There was no word from Alfred. He'll find out he made a mistake, Paige thought. He'll come back to me.
The early morning crank telephone calls had stopped as suddenly as they had started. Paige was relieved that no new mysterious or threatening incidents had befallen her. It was almost as if they had all been a bad dream . . . except, of course, they hadn't been.
The routine continued to be frantic. There was no time to know patients. They were simply gallbladders and ruptured livers, fractured femurs and broken backs.
The hospital was a jungle filled with mechanical demons—respirators, heart rate monitors, CAT scan equipment, X-ray machines. And each had its own peculiar sound. There were whistles, and buzzers, and the constant chatter on the PA system, and they all blended into a loud, insane cacophony.
The second year of residency was a rite of passage. The residents moved up to more demanding duties and watched the new group come in, feeling a mixture of scorn and arrogance toward them.
"Those poor devils," Kat said to Paige. "They have no idea what they're in for."
"They'll find out soon enough."
Paige and Honey were becoming worried about Kat. She was losing weight, and seemed depressed. In the middle of conversations, they would find Kat looking off into space, her mind preoccupied. From time to time, she would receive a mysterious phone call, and after each one her depression seemed to worsen.
Paige and Honey sat down to have a talk with her.
"Is everything all right?" Paige asked. "You know we love you, and if there's a problem, we'd like to help."
"Thanks. I appreciate it, but there's nothing you can do. It's a money problem."
Honey looked at her in surprise. "What do you need money for? We never go anyplace. We haven't any time to buy anything. We—"
"It's not for me. It's for my brother." Kat had not mentioned her brother before.
"I didn't know you had a brother," Paige said.
"Does he live in San Francisco?" Honey asked.
Kat was hesitant. "No. He lives back East. In Detroit. You'll have to meet him one day."
"We'd like to. What does he do?"
"He's kind of an entrepreneur," Kat said vaguely. "He's a little down on his luck right now, but Mike will bounce back. He always does." I hope to God I'm right, Kat thought.
Harry Bowman had transferred from a residency program in Iowa. He was a good-humored, happy-go-lucky fellow who went out of his way to be pleasant to everyone.
One day, he said to Paige, "I'm giving a little party tomorrow night. If you and Dr. Hunter and Dr. Taft are free, why don't you come? I think you'll have a good time."
"Fine," Paige said. "What shall we bring?"
Bowman laughed. "Don't bring anything."
"Are you sure?" Paige asked. "A bottle of wine, or. . ."
"Forget it! It's going to be at my little apartment."
Bowman's little apartment turned out to be a ten-room penthouse, filled with antique furniture.
The three women walked in and stared in amazement.
"My God!" Kat said. "Where did all this come from?"
"I was smart enough to have a clever father," Bowman said. "He left all his money to me."
"And you're working?" Kat marveled.
Bowman smiled. "I like being a doctor."
The buffet consisted of Beluga Malossol caviar, pate de campagne, smoked Scottish salmon, oysters on the half shell, backfin lump crabmeat, crudites with a shallot vinaigrette dressing, and Cristal champagne.
Bowman had been right. The three of them did have a wonderful time.
"I can't thank you enough," Paige told Bowman at the end of the evening when they were leaving.
"Are you free Saturday?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I have a little motorboat. I'll take you out for a
spin." "Sounds great."
At four o'clock in the morning, Kat was awakened out of a deep sleep in the on-call room. "Dr. Hunter, Emergency Room Three. . . . Dr. Hunter, Emergency Three."
Kat got out of bed, fighting exhaustion. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she took the elevator down to the ER.
An orderly greeted her at the door. "He's over on the gurney in the corner. He's in a lot of pain."
Kat walked over to him. "I'm Dr. Hunter," she said sleepily.
He groaned. "Jesus, doc. You've got to do somethin'. My back is killin' me."
Kat stifled a yawn. "How long have you been in pain?"
"About two weeks."
Kat was looking at him, puzzled. "Two weeks? Why didn't you come in sooner?"
He tried to move, and winced. "To tell you the truth, I hate hospitals."
"Then why are you coming in now?"
He brightened. "There's a big golf tournament coming up, and if you don't fix my back, I won't be able to enjoy it."
Kat took a deep breath. "A golf tournament."
"Yeah."
She was fighting to control herself. "I'll tell you what. Go home. Take two aspirins, and if you aren't feeling better in the morning give me a call." She turned and stormed out of the room, leaving him gaping after her.
Harry Bowman's little motorboat was a sleek fifty-foot motor cruiser.
"Welcome aboard!" he said as he greeted Paige, Kat, and Honey at the dock.
Honey looked at the boat admiringly.
"It's beautiful," Paige said.
They cruised around the bay for three hours, enjoying the warm, sunny day. It was the first time any of them had relaxed in weeks.
While they were anchored off Angel Island, eating a delicious lunch, Kat said, "This is the life. Let's not go back to shore."