“Perfect,” Jill said, meaning it, and she hugged Megan close, feeling her body relax.
“You sure I won’t die?”
“Positive.” Jill hadn’t realized that when Megan was asking about death, she was asking about her own. “It’s impossible. Don’t worry about it, at all. Okay?”
“Okay.” Megan paused. “Did you really kiss thousands of guys, Mom?”
“Millions.” Jill laughed, and so did Megan.
Sam’s silhouette appeared in the door. “What’s going on in here? Sounds like you two girls need adult supervision.”
Jill was about to answer, but Megan beat her to it, opening her arms to him.
“Sam,” Megan called out. “Come in! Kitten needs hugs! Hugs!”
“Talked me into it.” Sam walked over, piling into bed and giving Megan a big hug, and Jill watched Megan cling to him. Sam was a true father to her, not just the father figure that William had been, and it would kill Megan to lose him.
Jill had to find a way to make it work, when Abby came home.
If Abby came home.
Chapter Twenty-nine
It was Monday morning, and Jill walked from the parking lot to the office, trying to switch mental gears. She’d worried about Megan and Abby all night, tossing and turning, but she’d have to put them to the back of her mind today. Flu season was like tax time for germs, and she’d need to focus at work. She’d called Padma about Rahul, and he was still feverish. She wished she’d ordered his bloodwork stat, just so she’d have the answer.
PEMBEY FAMILY PRACTICE, read the carved wooden sign in front of the large stone home, one of many on the street that had been converted to offices for doctors, lawyers, and accountants. Pembey was the town next to Jill’s, only twenty minutes from her house, and a suburban practice had been just the ticket while Megan was still young.
Jill opened the door onto the waiting room, greeted by its freshened air and soothing blue décor. Big bay windows made it feel cheery, homey, and bright, even on an overcast day like today. Patients occupied most of the comfy blue-patterned chairs, reading magazines or typing into BlackBerrys, but none of the patients was hers. She didn’t have anybody for half an hour, and she’d come in early to catch up on her charting and insurance paperwork, which was endless. Pembey Family took fifteen types of insurance, and Aetna alone was four of them.
Jill headed for the door leading to the doctors’ offices and examination rooms, then spotted Elaine Fitzmartin standing at the intake window, signing in her elderly mother, Mary, who was an Alzheimer’s patient of Dr. Thoma’s. They were in all the time, and Jill liked them both. “Hi, ladies, how are you this morning?” she asked.
“Fine,” Mary answered, turning with a sweet smile. “You look nice today.”
“Thank you,” Jill said, though she only had on her usual cotton sweater, khakis, and clogs. “How are you feeling today?”
“I did the crossword this morning, in pen. Do you do the crossword?”
“Not in pen, my dear. Good for you. Keep it up.” Jill turned to Elaine, because she knew from taking care of her own mother that caretakers needed caretaking, too. “And how about you, Elaine?”
“We’re fine, thanks. Much better now that Mom’s on Memoril.”
“Great.” Jill didn’t know much about Alzheimer meds. “And you, are you living on the edge, too? Doing crosswords in pen?”
Elaine smiled. “No, but I’m loving that book you lent me, the mystery. I can’t put it down.”
“Great.” Jill noticed Sheryl, their office manager, eavesdropping from the file cabinets, but she ignored her. “You won’t guess the ending, so don’t even try.”
“I always try, and I think I know who did it.”
Jill smiled. “Don’t skip ahead, like last time.” She turned to Mary. “You’re her mom. Tell her not to skip ahead.”
“Oh, she never obeys me. She never obeys anybody.”
“Then you raised her right,” Jill said, and they all laughed. Behind them, Sheryl was motioning to Jill to finish the conversation.
“Excuse me, ladies, I’ve got to go. Take care.” Jill opened the door into the hallway, and Sheryl swooped out to meet her, short and stocky in her blue scrubs, with bristly, short hair that was prematurely gray, from trying to control the universe.
“I need to speak with you in your office, right away.”
Jill didn’t break stride. “Okay, I have an idea. Why don’t I invite you into my office to speak with me, right away?”
“That’s not funny.” Sheryl clutched a file folder to her chest.
“By the way, good morning.” Jill opened the door into her office, a windowless white box that held her diplomas, licenses, reference books, and a neat desk with a struggling ficus plant. She spent as little time as possible here, preferring the examining rooms. She loved her patients, but didn’t love working at Pembey Family, mainly because of Sheryl. “So what’s up?”
“I need to speak to you about your stats, again. I know you’re part-time, so I accounted for that.” Sheryl pursed her thin lips. Her eyes were dirt brown, and she had the doughy features of a baby, without any of the charm. “I sent an email to John, showing that last quarter, you saw only between eighteen and twenty cases a day.” Sheryl whipped out a printout of numbers, from the folder. “That’s ten to twelve fewer than the average of all the other docs. Each doc needs to keep the schedule, and you need to see more cases a day.”
“They’re patients, not cases, and if you want to talk averages, their average age is two.” Jill had explained this many times before. “I’m the only pediatrician here. I take longer because babies can’t tell you where it hurts.”
“Don’t be funny.”
“I wasn’t being funny, just now. I was being funny, before.” Jill gave up on the humor thing, and Sheryl’s eyes hardened.
“The numbers don’t lie. You take too long with the cases. You have to draw the line. Five minutes with each case, ten at the max, and twenty only if it’s an annual. You’re consistently running twenty minutes or longer, with each case.”
“Sheryl, come on. Pediatricians don’t work the same as adult docs, we can’t.” Jill had said this before, too. “Each visit, I have two patients, a parent and a child. I use the time it takes to give my patients the best care possible, and no more.”
Sheryl gestured at the door. “Like with Mrs. Fitzmartin, you chat them up, don’t you?”
Jill almost laughed. “Guilty as charged. I’m friendly with the patients.”
“She’s not your patient.”
“I like her, is that okay with you? If I were keeping patients waiting, it would be different, but John wanted me to build a pediatric practice. The best way to grow is to provide quality care, including the relationship side. The statistics aren’t the same for me.”
Sheryl arched an eyebrow. “You don’t follow any of the rules of Pembey Family, whether they pertain to a pediatric practice or not.”
“Of course I do. Which rules don’t I follow?”
“For starters, you answer questions by email.”
Jill blinked. “How do you know that?”
“We monitor it.”
Jill recoiled. “You read my email?”
“It’s not your email, it’s Pembey Family email. We own it, it’s proprietary, and it’s my job to monitor it.”
“Since when?” Jill should have guessed as much, but somehow she hadn’t. “Why do you care if I answer by email? We lose the exam fee?”
“It’s a business, Jill. We don’t encourage uncompensated phone or email advice. You’re the only doc who gives out her intraoffice email, [email protected], which you’re not supposed to do, either. All patient email has to go to me, at info@pembeyfamily.”
“Then it gets to me three days later.”
Sheryl frowned. “Also, you’re exposing us to lawsuits if your orders are misunderstood, or if a misdiagnosis is made because the case wasn’t seen.”
“I would nev
er prescribe anything unless it was a patient I’d seen, and I don’t use it for acute medical issues.” Jill was so sick of hearing about lawsuits. Pembey had layers of CYA paperwork in case they got sued, and that was on top of the insurance-company paperwork. “I have to be available by phone and email. You can’t tell Mom to chill out when her baby’s sick.”
“You’re only hurting yourself, you know. Your bonus would be higher if you were more productive.”
“Seeing more patients isn’t necessarily more productive, and if money were all that mattered, I’d do cosmetic surgery for a living.”
Sheryl’s eyes narrowed. “You think everything is a joke, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. I take my patients and my practice very seriously. I’m using humor to keep the mood light, and I’m failing, evidently.”
“I have a sense of humor.”
“Where?” Jill smiled, and Sheryl frowned.
“You act as if you’re the exception.”
“I am, because of what I do.”
“Not so. You’re the only part-timer we have. Why? That doesn’t have anything to do with what you do.”
“Yes, it does.” Jill felt taken aback. Of all of Sheryl’s complaints, she’d never heard this one before. “I do it to be home with my daughter. I love kids, even if they’re mine, as absurd as that sounds.”
“Megan’s thirteen, Jill. I don’t think she needs you to take her to playdates anymore. You’d be working full-time if you were committed to Pembey Family.”
“I’m committed to my family, okay?” Jill felt herself flush. “I made a part-time deal when I got here, and I still don’t get home some nights until eight.”
“Every doc here works long hours.”
“I’m sure,” Jill said, though she never saw any of the four other docs. They all ran separate practices, and there was no time to interact with anyone except Sheryl. “But I’m the only woman, the only mom.”
“So again, you’re the exception.”
“Yes.” Jill wasn’t getting anywhere. “Look, I have to do some charting, then get ready for Carrie Bryson, who’ll be here any minute. She has a two-year-old and she emailed me last night, about his rash. She called the office first, for the after-hours program.” Jill caught herself. “But I guess you knew that.”
“Yes, and you told her that you could squeeze her in this morning. You have to stop doing that, too.” Sheryl frowned. “She has to go through Donna. Donna is the appointment secretary.”
“I emailed Donna and told her myself.”
“That’s not Pembey Family procedure. These procedures serve a purpose. If we don’t know Carrie’s coming in, we can’t pull her file, and we can’t make sure that the case is properly logged, coded, and billed.”
“Donna wasn’t available at midnight, when I answered the email. I know we have procedures, but they can’t get in the way of the patients and the medicine. That’s why we’re here.”
Rring! Jill’s cell phone rang in her back pocket, and her heart leapt up. It had to be Abby; it wasn’t the ringtone for Megan or Sam. “Excuse me.” She reached for her phone and checked the screen. She didn’t recognize the number but she wasn’t taking any chances. “Sorry, I have to get this.”
Sheryl was already stalking away. “Don’t be long,” she called over her shoulder, closing the door behind her as the call connected.
“Jill, it’s Victoria, calling from home. Have you heard from Abby?”
“No,” Jill answered, surprised. Victoria sounded less angry. Not warm exactly, but not as hostile as yesterday. “She hasn’t returned my calls.”
“Mine, either.” Victoria paused. “She usually calls me back, eventually. She would have called by now, especially after the last message I left.”
“Why? What did you say?”
“I yelled at her.”
Jill could imagine. “Did you check the house again?”
“Yes, and I don’t think she’s been home. The car is there.”
“How about the cat?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t check. I never see that cat.”
Jill sank into her chair, her gaze wandering over the things in her office, ending with the miserable ficus. “Do you have any idea where she could be?”
“No, none.”
“Is there anyone she would turn to?”
“Not that I know of, in particular.”
“What about Neil Straub? Would she call or contact him?”
“I guess that’s possible,” Victoria answered, sounding encouraged. “It makes sense she’d contact him, but I don’t have Neil’s number or address.”
“I have his address. It’s in Manhattan. I can go see him tomorrow, on my day off.”
“No, I can go. I’m going into the city tonight, for dinner.”
“I don’t think you should. It might not be safe.” Jill caught herself before she called Victoria “honey.” “If Neil had anything to do with your father’s death—”
“That again?” Victoria scoffed, cold again. “Enough. Stop with that.”
“Please, let me go instead. It can wait a day.”
“Dad wasn’t murdered, and Neil is his best friend. I can go see if she’s there, I’m a big girl. What’s the address?”
Jill told her. “Let me know what happens, okay? You have my cell number.”
“Good-bye,” Victoria said abruptly, hanging up.
Jill hung up. If Victoria was going to see Neil Straub, now Jill was worried about her.
And just like that, Jill was a mother of three, again.
Worried, times three.
Chapter Thirty
“What happened?” Jill said into her cell phone, when Victoria called back. It was after dinner, and she was in the kitchen, returning calls from patients and charting on the laptop. Sam was reading in the family room, and Megan was upstairs in the shower.
“Neil wasn’t home. The guy at the desk buzzed. It’s a doorman building.”
“They called the apartment from downstairs?”
“Yes. It’s 4-D, but he didn’t answer.” Victoria sounded cool, almost businesslike. But not angry, so Jill counted that as progress.
“When were you there?”
“I made them try when I got there, around six o’clock, then I went for dinner and came back later, at eleven. Neil still wasn’t home, and I still haven’t heard back from Abby. Have you?”
“No.” Jill rubbed her forehead, slouching behind her laptop. It had been a long day at work, and she’d seen a slew of flu, colds, and sinus infections that didn’t respond to antibiotics. If she could bottle the resourcefulness of a sinus infection, she could find Abby in no time. “Did they tell you when Neil’s expected back?”
“No, they don’t know.”
“When did they see him last?”
“They didn’t say.”
“Did they see Abby?”
“They didn’t say that, either.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes, but they said they don’t give out information about the residents. They blew us off.”
“Who’s us?”
“My friend Brian came with me, after dinner.”
“Did you tell them it was an emergency?”
“Yes, but they still wouldn’t tell me anything about the residents.”
“Understood.” Jill felt momentarily stumped. Her gaze shifted restlessly around the kitchen. The dishwasher thrummed, and the granite countertops glistened. “The fact that Neil isn’t there doesn’t mean much. He could be elsewhere with Abby. So the issue is if the doorman has seen Abby, or if anybody else around the building has, like other tenants.”
Victoria snorted. “They for sure won’t let me ask any other tenants.”
“You don’t have an office address for Neil?”
“No.”
“Do you know the name of his company, if he has one?”
“No.”
Jill didn’t like what she was thinking. Even if Neil wasn’t a su
spect, he could be in danger, too, if he and William had been involved in anything crooked. Either way, Abby could be in danger if she was with him.
“Jill—” Victoria hesitated.
“What?”
“I’m worried she could do something to herself, if you know what I mean.”
“No. What do you mean?”
“I mean, like, suicide.”
“Don’t be silly. She’d never do anything like that.”
Victoria fell silent a moment. “She already has. She tried it once, before.”
Jill thought she’d heard Victoria wrong. “What?”
“Abby tried to kill herself, before.”
“No!” Jill cried out, reeling. “When? How?”
“A while ago, about three months after we left the house. I was at school, and she called me and told me that she and Dad had a big fight.” Victoria hesitated. “She was telling him that you guys should get back together. He said no, that the marriage was really over, and never to answer your emails. The next day, she tried to, you know, commit suicide.”
Jill’s heart broke. “How?”
“Pills. She took the whole bottle.”
“What pills?”
“Lexapro. She was on it, for depression. She still is, that’s why she shouldn’t drink.”
Jill didn’t have to ask when Abby’s depression had started, because she could guess.
“I found her. Dad had left that morning on business. I stopped home, just by chance. I thought she was taking a nap, but she wouldn’t wake up. If I hadn’t come by, she’d be … gone.”
Jill visualized the scene, horrified. After a bottle of Lexapro, Abby would be almost comatose. It wasn’t a suicidal gesture, it was a bona-fide attempt.
“That’s why I’ve been so mad at you.” Victoria’s tone softened, just a little. “I blamed you for her trying to kill herself, and deciding to be a screw-up, the rest of her life. If you hadn’t left, she’d be fine, and I wouldn’t have to act like her mom all the time.”
Jill listened, and her head dropped into her hands. She never would have believed Abby would do anything like that. Abby’s pain must have been so deep, like an agony.
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