Chapter Nine

Traffic around Fisherman's Wharf was bad at any time of the day. Trapper stopped his car in the traffic lane just long enough to look for her car in a parking lot, starting a cacophony of blowing horns. He pulled in and parked next to her car. When he stepped out, he looked up at the roof and saw a bright pink wind sock fully inflated. This was an older building; one of the old cannery buildings that had been converted into upscale apartments some time ago. Trudging up the stairs, he came to the last flight of stairs that led to a small landing where there was only one door.

He knocked and listened, but heard nothing. He knocked again a little harder, and when he heard no response again, he called, "Leah! It's John McIntyre. We need to talk."

"Hey mister!" came a voice from the bottom of the flight of stairs. "Maybe the lady ain't answering because she doesn't want to talk to you."

Turning, Trapper met the man halfway down the stairs. "Look, I don't want any trouble. I'm John McIntyre, her doctor. She left the hospital unexpectedly, and I was worried. I know she's here, but she's not answering her door."

"You think there's something wrong that she can't?"

"Yes, I do. We could go call the police, and the paramedics, and an ambulance and completely clog up the street, or…" he said, arching an eyebrow.

The man scratched the gray tufts of whiskers on his chin. "You say you're her doctor? You got any kind of ID?"

Pulling out his wallet, Trapper said, "Yes, here's my hospital ID."

"Chief of Surgery? She must be some important patient."

"She's just the one that needs my help at the moment," said Trapper, smiling impatiently. "Would you mind opening the door?"

"Well, alright. If you think she's in trouble," said the manager, pulling himself slowly up the remaining stairs. He knocked. "Ms. Haverty, I'm unlocking the door so's this doctor fellow can check on you."

A voice answered from the other side. "What?" After they heard the thump of several locks being thrown, the door opened. "Mr. Davis, what on Earth are you doing?"

"This fellow said you might be in trouble. He's a doctor, you know. He was banging on the door."

"I was in the shower. Really, Mr. Davis, I'm fine."

"What about him?"

Leah glowered at Trapper, but eventually said, "He's harmless. Thank you, Mr. Davis." She walked away while drying her hair with a towel, leaving the door open. "What are you doing here, Dr. McIntyre?"

Trapper looked around, surprised at the comfortable, warm-looking apartment that opened up to a garden terrace on the roof. "I went down to your office to speak to you about your test results, and when you avoided me I got a little concerned," he answered, holding his hands out to the side.

"Please, doctor, sit down," she said, sitting down herself and crossing her legs with her robe open almost to the top of her thighs.

Trapper couldn't help but notice she had very nice legs. Her feet were hidden somewhere inside a pair of furry white and gray puppy slippers. Smiling, he sat down on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward with his arms on his thighs and his fingers loosely clasped. He cleared his throat before he started. "Leah, there's a suspicious area on your heart that Dr. Gates and I feel needs a closer look."

She snorted. "It's not my heart. My heart died when my husband and children died. This one is just on loan."

Trapper held his breath for a moment, completely unprepared for that response.

"Isn't that why you and everyone else at the hospital call me the Ice Queen?"

Taking a deep breath, Trapper turned his head slightly and looked seriously at her. "The heart beating in your chest has no idea where it began. It knows nothing other than to react to the autonomic signals from your brain that tell it to beat. It also reacts to the stresses of the broken one, and that's what may have caused what we're seeing."

"And what exactly are you seeing?" she asked, appearing completely detached.

"There may be a weak spot in the atrial wall of your heart. Dr. Gates and I won't know how bad it is until we go in and take a look."

"And if you don't?"

"If it is a weak spot, it could become an aneurism; it will rupture and leak. If the leak is slow, we'll have time to fix it, but if it ruptures completely, you'll die in minutes."

"So you think my heartlessness has caused this weak spot."

He cast his eyes down for a moment, and then met her eyes. "I don't think you're heartless. But I do think the pain of losing your family is too much for you to handle alone."

"Dr. McIntyre, let me explain something to you. My husband, in his infinite wisdom, decided when we were married that he would do whatever it took to keep me walking this Earth. Only he never thought I'd have to walk it alone. Had I been given the choice, I would have died right along with them. I don't really care if this heart in my chest ruptures, because the heart that counts died the day they did. Now, if you'll excuse me, I did take the day off to get away from you people."

Standing, Trapper walked toward the door, but turned back around with a stony look when he opened it. "You leave me no choice. You'll be out on medical leave by tomorrow."

She clenched her teeth and looked away. "Alright!" Turning her back to him, she said, "I need some time."

"How much time?"

Looking up at the ceiling, she said, "A week, maybe two."

"That's too long. It could rupture by then."

"Look, I need to get the schedules and designs finished for the second phase, and I need to get the hardware ordered. Then Mark can take over for awhile."

"You can have six hours a day, Monday through Friday, and you have to come up for an echocardiogram every other day. And you will take time to relax. That means you can't go to the children's hospital."

Spinning around, she almost yelled, but realized he was right there in front of her, looking into her eyes. She opened her mouth, but closed it again and blushed. With her head bowed, she asked quietly, "Why can't I see the children?"

Lifting her face with a finger under her chin, he answered, "Because it's too painful for the heart you claim is dead."

She turned away too late. He had already seen her tears. Looking around him for her telephone, he picked it up and dialed. "Ernie, Trapper. Yes, she's here. Tell Mark she's fine. Listen, something's come up. Would you reschedule my afternoon appointments, and ask Gonzo to cover my on call? Thanks, Ernie. You're the best."

Wiping her face, she asked, "What are you doing?"

He clasped his hands in front of him. "You know, it's been quite a while since I took a walk on the wharf. Why don't you go get dressed, and I'll show you what I mean by relaxing? I know it's been so long since you've done it, you probably don't remember how."

Stepping around him, she shook her head and laughed. "Dr. McIntyre, you're incorrigible."

"Yes, well, that makes two of us. Now, go change. You can't walk down Fisherman's Wharf in nothing but your robe. They'll arrest you," he said with narrowed eyes and a smile.

As she walked toward her bedroom, she spoke over her shoulder. "I doubt that. This is San Francisco, after all."