Susan dropped her purse on the floor, tossed the mail on the table, and sank onto the couch. She didn't bother to take off her coat.
The apartment felt very quiet – too quiet. She could hear her own breathing, her own heart beat.
Get used to it, Susan. This is the way things will be from now on.
She should be used to it. She'd lived alone most of her life. She had moved out of her parents' apartment at 18, and into the smallest studio apartment she'd ever lived in – the smallest she'd ever seen. And for the next 20 years she had lived alone most of the time. There had been a few weeks when fellow med student Jane Pratt had camped out on her sofa while she was between apartments. There had been the year with Chloe and Suzie … and just Suzie. And there had been two disastrous months cohabiting with Dix in Scottsdale; an experiment that had proved to both of them that the relationship was over. After her return to Chicago she'd lived alone again for two years. She'd liked living alone, being her own boss, making her own schedule.
But now she was just alone. Painfully so.
Carter and Sam had offered to come home with her after the service, but she'd refused. They'd done enough. They had their own lives to live, their own grieving to do. And she had to move on, get used to her own new life. Get used to the silence.
It was getting late. Mid-December; it got dark early. She should start thinking about dinner. She should look through the mail, check the messages on the phone. But she didn't do anything. She just sat, staring into the thickening darkness, not thinking, not feeling. There were, she realized, only two choices, unbearable pain or empty numbness. Numbness was better.
The phone rang, making Susan jump a little, but she didn't move. The machine could pick it up. Three rings, a click – and Luka's voice on the outgoing message. "Hi, Luka and Susan aren't home right now. Leave a message at the tone. If it's urgent, you already know our beeper numbers."
After the tone came another voice, not quite so familiar. "Susan, it's your father. I thought you'd be home by now. Just call me when you get in … I thought maybe you'd want to come over for supper. I'm just ordering pizza. Anyway … let me know."
Susan didn't move to pick it up and, after another few seconds, Henry hung up. It was good of him to call. He could at least think he knew what she was feeling. He was alone too, since Cookie had died a few years before. But they really had nothing to say to each other, even now. Susan couldn't remember ever having had a conversation with him that lasted more than five minutes. He would say, again, how sorry he was, and then they would eat their pizza in silence.
But God … she had to change the outgoing message on the machine. Or maybe not. Maybe she'd leave it, hear Luka's voice in the silence. She'd decide later.
After a minute Susan picked up the phone and dialed.
"ER."
"Hi, Jerry. It's Dr. Lewis. Can you tell Romano and Weaver that I'll be in tomorrow morning, and ask them to put me back on the schedule?"
"You don't need to do that, Dr. Lewis. We're fine for doctors for the next few weeks."
"I know, but I'm ok. I'd rather be working." And before Jerry could protest further, she hung up.
A deep breath then she rose and went to hang up her coat, switched on the light. Water to boil for pasta, open a jar of Prego, pour a glass of wine. Sipping the wine she sat down to look through the mail. Junk, the water bill, a reminder notice for an oil change for her car, an insurance statement, and three cards. They might have been sympathy cards, or Christmas cards. Susan put them aside. She'd open them later.
Susan hesitated only a moment before pushing open the glass doors and walking into the busy ER. This was where she belonged. This was home.
Head down, she hurried past admit and made it into the lounge without anyone speaking to her. At first she thought the lounge was empty,but then she saw Kerry sitting at the table. She wore a lab coat and stethoscope, she was obviously planning to work an ER shift today. Susan should have thought to ask Jerry last night who else was working today. She'd hoped it wouldn't be Dr. Broadway … or whatever his name was, but it hadn't occurred to her that Kerry might be working.
"Good morning, Kerry." Good, her voice sounded natural.
"What are you doing here?"
"Working. Didn't Jerry give you my message?"
"Yes, he did. And I tried to call you several times last night. I left three messages on your machine."
"Sorry. I turned off the phone last night. I went to bed early, I needed the sleep. And I guess I didn't check my messages this morning." Not really a lie. She had turned off the phone, and she had gone to bed early. But she hadn't slept much.
"Well," said Kerry, "what I'd wanted to tell you is that you don't need to rush this. We're managing just fine. Take a few weeks; don't come back until you're ready."
"I am ready Kerry. Look … I can sit at home and feel sorry for myself, or I can come to work and keep myself busy. I'd rather be working. And it's Christmas; I'm sure you're shorthanded with most of the medical students gone for the holiday and a lot of staff taking, or at least wanting to take a few days off. They can do that now. And for what it's worth, I can't afford to be sitting home any more. I'm out of paid time-off of every stripe."
"Just don't push yourself, ok?"
"I'll be fine." Susan shut her locker. "And since I'm here now, you don't have to be here today. Go up to your office and do important paperwork, or go to meetings … or go home and play with little Henry."
"I'll stay," Kerry said. "As you pointed out, we are a bit short-handed these days. I'm the only other attending on today."
"Fine. Whatever." Susan started for the door, but, moving remarkably quickly for a woman with a bad leg and a crutch, Kerry suddenly rose and moved to block her path.
"Susan."
"Yes?"
"I know that Luka was angry with me … when I … on his last day at work. It wasn't an easy decision for me to make, but I had no choice. Physically, he just wasn't able to do the job anymore, and I'm sure you both knew that. But I think, in the long run, it was really for the best. As John said yesterday in his lovely eulogy, I don't think any of us expected the end to come quite this soon. And this way you got to spend those last few weeks together."
"Right." Susan pushed past Kerry and out into the hall, then leaned against the wall and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. For the best? Kerry didn't have a clue. She had worked with Luka for five and a half years, and didn't know the man at all! How often had Luka said, to her and to Kerry that his work was his entire life. When I can't work anymore, I won't have anything to live for. Kerry had fired him, he'd lost the most important thing in his life … and he'd given up. And he had died.
But she couldn't tell Kerry that. If she hadn't believed it, hearing it from Luka, why would she believe it from Susan? How could a person who was so empathetic and understanding with her patients be so blind when it came to understanding her staff?
Squaring her shoulders and wiping any tell-tale hint of tears from her eyes, Susan headed for the desk.
