Silent Treatment Read Online Free

pain said cardiac. He understood his body, and he certainly understood pain. This pain was no big deal. And if it wasn’t his heart, he really didn’t give a damn where it was coming from.
    Harry knew his logic was flawed—diagnostic deduction he would never, ever apply to a patient. But like most physicians with physical symptoms, his denial was more powerful than any logic.
    Steve Josephson, jogging in the opposite direction, lumbered toward him.
    “Hey, you okay?” he asked.
    Still staring down at the banked cork track, Harry took a deep breath. The pain was gone, just like that. Gone. He waited a few seconds to be sure. Nothing. The smidgen of remaining doubt disappeared. Definitely not the ticker, he told himself again.
    “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, Steve,” he said. “You go ahead and finish.”
    “Hey, you’re the zealot who goaded me into this jogging nonsense in the first place,” Josephson said. “I’ll take any excuse I can get to stop.”
    He was sweating more profusely than Harry, although he had probably run half as far. Like Harry, Steve Josephson was a general practitioner—“family medicine specialists,” the bureaucrats had decided to name them. They were in solo practice, but shared night and weekend coverage with four other GPs. It was just after six-thirty in the morning—earlier than usual for their run. But this would be a busy and important day.
    At eight, following morning rounds and an emergency meeting of the family medicine department, the entire MMC staff would be convening in the amphitheater. After months of interviews and investigation, the task force charged with determining whether or not to reduce the privileges of GPs in the hospital was ready to present its findings. From the rumors Harry had tapped into, the recommendations of the Sidonis committee would be harsh—the professional equivalent of castration.
    With a portion of Harry’s income and a significant chunk of his professional respect on the line, the impending presentation was reason enough for the ulcers or muscle spasms, or whatever the hell had caused the strange ache. And even the committee report was not the foremost concern on his mind.
    “We’ve been running together three or four times a week for almost a year,” Josephson said, “and I’ve never seen you stop before your five miles were up.”
    “Well, Stephen, it just goes to show there’s a first time for everything.” Harry studied his friend’s worried face and softened. “Listen, pal, I’d tell you if it was anything. Believe me I would. I just don’t feel like running today. I’ve got too much on my mind.”
    “I understand. Is Evie going in tomorrow?”
    “The day after. Ben Dunleavy’s her neurosurgeon. He talks about clipping her cerebral aneurysm as if he was removing a wart or something. But I guess it’s what he does.”
    They moved off the track as the only other runners in the gym approached.
    “How’s she holding up?” Josephson asked.
    Harry shrugged. “All things considered, she seems pretty calm about it. But she can be pretty closed in about her feelings.”
    Closed in
. The understatement of the week, Harry mused ruefully. He couldn’t recall the last time Evie had shared feelings of any consequence with him.
    “Well, tell her Cindy and I wish her well, and that I’ll stop by to see her as soon as that berry is clipped.”
    “Thanks,” Harry said. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate hearing that.”
    In fact, he doubted that she would. As warm, bright, and caring as Steve Josephson was, Evie could never get past his obesity.
    “Did you ever listen to him breathe?” she had once asked as Harry was extolling his virtues as a physician. “I felt like I was trying to converse with a bull in heat. And those white, narrow-strapped tees he wears beneath his white dress shirts—pul-leese.…”
    “So, then,” Josephson said as they entered the locker room, “before we shower, why don’t you tell me