The Inquisitor

by Peter Clement

  She settled comfortably into his arms, once more appreciating his ability as a dancer. She also liked the gentle way he held her, and the feel of his firm chest.

  Jane knew he was covering ER tonight. She'd checked the schedule, as she often did, to see if they'd be on together. But her slot started at eleven, the regular nursing shift.

  Christ! For a grown woman, sometimes she could act so lame about him, she thought, embarrassed at having looked up when he worked. Then she wondered if he ever did the same for her. She'd like that.

  An early evening breeze ruffled her hair, and she relaxed her head dreamily against his shoulder. He shifted his arms ever so slightly, enfolding her. She enjoyed the sensation.

  She'd barely noticed him his first rotation through ER at St. Paul's. That had been her own rookie year. Scared to death of making a mistake on duty, then preoccupied with studying possible case scenarios on her days off in order to boost her confidence at work, she'd little time for men and didn't enjoy going out much. But after six months she had gained enough competence to look beyond her job and enjoy life a little- enough to keep an open mind as far as hooking up with someone when the Christmas party rolled around. Big mistake. People decompressed so much that most behaved as if they were at Mardi Gras. Wives left their wedding rings at home, husbands forgot where they lived, and singles swung.

  Except for Dr. Thomas Biggs. He not only knew a fox trot from a waltz but also didn't use their time on the dance floor as an opportunity to grope her. Better yet, between numbers he actually seemed to enjoy talking about something besides work.

  From then on she'd started checking his schedule against her own. They never ran out of anything to say. Movies, music, medicine- the topic didn't matter. And she particularly liked his easy, soft-spoken manner and barely detectable Tennessee drawl. To her mind, he sounded like someone out of Gone with the Wind- a man who knew how to treat a lady. Of course, she never monopolized him, again to avoid tongues wagging. Even at subsequent ER parties she'd danced with him no more than anyone else. But it had bothered her that he hadn't tried to take it further.

  Initially she'd presumed he didn't want to date anyone with whom he worked, even though many residents had no such qualms and behaved like free-range rutters whenever they had the chance. Then his rotations took him to other departments- some even out of the city, to rural rotations in the Finger Lakes district, a winemaking area east of Buffalo- and she hardly saw him at all. Occasionally they ran into each other in the cafeteria and would have a coffee together. But he would never initiate anything more, not so much as a dinner invitation. She'd even begun to think he might be gay, then decided probably not. She could usually tell that about a man. It had to do with the carnality of her attraction to him, and Thomas's pull on her definitely rated a ten.

  Still, frustrated at his lack of boldness and wondering about the reason, she'd finally asked him outright. "Do you prefer men, or is it me as a woman you got problems with?"

  His swarthy complexion had flushed behind the closely cropped beard. "Want to go to my apartment and find out?" His tone carried more dare than invitation.

  "Yeah," she'd said, double-daring him right back.

  And they'd become lovers.

  "Why'd you wait so long?" she'd asked him afterward.

  "Because I didn't want us to be the latest gossip morsel for the hospital to chew over. I hate that."

  "Me too."

  "So what do we do?" He'd seemed genuinely lost for ideas.

  "Continue to act like friends in public," she'd told him, surprised at how easily he'd let her take charge. "Can you keep a secret? I mean really keep it. Not a peep about us to anyone?"

  He'd shrugged. "Watch me."

  So they'd sealed the bond.

  That had been eight months ago, just before last Christmas.

  They'd been lovers ever since, except when he'd had to go off to the Finger Lakes district again, at the beginning of the year.

  The music ended, and she opened her eyes. The summer dusk promised a long, languid sunset. "I want to be more than just your chum tonight," she whispered.

  "You mean in the hospital? We might blow our cover."

  "There's tomorrow morning. After sign-out, come on over, and I'll make you breakfast."

  His dark good looks lit up with that infectious grin of his that she loved to see.

  "You mean ol" hillbilly me finally is considered housebroken enough to be allowed into that new apartment of yours?" he teased. "What happened? Someone cover it all in plastic?"

  She'd just moved into a new place. For reasons of her own, she'd hesitated at inviting him over. "Something like that. How about it?"

  "Love to," he said, and walked away, rejoining the residents he'd been talking with earlier.

  Feeling miserable, she wandered over to the end of the table, away from her nursing friends. Did he want her as much as she did him? At times she suspected his aversion to gossip simply gave him the excuse he needed to keep her at a distance- handy when he needed her, but out of sight when it suited him.

  "You look as if you've lost your best friend," said a voice behind her.

  She turned to see Father Jimmy, beer in hand. He gave her a lopsided grin that lifted her spirits despite her foul mood. "Hi, Father. No, it isn't anything like that."

  He glanced across the room and nodded toward Thomas. "You're sure?"

  She felt her face grow warm. He couldn't possibly know about Thomas and her. They'd been so careful. "What are you talking about?"

  "You seem unhappy. Tis a shame, a woman of your talent and beauty."

  The burn in her face increased. "I'm fine."

  "Are you? I'd say that the usual J.S. spark is missing tonight."

  "Just tired, is all."

  "Ah, well, if that's the problem, I'm not surprised. You work hard."

  "No more than the next person."

  "Oh, I disagree. I can tell the good ones, and you're right up there, J.S. You pour heart and soul into what you do, and haven't backed off it since the day you arrived. I like that in you."

  His candid praise surprised her. While he'd always been friendly and spoke of the good job that nurses did, she'd never heard him single one out for special mention before, let alone her. Probably figured she needed cheering up. "Thank you, Father. That's very kind."

  "Kindness has nothing to do with it." He walked over and sat down beside her. "A lot of the patients talk about the special 'pierced angel of ER.'"

  She started to laugh. "The what?"

  He grinned again and took a swig of beer. "I've been wondering if maybe I should get an earring. What do you think?"

  She laughed some more. "Come on."

  "But I never get a clear answer whether right or left is a message. Needless to say, I can't go around giving the wrong idea."

  "You're not serious."

  "Sure. I figure it'll help bridge the gap between me and some of the street kids."

  She searched his face for a hint that he'd engaged her in one of his games of zany banter, but he seemed quite pensive. And for the first time she found herself guessing about his age. Probably mid-thirties. Not at all too old for jewelry, though she couldn't remember ever seeing a priest wear any. She would have thought there'd be a rule against it.

  "So which is it, right or left?"

  She laughed. "Right or left ear. It doesn't matter anymore," she said. "And I could do it for you if you like." She immediately felt shy at making the offer.

  But he let out a deep chuckle. "Why, I can't think of anyone I'd rather trust my earlobe to. Just tell me when and where."

  His ready acceptance relaxed her. Apparently he hadn't found the offer out of line. "Good. I'll check with Susanne about using a treatment room in ER. It won't take more than a few minutes. But bring the ring with you, so I can insert it to keep the perforation open."

  "Done. Let me know when you're ready. And thanks, J.S." He held out his hand to shake on the deal. The firmness of his grip did
n't surprise her, given his physique, but the roughness of his palm did. It had the calluses that only years of physical labor could produce. Like her father's.

  She realized her hand had lingered in his when he said, "Not the soft skin you expected?"

  "Oh, sorry." She felt her cheeks grow warm.

  "Hey, I'm proud when someone notices. They got like that prior to divinity school, when I bummed around out west for a few years. Worked as a ranch hand in several places. Say, you're from the prairies too, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, but further east. I grew up in wheat country- Grand Forks, North Dakota, right on the Minnesota border."

  "I know where it is. Just north of where they made that movie Fargo a few years back, and gave everyone Norwegian accents."

  She laughed again, knowing exactly the film he meant. Everyone in Grand Forks had busted a gut laughing at it. "l-ya do-on't kno-oo wh-at yo-ou me-an," she mimicked, summoning up her best singsong rendition of the lead actress's portrayal of a local female cop's speech.

  He threw his head back and guffawed so loudly it stopped conversations and attracted more than a few looks. "That's perfect," he managed to say, still chortling, oblivious to the reactions around him. "Say something else."

  Carried away by his exuberance, she added, "Be-ee ca-re fu-ull, o-or yo-ou wi-ill pu-uke."

  This time he nearly doubled over, and she started to giggle, finding his easy enjoyment of her joke infectious.

  They settled down, and he asked, "Are your mom and dad still in Grand Forks?"

  A twinge of sadness cut through the happy moment. "My father died in a construction accident twelve years ago. Mom's there, though," she added, brightening, "along with my kid brother, Arliss, who's now six foot and in his final year of high school. To think I used to beat him up."

  He reared back in an expression of mock horror. "Did ya now?"

  His Irish brogue made her giggle again.

  "And you look like you could still handle yourself," he continued, bringing his head closer to hers. His eyes alight with playfulness, he held a hand to the side of his mouth in an obvious parody of someone about to reveal a secret. "Your speed as a runner actually had me worried during the race today. Fast as a cheetah, ye are. Nobody's come so close to beatin' the Flying Angels in years."

  They chatted a few more minutes about the prairie, and then he excused himself.

  As he walked away, she thought it odd that she found him so likable. Her attitude toward God's existence amounted to little more than a willingness to keep an open mind on the subject. Yet during her encounters with Father Jimmy in ER, she had never once sensed that he had an underlying agenda to show her the error of her loosely held beliefs. He just seemed friendly and fun. In fact, if he weren't a priest… She immediately shut down that line of thought. My God, what could she be thinking?

  She nevertheless continued to watch the man as he wandered the room, joking with whomever he met, until she saw Dr. G. corner him. The two exchanged a few words, their expressions tightened into frowns, and they left together, joined in an animated discussion. At the door leading back into the hospital they stopped where boxes of protective clothing had been stacked and suited up again, but the ritual failed to interfere with their conversation.

  She scanned the crowd, looking for Thomas. He stood against the setting sun, head tilted in easy laughter, evidently finding the woman he talked to exceedingly funny. The pleasant warmth of her interlude with Father Jimmy vanished instantly, replaced by a longing she'd come to resent.

  "Do you want him, girl?" Susanne whispered in her ear and sat down beside her. "This time next year he'll be gone."

  Jane felt herself flush. "What are you talking about?"

  Susanne gave a dismissive wave. "You're a lot like me," she said. "A woman who likes to keep private things private. But I can tell what's up between you two."

  "Really, Susanne, you've got the wrong impression-"

  Susanne cut her off with a skeptical arch of an eyebrow that made it clear further protests were pointless.

  Jane shook her head and took a swig of beer. She also felt an overwhelming urge to unload her secret to a sympathetic ear. She'd once carried her feelings for Thomas effortlessly, but they'd become all too heavy lately, the price of bearing them in private. It left her isolated and lonely, and she didn't like that. Maybe the time to talk was here. "How'd you know?"

  "Just by watching. There's something different between the two of you when you dance. I didn't see it before last Christmas, but since…" She grinned with a shrug.

  "See what?"

  "You're more relaxed."

  "And him?"

  Susanne shrugged again. "Hard to tell. He's already so loosey-goosey with that hillbilly facade he puts on."

  Jane laughed, then felt depressed again. She peered through the gaps between nearby buildings and glimpsed the blue sparkle of Lake Erie. A line of dark clouds floated across the horizon, their tops swollen into great round caps like a patch of mushrooms. The sight reminded her of the prairie skyline and carefree days back home in North Dakota.

  "He seems like a good guy, though," Susanne added. "I can see why you like him."

  The confirmation of her own instincts picked Jane up a little. She trusted Susanne's judgment and especially liked her ability to share insights without appearing to give advice. That bond had been established early, within days of her arrival in ER.

  Despite her decision not to date anyone, Jane had started to let her guard down with the guys in the department, hoping to fit in. Nothing serious, just played along with their lighthearted chatter and teasing in the way she would have with her buds back at Grand Forks. But then came the comments laced with sexual innuendos.

  At first she'd taken offense. That kind of talk angered her. As early as high school she'd had to endure the "nice T and A" comments the boys whispered behind her back but loud enough for her to hear. It drove her to start dressing tough, all the while feeling far from it inside. Even now, being what her mother called "amply endowed," whenever she wore a swimsuit the old self-consciousness about her body remained. So when the males in ER cracked that J.S. had better not go near old men with pacemakers, she might have grinned good-naturedly, but the joke set her cheeks on fire.

  "They're assholes," Susanne had told her in the nurses' lounge after the first incident. "Not one of them would know what to do with a gorgeous woman like you, and that's your weapon. Zing their kind right back, and they fold."

  The next time some wit resorted to that same refrain, Jane had run her fingernail down the front of his lab coat, unhooking the buttons as she went, and looked him scornfully in the crotch. "No danger letting you near the female patients, with or without pacemakers."

  He'd turned tomato red.

  The others had oohed and laughed.

  But she'd felt elevated a notch in how the males treated her after that.

  And Susanne had become a combination older sister and aunt who watched over her without ever seeming to interfere.

  "He says he doesn't want to do anything more about us right now," Jane found herself admitting to her. "That he couldn't stand the busybodies picking our lives apart."

  "They won't if you don't let them," Susanne said.

  "And how do I manage that?"

  Susanne smiled and shook her head. "I suppose the same way you already have, silly- by continuing to keep your mouth shut. It's worked."

  "But you knew."

  "I'm different. What I picked up on had to do with seeing a kindred spirit, you might say. No one else is likely to find out."

  Jane again wondered if Father Jimmy might not suspect the truth. "Yeah, right."

  "Ask yourself why you know so much about who the people in this department are sleeping with," Susanne said.

  Jane shrugged. "I don't know. Word gets around."

  "Because most people, when they become lonely or down enough, brag about whom they love as a way to raise their confidence. I guess it somehow makes their b
eing loved back feel more real. So far, honey, you've resisted that urge. As a result, you fall off everyone else's radar as soon as you walk out of here."

  Susanne ought to know, Jane thought. Hardly anyone in the department ever gossiped about her private life. Oh, a few might have guessed at the possibilities of whom she might be with, but they didn't get far, there being no rumors to feed the mill. She wore no wedding ring, never discussed anything personal, and when sAewent out the door of ER, it might as well be into a black hole.

  "So it beats me why he'd still be worried about gossip this stage of the game," Susanne continued. "You've both proven you can put up a good enough front to keep your business private. What's to stop the two of you from making plans for after next year?"

  Hearing someone else articulate what she'd been telling herself, Jane felt something release deep inside her. Susanne, as usual, hadn't advised her what to do, but rather nudged her to see for herself what ought to be done. Not that she didn't already know. Anyone with half a brain could see that the time had come to press Thomas for the real reason he'd been stalling about their future. What held her back had to do with her fear of the truth and the practical prairie philosophy she'd learned from her mother: never ask questions when the answers might make you more miserable.

  "You what?"

  "I had to, Jimmy. Wyatt would have tried to kick you out of the hospital."

  The priest jumped up from the visitor's chair in Earl's cramped ER office and started to pace. "But to have him lead a hospital audit on pain? That's as stupid as… as… as if you put bin Laden in charge of human rights at the UN."

  "Or you telling the prickly fart how to practice medicine. Why'd you pull a boneheaded play like that?"

  Jimmy froze and gave Earl a withering look. "Because I won't sit at any more bedsides and try to give spiritual comfort to poor wretches who die screaming."

  "You're exaggerating-"

  "Goddamn it, Earl, wake up. You see something that atrocious in ER, and you'd move in with morphine, ketamine, fentanyl- whatever it takes. I can't do that. For me it's beg the nurses, who ask the residents, who don't prescribe enough, then beg them to get their staff supervisor. Even then a third of them won't budge from the guidelines, but I beg them as well anyway, and all the time the screeching goes on. I tell you, there ought to be a court for medical atrocities, just like there is for atrocities of war, and this kind of torture by omission should be made a crime…" He seemed to run out of breath and simply stood there, panting as heavily as if he'd just completed one of his runs.