The Six-Liter Club by Harry Kraus

Author:Harry Kraus
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howard Books
Published: 2010-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

FOR THE NEXT three days of my forced vacation, I fumbled my way through grief, spending hours crying over picture albums and wishing they made Kleenex in a larger size. At some level, I knew what Dr. Gilles said was true. I was shut down emotionally. I suspected I’d been like that a long, long time, maybe since my days on the Dark Continent. I found myself hoping that Kara’s death would open a crack in the hard facade that protected me. But after a few day of tears, I turned to my routine modus operandi and made myself busy with other thoughts so I couldn’t be sad. I outlined twenty chapters in Sabiston’s textbook of surgery in preparation for my board exam, went jogging, and shopped for a funeral dress. I think I tried on ten dresses before finding the perfect one at Thalheimer’s downtown. It was conservative enough, falling just below my knees, but had a slit up the side for spice. Kara would have liked it, so I shed another tear in the dressing room when I found it.

I did another weird thing in Thalheimer’s. I found myself in the children’s department looking at baby clothes, cute little frilly pink infant dresses and little boy coveralls. And again I found that part of me I thought I’d pushed aside. Maternal urges were a surprise to me. But the more I began to look past my professional goals, the more I found myself thinking of marriage. Naturally, after that, I’d have to think about whether the equation included children. Mark would make a great dad.

Mark Lawson seemed to have a knack for knowing when I needed space, a quality I adored. The night after bringing pizza, he brought flowers again, and a large box of Kleenex. My tears had run dry for the day, so I didn’t open the box until just before Kara’s funeral.

Again, Mark left early in the evening, this time to return to MCV to see a sick kid. Loving a doctor wasn’t easy. You had to share him with so many others. Being a physician myself helped me understand. He promised me dinner over the weekend to make up for leaving early. He was either falling hard or feeling guilty. Either way, I appreciated the attention.

On the day of the funeral my phone rang, and I recognized the voice of my mentor, Dr. Bransford. “Camille, I wanted to find out how you are.”

I sniffed. “I’m OK. The funeral is this afternoon. I should be back to work on Monday.”

I listened as Dr. Bransford’s breath whistled into the phone. “You need to know, Dr. Larimore has been raising concern with the department staff. He thinks you may have a problem that you’re not admitting.”

“What do you think?”

“I think I need to hear from you straight. I’ve never known you to have a problem with alcohol. Has the stress been getting to you?”

“I don’t have a problem with alcohol. I have a problem with Dr. Larimore,” I began.

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