Jonathan Kellerman - Heartbreak Hotel

Ruben Eagle, a fine doctor and sterling human being, was no orator. But what his speech lacked in dynamism it made up for in sincerity. His eyes moistened as he held up the giant check facsimile created by the hospital’s public relations office. Impressive thing, full of zeros, Thalia’s signature a faithful reproduction.

Ruben spoke a little longer than he needed to, informing the audience — members of the hospital board, development honchos, the pediatricians who worked for him, residents and fellows not on call, a few med school deans, Robin, Milo, and myself — what a blessing Thalia had been for the department. How that blessing would grow in years to come. How this changed so much.

Several children — long-healed patients — had also been invited, along with their parents. Personalizing the good works the Outpatient Division did every day. They stood to the side, intimidated by suits and white coats.

But two of the kids, a boy and a girl, got to hold the giant check and a second girl was in charge of hoisting an enlarged photo of Thalia.

Black-and-white image, shot at Perino’s.

Leroy Hoke and Jack McCandless. A Martini glass cropped out, leaving the unlined, bright-eyed pixie face of a beautiful, happy young woman.