diplomacy. "Jesus, Peter. They're dying. Many of them will want to talk about that stuff. Patients always have, even atheists. It's human nature. But here isn't the place to discuss it."
"Hey!" Michael Popovitch shouted from the middle of the street thirty yards away. "We're ready to begin." He wore an industrial-strength scowl and sounded pissed.
Sheesh, what's eating him? Earl wondered. The rest of the team settled on give-it-a-break glances and tapped their watches, a far more gentle and appropriate rebuke. Michael should lighten up. "Relax! I'm coming," he shouted, and started to jog toward them.
Wyatt matched him stride for stride, clearly determined to continue their conversation.
Earl didn't intend to let him. "Look, Peter, obviously we'll have to talk about this another time. But I don't think you should make much out of it." He accelerated, pulling a few yards in front, and called over his shoulder, "Why not ask Stewart what he thinks? After all, he's the specialist in that kind of thing."
At the starting line Thomas, Susanne, and J.S. were starting to jostle good-naturedly with members of the Baby Bucket team, who'd tried to steal their spot.
"Earl Garnet," Janet yelled, eyeing him from her perch on the bed, "I'm pregnant with your baby. Chivalry demands you yield the post." She placed a hand to her forehead, adopting the melodramatic pose of a damsel in distress.
Earl laughed. He and Janet always lent their talents to the campy theatrics that were a highlight of these fund-raisers. "All's fair in love and war," he called back. "That's been my plan all along. You pregnant, us on the inside track."
"You're a scoundrel, Earl Garnet," she cried, to the delight of all.
He gave an appropriately wicked leer as he shouldered through a last-minute rush of other competitors who were late to take their positions.
Wyatt caught up to him. "The nurses already did that, a few days ago."
Piss off, damn it! Earl nearly screamed. But they were jammed together, and rather than risk angering him again, he tried to be civil through clenched teeth. "Already did what?"
"Asked Stewart Deloram to check out the accounts that our patients have been giving. I'm told he suggested the same explanations as you did, but agreed to interview the people who were still alive."
Overhead loudspeakers crackled to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, take your marks."
Cheers broke out around them.
Teams scrambled into position.
"Let's go, Dr. G.," J.S. hollered.
Susanne and Thomas joined in.
Someone blew charge on a trumpet.
But Wyatt remained so wrapped up in his crazy story, he didn't even react to the excitement swirling around them. He just leaned in toward Earl to make himself heard. "I don't know what happened. He burst into my office yesterday, mad as hell, and accused me of trying to set him up as a fraud, then stormed out."
Oh, brother, Earl thought. Not another feud. "Peter, I'm sick as hell of being asked to sort out these kind of kindergarten spats, especially the ones involving Stewart. Now both of you act like adults and sort it out yourselves." He'd ended up shouting far more loudly than necessary to be heard above the din around him.
The rolls of flesh in Wyatt's face shifted as he assumed an injured look. "But the man refuses to even talk with me now."
Earl waved him off in exasperation and joined the welcoming arms of his ER team- all except Michael's; he still seemed upset about something as well- and mounted the bed they would push to victory. At least that's how he lustily predicted the outcome during a crude exchange of triumphant gestures with Janet, and beyond her, the surgeons in Sean Carrington's Cutting Edge mob.
God, it felt delightful- the sanest moment of his morning, when he was responsible for nothing more than the safe passage of a bedpan filled with apple juice.
Chapter 4
That same Saturday, 5:30 p.m.
The roof of Eight West, St. Paul's Hospital,
Buffalo, New York
Jane Simmons sat at the picnic table,
"Hey!" Michael Popovitch shouted from the middle of the street thirty yards away. "We're ready to begin." He wore an industrial-strength scowl and sounded pissed.
Sheesh, what's eating him? Earl wondered. The rest of the team settled on give-it-a-break glances and tapped their watches, a far more gentle and appropriate rebuke. Michael should lighten up. "Relax! I'm coming," he shouted, and started to jog toward them.
Wyatt matched him stride for stride, clearly determined to continue their conversation.
Earl didn't intend to let him. "Look, Peter, obviously we'll have to talk about this another time. But I don't think you should make much out of it." He accelerated, pulling a few yards in front, and called over his shoulder, "Why not ask Stewart what he thinks? After all, he's the specialist in that kind of thing."
At the starting line Thomas, Susanne, and J.S. were starting to jostle good-naturedly with members of the Baby Bucket team, who'd tried to steal their spot.
"Earl Garnet," Janet yelled, eyeing him from her perch on the bed, "I'm pregnant with your baby. Chivalry demands you yield the post." She placed a hand to her forehead, adopting the melodramatic pose of a damsel in distress.
Earl laughed. He and Janet always lent their talents to the campy theatrics that were a highlight of these fund-raisers. "All's fair in love and war," he called back. "That's been my plan all along. You pregnant, us on the inside track."
"You're a scoundrel, Earl Garnet," she cried, to the delight of all.
He gave an appropriately wicked leer as he shouldered through a last-minute rush of other competitors who were late to take their positions.
Wyatt caught up to him. "The nurses already did that, a few days ago."
Piss off, damn it! Earl nearly screamed. But they were jammed together, and rather than risk angering him again, he tried to be civil through clenched teeth. "Already did what?"
"Asked Stewart Deloram to check out the accounts that our patients have been giving. I'm told he suggested the same explanations as you did, but agreed to interview the people who were still alive."
Overhead loudspeakers crackled to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, take your marks."
Cheers broke out around them.
Teams scrambled into position.
"Let's go, Dr. G.," J.S. hollered.
Susanne and Thomas joined in.
Someone blew charge on a trumpet.
But Wyatt remained so wrapped up in his crazy story, he didn't even react to the excitement swirling around them. He just leaned in toward Earl to make himself heard. "I don't know what happened. He burst into my office yesterday, mad as hell, and accused me of trying to set him up as a fraud, then stormed out."
Oh, brother, Earl thought. Not another feud. "Peter, I'm sick as hell of being asked to sort out these kind of kindergarten spats, especially the ones involving Stewart. Now both of you act like adults and sort it out yourselves." He'd ended up shouting far more loudly than necessary to be heard above the din around him.
The rolls of flesh in Wyatt's face shifted as he assumed an injured look. "But the man refuses to even talk with me now."
Earl waved him off in exasperation and joined the welcoming arms of his ER team- all except Michael's; he still seemed upset about something as well- and mounted the bed they would push to victory. At least that's how he lustily predicted the outcome during a crude exchange of triumphant gestures with Janet, and beyond her, the surgeons in Sean Carrington's Cutting Edge mob.
God, it felt delightful- the sanest moment of his morning, when he was responsible for nothing more than the safe passage of a bedpan filled with apple juice.
Chapter 4
That same Saturday, 5:30 p.m.
The roof of Eight West, St. Paul's Hospital,
Buffalo, New York
Jane Simmons sat at the picnic table,
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