The Letter

by Mary Crawford

  “Don’t let where you work define your skills as a journalist. You simply had the bad luck to have the world’s worst boss your first job right out of college. It was the luck of the draw. It’s only a temporary setback on your career path.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself. But the whole sexual harassment mess was a while ago now and my career is still stuck in neutral. So, what does that say about me?”

  “Primarily, it says you’re not willing to move to a bigger market because you like living in the middle of nowhere and picking tomatoes from your neighbor’s garden,” Andre answers pointedly.

  I grin. “You’re not wrong. I’d just like to figure out how to win a Pulitzer from here.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ROCCO

  I GRIT MY TEETH AND try again. Glancing down at her name tag I say as calmly as I can, “No, Melodi, I’m not trying to get the information in Ms. Yoshida’s medical records, I’m trying to give it back to you.”

  “Why would you try to give us back your wife’s medical records?”

  “As I have explained four times, Ms. Yoshida is not my wife. No one has ever been my wife.”

  Melodi points to the letter. “It says right here she’s your wife.”

  “I know what it says — but that’s not the case. I think I would know if I’ve ever been married.”

  “Why aren’t you married? A cute guy like you? There must be something wrong with you. Are you some loser who can’t keep a job?”

  “No! I’m a paramedic!”

  “Ooh how sexy —” she coos as she reaches out to touch my beard.

  I back away. “Being a paramedic is lots of things. Sexy is not one of them.”

  “I read lots of those steamy romance novels. They have firefighters and paramedics all the time. The things their bodies can do are incredible. Their muscles have muscles. I bet you’re like that. I’d let you give me mouth-to-mouth anytime. It would be totally hot.”

  I clear my throat. “I’ve never actually read one of those books — but it sounds like they use more than a little artistic interpretation. Can we just try to figure out how to get Ms. Yoshida her medical records, please?”

  Her bottom lip pops out, and she looks a tad dejected. “So, you’re telling me not only are you not married to this lady, you don’t even know her?”

  I nod vigorously. “Exactly!”

  “So how come your name is on her medical records?”

  “I have no earthly clue. I was hoping you could tell me.”

  Melodi takes a few moments to study her computer screen. She goes to another computer and pulls up a different screen. Tucking a pen behind her ear, she walks back and forth between the two computers. Finally she looks up at me. “Where did you say you got these?”

  “Two days ago, I checked my mailbox and an envelope was in there. I hadn’t checked my mail in a few days because I’ve been working back-to-back shifts and I was exhausted. It could have been there for several days.”

  Melodi pulls the envelope from the stack of papers. “This is the envelope it came in?”

  “It is.”

  “That’s weird. We changed our stationary a couple of months ago. We have a new logo now.”

  “So? Maybe they were using up old stock.”

  “We were told to destroy the old stuff because they wanted a unified brand.”

  “Seems wasteful … but okay —”

  “You’ve got a big problem. Mallory Yoshida does not exist.”

  “What do you mean she doesn’t exist? This mammogram is from this hospital. This letter is issued from this radiology department. That’s your return address on the letter.”

  “All of that might be true — but Mallory Yoshida does not exist.”

  “Melodi, use your common sense. I looked at the disc. Those are someone’s breasts on the mammogram — someone who got a five on the BI-RADS scale. The radiologist is ninety-five percent sure she’s got cancer. Those are crappy odds if she goes untreated.”

  “You have no idea how much I wish I could help you. I’d love for you to owe me a favor. But if she doesn’t exist in our system, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “So that’s it?”

  “Well, look on the bright side. They were wrong about her being married to you — maybe they’re wrong about everything else too,” Melodi suggests as she shrugs.

  “Under the circumstances, I pray you’re right.”

  “Jaxson, if you’re finished laughing your butt off … I’m not kidding. Swing by my house when we’re done, and I’ll show you.”

  “Rocco, if this chick is real, don’t open yourself up to any more HIPPA violations by sharing.”

  I scrub my hand down my face. “Oh man, I wasn’t even thinking about this through the prism of privacy laws. I was more worried about getting her the information.”

  “Records says she doesn’t exist?”

  “Not a trace. Radiology can’t find her either.”

  “What about the radiologist who read the x-rays?”

  “He read the mammogram but has no memory of the specific case. He was zero help. This whole thing is hurting my professional reputation. People are questioning my sanity.”

  “If they’re just now starting to question your sanity, they haven’t known you long enough,” Jaxson quips.

  “Hilarious! Not necessarily wrong, but funny nonetheless.”

  “Okay, so no one can find your mysterious Mallory Yoshida. What if she really is an imaginary patient?”

  “Come again?” I ask. “I saw the films, remember?”

  “You saw films. But you didn’t necessarily see her films. They could’ve been manipulated like everything else in her file.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” I admit.

  “In medical school when we were learning clinical skills, we had imaginary patients with imaginary charts. We had to treat their imaginary illnesses and review their imaginary documentation and imaginary tests to come up with our imaginary diagnosis. You may have run across a sophisticated version of that in the real world.”

  “How would these files get mixed in with real medical records?”

  “I have no idea. I suppose it could be a crazy medical school prank or something. But it would explain how a patient could disappear off the planet.”

  “In theory, I guess you’re right. That would be the most logical explanation. Somehow, I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it.”

  “Rocco, for the sake of your career, stick to the facts you know. Save your emotions for when you play video games.”

  From the corner of the room, I hear Donda, Jaxson’s wife, snort with laughter. “Are you kidding me, Jax? What happened to you? When did you become such a fuddy-duddy?” She nods and laughs. “I’m here today because this guy followed a wild hunch and drove miles out of his way just to cross paths with me, remember? Jax didn’t just do it for one day; he followed me for weeks before we actually met.”

  I raise an eyebrow and look at Jaxson. “True?”

  He chuckles. “Busted.”

  “He also followed his gut when he diagnosed me with endocarditis. Jax didn’t follow any prescribed protocol. He just acted and saved my life.”

  Donda puts her drawing tablet down, walks over to the sideboard, and grabs a sticky pad. She pulls a number up in her phone and writes it down. As she squats down next to me, she looks me in the eyes. “I’m not telling you what to do. But, if you decide to look for this woman, Tobias Payne can work miracles. He works for a company called Identity Bank West. He was once missing, so he knows what it means to be found.”

  Something about Donda’s words touches the core of the issue for me. What if it’s already too late? The mammogram was done a couple months ago. I don’t know enough about breast cancer to know how aggressive her tumor might be. Despite the hospital’s insistence Mallory does not exist and Jaxson’s theory that she might be a fictitious patient used only for educational purposes, I know I must find Mallory Yoshida.r />
  “To be honest, when you told me you had someone you needed me to find, I figured it would be a challenge.” Toby says as he hands me a file. “I totally didn’t expect it to be somebody I already follow on social media.”

  “Seriously?” I ask as I try to remember to close my gaping mouth.

  “Yeah, Mallory Yoshida has a righteous crime column. She’s like a crusader against bad guys. She’s not exactly hidden.”

  “Are you sure it’s the same person?”

  “Well, as certain as I can be without talking to her. The demographics match — except for the fact that she’s not married to you, of course. A couple of years ago, her office threw her a quadranscentennial party.”

  “A what?”

  Toby laughs at my confusion. “I know. I had to look it up too. It means twenty-fifth anniversary. She works at an avant-garde online newspaper. They’re a little quirky. I guess it’s just another name for her twenty-fifth birthday.”

  “Oh wow! So, it actually could be her?”

  “The part I don’t get is why somebody her age would be getting a test like that. Isn’t it something somebody like my mom would do?” Toby asks as he turns slightly red.

  “Usually. But, maybe Mallory has a family history of cancer or something. I hope not. Cancer sucks.” I run my finger over the embossed logo on the file as I look up at Toby. “Okay, break the bad news to me. You told me she works at this quirky dot com company. Where do I have to go to track her down, New York or Silicon Valley?”

  Toby snickers. “Nothing so exotic. According to my sources, Mallory Yoshida lives in Sublimity. Word Soup PNW is headquartered in Salem.

  I lean back in my chair and blow out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I don’t know what to say. Great job, Toby. Thanks! Now I have to figure out what to do. I thought this process would take a long time and I’d have time to come up with a plan.”

  “I wish I had some great advice for you — I just don’t. I’m sorry, dude. She’ll probably hate you. There’s not much you can do about that. Even if you had great news to tell her, you’re still disrupting her world. Let’s face it, no matter how you dress it up, you don’t have great news. This is one of those situations where you go in and try to do as little damage as possible. I don’t think you get to be the hero here.”

  I stand up and shake Toby’s hand. “Thanks for the reality check. You’re right. I’ll be doing well to just minimize the damage in my wake. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”

  “I know this sounds stupid, but you seem to be kinda like me. Remember, you didn’t cause those cancer cells to grow. You’re just trying to make the problem better. You’re not responsible for Mallory’s well-being.”

  I glance at him in wide-eyed surprise. “Apparently, Mallory’s background isn’t the only one you researched thoroughly.”

  Toby shrugs. “At Identity Bank West, we can’t be too careful. Before we hand over private, personal information, we need to understand where it’s going.”

  “Understood. Thank you for trusting me.”

  “I know this will be hard. But the world needs more stand-up guys like you. Good luck.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MALLORY

  ANDRE COMPULSIVELY PICKS UP THE sandwich wrapper and the discarded bag of chips from around my computer and throws them in the trash. “Did you even step away from your computer all day? Go stretch your legs!” He shakes his head at me. When he sees a smear of mustard on my keyboard, he scowls at me. “What have I told you about eating at your desk?” He removes an antibacterial wipe from my bottom desk drawer. He looks back up at me. “I wasn’t kidding. Go! We’ll talk when you get back.”

  People in the office are standing up to look over their cubicles at the ruckus he is creating. With as much dignity as I can muster, I stand up and walk out of my office area. Granted, I've worked my way up to a corner cubicle, but it’s still a cubicle.

  After a short stop at the facilities, I walk to my favorite coffee shop. I stand quietly behind two college interns we hired a couple weeks ago. The brunette turns to the redhead and says, “I don’t know why Andre drools all over her. He’s the cutest guy in the place. It’s pathetic to see.”

  The redhead shrugs. “Beats me. Maybe he’s trying to sleep his way to the top. He is her assistant. She has a regular byline. I don’t think she’s so pretty — you know, she’s got the whole Asian thing and some guys like exotic, but sometimes you gotta take one for the team — you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I tried to get his attention. I figured it would help my grade if I could get in good with the boss. He completely blew me off.” She throws her thick mane of brown hair over her shoulder. “Guys don’t usually do that.”

  I clear my throat behind them. I get more than a little satisfaction when they both jump and look like they’ve seen a ghost. “Maybe it’s because Andre is engaged. But, even before then, he wasn’t the type to pick up partners simply to advance his career. If you’re looking for that kind of workplace, Word Soup isn’t it. Maybe you guys should find an internship more suited to your expectations.”

  The redhead becomes so pale she looks like she might pass out. “Oh no! Please don’t make us leave. This is our second placement. It’s our last chance. They’ll kick us out of the class if we don’t complete it this time.”

  The brunette joins her plea. “It’s true. My dad will kill me if I don’t graduate.”

  “What was your infraction at the last job?”

  The redhead hangs her head. “Gossiping too much. They accused us of unprofessional behavior inconsistent with the tenets of journalism.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I take it the lesson didn’t stick.”

  The brunette huffs. “We thought we were alone.”

  I roll my eyes. “In the middle of a busy coffee shop? Hardly. Word to the wise. Everybody around here likes and respects Andre. You know why? He treats everyone like gold. Don’t try to trash his reputation. The only person you make look small is you.”

  Tears gather in the eyes of the redhead. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

  “What are you planning to do to us?”

  “Unfortunately for you, you started building your professional reputation the day you started school. That includes your internships — for better or worse. You are in the driver’s seat. You guys can choose to act like you’re in junior high school or you can comport yourself like the professionals you say you want to be. The choice is yours.”

  The couple ahead of them in line leaves and the barista is waiting for their order. They look at me as if asking for permission to proceed. I nod and gesture toward the counter. The brunette stammers her order and tells the woman her name is Leah. The redhead gives her order in a voice so soft, the barista has to lean over the counter to hear. When she announces her name, I smile. I can’t believe I forgot. Harmony is such a beautiful name.

  When they turn around, they have to face me again. They are clutching their coffee so tight I’m amazed the cups don’t collapse.

  “Now what?” Harmony whispers.

  “Andre has a huge archiving project he needs help with.”

  “But, that’s not —” Leah starts to protest.

  “Thank you. We’ll get right on that,” Harmony says as she nudges Leah with her elbow and shoots her an annoyed look.

  “Geez, I thought you were taking a coffee break. I didn’t realize you were taking a mini vacation,” comments Andre as he looks at his watch.

  I blow my bangs out of my eyes as I set a large cup of coffee down on his desk. I take a sip of my drink before I answer, “I had to deal with a little something which popped up.”

  He narrows his eyes at me over the top of his coffee cup. “Anything major?”

  “Could’ve been. Hope it’s not now. We’ll see.”

  I lock my purse in the cupboard behind my desk and flop down in my ergonomic chair. It’s my favorite luxury in this little cubicle of mine. The rest of my cubicle is a bit of a disa
ster area. There are research files stacked everywhere. Andre has a system to keep me organized — but I have several stories in various stages of completion and notes and background information piled up on every surface available. Andre insists on surrounding me with healthy greenery and plants. Fortunately for me, he has the skills to keep them alive. I love flowers and plants, but I am not gifted in keeping them healthy.

  “What’s been keeping you so busy you haven’t even checked your email messages from me?”

  I rub my temples. “I’ve been reading the transcripts from Marshall Todd’s trial. It’s a weird experience knowing what we know now. I lurch from bone numbing boredom to white-hot rage.”

  “Have you gotten to Sheila’s testimony yet?”

  “I just started on direct. I wish it was on videotape. Sheila was inconsistent and jumpy in her testimony. I guess it must’ve seemed like she was coached because the court reporter even referred to her looking out into the audience like she was waiting for an answer a couple of times.”

  Andre pulls the file away from me and turns it around so he can read it. “Are you serious?”

  I pick up a pen and point out the parenthetical comment where the court reporter refers to the noise in the gallery and Sheila’s subsequent answer.

  “Wow! I’m surprised the judge let it stand.”

  “It’s like one of a thousand things which happened to make this trial incredibly unfair to Marshall. I wish I could’ve been there to see who the mysterious guy in the audience was. Was it an attorney? Was it Sheila’s boyfriend? Now we’ll never know. This is so frustrating.”

  “We might never know if Sheila doesn’t talk to you. That’s what all this prep is about, remember? You have been my boss for years now. There’s one thing I know about you. You look all unassuming and mouse-like. But you are one of the most formidable people I know. If anyone can persuade Sheila to talk, it’s you. Not only will you get her to talk, she’ll spill her secrets like you’re her long-lost best friend. She’ll tell you thoughts she didn’t even know she had. You’ve got this Mal.”