Code Blues (32 page)

My whole life, I'd wondered about the bad
boy thing.

Now I was pretty sure that
bad boy was just a synonym for
loser
.

I could hear Tucker's voice rumble.

Alex answered, "Yeah, well—"

I walked until I found a seat at the far
left rear corner, near the windows and as far from the food room as
I could get. I could still hear them somewhat. I'd have to plug my
ears and hum any minute. I'd forgotten to get a drink, but I wasn't
going back in there. No way, no how.

Solution: do what Chinese people do in a
crisis, or at times of celebration or, well, any time. Eat.

I sniffed my tuna fish sandwich cautiously.
The last thing I needed was food poisoning.

The room started to fill up. Most people sat
near the doors, which, as Little Miss Late, is a pet peeve of mine.
Leave those seats, so the latecomers can sneak in with a minimum of
fuss!

Stan waved at me from across the room. Omar
stood next to him. Darn. I'd rather sit with those guys and laugh,
even if it put me closer to Alex. I started to gather up my
plate.

"Hope." Tori grinned down at me. She'd snuck
up the back of the classroom and cut up the aisle next to the
windows, surprising me. She'd make a good cat burglar. "Want
company?"

"Sure," I said. "If you're going in the
lunch room, could you grab me a juice or water?"

"Okay, but—"

"That's enough!" a man's voice resonated
from up the hallway. "What's gotten into you?"

Tori sighed and shook her head. "That's
what."

Oh. She didn't want to walk into the perfect
storm. I was afraid to ask what was going on.

Bob Clarkson popped his head in the
classroom. His face was unusually red. "Stan. Rounds will be a few
minutes late. Could you tell everyone?"

Behind Dr. Clarkson, I caught a glimpses of
Tucker's blond hair and Alex's red, '80s sleeve. Trouble.

"Of course, Dr. Clarkson," Stan said. He
sounded like he was enjoying himself. He walked to the front of the
room and clapped his hands. "For the one or two people who didn't
hear, rounds will be a bit late. If anyone has any wine, now's the
time to break it out."

Laughter rippled around the room. I
whispered to Tori, "I guess Alex and Tucker hate each other, huh?"
I propped my feet up on an empty chair in front of me.

She raised her eyebrows. "They didn't used
to. At least, it wasn't so obvious."

Anu plopped beside Tori. "I'm glad I'm not
late. What's rounds on today? Is it still on abuse?" She picked the
crusts off her egg sandwich. She sighed. "I miss Kurt."

Her smooth brown face was perfectly serene.
It tried to imagine her murdering Kurt and failed. Oh, well, she
had an alibi, pretty much. Tori said they'd been at the Jazz
Festival until midnight. I realized that just taking people's word
for it was not a great policy, but I couldn't run a serious
investigation during residency. Or anytime, really.

"I'm not sure who's going to do the main
rounds, under the circumstances," said Tori, too polite to add
"since the doctor who was supposed to present is now deceased." She
continued, "We'll still have the regular teaching afterward."

Anu said, "I suppose they could skip the
main presentation, if no one else wanted to fill in on that
topic."

"Maybe," I murmured while I straining my
ears at the hallway. More people were pouring into the classroom,
talking, scraping their chairs on the tile floor, popping their
juice bottles. I'd estimate under thirty people, but they made
enough noise. No way I could eavesdrop on Alex and Tucker now, even
if I wanted to.

"How is everyone today?" Mireille slid into
the row in front of us and bestowed a smile upon us. Was I
imagining the smugness in the corners of her mouth?

I removed my feet from the seat in front of
me. She lowered herself on it. Her plate held only a single mystery
meat sandwich. Either she was on a diet, or they'd severely run out
of food.

Mireille turned mocking eyes on me. She
lifted her sandwich, holding it so delicately that her fingertips
hardly indented the soft white bread. "How about you, Hope? Is
there anything new in your life?"

Was it possible she knew about the disaster
formerly known as me and Alex? The only person I'd told was Tori. I
glanced at her, but her return gaze was even. No, Tori was too
discreet.

Would Alex tell Mireille? Maybe to try and
hurt her. Hey, guess who I fucked today?

Well. I already knew that it had been a
mistake to sleep with Alex. And I had no interest in letting
Mireille put the screws on me. "Nothing," I said, spearing some
pasta salad on the tines of my plastic fork. "My life is very
boring."

She paused mid-chew. I smiled at her. Maybe
I was getting better at this superficial veneer thing.

Mireille recovered quickly, checking her
watch. "I thought we were trying to start the rounds on time."

As if it were a summons, Bob Clarkson strode
to the front of the room. "All right, people! Let's get this show
on the road!"

Tucker appeared next, disappearing around
the back of the room. I was glad he had a plateful of food, but I
couldn't tell if he'd gotten an éclair. He leaned against the rear
wall and fixed his eyes on Bob Clarkson like an A1 student. No
black eye, no abrasions, no obviously swollen knuckles.

Bob said, "As you know, Dr. Kurt Radshaw was
supposed to do these rounds today on partner abuse. I know a lot of
people were looking forward to it. Unfortunately, due to his tragic
death, we've had to cancel the presentation."

Alex sidled in. Nearly all the chairs were
taken, so he stood between the door and the garbage can. His arms
were empty of food or drink. He had no visible injuries. If
anything, he looked better, less dragged out, as if fighting with
Tucker had woken him up. Our eyes locked, but with an effort of
will, I broke it and faced front.

Mireille lifted her eyebrows at me before
turning forward herself.

Bob continued, "Many people have come to my
office to express their shock and sadness over his passing. St.
Joseph's has lost a friend, a colleague, and a community leader.
Could we all please have a moment of silence to respect his
memory."

Immediately, we bowed our heads. I closed my
eyes and recalled all the things I'd heard about him. Mentor,
educator, a revitalizing force. Nothing but good stuff, except for
his lust for women. I peeked at Mireille's curls. Her head was bent
low. I couldn't see her face.

At last, Bob said, "We all knew and loved
Kurt. Instead of doing Grand Rounds, let's take this hour to talk
about him, his life and his efforts."

From the somber nods from the nurses and the
tight lips of the residents, it was a good idea.

Bob went on, "Tensions are high. We're all
feeling it. In fact, I just had to break up an argument." He paused
to give the evil eye to Tucker and Alex. Tucker looked impassive,
but Alex stared right back at him. Bob Clarkson shook his head
sorrowfully. "This is not the St. Joseph's we all know and love.
This is not the St. Joseph's Kurt would have wanted, and which we
are all striving to achieve. Since my first days as chief, I have
worked very hard for a consensus, so St. Joseph's can light up the
twenty-first century as a leader among community hospitals." He
brought his hands together in a circle.

Heaven help us. This was
turning into a vote for Bob Clarkson speech. I glanced at Tori. She
appeared to be listening. I took a bite of the chocolate éclair.
It
was
good. I
started nibbling around the edges. It was more interesting that Bob
Clarkson.

He finally wound down. "Now, if anyone else
would like to say a few words, the floor is yours. If it's too
painful to speak in public, I understand."

Mireille's hand stretched in the air. "I
would like to talk."

A startled sigh rippled through the crowd.
Mireille tucked her plate under her chair and rose up. She had
excellent posture.

Bob said, "Ah, Mireille, you can just speak
from where you're sitting."

"It's all right, Dr. Clarkson. I would like
everyone to hear." Instead of turning to her left so she could cut
along the wall, she chose to walk down the row, forcing everyone to
turn their legs aside and clutch their plates. Maximum disruption.
I watched Alex watch her. His expression seemed neutral. His eyes
flicked toward me. I looked away, but the skin on my arms tingled.
Damn it.

Mireille planted her feet at the head of the
classroom. She clasped her hands behind her back. She was wearing a
demure, short-sleeved black dress with tiny blue flowers which fell
to just above her knees. She looked perfectly at ease, more so than
Bob Clarkson, who seemed to be muttering at her under his breath.
She ignored him, raising her voice to the crowd. "Kurt Radshaw was
a wonderful man, doctor, and human being. I hope they catch whoever
killed him."

Another group murmur. She smiled. "I know
that was not what you expected me to say. But it's true. I loved
him. I want his murderer brought to justice."

The room went silent. Bob Clarkson's face
froze in a rictus, but he managed to force out, "Ah, Mireille—"

She stepped forward, away from him. "There
have been a lot of rumors about him and me." She looked right at
me. "Some of them are true." She smiled again, a flash of teeth. "I
loved him. I would never have hurt him."

Bob Clarkson cleared his throat. "Well,
Mireille. That is certainly—interesting. I thought we'd talk about
Kurt's life, and how St. Joseph's can move forward from this."

Mireille talked right over him. "I even have
an alibi. I spent most of Friday night with people from St.
Joseph's before I ended up with one in particular." She didn't look
at Alex, but the rest of us did. His lips had gone white.

I felt sick. So she was Alex's "family
emergency" before he hopped in bed with me. What kind of guy did
that make him? What kind of person did that make me?

I hadn't eaten much, but I felt nauseous.
Tori pressed a quick hand on my wrist. I took a little comfort from
her cool skin. Thank goodness no one else really knew about me and
Alex. If nothing else, I prefer to be humiliated in private rather
than public.

Bob's hand pressed into Mireille's shoulder.
"Thank you, Dr. Laroque. Does anyone else want to speak?"

A black nurse in a lab coat stood up at the
end of the front row. "I was the nurse on Dr. Radshaw's team, and
he was wonderful to work with. He was always teaching, always
willing to stay late or to lend a hand. We'll miss him."

An appreciative ripple through the
audience.

"Thank you," Bob said, obviously relieved.
"That was very appropriate, Anne. Please sit down, Dr.
Laroque."

A rebellious expression crossed Mireille's
face, but after a long moment, she glided back to her seat, making
sure to cut back through the row of people.

Tucker said, from the back, "He was a
leader. That's what I liked about him. It's easy to complain about
all the problems, but he worked to find the solutions. He didn't
just talk about it, either. He did it."

Bob said, "Excellent point, Dr. Tucker.
Thank you." His bland face showed no recognition of any jibe on the
talk vs. action score.

Tori made noise in her throat, lower than a
sigh.

A secretary said that Dr. Radshaw always
made her laugh, even on the most hectic days.

Omar put up his hand. "He was a good teacher
and very kind."

"He always had his pager on," added Stan
from his seat by the door. "Isn't that what most of us will
remember? Whenever you were reviewing a case, his pager would go
off, or the phone would ring for him, or one of his patients would
have a crisis only he could answer."

Some people laughed. A woman behind me said,
"So true, so true."

"And somehow he'd manage everything at
once," Stan finished. "He didn't get flustered or impatient. He
just dealt with everything. Actually, if it was quiet, he didn't
like it. He'd jump up and point out an article he'd just read, or
tell us about an interesting case he'd seen. He was always
moving."

Mireille was smiling and shaking her head. I
saw the same look around the room, of affectionate recognition.
Stan let them enjoy it before he added, "There's one other thing
we'll never forget about Kurt."

We all leaned toward him.

Stan waited a beat. Then, with a twinkle in
his eye, he said, "His moustache."

We laughed, and a few people even applauded.
I grinned at Stan. He knew how to liven up a party.

He looked ready to go on, but Robin spoke up
behind him. "I try to remember him as a human being."

He looked paler than usual, if that were
possible. His blue pop-eyes were trained on Bob. "He wasn't
perfect. But he was a very good teacher. He always tried to be
evidence-based. He was the only doctor who brought in recent
articles for us to read, and who asked us to follow the guidelines.
I respected that."

We waited, but Robin settled back into his
chair as if he'd said everything. Maybe for him, he had. Some booky
classmates of mine from med school were like that. They lived for
learning and thought everything else was beside the point. Usually,
they went into internal medicine. I wondered why Robin had chosen
family medicine and, more interestingly, what Kurt had to coach him
through.

"Ah, that's a good point, Robin," said Bob.
"We often lionize people after their deaths. But no one is perfect.
We're all imperfect 'human beans.'" He chuckled at his own joke. A
few people chuckled, probably out of sympathy. "Also, we pride
ourselves on our teaching at St. Joseph's. We do our best to be
evidence-based, to train the next generation of physicians..."