Comfort Zone

Chapter 56

Miriam knew there was something she had to do, but she kept putting it off. She had no one to talk it over with, because there was no one in her life yet who would understand about her little wooden box. She'd added Trevor Sharp and Marie Toussaint's names, but it didn't give her the same feeling it used to.

She thought about the redwoods in Muir Woods, those towering, ancient, thick-trunked methuselahs, some of them over one thousand years old, all feeding on the rich earth, nutrients gleaned from the dead. It was just the cycle of things.

Death was natural and inevitable, but when she looked at the beautiful box she couldn't help feeling sad, and defeated. Her list of patients was about the past, about memories that couldn't help being poignant. And imbedded within, wasn't there a tinge of guilt, of inadequacy?

Can't save 'em all, JK used to say.

Trees were about life, not death, she thought. They set their roots deep into the earth, extracting nutrients from dried up foliage, microorganisms, and other things that had rotted. But they didn't stay there and dwell on it. Instead they shot up and stretched out toward the sky, their limbs filled with budding life.

No, the Muir Woods box, still smelling of the trees from which it was made, didn't need to be the mini-coffin she'd made of it, housing a piece of paper with the names of the dead inked on.

But if not, what would be fitting to go inside?

Maybe odd things that didn't fit anywhere else, she thought.

If so, she'd just been sent something that would suit it perfectly.

"I found this trinket at a garage sale, and it reminded me of you. Maybe one day you'll change your mind about me, though I know it won't be easy. Time's not up yet, you know."

No one's perfect, she heard her other patient say. But was it just about forgiveness? Wasn't it also about ethics?

Miriam lifted the paper out of the box.

It was painful to do, and she hesitated several times, but with a final goodbye to Herbie and the others, she took the now yellowed paper to the sink, lit a match, and watched it flame, wisps of smoke carrying the names upward.

She'd find another way to remember them, memorialize them. Maybe she'd learn to paint them, to sing about them, or write them into a poem one day.

"And she popped! Beautiful baby boy, 7 lbs 3 oz. Can you come by and meet Magda and my son?"

Miriam read Josh's text and smiled. The snippet of conversation she'd overheard that nerve-wracking day had of course been to Magda, and when the time was right, it had indeed happened.

"Who needs a raise anyway, how expensive could a baby be?" he'd joked weakly when she visited him in the pharmacy a few days before. Since Quest's scheme had collapsed, his promotion had too. Probably for the better, he'd added, as he wasn't the administrative type. When she asked him why he'd never brought up the narcotic issue, Josh just snorted. "I knew it wasn't you. No matter what Quest or anyone said. No way. Why would I bring it up?" And of course Quest had simply skewed the story of the pilfered filgrastim, painting it in ominous colors.

Miriam went down to the gift shop and picked out the most ornate "It's a boy" arrangement she could find, then headed over to maternity.

It was good to be a fourth floor person for once, and get off the elevator with the big belly brigade. Miriam adjusted the strings on the cheery balloons that floated overhead, and went to meet Josh's family.