Under the Knife

by Tess Gerritsen

  She was so cold, so still. If only he could give her his warmth. He had made just such a wish once before, when his only child had lain dying in his arms. Not this time, he prayed, pulling her tightly against him. Don’t take her from me, too….

  That plea rang over and over in his head as they carried her down the mountain. The descent ended in mass confusion as ambulance workers crowded in to help. David was shunted to the sidelines, a helpless observer of a battle he wasn’t trained to fight.

  He watched the ambulance scream off into the darkness. He imagined the emergency room, the lights, the people in white. He couldn’t bear to think of Kate, lying helplessly in all that chaos. But that’s where she would be soon. It was her only chance.

  A hand clapped him gently on the shoulder. “You okay, Davy?” Pokie asked.

  “Yeah.” He sighed deeply. “Yeah.”

  “She’ll be all right. I got a crystal ball on these things.” He turned at the sound of a sneeze.

  Sergeant Brophy approached, his face half-buried in a handkerchief. “They’ve brought the body up,” said Brophy. “Got tangled up in all that—that—” he blew his nose “—shrubbery. Broken neck. Wanna take a look before it goes to the morgue?”

  “Never mind,” Pokie grunted. “I’ll take your word for it.” As they walked to the car, he asked, “How did Dr. Santini handle the news?”

  “That’s the weird thing,” replied Brophy. “When I told him about his wife, he sort of acted like—well, he’d expected it.”

  Pokie frowned at the covered body of Susan Santini, now being loaded into the ambulance. He sighed. “Maybe he did. Maybe he knew all along what was happening. But he didn’t want to admit it. Even to himself.”

  Brophy opened the car door. “Where to, Lieutenant?”

  “The hospital. And move it.” Pokie nodded toward David. “This man’s got some serious waiting to do.”

  * * *

  IT WAS FOUR hours before David was allowed to see her. Four hours of pacing the fourth-floor waiting room. Four hours of walking back and forth past the same National Enquirer headline on the coffee table: Woman’s Head Joined To Baboon’s Body.

  There was only one other person in the room, a mule-faced man who slouched beneath a No Smoking sign, puffing desperately on a cigarette. He stubbed out the butt and reached for another. “Getting late,” the man commented. That was the extent of their conversation. Two words, uttered in a monotone. The man never said who he was waiting for. He never spoke of fear. It was there, plain in his eyes.

  At eleven o’clock, the mule-faced man was called into the recovery room and David was left alone. He stood at the window, listening to the wail of an approaching ambulance. For the hundredth time, he looked at his watch. She’d been in surgery three hours. How long did it take to remove a bullet? Had something gone wrong?

  At midnight, a nurse at last poked her head into the room. “Are you Mr. Ransom?”

  He spun around, his heart instantly racing. “Yes!”

  “I thought you’d want to know. Dr. Chesne’s out of surgery.”

  “Then… She’s all right?”

  “Everything went just fine.”

  He let out a breath so heavy its release left him floating. Thank you, he thought. Thank you.

  “If you’d like to go home, we’ll call you when she—”

  “I have to see her.”

  “She’s still unconscious.”

  “I have to see her.”

  “I’m sorry, but we only allow immediate family into…” Her voice trailed off as she saw the dangerous look in his eyes. She cleared her throat. “Five minutes, Mr. Ransom. That’s all. You understand?”

  Oh, he understood, all right. And he didn’t give a damn. He pushed past her, through the recovery-room doors.

  He found her lying on the last gurney, her small, pale form drowning in bright lights and plastic tubes. There was only a limp white curtain separating her from the next patient. David hovered at the foot of her stretcher, afraid to move close, afraid to touch her for fear he might break one of those fragile limbs. He was reminded of a princess in a glass bell, lying in some deep forest: untouchable, unreachable. A cardiac monitor chirped overhead, marking the rhythm of her heart. Beautiful music. Good and strong and steady. Kate’s heart. He stood there, immobile, as the nurses fussed with tubes, adjusted IV fluids and oxygen. A doctor came to examine Kate’s lungs. David felt useless. He was like a great big boulder in everyone’s path. He knew he should leave and let them do their job, but something kept him rooted to his spot. One of the nurses pointed to her watch and said sternly, “We really can’t work around you. You’ll have to leave now.”

  But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not until he knew everything would be all right.

  * * *

  “SHE’S WAKING UP.”

  The light of a dozen suns seemed to burn through her closed eyelids. She heard voices, vaguely familiar, murmuring in the void above her. Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes.

  What she saw first was the light, brilliant and inescapable, glaring down at her. Bit by bit, she made out the smiling face of a woman, someone she knew from some dim and distant past, though she couldn’t quite remember why. She focused on the name tag: Julie Sanders, RN. Julie. Now she remembered.

  “Can you hear me, Dr. Chesne?” Julie asked.

  Kate made a feeble attempt to nod.

  “You’re in the recovery room. Are you in pain?”

  Kate didn’t know. Her senses were returning one by one, and pain had yet to reawaken. It took her a moment to register all the signals her brain was receiving. She felt the hiss of oxygen in her nostrils and heard the soft beep of a cardiac monitor somewhere over the bed. But pain? No. She felt only a terrible sense of emptiness. And exhaustion. She wanted to sleep….

  More faces had gathered around the bed. Another nurse, a stethoscope draped around her neck. Dr. Tam, dour as always. And then she heard a voice, calling softly to her.

  “Kate?”

  She turned. Framed against the glare of lights, David’s face was blackly haggard. In wonder, she reached up to touch him but found that her wrist was hopelessly tangled in what seemed like a multitude of plastic tubes. Too weak to struggle, she let her hand drop back to the bed.

  That’s when he took it. Gently, as if he were afraid he might break her.

  “You’re all right,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her palm. “Thank God you’re all right….”

  “I don’t remember….”

  “You’ve been in surgery.” He gave her a small, tense smile. “Three hours. It seemed like forever. But the bullet’s out.”

  She remembered, then. The wind. The ridge. And Susan, quietly slipping away like a phantom. “She’s dead?”

  He nodded. “There was nothing anyone could do.”

  “And Guy?”

  “He won’t be able to walk for a while. I don’t know how he made it to that phone. But he did.”

  For a moment she lay in silence, thinking of Guy, whose life was now as shattered as his leg. “He saved my life. And now he’s lost everything….”

  “Not everything. He still has his son.”

  Yes, she thought. William will always be Guy’s son. Not by blood, but by something much stronger: by love. Out of all this tragedy, at least one thing would remain intact and good.

  “Mr. Ransom, you really will have to leave,” insisted Dr. Tam.

  David nodded. Then he bent over and dutifully gave Kate a gruff and awkward kiss. If he had told her he loved her, if he had said anything at all, she might have found some joy in that dry touch of lips. But too quickly his hand melted away from hers.

  Things seemed to move in a blur. Dr. Tam began asking questions she was too dazed to answer. The nurses bustled around her bed, changing IV bottles, disconnecting wires, tucking in sheets. She was given a pain shot. Within minutes, she felt herself sliding irresistibly toward sleep.

  As they moved her out of the recovery room, she fought
to stay awake. There was something important she had to say to David, something that couldn’t wait. But there were so many people around and she lost track of his voice in the confusing buzz of conversation. She felt a burst of panic that this was her last chance to tell him she loved him. But even to the very edge of consciousness, some last wretched scrap of pride kept her silent. And so, in silence, she let herself be dragged once again into darkness.

  * * *

  DAVID STAYED IN her hospital room until almost dawn. He sat by her bed, holding her hand, brushing the hair off her face. Every so often he would say her name, half hoping she would awaken. But whatever pain shot they’d given her was industrial strength; she scarcely stirred all night. If only once she’d called for him in her sleep, if she’d said even the first syllable of his name, it would have been enough. He would have known she needed him and then he would have told her he needed her. It wasn’t the sort of thing a man could just come out and say to anyone. At least, he couldn’t. In truth, he was worse off than poor mute Charlie Decker. At least Decker could express himself in a few lines of wretched poetry.

  It was a long drive home.

  As soon as he walked in the door, he called the hospital to check on her condition. “Stable.” That was all they’d say but it was enough. He called a florist and ordered flowers delivered to Kate’s room. Roses. Since he couldn’t think of a message, he told the clerk to simply write “David.” He fixed himself some coffee and toast and ate like a starved man, which he was, since he’d missed supper the night before. Then, dirty, unshaven, exhausted, he went into the living room and threw himself on the couch.

  He thought about all the reasons he couldn’t be in love. He’d carved out a nice, comfortable existence for himself. He looked around at the polished floor, the curtains, the books lined up in the glass cabinet. Then it struck him how sterile it all was. This wasn’t the home of a living, breathing man. It was a shell, the way he was a shell.

  What the hell, he thought. She probably wouldn’t want him anyway. Their affair had been rooted in need. She’d been terrified and he, conveniently, had been there. Soon she’d be back on her feet, her career on track. You couldn’t keep a woman like Kate down for long.

  He admired her and he wanted her. But did he love her? He hoped not.

  Because he, better than anyone else, knew that love was nothing more than a setup for grief.

  * * *

  DR. CLARENCE AVERY stood awkwardly in the doorway of Kate’s hospital room and asked if he could come in. He was carrying a half dozen hideously tinted green carnations, which he waved at her as though he had no idea what one did with flowers. Tinted green ones, anyway. The stems were still wrapped in supermarket cellophane, price tag and all.

  “These are for you,” he said, just in case she wasn’t quite certain about that point. “I hope… I hope you’re not allergic to carnations. Or anything.”

  “I’m not. Thank you, Dr. Avery.”

  “It’s nothing, really. I just…” His gaze wandered to the dozen long-stemmed red roses set in a porcelain vase on the nightstand. “Oh. But I see you’ve already gotten flowers. Roses.” Sadly, he looked down at his green carnations the way one might study a dead animal.

  “I prefer carnations,” she replied. “Could you put them in water for me? I think I saw a vase under the sink.”

  “Certainly.” He took the flowers over to the sink and as he bent down, she saw that, as usual, his pants were wrinkled and his socks didn’t match. The carnations looked somehow touching, flopping about in the huge, watery vase. What mattered most was that they’d been delivered in person, which was more than could be said about the roses.

  They had arrived while she was still sleeping. The card said simply, “David.” He hadn’t called or visited. She thought maybe he’d decided this was the time to make the break. All morning she’d alternated between wanting to tear the flowers to bits and wanting to gather them up and hug them. Now that was an apt analogy—hugging thorns to one’s breast.

  “Here,” she said. “Put the carnations right next to me. Where I can smell them.” She brusquely shoved the roses aside, an act that made her wince. The surgical incision had left her with dozens of stitches and it had taken a hefty dose of narcotics just to dull the pain. Carefully she eased back against the pillows.

  Pleased that his offering was given such a place of honor, Dr. Avery took a moment of silence to admire the limp blossoms. Then he cleared his throat. “Dr. Chesne,” he began, “I should tell you this isn’t just a—a social visit.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. It has to do with your position here at Mid Pac.”

  “Then there’s been a decision,” she said quietly.

  “With all the new evidence that’s come out, well…” He gave a little shrug. “I suppose I should have taken your side earlier. I’m sorry I didn’t. I suppose I was… I’m just sorry.” Shuffling, he looked down at his ink-stained lab coat. “I don’t know why I’ve held on to this blasted chairmanship. It’s never given me anything but ulcers. Anyway, I’m here to tell you we’re offering you your old job back. There’ll be nothing on your record. Just a notation that a lawsuit was filed against you and later dropped. Which it will be. At least, that’s what I’m told.”

  “My old job,” she murmured. “I don’t know.” Sighing, she turned and looked out the window. “I’m not even sure I want it back. You know, Dr. Avery, I’ve been thinking. About other places.”

  “You mean another hospital?”

  “Another town.” She smiled at him. “It’s not so surprising, is it? I’ve had a lot of time to think these last few days. I’ve been wondering if I don’t belong somewhere else. Away from all this—this ocean.” Away from David.

  “Oh, dear.”

  “You’ll find a replacement. There must be hundreds of doctors begging to come to paradise.”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m just surprised. After all the work Mr. Ransom put into this, I thought certainly you’d—”

  “Mr. Ransom? What do you mean?”

  “All those calls he made. To every member of the hospital board.”

  A parting gesture, she thought. At least I should be grateful for that.

  “It was quite a turnaround, I must say. A plaintiff’s attorney asking—demanding—we reinstate a doctor! But this morning, when he presented the police evidence and we heard Dr. Santini’s statement, well, it took the board a full five minutes to make a decision.” He frowned. “Mr. Ransom gave us the idea you wanted your job back.”

  “Maybe I did once,” she replied, staring at the roses and wondering why she felt no sense of triumph. “But things change. Don’t they?”

  “I suppose they do.” Avery cleared his throat and shuffled a little more. “Your job is there if you want it. And we’ll certainly be needing you on staff. Especially with my retirement coming up.”

  She looked up in surprise. “You’re retiring?”

  “I’m sixty-four, you know. That’s getting along. I’ve never seen much of the country. Never had the time. My wife and I, we used to talk about traveling after my retirement. Barb would’ve wanted me to enjoy myself. Don’t you think?”

  Kate smiled. “I’m sure she would have.”

  “Anyway…” He shot another glance at the drooping carnations. “They are rather pretty, aren’t they?” He walked out of the room, chuckling. “Yes. Yes, much better than roses, I think. Much better.”

  Kate turned once again to the flowers. Red roses. Green carnations. What an absurd combination. Just like her and David.

  * * *

  IT WAS RAINING hard when David came to see her late that afternoon. She was sitting alone in the solarium, gazing through the watery window at the courtyard below. The nurse had just washed and brushed her hair and it was drying as usual into those frizzy, little-girl waves she’d always hated. She didn’t hear him as he walked into the room. Only when he said her name did she turn and see him standing there, his hair damp an
d windblown, his suit beaded with rain. He looked tired. Almost as tired as she felt. She wanted him to pull her close, to take her in his arms, but he didn’t. He simply bent over and gave her an automatic kiss on the forehead and then he straightened again.

  “Out of bed, I see. You must be feeling better,” he remarked.

  She managed a wan smile. “I guess I never was one for lying around all day.”

  “Oh. I brought you these.” Almost as an afterthought, he handed her a small foil-wrapped box of chocolates. “I wasn’t sure they’d let you eat anything yet. Maybe later.”

  She looked down at the box resting in her lap. “Thank you,” she murmured. “And thank you for the roses.” Then she turned and stared out at the rain.

  There was a long silence, as if both of them had run out of things to say. The rain slid down the solarium windows, casting a watery rainbow of light on her folded hands.

  “I just spoke with Avery,” he finally said. “I hear you’re getting your old job back.”

  “Yes. He told me. I guess that’s something else I have to thank you for.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My job. Avery said you made a lot of phone calls.”

  “Just a few. Nothing, really.” He took a deep breath and continued with forced cheerfulness, “So. You should be back at work in the O.R. in no time. With a big raise in pay, I hope. It must feel pretty good.”

  “I’m not sure I’m taking it—the job.”

  “What? Why on earth wouldn’t you?”

  She shrugged. “You know, I’ve been thinking about other possibilities. Other places.”

  “You mean besides Mid Pac?”

  “I mean…besides Hawaii.” He didn’t say a thing, so she added, “There’s really nothing keeping me here.”

  There was another long silence. Softly he said, “Isn’t there?”

  She didn’t answer. He watched her, sitting so quiet, so still in her chair. And he knew he could wait around till doomsday and there she’d still be. A fine pair we are, he thought in disgust. They were two so-called intelligent people, and they couldn’t hunt up a single word between them.