Over the next few days Luka again tried to keep busy, and tried not to think about it. It was over. There was no point in dwelling on it. At least he no longer had to wonder where she was, what had happened to her. He knew.
Abby didn't bring up the subject again, though sometimes Luka sensed that she wanted to say something -- that *something* seemed to be bothering her.
As for the rest of the staff, while some no doubt knew of, or suspected, some connection between him and Nicole's pregnancy, if they did, they were kind enough, or discreet enough not to mention it. (At least not to his face. He had no doubt that the County Rumor Mill was humming away full-tilt.)
But it was hard. At any other time of year, Luka was sure, it would have been easier. But Christmas had always been hard for him. A time of year for families and children -- and he had been alone every Christmas since he'd come to America. This year, for the first time in so long, he'd been looking forward to Christmas. This year he would have been a family with Nicole, and the baby and upcoming wedding to look forward to. And next year would have been the baby's first Christmas. (No, the baby wouldn't remember, but for the parent it was a magical time. Even after all these years, Luka could still remember ever detail of Jasna's and Marko's first Christmases.) But now ... there was nothing to look forward to. He volunteered to work every day through the holidays.
Keeping busy was the best thing to do, he knew.
The day before Christmas Luka heard that Nicole had been discharged.
"I'm sure she'll be fine," Abby said, as they worked together on a case.
"Who will?"
"Nicole. She can take care of herself, or find someone else to take care of her."
"Some other poor sucker, you mean?" Luka asked wryly.
"You said it, not me."
Luka couldn't maintain his feigned good humor. "I really don't care what happens to Nicole anymore."
"Harsh words about the girl you were planning to marry just a few weeks ago."
"I never cared about Nicole," Luka said, very quiet. "I wanted the baby. I'm sure that I would have -- could have -- grown to love her, for the sake of the baby, but not anymore."
It seemed to Luka that virtually every case that came his way that day was a baby or small child. There was the 2 month old with SIDS, Luka worked on him for over an hour before finally calling it, and having to break the news to the hysterical parents. There was the ravishing dark-eyed 4 year old (so like Jasna) who had fallen from Santa's lap and sprained her wrist. A sweet and engaging child who, on any other day, Luka would have warmed to so easily, and teased and bantered with. But today he couldn't bear to be drawn in, so, cool and professional, he'd prescribed ice, rest and Ibuprofen, and sent the family on their way. And the 6 month old with two broken legs and a skull fracture (and a dozen healed fractures and a hundred old bruises) who had "fallen out of his crib." Luka had treated the injuries, told Haleh to call CFS, and escaped. And, of course, the usual mid-winter assortment of colds, chicken-pox and ear aches.
Dozens of babies and children, passing through his life -- would any of them remember that he'd been part of their lives for a few moments? Would *he* remember any of them tomorrow?
When he finally got an adult patient, a simple hand lac, the man was accompanied by his two children. The father was going to jail as soon as he was stitched, and with no other family to care for them, the children would likely spend Christmas in Emergency Intake, or, if they were really lucky, with a stranger in foster care.
Out in the hallway, he said to Abby, "Maybe I should post bail for them." Maybe if he could just make a real difference to someone, he thought, it would help fill the emptiness inside him.
"There's only so much you can do," Abby said gently. She touched his arm, and so couldn't be unaware that he was shaking a little. "You miss your kids?"
"Yeah ... it's worse at Christmas." He hesitated. "And I thought that this year ... next year ..." He wiped impatiently at his eyes.
Abby squeezed his hand, offering wordless comfort, but Luka still sensed that something remained unspoken between them.
"Did she know?" asked Abby after a minute.
"About what?"
"Your kids? Danijela?"
Luka smiled a little and shook his head. "No, I never told her."
Abby raised an eyebrow. "Were you planning to?"
"Yes, ... eventually ... it just never felt like the right time. We were so happy..." Luka shook his head again, in confusion. "And it didn't seem to matter. It shouldn't have mattered, not to her. I wouldn't have wanted it to have mattered."
---
The endless shift was finally over, and Luka headed home to his empty apartment, and his empty life. He would go to bed, sleep, and then go back to work on Christmas Day. If he could have managed without sleep that long, he would have happily worked Christmas Eve and night as well, but Kerry wouldn't allow it.
His thoughts from earlier in the evening came back to him. If he could only make a real difference for someone, it might fill the emptiness -- and Abby's words "There's only so much you can do."
No ... there had to be more. More to medicine than treating sprains and sore throats. More to life than this.
Suddenly Luka remembered. The letter had come several weeks before. He'd read it with interest, but knew he couldn't go -- not with a new wife and a baby on the way. But, for some reason he hadn't thrown the letter away.
Luka searched among the bills and papers on his desk until he found the envelope. "L'Alliance des Medicines Internationale."
"Dr. Kovac," he read, skimming rapidly down the page. "... volunteer opportunity ... Bosnia ... we encourage you to consider ...."
Yes, that was exactly what he needed -- a change of scene, a chance to do more, to fill his empty life. Luka put the envelope by the phone. He would call the day after Christmas.
THE END
Abby didn't bring up the subject again, though sometimes Luka sensed that she wanted to say something -- that *something* seemed to be bothering her.
As for the rest of the staff, while some no doubt knew of, or suspected, some connection between him and Nicole's pregnancy, if they did, they were kind enough, or discreet enough not to mention it. (At least not to his face. He had no doubt that the County Rumor Mill was humming away full-tilt.)
But it was hard. At any other time of year, Luka was sure, it would have been easier. But Christmas had always been hard for him. A time of year for families and children -- and he had been alone every Christmas since he'd come to America. This year, for the first time in so long, he'd been looking forward to Christmas. This year he would have been a family with Nicole, and the baby and upcoming wedding to look forward to. And next year would have been the baby's first Christmas. (No, the baby wouldn't remember, but for the parent it was a magical time. Even after all these years, Luka could still remember ever detail of Jasna's and Marko's first Christmases.) But now ... there was nothing to look forward to. He volunteered to work every day through the holidays.
Keeping busy was the best thing to do, he knew.
The day before Christmas Luka heard that Nicole had been discharged.
"I'm sure she'll be fine," Abby said, as they worked together on a case.
"Who will?"
"Nicole. She can take care of herself, or find someone else to take care of her."
"Some other poor sucker, you mean?" Luka asked wryly.
"You said it, not me."
Luka couldn't maintain his feigned good humor. "I really don't care what happens to Nicole anymore."
"Harsh words about the girl you were planning to marry just a few weeks ago."
"I never cared about Nicole," Luka said, very quiet. "I wanted the baby. I'm sure that I would have -- could have -- grown to love her, for the sake of the baby, but not anymore."
It seemed to Luka that virtually every case that came his way that day was a baby or small child. There was the 2 month old with SIDS, Luka worked on him for over an hour before finally calling it, and having to break the news to the hysterical parents. There was the ravishing dark-eyed 4 year old (so like Jasna) who had fallen from Santa's lap and sprained her wrist. A sweet and engaging child who, on any other day, Luka would have warmed to so easily, and teased and bantered with. But today he couldn't bear to be drawn in, so, cool and professional, he'd prescribed ice, rest and Ibuprofen, and sent the family on their way. And the 6 month old with two broken legs and a skull fracture (and a dozen healed fractures and a hundred old bruises) who had "fallen out of his crib." Luka had treated the injuries, told Haleh to call CFS, and escaped. And, of course, the usual mid-winter assortment of colds, chicken-pox and ear aches.
Dozens of babies and children, passing through his life -- would any of them remember that he'd been part of their lives for a few moments? Would *he* remember any of them tomorrow?
When he finally got an adult patient, a simple hand lac, the man was accompanied by his two children. The father was going to jail as soon as he was stitched, and with no other family to care for them, the children would likely spend Christmas in Emergency Intake, or, if they were really lucky, with a stranger in foster care.
Out in the hallway, he said to Abby, "Maybe I should post bail for them." Maybe if he could just make a real difference to someone, he thought, it would help fill the emptiness inside him.
"There's only so much you can do," Abby said gently. She touched his arm, and so couldn't be unaware that he was shaking a little. "You miss your kids?"
"Yeah ... it's worse at Christmas." He hesitated. "And I thought that this year ... next year ..." He wiped impatiently at his eyes.
Abby squeezed his hand, offering wordless comfort, but Luka still sensed that something remained unspoken between them.
"Did she know?" asked Abby after a minute.
"About what?"
"Your kids? Danijela?"
Luka smiled a little and shook his head. "No, I never told her."
Abby raised an eyebrow. "Were you planning to?"
"Yes, ... eventually ... it just never felt like the right time. We were so happy..." Luka shook his head again, in confusion. "And it didn't seem to matter. It shouldn't have mattered, not to her. I wouldn't have wanted it to have mattered."
---
The endless shift was finally over, and Luka headed home to his empty apartment, and his empty life. He would go to bed, sleep, and then go back to work on Christmas Day. If he could have managed without sleep that long, he would have happily worked Christmas Eve and night as well, but Kerry wouldn't allow it.
His thoughts from earlier in the evening came back to him. If he could only make a real difference for someone, it might fill the emptiness -- and Abby's words "There's only so much you can do."
No ... there had to be more. More to medicine than treating sprains and sore throats. More to life than this.
Suddenly Luka remembered. The letter had come several weeks before. He'd read it with interest, but knew he couldn't go -- not with a new wife and a baby on the way. But, for some reason he hadn't thrown the letter away.
Luka searched among the bills and papers on his desk until he found the envelope. "L'Alliance des Medicines Internationale."
"Dr. Kovac," he read, skimming rapidly down the page. "... volunteer opportunity ... Bosnia ... we encourage you to consider ...."
Yes, that was exactly what he needed -- a change of scene, a chance to do more, to fill his empty life. Luka put the envelope by the phone. He would call the day after Christmas.
THE END