Code Blues (14 page)

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 surveyed 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 the 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.

Dr. Callendar glowered down the table at me.
"Now that everyone has finally arrived—" He glanced at the wall
clock, which read all of 8:36 and was actually three minutes
fast—"we can begin our introductions. Do you all know each
other?"

I shook my head. Dr. Callendar raised his
eyebrows like it was a personal failing. "Introduce yourselves," he
said, gesturing at the residents I didn't know.

The first resident had
rosy cheeks, a big smile, and a sea green
yarmulke
on his head, so he was
obviously Jewish. "Hi, my name is Stan Biedelman. I'm from
Montreal. I was going to be a lawyer, but then I saw a way of
making less money for longer hours and decided to go into
medicine."

Great. I liked him right away.

The other guy, who was thin, neatly-dressed,
and Arabic-looking, said, with a moderate accent, "My name is Omar
Hassan. I am from Oman."

It was kind of like a poem. Omar Hassan from
Oman. He and I exchanged small grins.

Dr. Callendar stated, "Jenny Caldwell, also
an R2, is on maternity leave."

Cool. Tori gestured for me to go next. I
said, "I'm Hope Sze. I'm from Ottawa. I did my undergrad at
McMaster, med school at Western, and now I'm here, so I've been all
over the place." I wanted to make a joke, like Stan, but couldn't
think of anything clever.