Guilt Read Online Free PDF Page B

Sophie and Jackie. Jackie sat sipping a cup of tea and Sophie worked on a new picture.
    Dr. Kwan Liu, Peter’s longtime friend and partner in running the unit, picked up.
    â€œIf it isn’t the itinerant bomb squad investigator,” Kwan said.
    â€œI’m sorry. I talked to Gloria. I couldn’t get away—”
    â€œAnd you’re wondering if we’re managing without you? I know it’s hard to believe, but we are.”
    â€œI’m heading back now,” Peter told him. “Should be there in twenty minutes.”
    â€œAfter we’ve done all the heavy lifting? Don’t bother. We’ll continue to suffer in silence.”
    Peter didn’t point out how loud, not to mention whiny, this “silence” of his was.
    â€œPeter”—Kwan’s voice turned serious—“you weren’t there or anything, were you?”
    Nothing like kindness and concern to bring out the guilt. He was fine, he told Kwan, and gave a quick summary of what had happened. In return, he heard all the gory details about how Kwan and Gloria and the day staff had struggled through a particularly challenging day. They’d spent the afternoon trying to dissuade one delirious patient from trying out every bed in the place—not a big deal, but upsetting to the patients already occupying them. Kwan had to abandon a group of doctors visiting from China in order to help bring the situation under control.
    â€œWhat can I do to make amends and assuage my conscience?” Peter asked.
    â€œAt least you have one.” There was a pause. “Ah, let’s see. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble being on call for me tonight. And—I know, a chai latté from Starbucks tomorrow morning at, say, about eight?”
    â€œEight?” Peter shuddered. That was when he was usually just prying himself out of bed.
    â€œAnd how about something for Gloria, who shouldered this taxing burden with me?” He was on a roll. “Make that a decaf latté. Don’t forget, she likes hers with extra sugar. And let me think…”
    â€œDon’t press your luck,” Peter said, his guilt rapidly shading into resentment.
    *   *   *
    An hour later, the savory smell of pot roast filled Peter’s mother’s apartment. Peter watched Sophie, her face flushed and serious as she stood on the chrome, red-cushioned kitchen chair, concentrating on the task at hand: grating potato onto a dish towel. The apron hung down around her ankles. Pearl Zak had tied Sophie’s hair back with a pink ribbon.
    Peter still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up bringing Sophie and Jackie home with him. He’d mentioned that this was the night he usually had dinner with his mother, who lived on the other side of his two-family house. Annie had been on the phone. She still hadn’t found a shelter for Jackie and Sophie, and she’d had to cancel her dinner date with her sister. Next thing Peter knew, it was settled.
    Extras for dinner was no big deal for Pearl, especially after Peter gave her the condensed version of Jackie Klevinski’s predicament. She usually cooked enough for four anyway, despite the fact that she’d been living alone for the six years since Peter’s father died, and Peter and his brother had flown the coop years earlier.
    â€œYou’re very good at this,” Pearl said, as Sophie rubbed the potato across the grater. There was already a good-sized mound of grated potatoes. “Just a bissel more.”
    Peter had been assigned table setting. He got four glasses from the cabinet. Pearl snagged one from him, sniffed it, and pulled a face. It was ridiculous, washing an already-washed glass. But this was her house, and Peter had long ago learned that it was a lot less wear and tear all around if he just saluted and marched. Pearl even ran empty deli containers through the dishwasher before dumping them in the recycle