Don't Go

by Lisa Scottoline

“So, what do you think about Emily staying here? It’s a no-brainer, right?” Sara shrugged. “What’s better than family?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mike walked down the carpeted hallway to his office. He wanted to stop by, since his group partners had been emailing him about changes in the practice, and he could see immediately what they meant. The sign at the glass entrance read:

  SUBURBAN FOOT & ANKLE, LLC, SPECIALIZING IN FOOT & ANKLE RECONSTRUCTION

  DR. JAMES D. HAGGERTY, DPM, FACFAS

  DR. ANTHONY M. MAZZACARO, DPM, FACFAS

  DR. MICHAEL J. SCANLON, DPM, FACFAS

  DR. DAVID M. WATERMAN, DPM, FACFAS

  But underneath was an addition:

  LYON & HAGGERTY, LLC, SPORTS MEDICINE

  DR. RICHARD A. LYON, DPM, FACFAS

  DR. JAMES D. HAGGERTY, DPM, FACFAS

  Mike opened the door, which led to an entrance hall that had been redecorated, even since he’d deployed. The walls had been painted bright orange and plastered with felt banners from Lower Merion, Haverford, and Great Valley High Schools. Underneath was a yellow ribbon that read, WE HONOR OUR ARMY RESERVIST, DR. MIKE! HOME SAFE SOON!

  He walked through a new door into a reception area that had been completely reconfigured, almost half the size. The reception desk was still there, though he didn’t recognize the receptionist, a young girl with a ponytail. “May I help you?” she asked, looking up attentively.

  “I’m Mike Scanlon.”

  “And who do you have an appointment with today?” The receptionist started hitting keys on her keyboard, her attention shifting to the computer screen.

  “I’m the Dr. Scanlon on the door. Call me Mike.”

  “Oh no, sorry. Awkward!” The receptionist grimaced, giggled, and covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m Julie Mura.”

  “Hi, Julie. Are Jim or the others around, or in surgery?”

  “Dr. Haggerty’s in. Let me get him or see if there’s somebody over there that can help you.”

  “That’s okay, I know where I’m going.” Mike opened the door to the examining rooms, but he’d spoken too soon. The hallway used to lead to a circle of examining rooms, but only two were left, then there was a new wall, but he had no idea what was on the other side. The construction must have been recent because he could practically smell the drywall.

  “Mike, is that you?” asked a voice behind him, and he turned around to see one of their nurses, Susie. “Mike, I’m so sorry about Chloe.”

  “Thanks.” Mike gave her a brief hug, glad to see a familiar face. She looked like she’d lost weight, slimmer in scrubs covered with pink ribbons. “You got so skinny, didn’t you?”

  “Thirty pounds off, thanks.” Susie released him with a teary smile. “I’ll be there tomorrow night, with everybody.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.” Mike didn’t want to dwell. “What’s going on here? Everything looks different.”

  “I know, right? It’s a brave new world, now that we started with the sports. This is the great divide.” Susie patted the new wall. “I call it West Berlin, but the new people are too young to know what I’m talking about.”

  “Where’s my office? Where are any of the doctors’ offices?”

  “There’s only one office now, and you share it. We boxed up your things carefully, don’t worry, and you’ll have your own file cabinet.”

  Mike shrugged it off. “I guess we don’t really need our offices, anyway.”

  “That’s what Jim said, and did you see the child at the reception desk? Tanika moved to Cleveland, and Jim had to let Marilyn and Lorene go. Welcome to the recession.”

  “That’s too bad.” Mike’s partners had written about the diminishing caseload, with patients putting off elective surgeries because of the economy. He’d still gotten his base share though he hadn’t known it came at the expense of the staff. “Where’s Jim?”

  “Follow me.” Susie bustled ahead, and Mike fell into step beside her.

  “How’s Tony and Dave?”

  “Good. Tony’s in surgery, and Dave’s in with a patient.” Susie pressed through the wood door, and Mike slipped through behind her, surprised. The hallway emptied into a bustling space painted the same orange as the entrance hall and blanketed with team photographs. Susie rolled her eyes. “Smells like team spirit.”

  “We have new staff here, too?” Mike asked, as nurses hurried in and out of examining rooms. One rolled past a new portable x-ray machine, which had to cost a fortune.

  “Dr. Lyon brought a lot of his people.” Susie walked ahead. “Let’s find Jumbo.”

  Suddenly the door to an examining room opened, and Jim stepped out, file in hand. He was a big blond bear of a man, in his late thirties, though his hair was thinning. His back was to Mike, and he was talking to his patients, a mom and a young son.

  “Now stay off that foot, even though it’s in the cast, you got me? Go Aces!” Jim shut the door, turned around, and opened his arms when he spotted Mike. “Oh, buddy, you’re home. I’m so sorry about Chloe.”

  “Thanks.” Mike hugged him back, trying not to choke up. They’d been in practice together for almost ten years, during which he and Chloe had become good friends with Jim and his wife, Laura.

  “Laura’s been on the phone with Danielle. We can’t believe that Chloe’s gone. I got a second, want to talk?”

  “Sure, thanks.” Mike felt his throat tighten. “If you’re busy, I get it.”

  “No this is important, I want to see you. I got one case, then I get a break.” Jim opened the door of an empty examining room and motioned him inside. “Here. Be right back.”

  Susie squeezed his arm. “Mike, I gotta get back to work. See you tomorrow. I’ll say a prayer for you and the baby.”

  “Thanks.” Mike went in, shut the door behind him, and sat down across from the examining table. Posters of young runners and soccer players lined the wall, and opposite him were glossy brochures titled Cleat Selection, Running Shoes and You, and Orthotics Aren’t Those Things on Your Teeth. He tried to wrap his mind around the changes here. They didn’t need his permission under their partnership agreement to rearrange the offices, and Jim knew how to pinch a construction penny, coming from a working-class upbringing like Mike. Still he wondered what Tony and Dave thought of the new sports-medicine practice, since they’d ended up on the outs.

  Jim burst into the room. “Sorry about that, Mike. The kid’s in X-ray so I’m good for a few minutes.”

  “No worries.” Mike sat up, as Jim rolled over a stool, sat down, and looked at him with concern.

  “So, I’m still in shock, man. How the hell are you doing?”

  “Not so great.”

  “I believe it.” Jim shook his head, stricken. “She’s gone, just like that. I don’t how you deal, I don’t know how I would. It must feel like the rug got taken out from under you.”

  “And the baby, too.”

  “Right.” Jim’s eyes flared. They were large and wide-set, a pale blue set against his fair, ruddy skin. “What are you going to do about the baby? Laura said Danielle and Bob want to take her.”

  “They do, she just made the offer today. I think I’m saying yes.”

  “Hell yeah, I’d take them up on it, no question. How you gonna find anybody better?” Jim talked fast, in the flat accent of Northeast Philly. “I couldn’t do half the things I’m doing here if I had to worry about childcare. You need that on autopilot. Otherwise, it’s a hassle, your turn to pick up, my turn to pick up, is the nanny sick, is the nanny doing drugs, having guys over, whatever. Who needs that? Don’t overthink it.”

  Jim’s rap on Mike was that he thought too much, but Mike liked that in a surgeon. “Family is the short answer, isn’t it?”

  “Sure, need us to help with anything? We’ll be there tomorrow night.” Jim raked a hand through his hair, then patted it down. “Bob was the one who called us and told us the news. Laura answered and got hysterical, of course. I would think somebody would hear Chloe calling fo
r help, or that she’d come to in time to call 911.”

  Mike wondered if he should tell Jim about the drinking, but let him keep talking.

  “I’m like, she’s dead? You have to be kidding me, this is impossible, this woman was perfectly healthy, so full of life, you know, we all loved her, even the kids. Remember she taught Courtney calligraphy and I had to buy that two-hundred-dollar calligraphy set from Tokyo or wherever?”

  “Kyoto.”

  “Whatever.” Jim rubbed his face, making faint marks. “Chloe was way too young to die, and it’s just so weird the way it happened. I know this is hard to hear, but if I were you, I’d get ahold of that damn autopsy.” He raised an unruly eyebrow, his reddish-gray hairs a tangle. “I’d want to know exactly how it happened. I swear, she musta had a hairline fracture, something pre-existing, for a knock on the counter to do her in. Maybe an earlier concussion, one she didn’t know about, or even an aneurysm. What do you think?”

  Mike needed a sounding board and he would swear Jim to secrecy, even from Laura. He was just about to tell him when Jim’s phone rang.

  “Hold on a sec.” Jim slid his BlackBerry from the pocket of his lab coat and pressed the IGNORE button. “Sorry, day from hell. Go away.” He looked back up at Mike. “Anyway, so, where were we, hey, what do you think about the place?”

  Mike changed his mind about telling him, at least for now. The moment had passed. “What gives? So we renting to this Lyon guy or what?”

  “Okay, so Rick Lyon, he’s a good guy, outta D.C., I’d introduce you but he’s giving a seminar, beating the bushes. Anyway, I met him a couple months ago at Parents’ Night, his son’s in Alex’s class, and he starts telling me that kids’ sports injuries are blowing up, especially with the travel teams and everybody wanting scholarship money in the economy, the girls, too. I’m like, how do we get in on that, because our business is dropping off.”

  Listening, Mike realized that Jim was just another Chatty, a superhero in charge, and he was the second banana here, too. The funny thing was, he didn’t mind. Maybe that was why he felt comfortable being the understudy, as a father. He didn’t like the spotlight. He didn’t want to be the sun.

  “And of course, I’m seeing a problem down the line, because my mama didn’t raise no dummy, that people are putting off the bunionectomies because of the money.” Jim barely took a breath. “Lyon’s telling me he needs room in the western subs to expand, and I’m like, I got room and we can do that with our eyes closed, it’s the same procedures in a sports-medicine wrapper. So now the cases are through the roof, and the system administrators in Philly are starting to take notice…”

  Mike zoned out as Jim went through the metrics about how they made so much the past quarter, on top of base shares. He sensed that Jim was just trying to avoid any silences, and all of it used to be so important to Mike. It mattered less to him now, and maybe that was called perspective. Chloe had died because he wasn’t here, and on the other side of the world, soldiers were dying because he wasn’t there.

  Jim touched his arm, in a final sort of way. “But you don’t need to know all this now. We can talk about it when you get back.”

  “Okay, but why did you let Lorene and Marilyn go? If money’s a problem, I won’t take my base cut.”

  “Stop, St. Michael.” Jim waved his meaty hand. “It wasn’t the money. Marilyn was slacking, and Lorene asked for a raise, which so wasn’t happening, then she gave me attitude.”

  “Are Tony and Dave on board, with all these changes? They emailed me that the practice is down.”

  “Sure, they’re fine, both making bonuses over base. Now tell me you’re safe over there.”

  “I’m safe.” Mike thought of the yellow ribbon on the door. “What’s with the sign, Dr. Mike, all that?”

  “What? Why?” Jim recoiled. “We’re proud of you, man.”

  Mike remembered that Jim found a way to let the media know when he was deployed and the local newspaper had done a feature on him. “And it’s good for business.”

  “So, why not?” Jim shrugged it off jovially. “We are proud of you, really, but if you don’t like it, I’ll take it down.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “So what’s it like over there? You gotta take care of yourself. I mean it, you better come back in one piece, for my sake. I don’t have a lot of friends. I’m straight-up annoying.”

  “I know.” Mike rose, and so did Jim, touching him again on the back.

  “You get to shoot anybody or they chain you to the table? I’d love to go over there and light up the Taliban. Hoo-ah!”

  “The docs don’t say hoo-ah, Jim.”

  “Why not, man? I would. I’d go over there like Rambo, saying hoo-ah all the time. Hoo-ah to my heart’s content. Say it for me, soldier boy.”

  “Hoo-ah,” Mike said, to humor him. “Last question. Why the orange?”

  “You mean on the walls?” Jim smiled. “The orange was chosen because no local high school team has orange in its school colors. I figured that out myself. We can’t play favorites, these kids take this seriously, and the parents do, too. One kid told me the worst part of the game is driving home in the car with his mom. Anyway, orange. It was my idea.” Jim pointed to his chest proudly. “Not just another pretty face, this one.”

  “No, not at all,” Mike said, and they laughed. It felt good to be silly for a minute.

  Because Mike knew where he had to go, next.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’m Mike Scanlon,” he said to the young funeral director, who materialized from a side door. The entrance hall was otherwise empty and quiet, with navy blue carpet and blue-and-gold-flecked wallpaper.

  “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Scanlon. Scott Beeberman.” The young man extended a slim hand. He was of slight build in a dark suit, with a patterned tie and jelled hair. “My father told me to expect you. My condolences on your loss.”

  “Thank you, and for your help with my wife.”

  “Of course, your brother-in-law was here today, selecting one of our caskets. The Embassy, a cherry model. He said you would be fine with that, but if there’s a problem, please feel free to inform me. Here, come with me.” Scott started walking, and Mike fell into step beside him, down a hallway lined with cushioned benches and tasteful landscapes. Scott kept talking, in a quiet tone. “We have set aside a room for you on the lower level, and you can stay as long as you like.”

  “Thank you.” Mike realized that he and Chloe were under the same roof for the first time in six months.

  “In addition, if you’re unhappy in any way with your wife’s appearance, please feel to let me know that, as well. We did use a photograph that your brother-in-law supplied to us, which was very helpful.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know.” Mike glanced over as they passed a podium with a padded guest book, next to a white pen molded to look like a quill.

  “We find we get better results and our families are generally pleased. Do you have any questions?”

  “Yes, a few.” Mike swallowed hard. “She was autopsied, correct?”

  “Yes.” Scott didn’t bat an eye. “But I think you’ll be pleased with her appearance, and it’s absolutely fine to have an open casket. You’ll see what I mean.”

  “Can I get the results of the autopsy?”

  “We don’t have the report, but I can make you a copy of the death certificate.”

  “Thank you. Is there a police report, too?”

  “There would be, for a fatality, but we don’t have a copy of that, either.”

  “I see.” They reached a landing and descended side-by-side, and Mike reached for the polished banister, suddenly weak in the knees. They reached the lower floor, which he realized was a euphemism for the basement.

  “Please, this way.” Scott walked him down a hallway lined with closed doors, stopped at the middle one, and gestured to a cushioned bench against the wall. “Please have a seat, and I’ll get that information you requested. This way, I won’t interrupt
you, later. My office is on this level, and I won’t be a moment.” Scott glided off, and Mike tried to get his act together. He couldn’t believe he was sitting outside the room where Chloe lay, in a casket. He felt oddly as if he were waiting for her, a sensation that wasn’t unfamiliar.

  Are you ready yet? Mike was in the bedroom, switching off the TV. Chloe was in the bathroom finishing her makeup, but they were late for dinner with his partners.

  Chloe had come out finally. Well? How do I look?

  Her eyes were as blue as forget-me-nots, and a light tan tinted her fine nose and high cheekbones. Her face was the shape of a heart, and her lips smiled a Cupid’s bow, glossy pink. Her dark blonde hair hung wavy to her shoulders, and she had on her favorite white dress, which showed off slim, tan legs. She was the most naturally beautiful woman he had ever seen, like some wildflower.

  “Dr. Scanlon, here we are.” Scott reappeared and handed Mike an envelope. “Your wife’s death certificate is inside, and so is her cell phone. Your brother-in-law must have left it. Shall we go in now or would you like a moment?”

  “I’m ready,” Mike answered, though he was anything but.

  “Allow me.” Scott opened the door into a medium-sized room with the same blue rug and wallpaper, and a walnut credenza. “There’s a house phone and bottled water, for your convenience. I’ll check on you in twenty minutes, but if you finish sooner or need me, please pick up the phone. Any other questions?”

  “Yes.” Mike faced the credenza, because it was easier than facing the front of the room with Chloe’s casket. He still couldn’t look over at her body. “I know there was a knife wound. Can you give me some details?”

  “I think you’ll be pleased with the repair. You shouldn’t be able to see anything.”

  “I mean the details.” Mike wasn’t overly concerned with Chloe’s appearance, but Scott lifted an eyebrow.

  “Pardon me?”

  “How deep was the wound, how long was it, how did you repair it? I want to know everything, as much as possible.” Mike wanted to know what he could because there was so much he’d never know, like about the drinking. “Did you see any old injury on her head, by any chance?”