Chapter 1
♣
Michael Anderson’s tormented gaze shifted from his bloody hands to the small
lifeless body on the operating table. The doctors and nurses standing around
the operating table looked on in disbelief. A gloom fell quietly over the room
that felt like foul oil on their skin. Michael had repaired her heart valve with his
well known, some say incredible skill. This time he had overlooked a small ruptured
vein. A little girl. Eight years old. Her breath stopped a few moments after
he had closed her small chest.
In the frenzied half-hour they fought to repair the damage, Doctor Michael
Anderson suffered anxiety he had not known in his entire ten-year career. He
had tried desperately. He could not bring her back. Now, as he stared at his
dead patient, laboring for reason, his mind reeled with blind thought. He felt
empty, used up. A wildfire had run over him. There was nothing left to burn.
While the assisting staff milled about, the reality of this tragedy accepted,
Shannon Mason, the head nurse, still had not taken her eyes off of him. She
watched him with heart-wrenching concern. He had pushed back his surgeon’s
cap with the back of his hand. Sweat plastered his sandy blond hair to his
forehead.
She ached for him, his face twisted in angst, his blue eyes, always warm
and disarming, now distant with fear. His shoulders were drawn and small.
Shannon didn’t know what to say or do. She had been a nurse at the hospital
for nearly a year and had worked with Michael much of that time. Though
she had not shared her feelings with anyone, least of all Michael, she had fallen
in love with him.
A twenty-nine year old transplant from the Midwest, she had found a
small apartment in San Diego and waited, it seemed forever, to be accepted for
her current position. Having worked side-by-side with Michael for several
months, she had finally gathered the courage to ask him to dinner. When he
accepted, he didn’t realize it had set her heart sailing. She had taken off early that
day, got a sharp new haircut that gave her that carefree California look. She
had bought a sexy, short black skirt. As radiant as she had ever been when he
picked her up, she wondered if her efforts might prompt a suggestive invitation.
It never happened. He had been charming and attentive; and how time flied that
night as they sipped coffee and talked until three o’clock in the morning.
There had been a few more dinners and a couple of evenings at the theater
since then. He was her anchor. If it weren’t for her friendship with Michael, she
knew she would eventually leave San Diego. She wasn’t meant to be a city girl.
But her feelings for Michael kept her in Southern California. Though she had
debated the idea for weeks, she still had not found the courage to invite him to
her apartment, nor did it appear he planned to suggest it.
Now this. She had never seen such grief possess a man’s face. She stepped
forward, quietly, and stood beside him. He glanced at her as if he didn’t know
her, lost in the responsibility of ending a young life. She wanted to take his
arm, comfort him in some way, though nothing she might say seemed appropriate.
Her voice soft and filled with compassion, she finally said: “Michael, we can
take care of things here. Why don’t you wash up?”
“I killed her. I killed a little girl,” he muttered, wanting to take hold of
the body and shake her back to life.
“Michael,” Shannon pleaded, “it was a mistake we all made together. Just
go and wash up. Let me finish up here and then I’ll join you. We can sort it out.
We can ...” She averted her eyes when a tear run down his cheek.
He turned and walked aimlessly out of the operating room. Then Shannon
watched an intern wheel the gurney through the bleak stainless steel doors. The
small body had been covered with a sheet.
Doctor Jacobs approached. “Anderson’s gonna have a hard time with
this,” he said. “First time I’ve seen him leave an operating room without everyone
slapping him on the back.”
Shannon looked at the doctor, concern etched on her face.
“I’ll do the report,” he said. “He won’t be worth a damn any time soon.
Let’s hope his malpractice insurance premiums are current.”
Shannon’s expression took on an edge of contempt. “That’s an awful thing
to say.”
“It’s a fact of life, my dear. You think that girl’s parents will sit still for
this? Not with every discriminating detail recorded.”
“What are you talking about?” Shannon asked.
“You know what I’m talking about. I’ll be damned before I take part in a
cover-up.”
“No one said anything about a cover-up,” she said hotly. “It was an innocent
mistake. An oversight. The kind of thing that can happen in any procedure.
That doesn’t mean it has to lead to a lawsuit!”
Jacobs laughed mockingly. “Maybe not in Kansas, honey, but consider it a
foregone conclusion in California.”
Shannon turned her head in exasperation. She didn’t like Doctor Jacobs
from the moment she met him. In fact she didn’t care for most of the hospital
staff. It seemed like a world of back stabbing and unbridled ambition, and long
tedious hours spent with self-possessed complainers.
Shannon found Michael in his office staring out the window, unaware he
had already drawn a conclusion as to why the mistake had been made. Instead of
a good night’s rest the night before, he had recklessly stayed out most of the
night, responding again to the call of those never-ending escapades found in the
local bathhouses. He had not gotten enough rest. The shock of losing the little
girl had already turned into self-loathing.
Shannon took a few tentative steps into the office. He had changed into his
street clothes, denim jeans and a pullover shirt. Though Michael had a wonderful
sense of style—he wore Armani when they went to dinner—he had acquired
a rather eccentric reputation with his affinity for casual dress. She was looking
at him from behind, the fairly long sandy hair, the shoulders of a man that lifted
weights. At five-eleven, he stood an inch or two taller than her. Every time she
looked at him, she thought about how proud she was to be seen with him: his
sense of style, his perpetual optimism, his wonderful blend of casual sophistication
and boyish charm, his sensual lips, thin and straight across, his nose rather
narrow, his eyes crystal blue.
He stood trance-like, staring out a window. He had rolled up his sleeve
and had tied a rubber tube around his arm. It looked like he had just drawn a
sample of his own blood. It seemed odd to her that he would do this just now,
noting the vile on his desk when she stepped up behind him.
“Michael ...”
He seemed on the verge of panic. “I’ve gotta get out of here,” he interrupted.
“Michael ...”
He turned suddenly, his blue eyes red and puffy.
She swallowed hard, groping for the right words. “You shouldn’t be
alone. We both need a little fresh air. Maybe you should eat something. Let me
drive you to the beach. We could go to Sonny’s Grill.”
“You could eat?” he said angrily.
“Well, maybe a cup of coffee then. We could talk for a while. I just don’t
want you to be alone right now.”
He looked at the floor in thought. Why am I snapping at her? It wasn’t
her fault. …God! I need help! He looked back up. “Forgive me, Shannon.”
He closed his eyes and nodded.
♦ ♦ ♦
When Shannon returned to the picnic table with two cups of coffee, Michael
was staring across the beach. A salty breeze came off the Pacific and fluttered
his fine sandy brown hair. She detected his anger had melted back into a
state of despair. Placing the coffee on the table, she sat down opposite him, her
back to the ocean, and watched his eyes fix on the coffee.
She took a deep breath and said: “We were all there. None of us saw the
ruptured vein. You can’t take all the responsibility yourself.”
His forearms rested on the table, his hands knotted in tight fists. “Why do
you think they call me the head doctor? That title doesn’t come with the luxury
of blaming others for your own mistakes.” He looked at her for a long moment
before adding: “Shannon, if you wanted to be with me to help invent excuses,
forget it. I killed that little girl and nothing will change that.”
“She was dying before we put her on the table,” Shannon said in his defense.
“She was dying because she needed a routine operation. Any competent
surgeon could have saved her.”
“Competent surgeon! Who’s more competent than you? You’ve worked
miracles with your beautiful hands. I don’t deny it was tragic, but no one operates
on as many people as you do without eventually making a mistake.”
“She was a child. There was no excuse. It’s hard enough to lose an elderly
patient—at least then you have the consolation of knowing perhaps no one
could have saved them. Not this time. Not an otherwise healthy eight-year old
girl.”
“Michael, perhaps ...”
“It was my fault, Shannon,” he insisted, closing his eyes, swamped with an
overwhelming sense of guilt. The pain of confessing roiled in his stomach, yet he
felt compelled to get it out. “I got maybe two hours sleep last night,” he whispered,
then opened his eyes, glancing at her attentive brown eyes. “Two hours
sleep the night before performing heart surgery!” He saw a look of bewilderment.
“You heard me. I stayed out all night before a complicated heart surgery.
Guess I’ve gotten just that damned cocky.”
She was perplexed by his confession. It had indeed been bad judgment to
stay out all night. And though she could not presume the right to know the private
aspects of his social life, she did wonder what had kept him out all night.
Dr. Jacobs’ words echoed in her mind. She sat for a moment in a fog of
confusion, now concerned on a different level. “Michael, don’t ever tell anyone else
you only had two hours sleep before that operation,” she said with the tone of a
conspirator.
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Doctor Jacobs said you’re facing a malpractice lawsuit.”
He looked down at the table, then back up. “Of course I am. Wouldn’t
you sue the incompetent sonofabitch that killed your daughter?”
“Oh, Michael. I’m worried. If that happens, they’ll make me testify
against you.” A nervous tension came into her hands. There had been more
than a few nights she had lain awake, allowing herself to imagine a number of
paths their lives might take if Michael ever fell in love with her; but testifying
against him in court was surely not one of them.
Michael stared at her, her short blonde hair sparkling from the glare off
the ocean behind her. They had become very good friends during the last few
weeks, but the concern he saw in her eyes went beyond what might be considered
a simple friendship. Suddenly he feared he may have mislead her somehow—
this on top of his wretched failure as a doctor. His sister had warned him. Her
words rang in his ears.
Jody, his sister, his confidant, his best friend, lived in the apartment next
door to his on the sixth floor of a high-rise. Jody had accompanied Michael and
Shannon one night for dinner the week before. She had stopped by his apartment
that night, after he had taken Shannon home. Though he simply discounted
the possibility, Jody had tried to convince him that Shannon was falling
in love with him. “Women know these things,” she had said, and he had
laughed it off. In his thirty-six years, he had never imagined any woman could
fall in love with him, until now. The concern and emotion in Shannon’s eyes felt
like a slap.
“Shannon, I ...”
As she watched him, his demeanor changed. He seemed as vulnerable as he
made her feel. She interrupted him. “You figured it out, didn’t you? You
know how I feel about you, that I’ve fallen in love.”
“Oh, God!” he moaned. Overwhelmed with grief, he couldn’t bear the
weight of more guilt on this most tragic day of his life. The responsibility of
breaking this magnificent woman’s heart swelled in his chest like a physical
ache. Throughout his life, he had suffered occasional depression, but he had
never felt so utterly worthless; made worse by her staring at him, waiting for his
response. Why must his existence come at the expense of others? Yes, Jody had
been right about Shannon, this lovely lady, so warm-hearted, so sensitive—he
felt like a man about to punch her in the chest. If suicide at that moment had
been a viable alternative to facing her, he would have chosen it.
Shannon had wondered for many years if she would ever meet the right
man; what it would be like to tell him that she loved him, certain the moment
would sit on top of a lifetime of joyous memories. This wasn’t the reaction she
had hoped for. Now, beyond vulnerable, she also felt embarrassed. She sat
fidgeting, unable to find the right words to ease the sudden tension.
Michael had no idea of how to undo the damage he had caused, but the
burden was upon him now to hurt her. She had become a true friend, someone
he also loved, only in a different way. Oblivious to the sea breeze, the endless
stream of joggers and skateboarders, the volleyball game nearby, he said:
“Shannon … guess I’ve always assumed my colleagues knew about my private
life. I’ve heard the rumors. But I never talked about it openly, I suppose to
avoid complications.” He paused, looking at her soberly. “Obviously you
don’t know.”
He cringed at the sudden turmoil in Shannon’s eyes. Years before, he had
resolved to talk to no one in his profession about his sexual orientation. Now he
had no choice. He had been secretive because it would have caused gossip and
concern; but today the effect would be heartbreak. He loathed himself all the
more.
“I’m gay.” He said it quickly, to get it out when, instead, he felt like getting
up and walking away. The confession continued to pour out as if the words
might poison him if they stayed inside a moment longer. “That’s what I was doing
last night ... all night. I went to a bathhouse. Had sex with three men I never saw
before.” His eyes shifted away from her. “I suppose a man who lives
like I do doesn’t realize a woman could fall in love with him.”
It was difficult to face her. He fixed his eyes on the table as he continued
and spoke as if he were talking to himself. “I love you, too, Shannon. Your
friendship has been one of the few normal things in my life. Our conversations,
our time together, you’ve been a source of nourishment for me.” He glanced at
her sadly. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know. But this is why I’m not fit to be a
doctor, and now why I don’t deserve your friendship.”
She hardly knew how to respond. Her first instinct had been to get up and
leaves and think this through, but something kept her from standing. He might
have told her sooner, but evidently he had assumed she knew. Beyond that she
understood his reason for secrecy. She had fallen in love with him by her own
accord; she couldn’t justify holding him responsible for that. Sex with three
men he didn’t know? Her mind couldn’t go there, but his confession did eliminate
further misunderstanding.
“Wow,” she simply said.
He looked at her. “Do you to hate me.”
“You’re not the kind of man that’s easy to hate, no matter how stupid you
are.”
A pained smile formed on his lips.
“At least it explains why you never kissed me good night.”
“I suppose it does. While you were puzzled about that, I saw myself as your
guardian angel; a big brother intent on keeping you from getting mixed up with
the wrong guy. But then I let you to get mixed up with the worst guy imaginable
... me.”
She wiped away a tear. “I wanted to spend the night with you. I was plotting
a way to suggest it.”
“That’s flattering, especially from such a lovely lady. But you’ll eventually
meet the man who deserves to spend the night with you, and he won’t be patient
enough to wait for you to make the suggestion.”
She smiled. “Can we still be friends?”
“I’m quitting.” Saying it brought Michael an unexpected sense of relief;
though the guilt remained, tempered only by the fact that no one’s life would
ever be in his hands again.
“What do you mean, quitting? Quitting what?”
“The medical profession. It’s the only way to keep my sanity. I’ll never
kill anyone again.”
Shannon was dumbfounded.
“I’m leaving San Diego ... for a while anyway.”
“But, Michael, why?”
“Look at the way I live. You have to have character to be a surgeon and I
don’t. My whole life is dysfunctional. I need to get away for a while, figure out
what’s wrong with me.”
Just like that, Shannon’s life had changed again. Everything she had
hoped for was nothing more than a dream. Not only was Michael out of reach,
he intended to leave her alone in a world she despised. Distraught, she looked
down at the table, rubbing her temple with her fingertips. The conviction in his
voice rang in her ears with alarming clarity, and there was nothing she could say
to change it.
♣
Michael Anderson’s tormented gaze shifted from his bloody hands to the small
lifeless body on the operating table. The doctors and nurses standing around
the operating table looked on in disbelief. A gloom fell quietly over the room
that felt like foul oil on their skin. Michael had repaired her heart valve with his
well known, some say incredible skill. This time he had overlooked a small ruptured
vein. A little girl. Eight years old. Her breath stopped a few moments after
he had closed her small chest.
In the frenzied half-hour they fought to repair the damage, Doctor Michael
Anderson suffered anxiety he had not known in his entire ten-year career. He
had tried desperately. He could not bring her back. Now, as he stared at his
dead patient, laboring for reason, his mind reeled with blind thought. He felt
empty, used up. A wildfire had run over him. There was nothing left to burn.
While the assisting staff milled about, the reality of this tragedy accepted,
Shannon Mason, the head nurse, still had not taken her eyes off of him. She
watched him with heart-wrenching concern. He had pushed back his surgeon’s
cap with the back of his hand. Sweat plastered his sandy blond hair to his
forehead.
She ached for him, his face twisted in angst, his blue eyes, always warm
and disarming, now distant with fear. His shoulders were drawn and small.
Shannon didn’t know what to say or do. She had been a nurse at the hospital
for nearly a year and had worked with Michael much of that time. Though
she had not shared her feelings with anyone, least of all Michael, she had fallen
in love with him.
A twenty-nine year old transplant from the Midwest, she had found a
small apartment in San Diego and waited, it seemed forever, to be accepted for
her current position. Having worked side-by-side with Michael for several
months, she had finally gathered the courage to ask him to dinner. When he
accepted, he didn’t realize it had set her heart sailing. She had taken off early that
day, got a sharp new haircut that gave her that carefree California look. She
had bought a sexy, short black skirt. As radiant as she had ever been when he
picked her up, she wondered if her efforts might prompt a suggestive invitation.
It never happened. He had been charming and attentive; and how time flied that
night as they sipped coffee and talked until three o’clock in the morning.
There had been a few more dinners and a couple of evenings at the theater
since then. He was her anchor. If it weren’t for her friendship with Michael, she
knew she would eventually leave San Diego. She wasn’t meant to be a city girl.
But her feelings for Michael kept her in Southern California. Though she had
debated the idea for weeks, she still had not found the courage to invite him to
her apartment, nor did it appear he planned to suggest it.
Now this. She had never seen such grief possess a man’s face. She stepped
forward, quietly, and stood beside him. He glanced at her as if he didn’t know
her, lost in the responsibility of ending a young life. She wanted to take his
arm, comfort him in some way, though nothing she might say seemed appropriate.
Her voice soft and filled with compassion, she finally said: “Michael, we can
take care of things here. Why don’t you wash up?”
“I killed her. I killed a little girl,” he muttered, wanting to take hold of
the body and shake her back to life.
“Michael,” Shannon pleaded, “it was a mistake we all made together. Just
go and wash up. Let me finish up here and then I’ll join you. We can sort it out.
We can ...” She averted her eyes when a tear run down his cheek.
He turned and walked aimlessly out of the operating room. Then Shannon
watched an intern wheel the gurney through the bleak stainless steel doors. The
small body had been covered with a sheet.
Doctor Jacobs approached. “Anderson’s gonna have a hard time with
this,” he said. “First time I’ve seen him leave an operating room without everyone
slapping him on the back.”
Shannon looked at the doctor, concern etched on her face.
“I’ll do the report,” he said. “He won’t be worth a damn any time soon.
Let’s hope his malpractice insurance premiums are current.”
Shannon’s expression took on an edge of contempt. “That’s an awful thing
to say.”
“It’s a fact of life, my dear. You think that girl’s parents will sit still for
this? Not with every discriminating detail recorded.”
“What are you talking about?” Shannon asked.
“You know what I’m talking about. I’ll be damned before I take part in a
cover-up.”
“No one said anything about a cover-up,” she said hotly. “It was an innocent
mistake. An oversight. The kind of thing that can happen in any procedure.
That doesn’t mean it has to lead to a lawsuit!”
Jacobs laughed mockingly. “Maybe not in Kansas, honey, but consider it a
foregone conclusion in California.”
Shannon turned her head in exasperation. She didn’t like Doctor Jacobs
from the moment she met him. In fact she didn’t care for most of the hospital
staff. It seemed like a world of back stabbing and unbridled ambition, and long
tedious hours spent with self-possessed complainers.
Shannon found Michael in his office staring out the window, unaware he
had already drawn a conclusion as to why the mistake had been made. Instead of
a good night’s rest the night before, he had recklessly stayed out most of the
night, responding again to the call of those never-ending escapades found in the
local bathhouses. He had not gotten enough rest. The shock of losing the little
girl had already turned into self-loathing.
Shannon took a few tentative steps into the office. He had changed into his
street clothes, denim jeans and a pullover shirt. Though Michael had a wonderful
sense of style—he wore Armani when they went to dinner—he had acquired
a rather eccentric reputation with his affinity for casual dress. She was looking
at him from behind, the fairly long sandy hair, the shoulders of a man that lifted
weights. At five-eleven, he stood an inch or two taller than her. Every time she
looked at him, she thought about how proud she was to be seen with him: his
sense of style, his perpetual optimism, his wonderful blend of casual sophistication
and boyish charm, his sensual lips, thin and straight across, his nose rather
narrow, his eyes crystal blue.
He stood trance-like, staring out a window. He had rolled up his sleeve
and had tied a rubber tube around his arm. It looked like he had just drawn a
sample of his own blood. It seemed odd to her that he would do this just now,
noting the vile on his desk when she stepped up behind him.
“Michael ...”
He seemed on the verge of panic. “I’ve gotta get out of here,” he interrupted.
“Michael ...”
He turned suddenly, his blue eyes red and puffy.
She swallowed hard, groping for the right words. “You shouldn’t be
alone. We both need a little fresh air. Maybe you should eat something. Let me
drive you to the beach. We could go to Sonny’s Grill.”
“You could eat?” he said angrily.
“Well, maybe a cup of coffee then. We could talk for a while. I just don’t
want you to be alone right now.”
He looked at the floor in thought. Why am I snapping at her? It wasn’t
her fault. …God! I need help! He looked back up. “Forgive me, Shannon.”
He closed his eyes and nodded.
♦ ♦ ♦
When Shannon returned to the picnic table with two cups of coffee, Michael
was staring across the beach. A salty breeze came off the Pacific and fluttered
his fine sandy brown hair. She detected his anger had melted back into a
state of despair. Placing the coffee on the table, she sat down opposite him, her
back to the ocean, and watched his eyes fix on the coffee.
She took a deep breath and said: “We were all there. None of us saw the
ruptured vein. You can’t take all the responsibility yourself.”
His forearms rested on the table, his hands knotted in tight fists. “Why do
you think they call me the head doctor? That title doesn’t come with the luxury
of blaming others for your own mistakes.” He looked at her for a long moment
before adding: “Shannon, if you wanted to be with me to help invent excuses,
forget it. I killed that little girl and nothing will change that.”
“She was dying before we put her on the table,” Shannon said in his defense.
“She was dying because she needed a routine operation. Any competent
surgeon could have saved her.”
“Competent surgeon! Who’s more competent than you? You’ve worked
miracles with your beautiful hands. I don’t deny it was tragic, but no one operates
on as many people as you do without eventually making a mistake.”
“She was a child. There was no excuse. It’s hard enough to lose an elderly
patient—at least then you have the consolation of knowing perhaps no one
could have saved them. Not this time. Not an otherwise healthy eight-year old
girl.”
“Michael, perhaps ...”
“It was my fault, Shannon,” he insisted, closing his eyes, swamped with an
overwhelming sense of guilt. The pain of confessing roiled in his stomach, yet he
felt compelled to get it out. “I got maybe two hours sleep last night,” he whispered,
then opened his eyes, glancing at her attentive brown eyes. “Two hours
sleep the night before performing heart surgery!” He saw a look of bewilderment.
“You heard me. I stayed out all night before a complicated heart surgery.
Guess I’ve gotten just that damned cocky.”
She was perplexed by his confession. It had indeed been bad judgment to
stay out all night. And though she could not presume the right to know the private
aspects of his social life, she did wonder what had kept him out all night.
Dr. Jacobs’ words echoed in her mind. She sat for a moment in a fog of
confusion, now concerned on a different level. “Michael, don’t ever tell anyone else
you only had two hours sleep before that operation,” she said with the tone of a
conspirator.
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Doctor Jacobs said you’re facing a malpractice lawsuit.”
He looked down at the table, then back up. “Of course I am. Wouldn’t
you sue the incompetent sonofabitch that killed your daughter?”
“Oh, Michael. I’m worried. If that happens, they’ll make me testify
against you.” A nervous tension came into her hands. There had been more
than a few nights she had lain awake, allowing herself to imagine a number of
paths their lives might take if Michael ever fell in love with her; but testifying
against him in court was surely not one of them.
Michael stared at her, her short blonde hair sparkling from the glare off
the ocean behind her. They had become very good friends during the last few
weeks, but the concern he saw in her eyes went beyond what might be considered
a simple friendship. Suddenly he feared he may have mislead her somehow—
this on top of his wretched failure as a doctor. His sister had warned him. Her
words rang in his ears.
Jody, his sister, his confidant, his best friend, lived in the apartment next
door to his on the sixth floor of a high-rise. Jody had accompanied Michael and
Shannon one night for dinner the week before. She had stopped by his apartment
that night, after he had taken Shannon home. Though he simply discounted
the possibility, Jody had tried to convince him that Shannon was falling
in love with him. “Women know these things,” she had said, and he had
laughed it off. In his thirty-six years, he had never imagined any woman could
fall in love with him, until now. The concern and emotion in Shannon’s eyes felt
like a slap.
“Shannon, I ...”
As she watched him, his demeanor changed. He seemed as vulnerable as he
made her feel. She interrupted him. “You figured it out, didn’t you? You
know how I feel about you, that I’ve fallen in love.”
“Oh, God!” he moaned. Overwhelmed with grief, he couldn’t bear the
weight of more guilt on this most tragic day of his life. The responsibility of
breaking this magnificent woman’s heart swelled in his chest like a physical
ache. Throughout his life, he had suffered occasional depression, but he had
never felt so utterly worthless; made worse by her staring at him, waiting for his
response. Why must his existence come at the expense of others? Yes, Jody had
been right about Shannon, this lovely lady, so warm-hearted, so sensitive—he
felt like a man about to punch her in the chest. If suicide at that moment had
been a viable alternative to facing her, he would have chosen it.
Shannon had wondered for many years if she would ever meet the right
man; what it would be like to tell him that she loved him, certain the moment
would sit on top of a lifetime of joyous memories. This wasn’t the reaction she
had hoped for. Now, beyond vulnerable, she also felt embarrassed. She sat
fidgeting, unable to find the right words to ease the sudden tension.
Michael had no idea of how to undo the damage he had caused, but the
burden was upon him now to hurt her. She had become a true friend, someone
he also loved, only in a different way. Oblivious to the sea breeze, the endless
stream of joggers and skateboarders, the volleyball game nearby, he said:
“Shannon … guess I’ve always assumed my colleagues knew about my private
life. I’ve heard the rumors. But I never talked about it openly, I suppose to
avoid complications.” He paused, looking at her soberly. “Obviously you
don’t know.”
He cringed at the sudden turmoil in Shannon’s eyes. Years before, he had
resolved to talk to no one in his profession about his sexual orientation. Now he
had no choice. He had been secretive because it would have caused gossip and
concern; but today the effect would be heartbreak. He loathed himself all the
more.
“I’m gay.” He said it quickly, to get it out when, instead, he felt like getting
up and walking away. The confession continued to pour out as if the words
might poison him if they stayed inside a moment longer. “That’s what I was doing
last night ... all night. I went to a bathhouse. Had sex with three men I never saw
before.” His eyes shifted away from her. “I suppose a man who lives
like I do doesn’t realize a woman could fall in love with him.”
It was difficult to face her. He fixed his eyes on the table as he continued
and spoke as if he were talking to himself. “I love you, too, Shannon. Your
friendship has been one of the few normal things in my life. Our conversations,
our time together, you’ve been a source of nourishment for me.” He glanced at
her sadly. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know. But this is why I’m not fit to be a
doctor, and now why I don’t deserve your friendship.”
She hardly knew how to respond. Her first instinct had been to get up and
leaves and think this through, but something kept her from standing. He might
have told her sooner, but evidently he had assumed she knew. Beyond that she
understood his reason for secrecy. She had fallen in love with him by her own
accord; she couldn’t justify holding him responsible for that. Sex with three
men he didn’t know? Her mind couldn’t go there, but his confession did eliminate
further misunderstanding.
“Wow,” she simply said.
He looked at her. “Do you to hate me.”
“You’re not the kind of man that’s easy to hate, no matter how stupid you
are.”
A pained smile formed on his lips.
“At least it explains why you never kissed me good night.”
“I suppose it does. While you were puzzled about that, I saw myself as your
guardian angel; a big brother intent on keeping you from getting mixed up with
the wrong guy. But then I let you to get mixed up with the worst guy imaginable
... me.”
She wiped away a tear. “I wanted to spend the night with you. I was plotting
a way to suggest it.”
“That’s flattering, especially from such a lovely lady. But you’ll eventually
meet the man who deserves to spend the night with you, and he won’t be patient
enough to wait for you to make the suggestion.”
She smiled. “Can we still be friends?”
“I’m quitting.” Saying it brought Michael an unexpected sense of relief;
though the guilt remained, tempered only by the fact that no one’s life would
ever be in his hands again.
“What do you mean, quitting? Quitting what?”
“The medical profession. It’s the only way to keep my sanity. I’ll never
kill anyone again.”
Shannon was dumbfounded.
“I’m leaving San Diego ... for a while anyway.”
“But, Michael, why?”
“Look at the way I live. You have to have character to be a surgeon and I
don’t. My whole life is dysfunctional. I need to get away for a while, figure out
what’s wrong with me.”
Just like that, Shannon’s life had changed again. Everything she had
hoped for was nothing more than a dream. Not only was Michael out of reach,
he intended to leave her alone in a world she despised. Distraught, she looked
down at the table, rubbing her temple with her fingertips. The conviction in his
voice rang in her ears with alarming clarity, and there was nothing she could say
to change it.
A Song in the Park
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