“This is Miss Pratchett from the elementary school. We’ve had some problems with Drew….”
Erin rested her forehead against the cupboard door. Belligerence. Careless disregard for fellow students.
It was an all-too-familiar litany, one that had been addressed by the teachers and counselors back in Wausau. And now, despite this new start in a new school, the problems were back. After supper, she and Drew would have a talk…and tomorrow she would call the school.
With a deep sigh, she pasted a casual smile on her face as she headed back to the table.
But when she walked around the corner, Drew was gone.
HUMILIATION BURNED through Drew as he ran for the door, jerked it open and raced across the meadow to the stream. Erin had turned the answering machine volume down low as she listened, but he’d still heard every word. And from the sympathetic glances of everyone at the dinner table, they’d all heard, too.
He slid down the bank of the stream, battled through a tangle of wild raspberry vines and jumped from one slippery, moss-covered rock to another until he reached his favorite—a broad, flat boulder in the middle of the creek, just big enough for him to sprawl across and dangle his hands in the icy rushing water on either side.
On it, he could close his eyes and be on a boat cutting through the waves of the Pacific toward some secret island…or in a canoe, paddling through a dark and dangerous part of the Amazon.
Or, on bad days, he could just come here to get away from everyone and everything, and let the sound of the water drown out his anger and the fear that sometimes grew in him until he thought it might explode, like the creature that burst out of some dude’s chest in Alien.
At the rustling of branches behind him, he looked over his shoulder and saw Dr. Reynolds standing at the top of the bank.
“Cool place,” he said mildly. “I bet you come out here a lot.”
Great. Another adult, thinking that suddenly being a “best friend” would solve everything. It was so totally fake that Drew wanted to barf. He didn’t bother to hide his scowl.
“Erin has dinner on the table. Are you coming back?”
Drew shook his head.
“Mind if I join you?”
Like I have any choice. Drew jerked a shoulder impatiently, hoping the guy would take a hint, but he came down the bank and settled on a boulder at the water’s edge. “Think there’s any trout in there?”
“Dunno.”
“Ever gone fishing?”
“No.”
The doctor fell silent, and after a few minutes Drew ventured a glance at him. He was studying the creek, his mouth curved in a faint smile.
“Seems to me,” he said, “that a boy who lives here ought to be fishing a lot. Look up there.” He pointed to the opposite bank, a dozen or so yards upstream. “See that old tree that fell in the water? The current is quiet there, and the branches under the water provide nice structure for the fish. I’ll bet you could land a fly just a little north of there and catch some fat rainbows.”
Drew had expected a stupid man-to-man talk. One of those behavior lectures thinly disguised as friendly conversation. That, he was prepared to ignore. But fishing…
Some places in the stream were shallow. Some were so deep that you couldn’t see the bottom. He stared at the dark water swirling past him, imagining for the first time all of the creatures that might live in its depths. Huge, slithery fish. Slimy things with long tentacles and big squishy suckers. Ancient fish with armored plates and dagger-sharp teeth.
And maybe they were watching him, from just below the surface.
Suppressing a shiver, he pulled up into a sitting position. “What else could be in there?”
“Brook trout, probably. Browns. Large-and smallmouth bass. When I went to buy my trout stamp and license last month, a guy at the store said someone caught a big muskie out of a stream not far from here. That’s pretty rare, though.”
The types of fish meant nothing to Drew…except that the rainbows sounded pretty, and the browns sounded sorta dull. But at the thought of catching them, he couldn’t hold on to his scowl any longer. “Here? Really?”
“Maybe.” Reynolds gave him a measuring look. “But a guy has to develop his technique, then learn to read the streams—so he can outguess the fish. And he’s got to have a lot of patience.”
“You could show me how?” Drew’s excitement faded as he saw through the doctor’s intent. Another little life lesson, hidden in a bunch of stupid talk about fishing—something Drew wouldn’t ever get to do, because most guys had dads that did those things with their sons. And he had…no one.
He turned away and flopped back down on the rock, tuning out the conversation…until he caught what the guy was saying.
“—I’ll check on the license regulations for youths and get back to you. Oh, and Erin says she wants you home in thirty minutes. She’ll keep your supper warm.”
When the words sank in, Drew twisted around to look at him, but Doc was already halfway up the bank. Regulations? A license? Did that mean…
Nah. Big words, careless promises. Drew had been down that road before. And believing any of that crap was just a waste of time.
THE EMPTY DEPTHS of Drew’s eyes haunted Connor all night.
The kid held absolutely no hope that anyone would ever follow through with a promise. Sure, he’d probably come from rough circumstances, and he’d been adopted at the late age of nine or ten. His adoptive father had split. But had Drew faced even more disappointments with Erin? Was she truly a fit mother for the two boys? For Lily?
The thought made it nearly impossible to fall asleep. And then he’d awakened at dawn, to impatiently watch the clock until the time when he could reasonably track her down at the hospital. Eight o’clock had never taken so long to arrive.
Now, at the door of her office, he felt ready to take her on, to challenge her with a long list of questions. If he didn’t like what he heard, he wasn’t waiting around to “get to know Lily better”—he would contact his lawyer about custody.
“Erin, we need to talk.”
She peered over the stack of charts on her desk, her sunny yellow sweater in direct contrast to her tired smile. “It was nice of you to come over last night.”
“I didn’t mean to drop in during supper. Thanks, though…it sure beat one of my frozen entrées.”
“No problem.” She hesitated. “Thanks for talking to Drew.”
The boy had shuffled into the house just as they were finishing dessert, his eyes downcast, and had gone straight up to his room. “I’m not sure it did any good,” Connor stated.
“With Drew, that’s often the case.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “After you left, he said something about fishing.”
“Fly-fishing.”
“Ah, yes.” She laughed. “Definitely a different plane altogether, from what I hear.”
“I offered to teach Drew. He seemed attentive for a while, then shut me out.”
“That’s not a surprise, believe me.” She waved toward a chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat, if you can take a few minutes.”
She waited until he’d settled into it, then shoved a stack of charts to one side and met his eyes squarely. “I have to ask you one thing—and it means a great deal. It isn’t important that you give these kids anything tangible. But if you tell them something—if you say you’ll do something with them, or promise to come back on a certain day—you’ve got to do it.”
“I’m not so sure he was interested.”
“Believe me, he was. I could hear it in his voice when he mentioned fishing to his brother after you left. He hides behind a tough attitude because he’s afraid to show much emotion about things. I think,” she added slowly, “that he must have faced endless disappointments before he came to live with me.”
“How much were you told?”
“Enough to know that he and Tyler are two of the strongest, bravest little boys I’ve ever met…and to know that I never wan
t another adult to betray their trust.” The thread of steel in her voice was unmistakable. “If you talked to Drew about fishing with him, you absolutely have to follow through. Not next year, not next month. Soon.”
With her delicate features and gleaming cap of dark hair, she hardly appeared threatening, but the glint in her eyes promised a serious battle if he didn’t measure up.
She reminded him of a petite Viking warrior, defending her family, and his worries about her eased. Satisfied, Connor leaned back into his chair. “I’ll look into the license requirements for kids this afternoon. In some states, they don’t even need one.”
“There’s a bait-and-tackle shop on the edge of town, and I’m sure they must sell licenses there. I can get it, though. The responsibility is mine.”
“No, I’ll do it. I’ll probably be going past before you, anyway.” His gaze fell to the stack of charts on her desk. Old ones and new, there were several dozen, and they all bore one unifying feature: the lime-green sticker on the spine of the folder indicated that they were all Hadley patients. And by default—at least for the next few months—his own.
Connor frowned. “Something wrong?”
“Research.” She gave an offhand wave. “Just research.”
“On Ed’s patients?”
“On the past in general.” She looked up at the clock. “And I’ve got quite a few old charts to cover before I meet with the office staff at nine. I’m glad you could stop by, Connor.”
He rose, stepped closer to the desk and lifted several of the folders on top. From the dates on the outside covers, they all went back three to five years. More curious now, he opened several and discovered that the top sheet in each was a copy of a death certificate.
“You’re checking up on my uncle?”
“I’ve been reviewing everything. Everyone.”
Incredulous, Connor stared at her. “But you had stacks of charts in here before, and the spine stickers were a variety of colors. I can’t help but think you’re narrowing your search. Hell, he hasn’t even been in town for the past month.”
“As I said, I’m simply doing a review. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She stood and propped her hands on her desk. “I really do need to get back to work.”
A dozen images flashed through Connor’s mind. Ed’s jovial laugh. The way his face glowed as he talked passionately about his career. His sorrow when he’d mentioned a patient who’d died the previous year.
“You are definitely following the wrong scent here. I can’t think of a doctor more dedicated to his patients, or his profession. Hell, he’s the one who inspired me to think about medicine.”
“I met him. He’s a very personable man.” She drummed her fingers on her desk. “I’m reviewing those two unexplained, unexpected deaths in this hospital since I arrived, and I’ve found several others during the last few years. They all happened to be his patients.”
“And that’s never happened with another physician?”
“Of course it has. People do die. I’m simply looking for patterns, that’s all. I had to start somewhere.”
“You’re an administrator, not a doctor.” He tried to control the edge in his voice. “What do you think you can find?”
“Possible med errors. Breakdowns in charting protocol. Failures in care procedures, or follow-up. Anything that could place patients at risk. I was,” she added evenly, “a surgical nurse for three years before I went back to school. I do know my way around a medical chart.”
“Then let me help. I can go through these charts, too…and the other ones you’re checking. Surely two pairs of eyes are better than one.”
“Thanks. But, given the circumstances, I really need to do this review on my own. When I feel comfortable with the information I find, I’ll take it to the board.”
“The circumstances.” Anger simmered through him at the implication. “You don’t want my help because you’ve already decided that Ed is guilty of some sort of malpractice.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“And you think I will cover for him?”
“I didn’t say that, either.”
“Then I guess we now know exactly where we stand. But I promise you, I won’t let you use false accusations to railroad Ed into a lawsuit. This is going to be fair and impartial. And you’d better have ironclad facts before you take another step.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GRACE SHUFFLED THROUGH the stack of mail on her desk at noon on Saturday, tossing the envelopes into the appropriate piles. She hesitated over the last one, addressed to the Blackberry Hill Director of Nursing from the Lakeview County Medical Examiner’s Office, then slit it open and spread the contents out on her desk.
Milton Striker. Height 177.8 cm. Weight 82 kg. Mild congestive heart failure. Marginally elevated BUN, indicative of mild renal failure. The other lab results were within normal range, including those values that would have indicated a myocardial infarction. No evidence of a CVA—stroke—or heart attack or internal bleeding.
She gathered up the papers and headed for the nurses’ station in the hospital unit, where she found Dr. Edwards standing at the desk writing a progress note, and the unit secretary working at her computer.
Grace handed the papers to the secretary. “Put a copy of this in Milton’s chart, and send copies to Dr. Reynolds and Mrs. Lang. Then you can take his chart up to the front office.”
Jill closed the folder in front of her. “Are those Milton Striker’s autopsy results?”
“There wasn’t much to report. The cause of death was listed as ‘chronic illnesses of old age.’”
“Nothing unusual?”
“Not at all. I’m sure Mrs. Lang and Dr. Reynolds will be happy to see the results.” She lowered her voice. “They were concerned, you know.”
Jill nodded. “Understandably so, after that other death a few weeks ago.”
Their gazes met, and Grace knew Jill was thinking the same thing. These days, litigation was all too common—even when there seemed to be no good cause.
“Which reminds me that I need to make an appointment with your husband one of these days. I’ve been meaning to have my will revised for ages.” Grace stretched a little, to relieve some of the arthritic pain in her back. “Facing retirement has reminded me of a lot of things I need to do…and of things I wish I’d done.”
Jill chuckled. “Like what?”
I wish I’d had a wild fling…with the only man I ever wanted to be with…. Grace gestured vaguely. “I’m going to pitch all of my sturdy nursing shoes and uniforms. Lose fifty pounds. Buy new clothes and go to Europe. Not one of those regimented, hand-holding tours for old folks, either. I want to stay in hostels and go at my own pace.”
“Somehow,” Jill said dryly, “it’s a little hard to imagine you leaving this hospital. Here you are, working through another weekend. I must see you here seven days a week. The only person who works longer hours is Mrs. Banks, and she’s practically lived here since her husband died.”
“I never had one to go home to, or to mourn. And seeing how her husband’s death affected her, maybe I was lucky. When I retire, I’ll be free as a bird. No ties, no one holding me back. No sad memories to drag me down.”
“You vagabond, you—I’m jealous.”
“You’ve got that handsome husband of yours, though. I don’t imagine he’d be thrilled to see you take off on an adventure for months.”
“I’m not sure he would even notice, frankly.”
“I suppose he’s as busy as ever?”
“I imagine so. Not that I have much firsthand knowledge.”
“Long hours?”
“Long and late. The last two mornings I just found a note on the counter, since he got in after I went to bed. You can call his secretary and set up an appointment to see him, but I honestly couldn’t tell you how long it will take for you to get in. I’m half tempted to make an appointment myself. For all I know, he might have dyed his hair orange or gone bald.”
OUT O
F THE BLUE, Connor stopped by Erin’s on Sunday afternoon towing a utility trailer filled with chain-link fencing materials.
She put the last of the lunch dishes in the dishwasher, rinsed her hands and dried them on a towel as she watched him from the kitchen window. The kids had run outside the moment they heard his SUV pull to a stop by the garage, and now they stood at a respectful distance, watching him lay materials out on the ground.
Lily apparently asked him something, and he turned to look down at her with a grin that bracketed his mouth with deep dimples. Whatever he said to her made her smile.
Erin wavered, then tossed her dish towel on the counter and went out onto the porch to watch them for a few minutes.
Maybe she and Connor hadn’t parted on the best of terms at the hospital a few days earlier, but that didn’t mean she was going to hide in the house when he showed up. She’d seen the disbelief in his eyes at her suspicions about his uncle. She’d seen that disbelief turn to indignation, then cold resolve. He’d been offended by her refusal to accept his help…but that was hospital business, and nothing to do with the process of being good neighbors.
Tyler glanced over at her and waved vigorously. “He’s making a pen for Scout! A cool one—with lots of room, and a house! And,” he added with obvious relish, “he says he’s gonna come over to teach us how to fish with flies.”
“Really.” Erin grinned down at him. “That sounds truly fascinating.”
“He says we’d do better with bobbers, but we want to learn how he does it.”
Connor glanced up at the house and acknowledged her with a nod before turning back to pull a toolbox and a battered wheelbarrow from the trailer. He slammed the tailgate, then motioned Drew over. Together, they began digging a rectangular space, evening out the dirt.
When Erin came back out onto the porch twenty minutes later, they were pounding stakes into the ground to create a wooden form. Both Tyler and Lily were watching with rapt attention.
Almost a Family Page 13
