Code Blues

by Melissa Yi

  "Not as good as your millefeuille." He closed his eyes and took a deep sniff. "Mmm. Real whipped cream."

  "You can't smell that," I protested, but he opened his mouth wide and took a bite. Cream squished out between layers of pastry.

  "You bastard!" I yelled, swiping my pastry back. He laughed with his mouth full. I examined his teeth marks gloomily. "Now it's got your cooties."

  "Oh, yeah?" He grabbed my chin and kissed me. I was so surprised that it took me a second to respond. His lips were softer than I'd expected. He ran his tongue along my lower lip, a quick flick, and drew away. "Now you've got my cooties."

  I swallowed hard. He was smiling, so I smiled back, a little tremulously, and showed him his rum ball. I'd squashed it in surprise. Cocoa and chocolate stained my fingers. "Sorry."

  "It was worth it," he said. He took the rum ball, but looked at my fingers. "I can clean those for you." He licked his lips.

  "Uh..." I remembered those lips on my feet. I swayed toward him before I checked the park. Three mothers were watching us. One turned away with a sniff, but two others continued to glower. The kids were mostly oblivious, except for a little boy whose mouth hung open.

  I knew I was blushing furiously. "Better not."

  Alex grabbed a napkin and took my empty hand in his. "Better luck next time."

  He patiently wiped away the chocolate while my body hummed with the promise.

  Under his breath, he said, "I still can't believe Kurt's gone. I know he's dead, but whenever I go to the FMC, or get ready for work, or think of something I have to tell him..."

  I nodded. Our picnic had taken another melancholy turn. I wondered if it would always be this way between me and Alex, if we could never just talk and have fun without Dr. Radshaw's shadow over us. Maybe if we looked into his death, it would help free Alex.

  My hand was still sticky, but reasonably clean. Alex offered me a bite of his rum ball. I took a nip. It tasted like chocolate, made darker and more complex by the liquor.

  Alex kissed the tip of my nose. My eyes flew open, startled, and he laughed.

  I walked him back to the hospital, hand in hand. At the main entrance, he squeezed my hand. "I'll call you."

  That was it. No kiss. I walked away, happy but curiously disappointed. I never knew what to expect from Alex. In some ways, he was the complete opposite of my ex.

  Ryan and I had basically been set up by our grandmothers. He was a smart, hard-working, good-looking Chinese boy. In other words, Grandma's idea of manna from heaven, and not far from mine, either. We were friends before we started dating in university. He was going to Ottawa U for engineering and I was at McMaster, at the other end of the province. He tolerated the six hours' drive for two years, but he wanted me to come back to Ottawa for med school. So did I. The only hitch was, they put me on the waiting list and never took me off of it, while Western accepted me outright.

  "So come back. Do your Master's at Ottawa. They'll take you next year," said Ryan.

  I ground my teeth. "Ryan, it doesn't work like that. It's a crap shoot. I could get a crazy interviewing team, or they could raise the MCAT score I need. You know how many good people don't get into med school? There was a woman at McMaster who applied for eight years in a row! I have to take this."

  He just looked at me with flat, brown eyes. "You could defer for a year. You mean you don't want to wait."

  "I can't."

  "You don't want to." He didn't add, You won't wait for me. He wasn't into drama. But that was the turning point. We tried for another two years, on and off, but it only got worse in clerkship, when I worked in the hospitals for up to 36 hours straight. We finally cut each other loose. Last I heard, he was dating a girl named Lisa. "Very serious," said my grandmother accusingly. "They might get married." Like Ryan and I might have. If I hadn't been stubborn. If I hadn't put my career first. But if I wasn't true to myself, who would I be?

  One thing about Ryan, he was dependable. If he said he'd call at 8 p.m., he'd call. I never thought he'd cheat on me. He was thoughtful, brought me flowers on our anniversary, daisies the first year, roses the next, then lilies, and finally carnations. The last one was the death knell for me. Carnations are about the cheapest flower you can find.

  Ryan said, "The lady in the shop told me they'd last a long time."

  I raged. "What? You bought me flowers to be practical? Flowers aren't practical! That's the whole point!"

  Alex was the reverse of Ryan. He understood romance. He understood women. But I didn't understand him.

  OTOH, Alex was obsessed with Kurt's death. Once we unraveled that mystery, he'd be back on track.

  I coasted home along Péloquin. Around Côte-des-Neiges, I noticed a Mediterranean restaurant with a térasse alongside more modest Lebanese and pizza joints. A travel agency. A fruit and vegetable store with paper signs in its window advertising everything from pears to beer to toilet paper. Cars lined up at the parking meters, except on the corner where a truck unloaded its wares.

  I was more used to cars and malls, but I liked this better. I smiled at the people on the térasse. They sat at white plastic tables, shaded by green umbrellas, drinking beer and laughing.

  Farther along, Péloquin became quieter, more residential. Brick or stone-faced duplexes lined the street. From my apartment hunting, I'd figured out that a duplex held two separate apartments in one building, so one family could live on the ground floor and another on the upper level. The wrought-iron stairs stretching to the second floor meant that both groups had a private entrance. Although the duplexes pressed against one another, and each only had a small front yard, they generally boasted neat lawns and petite gardens. A few guys in shorts and no shirts balanced their bare feet on their balcony railings. I dodged a sprinkler and smiled some more. This wasn't Orleans, the suburb where I'd grown up, but it wasn't such a distant relation, either.

  When I got home, I read about two pages of Guy Gavriel Kay's Sailing to Sarantium before I crashed.

  I awoke to a harsh buzz ripping throughout my apartment like a giant mechanical wasp. It took me a minute to recognize it as my buzzer. Someone was here to see me.

  I groaned. My teeth felt fuzzy and wrong. My breath was probably enough to make a dog's hair stand on end. But I dragged myself out of bed for Alex. I brushed the sleep out of my eyes, finger-combed my hair, and rinsed with mouthwash. Then I threw open my front door.

  No one was there.

  I squinted down the stairs, toward the main entrance.

  I glimpsed a stocky pair of women's legs. The rest of her body was cut off from view by the sloped ceiling of the stairs. The visitor turned toward the inner apartment door and jostled the handle. Then she began jabbing my buzzer again. I still couldn't see her face, but I figured it out. Unless Alex had gone for gender reassignment surgery this afternoon, it was Mireille.

  What was she doing here? I was too tired to think it through. She'd tell me soon enough. I buzzed her in.

  Mireille burst through the apartment door and bounced up the stairs, two at a time. Her brown curls sprang with each step. "I hope I'm not disturbing—oh! Were you sleeping?"

  No point in lying. "Yes. But it's okay. I should have been up."

  She air-kissed my cheeks. "I feel terrible! I thought I would drop by, see how you were doing."

  "I'm fine." From the way she leaned forward expectantly, I'd have to let her in. I stepped aside.

  She was wearing a baby blue tank top that emphasized the breadth of her shoulders and the muscles in her arms. Was she really strong enough to hold down a grown man?

  "Shall I take off my shoes?" She stepped out of her sandals before I completed my nod. "What a nice apartment! I like the floors. And it's bigger than mine!"

  "Not really." I should offer her something to eat or drink. My fridge was still pretty paltry. "Would you like some water?"

  She waved me away. "No, no, don't go to any trouble." She strolled into the living room. "It's good that you have a balcony." She surve
yed my boxes and bare white walls. "You keep your room quite bare. Is that your look? Very Zen!"

  I was annoyed. If I were white, she would have called it moving in, not Zen. "I had a problem with the moving company. The furniture's coming."

  "Oh." She turned to me with round, innocent eyes. "I thought it was feng shui."

  I reigned in my temper. She saw my face and assumed I was all-things-Asian. It's not uncommon, especially with older people, but I wish they would grow up and smell the multiculturalism. Some people meet you and immediately think they know you through the o-so-true stereotypes: hard-working Asian square who likes Hello Kitty. Others take it as an opportunity to tell you all about their trip to China thirty years ago. "Zen is a certain style. It doesn't mean an empty room."

  "Oh." Again, the wide eyes. "Well, I imagine you know all about it."

  "Not really. Just a few things I've read." Irritation was waking me up fast. "Can I help you with something?"

  "I hope you will." She strode to the opposite wall of the living room and leaned against the windowsill, one leg bent so her bare foot pressed against my non-functioning radiator. "It's Alex."

  I tensed before consciously relaxing my shoulders and voice. "What about him?"

  "He's torn up about Kurt's death."

  She stated Kurt's name calmly, with no hesitation. I eyed her. "Are you?"

  She shrugged. "Yes, but I can handle it. Alex cannot." She turned to look at the bean tree shadowing my balcony. "He has never been able to handle stress."

  "So why are you talking to me about it?"

  She laughed lightly. "Well, he seems to have found a new confidante in you. I wanted you to be aware."

  I waited. We were taught that silence is a good tool for interviewing. But maybe Mireille got the same lesson at McGill, because she just stood there with a little smile on her face.

  She was a cat person. She liked to toy with people. She could have told me this on the phone. What was she looking for? I scanned the living room, but the only remarkable thing was my doll Henry, still praying for good luck. She followed my gaze to Henry. I leaned on the desk to block her view. "Okay. I'm aware. I'll be nice to him."

  She nodded. "I know you will." She stepped over to the desk and peered over my shoulder at Henry.

  I pulled myself up to my full height to block her again. "Was that all?"

  We stared at each other. The amusement extinguished from her eyes. We were so close that I could see the small brown freckles on her nose, cheeks, and forehead. Her breath ruffled my bangs.

  At last, she said, "That's all." She gave me a wide, enigmatic smile and turned to leave.

  I remembered Alex stalking her, supposedly on behalf of his friend. Before she'd taken five steps, I called, "Do you and Alex have some sort of...understanding?"

  She spun on her heel and laughed, showing large white teeth. "Heavens, no! Alex and I don't have any kind of understanding."

  Just friends, then? But their friendship had a peculiar intensity.

  She flapped her hand. "You're welcome to him. I just wanted to tell you to handle him with care." She gave me a nod. The queen permitting me leave.

  "How kind of you. Do you have experience in handling men?" This was mean, kicking her when she was down about Kurt, but I wanted to provoke her. She had come to my house uninvited, dropped insulting hints about Alex and my non-existent décor. She needed a little back.

  Her eyes narrowed for a moment. "Who told you that?" She brushed non-existent lint off her pants. "Alex is prone to exaggeration."

  My truth-telling gene took control of my mouth. "So you deny you were having an affair with Kurt?"

  Her eyes blazed for a moment. "That is none of your business."

  She'd just confirmed it. That was one up for Alex. "But Alex is your business?"

  She lifted her chin. "I look out for the well-being of my colleagues. And my friends."

  I said, "Okay, you and I are colleagues. So tell me. How are you doing?"

  More non-existent lint. "I told you. I am fine." Her laugh was a hard tinkle. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Because one of your friends and colleagues is dead." I felt somewhat sorry for her now. "You said you're here for Alex, but we both know you were closer to Kurt. It's okay to mourn. Especially if you had unfinished business."

  She ducked her head and stormed back into my front hall. "I cannot believe that you are saying this! You are prying into my business!" She stuffed her feet back into her shoes. "Clearly, I was wrong to come here!"

  I blocked the door. "Look, Mireille. It's okay that you came. Did you want to talk to me? About something besides Alex, I mean?" Maybe he was right, she wanted to talk to a relative outsider.

  Her eyes glittered. Up close, they were hazel, green with brown webs in her irises. "Not at all."

  I felt a little hurt, even though I'd never liked her. "Okay. Fine. If you want to, though, you can. I'm the only one who didn't really know Kurt, and I'm not big into judging people."

  "Aren't you?" She came close enough that I could smell her breath. It was strong and a bit sour, as if she'd eaten Gorgonzola cheese.

  I was suddenly conscious of our relative size. I'm thin, with matchstick arms, so I hit the gym or do push-ups with variable dedication. I still occasionally have trouble opening doors in public. I do have strong legs, but I wasn't eager to test them on her.

  Mireille had a few inches on me and big, swimmer's shoulders. She wasn't fat, just muscular and compact. She would have no trouble opening doors.

  I also lived alone and hadn't met my neighbours yet, in what Alex described as a bad neighbourhood.

  Do not be afraid. I swallowed and lifted my own chin. "No."

  She made a dry, spitting sound.

  I jerked back involuntarily.

  Her lips thinned and jerked upward in a slight smile. "Alex is very paranoid. He sees conspiracies everywhere. He probably thinks Kurt was murdered. Am I right?"

  I stayed silent. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat.

  She pushed her face in mine. "Maybe he even thinks I killed him! Ha!" She sprayed a drop of saliva.

  I flinched backward. It still hit me in the chin.

  Her eyes were wide, exultant. "That's it, isn't it! He thinks I'm the killer! Oh, that's rich." She pressed so close that our noses almost touched. "That's hilarious. If you are so interested, I suggest you dig more into Alex's past—and less into mine." Her hand rose into the air. I raised my arm protectively, but she was only unlocking the door. She gave a sharp laugh and sauntered out.

  My only reply was to slam the door and throw the bolt. I could still hear her laughing as she descended the stairs.

  Chapter 9

  Tuesday morning was my first family medicine clinic. Even though I was doing emerg, I still came back to family med twice a week, including biweekly teaching. The entire department attended the monthly Wednesday Grand Rounds, if only for the free food.

  I wasn't sure what to expect as I sprinted up to the fourth floor. As I'd learned on orientation, the family medicine department was split on to two floors, the second and fourth. It figured that I'd be on the top one. I didn't know why they didn't make it consecutive floors, at least, except that administration took up the third floor. Make the doctors and elderly patients walk up the stairs, as long as the bureaucrats don't have to stir far from their plush chairs.

  My watch showed 8:30. I was already supposed to be at the clinic. I usually set my watch two minutes early, just to get my butt in gear, but I was cutting it pretty fine for my first day.

  I pushed open the dead white door at the top of the stairs. The clinic was laid out in a U-shape. I just had to rush from the bottom of the U up to the top at one end.

  I turned left and dashed past the secretary's office and a waiting room with a TV continuously playing static. Left again at the end of the hall, past the nurse's office. At the end of the hall, I found my target conference room on the right.

  I ran through t
he propped-open door. To my horror, the first face I saw was Dr. Callendar's. Dr. Evil from the ER, come back to haunt me.

  Dr. Callendar scowled at me. "Good afternoon."

  The feeling was clearly mutual. I wasn't that late. However, I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of checking my watch. "Hi. I think I'm in the wrong room. I'm supposed to be in Dr. Levine's group." I started to back out. I'd have to run to the other end of the U.

  Dr. Callendar waved his hand. "Dr. Levine was supposed to be the primary team leader, but because of...other commitments, he is now going to take the Friday clinics every other week. I will be your primary team leader." His eyes glittered. "I will see you every Tuesday morning. Punctuality is the pride of princes and princesses, Dr. Sze." He gave the "doctor" a sarcastic flick.

  I tried not to wince. Maybe I should have taken the elevator, but Alex had warned me not to. "It didn't move for three minutes," he'd told me. "I timed it. Then it sank down to the basement and back up to the ground floor to pick up a hundred-year-old couple. It stalled out on the second floor, where no one got on. It creaked up to the third before it sank back down to second. By the time it got to the fourth floor, I could've run up ten times."

  "Please. Have a seat." Dr. Callendar smirked at me now. "Join us." He sat at the head of the table closest to the door. The three other residents had left a few chairs between him and them.

  Like the rest of the FMC, the room was ancient and run-down, but at least it had linoleum flooring instead of the battered grey carpet, mended with duct tape, that lined the hallways. A bookcase filled with forms squatted in the far left corner. A few old textbooks, a Harrison's and a Nelson's, leaned on its uppermost shelf. Someone had opened the four windows along wall opposite the door, but the room already felt hot and stuffy without A/C or a fan. Or maybe that was just Dr. Callendar's presence.

  Tori caught my eye and lowered her eyes at the seat next to her. I circled halfway around the table and pulled out the chair, happy that she was the other R1 in my group.

  The other two residents, the R2s, were both guys and looked nice enough. I smiled at them.