“That is absolute crap, Steve Whitman. I'm doing my job, and trying to find a house for us. This isn't easy for either of us, but if you're going to be stupid about it, and make insane accusations about Cal Dow, you're going to make it even harder. He's my boss. What do you expect me to do? Refuse to see him?” She was making sense, but he still didn't like the situation.

“No … I guess not … I just hate having you so far away. It's harder than I thought. I thought you'd be home every weekend. I didn't realize I'd be seeing you once a month. This just isn't working.” He suddenly sounded depressed more than angry.

“I know, baby. I'll be home next weekend, come hell or high water. I promise,” she said gently.

“You'd better.”

“I'll be there.”

And when she started to get a cold on Thursday night, she didn't say a word. She just loaded up on pills the next day, and got on the flight. But by the time she got to New York, she was coughing, had a pounding headache, and an earache. And when she got to the apartment, she looked awful. She had gotten stuck at the office and missed the earlier flight. She didn't land at Kennedy till midnight.

Steve had dinner waiting for her, and a bottle of champagne, and it was one A.M. when she walked in the door, and all she wanted was her bed, but she sat at dinner with him, and drank champagne, and pretended to feel better than she did. But he could see she was feeling lousy. He was dying to make love to her, but she ached all over by the time she got into bed, even her skin hurt, and when he touched her, he could tell she had a fever.

“Poor baby,” he said, feeling sorry for her. He took her temperature and she had 101.4. He gave her Tylenol, and tucked her in, but in the morning she felt worse instead of better.

“You probably shouldn't have flown,” he said, feeling guilty.

“You'd have killed me if I hadn't come home,” she said, coughing.

“You're right. I probably would have.” He smiled at her.

She spent the whole weekend in bed. By Sunday the fever was down, and they went for a walk on Sunday afternoon, and he seemed depressed, although they had finally made love that morning. But neither of them was in great spirits. She was planning to take the last flight to San Francisco that night, and get in late, but she'd be at her office in the morning.

“It's only for another seven weeks,” she reminded him, as he cooked her dinner, but she wasn't hungry. She picked at it, in order to please him.

“It seems like forever,” he said grimly. And it did, to both of them, but there was nothing they could do about it. They just had to grit their teeth and get through it.

She wasn't planning to come back until two weeks later, for Thanksgiving. They had promised to go to the Lucases’ for dinner.

Steve took her to the airport that night, and gave her some decongestants before she got on the plane, and she kissed him good-bye, still looking miserable. And he looked even worse when he went back to the apartment. It was a lonely life for him now, and missing her was almost a physical ache. He lay in their bed and nearly cried when he smelled her perfume and shampoo on his pillow.

“How was the weekend?” Cal asked when she came into the office on Monday. She looked terrible, and she was coughing and sneezing. The flight had made her cold worse, and she felt awful.

“Pretty lousy,” she said honestly, “I was sick, and Steve was unhappy. I wasn't much fun. It was just bad luck I got sick before I went,” she said miserably.

“I'm sorry, Merrie. You'd better take care of yourself. This commuting is hard on you and we've got some big meetings coming up this week.”

“I know. I'll be fine,” she reassured him, but she felt rotten all week, and spent the next weekend in bed. The last thing she needed was to be too sick to fly over Thanksgiving. She knew Steve would never forgive her, and she didn't want to miss the holiday with him.

Cal had invited her to spend Thanksgiving with them, in case she didn't plan to go home, but she assured him that she was spending it in New York with her husband.

“Just so you're not alone here,” he said kindly, and she thanked him. He was very good to her. He had every interest in keeping her happy. He wanted her to stay at Dow Tech forever.

The next week flew by, what there was of it. No one did much work before the holiday, and on Wednesday afternoon she flew to New York as planned. She was over her cold, and looking forward to Thanksgiving. Steve had said he'd meet her at the airport, but he wasn't there, and she paged him when she got back to the apartment. He returned her call an hour later.

“You're not going to believe this,” he said grimly. “There was a subway fire at rush hour this afternoon. And they sent everyone to us. No fatalities, but I'm dealing with some mighty sick people. I'm not going to get out of here till tomorrow.”

“Don't worry about it,” she said cheerfully, “I'm here. I'll be here whenever you can come home.”

“I should be off by tomorrow morning. The chief resident is going to cover for me and Harvey, so we can at least have Thanksgiving. Poor bastard, I know what that's like.”

But the chief resident's six-year-old son managed to get a ruptured appendix at midnight. And neither Harvey Lucas nor Steve had the heart to force him to come on duty. The kid was really sick, in another hospital naturally, and he wanted to be with him. And Lucas hadn't been well all week. There was no one to run the show except Steven.

Steve sounded near tears when he called her. “I'm stuck here,” he said bluntly. “I can't get out, Merrie.” She hesitated for a moment, these days it was such a big deal when either of them couldn't get free. It was as though they were walking on eggs now. But she recovered quickly, for his sake.

“Don't worry about it. I'll bring you turkey dinner.”

“How are you going to manage that?” He sounded startled.

“I'll figure out something,” she promised. And true to her word, she showed up with a roast chicken she'd bought at a deli on Second Avenue, potato salad, stuffing, and cranberry sauce, at two o'clock that afternoon, and they ate it on paper plates in his office. She had even bought pumpkin pie, and he smiled as he looked at their makeshift meal and then kissed her.

“You're pretty terrific,” he said, holding her, as a nurse walked by and smiled. They were cute together.

“You're not so bad yourself,” Meredith smiled at him. They managed to get a whole hour to themselves before Steve had to go into surgery with a patient with a gunshot wound in the groin. His patients managed to shoot each other, even on Thanksgiving.

“I'll be home when I can,” he promised. And he finally made it on Friday morning. And for the rest of the weekend, they had three uninterrupted days together.

They went to movies, and held hands, they made love and slept late. They even went skating at Rockefeller Center. It was just what they needed, and they both felt renewed again when she got on the plane on Sunday night. He stood in the airport and kissed her, and they looked like young lovers.

“I had a great weekend, Merrie. Thank you,” he whispered.

“Me too,” she said, and kissed him again. And she had to tear herself away to leave him. He had promised to fly out to see her the next weekend. They only had five weeks left before he moved out, four if he could leave before Christmas. Their apartment hadn't sold yet, but there were some people who were interested and hadn't made their mind up. But the Thanksgiving they'd shared had given each of them the strength they needed to get through the last stretch of their seemingly interminable separation. She had been living in California without him for six weeks now.

And the good feelings they'd shared over the holiday carried them through the next few days. Meredith was still floating on air when he called her on Thursday.

“Are you sitting down?” he asked. She couldn't imagine what he was going to say. Maybe that he'd sold their apartment for twice the asking. It had to be good news the way he said it.

“Sure. Why?” she asked with a smile.

“I just lost the job in California.” She felt as though a bomb had hit her.

“What? Are you kidding? This is a joke, right?”

“This is no joke. The guy who was leaving, the number-one guy, isn't. He changed his mind. And they can't force him to leave. They're probably the only trauma unit in the world that's overstaffed. They can't make room for me.” He sounded devastated, which was exactly how she was feeling. “I called all the other hospitals I saw, and all they have is a spot as low man on the ER team at SF General.” And Meredith couldn't bear the thought of his doing something like that. The job in the East Bay had been so perfect. “They were very apologetic about it, when they called from the East Bay. But they can't ask the guy to leave, and besides, they don't want to. They love him.”

“Oh shit, Steve. What are we going to do now?”

“I don't know. Wait, I guess. There's nothing else we can do. Something will come along eventually. And in the meantime, I can stay here. Lucas was thrilled when I told him.”

“He would be. I don't know what to say, sweetheart. I never thought that would happen.” If she had thought it wasn't a sure thing, she wouldn't have taken the job with Callan. Now they were stuck with a miserable situation.

She told Cal about it late that afternoon, when they finished a meeting.

“That's terrible. Why don't you let me make some calls and see what I can do?” But his conclusion the next day was what Steve's had been. There seemed to be no opening for him anywhere at the moment, unless he wanted to take a far more junior position. And Cal told Meredith he didn't think Steve should do that. “He's just going to have to be patient.”