"Can I help you?" I attempt to sound threatening.
A tall, dark-haired man looms over Dana's desk, poking through her papers.
He turns and smiles vaguely. I quickly try to memorize his face for hospital security. But all I have is 'goofy looking' with his pouty, soft mouth, large nose and droopy eyelids.
"I'm looking for Scully."
"Dr. Scully?"
"Yeah, Dr. Scully." The vague smile is back.
"Dr. Scully is in surgery." Should I have told him that? I try to sound tough when I say, "Is there something I can help you with?"
He holds up a crumpled paperbag. "She didn't bring her lunch."
I knew that.
"Damn, I forgot my lunch," Dana had said, rooting through the satchel that she brings to work every day.
"I didn't bring anything either," I said quickly, shoving my lunch bag under my desk with my toe. "If we're both free, we could grab something."
"Sure, that would be nice," she said, but there was tension in her tone.
I didn't take it personally. Dana Scully had had a rough start at Our Lady of Sorrows. I'd been on hiring panel for her interview. Two priests, three administrators and myself as the one doctor.
"Your background is in forensic pathology, Dr. Scully. How would you expect to make a contribution for us? Our clientele is alive." Father Leonard put on his usual gentle smile to cloak his cutting words.
The woman at the end of the table blinked slowly. I'd never seen anyone who could sit so still. It was more than her body. I believed that if I'd taken her pulse, I would have been barely felt a flutter under the pressure of my touch.
Her voice was equally controlled; low, with each word perfectly measured. "I'm ready to meet new challenges. In my years as a pathologist, I've identified numerous conditions and diseases-"
The priest's smile widened. "But you were not be called upon to treat them."
Her answer was quick; suddenly she crackled with energy. "As I said, I'm seeking challenges."
Once Dr. Scully was excused, we all reviewed her paperwork.
Not looking up from the file folder, Ms. Ford, our senior HR specialist, spoke: "Treated for cancer, but in remission for more the five years-" she admitted grudgingly.
As an oncologist, I was looked at to assess the risk. I'd only checked her medical qualifications and publications; not her work background and certainly not her medical history. Channeling Dr. Scully, I controlled my temper. "She appears quite healthy now."
Ms. Ford's assistant fussed on: "There's a number of other hospitalizations in her records. The last thing we need need is someone getting on staff and then upping our insurance premiums-"
I had risen from my chair. "If we're finished here, I have to go on rounds."
Father Neil, the one who let others do the talking but made all the final decisions, said, "Dr. Sinclair's right. It's time to move forward."
I was completely shocked when they granted Dr. Scully a residency. Then I discovered that I had offered to share my office as well.
She was quiet, tidy and considerate. At first, this spectral figure drifting quietly through my office creeped me out, then made me slightly angry, and finally, what I am now, curious.
Lunch was going to be my opportunity to get to know her better and now this overgrown delivery boy is cutting me off. He must live with her if he knew that she hadn't made a lunch...Her slacker brother, having risen for the day to play video games, and noticed her oversight?
He sits at her desk.
"I'll put this in the fridge," I say, snatching the sack off the corner of her desk. I notice there's a smiley face drawn on the paper bag with 'Dana' written below it.
"Thanks," he says as I shove it in the small refrigerator.
"This office is great. There's a window," he helpfully points out when I raise my eyebrows at his assessment. "She didn't have a window before."
"Before?"
"At the FBI."
"You brought her lunch there too?"
"'Sometimes." There is finally an edge to his lackadaisical manner. "Sometimes she brought our lunch."
I go to the door. "I'll let Dr. Scully know," I say leadingly.
He looks through a medical journal. "No need," he says. "I'll just wait."
"She may be hours-"
Dana pushes the door open, hitting me in the back.
"I'm sorry," she gasps, then spots the man.
"What are you doing here?" she asks nervously, glancing between us.
"You forgot your lunch." He tosses aside the magazine. "I made you a sandwich."
"I meant to bring a salad," she says reproachfully.
"Beggars can't be choosers." He shrugs with no shame. ."Thought we could go eat outside, if the weather's good-"
He peers at the window. "Which it is." He sidles closer to her. "You can see that without having to stand on a box."
They exchange an intimate smile. Left out of the joke, I return to my reports.
"Nice desk," he notes, and they smile at each other again.
Dana nods toward me. "I still have to share an office, but Dr. Sinclair hasn't done one slideshow."
Not sure what she means, I just shoot them a pained smirk. But neither notice. He ducks his head and she gives a quick lick of her lips as though she's fighting laughter.
"Let's grab those sandwiches-" He looks around.
"I put them away," I remind him disagreeably.
"Right." He retrieves their lunch as Dana sheds her lab coat and swaps it for her jacket on the coat hook.
"Would you like to join us?" Dana asks me. "I'll be happy to share; I can never finish this guy's sandwiches." She elbows his stomach without looking back at him as she says this.
He makes a dramatic 'oomph' sound but she ignored him, pulling on her jacket. He flips her hair out of the collar and this earns him a murmured, "Thanks."
"No thank you," I reply
"I have these test results to review-I just remembered." I finish quickly before Dana can remind me of my earlier claim of my own missing lunch.
"All right," she says uncertainly.
The man is holding the door open for her. "Dibs on the hoagie roll," he says, his gaze only for her. He's forgotten my presence.
After about half an hour, I need to stretch my legs. At the window, I can see the couple has chosen a bench below. I easily recognize the hunch of Dana's shoulders, but the sideways smile that she gives her lunch date is new. Her long hair, twisted in its familiar loose loop at the base of her neck, draws his hand again and again. Between bites of his sandwich, his fingers play with the blunt ends, flipping them around as if to catch the light.
I go back to my desk.
When the hour is up, Dana returns alone.
"Enjoy your lunch?" I say peevishly.
"The effort was nicer than the result," she says, searching her desk drawers for a mint. "Too much pickle relish...He never can get that right."
"I didn't know you were married," I say, still sounding irritated.
"I'm not," she establishes. "He's my partner...He was my partner," she corrects, then laughs at herself.
Trying again, she says lamely, "He was my partner at the FBI and when we left the agency...we stayed partners."
"I see." I don't see at all. "I thought you were a forensic pathologist of some sort."
"That was part of my work, but I was primarily an investigator."
"Like a cop?"
She shrugs. "I was a field agent."
"Wow." I look over her slight frame. "With a gun and everything?"
"Yes," she says quietly as she sits at her desk. "It seems a long time ago."
"You left that to work in medicine and he-"
"He's taking a sabbatical," she fills in.
I realized that he had not introduced himself and she was not supplying a name. "He's a doctor too?"
"Hardly," she says with a giggle-a shocking and heart-stopping sound.
"I just assumed that you weren't with anyone," I dare to say. "No photos on the desk, you didn't bring him to the Christmas party. That usually means single, or...Someone that you wouldn't feel comfortable having the administration know you're with."
Glancing at the clock, she snags her lab coat. "No, just old habits. I guess we spent so long not having an office romance that I forgot that I can put a picture on the desk."
As she passes me, she drops a light hand on my shoulder. "Thanks for the idea, Chris. I'll have to bring one in."
The next day,Dana isn't in the office when I arrive, but there is a small picture frame sitting beside her monitor, facing her chair.
Keeping one ear cocked for the sound of the door, I ease around her desk. She and the goofy guy at the beach, or hiking in the mountains; perhaps in Paris?
It's a younger Dana with shorter hair and a fuller face. She holds a baby wearing a blue onesy with a giraffe on the chest, capping his pale downy head with her hand. In the months that I've known her, I've never seen a smile like she's giving the boy, even when she was with the man yesterday. The photograph is battered, with foxed corners and creases across the shiny surface, as though it's taken a long journey before ending up in the wooden frame.
I replace the picture, making sure that I've aligned it exactly as it was on the desk. Returning to my seat, I stare at the frame's blank back for a long time before I finally turn on my computer and begin to review my email.
~end