Chapter Four:  Comparing Notes

(November 7th)

"Jess," Mark said, entering the doctors' lounge late Thursday afternoon.  "Could I talk to you a minute?  It's about Steve."

Dr. Alex Martin, who had been drinking a cup of coffee on his break, got up to leave, intending to give the two of them some privacy, but Mark said, "No, Alex, please stay.  I wanted to talk to you, too."

"Oh, ok," Alex said, as he sat back down, pleased to be included in the discussion.  He hadn't said anything to anyone, but he had been a little concerned about Steve lately.  He just didn't know how to address the matter because, while he definitely considered Steve his friend, he was also his boss at Bob's.  Mark, Jesse, and Amanda were his friends, too, but they were still his supervisors and mentors at the hospital.  Sometimes, being the low man on the totem pole had some serious disadvantages.

"What's up, Mark?"  Jesse asked, noting his friend's expression.  "Are you worried about Steve?" 

As Jesse fixed each of them a coffee and came to the table, Mark tried to explain.  "I just haven't been seeing much of him lately, Jess, and he's been, I don't know, different, when I have seen him.  I was wondering if you had noticed anything unusual."

"I haven't really seen him a lot lately either, Mark.  Maybe he's busy with some big case," Jesse suggested.

Mark shook his head.  "No.  No, when that happens, he usually likes to bounce some ideas off me, but he hasn't said a word, and he seems distracted lately, too."

Jesse nodded.  "Yeah, I've noticed that, but he doesn't really seem down.  I mean, twice this week, I've heard him humming Christmas carols."

"Steve?  Humming?"

"Well," Jesse said, grinning, "it was a little off key."

"A little?" Alex interjected, and they all laughed.  "Seriously though, Mark, he seemed almost festive when I heard him, but . . ." Alex trailed off.

When Alex hesitated, Mark pressed him.  "But what, Alex?"

Sighing, Alex resigned himself to telling Mark everything he knew.  Mark tried hard not to be nosy, but when someone he cared about was having problems, he could be quite tenacious, and when that someone was Steve, there was no hope of keeping anything from him.

"Look, I value my health, and Steve's friendship, and I need my job at Bob's, so, if you confront him about this, don't let him know you heard it from me, ok?"

When Mark and Jesse agreed, he explained.  Looking at Jess, he said, "You know he was scheduled to work at Bob's every night this week, right?"

Jesse nodded and looked at Mark.  "Alicia's mom is ill," Jesse reminded him, "and I'm working nights here."

Mark smiled proudly.  He knew since Bob's night manager had been off to care for her ailing mother, either Steve or Jesse needed to be there to total the receipts and lock up at the end of the night.  Mark was pleased and proud that Steve and Jesse were such compassionate bosses.  Sometimes it created a hectic schedule for both of them, but their employees were fiercely loyal and happy in their jobs, and business was booming because of it.

"Works out, great for me, though," Jesse continued, cutting through Mark's mental ramblings.  "The past few days have been beautiful, and I have really been enjoying the weather.  I went for a run the other day, and it was great.  I'm sorry Steve hasn't had any time off.  I was hoping we could shoot some hoops or go out to the batting cages or something."

Mark smiled and nodded.  Jesse was like a kid out of school during the days when he worked nights, and it was just like him to want to spend some of the time playing with his best friend while the weather was good.  When Steve had been scheduled to work nine-to-five every day that week, though, Jesse hadn't let his sympathy for his friend taint a moment of his fun.  The young man was not insincere in his regret that Steve couldn't join him for some outdoor activities, but he knew it couldn't be helped.  So, he chose to make the most of the few remaining bright days of autumn, storing up fresh air and sunshine before the dreary winter set in.  They had had a long string of glorious, golden autumn days lately, and the gorgeous weather would probably end soon. 

"I suppose that could explain why he hasn't been around much this week," Jesse's statement broke into Mark's thoughts.

"I'm not so sure about that," Alex said.  "Again, please don't let Steve know I told you this, but, every night this week, he has had one of the wait staff cover for him for part of his shift."

"Huh?" said Mark.

"What!"  Jesse exclaimed.

Alex nodded.  "He comes in about a quarter 'til six, as usual."  Looking at Mark, he added, "He likes to be a little early for a shift."

Mark nodded, knowing that was typical behavior for his son.

"Then he leaves at about quarter past six and doesn't get back until ten.  He does the receipts, locks up, and goes home."

Both Jesse and Mark were frowning. 

"I wonder why he's doing that," Jesse said.

"I don't know," Mark said.  "Maybe it has something to do with his police work."

"Could be," Jesse replied, "but why keep it a secret?"

"I don't know the answer to that, either."  Mark looked at Alex, "What makes you think he doesn't want us to know he's having someone cover for him?"

"He's been paying them cash out of his own pocket, Mark."

"No check stub," Mark said.

"No paper trail," Jesse added.

Alex looked at his watch and, saying, "My break is almost over, and I'd like to get some fresh air before I go back to work.  I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."  He left his two friends and mentors sitting in the lounge frowning over their cooling cups of coffee.

Steve stood in Amanda's office waiting for her to finish the report he needed and softly humming the melody to 'Angels We Have Heard on High'.  He was dimly aware that he was a little sharp--or maybe a little flat, he really had no idea--but in his mind, he played the violin part flawlessly.  He had to smile.  After his initial resistance and that horrible first class, he couldn't believe how much he had come to enjoy playing the violin.  He also couldn't believe how fast he had learned to play a few simple tunes.

He knew he wasn't really any good yet, but he, Sara, and MinJe had been practicing every day this week.  He helped them with their technique, and they helped him read music.  He still struggled with key signatures, but he was confident that by Christmas, he would have his mom's violin back and be able to play something beautiful for his dad.

He'd explained the whole situation to Sara and MinJe, and they had both been very helpful.  Sara had picked out several selections of sheet music that would be easy for him to master, and MinJe had showed him how to transpose some of the voice parts to violin.  He could play several songs better, but for some reason, he really wanted to get 'Angels We Have Heard on High' just right for his dad.

"Steve?  Steve!"

"Huh?  Oh, thanks, Amanda," he said taking the file she was holding out to him.

"Steve are you ok?"

"Yes, fine, why?" he asked.

"Because you seemed a million miles away, and you were humming."  She folded her hands and rested her elbows on the desk.

He blushed slightly and smiled.  "I just have something on my mind, I guess."

Amanda looked at him askance and smiled.  His grin got broader and his blush got redder.  Leaning forward, bright-eyed, and resting her chin on her hands, she couldn't resist the chance to tease.

"Ok, give!" she commanded.  "What's her name?"

"Her who?"

"Come on, Steve, you are obviously…" she chose her next word carefully, knowing too well Steve's romantic history.  "…interested in someone."

Laughing and blushing even more, Steve said, "Really, Amanda, there's no one.  I just, well, I guess I'm just in the Christmas spirit."

"Uh-huh," she said, clearly not believing him, "and I'm at the North Pole."

Steve checked his watch.  He had just enough time to get back to the station with this file to close his case, then he needed to get to Bob's for the start of his shift.  When Kerry came to cover for him, he would head off to the college to practice with Sara and MinJe, then he had class tonight.  He'd come back to the restaurant to close and count the receipts, then make a night deposit at the bank.  He'd be home by eleven, shower, and crash by twelve.  He yawned when he realized he'd have to be up by six to do it all again the next day.

"Ah-hah!"  Amanda exclaimed.

"What?"

"She's keeping you up nights, isn't she?"

"Amanda," Steve said in a tone that clearly showed she was trying his patience, "there is no she."

"I don't believe you," she taunted, but at his 'Let's get back to business' look, she changed the topic.

"Well, you were right," Amanda said, "the blood on the other end of the tent stake matched the sample we took from Agnes Porter.  She must have cut herself on it when she pounded it into her husband's chest.  I did some checking around, and she had a cut on her palm stitched at Mercy Hospital about the time of the murder."

"Ok, thanks Amanda.  I'm sure it won't make a merry Christmas for Frank Porter's parents and kids, but maybe they will get some peace from knowing his killer was brought to justice."

"I suppose, but it's going to be really hard on his kids knowing their mom zipped their dad up in his own sleeping bag and nailed him to the ground."

"Oh, I don't know," Steve said.  "She was their second step-mom, and their dad married her after they were all grown.  They didn't seem to like her very much to begin with, and I don't think they will have any trouble hating her for the fact that she killed their dad for his money."

"Is that a good thing?"

Steve gave her a 'what can you do' look, shrugged his broad shoulders and said, "We don't live in a perfect world.  You take what you can get."

Standing up, he said, "And, I've got a murderer to arrest.  Thanks again, Amanda.  I'll see you later."  He was humming again by the time he reached the door, and Amanda had to chuckle.  She stood and stretched and decided it was time for a cup of coffee and a visit with the living.  As she headed down the hall, she decided to take a circuitous route to the lounge, going outside and coming in the main entrance to the ER so that she could enjoy remains of the beautiful day on her way.

"Wow, you two look serious," Amanda said as she entered the lounge to see Mark and Jesse having what appeared to be a frowning contest.  "Should I be expecting one of your patients any time soon?"

"Huh?  Oh, no, no Amanda," Mark said.  "Nothing like that."

"But something is up, Mark.  I can tell.  What's the matter?"

"I'm a little worried about Steve, Sweetie," Mark told her. 

"He's been acting a little strange lately," Jesse added.

Amanda laughed aloud then.  "That's because he's in love."

After their exclamations of surprise, she laughed again and asked them, "Haven't you seen the sign?"

"You mean signs," Jesse said, "and no, neither of us have seen him much at all lately."

"No, I meant sign, Jesse," she said patiently.  "The one hanging over his head that says, 'Tease me about my girlfriend.'  He just left my office, grinning, blushing, and humming to himself."

"Well, Mark, there you have it.  He's found someone."

"Then why keep it a secret?"  Mark asked, still looking distressed.

"Maybe he just wants to enjoy the bloom of a new romance for a while before he shares the news with all of his friends," Amanda suggested.  Then, again remembering her friend's usually dismal love life, she added, "I just hope she'll be good for him."

"Yeah," Jesse added.  "He deserves to meet a nice girl for a change."

"I don't know," Mark said thoughtfully.  "If Amanda's right, I don't think she'll be any good for him, and I doubt she's all that nice."

"Mark!  How can you say that?"  Amanda asked.

"Yeah," Jesse added, "a minute ago you didn't even realize he was seeing anyone."

"I know," Mark said, "but think about it."  After telling Amanda what Alex had said, he laid out the facts for them.  "Steve is neglecting his responsibilities at Bob's.  He's paying other people out of his own pocket to work for him, and he's keeping it a secret from us.  Whoever this woman is, he's meeting her at roughly the same time every night, on a predictable schedule.  He isn't just dropping by to say hello, and she apparently never comes to see him.  More importantly, he hasn't told any of us about her.  Why is he sneaking around?"

"Mark, are you suggesting Steve is having an affair?"

"So what if he is?"  Jesse asked.  "He's not married."

"Maybe she is," Amanda said.

"Oh.  Oh man, Mark, do you think that's what's happening?"

"I don't know, Jesse," the older doctor told his young friend.  "After what happened with Maeve, I can't believe he'd do such a thing."  Shaking his head, Mark said, "No, Steve wouldn't do that."

"Well, then what do you think he is doing," Amanda asked.

"I have no idea," Mark said, "but I don't like it.  I don't like it at all."

Now, there were three doctors frowning in the lounge, each trying to think of a way to discretely gather more information about Steve's mysterious affair.

"It's still not right," Steve groaned as he listened to the playback on the piece he had just been practicing.  He was struggling with the 'gloria' section in 'Angels We Have Heard on High'.

"Steve," Sara told him, "it was beautiful."  She could hear nothing wrong with it.

Sara had been in the practice rooms since five thirty.  When Steve arrived at six thirty, he always let her join him.  That way she got the hour a day that was included in the cost of the class and some extra practice time on Steve's hour.  He got some hints on reading music from her in return.  Sometimes MinJe joined them, sometimes not.  Today, he wasn't planning to come until just in time for class because he had a book club meeting from six thirty to seven thirty.

Steve smiled at her and, rewinding the tape, said, "Thanks.  Really."  Shrugging, he said modestly, "I guess it wasn't so bad, but it wasn't right either."  He hit the play button again and said, "Listen to this section."  He stopped and replayed it, "You hear that?"

Sara listened closely and said, "Sorry, I don't hear anything wrong."

Sighing, Steve took out the recording of himself and popped in a tape of a professional performance of the same piece.  "Ok," he said, as the troublesome part approached, "listen.  There!  Hear it?"

Sara had been listening intently.  Now she shook her head again.  "Sorry, nope."

Steve rewound and played the section again.  Then he sung it back to her as best he could.  "Daah, DAH, dah dah dah.  Daah, DAH, dah dah dah.  Daah, DAH, dah dah dah.  Daah!  Da! Da!"

She nodded.

"Got it in your head now?"

She nodded again.

"Ok, now listen to me."  He played his part back and said, "See, I have something wrong, but I don't know what.  I have the notes, but something's missing.  Any ideas?"

Sara frowned and then nodded.  "Syncopation."

"Huh?"

"You're missing the syncopation.  You've got to hit the off notes."

Steve shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Sara, I still don't understand."

Knowing she wasn't up for the piece Steve was working on, she mentally filed through her limited repertoire, and came up with 'Mary Had a Little Lamb'.  When she finished, Steve was laughing.

"What?"

"Long story," was all he told her.

"We can't all be latent geniuses," she said, "I can play it well, and that's good enough for now."

She looked hurt, so Steve said, "Teach me about syncopation, then I'll explain."

Sara played the simple melody again, and said, "Everybody knows the tune, right?  Very familiar."

"Yes.  So?"

"Listen."

Sara played the tune again, and it was completely different this time.  The notes were the same, but everything was off kilter somehow.  It didn't sound bad, just different.  He made a puzzled face.

"Ok, I think I get it."

Picking up his instrument, he gave it a shot, and began grinning when he realized the music he heard was now what it should be. 

Flushed with excitement, he finished the whole piece and then said, "Sara, thank you.  Do you have any idea how long I have been working to get that right?"

"Yes…"  Ready to tell him exactly how long it had been, she looked at her watch, but the growling of her stomach interrupted her reply and she burst out laughing.  It was seven thirty, and their practice was up.  "You've been working on it too long," she said, "and I'm hungry."

"Ok," Mark said when he, Jesse, and Amanda had finished comparing notes on Steve's odd behavior, "Jesse, you'll call on your meal break then and ask for Steve.  If he's not there, that will be your excuse to ask him where he's been and what he's been doing.  That will keep Alex out of trouble."

"Right," Jesse agreed, "and if he is there, I'll just order some take out and let him know you are concerned that he hasn't been around much lately and tell him he needs to talk to you."

"Good, and Amanda," Mark said, "see if you can find out anything about this mystery woman next time you see Steve."

"I will, Mark.  Count on it."

"All right, well then," Mark said looking at his watch.  It was seven thirty-five.  "I need to get going.  I'm the guest speaker at an advanced nursing class at LA Valley Community College tonight, and I should be there in about twenty minutes."

He took his leave and headed out the door.

"Mayonnaise on French fries?"  Steve said, a little disgusted, as he joined Sara at a picnic table.  It was a beautiful, sparkling Indian summer evening, and, so they didn't have to rush their meal after waiting in the cafeteria line, they had decided to buy dinner from an outdoor vendor who had set up near their classroom building to take full advantage of the few remaining nice days of autumn before the chill of winter set in.

"Oh, yeah, it's good stuff," Sara told him.  "Try one."

She picked up a fry, loaded with mayonnaise, and held it before his mouth.  He opened up and she popped it in.  He chewed it thoughtfully.

"Hmmmm," Steve said, "Not bad, but still not as good as the fries at Barbecue Bob's."

"Oh, am I ever getting sick of hearing about your restaurant.  Bring me some takeout sometime, and let me judge for myself how good it is."

"Ok, I'll do that, soon, and you'll see that I'm right."

Sara rolled her eyes, not giving an inch.  "So, tell me why you laughed when I played 'Mary Had a Little Lamb,'" she said, changing the subject.

"Ok, I was fifteen, maybe sixteen years old . . . " Steve began.

Mark smiled as he looked over at the young couple at the picnic table under the light.  They were laughing and chatting and clearly enjoying each other's company and the lovely weather.  The girl, dressed all in black, was feeding her boyfriend, and he seemed to be enjoying it.  The boyfriend wasn't so young, either, he realized.  Then he froze in his tracks as a chill crept up his spine.  The boyfriend was his son.  And the girl?  She was very lovely, but she was definitely just a girl.  Mark doubted she was eighteen yet, and she still had the gawky look and slightly awkward manner of an adolescent who hadn't yet fully grown into to her taller, larger frame.

Mark had a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched the girl pick up another French fry from her plate and hold it to Steve's lips.  As he opened his mouth, she pulled it away, and he followed.  She pulled it away and Steve followed again.  The third time, she planted a kiss full on his mouth, and Mark had to turn away as the sound of girlish laughter made his guts twist.  Besides feeling quite ill, Mark also knew now was neither the time nor the place for a confrontation.  He was too upset, and he had a prior obligation.  He continued heading down the sidewalk to his classroom building, trying hard not to see them any more.

As soon as she realized Steve was not pleased with her, Sara blushed, stopped laughing, dropped her eyes, and lowered her head, the blonde hair falling like a curtain over her face, shielding her from his displeasure.

"Look at me, Sara," Steve said softly.


She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears.  "Steve, I-I'm sorry, I …"  The tears spilled over.

"Shh," Steve interrupted, putting a finger to her lips.  Then he wiped away the sparkling wet trails that ran down her cheeks.  "It's ok, but you know you shouldn't have done that, don't you?"

She nodded.

"I like you a lot, Sara, but I'm old enough to be your father."

"Age is only a number, Steve," she tried, though deep down she shared his belief that he was much too old for her.

"Maybe for some people, but not for us, Sara.  Experience counts for too much."  Steve wanted to be gentle, but he felt he needed to make his point very firmly, right now, so there was no doubt that they could never be more than friends. 

"I was a war veteran and a cop more than a decade before you were born," he said.  "By the time you came into the world, I had been shot on four separate occasions and beaten to within an inch of my life twice.  When you were in eighth grade, I had a mafia hit out on me.  The hit man almost succeeded, too.  Not long after that, I had a hospital blow up and fall on me.  Between my military service and police work, I have had to shoot and kill more men, a-and a few women," he faltered over the memory of Lynn Conklin even now, "than I can count.  I don't know exactly how many, and I don't ever want to."

"Oh, Steve," she whispered.

"Sara, you deserve an easy life at some point, since you haven't had one with your parents.  Even if we could share more than friendship, you wouldn't get that with me because of my work."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek then.

"Sara…" he warned.

"Oh, hush," she tried to sound authoritative even as she continued to sniffle.  "That was just a thank you kiss."

"A thank you for what?" Steve asked, confused.

"For caring enough to stop me when I wanted to do something stupid."  She sighed, wiped away her tears, and smiled.  "I won't pretend I don't have a crush on you," her voice still quavered.

Steve felt his face grow hot.

"And you're even cuter when you blush like that," Sara told him.  "So, you're not helping me get over it very quickly.  I guess you'll just have to accept the fact that I daydream about you at school."

Steve was beginning to lose patience.  "Look, Sara …"

"No, you look."  She interrupted him again, her voice stronger now as she continued her self-analysis, "Except for MinJe, you're the first adult who's taken any interest in me in as long as I can remember.  He's like, well, like what I would want my grandfathers to be, if either of them was still alive, but you, well, you're cute."  She smiled, and when it made her eyes sparkle, Steve knew she was ok. 

"Now, it's perfectly normal for girls like me to have crushes on cute old guys who care about them," Sara continued, "but it's only a crush, and it's not going anywhere, and you'll just have to deal with that."

Steve scratched his cheek with an index finger and stuck his lower lip out in a pout.  "So, you're dumping me," he said.

"It's kind of hard to dump someone you've never dated," Sara told him, "but yeah, I guess I am."

"I see."

"We can still be friends, though," she said brightly.

Steve seemed to give it some thought, then he nodded, "Ok.  Are you gonna finish your fries?"

Sara laughed.  She and Steve had become fast friends, and she had heard that same question twice already this week.  Shoving the plate over, she asked, "Is there anything you won't eat?"

"Mango chutney," Steve said, "and before today, I wouldn't have eaten French fries with mayonnaise."

"Then before today, you have never really lived, my friend."

They ate in silence for several minutes, then Steve sat back and sighed.  It had been a perfect, golden Indian summer day, one of the last of the season, Steve was sure, and the evening was proving just as glorious.

Looking at her watch, Sara said, "We need to get going.  Class starts in ten minutes and you know how Mr. Simon is about being ready to begin on time."

Steve nodded and rolled his eyes as he started gathering up the clutter on the picnic table.  Tuesday night, Melinda and Amy had been about three minutes late, and he had torn them both apart. 

As Steve reached across the table for Sara's empty cup, a chill wind picked up, blowing their plates and napkins all over the courtyard. 

"I've got it," Steve said as he ran after the wayward remnants of their meal.

Sara kept an eye on their instruments and laughed as Steve chased the litter down.  When he followed the last napkin right back to her feet, and stood up, panting, for the briefest moment, he could tell Sara wanted him to kiss her.  Knowing what she wanted made it difficult to turn away, for fear of hurting her feelings, but then she reached up and twirled one of those long blonde locks in that girlish way of hers, and he knew she realized she was just a child.  He did turn away from her then and shoved the last of the trash into the nearby receptacle.  She came over beside him, carrying both their instrument cases, hers by a strap over her shoulder and his in her hand, and slipped her arm through his.

Fairly skipping along beside him as they walked to class, she said, "Guess what?"

"What?"

"Tomorrow's my birthday!  I'll be eighteen."

Steve stopped in his tracks, and Sara, who was still in motion was jerked back against him, nearly knocking them both down, and then they staggered apart.

"Sara . . . "  Steve moved closer to put a gentle hand on her arm.  He thought they had settled this over dinner.

Shoving him away, she said, "Get a grip, will you?  I don't think being a 'woman' . . . "  She marked the quotes in the air with her fingers and in his ears with her sarcastic tone as she had when talking about her family the night they met, "will make me suddenly more desirable to you.  I just wanted you to know because nobody else will care."

She stood before him, beautifully angry, breathing hard, and clearly hurt by his reaction.  The tears started down her cheeks again, and Steve had to wonder just what her home life was like. 

"I'm sorry, Sara.  I misunderstood.  You need to be patient with me.  You're not like any of the other kids your age that I know, and it's going to take a while to figure you out.  I hope by the time I understand you, we are still friends."

She wiped her tears away with the cuff of her sweater and sniffed. 

"I'm sorry, too.  I'm just not used to grownups being nice and caring about me.  I-I'm not used to being able to trust them, and . . . and . . . "

Steve opened his arms to her, and she stepped into his embrace.  As she cried softly against his chest, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.  When he heard her whimper, "I wish you were my dad," he knew he had been right to shut down her fantasies at her first advance.

Mark watched the lovers' tiff from the window of his second floor classroom.  The young nurses were just arriving, and his lecture would start in a few minutes.  Steve's girl, Mark shuddered at the thought, was carrying two cases, but it was too dark for him to know what they were.  She was clearly angry for a moment, and Mark hoped fervently that she would lose her temper, clobber his son with one of her bags, and end their relationship on the spot.

His heart gave a painful little lurch when he saw the girl step into Steve's open arms, and his stomach gave a sickening flop when he saw Steve kiss the top of her head.  As he turned the rod that closed the blinds, he wished for once that he'd taught his son to be a little less patient and forgiving.