Mary hears the echoes of the firefighters’ boots as they trudge down the basement hallway
that leads to the morgue. She has been able to revive the forensic analyst but
only barely, he continues to slip in and out of consciousness. She doesn’t turn
her head when the firefighters arrive.
“What’s
his name, Miss?” Gary’s well-worn, commanding voice falters as he realizes that
the nurse bent over this small, sickly man is Mary.
“Grant.
Grant Feely.” Mary says. Gary watches the way Mary runs her hand through the
man’s thin hair. Mary loves this man, Gary thinks and he feels a sharp but
familiar pang of solitude and disappointment. He looks back at Grant Feeley,
propped up against the leg of a shiny gurney, eyes half open. He won’t become
jealous of this sick man. He won’t compromise his duty because he’s lonely.
He’s needed right now.
Gary
conducts a quick but thorough examination of Grant Feely and he determines the
cause: Vitamin D deficiency. They load the forensic analyst onto one of the
available gurneys to be taken to the conveniently close ambulance port. As Gary
turns to explain the situation to Mary, they both hear two of the other fire
fighters as they pass by.
“Jiminey
Rickets! Vitamin D?” It was a bad joke, one that should only illicit a
disappointed shake of the head but it was the last straw for Mary and it broke
the seal that had been holding back the affair and the fire and now this. Of
course, Grant is sick because he’s down here too much, she thinks. She doubted
that this would change his solitary, work-obsessed ways. Through tear-soaked eyes
she saw Gary, looking at her with that unmistakable mixture of desire and pity.
Oh God, now this firefighter is in love with me. She stands up abruptly, wiping
her eyes and shifting her scrubs into proper position.
“Thank
you very much for everything, sir. However, I don’t think any explanation is
necessary.”
Mary
walks out the door, leaving a helpless Gary staring after her, mouth opening
and closing purposelessly.
Mary can hear the echoes of the firefighters’ boots as they trudge down the basement hallway that leads to the morgue. She has been able to revive the forensic analyst but only barely, he continues to slip in and out of consciousness. She doesn’t turn her head when the firefighters arrive.
ReplyDelete“What’s his name, Miss?” Gary’s voice is commanding, but it falters as he realizes that the nurse bent over this small, sickly man is Mary.
“Thomas. Thomas Feely.” Mary says. Gary watches the way Mary runs her hand through the man’s thin hair. Mary loves this man, Gary thinks and he feels a sharp but familiar pang of solitude and disappointment. He looks back at Thomas Feeley, propped up against the leg of a shiny gurney, eyes half open. He won’t become jealous of this sick man. He won’t compromise his duty because he’s lonely. He’s needed.
Gary conducts a quick but thorough examination of Thomas Feely and he determines the cause: Vitamin D deficiency. They load the forensic analyst onto one of the available gurneys to be taken to the conveniently close ambulance port.
“Excuse me, Miss, he should be fine. Can you tell me, does he get out of this basement much?”
Before Mary can explain they overhear two of the other fire fighters as they walk by.
“Jiminey Rickets! Vitamin D?” It was a bad joke, one that should only illicit a disappointed shake of the head but it broke whatever seal had been holding back the affair and the fire and now this. Of course, Thomas is sick because he’s down here too much, she thinks. She doubted that he would ever have time for her, that he would ever change his solitary, work-obsessed ways. Through wet eyes she saw Gary, looking at her with that unmistakable mixture of desire and pity. Oh God, now this firefighter is in love with me. She stands up abruptly, wiping her eyes and shifting her scrubs into proper position.
“No, he does not. I’m sorry but I must leave. Further help is not a necessity.”
Mary walks out the door, leaving a helpless Gary staring after her, mouth opening and closing needlessly.