(Chapter 38.  University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, Olivia's house in Pennsylvania, a restaurant in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania.  July 6-October 28, 2033.)

"Keep going," Dr. Braslava Zeljeznjak, Emily's cardiologist said.  "Keep running." 

Emily did as ordered, her feet pounding the treadmill, her long legs eating up the virtual miles.  It had been a long journey to get to this point, but Emily could now see that the end of this journey was really just the beginning of another, hopefully much better one.

"Heart rate is in the target range.  How do you feel?" the doctor asked.

"Slava, I feel like I could run forever," Emily replied with a grin, and she kept on going.

Emily's road to recovery had been fraught with hurdles and pitfalls.  For the first three months after the shooting, anxiety and depression over her prospects for the future had been a major roadblock to any improvement in her condition.  By the time she should have been walking on the beach in the cool of the morning for exercise, it was as much as she could do to cross the room with assistance. 

After her acquittal, her mental state and physical condition had improved markedly in just a few days, but even then, when she had returned to Pennsylvania with her parents, she had felt weak and feeble.  Getting her mother's reluctant blessing to stay in the guesthouse on her own had been a major coup.  The truth was she couldn't bear the thought of having her mother in her hair all the time, but she still felt too frail to be completely on her own.  The little house at the end of the garden had provided her with the ideal combination of independence and security, privacy and closeness to her parents.

"Mama, I will not stay in the house with you and Daddy.  The more you do for me, the less I will do for myself, and the longer it will take to get my strength back.  We both know, as long as I am in the house with you, you won't be able to let me do things on my own."

"But, Em . . . "

"No, Mama!  If you won't let me move into the guest house, I will call a cab right now and have the driver take me to the University of Pittsburgh Rehab Center."

Olivia hesitated.  There was no doubt she'd rather have her daughter three minutes away at the end of the garden instead of two hours away at Pitt, but she hated the thought of Emily being on her own.  She was still too fragile.  And you are too protective.  Face it, Olivia, the girl is right.  You'd do more than cramp her style, you'd hinder her recovery.

Sighing, she finally said, "Ok, I'll get you the keys, but I reserve the right to check up on you.  Frequently."

Emily smiled a gratefully delighted smile.  "Thank you, Mama, but please, call before you come over."

"Looking good, Em, you still ok?"

"I'm great."

"Ok, I'm going to speed it up a little, try to max you out."

"Bring it on, sister!" 

Emily liked her doctor enormously.  She didn't know much about the older woman's background, just that in the 1990's, at the age of twelve, she'd immigrated with her parents to the United States from Croatia to escape the civil conflicts that plagued her homeland.  Slava knew a little about Emily from the news, and when they met they had each sensed in the other the tremendous struggles they had faced and the immense personal losses they had overcome.  Slava had promised Emily she would do everything in her power to help her, and Emily had promised Slava to work hard, and now, three months later, it was becoming increasingly clear that their efforts had paid off.

"No, Mama, absolutely not!" Emily insisted as she paused for breath halfway up to the second-floor gym in her parents' house.  She'd been home a month, and still found the walk from her place at the end of the garden into the house and up to the gym a bit taxing.  Once she got there, she tended to spend her whole morning exercising.  She could manage about ten minutes at a time on the treadmill before she needed to stop and rest, and toward lunchtime, her walking spells became shorter and shorter and her rests became longer and longer.  She hadn't even dared trying any of the weight machines, the stair master, or the stationary bike yet.

"But, Em, I just want to make things easier for you."

"Mama, you're being ridiculous!  The whole point of walking up these stairs to the gym every day is to get some exercise and rebuild my strength and stamina.  Installing a lift chair would be counterproductive.  So, what if I have to stop for rest on the landing?  Eventually, I'll be able to take them in one go.  Making things easier now will only make them harder in the long run."

 "I'm sorry, sweetie," Olivia said, trying to hide her tears, but she knew her daughter could tell she was about to cry.  "It's just so hard to watch you struggle all the time."

Touched by the depth of her mother's compassion, Emily reached out and gave her mom a hug.  "I know, Mama, and I'm sorry it's so difficult for you to let me do it on my own."  She let Olivia go and started laboriously climbing the stairs again.  "Maybe it would be easier if every time you started fretting over me, you reminded yourself that every obstacle I overcome is one step closer to being healthy again.  If I were any other patient, you'd admire my gumption and encourage me to press on, wouldn't you?"

"Probably," Olivia admitted with a sniff, "but you're not just any other patient, you're my daughter."

"And I'm lucky for that," Emily admitted, and she stopped and looked down at her mother, who was clearly struggling with the urge to take her by the arm and support her on the way up the stairs.  "Mama, I know you'll always be there for me, no matter what I need, but right now, the thing I need most is for you to let me do things on my own."

Olivia nodded and said, "I know that, and I'm trying, but do you think I could at least make you some lunch?"

Emily smiled.  "Grilled ham and cheese with tomato soup would be great.  Say around noon?  But don't bring it up to me.  I'll come down and eat in the kitchen with you."

Offering a weak smile, Olivia agreed.  "Will you want saltines or chips with that?"

"Actually, if you have some of those tiny little oyster crackers, that would be great.  If not, saltines will do."  When her mother just stood there, watching her, Emily frowned and finally asked, "Are you afraid I'll fall down the steps?"

Olivia shrugged.  "I can't help myself.  Just let me hover here until you get to the top."

Smiling, and with a resigned shake of her head, Emily turned and started up the stairs once more.

"So, what's the word?" Emily asked, slightly nervous.  She had felt good throughout the entire stress test, but she knew the charts and figures her doctor was studying said more about her medical condition than her own general sense of well-being.

Slava peered at her over her reading glasses and said, "You know your heart muscle is scarred, right?"

Emily frowned and nodded.  "Yeah, I know that."

"And you know you will never have the stamina you did before you were shot, don't you?"

"I know that, too, Slava, but how was my test?  How am I?"

"I'm going to call Alex and have him schedule another stress test in LA in about six months."

"Six months!  Slava, that's a long time."

Slava smiled.  "I know, Em, but you're doing at least as well as a lot of so-called healthy patients.  If you have no complications, and if the test in six months is all clear, I'm going to recommend switching you to annual checkups.  At this point, monthly monitoring is just a waste of your time and the hospital's resources."

A bit shocked, Emily looked at her doctor and friend and said, "That's it, then?  I'm ok?"

"Well, I wouldn't suggest entering a marathon next week," the doctor joked, "but a 3K or a 5K race shouldn't be a problem if you feel up to it."

"Slava!  Be serious!" Em pleaded.  "This is my life you're talking about."

"I am serious, Em.  At this point, if you feel up to it, you are up to it and you might as well do it, whatever it is.  When you get tired, stop and rest.  Your body will tell you when enough is enough, and it will warn you, many times, before it gives out entirely."

Emily frowned, deeply puzzled by what she was hearing.  "So, um, I'm really better now?" Em said, and Slava nodded, for the tone of her statement had made it a question.  "I'm not a patient anymore?"

"As you age, your heart, because of the damage done to it, will probably deteriorate faster than any of your other organs," Slava explained, "except for maybe your kidney.  But that won't start until you reach your sixties or seventies, so, yeah, for the next thirty or forty years, you're ok."

Suddenly, Emily's expression crumpled.  She brought both hands up to cover her face and began weeping quietly.  When her doctor came to sit beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, she dashed her tears away with the back of her hand and said, "I'm sorry.  I don't know what's wrong with me.  All of a sudden, I'm scared."

"Shh, it's ok, Em," Slava soothed her.  "You're not the first patient I've had who's gotten nervous at the prospect of returning to a normal life."

"Slava, I've never had a normal life!" Emily wailed.  "How in the hell am I supposed to return to one?"

To Emily's great dismay, Slava just laughed.  In fact, the frightened young woman was so shocked at her doctor's reaction to her fears that her tears suddenly stopped coming.  "Emily, one of these days you are going to have to learn that nobody is normal.  We are all making it up as we go along, just like you.  I think once you get your mind around that fact, you'll be just fine."

"You think so?" Emily sniffled.

"Yes, I do," Slava told her sincerely.

Emily sat for a long moment fighting with her emotions.  Her lower lip stuck out and her chin started trembling.  Suddenly, her whole face puckered, and Slava was sure she was going to turn on the waterworks again.  Emily covered her eyes with her hands, then pushed her hair out of the way, her fingertips meeting at the top of her forehead.  As she sat there with her eyes closed, taking deep breaths, her face contracted and relaxed several times and the tears fought for release.  From where she sat, Slava could see the moment when, through sheer force of will, her patient made a mental adjustment and decided that everything would be ok.

"Well, then," Emily said, offering a tremulous smile, "I guess I just need to suck it up, stop blubbering, and get on with it, don't I?"  Her voice sounded far less certain than her words, but Slava could hear the steely determination underlying the fear of the unknown future.

Smiling, and giving her patient a friendly pat on the arm, she said, "Yes, I think you do."

Emily waited nervously for the hostess of the Texas Grill to come and seat her.  She hadn't seen her ex-husband in over a year, and she hadn't spoken with him since she had joined the LAPD.  When she called to suggest that they get together, she'd been surprised at his eagerness to see her and even more surprised when he suggested meeting her for dinner at the restaurant where they'd had their first date. 

"Hey, Becky," she said as the hostess came up to greet her.  She and Becky had gone to school together, and though they'd never been particularly close, they were always on friendly terms.

"Em!  It's nice to see you.  You're looking well.  How are you feeling?"

Emily smiled.  "Better every day.  If I don't push it too hard, I can actually jog about six kilometers on the treadmill now.  It takes me longer than it used to, but I can do it.  In fact, I have another stress test tomorrow, and I really think the results will be the best ones yet."

"Oh, that's good to know," Becky said.  "We were all real worried when we heard about the shooting, and real proud of you for saving that other cop.  I'm so happy you're doing better."

"Thanks, Beck," Emily replied, "I appreciated all the thoughts and prayers and get-well cards from everyone.  It helped a lot to know all of Punxsutawney was behind me."  Emily hoped she sounded sincere.  She really was thankful for all of the support she'd gotten from the entire town, but having the same conversation a half a dozen times whenever she went out in public made it harder and harder to sound like she meant what she said.  "I, uh, I'm here to have dinner with Ian.  Has he arrived yet?"

"Yep, he's been here about ten minutes.  I'll take you to him."

When Emily arrived at the table, Ian stood and pulled her chair out for her with a smile that indicated he was genuinely glad to see her. 

"Ever the gentleman," Emily smiled after she'd taken her seat and Ian had slid into the chair across from her.

"Can I help it my mama raised me right?" Ian joked back.

"I suppose not," Emily replied, "but that's all right.  It's one of your many charms."

They lapsed into awkward silence for a minute and both sighed with relief when the waitress brought over the menus.  All too soon, she was back with their drinks and had taken their orders and left them staring warily at one another.

"You look good, Em," Ian finally interjected into the silence.  "Real good.  How you been feeling?"

"Like I've had this conversation a thousand times already," Emily said with a smile.

Ian grinned back and shrugged.  "Sorry, I reckon it's the obvious question.  I don't suppose most folks know what else to say first.  It's not like we can pretend we don't know what happened to you out in LA."

Emily nodded, "No, I suppose not, but I know it's asked with genuine concern, and I am flattered that so many people care.  I'm . . . ok, Ian.  And how are you?  You're looking well."

 When he stood to pull out her chair, Emily had noticed at a glance that he was still very trim and in top physical condition.  Now sitting at the table facing him, she noticed how the green flannel shirt he wore brought out his eyes.  His dark brown, wavy hair was a little longer than he used to keep it, and it was combed straight back from his forehead instead of parted and combed off to the side.  She could faintly smell his aftershave, and realized it was a new scent. 

Ian grinned and nodded.  "I'm doing good, great, in fact, even though you might say I'm going to the dogs."

At her confused look, he smiled and continued.  "Your Uncle Ken got authorization for another K-9 unit with the sheriff's department.  Most of the guys think we should get a German shepherd or a rottweiler, but I think we should get a bloodhound.  We spend more time looking for lost campers than we do running down criminals, and I don't think an attack dog would earn his keep.  Since we already have Fritz for our drug-sniffing dog, it just makes more sense to get a bloodhound."

"I see, but bloodhounds, aren't they kind of messy?"

Keith laughed.  "Well, I was reading the American Kennel Club breed standard a few days ago, and they admit, and I quote, 'Bloodhounds do drool.'  So, I suppose the answer is yes.  Still, since your Uncle Ken has decided that I'm the one who is going to go through K-9 training, I'm hoping he will let me decide what kind of dog we get."

"Well, Uncle Ken's usually a reasonable guy.  I think if you made a good case he will leave the decision up to you."

The conversation tailed off for a few minutes after the waitress brought their meals.  Emily closed her eyes, savored the first few bites of her burger, and sighed contentedly.  When she looked at Ian again, she found him just watching her. 

"What?"

"You're the only woman I've ever known who feels no shame in letting people know she likes their cooking," Ian said as he cut off a bite of his steak.

Emily shrugged.  "I inherited a high metabolism from my mama, and there's a lot more of me to feed.  I work hard and burn it all off, so I might as well enjoy it.  Besides, nobody makes burgers like they do here.  There's chopped green peppers, onion, celery, and tomato right in the meat."

"Oh, I wasn't picking at you, Em," Ian assured her.  "Matter of fact, it's one of the things I've always loved about you, and it's a compliment to any cook.  I just can't stand sitting down to a table with a woman who pecks at her food like a chicken.  Makes me wonder why I waste the money."

Emily gave him a curious look, but did not reply.  They sat eating in silence for a few more minutes, until Ian spoke again.

"I hear you've had to leave the force."

Emily nodded sadly and shrugged.  "You've got to have all your vital parts, and I'm missing a kidney."

"I always knew it would happen someday."

Emily froze for a moment, then she chewed and swallowed her mouthful of food.  Putting her hamburger down, she wiped her hands on her napkin and grabbed her purse.

"I think I should be going," she said.  "I didn't come here to play 'I told you so'."

As she rose from the table, Ian, grabbed her by the wrist.  "Please, Em, I wasn't saying 'I told you so'."

"It sure as hell sounded like it!  Let me go."

"Come on, Em," Ian pleaded, "sit down and hear me out.  I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm just not very good at saying what I mean.  You know that."

A year ago, she might have come back with biting sarcasm, pulled herself loose from his grip, and stormed out, but experience had changed her.  Now, she looked into his eyes, saw the sincerity there, swallowed her anger, and sat back down to face him.

"I'm listening."

"In the past, I said and did a lot of things I shouldn't have, things I wasn't proud of, but I never meant to hurt you, Em.  No gentleman has any business treating a lady the way I did you."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Oh, come on, Em.  You know how it is.  The man is the head of the household, and the woman follows his lead.  You never listened to me." 

"I always listened, Ian.  I just didn't always obey."

"So I noticed," he snapped.

Emily really didn't know what to say next, so she just waited quietly.  Eventually, Ian took a deep breath and paused to compose his thoughts.  Then, staring at the tablecloth because it was easier than facing Emily, he confessed, "You were my wife.  I was supposed to keep you out of trouble, keep you safe.  That's kind of hard to do when your wife's a cop.  I guess . . . I wanted to control you." 

There was a long silence following his admission, and then Emily finally said, "I don't understand, Ian.  Why didn't you just tell me you were worried for my safety instead of always cutting me down?"

"Women worry about problems," Ian said.  "Men solve them."

"Uh-huh," Emily said, clearly not believing.  "And by pretending not to do the former, you utterly failed to do the latter.  You said a lot of things that really hurt me, Ian, things that made me feel like you thought I was incompetent . . . reckless . . . Did you do all of that because I'm a woman?"

"Em, I always knew you were a good cop, and I never thought you were reckless, despite what I might have said."

When Emily didn't interrupt, but simply reached out and put a hand over his, Ian continued talking.  "I always knew what kind of person you are, Em, how honorable and dependable you are.  You've never been afraid of taking on the most dangerous jobs and making the hardest choices.  You're tougher than any man I've ever known.  I knew you would always do the right thing, and that because of the kinds of jobs you signed up for, one day you would have to make a choice." 

Finally, he met her eyes.  "I knew, when it came right down to it, you'd sacrifice yourself for someone else, and never think twice, and never look back."

"It goes with the job, Ian," Emily said, and gently began rubbing the back of his hand.  "You would have done the same thing."

He shook his head and looked away again, watching the hand caressing his.  "I . . . I'm not so sure," he said.  "I think with most folks, you can never tell until they're squeezed, but you're always so intense, so determined.  I knew just what you would do, and I was afraid to lose you."

"So, you pushed me away instead?  Ian, that doesn't make sense."

Ian shrugged.  "It hurt a hell of a lot less than losing you to the job would have."

"Maybe for you."

At the sound of her soft words, Ian looked up, and was surprised to see Emily's eyes glistening with tears.  "It's not your fault things didn't work between us.  I just had to be who I was, you know?  And I was never timid or particularly careful.  I didn't change when I became a cop, and I couldn't change when I married you.  Unfortunately, even though I was a good cop, I was a lousy wife.  Don't blame yourself, Ian.  You were a good husband."

Ian smiled.  "And you were a good wife, Em.  I guess we just weren't good for each other."

She gave Ian's hand a little squeeze.  "Tell me, since we split, have you ever thought about trying again?"

Ian squeezed back.  "Yeah, a few times.  But it would never work."

"I suppose not," she said, trying to keep her voice light but not letting go of his hand.  "Opposites attract, but we were two of a kind, both looking for someone to protect."

"Yeah, and besides, I'm engaged to be married in December, Em."

Emily froze at the news.  Then she slowly drew her hand out of Ian's grasp and brought it to rest in her lap.  "I see."

"Besides, Em, if I'm not mistaken, you have a fella waiting for you back in LA, don't you?"  Ian smiled, but slowly, his smile turned to confusion.  "I . . . I'm sorry.  I'd heard that you two were practically engaged."

"I don't know," Emily shrugged.  "Maybe we are.  He asked, but I didn't answer."

"Why not?"

"I was still awfully weak at the time, Ian," she explained.  "I didn't know if I was going to get better.  I didn't think it would be fair to saddle him with an invalid for the rest of his life."

Ian frowned.  "I thought this guy was a doctor."

"He is, why?"

"Don't you reckon he would know, at least as well as you do, whether you're ever gonna get better?"

"I suppose, but what does that have to do with anything?"  Emily's tone made plain her confusion.

"Well, he's seen you at your worst, hasn't he?  And he still wants to marry you, right?"

Slowly, Em began to smile, and then to blush.  "Yeah, he does."

"All things being equal, would you have said yes when he asked?"

Em nodded.  "Probably."

"Then you should call the boy tonight and accept his proposal, Em.  Just because it didn't work for us doesn't mean it can't work you and him."

When Emily gave no other answer than a noncommittal nod of her head, Ian, not wanting to push the issue and upset her, went back to his steak.  For the rest of the meal, they spoke of inconsequential things and Ian caught Emily up on the local happenings, but neither Steven nor Ian's fiancĂ©e were mentioned again.

As her patient slowly came to grips with the fact that she would no longer need to be under a doctor's regular care, Slava went over various precautions Emily would need to take, and symptoms she didn't dare ignore.  It was all information Em would know, and she would also get it all it in writing, but Slava knew eventually her patient would have further questions about her condition and her future.  She was just going over the recommended preventive measures to give Em time to order her thoughts.

"It would also be wise to update your immunizations and to get an annual flu shot.  A lot of common illnesses can be very taxing to the system, and there's no sense risking infection when it can be so easily preven . . . "

"Wait.  Hold on."  Emily waved her hand and shook her head.  Slava stopped talking and let the silence stretch.  Finally, Em leaned forward and grew very serious.  "I only have one question.  Would it be safe for me to have a child?"

"That's harder to answer than you might think, Em," Slava said.  "It would definitely be a high risk pregnancy, but I have seen women in much worse condition than you have perfectly normal pregnancies and give birth to perfectly healthy babies.  I have also seen women who have never been sick a day in their lives suffer unforeseeable complications.  As a doctor, I can't tell you anything for certain one way or the other.  As you friend and as a mother, I can promise you that if and when you want to start a family, you'll know if you need to try to have a biological child."

"In other words, if I ever do get pregnant," Emily sought to clarify, "it's a toss up.  Heads, I'll be fine, tails, there will be problems."

"That's right."

Emily gave her friend a lopsided grin, suddenly more cheerful than she had been since finding out she was finally well.  "You know.  For the first time in a long time, I think I'm feeling lucky."