Andrew stopped, then inquired scathingly, "Were ambition and promotion worth it?" "You bastard!" Acting instinctively, without rational thought, Celia reached down and, seizing one of the shoes she had dropped moments earlier, threw it hard at Andrew. Her aim was unerring. The shoe's stiletto heel struck him on the left side of his face, opening a gash from which blood spurted. But Celia failed to see. Blind to all else, she hurled venomous words. "What gives you the right to be so goddam holy about morals and ideals? What happened to yours? Where were your precious ideals when you did nothing about Noah Townsend, and let him go on practicing medicine for nearly five years, when all that time he was high on drugs, and a danger to himself and others? And don't blame the hospital! Their inaction doesn't excuse you! You know it! "And what about that patient," Celia stormed on, "the young one, Wyrazik? Was it really Noah who killed him, or was it you? You, because when you could have done something about Noah, you did nothing, and left doing anything until too late. Do you ever lie awake nights wondering about that, and feeling guilty? Because you shouldl And do you ever wonder if there weren't some other patients Noah killed during those five years, others you don't know about, and who died because of your neglect? Do you hear me, you self-righteous hypocrite? Answer!" Abruptly Celia stopped. Stopped, not only because she had run out of words, but because she had never seen such anguish as on Andrew's face. Her hand went to her mouth. She said softly, to herself, in horror, "Oh, my God! What have I done!" Then it was not just anguish in Andrew's expression which she saw, but sudden shock at something happening behind her. Following his gaze, Celia wheeled. Two small pajama-clad figures had come into the room. In their uncontrolled fury, both parents had forgotten Lisa and Bruce in the bedroom next door. "Mommy! Daddy!" It was Lisa's voice, choked with tears. Bruce was sobbing uncontrollably. Celia rushed toward both, arms outstretched, in tears herself But Lisa was faster. Dodging her mother, she went to Andrew.
"Daddy, you're hurt!" She saw the shoe, which had blood on the heel, and cried out, "Mommy, how could you!" Andrew touched his face, which was still bleeding. Blood seemed everywhere-on his hands, his shirt, the floor. Now Bruce joined Lisa, clinging to his father while Celia watched helplessly, guiltily, standing back. It was Andrew who resolutely broke the impasse. "No!" he told the children.”Don't do this! You must not take sides! Your mother and I have been foolish. Both of us were wrong, and we're ashamed, and all of us will talk about it later. But this is still one family. We belong together.”
Then, suddenly, all four of them were holding each other, emotionally, as if they never wanted to be separate again. Soon after it was Lisa, aged ten, who broke away and, going to a bathroom, brought back wet towels with which, competently, she wiped her father's face and washed away the blood.
Much later, when the children were again in bed and sleeping, Andrew and Celia came together, making love with a passionate, wild abandon, greater by far than they had experienced for a long time. Near the peak of their frantic coupling, Celia cried out, "Deeper! Deeper! Hurt me!" And Andrew, relinquishing all gentleness, seized her, crushed her, and thrust himself into her, roughly, crudely, deeply, again and again. It was as if their earlier fierceness had released passions other than anger, passions which suddenly coalesced. Afterward, though exhausted, they talked far into the night and again next day.”It was the kind of talk," Andrew said later, "which we've needed to have, yet both of us put off.”
What each conceded was that, for the most part, there had been unpleasant truths in the other's accusations. "Yes," Celia admitted, "I have relaxed some standards I once had. Not all, or even most, but some. And there have been times I've put my conscience in my pocket. I'm not proud of it, and I'd like to say I'll go back to the way things were before, but I have to be honest-at least in this-and say I'm not certain if I can.”
"I guess," Andrew said, "all of it goes with growing older. You think you're wiser, more seasoned, and you are. But you've also learned along the way that there are obstacles and practicalities which idealism won't ever conquer, so you case up on ideals.”
"I intend to try to do better," Celia said.”I really do. To make sure that what happened to us here will not be wasted.”
"I guess that goes for us both," Andrew said. Earlier he had told Celia, "You touched a nerve when you asked if I lie awake sometimes, wondering about Wyrazik's death and perhaps some others. Could I have saved Wyrazik by acting sooner about Noah? Yes, I could, and it's no good saying otherwise and living with delusions. The only thing I can say is that there isn't anyone who's been years in medicine who doesn't have something in the past to look back on and know he could have done better, and perhaps saved somebody who died. Of course, it shouldn't happen often, but if it does, the best you can do is hope that what you learned you'll use later on for the benefit of someone else.”
A postscript to what happened was that next day Andrew had three stitches in his face, put there by a local mMico who observed with a smile as his patient left, "Probably a scar stays, Doctor. It will serve as a reminder to your wife.”