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Gerard examined theframed embroidered tapestry featuring the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus, its colors vivid and lifelike.
“We’ll let you get settled,” Jean-Paul said, ushering his wife out of the room. “We’ll be in the dining room.” He chuckled. “It’s not a big house, so it’s hard to get lost. Just be careful not to stumble into our bedroom by mistake in the middle of the night.” He winked. Mariana’s cheeks pinked, and she mumbled at him in Romanian, her words lost when Jean-Paul closed the door.
“I wonder if Mariana actually made all of these herself,” Linda said, as she unpacked her bag and put away her clothes in one of the dresser drawers and the armoire.
“I think so,” he answered, putting the last of his stuff away, removing his laptop and a large envelope from the bottom of his backpack. “Jean-Paul mentioned she loves sewing, crocheting, weaving, and all that stuff. Apparently, like you, she sells some of her creations.”
“She’s very talented. It’s so well made.”
Linda removed her jeans and t-shirt, and was reaching for a green dress when Gerard slid his arms around her from behind, skimming the delicate lobe of her ear with his teeth.
“Very,” he whispered softly in her ear. “And I’m not talking about the decorations. Let’s just hope they don’t stumble into our room tonight.”
Linda’s cheeks reddened. “Shame on you. Don’t even think we’re going to do indecent things in these decent people’s home.”
He chuckled. “Have I ever done anything ‘indecent’ to you?” Grinning wickedly, he turned her around for a long, deep kiss. “I just hope the bed doesn’t squeak.”
The combined living room/dining room was as well-furnished as the rest of the house. In the dining area, the focus was a round wooden table, surrounded by six chairs. Against one wall, a bookcase overflowed, giving the impression it might burst at any moment, flinging its books around the room. At the other end, a cozy sofa and flat screen TV seemed made for relaxation.
Within minutes, they were all seated at the table, enjoying Mariana’s fine cooking. Dinner consisted ofciorba de peri?oare,a sour meatball soup that far exceeded the one Gerard had eaten earlier in the day. No sooner were the bowls taken away then Mariana placed a delicious,gula? de porc, a spicy pork stew, in front of them.
“This is fantastic,” Linda exclaimed, “You’ll have to give me the recipe.”
Mariana beamed and nodded.
The meal finished withgogo?i cu brânza, a dessert similar to the one they’d had earlier, another melt-in-your mouth cheese-stuffed donut concoction.
While Linda praised Mariana’s cooking mixing English with hand gestures, Gerard and Jean-Paul talked business, describing their individual progress in their attempts to eradicate, or at least reduce, the suffering caused by cancer.
“At the moment, I have four patients I would like you to examine tomorrow,” Jean-Paul said.
“Of course. What’s their diagnosis?”
“Two of the women have breast cancer. One’s had a partial mastectomy, but the disease is back. Another has skin cancer. The melanoma’s on her arm. Your treatment might be ideal for her. Unfortunately, the fourth is a man with few options left. Pancreatic cancer and it’s metastasized. There’s not much I can do for him,” he continued, regret roughening his voice. “I could send him to Bucharest, but I doubt he’s strong enough to handle chemotherapy. He’s very weak and told me he doesn’t want to go through all that again. If he’s going to die, he wants to do it at home, surrounded by those he loves. I can’t blame him.” Jean-Paul huffed out a breath.
“I can understand that,” Gerard agreed, reminded that his father had made the same choice.
Silence filled the room. Linda, sensitive to his moods by now, put down her spoon and reached for his hand under the table. He squeezed it gently, relishing its reassuring warmth.
“I’ve never met physicians as dedicated as the two of you,” she said.
“We’re only doing our jobs,ma belle,” Jean-Paul said. “All physicians should have the same work ethic we have. This isn’t just a job; it’s a calling. When devotion and compassion disappear from a doctor’s heart, it’s time he hangs up his stethoscope. He’s not helping anybody, possibly doing more harm—something none of us wants or has the right to do. In my opinion, being callous about someone’s life or death is the greatest sin.”
“You’re right,mon ami,” Gerard put in, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I’ve met too many doctors interested only in their bottom line—money and fame. That’s all that matters to them. Patients are nothing but lab specimens, case numbers, and diagnoses. Those men have lost their humanity—maybe they were born that way. A doctor needs a certain amount of detachment to practice medicine; otherwise, he or she would go mad knowing they can’t save everyone. Losing a patient, any patient, is a horrible and painful experience. I lost one only weeks ago, a ten-year-old girl.”
Regret jolted him as he remembered Lara, the small blonde child with a smile that could light up a city. She’d fought valiantly until the very end, but her fight had been in vain.
Linda covered his hand with hers and squeezed his fingers. Had she realized the enormous responsibility weighing on his shoulders? Did she understand how demanding and hard life could be for a doctor who took his job to heart? Was she willing to accept that lifestyle, the long hours of work, the nights spent at the clinic away from home, the guilt when a patient died, and the constant struggle to find answers?
Jean-Paul sighed, then reached out and patted Gerard’s hand.
“I’m sure you did whatever was humanly possible for her. The patients we lose are never forgotten. We all experience that dreadful feeling of helplessness, but what keeps us going is the joy and gratitude from the families of the ones we save.”
Mariana gazed at her husband, her eyes filled with love. Gerard turned to Linda amazed to see the same love and admiration in her eyes directed at him. Without thinking, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.
Mariana stood to clear the table, and Linda offered to help her. Gerard smiled watching as Linda trailed the other woman, begging her for all the recipes for the dishes they’d enjoyed.
Jean-Paul stood, lit a cigarette, and then went over to open the window.
