Terminal

The restaurant was close enough to walk so they left Sean’s 4×4 where they’d found a parking spot across from the apartment. Walking hand in hand, they wandered north up Collins Avenue beneath huge silver- and gold-tipped clouds that reflected the reddened sky over the distant Everglades. They couldn’t see the ocean, but they could hear the waves hit against the beach on the other side of a block of recently renovated and refurbished Miami art deco buildings.

The entire beach neighborhood was alive with people strolling up and down the streets, sitting on steps or porches, roller blading, or cruising in their cars. Some of the car stereos had the bass pumped up to a point that Sean and Janet could feel the vibration in their chests as the cars thumped past.

“Those guys aren’t going to have functional middle ears by the time they’re thirty,” Sean commented.

The restaurant gave the impression of frenzied disorganization with tables and people crammed everywhere. The waiters and waitresses were dressed in black pants or skirts and white shirts or blouses. Each had on a soiled apron. They ranged in age from twenty to sixty. Shouting back and forth, they communicated among themselves and to the steam table in expressive bursts of Spanish while they ran and weaved among the tables. Over the entire tumult hung a succulent aroma of roast pork, garlic, and dark roasted coffee.

Carried along by a current of people, Sean and Janet found themselves squeezed among other diners at a large table. Frosted bottles of Corona with lime wedges stuck in their mouths appeared as if by magic.

“There’s nothing on here for me to eat,” Sean complained after studying the menu for a few minutes. Janet was right; he rarely varied his diet.

“Nonsense,” Janet said. She did the ordering.

Sean was pleasantly surprised when their food came. The marinated and heavily garlic-flavored roast pork was delicious, as was the yellow rice and the black beans covered with chopped onions. The only thing he didn’t care for was the yucca.

“This stuff tastes like potato covered with mucoid exudate,” Sean yelled.

“Gross!” Janet exclaimed. “Stop sounding so much like a medical student.”

Conversation was almost impossible in the raucous restaurant, so after dinner they wandered over to Ocean Drive and ventured into Lummus Park where they could talk. They sat under a broad banyan tree and gazed out at the dark ocean dotted with the lights of merchant ships and pleasure boats.

“Hard to believe it’s still winter in Boston,” Sean said.

“It makes me wonder why we put up with slush and freezing rain,” Janet said. “But enough small talk. If, as you said, you can’t talk about us for the moment, then let’s talk about the Forbes situation. Was your afternoon any better than your morning?”

Sean gave a short, mirthless laugh. “It was worse,” he said. “I wasn’t on the second floor for five minutes before the director of nursing burst into the room like a raging bull, yelling and screaming because I was looking at Helen’s chart.”

“Margaret Richmond was mad?” Janet asked.

Sean nodded. “All two hundred and fifty snarling pounds of her. She was out of control.”

“She’s always been civil with me,” Janet said.

“I’ve only seen her twice,” Sean said. “Neither time would I describe her as civil.”

“How did she know you were there?” Janet asked.

“The Marine commando was with her,” Sean said. “They must have picked me up on a surveillance camera.”

“Oh, great!” Janet said. “Something else I have to worry about. I never thought of surveillance cameras.”

“You don’t have to worry,” Sean said. “I’m the one who the head of security can’t abide. Besides, the cameras are most likely only in the common areas, not patient floors.”

“Did you get to talk with Helen Cabot?” Janet asked.

“For a moment,” Sean said. “She doesn’t look good at all.”

“Her condition’s been deteriorating,” Janet said. “There’s talk of doing a shunt. Did you learn anything from her chart?”

“No,” Sean said. “I didn’t have time. They literally chased me back over the bridge to the research building. Then, as if to cap off the afternoon, that Japanese guy appeared again, sneaking around, watching me in the lab from the stairwell. I don’t know what his story is, but this time I got him. I scared the living willies out of him by sneaking up behind him and letting out this bloodcurdling yell. He nearly dropped his pants.”

“The poor fellow,” Janet said.

“Poor fellow nothing!” Sean said. “This guy’s been watching me since I arrived.”

“Well, I’ve had some luck,” Janet said.

Sean brightened. “Really! Great! Did you get some of the miracle medicine?”

“No, no medicine,” Janet said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the computer printout and the sheet with her hastily scribbled notes. “But here’s the list of all the medulloblastoma patients for the last ten years: thirty-eight in all; thirty-three in the past two years. I’ve summarized the data on the sheet.”