Impuls

Aster

– Nope." Lorraine pushed her lipstick aside and leaned her head back on her hand, meeting Emily's gaze with hers. – You're wrong. I was a terrible underachiever, but that's predictable, isn't it? We all had very poor grades. I got through basic school by some miracle, I guess," she admits.

The sweater falls off her right shoulder, leaving the gathered fabric dangling somewhere around her elbow, exposing a rubber lanyard around her neck – the same one Emily had seen on the waterfront, only now, freed from its knit bonds, a pendant falls onto the table with a metallic clang.

Medallion simplicity: blackened silver, almost green from old age in places, carved ligature, wide lock. Emily, breathless, freezes, devouring it with her eyes: her fingertips tingle with the desire to touch the warm metal.

Lorraine irritably puts the fabric back in place, hiding the pendant, but Emily manages to notice that the top connecting ring has almost come apart, threatening to fall off at any moment.

– This sweater is obviously too big for you," the nurse comments, straightening up.

– But it's comfortable," Clark grinned. – Except it falls off.

– It doesn't fall off," Emily protested, "you fall out of it… You were talking about college," she reminded me.

– About college? – Clark gives himself a faint sigh. – Oh, yeah, right. College. You know what, Emily, why don't we take a walk? – She raises her hand, catching the attention of the waiter at the counter, and says softly, "With a card, please.

The young man instantly rushes out of his seat, grabbing a portable payment terminal and a small cardboard envelope.

– You know, I'm not much of a conversationalist," Emily admits honestly. – Neither is a companion for the long road.

– Well, at least you did a good job as an alcoholic. – Lorraine pulls a platinum VISA out of her backpack and slides it into the terminal, not even looking at the folder with the account. – That's okay, we'll get some air now. I hope you're on your feet…

* * *

By the time they reached Victoria Park, Emily had sobered up, and with that feeling came shame – she'd been called to lunch and managed to get drunk! Good thing she hadn't done anything stupid, or she would have had to quit her job, and no one would have come after her – who would want an alcoholic nurse?

And Clark seemed to have forgotten about it altogether: she walked along, talking about incidents at work, occasionally drawing Emily's attention to the architecture of Cambridge Heath, a street dotted with art galleries and restaurants, on which they were walking.

On Pound Pat Clark pauses, staring at the rushing water-the Regent's Canal is choppy today, crashing with angry waves against the rocks-and then suddenly descends under the bridge, stopping almost at the very water's edge, separated by a thin carved fence. Barely keeping up with her, Emily catches a sense of d'ej`a vu-just a few days ago they were standing, leaning against the parapet, talking in exactly the same way. How far is it from here? About ten kilometers, tops-she could walk to her house if she wanted to.

– You like water," Emily says, barely audible, just to say something.

– Yes," Clark nods unexpectedly. – It's calming and thought-provoking. It was Harmon who taught me how to hear the water, disconnected from other sounds. It's a useful skill.

– Do you know him well? – Emily's getting close. – Dr. Harmon.

Clark puts his hand forward and makes a wiggling motion with his palm:

– Well, that's it. I wish I could do better, of course, but he doesn't have time for all that. Too many women in his life," she hums.

– I like him," Emily smiles. – The only one who supported me when I got back.

– Oh, my God," Clark slams his pockets and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, "you still had to be supported? Are you sure you're not mistaken for a profession?

The nurse snorts resentfully.

– James wasn't always like this," Clark continues, clutching the cigarette in his teeth. – Damn, where did I put it…

– I have a lighter. – Emily pulls an orange plastic rectangle out of the bottom of her backpack. – Here you go. I always carry it with me in case it comes in handy.

– Oh my god! – Clark clicks the wheel. – It's the best thing in your backpack. Can I borrow it?

– If you tell me about Harmon. – Emily gives the neurosurgeon a sly look.

– I'm not the personnel department to tell you about employees.

– You know more than they do, I'm sure of it! – Emilie implores, setting her backpack on her sneakers and swaying slightly. – Besides, you need a lighter too badly not to take me up on my offer!

– Okay, okay," Clark surrenders. – Just don't tell Harmon I sold him out for cigarettes, he won't get over it. – She takes a deep puff. – And honestly, I don't know what you want to hear. We used to live on the same floor: me and Charlie and James and his parents. I didn't talk to him much, even though we went to the same place – only Harmon, even though he's older than me, got in much later. He used to be a paramedic, but then he decided to train as an anesthesiologist and resuscitator. He and Charlie had been friends-he'd told me, in fact, that James's father had gone crazy, but it had passed me by, to tell you the truth. But I know James wasn't like that. He was…" Clark just let out a puff of smoke now. "He was kind, open, honest, helpful. He often drove my brother and me to school – he had an old pickup truck that he still drives. And then one day," another puff, "they just disappeared. His whole family. You know, Johnson, people don't just disappear, and so here – Charlie raised the alarm, caused a panic, and eventually they found Harmon – well, found him, almost out of a noose. Turns out they'd gone out of town, to the lake, as a family. They made a fire, and the father was overwhelmed – he took a burning stick and shoved it in his son's face. And while he was trying to put out the flames, he set his mother on fire. The mother wasn't saved, the father was locked up in the hospital, and Harmon almost went crazy himself after that. I know Charlie had just started practice, and James was his first patient. They'd spend 24 hours together, and then somehow, just like that. – and then somehow, just like that, things got better. – Clark shakes off the ashes. – Then I lost him again and met him in the hospital – he was an intern, and then he climbed up to resident very quickly. When he finishes his residency, he will join us as an intensive care specialist.

– Yeah," Emily exhales. – Charlie is a hero. Saves lives, fixes lives. Like an angel.

Clark twitches so hard that the cigarette falls out of her hands into the water.

– Yeah," she says, huffily. – Like an angel.

And then she turns around, leaning her back against the parapet:

– You know, Johnson, Charlie was right: to you, a doctor is a robe and a car; an angel is a life-saver and a fixer of fortunes. Strange notions you have, Johnson, broken and twisted. Success is not the mark of a professional.