The Inquisitor (16 page)

Definitely time to get out of here. He pulled out his cellular and dialed home.

"Hi," he said when Janet answered. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. My department gave me the day off."

She chuckled, low and throaty. "You mean they threw you out. Susanne already called to tell me so that I'd reel you in should you change your mind and try to hang around the hospital."

He liked low and throaty. "So we have the house to ourselves?"

"We have the house to ourselves."

No birds, he thought as he headed toward the door, realizing he hadn't heard a chirp the whole time he'd been outside. They must have had the sense to ground themselves for the day too.

Jane Simmons appreciated that Susanne kept her busy. Otherwise, with nothing to do, the self-interrogation started up again.

Should she return home?

Tell Thomas?

Have the baby?

Give it up?

Worse?

The questions that rampaged through her head and the choices they offered seemed so alien, she felt they must belong to some other woman, not her.

So she counted catheters, needles, oxygen masks, suturing kits, and IV packs. Then she sorted equipment trays, filled out order forms, and requisitioned what they needed. Anything not to think of herself.

And occasionally she saw patients, the ones scared and desperate enough to overcome their fear of SARS and come in.

Some of them too late.

A fifty-five-year-old math professor with a stroke arrived an hour past the time when clot-busting drugs could have cleared the blockage and saved his speech.

A forty-five-year-old policeman came in with recurrent chest pain well beyond the limit for rescuing injured cardiac muscle.

A thirty-year-old woman with abdominal pain had ignored her stomachache long enough for it to deteriorate into a perforated appendix that left her septic, in shock, and clinging to life.

Jane even abandoned her professional detachment and allowed herself to sincerely despair over these unfortunates, using the bleakness of their futures to trivialize her own misery.

And it worked. Sort of. For a half hour now and then.

At two thirty in the afternoon, there once more being a lull in the action, she hurried into a utility closet, intent on doing more inventory.

And surprised Father Jimmy going through a cupboard.

"Ah, Jane," he said, "just the person I need. Could you find me a urine cup? I'm due for my annual physical, and the doctor always wants an offering."

Startled to see him in here and not in the mood for company, she quickly found what he wanted.

"And about that other little favor I asked you?" He grabbed his earlobe. "I took the liberty of checking with Susanne. She said fine, and that it might be a good idea if we get the job done today, you having so few customers."

Not now, she thought, wanting only to be alone and lose herself in mindless tasks. "Well actually, Father, I'm supposed to be compiling a list of supplies-"

"That's something I can give you a hand with. And if I can call you Jane, will you drop the 'Father'? The name's Jimmy, Jimmy Fitzpatrick. Now what's first?"

Oh, brother! He could be so disarming, yet she still didn't want company right now. "It's not necessary-"

"Nonsense."

"Listen, why don't I do your ear-"

"Not until I help you with your work. You look as if you could use a bit of a hand today." He leaned forward, arched his brows three times, Groucho Marx style, and widened his eyes in a clown stare. "Peaked, I'd say, definitely peaked, or I'm not the doctor I thought I was. Wait a minute, I'm not a doctor."

She laughed.

His expression reverted to normal. "Seriously, Jane, are you okay?"

Be careful, she told herself. He could be very perceptive. "Of course. Why shouldn't I be?"

"Because you're a little green around the gills, and your eyes haven't their usual spark."

Before she knew it, he'd removed a glove and gently laid his bare palm across her forehead.

"No temperature. That's good."

His hand had a nice warmth to it.

"So what's the matter?" He turned to the counter, where he retrieved another glove from a box and proceeded to pull it on. "You're definitely not your buoyant self."

"Hold on, Fa- I mean Jimmy." She grabbed him by the wrist and led him toward the sink. "You wash first. That's all we need, the hospital chaplain coming down sick, thanks to my forehead. You've no idea how many sick people it's been near."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a laugh, and began to do exactly as told. "But now you 'fess up. We don't want the pierced angel of ER falling ill either."

She smiled and at the same time felt wary. "Just tired, is all."

He gave her a sideways glance. Pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, he took her hands between his and fixed her with a stare that penetrated every layer of her masquerade. "Jane, I've been spotting troubled people all my life. Now, you need either a doctor or a friend or both, but I'm not leaving until you level with me."

She'd barely slept last night. This morning when she'd overheard Thomas indicate he might stay on at St. Paul's, a surge of elation had swept her hopes high. He must intend us to be together, she'd thought, then wondered, But if that's the case, why didn't he tell me first?

Danger, mood change ahead, she'd warned herself, and sure enough, she'd rocketed to the verge of tears. A few minutes later she managed to slam on the brakes and act calm when Dr. G. asked if she felt okay.

The wild ride had continued the rest of the day, and the more her shift wore on, the lonelier she felt. Still, she'd at least won her battle to appear cheery.

Until now.

Father Jimmy's insistence that she open up to him crumpled something inside her chest. She again refused to cry but balled her hands into fists and pulled them out of his. Then she turned away from him, wanting to disappear, feeling ashamed.

"Hey, J.S., what's happened? Tell me. I can help you through it. Come on now, don't expect to be rid of me until you do."

His voice acquired a new urgency and seemed to come from all around her. She felt oddly safe within it, as if his words created a protective sphere where nothing could hurt her. She stopped listening to the meaning of what he said and let just the sound of his talking soothe her. Then she felt his hands take her by the shoulders and gently bring her around until they stood eye to eye. She could see her face reflected in his pupils, and it came as a shock that his concern for her would be so intense.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," she said, also puzzled by the impact his presence had on her. For a second she'd seen a man, not a priest.

As if sensing her discomfort, he immediately released his hold on her. The guy must be used to women reacting to him that way, she thought, embarrassed at herself.

"What in God's name has made you so miserable?" he asked, his voice soft. "Or should I say who? I'm frankly surprised you'd let anything or anyone best you like this."

Despite the quiet of his words, they stung her. He must have guessed about Thomas. And he'd probably seen enough stupid small-town girls who'd gotten into trouble to pick up on her new problem. Except she damn well wasn't going to admit to him what she'd done, become another victim he had to take care of.

Victim!

The word had a sting to it as well. For the first time since that accursed blue dot had changed her life, she felt angry. What a weepy, dreary idiot she'd let herself become. For as long as she could remember, it had been her style not to cry, to tough out better than the boys whatever hurt her. Never play the helpless girl- she had carried that motto into her teenage years with a cocky pride that gave substance to her hard exterior. It had gotten her out of Grand Forks, through nursing school, and into St. Paul's ER, so it shouldn't fail her now.

Well, if nothing else, he'd created a resolve in her to handle her own predicament. "Nothing I care to discuss right now," she said, firmly putting a distance between him and whatever had happened just now.

His eyes regained their usual playfulness. "Now that sounds a little more like the spunky J.S. I know." He tactfully handed her a box of tissues and, as if nothing substantial had happened, suggested he wait for her in one of the procedure rooms. "To get my nerve up for the operation," he added, and left her alone.

He'd also known she needed time to compose herself, and had managed to withdraw without embarrassing either of them. That took style.

A sense of calm settled through her. It felt like the return of an old friend who'd been away. She liked the feeling. It made her comfortable with herself and filled her again with a quiet confidence that had faded away recently, almost without her realizing it. Yes, she loved Thomas. And yes, she carried his baby. And yes, he could be a clueless asshole about whether they would be together even beyond this year.

The serenity with which she could admit that jolted her. She also realized any decision about the baby would be hers. Just knew this. Couldn't say how or why, but knew, the way she knew her heart beat and her lungs breathed. In that instance the child became a life, not just part of her body. And for a moment she felt liberated from all the worry or regrets that had poured through her in the last twenty hours, freed even from the burden of trying to second-guess how to please Thomas. She'd choose what would be best for her and her progeny, period.

Yet she still felt whipsawed by everything, all in the wake of Father Jimmy's question. Or had it been a challenge? What he'd said had certainly put her through a sea change.

Using a mirror over the sink, she fixed her eyes and worried that if Dr. G. and now Father Jimmy could notice something was wrong through them, then Susanne and the others in ER wouldn't be far behind. But the stare that gazed back at her seemed steady enough. Suitable for public consumption, at least, she decided, and took an ice cube from the medication refrigerator, chose a large enough bore needle, and grabbed a test tube with a rubber cap to use as a backstop. Picking up the paper on which she'd kept a tally of the supplies they'd counted, she headed for the treatment room.

As she worked on Father Jimmy, he chatted about growing up in Chicago with an Irish cop for a dad. "I was the youngest of four boys, and my mother, second-generation Greek, ruled us all, including Dad, with an iron hand…"

She found herself relaxing as he talked solely of himself, since it took the focus off her. She suspected he intended it that way. "Why did you become a priest?" she asked at one point.

"Good question. My brothers all became doctors, and Dad wanted none of us to have anything to do with being a cop. Since he dealt with the realm of right and wrong, and my brothers had the physical side of human nature sewn up, the soul seemed ideal terrain for me to occupy."

She laughed and did the jab.

He never so much as flinched. "But I'm not actually a priest yet, despite everyone around here thinking of me as one and calling me 'Father.' Did my seminary studies in Rome, two years philosophy, three theology, then a master's in hospital administration, and am currently doing my Ph.D. in pastoral services. While I'm a full-fledged chaplain, the actual vows are a few years off yet."

"Sounds as long as med school," she said, compressing the site of the puncture to stop the blood.

"I'll say it is, except I find philosophy and human thought more intriguing than learning how all the nerves and muscles work."

Minutes later Jimmy Fitzpatrick walked away wearing a shiny but small gold ring in his right ear.

As Jane cleaned up, Susanne stuck her head through the door. "I must say, you're looking better."

"Me? I didn't know I'd been looking worse."

"You know what I mean. You didn't seem to be yourself."

"So I'm told."

"Father Jimmy have something to do with cheering you up? He's out in the nursing station, showing off your handiwork. Like a kid, he is, telling everyone who'll listen, 'J.S. is a marvel. Didn't feel a thing.'"

Jane smiled. "He's something, all right. And yeah, he really knows-" She almost said "how to treat women" but thought it not proper.

"Knows what?" Susanne asked, tidying up the counter.

"Really knows people and the right things to say to them."

Susanne stopped midway through tossing the used gauze into a biohazard container. "You like him?"

Jane continued to wash her hands. "Sure. Doesn't everybody?"

Susanne watched her a few seconds more. "You know what's interesting about Father Jimmy? His mother."

"He told me about her. Sounds like quite a lady."

"Did he mention her father was a priest?"

Jane stopped in midscrub. "What?"

Susanne scanned the counter for anything they'd missed and picked up the piece of paper that listed the totals for the supplies. "Yeah. He served in what's called the Eastern Orthodox Church, at least the Greek Archdiocese of it. There the priests can marry, as long as it's before they're ordained. Jimmy explained it to us once, at one of the ER parties."

"I didn't know."

"Same goes for Father Jimmy. Because of his mother's connection, he's received permission to be ordained in the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese. He doesn't make a big deal about it, so as to avoid confusing the patients. 'Being a hospital chaplain,' he once told me, 'is about spiritual comfort, not religion or what church I belong to.' I guess understanding that is what makes him so good with all sorts of people."

"Yes, I see."

To anyone listening, Susanne's easy chatter would sound no different than the usual running conversations coworkers often engage in during down times. Except Jane knew that her boss detested gossip, and that for her to say anything about anybody's personal life, there had to be a good reason.

Susanne held out the paper she'd picked up. "What room is this inventory list for?"

Jane refocused on matters at hand. "Oh, that's from the supply room beside re-sus. I did it to keep busy."

Susanne shook her head. "I hate to tell you, but I did the place this morning. And you must have miscounted the syringes." She handed over the list, tapping where Jane had totaled the ten-cc size.