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people like Josh O' Day.' She paused. And asked, quietly: 'Is this what you want to do, Abby?'
Abby dropped her head in her hands. 'I don't think I have a choice any longer.'
Mark's car was in the driveway.
Abby pulled up behind it and turned off her engine. For a long time she simply sat there, scraping up the energy to get out of the car, to walk into the house. To face him.
At last she stepped out of the car and walked in the front door.
He was in the living room, watching the late night news. As soon as she came in, he clicked off the TV. 'How is Vivian doing these days?' he asked.
'She's fine. Landed right back on her feet. She's buying into a practice in Wakefield.' Abby hung up her coat in the closet. 'And how was your day?'
'We got a dissecting aorta. He bled out sixteen units just like that. I didn't get out till seven.'
'Did he make it?'
'No. We ended up losing him.'
'That's too bad. I'm sorry.' She shut the closet door. 'I'm kind of tired.! think I'll go up and take a bath.'
'Abby?'
She paused and looked at him. They were separated by the width of the living room. But the gulf between them seemed miles wider. 'What's happened to you?' he asked. 'What's wrong?'
'You know what's wrong. I'm worried about my job.'
'I'm talking about us. Something's wrong with us.' She didn't say anything.
'I hardly see you any more. You're atVivian's more than you are here. When you are home, you act like you're somewhere else.'
'I'm preoccupied, that's all. Can't you understand why?'
He sank back, suddenly looking very tired. 'I have to know, Abby. Are you seeing someone else?'
She stared at him. Of all the things Mark might say to her, this was the last thing she'd expected. She almost felt like laughing at the trivial nature of his suspicions. If only it were that simple. If only our problems were the same as every other couple's. 'There's no one else,' she said. 'Believe me.'
'Then why aren't you talking to me any more?'
'I'm talking to you now.'
'This isn't talking! This is me trying to get the old Abby back. Somewhere along the way I've lost her. I've lost you.' He shook his head and looked away. 'I just want you back again.'
She went to the couch and sat down beside him. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel connected, if only distantly.
'Talk to me, Abby. Please.' He looked at her, and suddenly it was the old Mark she saw. The same face that had smiled at her across the operating table. The face she loved. 'Please,' he repeated, softly. He took her hand and she didn't pull away. She let him take her into his arms. But even there, where she'd once felt safe, she could not relax. She lay stiff and uneasy against his chest.
'Tell me,' he said. 'What's wrong between us?'
She closed her eyes against the sting of fresh tears. 'Nothing's wrong,' she said.
She felt his arms go very still around her. Without even looking at his face, she knew that he could tell she was, once again, lying.
At seven-thirty the next morning, Abby pulled into her parking stall at Bayside Hospital.
She sat in her car for a moment, eyeing the wet pavement, the steady drizzle. Only mid-October, she thought, and already this dreary foretaste of winter. She had not slept well last night. In fact, she could not remember the last good night's sleep she'd had. How long could a person hold up without sleep? How long before fatigue led to psychosis? Glancing in the rearview mirror, she scarcely recognized the haggard stranger staring back at her. In two weeks it seemed she had aged ten years. At this rate she'd be hitting menopause by November.
A flash of maroon in the mirror caught her eye.
She snapped her head around just in time to see a van retreating behind the next aisle of cars. She waited for another glimpse of it. It didn't reappear.
Quickly she stepped outside and began to walk towards the hospital. The weight of her briefcase felt like an anchor weighing her down. Off to her right, a car engine suddenly roared to life. She whirled, expecting to see the van, but it was a station wagon pulling out of a stall.
Her heart was slamming against her chest. It didn't calm down until she was inside the building. She took the stairwell down to the basement and walked into Medical Records. This would be her final visit; she was down to the last four names on the list.
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She lay the request slip on the counter and said, 'Excuse me, may I have these charts please?'
The clerk turned to face her. Perhaps Abby was only imagining it, but the woman seemed to freeze momentarily. They had dealt with each other before, and the clerk usually seemed friendly enough. Today she wasn't even smiling.
'I need these four charts,' said Abby.
The clerk looked at the request slip. 'I'm sorry, Dr. DiMatteo. I can't get these files for you.'
'Why not?'
'They're not available.'
'But you haven't even checked.'
'I've been told not to release any more files to you. It's Dr. Wettig's orders. He said if you came in, we're to refer you to his office immediately.'
Abby felt the blood drain from her face. She said nothing.
'He said he never authorized any chart search.' The clerk's tone of voice was plainly accusatory. You lied to us, Dr. DiMatteo.
Abby had no answer. It seemed to her the room had suddenly fallen silent. She turned and saw that three other doctors were in the room, and they were all watching her.
She walked out of Medical Records.
Her first impulse was to leave the building. To avoid the inevitable confrontation with Wettig and just drive away. To keep driving until this was a thousand miles behind her. She wondered how long it would take to reach Florida and the beach and palm trees. She'd never been to Florida. She'd never done so many things other people had done. She could do them all now if she'd just walk out of this goddamn hospital, climb in her car, and say: Fuck it. You win. You all win.
But she didn't walk out of the building. She stepped into the basement elevator and punched Two.
On that short ride to the Administrative floor, several things became instantly clear to her. The first was that she was too stubborn or too stupid to run. The second was that a beach was not really what she wanted. What she wanted was her dream back.
She got out of the elevator and walked up the carpeted hall. The Residency Office was around the corner, past Jeremiah Parr's suite. As she walked past Parr's secretary, she saw the woman sit up sharply and reach for the phone.
Abby turned the corner and walked into the Residency Office. There were two men standing by the secretary's desk, neither of whom Abby had ever seen before. The secretary looked up at Abby with that same stunned expression that had flashed across the face of Parr's secretary, and blurted: 'Oh! Dr. DiMatteo-'
'I need to see Dr. Wettig,' said Abby.
The two men turned to look at her. In the next instant, Abby was startled by a flash of light. She flinched away as the light went off again and again. A camera flashbulb.
'What are you doing?' she demanded.
'Doctor, would you care to comment on the death of Mary Allen?'
one of the men said.
'What?'
'She was your patient, wasn't she?'
