast she was didn't really matter. In a hundred races they would lose to her a hundred times, only perhaps never again as badly as they did this day.
Millwood had started the race halfway down one of the straight-aways. Now he watched in some amusement as Natalie pounded around the final curve and sprinted in, not letting up until she had passed him. The St. Clement's boys were just finishing that last turn. Without looking back, and battling not to show that she was even breathing hard, Natalie took her friend by the arm and led him down the track in a brisk jog.
'Happy now?' Millwood asked.
'Less miserable,' she said.
It was early afternoon when Natalie finished dropping off groceries for Hermina and Jenny and at her own apartment, and arrived at the lab. Jenny, upbeat as always, had finished Wuthering Heights and started in on Oliver Twist. As far as Natalie was concerned, unless her niece suddenly leapt out of her wheelchair and ran to play with the other kids, God had some serious ground to make up.
Even with Berenger's lab to go to, empty time was weighing heavily. The latest of what passed for a romantic relationship for her had ended quietly nearly three months ago, and in truth, she really hadn't missed it — until now. Berenger and Millwood had promised to help her land another residency spot, but so far, what preliminary inquiries she had made had produced nothing. She had signed up for more time at the women's shelter where she had volunteered since college, and had even enrolled in a knitting course at Boston Adult Ed. Still, having been forced to shift in an instant from fourth gear down to first, her life felt as if it were moving in slow motion.
In addition to the track and the roads, the lab was a godsend — a place she could stay productive. She was
