Dr. Dubenko had just finished a surgical consult in the emergency room and was headed back to his office when he spotted Susan Lewis, the ER Chief. "Dr. Lewis? A moment of your time?"
"Hey, sure. What's up?" She crossed her arms in front of her and waited for what was sure to be a longwinded diatribe of some sort.
"I was wondering how your research projects were coming along. I have something that you might want to pursue. I'm working on a study concerning trends in emergency room visits that result in surgical intervention. I could use the help in gathering data. Interested?" His expression conveyed the fact that he felt the question was rhetorical.
"I, yeah that sounds great. Really. I bet Pratt or maybe Abby would be able to spare some time—"She started.
"Actually, I thought you'd like to do this one yourself. Maybe find your niche, so to speak? It's an excellent project and there are at least three different journals interested in publishing based on my existing proposal. I think it would lend more weight to the paper if it was authored by the ER Chief instead of an intern or resident."
"It's not that I don't want to, I just don't have the time. I'm in the middle of reviews, contracts for next year, budgets…I don't have enough hours in the workday to get half of that done as it is."
"What about after hours? I don't mind rearranging my schedule to get this done."
"Cosmo pretty much takes up all of my free time. What little there is of it. He's getting so big so fast and I already feel like I'm missing out on al the good stuff."
Dubenko gave her a sympathetic smile. "I know the feeling, Dr. Lewis. Why don't we do this over dinner? That way you don't have to forgo spending time with your son?"
Lewis couldn't see a way to refuse his suggestion so she agreed. "Yeah, great. How about tomorrow evening, I guess?"
"Sounds good. I'll get your address later, I have to see what my med students are up to." Dubenko walked down the hall, past Lockhart, who had been avidly listening in on their conversation while she pretended to review a chart.
Abby waited until Dubenko neared the elevators to say somewhat loudly to Susan "He does know you're married, right?"
Susan Lewis laughed. "Abby!"
Dubenko heard Lockhart's none too subtle jab and clenched his jaw. Some of us are capable of having relationships with our coworkers without ending up in bed with them; that might come as complete a surprise to you though seeing as you seem to be working your way down some weird list comprised of attendings, residents and med students. Dubenko's previously pleasant mood soured as he walked towards the elevator bank. You know Lockhart one of these days you are really going to regret pissing off your superiors.
Sophie was sitting in the living room of her parent's home in Richmond. Her father didn't want to sell the two-story colonial when he relocated to Chicago and since Sophie was staying to attend college, she spent most of her weekends there instead of on campus in Charlottesville.
She had spread old, yellowed newspaper clippings across the coffee table. With a notebook balanced on one knee, she was taking notes. The articles where, for the most part dated around the months following her mother's death. The grizzly murder of a prominent community member was prime fodder for the local papers, even more so when it became clear that the case would go unsolved. Sophie wasn't really sure what she hoped to glean from these old editorials and cover stories, but lately she'd been plagued with a desire to know exactly what had happened five years ago.
She looked up and stifled a groan when she heard the familiar chuffing noises of her dog, Munch. Living up to his name, the dog had a pair of what looked like underwear hanging from his mouth. "Great. Come here, Munchie. Come here boy. Give me my," she looked at the soggy scrap of fabric she pulled from the animal's mouth, "brand new silk panties. Ugh. Do you have to maul the expensive stuff? Really, if you must eat my clothing can't it be something that's cotton for a change? Not silk, not my leather shoes, not my cashmere sweater…is any of this sinking in, Munch? No?"
She sighed as she got up to throw away the ruined article and her eyes settled on the family portrait resting on the mantle above the large fireplace. It had been taken just before Marti Dubenko had been killed. Less than a month before their lives were torn apart. Sophie studied each of their faces. We looked like the perfect, happy little family. I don't think I've seen Papa smile that way since. Mom looks perfect, she always did. God, look at my hair. Cha cha cha chia, anyone? A mutant poodle was sitting on my head and no one bothered to tell me. Oh well, at least they waited until after my braces came off to have the picture taken.
Sophie smiled remembering way she had felt in the pose, her mother's arms were draped around her shoulders and her father was hugging Marti the same way. The lame photographer insisted that they say, "Group hug!" instead of the traditional "cheese." They had spent the rest of the day making fun of the guy. Dinner was especially silly that evening; there were plenty of requests to "group hug the salt, please" and the like.
On her way to the kitchen trashcan Sophie stopped by the phone resting in the hallway alcove and she looked back at the mess in the living room. A thought occurred to her then. It would a lot simpler to find the answers she wanted by just reading the actual autopsy report and copies of the police records. Picking up the receiver she dialed her father's work number. When he failed to pick up, she simply left him a message.
"Hi, Papa. It's Sophie. I was wondering how you'd feel about a visit from your wayward child." She continued on saying that she'd call again later after she'd made flight arrangements and fill him in on the details. She also planned to ask him about getting a copy of those files.