At the corner, Noah stopped and turned around suddenly to look behind him. As he expected, there was a man trudging up Revere Street in his direction. He was dressed in a shirt and tie and had a summer-weight jacket slung over his shoulder. In deference to the heat, the shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and the tie loosened. He was African American with closely cropped hair and a trim, athletic build.
Noah believed he had seen this individual before. It had been on Thursday when he’d emerged from his apartment at about the same time with the same destination in mind, Whole Foods on Cambridge Street. Since the cataclysmic meeting in Dr. Hernandez’s office on Tuesday, Noah had been holed up in his tiny apartment, paralyzed by a combination of depression and anxiety, believing his life was in the balance. Beginning on Wednesday, the only thing that had driven him outside was the knowledge that he needed to eat, even though he didn’t feel particularly hungry. Each day he’d made the trip to the prepared-food section of Whole Foods to bring home some selections that would serve for both lunch and dinner. He felt totally incapable of preparing anything, and the idea of going to a restaurant in the presence of happy, normal people didn’t even occur to him. Breakfast, he’d ignored.
On Wednesday, when he came out on his way to Cambridge Street, he soon had the perception he was being followed. Curiously enough, he had the impression it was the same person who he felt had followed him home on two nights, although he couldn’t be certain, since it had been night and he’d never gotten a particularly good look at the man. What made Noah think it could be the same person was the suit, the same thing that had caught his eye on those nights. That and his particularly trim build, similar to the African American’s.
Although Noah initially attributed the idea of being followed to delusional paranoia, he went out of his way on Wednesday to follow a circuitous route. Without fail, the man reappeared after each turn, even to the point of going in a full circle, forcing Noah to recognize he wasn’t suffering a delusion. He was indeed being followed. Yet the man didn’t seem to mind that he stood out like a sore thumb, which made no sense. If someone wanted to follow him, wouldn’t they try to conceal it? But why would anyone want to follow him? The only possible idea that came to mind was the hospital wanted to make certain that Noah stayed away as he’d been told. Noah admitted that he’d been sorely tempted on several occasions to sneak back to check on his in-house patients.
On Thursday, Noah had thought it had been the same man following him who was now coming up Revere Street. On Friday, it had been the Caucasian man. It was as if they were a tag team, sharing the burden by alternating days.
Motivated by an equal amount of curiosity and irritation, Noah made the snap decision not to move. He thought the man would surely stop and pretend to be occupied with examining something as the Caucasian fellow had done on several occasions, but he didn’t. He kept coming, not in a hurried way but certainly without the slightest hesitation. It seemed that Noah’s standing still didn’t faze him in the slightest.
When the man got to Noah and motioned to go around him, Noah reached out and stopped him by lightly grabbing his upper, heavily muscled arm. They regarded each other. Noah estimated he was in his thirties. Up close, he was clean shaven, handsome, and clearly in excellent physical shape. The man didn’t move except for his eyes, which lowered to look at Noah’s hand that was grasping his arm. Noah sensed that the man was tense, like a tightly coiled spring. Noah quickly withdrew his hand.
“Why are you following me?” Noah said. He tried to make his voice sound casual, even though he was suddenly afraid of this individual.
“I’m not following you, man,” the individual said calmly. “I’m just hanging out here in Boston, taking in the sights. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
Noah stepped aside. With a slight nod, the man continued along Revere Street. Noah watched him until he was about a half-block away, then Noah turned down Grove Street, more confused than ever. He walked quickly, occasionally looking over his shoulder, fully expecting to see the man reappear.
It had been a difficult three days for Noah. Being isolated in his depressing apartment and having nothing to do was torture. Accustomed to working fifteen hours a day seven days a week and always behind, the change was intolerable. He couldn’t remember when he’d been so idle, unable to stop obsessing about what was happening to him. And, disturbingly enough, he’d learned Wednesday afternoon that there were many more days of boredom to be endured. It had been then that he’d gotten a call from Dr. Edward Cantor’s office, and, as a further humiliation, it hadn’t been the surgical residency program director himself. It had been his secretary, informing Noah in a disinterested monotone that an ad hoc meeting of the Surgical Residency Advisory Board to decide his fate was scheduled for 4:00 P.M. on Wednesday, August 23. She also gave Noah the name and phone number of an attorney that the hospital had retained for him, in accordance with existing labor laws.
The idea that Noah would need an attorney, which hadn’t even occurred to him, didn’t help his terror about the upcoming meeting. For him, having lawyers involved made the whole situation much more threatening and serious. He’d been hoping the problem might resolve itself when people realized he didn’t manufacture data but rather just conservatively estimated the results to make a deadline and replaced them as soon as the real data was available.
The other issue that weighed heavily on Noah’s mind was learning how long he would have to suffer the uncertainty of his fate. Initially, when he left Dr. Hernandez’s office, he’d assumed the meeting would have been scheduled within a day or two at most. He had not expected two weeks! For him it was an added torment to drag it out.
Reaching busy Cambridge Street, Noah glanced behind him. He didn’t see his follower, but he sensed that the man would reappear just as his partner managed. Noah still could not imagine why the hospital was keeping him under surveillance but accepted he just had to live with it despite its absurdity.
Once Noah was in the supermarket, he went directly to the prepared-foods section. Since he didn’t feel the slightest bit hungry, it took him quite a while to pick out a few items from the vast array available. At least it was cool in the store. After he paid for his purchases, he started back up Beacon Hill. He looked for the African American but didn’t see him. Since he no longer thought of it as any kind of threat, he was beginning not to care.
Noah’s legs felt heavy as he trudged up Grove Street, which seemed to have become steeper than he remembered. He was dreading returning to his sparse, lonely apartment. Late Wednesday afternoon, Noah had finally swallowed his pride and had tried again to get in touch with Ava in hopes of eliciting some sympathy. He’d expected to hear from her as soon as the word of his suspension spread through the operating room, which he assumed would have been almost instantaneous following the meeting with Dr. Hernandez Tuesday afternoon. He’d fully expected she’d call or at least text between her cases, considering the seriousness of the situation. When it hadn’t happened by 4:00 P.M. Wednesday, he’d first tried to call her landline, thinking she’d be at home. When she hadn’t answered, he’d tried her mobile. When that was unsuccessful, he’d texted and waited for a full half-hour. Ultimately, he tried both email and Facebook messaging. Nothing had worked.
All day Thursday and all day Friday, he had hoped to hear from her, and when he hadn’t he’d become progressively more depressed. It seemed totally out of character. She would have known immediately the depths of his despair since she had firsthand knowledge of his total commitment to surgery, which was as strong as her commitment to anesthesia. Considering their physical intimacy, how could she not feel an irresistible urge to get in touch with him, just to be sure he was all right? Noah knew that if the tables were reversed, he’d be the very first to make sure she was okay, even if he were irritated with her over some other issue.
By Friday night he’d reached his emotional nadir. Could she still be t
hat upset and angry over his violation of her trust? Apparently so, even though it didn’t seem possible to Noah, especially after his sincere apology, and once again his yearning to hear from her morphed into anger at her apparent lack of empathy. Such a mind-set had led to another even more disturbing possibility. He’d recalled several weeks earlier in responding to Ava’s questions about his Ph.D. by admitting that he had fudged it a little. Since she’d been the only person in recent years to whom he’d mentioned his thesis, could she possibly have anything to do with the issue being raised by the surgery department?
One thing that Noah was certain about was Dr. Mason’s role in the affair. His self-satisfied smile alone during the fateful meeting in the chief’s office had made that clear. Noah was certain it had been Dr. Mason who had gotten the bound copy of his Ph.D. thesis from MIT, apparently studied it as evidenced by the Post-it notes, found the discrepancy between the submitted hardcopies and the online version, and had sounded the alarm. Could Ava have been so low as to communicate to Dr. Mason to look for discrepancies in the thesis?
When this thought had occurred to Noah Friday night, he had dismissed it out of hand as he’d done other suspicions. Noah was absolutely confident that Ava detested Dr. Mason, so the idea that she would help him was ludicrous. Yet how did Dr. Mason know about the issue? Noah had no idea.
Arriving at the corner of Grove Street and Revere, Noah was about to turn right when he glanced over his shoulder down the hill. He started. Almost a block away was the African American. He was coming in Noah’s direction once again with his jacket still slung casually over his shoulder.
“Taking in the sights, my ass,” Noah said under his breath, his anger at Ava finding a convenient target even though he’d resigned himself to being under surveillance. He hurried down Revere Street to his front door and quickly entered. A moment later he was in his apartment and rushed to the front window. He was certain the man would appear, and when he did, Noah planned on opening his window and loudly embarrassing the man. Noah even briefly thought about calling 911 to complain about being harassed.
After ten minutes of watching, Noah gave up. He carried the bag of prepared food into the kitchen and pushed it into his refrigerator without opening it. Now he was less hungry than when he was at the store despite not having eaten since the previous night. It was a little after 3:00 in the afternoon.
Returning to the living room, Noah again looked out the window. There were a few pedestrians going in both directions as there had been before, but no athletic-appearing African American with white shirt and tie carrying a suit jacket over his shoulder. Just like on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, the person he thought had been following him just disappeared, making him question his sanity.
Sitting down on his couch and gazing at his blank walls, Noah felt adrift and intensely lonely. It was as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. He needed some human warmth, and unfortunately, Ava was not coming through. The only person who came to mind was Leslie Brooks. He looked at his watch again as if he’d forgotten he’d just checked it. It was almost 4:00. He wondered if Leslie would be available. For the entire two-years-plus that they had been apart, it had always been Leslie who called, and it had always been on Saturday afternoon. Maybe she might be available. After all, it was Saturday afternoon.
In his depressed state, Noah found decision making difficult. Should he call, and if he should, should he use FaceTime or not? As a doctor he was always decisive, but in the social arena, he was not, especially now, under these extraordinary circumstances. After going back and forth several times, he heaved himself to his feet and went into the bathroom to get a look at himself in the medicine-cabinet mirror. He didn’t like what he saw. He hadn’t shaved since Tuesday, hadn’t slept well, and accordingly looked like death warmed over. No, he wouldn’t use FaceTime if he called. He didn’t want to scare Leslie, even though he craved sympathy.
After flip-flopping on whether to call or not, he impulsively clicked her number. He felt great relief when she picked up on the third ring. Noah had been counting.
“Will wonders never cease?” Leslie said. She was a little out of breath. “This is the first time you’ve called me since I don’t remember when. What’s up?”
“Can you talk, or is this an inconvenient time?”
“I’m on the street, walking back to my apartment,” Leslie said. “I’ll be home in five minutes. Can I call you back?”
“I suppose,” Noah said. Now that he had her on the line, he didn’t want to lose her.
“You don’t sound good. Is something wrong?”
“Call me back,” Noah said. “But don’t use FaceTime. I don’t want to scare you.” He disconnected without waiting for a response.
As Noah impatiently waited, he found himself imagining how her apartment looked. Undoubtedly, it was the opposite of his, with all sorts of decorative, feminine stuff, including colorful curtains and soft rugs. When he lived with it, he’d never appreciated it. Now he missed it.
True to her word, she called back. It was more like ten minutes than five, but Noah was happy to hear her voice.
“Okay,” Leslie said in a serious tone. “What’s wrong? Have you broken up with your new girlfriend?”
“Worse,” Noah said. “I was suspended from my residency position. In a week and a half I have to go before the Surgical Residency Advisory Board to see if it is going to be permanent. One of the ironies is that I sit on the board, so I need to recuse myself.”
“Good God!” Leslie exclaimed. “How? Why? This has to be a misunderstanding.”
Noah told her the whole story. It felt good for him to voice it all, especially to someone who knew him and whose opinion he trusted. Leslie was well aware of Dr. Mason, as she had been around during the Dr. Meg Green fiasco and the resulting fallout. Noah included that Ava, whose name he now used, had not so much as texted him since the event, which she surely would have learned about. He admitted she was justifiably angry with him and described why. As a final point, he mentioned that Ava had been the only person in years to whom he had mentioned anything about his Ph.D. thesis.
“First let me say how very sorry I am this has happened,” Leslie said when Noah fell silent. “Knowing you, I can understand how devastated you are. I’m sure it will be reversed at the advisory meeting. Clearly, from what you have told me, no one has put more of themselves into being a surgical resident than you.”
“I wish I could be so sure,” Noah said, his voice breaking.
“With your record and your level of commitment, it is an inexcusable reason to dismiss you. I’m sure of it. It has to be reversed. I think their motivation is merely to play along with Dr. Mason and make a statement about ethics.”
“I hope you’re right,” Noah said. “It’s possible it was done to humor Dr. Mason. Dr. Hernandez did specifically tell me a week ago that Dr. Mason had to be reckoned with. Well, we’ll have to see. Regardless, I appreciate your sympathy and thoughts.”
“Now for the rest of my response, which I assume you want because you made the effort to call, how honest do you want me to be? I know on our last conversation you weren’t too happy with what I had to say.”
“I need you to be honest,” Noah admitted. “I might not like it, but I need to hear it.”
“I think there is a very good chance that Miss Ava was the source of raising this thesis issue, especially after you telling me how angry she was catching you snooping in her computer.”
“But I apologized profusely,” Noah argued. “It doesn’t seem reasonable she’d do such a thing, even as it smacked of betrayal to her. The punishment doesn’t match the crime, and she hates Dr. Mason, and I believe she truly cares for me. And she knows how much surgery means to me because I think she cares about anesthesia to the same degree.”
“Again, you are asking for my opinion, and I am giving it,” Leslie said gently. “If you lis
ten to this story that you are telling me about this woman, there seems to be a disconnect. You even questioned yourself if she was being manipulative, and she has used this silence routine before. In my mind, I don’t think there is any question. But more to the point, have you asked yourself why she should be so damn sensitive about her computer? I mean, you said you apologized.”
“Good point,” Noah admitted. “I have asked myself that question. I think it has to do with her lobbying for the nutritional-supplement industry, which supports her lifestyle. When she caught me at her computer, I was reading a letter she was in the process of writing to her boss. It was serious stuff advocating dirty tricks associated with the law that keeps the FDA from interfering with the industry. We’re talking about billions of dollars.
“And there is another reason for her to be sensitive about her computer. Incredibly enough, her major social activity is social media. It is a significant part of her identity.”
“You are joking,” Leslie said.
“I’m not,” Noah insisted. “She’s on all forms of social media every day, from Facebook to Twitter to Snapchat to dating sites. She even has a fan page with over a hundred thousand followers.” What he purposefully avoided saying was that she used sockpuppets, except for LinkedIn.
“Noah!” Leslie exclaimed. “What you’re describing is a media-crazed preteen girl inhabiting a grown woman’s body. Are you sure this is a healthy relationship for you?”
“There are extenuating reasons for her interest in social media,” Noah said. He didn’t want to hear where Leslie was going, since it mirrored too closely his own reservations about Ava that he’d been trying to ignore. “She is reluctant to socialize with hospital colleagues, somewhat like myself. And her lobbying job takes her away most weekends, so social media fills a void. She lives in Boston but doesn’t seem to know anyone in particular.”
“I don’t know,” Leslie said with resignation. “I wish I could be more positive about this woman, since you obviously care for her. But I think you should be careful.”