One by one, the people he’d known made eye contact, recognized him, and looked quickly away. A few of them smiled awkwardly or waved, but no one spoke to him. He felt like a ghost passing through the land of the living. No one wanted to admit they’d seen him.
Some of the gazes were frankly condemning; that was the look he remembered, the one that had sent him running in the first place. Others, though, seemed embarrassed to be seen looking at him, confused by his sudden appearance. What did you say to a man you’d once admired who’d been prosecuted for killing his wife and then vanished for three years?
He walked past the row of women in hospital gowns waiting for mammograms, past the second waiting room, then turned onto another, quieter hallway. In the far end, he came to a closed door. He took a deep breath and knocked.
“Come in,” said a familiar voice.
Joe entered the big corner office that had once been his. Huge picture windows framed the Seattle high-rise view.
Li Chinn was at his desk, reading. At Joe’s entrance, he glanced up. An almost comical look of surprise overtook his normally impassive face. “I don’t believe it,” he said, remaining in his seat.
“Hey, Li.”
Li looked awkward, uncertain of how to proceed, what to say. “It’s been a long time, Joe.”
“Three years.”
“Where did you go?”
“Does it matter? I meant to come by here and tell you I was leaving. But—” he sighed, hearing how pathetic he sounded “—I didn’t have the guts.”
“I kept your name on the door for nearly a year.”
“I’m sorry, Li. It was probably bad for business.”
Li nodded; this time his dark eyes were sad. “Yes.”
“I have some film I’d like you to look at.” At Li’s nod, Joe went to the viewbox and put the film up.
Li came closer, studying it. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, “You see something I do not?”
He pointed. “There.”
Li crossed his arms, frowned. “Not many surgeons would attempt such a thing. The risks are grave.”
“She’s going to die without the surgery.”
“She may die because of the surgery.”
“You think it’s worth a try?”
Li looked at him, his frown deepening. “The old Joe Wyatt never asked for other men’s opinions.”
“Things change,” he said simply.
“Do you know a surgeon who would do it? Who could do it?”
“Stu Weissman at UCLA.”
“Ah. The cowboy. Yes, maybe.”
“I can’t practice. I’ve let my license lapse. Could you send Stu the film? I’ll call him.”
Li flicked off the light. “I will. You know, it’s an easy thing to reinstate your license.”
“Yes.” Joe stood there a moment longer. Silence spread like a stain between the men. “Well. I should go call Stu.” He started to leave.
“Wait.”
He turned back around.
“Did any of the staff speak to you?”
“No. It’s hard to know what to say to a murderer.”
Li moved toward him. “A few believed that of you, yes. Most … of us … just don’t know what to say. Privately, many of us would have wanted to do the same thing. Diana was in terrible pain, everyone knew that, and there was no hope. We thank God that we were not in your shoes.”
Joe had no answer to that.
“You have a gift, Joe,” Li said slowly. “Losing it would be a crime, too. When you’re ready—if you ever are—you come back to see me. This office is in the business of saving lives, not worrying about old gossip.”
“Thank you.” They were small words, too small to express his gratitude. Embarrassed by the depth of his emotion, Joe mumbled thanks again, and left the office.
Downstairs, in the lobby, he found a bank of pay phones and called Stu Weissman.
“Joe Wyatt,” Stu said loudly. “How the hell are you? I thought you fell off the face of the earth. Damn shame, that hell you went through.”
Joe didn’t want to waste time with the where-have-you-been stuff. There would be time for that when Stu got up here. So he said, “I have a surgery I want you to do. It’s risky as hell. You’re the only man I know who is good enough.” Stu was a sucker for compliments.
“Talk to me.”
Joe explained what he knew of Claire’s history, told him the current diagnosis, and outlined what he’d seen on the film.
“And you think there’s something I can do.”
“Only you.”
“Well, Joe. Your eyes are the best in the business. Send me the film. If I see what you do, I’ll be on the next plane. But you make sure the patient understands the risks. I don’t want to get there and have to turn around.”
“You got it. Thanks, Stu.”
“Good to hear from you,” Stu said, then hung up.
Joe replaced the receiver. Now all he had to do was speak to Claire.
He went back to the elevators, then crossed the sky bridge and headed into Swedish Hospital. He kept his gaze pinned on the floor. A few people frowned in recognition, a few more whispered behind him. He ignored them and kept moving. No one had the guts to actually speak to him or ask why he was back here, until he reached the ICU.
There someone said, “Dr. Wyatt?”