“I'd love to go to a baseball game,” she admitted with a grin. She was an avid baseball fan, when she had time, and so was he, but for once he was less than enthusiastic about the suggestion.
“In this heat? I love you, but I think you're crazy. How about a movie … after I spend the next twenty-four hours in bed with you. First things first, Mrs. Whitman.” He smiled at her lasciviously and she laughed. He had a healthy appetite for her, even when he was dead tired. It was rare for him to be too worn out to have sex with her, except when he'd had a particularly depressing day at work and lost a patient. Only she knew how much he suffered when he lost them, particularly children.
“Actually, I was thinking of getting my packing out of the way this afternoon, so I won't have to bother with it all weekend. Why don't you relax, clean up, have a nap, and by the time you wake up, I'll be all finished.”
“That's not a bad idea. I'm beat … but I'll only agree if you swear you won't sneak back to the office while I'm sleeping.”
“I swear. They don't expect to see me for a full two weeks, and I just want to remind you that I'm coming home to be with you next weekend, after we finish San Francisco. Callan is going to spend the weekend with his kids, and I'm taking the red-eye on Friday night. I'll be home at six o'clock Saturday morning, and I'm here till we leave for Boston on Sunday.”
“That's something at least. I guess I should be grateful for small favors.”
“You know, you could meet me in London the following weekend, or Paris, when I finish the road show.”
He looked momentarily intrigued as he thought about it and calculated briefly. “What weekend is that? Two weeks from now?” She nodded in answer. “Shit, I'm on call. Lucas has to be in Dallas for a meeting, and I'm in charge that weekend.”
“Don't worry about it, I'll come home. We can go to Paris some other time.” She leaned down to kiss him, and then wandered off to their bedroom to do her packing. And Steve headed for the bathroom and stood in the shower for nearly half an hour, to wash away the smell and the exhaustion and the sorrows of the trauma unit. And after that, he lay on their bed, relaxed and naked, and watched her moving quietly around the room to pack her bags, and within five minutes he was sound asleep, looking like the handsome man he was, as she stopped once or twice to smile, and watch him sleeping. As challenging as their lives and schedules were at times, they were still very much in love with each other, and she didn't overlook the fact that part of why their relationship worked so well was because he was so understanding and so patient. She knew that a lot of other men would have felt threatened by the demands her work put on her. But Steve never did, he was happy that she enjoyed what she did, and fulfilled by his own work. It was the perfect combination.
Meredith zipped her last bag shut just after four o'clock, and then sat down to read a magazine and relax, something she did too little of, but she had finished all her work, and even the endlessly revised red herring was complete now. Her briefcase sat next to her packed bags, and she had nothing to do for the next two and a half days except enjoy her husband. He was still sound asleep on their bed, and snoring softly when she heard an odd buzzing sound from the living room, and when she walked into the room to see what it was, she realized that it was his pager. She looked at it suspiciously for a long moment, like an animal that might attack if she got too close to it, but she also felt guilty on his behalf ignoring it. They knew he was off call and if they were paging him, she suspected it had to be important, maybe someone in dire straits needed an expertise that only Steve could offer. She walked slowly to where the pager lay, still on the kitchen counter, and glanced at the display. A flashing red light was going off on it, and the numbers 911 were repeated all across the screen. Whatever it was, there was no question that it was urgent. She picked it up, and stared at it, and then knew what she had to do. She was still holding it in her hand, when she walked softly back into their bedroom and ever so gently touched his shoulder. He stirred after only an instant, and smiled in his half sleep, and then reached out to find her breast with his hand. He was more than ready to make good on the promises he had made earlier, but with a frown, he heard the buzzing of his pager. He opened his eyes to look at her, and without a word, she handed it to him, and he saw the same numbers she had.
“Tell me I'm having a nightmare,” he said, rolling over, and taking it from her. “Lucas is there this weekend, they don't need me.” He groaned as he said it.
“Maybe you should call them,” she said softly, sitting on the bed next to him. “Maybe he wants to consult with you about something important.” He and Steve worked together very closely and had enormous respect and admiration for each other.
Steve sighed deeply as he sat up, and reached for the phone next to the bed, with an unhappy expression. “This better be good,” he said, as he punched in the numbers and waited. As always, in his opinion, they took a little too long to answer, but they were understaffed and always busy. “Dr. Whitman here,” he said tersely when they did. “I just got a 911 on my pager, with red lights. Tell me it was a mistake, Barbie,” he said, recognizing the voice on the other end, and then for a long time he listened, and Meredith couldn't assess what he was hearing. His face looked blank for a long moment, and then he squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit. How many? And how many did we get?” He groaned audibly when she responded. “Where are you putting them? The garage? … are they crazy? What are we supposed to do with a hundred and eighty-seven criticals? It sounds like Gettysburg, for chrissake…. all right, all right…. I'll be there in ten minutes.” He hung up the phone and looked at his wife mournfully. They had not only blown his night all to hell, but his weekend, and possibly his entire week. “You'd better turn on the news. Some fucking crazies tried to blow up the Empire State Building at four o'clock, just in time to get everyone still in their offices, and all the tourists. Nearly a hundred people were killed, over a thousand injured. They're sending us somewhere between two and three hundred critically injured people. They're splitting up the rest of the minor injuries between hospitals all over the city. I have seventy-five trauma beds available, and over a hundred people in the halls now, with paramedics, and another hundred coming in, in the next hour. They're calling in medical personnel from Long Island and New Jersey. There goes our weekend. I'm sorry, baby.”
He looked like his best friend had died, but in fact a lot of people's best friends had died, and husbands and wives, and children. It sounded like the Titanic. Meredith flipped on the TV while he dressed and there were bulletins about it on every channel. There was a gaping hole in one side of the building, from what they could see, and so much smoke surrounding the building, from fires the bomb had caused and the explosion itself, that it looked like a volcano.
They both stood staring at it for a moment, and then the cameras panned to the snarl of ambulances and fire engines on the street below, people still being ushered from the building, some of them having crawled down a hundred flights of stairs in smoke and darkness, covered with blood and lacerations, and then there were some grisly shots of tarp-covered bodies. It was an abysmal example of what the human race was at times capable of, and what gave Steve his business. “How can anyone do something like that?” Meredith asked in a choked voice as Steve pulled the drawstring on his scrub pants, and stuck his bare feet into clogs. At least he had slept for two hours, and felt human again. It was going to be a long haul for him now, and they both knew it. “Can I do anything if I come with you?” She hated the thought of sitting at home, useless. And her heart ached at what they had just seen on the news bulletin.