"Wonderful," Angela repeated.
"Now let's tour the lab again," Wadley said. "I know you saw it once, but I want to introduce you to the staff." He took a long, crisp, professional white coat from a hook and put it on.
For the next fifteen minutes Angela met more people than she could hope to remember. After circling the lab, they stopped at a windowless office next to the microbiology section. The office belonged to Dr. Paul Darnell, Angela's fellow pathologist.
In contrast to Wadley, Darnell was a short man whose clothing was rumpled and whose white coat was spotted haphazardly with stains used in preparing pathological slides. He seemed agreeable but plain and retiring, almost the antithesis of the affable and flamboyant Wadley.
After the tour was over, Wadley escorted Angela back to his office where he explained her duties and responsibilities. "I'm going to try to make you one of the best pathologists in the country," he said with a true mentor's enthusiasm.
David had enjoyed his three-and-a-half-mile bicycle ride immensely. The clean, crisp morning air had been delicious, and the bird life even more abundant than he'd imagined. He'd spotted several hummingbirds along the way. To top it off, he caught a fleeting glimpse of several deer across a dew-laden field just after crossing the Roaring River.
Arriving at the professional building, David discovered he was too early. Charles Kelley didn't show up until almost nine.
"My word, you are eager!" Kelley said when he spotted David perusing magazines in the CMV waiting area. "Come on in."
David followed Kelley into his office where Kelley had him fill out a few routine forms. "You're joining a crackerjack team," Kelley said while David worked. "You're going to love it here: great facilities, superbly trained colleagues. What else could you want?"
"I can't think of anything," David admitted.
When the paperwork was completed and after Kelley explained some of the ground rules, he accompanied David to his new office. As Kelley opened the office suite door and entered, David stopped to admire his nameplate that had already been installed in the slot on the outside of the door. He was surprised to see the name "Dr. Kevin Yansen" above his.
"Is this the same suite?" David asked in a lowered voice after catching up with Kelley. There were six patients in the waiting room.
"Same one," Kelley said. He knocked on the mirror, and after it had slid open, he introduced David to the receptionist he would be sharing with Dr. Yansen.
"Glad to meet you," Anne Withington said in a heavy South Boston accent, She cracked her gum, and David winced.
"Come in to see your private office," Kelley said. Over his shoulder he told Anne to send Dr. Yansen in to meet Dr. Wilson when he appeared between patients.
David was confused. He followed Kelley into what had been Dr. Portland's office. The walls had been repainted a light gray, and new gray-green carpet had been installed.
"What do you think?" Kelley asked, beaming.
"I think it's fine," David said. "Where did Dr. Portland go?"
Before Kelley could respond, Dr. Yansen appeared at the doorway and whisked into the room with his hand outstretched. Ignoring Kelley, he introduced himself to David, telling David to call him Kevin. He then slapped David on the back. "Welcome! Good to have you join the squad," he said. "You play basketball or tennis?"
"A little of both," David said, "but none recently."
"We'll have to get you back in the swing," Kevin said.
"Are you an orthopedist?" David asked as he looked at his new suitemate. He was a squarely built man with an aggressive-looking face. A mildly hooked nose supported thick glasses. He was four inches shorter than David, and standing next to Kelley, he appeared diminutive.
"Orthopedist?" Kevin laughed scornfully. "Hardly! I'm at the opposite end of the operative spectrum. I'm an ophthalmologist."
"Where's Dr. Portland?" David asked again.
Kevin looked at Kelley. "You haven't told him yet?"
"Haven't had a chance," Kelley said, spreading his hands, palms up. "He just got here."
"I'm afraid Dr. Portland is no longer with us," Kevin said.
"He's left the group?" David asked.
"In a manner of speaking," Kevin said with a wry smile.
"I'm afraid Dr. Portland committed suicide back in May," Kelley said.
"Right here in this room," Kevin said. "Sitting there at that desk." He pointed at the desk. Then Kevin formed his hand into a pistol with his index finger serving as the barrel, and pointed it at his forehead. "Bam!" he said. "Shot himself right through the forehead out the back. That's why the walls had to be painted and the carpet changed."
David's mouth went bone-dry. He gazed at the blank wall behind the desk and tried not to imagine what it had looked like after the incident. "How awful," David said. "Was he married?"
"Unfortunately," Dr. Yansen said with a nod. "Wife and two young boys. A real tragedy. I knew something was wrong. All of a sudden he stopped playing basketball on Saturday mornings."
"He didn't look good the last time I saw him," David said. "Was he ill? He'd looked as if he'd lost a lot of weight."
"Depressed," Kelley said.
David sighed. "Boy, you never know!"
"Let's move on to a happier subject," Kelley said after he'd cleared his throat. "I took you at your word, Dr. Wilson. We've scheduled patients for you this morning. Are you up to it?"
"Absolutely," David said.
Kevin wished David well and headed back to one of the examining rooms. Kelley introduced David to Susan Beardslee, the nurse he'd be working with. Susan was an attractive woman in her mid-twenties, with dark hair cut short to frame her face. What David immediately liked about her was her lively, enthusiastic personality.
"Your first patient is already in the examining room," Susan said cheerfully. She handed him the chart. "When you need me, just buzz. I'll be getting the next patient ready." She disappeared into the second examining room.
"I think this is where I leave," Kelley said. "Good luck, David. If there are any questions or problems, just holler."
David flipped open the cover of the chart and read the name: Marjorie Kleber, aged thirty-nine. The complaint was chest pain. He was about to knock on the examining room door when he read the diagnostic summary: breast cancer treated with surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. The cancer had been diagnosed four years previously at age thirty-five. At the time of the discovery, the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes.
David quickly scanned the rest of the chart. He was mildly unnerved and needed a moment to prepare himself. A patient with breast cancer that had metastasized, or spread from the breast to other areas of the body, was a serious case with which to begin his medical career. Happily Marjorie had been doing well.
David knocked on the door and entered. Marjorie Kleber was sitting patiently on the examining table dressed in an examining gown. She looked up at David with large, sad, intelligent eyes. Her smile was the kind of smile that warmed his heart.
David introduced himself and was about to ask about her current complaint when she reached out and took one of his hands in hers. She squeezed it and held it to her chest at the base of her neck.
"Thank you for coming to Bartlet," she said. "You'll never know how much I have prayed for someone like you to come here. I'm truly overjoyed."
"I'm happy to be here," David stammered.
"Prior to your corning, I've had to wait up to four weeks to be seen," she said as she finally released David's hand. "That's the way it's been since the school's health-care coverage was switched to CMV. And every time it's been a different doctor. Now I've been told that you will be my doctor. It's so reassuring."
"I'm honored to be your doctor," David said.
"Waiting four weeks to be seen was so scary," Marjorie continued. "Last winter I had the flu so bad that I thought it was pneumonia. Luckily, by the time I was seen I was over the worst of it."
"Maybe you should have gone to the emergency room," David suggested.