She gathered up her notes and shoved them into her pocket. Then making her way down the hall, she stopped in front of Dr. McMurray’s office. Arriving there, she ventured inside of the closed door where the older woman, who was the Department of Trauma Services’ Secretary, greeted Garrett. Her appointment time being confirmed, the Trauma Fellow was directed to knock on Dr. McMurray’s door, as he was expecting her.


She never was one for offering prayers to the gods above, but something deep within her made her stop and lift her eyes heavenward. "Okay," she sighed. ‘I need all the help I can get. I know that Danni would be asking for your help if she were here with me. So maybe you could pretend that it’s her asking for it and not me. Please, let him go along with this proposal.’


Garrett raised her hand and knocked on the door to his office. When she heard the command to enter, she took a deep breath and paused. It had been a long time since she had prayed, but suddenly she remembered the only formal thing about prayer from her youth. As a final measure of her sincerity to her belief in her cause, she glanced upward and whispered. "Oh, I almost forgot…Amen." With that done, she nodded politely to the secretary at her desk before she entered into the realm of authority, the Chief of Trauma Services office.


Garrett scanned the room, letting her memory stir with tidbits of information that she had learned about the numerous photographs that graced the room over her many meetings with her mentor. Each time she had come away with a new fact or two that would relate to the stories behind one of the photos. It was almost like part of her time in his office was dedicated to those pictures. They were reminders of his life, not hers, but they always seemed to hold her interest. It was almost like he was trying to convey some special knowledge to her each time he chose a photo to talk about.


Her attention now turned to the man who was seated in the high-backed chair that swiveled freely behind the desk opposite her. The smug look upon his face almost made her think that he had been expecting this session with her for a long time. It was only a little over four months since she had started her year of Fellowship here, but it seemed like she had spent her whole learning experience inside of this office. Some of her most valued learning experiences always seemed to involve this man and his unique outlook on life.


"Come on in, Dr. Trivoli, have a seat." The Ol’Cutter motioned to the chair in front of his desk. "I’ve been waiting to hear what you have to talk about."


Garrett crossed the room and sat down, her hand pushed into her pocket with the notes at her fingertips. She smiled at him and nodded in his direction, "Thanks, sir."


There was a silence as she collected her thoughts trying to decide just where to start with her proposal. "Sir, I’ve been thinking about the way we handle the families of the trauma patients. I’ve had the occasion to take care of a family where all the patients expired, except for a lone family member. I was wondering if there wasn’t something that we could offer or do to help the trauma stop with the loss of the relatives and not continue on to the survivor."


"What? You want to take them to surgery remove their heart or memories so that they won’t grieve or miss them?" His voice was gruff and taunting.


"Why, no sir! That would be ridiculous, absurd even." Her eyes were wide with shock at what he was saying. "I was thinking more in the line of counseling and support groups that would let them know that they’re not the only ones to have gone through such a horrific experience." She watched for any sign of consideration in his bulldogish face. Seeing none, the surgeon continued. "It could eventually take the place of the family that they would be lacking. Not in any real sense, but rather in the means of mental support, that they are not as alone as they think they are."


McMurray eyed her. He could see that for some reason this was of particular interest to the stoic woman whom he had taken under his wing. ‘Finally I see some emotions expressed on her face. Could it be…’


"Dr. McMurray, I’ve been researching the resources and think that with a little cooperation from some of the other Departments in the hospital, we could really do something good for these people." Her face was earnest and full of conviction to her cause.


His eyes darted up at her. His full attention was now on her face. "What did you say?" His voice snapped. "Did I just hear you use a pleural pronoun?" He leaned forward squinting hard at her. "Who put you up to something like this?"


"Why no one, sir." Her body took on a defensive position and she returned his stare. "I came up with the idea while Danni…er…I mean Nurse Bossard and I were discussing a situation that we were both very familiar with. We thought that it might be an extension of the trauma services that we now offer."


He rose abruptly from his seated position and pushed off of the desk. He strode out from around his desk and started looking at the wall full of photographs with his hands clasped behind his back. Several moments went by before he stood frozen to one picture. His hands slowly came around from behind his body and reached out to grab the photograph on the wall. His breath was slow and labored as he mulled over his thoughts, his fingers sweeping the expanse of the large, framed, group photo. With his attention still glued to the picture in front of him, McMurray began to speak. "Garrett, have I ever told you about my days in the Appalachian Foothills?"


"Why no sir, you haven’t." She turned to look at him. His arm was motioning for her to come over to where he was standing. She rose and moved closer to where he stood transfixed to the photograph.


"I went up to the Appalachian Foothills on a bet with a buddy of mine in surgery. My wife told me that things were different in the backwoods but I was a damn bullhead and took the bet, sure that I would win. Back in those days a fifty-dollar bet was nothing to walk away from, especially if you knew it was a cinch to win. Heck, that was my monthly payment on the loans from medical school," he reminisced. He glanced over at her. "So, what’s the going monthly rate now on that education?"


"I’m sorry sir, I wouldn’t know. I enlisted in the Navy for the three years and they took care of the debt."


"Hmm…Wish I’d thought of that. Three years…is that all?"


"Well, I’m on a list that if anything happened and they needed me back, I’d have to go."


"Oh, I see." He grunted. "How long are you at the government’s beck and call?"


She thought about what he was asking. "Only a few years. Is there a problem with that?"


"No, I knew you were smart. That’s one way to cover your debt." He turned back to the photograph. "See that guy there," he pointed to a slim boy with oversized clothing, his eyes gaunt and lifeless. "He was one of the most knowledgeable people I have ever met. He doesn’t look it, but he would pick-up anything that I offered in a teaching session, trying to bring their level of personal hygiene out of the dark ages." He reached out to touch his image, then hesitated. "He never had the chance to go to school or learn the ways of the world as we know it. His daily chores were just to stay alive and have something to eat."


"Did you try to help him break out of the lifestyle?" She watched the older surgeon as he thought about the boy. His face was a mixture of regret and self-inflicted pain.


"I tried, but the week after I came home he died from a ruptured appendix. They don’t have doctors up there on any regular basis, at least not then." He paused and sniffed trying to collect his emotions before continuing. "I found out a month later when I went back to give him the books that I had gathered together for him to learn how to read. I was devastated at what had transpired while I was gone."


"I’m sorry to hear that. How were you to know what might happen?"


McMurray was back in control again, his voice crisp and clear. "My wife told me to never pass up an opportunity to help someone when it came along." He looked Garrett straight in the eye. "She’s right, you know. Women like her are always right. Better learn that now, Dr. Trivoli."


"Yes, sir. I think I am already." She thought back to the early morning hours that nightmarish Sunday, back at the cabin. Danni had been the one to suggest that she try to help Diana Morgan. ‘I’m learning to rely on her judgment more and more.’ "So does that mean you’ll consider our idea?"


The Ol’Cutter looked her over as she stood with her hand still pressed inside of her pocket. "I don’t see any formally written proposal. Do you want me to go to bat for you and your idea with nothing to show but a few words to speak to the committee? Don’t you think that would be a problem?"


She fingered the notes in her pocket. "Why no, I haven’t written a proposal."


"Then do it," he snapped. "I want every aspect of this idea worked out on paper. I’ll need all the facts, the who, the where, the how, everything." He smiled coyly. "That damn leech of an E.R. Chief, Ian McCormick is always hounding me to do a joint project with his department. Do you think that you could figure someone in from the E.R. too? Say, maybe that Nurse Bossard, or haven’t you allowed her back into your trauma rooms yet?"


Garrett could sense the teasing in his voice. She knew he watched those trauma room videotapes every morning. She had learned her lesson from him more than once about that night. The image of the blonde nurse crept into her mind from this morning when she voiced her wish to help in this project. "Yes, sir. She’s back. I was a fool that night and I told her so later. I…I think that she would be happy to work with me on this project." The surgeon smiled in her confidence of Danni’s interest.