Wyatt's heavy jaw slowly opened, as if about to swallow something whole. "Me? What kind of idea?"
"Who better to lead a hospital-wide audit on pain management than yourself? You've always showed the way in making sure St. Paul's was on the cutting edge of such protocols." And he had. The protocols gathered dust on shelves at every nursing station. "But do we really know if all of us are using them properly? It's a flaming-hot topic right now, as you're well aware, and I can't think of a better person to guide us through the minefield it's become than yourself."
"Conduct a hospital-wide audit? Why, that's a huge undertaking-"
"As far as I'm concerned, you inspired the idea, and the job's rightly yours. The Wyatt Inquiry, we could call it. You'd have the power to appoint anyone you wanted to help you, and I'd order the full cooperation of all the other chiefs. It would be your show, start to finish."
"But I'm so busy-"
"With or without you, it goes ahead, Peter. And that could be a hell of an ordeal if you have to live under somebody else making a mess of a matter you're naturally passionate about. A lot harder than doing it right yourself. Isn't that why any of us take these crazy jobs in the first place?"
Wyatt hesitated, a look of alarm pushing its way onto his thick features. "Yes, that would be hard…"
Earl watched the fight go out of him.
During the man's early days in the late sixties, Wyatt had possessed the courage to take on malignant diseases at a time when they had 80 percent mortality rates. His research had even helped develop the treatments that stood the statistic on its head for lymphomas. In that category, now it was survival rates that stood at 80 percent.
How sad it was to see this tiger so diminished, his once heroic passions for epic cancer work diverted to such puny issues as perceived turf incursions by an overzealous chaplain. "So what do you say, Peter? Will you think about it?"
No answer. He looked overwhelmed.
Earl moved in with the clincher, knowing the one sweetener Wyatt wouldn't be able to resist. "There might even be a paper in it for you, Peter. After all, if you were to develop a road map that would help other hospitals actually implement current protocols in pain management, leading journals would fight to publish it."
Wyatt hadn't had anything accepted for publication for over a decade. What's more, he'd been a victim of one of the crueler spectacles in academic research. Five years ago, still chafing under his dry spell, he'd finally received an invitation to present a paper at a national conference. He'd attended, proudly presented his latest work, and then sat down, ready for questions from the audience. But the moderator, legend had it, instead of inviting inquiries, had stood, pointed at Wyatt, and declared, "This man has demonstrated exactly the type of research we don't want."
Earl had anticipated that the chance of a comeback would kindle a glow in Wyatt's eye.
It didn't.
Instead he remained stone-faced and said, "If you insist, I've no choice."
Wyatt's attitude puzzled Earl. The man he knew had an ego the size of Antarctica, and the lure of any stage generally lit him up so brightly he could be his own spotlight. "Does that mean you accept?"
"I suppose I'll have to." He might have consented to have a leg amputated, for all the enthusiasm he showed.
Weird. But what the hell, as long as the situation with Jimmy seemed defused.
"Good! Then let's join the rest and enjoy the race."
"Wait! There's something else you need to hear."
Oh, God. Earl glanced at his watch, hoping Wyatt would get the message to keep this short. "I'm listening."
"The nurses tell me we've had patients complaining about near-death experiences."
"What?"
"You know. That out-of-body phenomenon, the thing Deloram wrote a paper about."
Now Earl felt really puzzled. "Peter, I don't understand the reason you're telling me this." His tone, he realized, sounded more cross than he intended, but patience had limits.
"We never got reports like that before, at least not so many. The first few months the nurses thought nothing of them. Then more patients continued to describe similar ordeals. Some, I'm told, were quite terrified. I swear it's that priest's fault. He's probably talking too much about God, heaven, and the afterlife, making his charges have nightmares about it."
Earl groaned inwardly, incredulous that Wyatt could remain so fixated on Jimmy. "Probably they're just vocalizing that kind of thing more, Peter," he said, trying to hide his exasperation, and started to walk back toward the crowd.
Wyatt followed behind. "Damn it, Garnet, it's not that simple-"
"Similar accounts have been in the media lately, thanks largely to Stewart's research," Earl cut in. If he could somehow trivialize the matter, Wyatt might drop it. "Could be that the phenomenon's been occurring with greater frequency than we knew, and patients, having seen the publicity, realize it's not just them. As a result, they feel open to talk about it now." In the distance he saw Michael wave impatiently, beckoning him to rejoin the ER crew. They were already pushing their bed into the coveted inside post position. Definitely time to ditch Wyatt. He walked faster. "Anyway, it's race time."
"But something's funny," Wyatt went on, easily picking up the pace. "Most of the people it's happened to weren't that near death yet. Oh, they're terminal, in pain, and not in good shape, but their vitals were still stable, not at all what I'd expect for a person who's seeing angels, tunnels, and bright lights."
So much for diplomacy. "Jesus, Peter. They're dying. Many of them will want to talk about that stuff. Patients always have, even atheists. It's human nature. But here isn't the place to discuss it."
"Hey!" Michael Popovitch shouted from the middle of the street thirty yards away. "We're ready to begin." He wore an industrial-strength scowl and sounded pissed.
Sheesh, what's eating him? Earl wondered. The rest of the team settled on give-it-a-break glances and tapped their watches, a far more gentle and appropriate rebuke. Michael should lighten up. "Relax! I'm coming," he shouted, and started to jog toward them.
Wyatt matched him stride for stride, clearly determined to continue their conversation.
Earl didn't intend to let him. "Look, Peter, obviously we'll have to talk about this another time. But I don't think you should make much out of it." He accelerated, pulling a few yards in front, and called over his shoulder, "Why not ask Stewart what he thinks? After all, he's the specialist in that kind of thing."
At the starting line Thomas, Susanne, and J.S. were starting to jostle good-naturedly with members of the Baby Bucket team, who'd tried to steal their spot.
"Earl Garnet," Janet yelled, eyeing him from her perch on the bed, "I'm pregnant with your baby. Chivalry demands you yield the post." She placed a hand to her forehead, adopting the melodramatic pose of a damsel in distress.
Earl laughed. He and Janet always lent their talents to the campy theatrics that were a highlight of these fund-raisers. "All's fair in love and war," he called back. "That's been my plan all along. You pregnant, us on the inside track."