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Yoga, Pilates, and book clubs. Phoebe was into kickboxing, but Lisa found it too violent. She’d seen enough violence in her life.
    Phoebe dragged Lisa to lectures on personal growth and spirituality, and she was constantly after Lisa to join her in the evenings at the dance clubs.
    “Astrology, Phoebe,” Lisa said , “you must be kidding.”
    “Who would have believed,” Phoebe said, as she rifled through reams of papers and charts. “Some of this stuff is right on. Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll grow out of it.”
     
    Nevada City was too close to Chico to excuse not going home from time to time. After each visit, Lisa’s mother’s image faded like a photo kept in the sun too long. Rudy, in every way, except for his mouth, was diminished. From the very moment she arrived, she counted the days until her departure.
    “Why don’t you come and spend a week or so with me in Chico, Mom?” Lisa asked. “We have plenty of room.”
    “Oh, I couldn’t do that. Who’d take care of your father?”
    “Please, Mother, think about it. I’ll pay for someone to come in and take care of him.” Lisa said, and then grasped Sandy’s hands . “You deserve a break, you know.”
    “I’ll think about it,” Sandy said.
    Lisa knew she’d never do it.
     
    After graduation, Phoebe took an ICU position at Brier Hospital in Berkeley.
     
    With Lisa’s high grades, and her contacts at Enloe Medical Center, they offered her a position on the pediatric ward following graduation. Lowest on the totem pole, she worked the night shift, but found sleeping in the daytime nearly impossible. Working nights, however, allowed her to take additional courses that went toward her ultimate goal, neonatal intensive care. Eventually, when she put the course work behind, Lisa would find an NICU position in Chico, or somewhere else.
     
    Lisa had her head down on the table in the nurse’s lounge.
    This night shift is going to kill me.
    The intercom buzzed, and the ward clerk said, “Dr. Whitney is on his way up with a new admission. Your turn.”
    Lisa had been on the pediatric ward for three months. It had only taken a week for her to discover, by observation or reputation, which pediatricians were trouble. Sheldon Whitney was, by acclamation, pediatric enemy number one.
    “Watch out for him,” Annie Katz, the pediatric head nurse said. “Let the charge nurse know if you see anything peculiar in his care of babies.”
    “He seems nice enough,” Lisa said. “He’s been practicing for forty years, hasn’t he?”
    “That may be a decade too long,” Annie said. “Watch out for him.”
    Lisa worked with him on several cases , and, except for a patrician and dismissive attitude, she’d seen no problems. His attitude matched his appearance. He was tall and thin with a full head of grey hair combed back. He dressed beautifully, and, even in the middle of the night, wore a jacket and tie.
    When Lisa entered room 212, she had to force her way through a group of six or seven adults to get to the crib.
    Jessica Kern, a two month old, screamed while her mother, Judy, tried to pacify her with soothing sounds and rocking. The father, David, stood by her shoulder.
    “Please,” Lisa said, “just the immediate family.” Turning to Judy, she added, “Please put the baby in the crib so I can examine her.”
    “Where’s Shelly—I mean, Dr. Whitney?”
    “He’s on his way.”
    Lisa examined the baby carefully. Her pulse and respirations were increased , and she had a temperature of 103.4 degrees. Her skin was flushed, and her cry, though dramatic, wasn’t particularly strong.
    This is one sick kid .
    Lisa called the lab , and had a set of routine blood drawn, including blood cultures for bacterial infection.
    After the lab tech left the room, Whitney entered.
    Judy grasped Whitney’s hand. “Oh, Shelly, I’m so glad you’re here.”
    “Now, now, take it easy. I’ll have a peek.”
    Whitney looked up at Lisa.
    She opened Jessica’s chart