This chapter begins the day after "Just a Touch". In my world, Gallant is
still around. And Ella has NOT aged abnormally fast, so she's just turned
three years old.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday . . .
Michael Gallant stood awkwardly in the lounge, wishing he were someplace else, while Dr. Weaver and Dr. Romano interrogated Greg Pratt about the patient who'd reported him for sexual harassment yesterday. Weaver had already questioned Pratt – rather publicly, walking around the Admit area – right after she took the complaint. But now Romano was here, and apparently he wanted to get his digs in too. Gallant had tried to slip out of the lounge when the trio arrived, but Dr. Weaver nabbed him before he could leave.
"Dr. Gallant," Weaver inquired, "Have you ever heard Dr. Pratt use the term 'TUBE', referring to the practice of performing unnecessary breast exams on attractive patients?"
"I, uh . . . I'm not sure . . . uh," Gallant stammered, not wanting to lie, but also not wanting to make things any worse for his friend. Of course he'd heard Greg talk that way, but he had to believe it was just talk. Pratt was a player, but surely he wouldn't actually take advantage of a patient like that.
"Yeah, yeah, we called them RBE's – recreational breast exams – when I was in school," Romano said impatiently, "Let's get back to the actual complaint."
"Have you ever done one?" Kerry asked. Romano's only reply was a dirty look.
"There was nothing 'recreational' about it," Pratt protested, "I discerned an enlarged lymph node. In a woman her age, no previous breast exams, unexplained back pain, an exam was in order to rule out metastatic . . ."
"Did you tell her this?" Romano interrupted.
"What?"
"Did you explain to the patient why you wanted to perform a breast exam for a backache?" Romano elaborated, speaking to the resident as if he were a particularly slow five-year-old.
"Uh, not exactly. I got consent, but I didn't want to worry her . . ." Pratt trailed off weakly.
"Repeat after me: There is a small chance that this indicates something serious. Performing an exam will let us rule that out," Romano recited, sneering. "Come on, nitwit, you do this every day!"
To Dr. Weaver, he went on stridently, "OK, so either Pratt's an idiot who doesn't tell his patients what he's examining them for, and might as well have 'sue me' tattooed across his forehead, or else he's a sleaze-ball who gets his kicks feeling up unsuspecting women. Personally, I'd guess 'idiot', but since Nurse Taggart, who was supposed to be chaperoning, has the observational powers of Stevie Wonder, I don't see how we're going to know for sure – unless the chick who complained comes back and files a formal report."
Her voice brittle with irritation, Dr. Weaver responded, "Your flip attitude contributes to the problem, Robert."
"Hmpf. I was wondering how long it would take for you to try to blame this on me. I wasn't even here, remember? And, if you'll recall, I wanted to fire his ass months ago," Romano retorted, smugly flicking his gaze toward Pratt.
"Although you weren't directly involved in this incident, you encourage an atmosphere in which sexual harassment is not taken seriously . . ."
"Yeah, I'm Pratt's role model." Romano quipped.
Greg snorted, earning himself a withering glare from Dr. Weaver. Gallant maintained a carefully neutral expression.
Obviously fed up, Weaver spat, "I consulted you as a courtesy, Robert, but clearly that effort was misspent." Making her way out the door, she added, "Dr. Pratt, report to me Monday morning to discuss the details of your sexual harassment presentation for the medical students."
Whether or not Pratt had actually done anything inappropriate, Gallant wasn't sure he was the best choice to edify the medical students. This impression did not diminish when, as they left the lounge, Greg began describing in lewd detail what he would like to do for his presentation. Romano, walking ahead of them, turned back and began to say something, but he was distracted by a small figure with blondish hair, bobbing across the floor toward him.
"Wooper come birt-day party!" Ella Greene exclaimed, running toward Romano.
Gallant watched Romano's demeanor change from antagonistic to indulgent as he replied, "You want Rupert to come to your birthday party? Did your Mum say it's OK?"
The little girl nodded emphatically to both questions. As her mother arrived behind her, Ella reached up to Romano to be lifted. He scooped her up more effectively than Gallant expected, and sat her on top of the admit desk so that she was roughly face to face with him.
Romano shot a mock scowl at Dr. Corday, "Clever ploy, Lizzie. You just don't want to face a house full of shrieking brats all by yourself."
"It was her idea, not mine," Elizabeth countered, smiling innocently, "Besides, Ella doesn't have that large a social circle yet. There'll be maybe four children there, maximum."
"Dr. Corday," Chuny interjected, "Shirley's on line two – says it's urgent."
Corday sighed and walked around the desk to the phone. She spoke into the receiver, "The nanny already dropped off my daughter . . . can't Edson cover? . . . 10 minutes . . . no . . . OK."
Meanwhile, Ella had moved on to other matters: "Eminem!" she demanded cheerfully.
"Shhh," Romano cautioned her, feigning secrecy as he grinned at Elizabeth over the girl's shoulder, "Your Mum's not supposed to know that I give you M&Ms."
Ella put her finger up to her lips and giggled. Putting down the phone, Dr. Corday walked back to them, frowning. "Emergency laparotomy. I was off more than an hour ago. Dale's supposed to be covering, but . . ."
"It's OK. Go," Romano told her.
"I'll only be a few minutes. You'll watch her?"
"No. I'm going to sell her to gypsies."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, then smiled at her daughter, "Sweetie, I've got to go back upstairs for a little while. You can stay with Robert, OK?"
"OK," Ella agreed. Then, when her mother had left she asked, "Gissies?"
"Yup," Romano replied, without further clarification.
Getting back to her previous goal, Ella prodded, "Eminem!"
"OK, OK, hold your horses," answered Romano, in a not-really-grouchy tone.
Amused, Gallant questioned, "Um, are kids that young supposed to be eating chocolate?"
"What, did Weaver deputize you as the new Nutrition Nazi?" Romano shot back. "Besides, I only give her two M&Ms. It's amazing how much mileage you can get out of half a teaspoon of chocolate." Then, turning his attention back to Ella, he corrected himself, "Oh, wait a minute, how old are you now?"
Ella held up three fingers and said proudly, "Three."
Holding up three fingers in return, Romano said, "That means you get THREE M&Ms."
Ella squealed like she'd just won the lottery. Her glee caused Romano to break into a big grin – a striking change from his usual caustic expression. Gallant chuckled; he'd seen Romano be gentle with young patients before, but not playful like this. Hearing Pratt snicker, Gallant looked over and saw that the other resident was also enjoying the scene, as were Chuny and Haleh.
Romano, too, apparently noticed the attention. He toned down his grin and said to the little girl, "Come on, let's get out of here before you completely undermine my authority with these bozos."
"Bozos," Ella giggled. She slid off the counter, into Romano's arms, and wrapped her hands around his neck, singing, "Green an' owange, green and owange."
"Yep, you can pick out your colors," he replied, stuffing the paperwork in his right hand under his prosthesis so that he could hold the girl with his good arm. As he headed toward the lockers, he asked, "Are you hanging on tight?"
"Uh huh," Ella replied, letting go completely to wave at Haleh.
Smiling, Gallant overheard their retreating conversation:
Romano: "OK, see, that's not holding on tight. That's not holding on at all."
"Hold-on-tight – Why?"
"Cuz if I drop you on your head, your Mommy will holler at me."
"Hee! – Mummy holler . . ."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Saturday evening . . .
Elizabeth Corday closed the door behind the last of her young guests and sighed with satisfaction: Ella's first real party. Not being a complete masochist, Elizabeth had kept the guest list short. Drew and Melissa Windom, among the few "couple friends" that she'd maintained a relationship with after Mark's death, attended with their daughter and infant son. Although pleasant and well-educated, Elizabeth found the adult Windoms a bit dull. But their daughter, Amy, was just a few months older than Ella, and the two got along well. The other guest was a girl Ella knew from playgroup. Her father dropped her off and picked her up. Kris, Robert, and, of course, Robert's dog, Rupert, rounded out the party.
Elizabeth had hoped that Robert would liven up the conversation with the Windoms, but he hadn't. Instead, he kept to himself among the adults, and interacted mostly with the kids and the dog. This struck Elizabeth as odd, since she'd never known Robert not to strive to be the center of attention. Of course, she HAD threatened him severe bodily harm should he insult anyone, but it's not like that had ever worked before.
Remembering Robert's tendency to withdraw when depressed, she was mildly concerned. Yet, he hadn't seemed unhappy today – just maybe a little self conscious. And he did have his hands full trying to keep Rupert from jumping on the children, and keeping the children – Amy especially – from trying to ride Rupert.
Elizabeth walked back into the living room, where Ella was chattering to Robert and Kris as she picked up scraps of wrapping paper and put them into a bag. Elizabeth knew that she would have to distract her daughter before the bag was full, or else Ella would dump the bag out and scatter the paper so that she could start all over again. Normally, that wouldn't be a bad way to occupy her time, but it was getting late.
Kris had plans for the evening, so she gathered her things to go and kissed Ella goodnight. Ella was quite accustomed to the nanny coming and going. Normally she took it in stride, but now, she started to pout and whine. Realizing that her daughter was probably tired and over-stimulated, Elizabeth bade Kris goodbye, then announced, "Bedtime for cranky birthday girls!"
Before Ella could protest, she added, "Do you want to take your new dolly and bunny with you?"
The doll was a present from Elizabeth's Mum, and was probably expensive enough that she shouldn't let Ella really maul it. The stuffed rabbit was from Robert. It was mottled with psychedelic colors, mostly purples, and had a blue bow tie and electric pink eyes that bugged out a bit. As Robert had observed when Ella tore off the wrapping paper, 'he looks like he's hallucinating himself.' Naturally, Ella loved it.
The little girl walked over to the couch and collected her toys. She giggled "G'night" at Robert and charged up the stairs, while babbling something that sounded like instructions into the doll's ear. Following behind her daughter, Elizabeth invited, "If you want to stick around, I think I can provide some more grown-up beverages. I should warn you that I may be a while – there's a lot of cake and doggie-drool to clean off her."
"No problem," Robert replied, "I've got to take Rupert outside for a minute anyway." Looking over at the canine collapsed in the corner, he added, "Assuming I can rouse him. What's the matter, boy, those girlies too much for ya?"
Elizabeth grinned and headed for the stairs. She forced herself not to intervene as Robert carried several plates at once, teetering precariously, out to the kitchen. On her way upstairs, she listened for the sounds of crashing dishes, but heard none.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Crap," Robert Romano muttered, as he peered into the downstairs bathroom. He'd finished loading the dishwasher and had taken Rupert outside to do his business. Now he wanted to wash his hands – or rather, his hand, which was the problem. Having scrubbed for surgery regularly for half his life, not being able to wash the back of his hand properly drove him nuts. Unfortunately, without the aid of another hand, it was tough to do so. The artificial one was water resistant, but not much good for lathering.
At home, he solved this problem by keeping a folded washcloth on the counter by each sink: he soaped the washcloth, lathered his hand against it, then rinsed both hand and washcloth under the running water. Lacking this amenity, he could get by with a solid bar of soap that he could rub the back of his hand on. Unfortunately, Elizabeth's kitchen and downstairs bathroom sinks offered only pump bottles of liquid soap.
Robert listened carefully and found that he could no longer hear the splashes and giggles that accompanied Ella's bathtime. He ventured upstairs, found the bathroom vacant, and made use of the bar of soap. As an added perk, he found that, with the water off, he could hear Elizabeth reading a bedtime story to her daughter.
'OK, so now I'm officially pathetic,' Robert mocked himself, as he stood in the bathroom, listening covertly. He always loved Elizabeth's voice, but there was something about the way it sounded when she was reading aloud, rather than simply speaking, that made it even more captivating than usual. He closed his eyes and, for a moment, all was right with the world.
When the story was finished, he heard Ella request, "Read Daddy card."
Elizabeth started reading a short birthday letter that Mark must have written for his daughter before he died. Robert felt a brief flash of sympathy for Greene – How many letters did he write? One for each year? God, that must suck – but most of his concern was for Elizabeth, whose voice now sounded strained.
Elizabeth finished reading the letter, and Ella immediately said, "Read Daddy card again." There was a pause, then Ella repeated, "Mummy, read Daddy card." A moment later, "Mummy sad?"
Robert waited a moment, not sure if he should intervene. Still, there was no response from Elizabeth. He couldn't resist. He crossed the hall, knocked lightly on Ella's bedroom door, and entered. Elizabeth looked up at him, fighting back tears. They locked eyes for a moment, then Robert turned to Ella, saying, "You know what you forgot to do? You forgot to say goodnight to Rupert."
He grinned down at the girl, who eagerly hopped up so he could carry her downstairs to rectify the situation.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
By the time Robert and Ella returned, about 10 minutes later, Elizabeth felt more in control of herself. Robert dropped Ella off, waved, and left the room, perhaps realizing that, if he stayed, Ella would be more inclined toward laughing than sleeping. Elizabeth smiled wryly at the fact that her daughter seemed to find the gruff ex-surgeon endlessly amusing. He made no attempt to limit his vocabulary to that of a preschooler, so Ella probably didn't understand much of what he said to her. Nevertheless, she seemed to enjoy his weird sense of humor.
After a quick cuddle and an off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday", Ella was tucked in for the night and Elizabeth headed downstairs. Robert, sitting on the couch scanning a newspaper, glanced up as she approached. Elizabeth looked at him warmly and said, "Thanks."
"Yeah, well, you know how sensitive Rupe is to social slights . . ."
Elizabeth grinned, grateful that he wasn't pressing for an explanation. Nonetheless, she offered, "I just don't want her to think of Mark's letters as something sad. And she doesn't. Except when I make it that way."
Robert listened quietly as she went on, "Maybe I'm jealous. It's simpler for her: Daddy went to heaven, but he loves her and sends her cards on her birthday." Hearing the whiney tone creeping up in her voice, she admonished herself, "Oh, I should be better at this by now . . . let's talk about something else. Want a beer?"
"Sure," Robert replied. He looked away for a moment, then looked back at her and said softly, "For what it's worth, I think you're doing fine."
Elizabeth went to the kitchen and returned with two beers. She knew that Robert was trying to be sensitive. He wasn't very good at it, but somehow that made his attempts kind of sweet. As she handed him a bottle, she smiled fondly. Until he said something that made her smile freeze:
"By the way, while we were downstairs, I told Ella that you're getting her a puppy for her birthday."
'No. He wouldn't. This is Robert, of course he would,' ran through Elizabeth's mind. Her face reddened and she sputtered, "Oh no . . . I can't . . . you didn't . . . you're . . ."
"Kidding," he grinned, raising his hand in surrender, "Don't hurt me."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A couple of hours and a couple of beers later, Elizabeth was very relaxed. Robert seemed pretty mellow too, though neither of them was drunk. In order to put her feet on the coffee table, she slid a bag filled with paperwork off onto the floor. Robert raised his eyebrows at the quantity of work.
Elizabeth sighed, "Scheduling. Ugh."
He wrinkled his nose in reply. She plead jokingly, "Want to do it for me?"
"Only if I can give Dorsett a month of back-to-back bowel resections."
"Done."
Robert chuckled, then said, "I thought you were planning on ditching the administrative thing."
"I was," Elizabeth replied, "But then Sandy died, and I guess I didn't want to cause any more trouble for Kerry right away." With a self effacing grin, she admitted, "Also, it's difficult talking to Kerry, now, and having to be . . . nice."
Robert snickered, "Is that what we're supposed to be doing?"
Elizabeth went on, "Actually, I am rather concerned about her. But I don't know if there's anything I can do to help. We're not exactly close."
"Yeah, you'd think there must be somebody out there who DOESN'T hate her, who can look after her." Robert's words were harsh, but there was an incongruous sadness in his eyes.
"Anyway," Elizabeth explained, "I told the Board that if they wanted me to continue to do this job, they had to let me appoint an associate chief to whom I can delegate some responsibilities. Tentatively they've approved."
"Good idea – somebody you can torture and dump work on. Hey, that'd be a great way to get back at 'Fast Eddie' . . ."
"Heh. True, but it would probably seem more professional if I picked somebody whom I haven't slept with."
"Edson?"
"Too annoying."
"How about that new guy, the Brit? What's his name – Lawson?"
Elizabeth smiled sheepishly. It didn't take Robert long to put two and two together. He sniped, "So, when did you decide it was your mission in life to sleep your way through the surgical staff?"
Robert's tone was petulant, but not judgmental. Elizabeth responded in kind, smirking, "About the same time that you left the department."
"Ooooh – touché." He mimed being stabbed in the heart.
Rupert perked up his ears at his human's antics. The big puppy, who had yet to grow into his remarkably large paws, rambled over and tried to nudge his way onto the couch between the two doctors. Robert scooted over a little, making room. Rupert flopped part of his body onto Robert's lap and part on the couch between them, his tail wagging across Elizabeth's knees. "Well, at least somebody still loves me," Robert pouted, rubbing the pup behind the ears.
Elizabeth giggled, "I think you like that dog better than you like most people."
"Whattaya mean, 'most'? I like dogs better than people because, as a rule, dogs ARE better than people," he grumbled.
"Let's see: they do what they're told, they don't talk back, they think you're magnificent," Elizabeth teased, "Yes, I can see why that would appeal to you."
"It's not just that, is it Rupe?" Robert's voice was simultaneously joking and contemplative. He petted the dog, who tried to lick him on the nose, tail beating faster against Elizabeth's legs. "Dogs are MORALLY better."
Elizabeth laughed at the statement, but not unkindly.
Robert countered, "No, I mean it." He paused for a moment, as if he might be finished, then went on, "When I was a kid, maybe 10, we had a dog. She was a shepherd-mix – big and sweet – named Lottie. I always had to race home after school to take her outside so she wouldn't wet in the house."
Elizabeth smiled, intrigued. In all the years she'd known Robert, she'd heard hardly a word about his childhood. She asked, "Why was that your job?"
"Uh, my Mom was usually sick – she has lupus, though it wasn't diagnosed 'till many years later. My sister is five years younger than me, so she was too little. Dad didn't like animals, and besides, he would've been at work. Anyway, I'd try to get home to take Lottie for a walk, but if I didn't get there on time, or if she was really whining a lot to go out, Mom would have to let her go in the yard. The problem was, Lott could get over the fence, and then I'd have to hunt her down.
It turned out there was another problem that I hadn't thought of: she turned up pregnant. Of course, I was thrilled. I knew Dad wouldn't let me keep the puppies, but I was excited about seeing them get born. And Mom said that they couldn't be separated from their mother for a few weeks, so I figured that I'd have them for a little while anyway. I made a bed for Lottie in the basement, and I kept going down there to check if she was giving birth.
Finally, she did, and it was amazing. Four perfect little puppies. Mom told me not to touch them – said it would upset Lottie – so I just sat on top of the washing machine and watched. Lott was real protective of her babies. But a couple of hours later she came over to me, looking all proud, and let me pet her."
Elizabeth was entranced. She could vividly picture her friend as a boy, his intense brown eyes peeking out from under a mop of curly red hair, eagerly observing the birth process. She was also tickled that Robert seemed to mind his mother's directions. She'd always assumed he would've been a bit more . . . well . . . bratty.
Staring off into space, he continued, "Few days later, Dad came down into the basement. I knew that wasn't good – he never had much use for Lottie – Mom must've taken her in while we weren't living with him. Anyway, he starts going on about how it's my fault Lott got out, my responsibility, blah blah blah. But I'm not really listening, 'cause as he's talking, he's picking up the puppies and putting them in a box, and Lottie's freaking out – barking, running around in circles. I grab hold of her so she won't hurt herself, and also so she won't lunge at him and give him an excuse to hurt her."
Elizabeth noticed Robert's diction speeding up as he got caught up in the memory, his tone becoming flat. "Dad brings the box over to the sink and says, 'You'd better keep her back or she's next.' Then he picks up one of the pups – a grayish one – holds it up so Lottie and I can see it, and breaks its neck. He does the same thing with each of the others. All the while, I'm holding on to Lottie, and she's got her jaws clamped around my arm and she's making these unearthly sounds . . ."
Robert winced as if he still heard the dog's distressed cries, and ran his hand over the spot where his left forearm used to be, but otherwise he didn't appear agitated. Elizabeth supposed that, for him, this was ancient history. But it was news to her, and she was utterly horrified.
"That's . . . that's awful," she stammered. Then, anger rising, she added hotly, "Please tell me that your father's not already dead, so I can kill him."
That snapped Robert out of his reverie. He smiled appreciatively at her ire, and said, "As far as I know, he's still alive. I guess I would hear about it eventually if he kicked the bucket. Yeah, he's a dick, but that's not the point of the story. The point is what happened afterwards:
So, Dad puts the box with the dead puppies down on the floor, says something like, 'they're all yours,' then goes upstairs. Lottie starts sniffing her pups, nudging them with her nose like she's trying to wake them, whimpering when she can't. I'm kneeling a few feet away, crying, and also bleeding pretty badly from where she tore up my arm. After a little while, Lottie comes over to me, sniffs me, then licks my face a bunch of times. She lets me hug her and tries to clean the place where she bit me. Things get fuzzy after that, but I know I spent the night in the basement and she was curled up with me the whole time.
See, she forgave me – just like that. As far as she could tell, I HELPED that bastard kill her babies. But two minutes later, she's licking my face . . .," he trailed off reverently, then looked down and added, in a voice just above a whisper, "People aren't like that. They're not that . . . kind."
Elizabeth studied her friend for a long moment, really seeing him – both as the malicious egomaniac with whom she'd had a long and tumultuous relationship, and as the complicated human whom she had, more recently, been getting to know.
When he raised his eyes to meet hers, she held his gaze and said sincerely, "Sometimes people forgive each other, too."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Author's Note: I've been planning this chapter for a long time, but it was hard to write! Generally, I think that to write for a character like Romano you have to have some sort of back story in mind, and then force yourself NOT to tell it, since he wouldn't. But here, I thought I could make it plausible that he might share just a little bit – only with Elizabeth. Hope it worked!
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Friday . . .
Michael Gallant stood awkwardly in the lounge, wishing he were someplace else, while Dr. Weaver and Dr. Romano interrogated Greg Pratt about the patient who'd reported him for sexual harassment yesterday. Weaver had already questioned Pratt – rather publicly, walking around the Admit area – right after she took the complaint. But now Romano was here, and apparently he wanted to get his digs in too. Gallant had tried to slip out of the lounge when the trio arrived, but Dr. Weaver nabbed him before he could leave.
"Dr. Gallant," Weaver inquired, "Have you ever heard Dr. Pratt use the term 'TUBE', referring to the practice of performing unnecessary breast exams on attractive patients?"
"I, uh . . . I'm not sure . . . uh," Gallant stammered, not wanting to lie, but also not wanting to make things any worse for his friend. Of course he'd heard Greg talk that way, but he had to believe it was just talk. Pratt was a player, but surely he wouldn't actually take advantage of a patient like that.
"Yeah, yeah, we called them RBE's – recreational breast exams – when I was in school," Romano said impatiently, "Let's get back to the actual complaint."
"Have you ever done one?" Kerry asked. Romano's only reply was a dirty look.
"There was nothing 'recreational' about it," Pratt protested, "I discerned an enlarged lymph node. In a woman her age, no previous breast exams, unexplained back pain, an exam was in order to rule out metastatic . . ."
"Did you tell her this?" Romano interrupted.
"What?"
"Did you explain to the patient why you wanted to perform a breast exam for a backache?" Romano elaborated, speaking to the resident as if he were a particularly slow five-year-old.
"Uh, not exactly. I got consent, but I didn't want to worry her . . ." Pratt trailed off weakly.
"Repeat after me: There is a small chance that this indicates something serious. Performing an exam will let us rule that out," Romano recited, sneering. "Come on, nitwit, you do this every day!"
To Dr. Weaver, he went on stridently, "OK, so either Pratt's an idiot who doesn't tell his patients what he's examining them for, and might as well have 'sue me' tattooed across his forehead, or else he's a sleaze-ball who gets his kicks feeling up unsuspecting women. Personally, I'd guess 'idiot', but since Nurse Taggart, who was supposed to be chaperoning, has the observational powers of Stevie Wonder, I don't see how we're going to know for sure – unless the chick who complained comes back and files a formal report."
Her voice brittle with irritation, Dr. Weaver responded, "Your flip attitude contributes to the problem, Robert."
"Hmpf. I was wondering how long it would take for you to try to blame this on me. I wasn't even here, remember? And, if you'll recall, I wanted to fire his ass months ago," Romano retorted, smugly flicking his gaze toward Pratt.
"Although you weren't directly involved in this incident, you encourage an atmosphere in which sexual harassment is not taken seriously . . ."
"Yeah, I'm Pratt's role model." Romano quipped.
Greg snorted, earning himself a withering glare from Dr. Weaver. Gallant maintained a carefully neutral expression.
Obviously fed up, Weaver spat, "I consulted you as a courtesy, Robert, but clearly that effort was misspent." Making her way out the door, she added, "Dr. Pratt, report to me Monday morning to discuss the details of your sexual harassment presentation for the medical students."
Whether or not Pratt had actually done anything inappropriate, Gallant wasn't sure he was the best choice to edify the medical students. This impression did not diminish when, as they left the lounge, Greg began describing in lewd detail what he would like to do for his presentation. Romano, walking ahead of them, turned back and began to say something, but he was distracted by a small figure with blondish hair, bobbing across the floor toward him.
"Wooper come birt-day party!" Ella Greene exclaimed, running toward Romano.
Gallant watched Romano's demeanor change from antagonistic to indulgent as he replied, "You want Rupert to come to your birthday party? Did your Mum say it's OK?"
The little girl nodded emphatically to both questions. As her mother arrived behind her, Ella reached up to Romano to be lifted. He scooped her up more effectively than Gallant expected, and sat her on top of the admit desk so that she was roughly face to face with him.
Romano shot a mock scowl at Dr. Corday, "Clever ploy, Lizzie. You just don't want to face a house full of shrieking brats all by yourself."
"It was her idea, not mine," Elizabeth countered, smiling innocently, "Besides, Ella doesn't have that large a social circle yet. There'll be maybe four children there, maximum."
"Dr. Corday," Chuny interjected, "Shirley's on line two – says it's urgent."
Corday sighed and walked around the desk to the phone. She spoke into the receiver, "The nanny already dropped off my daughter . . . can't Edson cover? . . . 10 minutes . . . no . . . OK."
Meanwhile, Ella had moved on to other matters: "Eminem!" she demanded cheerfully.
"Shhh," Romano cautioned her, feigning secrecy as he grinned at Elizabeth over the girl's shoulder, "Your Mum's not supposed to know that I give you M&Ms."
Ella put her finger up to her lips and giggled. Putting down the phone, Dr. Corday walked back to them, frowning. "Emergency laparotomy. I was off more than an hour ago. Dale's supposed to be covering, but . . ."
"It's OK. Go," Romano told her.
"I'll only be a few minutes. You'll watch her?"
"No. I'm going to sell her to gypsies."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, then smiled at her daughter, "Sweetie, I've got to go back upstairs for a little while. You can stay with Robert, OK?"
"OK," Ella agreed. Then, when her mother had left she asked, "Gissies?"
"Yup," Romano replied, without further clarification.
Getting back to her previous goal, Ella prodded, "Eminem!"
"OK, OK, hold your horses," answered Romano, in a not-really-grouchy tone.
Amused, Gallant questioned, "Um, are kids that young supposed to be eating chocolate?"
"What, did Weaver deputize you as the new Nutrition Nazi?" Romano shot back. "Besides, I only give her two M&Ms. It's amazing how much mileage you can get out of half a teaspoon of chocolate." Then, turning his attention back to Ella, he corrected himself, "Oh, wait a minute, how old are you now?"
Ella held up three fingers and said proudly, "Three."
Holding up three fingers in return, Romano said, "That means you get THREE M&Ms."
Ella squealed like she'd just won the lottery. Her glee caused Romano to break into a big grin – a striking change from his usual caustic expression. Gallant chuckled; he'd seen Romano be gentle with young patients before, but not playful like this. Hearing Pratt snicker, Gallant looked over and saw that the other resident was also enjoying the scene, as were Chuny and Haleh.
Romano, too, apparently noticed the attention. He toned down his grin and said to the little girl, "Come on, let's get out of here before you completely undermine my authority with these bozos."
"Bozos," Ella giggled. She slid off the counter, into Romano's arms, and wrapped her hands around his neck, singing, "Green an' owange, green and owange."
"Yep, you can pick out your colors," he replied, stuffing the paperwork in his right hand under his prosthesis so that he could hold the girl with his good arm. As he headed toward the lockers, he asked, "Are you hanging on tight?"
"Uh huh," Ella replied, letting go completely to wave at Haleh.
Smiling, Gallant overheard their retreating conversation:
Romano: "OK, see, that's not holding on tight. That's not holding on at all."
"Hold-on-tight – Why?"
"Cuz if I drop you on your head, your Mommy will holler at me."
"Hee! – Mummy holler . . ."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Saturday evening . . .
Elizabeth Corday closed the door behind the last of her young guests and sighed with satisfaction: Ella's first real party. Not being a complete masochist, Elizabeth had kept the guest list short. Drew and Melissa Windom, among the few "couple friends" that she'd maintained a relationship with after Mark's death, attended with their daughter and infant son. Although pleasant and well-educated, Elizabeth found the adult Windoms a bit dull. But their daughter, Amy, was just a few months older than Ella, and the two got along well. The other guest was a girl Ella knew from playgroup. Her father dropped her off and picked her up. Kris, Robert, and, of course, Robert's dog, Rupert, rounded out the party.
Elizabeth had hoped that Robert would liven up the conversation with the Windoms, but he hadn't. Instead, he kept to himself among the adults, and interacted mostly with the kids and the dog. This struck Elizabeth as odd, since she'd never known Robert not to strive to be the center of attention. Of course, she HAD threatened him severe bodily harm should he insult anyone, but it's not like that had ever worked before.
Remembering Robert's tendency to withdraw when depressed, she was mildly concerned. Yet, he hadn't seemed unhappy today – just maybe a little self conscious. And he did have his hands full trying to keep Rupert from jumping on the children, and keeping the children – Amy especially – from trying to ride Rupert.
Elizabeth walked back into the living room, where Ella was chattering to Robert and Kris as she picked up scraps of wrapping paper and put them into a bag. Elizabeth knew that she would have to distract her daughter before the bag was full, or else Ella would dump the bag out and scatter the paper so that she could start all over again. Normally, that wouldn't be a bad way to occupy her time, but it was getting late.
Kris had plans for the evening, so she gathered her things to go and kissed Ella goodnight. Ella was quite accustomed to the nanny coming and going. Normally she took it in stride, but now, she started to pout and whine. Realizing that her daughter was probably tired and over-stimulated, Elizabeth bade Kris goodbye, then announced, "Bedtime for cranky birthday girls!"
Before Ella could protest, she added, "Do you want to take your new dolly and bunny with you?"
The doll was a present from Elizabeth's Mum, and was probably expensive enough that she shouldn't let Ella really maul it. The stuffed rabbit was from Robert. It was mottled with psychedelic colors, mostly purples, and had a blue bow tie and electric pink eyes that bugged out a bit. As Robert had observed when Ella tore off the wrapping paper, 'he looks like he's hallucinating himself.' Naturally, Ella loved it.
The little girl walked over to the couch and collected her toys. She giggled "G'night" at Robert and charged up the stairs, while babbling something that sounded like instructions into the doll's ear. Following behind her daughter, Elizabeth invited, "If you want to stick around, I think I can provide some more grown-up beverages. I should warn you that I may be a while – there's a lot of cake and doggie-drool to clean off her."
"No problem," Robert replied, "I've got to take Rupert outside for a minute anyway." Looking over at the canine collapsed in the corner, he added, "Assuming I can rouse him. What's the matter, boy, those girlies too much for ya?"
Elizabeth grinned and headed for the stairs. She forced herself not to intervene as Robert carried several plates at once, teetering precariously, out to the kitchen. On her way upstairs, she listened for the sounds of crashing dishes, but heard none.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Crap," Robert Romano muttered, as he peered into the downstairs bathroom. He'd finished loading the dishwasher and had taken Rupert outside to do his business. Now he wanted to wash his hands – or rather, his hand, which was the problem. Having scrubbed for surgery regularly for half his life, not being able to wash the back of his hand properly drove him nuts. Unfortunately, without the aid of another hand, it was tough to do so. The artificial one was water resistant, but not much good for lathering.
At home, he solved this problem by keeping a folded washcloth on the counter by each sink: he soaped the washcloth, lathered his hand against it, then rinsed both hand and washcloth under the running water. Lacking this amenity, he could get by with a solid bar of soap that he could rub the back of his hand on. Unfortunately, Elizabeth's kitchen and downstairs bathroom sinks offered only pump bottles of liquid soap.
Robert listened carefully and found that he could no longer hear the splashes and giggles that accompanied Ella's bathtime. He ventured upstairs, found the bathroom vacant, and made use of the bar of soap. As an added perk, he found that, with the water off, he could hear Elizabeth reading a bedtime story to her daughter.
'OK, so now I'm officially pathetic,' Robert mocked himself, as he stood in the bathroom, listening covertly. He always loved Elizabeth's voice, but there was something about the way it sounded when she was reading aloud, rather than simply speaking, that made it even more captivating than usual. He closed his eyes and, for a moment, all was right with the world.
When the story was finished, he heard Ella request, "Read Daddy card."
Elizabeth started reading a short birthday letter that Mark must have written for his daughter before he died. Robert felt a brief flash of sympathy for Greene – How many letters did he write? One for each year? God, that must suck – but most of his concern was for Elizabeth, whose voice now sounded strained.
Elizabeth finished reading the letter, and Ella immediately said, "Read Daddy card again." There was a pause, then Ella repeated, "Mummy, read Daddy card." A moment later, "Mummy sad?"
Robert waited a moment, not sure if he should intervene. Still, there was no response from Elizabeth. He couldn't resist. He crossed the hall, knocked lightly on Ella's bedroom door, and entered. Elizabeth looked up at him, fighting back tears. They locked eyes for a moment, then Robert turned to Ella, saying, "You know what you forgot to do? You forgot to say goodnight to Rupert."
He grinned down at the girl, who eagerly hopped up so he could carry her downstairs to rectify the situation.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
By the time Robert and Ella returned, about 10 minutes later, Elizabeth felt more in control of herself. Robert dropped Ella off, waved, and left the room, perhaps realizing that, if he stayed, Ella would be more inclined toward laughing than sleeping. Elizabeth smiled wryly at the fact that her daughter seemed to find the gruff ex-surgeon endlessly amusing. He made no attempt to limit his vocabulary to that of a preschooler, so Ella probably didn't understand much of what he said to her. Nevertheless, she seemed to enjoy his weird sense of humor.
After a quick cuddle and an off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday", Ella was tucked in for the night and Elizabeth headed downstairs. Robert, sitting on the couch scanning a newspaper, glanced up as she approached. Elizabeth looked at him warmly and said, "Thanks."
"Yeah, well, you know how sensitive Rupe is to social slights . . ."
Elizabeth grinned, grateful that he wasn't pressing for an explanation. Nonetheless, she offered, "I just don't want her to think of Mark's letters as something sad. And she doesn't. Except when I make it that way."
Robert listened quietly as she went on, "Maybe I'm jealous. It's simpler for her: Daddy went to heaven, but he loves her and sends her cards on her birthday." Hearing the whiney tone creeping up in her voice, she admonished herself, "Oh, I should be better at this by now . . . let's talk about something else. Want a beer?"
"Sure," Robert replied. He looked away for a moment, then looked back at her and said softly, "For what it's worth, I think you're doing fine."
Elizabeth went to the kitchen and returned with two beers. She knew that Robert was trying to be sensitive. He wasn't very good at it, but somehow that made his attempts kind of sweet. As she handed him a bottle, she smiled fondly. Until he said something that made her smile freeze:
"By the way, while we were downstairs, I told Ella that you're getting her a puppy for her birthday."
'No. He wouldn't. This is Robert, of course he would,' ran through Elizabeth's mind. Her face reddened and she sputtered, "Oh no . . . I can't . . . you didn't . . . you're . . ."
"Kidding," he grinned, raising his hand in surrender, "Don't hurt me."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A couple of hours and a couple of beers later, Elizabeth was very relaxed. Robert seemed pretty mellow too, though neither of them was drunk. In order to put her feet on the coffee table, she slid a bag filled with paperwork off onto the floor. Robert raised his eyebrows at the quantity of work.
Elizabeth sighed, "Scheduling. Ugh."
He wrinkled his nose in reply. She plead jokingly, "Want to do it for me?"
"Only if I can give Dorsett a month of back-to-back bowel resections."
"Done."
Robert chuckled, then said, "I thought you were planning on ditching the administrative thing."
"I was," Elizabeth replied, "But then Sandy died, and I guess I didn't want to cause any more trouble for Kerry right away." With a self effacing grin, she admitted, "Also, it's difficult talking to Kerry, now, and having to be . . . nice."
Robert snickered, "Is that what we're supposed to be doing?"
Elizabeth went on, "Actually, I am rather concerned about her. But I don't know if there's anything I can do to help. We're not exactly close."
"Yeah, you'd think there must be somebody out there who DOESN'T hate her, who can look after her." Robert's words were harsh, but there was an incongruous sadness in his eyes.
"Anyway," Elizabeth explained, "I told the Board that if they wanted me to continue to do this job, they had to let me appoint an associate chief to whom I can delegate some responsibilities. Tentatively they've approved."
"Good idea – somebody you can torture and dump work on. Hey, that'd be a great way to get back at 'Fast Eddie' . . ."
"Heh. True, but it would probably seem more professional if I picked somebody whom I haven't slept with."
"Edson?"
"Too annoying."
"How about that new guy, the Brit? What's his name – Lawson?"
Elizabeth smiled sheepishly. It didn't take Robert long to put two and two together. He sniped, "So, when did you decide it was your mission in life to sleep your way through the surgical staff?"
Robert's tone was petulant, but not judgmental. Elizabeth responded in kind, smirking, "About the same time that you left the department."
"Ooooh – touché." He mimed being stabbed in the heart.
Rupert perked up his ears at his human's antics. The big puppy, who had yet to grow into his remarkably large paws, rambled over and tried to nudge his way onto the couch between the two doctors. Robert scooted over a little, making room. Rupert flopped part of his body onto Robert's lap and part on the couch between them, his tail wagging across Elizabeth's knees. "Well, at least somebody still loves me," Robert pouted, rubbing the pup behind the ears.
Elizabeth giggled, "I think you like that dog better than you like most people."
"Whattaya mean, 'most'? I like dogs better than people because, as a rule, dogs ARE better than people," he grumbled.
"Let's see: they do what they're told, they don't talk back, they think you're magnificent," Elizabeth teased, "Yes, I can see why that would appeal to you."
"It's not just that, is it Rupe?" Robert's voice was simultaneously joking and contemplative. He petted the dog, who tried to lick him on the nose, tail beating faster against Elizabeth's legs. "Dogs are MORALLY better."
Elizabeth laughed at the statement, but not unkindly.
Robert countered, "No, I mean it." He paused for a moment, as if he might be finished, then went on, "When I was a kid, maybe 10, we had a dog. She was a shepherd-mix – big and sweet – named Lottie. I always had to race home after school to take her outside so she wouldn't wet in the house."
Elizabeth smiled, intrigued. In all the years she'd known Robert, she'd heard hardly a word about his childhood. She asked, "Why was that your job?"
"Uh, my Mom was usually sick – she has lupus, though it wasn't diagnosed 'till many years later. My sister is five years younger than me, so she was too little. Dad didn't like animals, and besides, he would've been at work. Anyway, I'd try to get home to take Lottie for a walk, but if I didn't get there on time, or if she was really whining a lot to go out, Mom would have to let her go in the yard. The problem was, Lott could get over the fence, and then I'd have to hunt her down.
It turned out there was another problem that I hadn't thought of: she turned up pregnant. Of course, I was thrilled. I knew Dad wouldn't let me keep the puppies, but I was excited about seeing them get born. And Mom said that they couldn't be separated from their mother for a few weeks, so I figured that I'd have them for a little while anyway. I made a bed for Lottie in the basement, and I kept going down there to check if she was giving birth.
Finally, she did, and it was amazing. Four perfect little puppies. Mom told me not to touch them – said it would upset Lottie – so I just sat on top of the washing machine and watched. Lott was real protective of her babies. But a couple of hours later she came over to me, looking all proud, and let me pet her."
Elizabeth was entranced. She could vividly picture her friend as a boy, his intense brown eyes peeking out from under a mop of curly red hair, eagerly observing the birth process. She was also tickled that Robert seemed to mind his mother's directions. She'd always assumed he would've been a bit more . . . well . . . bratty.
Staring off into space, he continued, "Few days later, Dad came down into the basement. I knew that wasn't good – he never had much use for Lottie – Mom must've taken her in while we weren't living with him. Anyway, he starts going on about how it's my fault Lott got out, my responsibility, blah blah blah. But I'm not really listening, 'cause as he's talking, he's picking up the puppies and putting them in a box, and Lottie's freaking out – barking, running around in circles. I grab hold of her so she won't hurt herself, and also so she won't lunge at him and give him an excuse to hurt her."
Elizabeth noticed Robert's diction speeding up as he got caught up in the memory, his tone becoming flat. "Dad brings the box over to the sink and says, 'You'd better keep her back or she's next.' Then he picks up one of the pups – a grayish one – holds it up so Lottie and I can see it, and breaks its neck. He does the same thing with each of the others. All the while, I'm holding on to Lottie, and she's got her jaws clamped around my arm and she's making these unearthly sounds . . ."
Robert winced as if he still heard the dog's distressed cries, and ran his hand over the spot where his left forearm used to be, but otherwise he didn't appear agitated. Elizabeth supposed that, for him, this was ancient history. But it was news to her, and she was utterly horrified.
"That's . . . that's awful," she stammered. Then, anger rising, she added hotly, "Please tell me that your father's not already dead, so I can kill him."
That snapped Robert out of his reverie. He smiled appreciatively at her ire, and said, "As far as I know, he's still alive. I guess I would hear about it eventually if he kicked the bucket. Yeah, he's a dick, but that's not the point of the story. The point is what happened afterwards:
So, Dad puts the box with the dead puppies down on the floor, says something like, 'they're all yours,' then goes upstairs. Lottie starts sniffing her pups, nudging them with her nose like she's trying to wake them, whimpering when she can't. I'm kneeling a few feet away, crying, and also bleeding pretty badly from where she tore up my arm. After a little while, Lottie comes over to me, sniffs me, then licks my face a bunch of times. She lets me hug her and tries to clean the place where she bit me. Things get fuzzy after that, but I know I spent the night in the basement and she was curled up with me the whole time.
See, she forgave me – just like that. As far as she could tell, I HELPED that bastard kill her babies. But two minutes later, she's licking my face . . .," he trailed off reverently, then looked down and added, in a voice just above a whisper, "People aren't like that. They're not that . . . kind."
Elizabeth studied her friend for a long moment, really seeing him – both as the malicious egomaniac with whom she'd had a long and tumultuous relationship, and as the complicated human whom she had, more recently, been getting to know.
When he raised his eyes to meet hers, she held his gaze and said sincerely, "Sometimes people forgive each other, too."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Author's Note: I've been planning this chapter for a long time, but it was hard to write! Generally, I think that to write for a character like Romano you have to have some sort of back story in mind, and then force yourself NOT to tell it, since he wouldn't. But here, I thought I could make it plausible that he might share just a little bit – only with Elizabeth. Hope it worked!