The Husband Lesson

by Jeanie London

  That sent a rigid chill down Charles’s spine. Because New Hope dealt with protected health information, it adhered to all HIPAA compliance requirements and safeguards governing all emergency medical facilities in the State of New York. A violation would cause untold damage.

  “What was it trying to collect?” Charles asked.

  “Biographical data.”

  Damn. That would be who was in residence and the exact location of the facility.

  Which wasn’t made available to the public.

  The separate network connections installed here had been a costly safeguard that had been modeled in other emergency shelters. He, Rhonda, the board and the budget committee had all agreed the expense was a basic necessity. Separate networks. One for the residents. One for administrative staff. One to handle sensitive data to protect the residents’ identities.

  “I didn’t think it was possible for a malicious program to access this system,” Charles said.

  “Only one way it could—it had to be let in.”

  He sank back in the chair, frowned at the monitor. “I still don’t understand. We set up a station exclusively for medical data and storage. It’s supposed to be safe.”

  “It is. It’s a hard setup with only your encrypted medical software and a few necessary basic programs. It’s not networked for that exact reason. There’s outbound filtering, which is why the system shut down when a rogue program attempted to collect your data.” There was a pause on the other end. “The program targeted your system looking for a way in.”

  Charles heard the concern. “Our system specifically?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That spyware program wouldn’t have worked on another random system?”

  “It was designed to acquire specific data from what I can tell.”

  Charles shook his head to clear it, understood the significance, and the potential threat to their residents. “How exactly was it let in?”

  “Looks like through a private email account.”

  Email? On the med data station? “There isn’t an email program on that system. It’s only used for the transfer of sensitive and protected data.”

  And only by trained medical staff contractually employed by New Hope. Volunteers didn’t use that computer, and no one else had access.

  “Judging by the logs, it seems someone accessed webbased email,” the tech explained. “The rogue program was lying in wait, ready to attach itself to a program allowing access on an incoming port. In this case an email from a high-end retailer.”

  Charles could only stare at the computer, relieved his reactions were still on autopilot. The very last thing he needed was to put them back on manual control. High-end retailer?

  No mystery here.

  If Karan had had any idea what was good for her, she would have been long gone by the time he wrapped up the call, got the networks running and finished discussing the threat with the deputy.

  Obviously not. He found her on the gallery, sitting on the top step, when the best place for her would have been on the other side of the planet.

  She glanced up and started right in. “For the record, I was almost out the door when the computer problem started. The deputy asked me to help him check the system in the administrative office so he didn’t have to keep running back and forth. Then you came.” She eyed him strangely. “Are you okay?”

  Concern? Not likely. “Did you use the med data station?”

  “Med data station?” She frowned at him. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s a computer station in the front office. Not the one on the desk.”

  Before he finished getting the words out of his mouth, Charles had his answer. Her frown transformed into an expression of horror as she apparently put two and two together.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  “Oh, yes.”

  Black lashes fluttered shut over clear eyes. “Please tell me I didn’t cause…that.”

  “An email from a department store ringing any bells?”

  She didn’t open her eyes, simply dropped her face into her hands. Shiny hair wisped around her face. He thought she might have shuddered.

  Charles wasn’t sure what it was about her that suddenly irked him—the remorse, maybe, or the vulnerability from a woman who possessed neither quality. She always landed on her feet because meeting her needs was the only thing important to her.

  “To check your email, Karan? Really?”

  Definitely a shudder. “I had no idea—”

  “What were you even doing on that system?”

  She raised her head and looked at him. “Rhonda asked me to draft some letters, but the printer wouldn’t print—”

  “You broke the printer, too?” This woman was a category five hurricane on two legs. Two long, very shapely legs, and the fact that he noticed angered him to no end.

  “No, no.” She inhaled deeply. “No, I didn’t break the printer. I only used the other computer because I didn’t want to start playing with the printer settings and accidentally cause a problem. I was trying to be careful.”

  “Do us all a favor next time and don’t try.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of them, and once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “For your information this is an emergency domestic violence shelter—”

  “I know—”

  “Then think about what that means, Karan. The people who come here need a safe place to go because they’re in danger. They’re not safe when people compromise security measures by stupidly checking email on the wrong computer.”

  She paled visibly.

  God, he’d blocked out all memory of this feeling, could have lived the rest of his life without ever remembering the heat of sudden anger, as if he couldn’t even control what was coming out of his mouth. He hadn’t felt this way since being married to this woman.

  “Is anyone in danger?” she whispered, as if she was suddenly afraid to breathe.

  “I don’t have any answers. Deputy Doug is trying to find out who wanted access to that protected data.”

  “I am so, so sorry,” she said. “What happens now? You must have procedures in case something like this happens. Please tell me they didn’t get any information.”

  He shook his head, hating himself for not wanting to let her off the hook easily, for wanting to make her understand the importance of what she’d done, for wanting to make her feel something, anything at all.

  “Why are you bothering to play this game with me?”

  “What game?”

  “Acting like you care.”

  She recoiled as if his accusation had been a physical blow. He should have felt remorse. He didn’t. That hurt look on her face angered him even more.

  “Of course I care. I wouldn’t deliberately put anyone at risk. What is wrong with you? Why would you even think that?”

  “Because I know you, and you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

  Her eyes widened. Maybe she was surprised by his bluntness. He certainly was. He felt as if he was standing in the middle of their marriage—the middle of the end of their marriage.

  “I cared about you.” Her admission was no more than a whisper in the night.

  “Really? Was that before or after you changed the locks and sent my things to a storage facility?”

  Suddenly the hurt in her expression vanished and he saw life signs. The Karan he’d known wasn’t going to lie down and take anything for long. She’d come out swinging.

  “What choice did I have? You didn’t want to fix anything. You didn’t even want to try to figure out what the problem was. How long did you expect me to wait around until dealing with our marriage was convenient for you?”

  “Everything was my fault. Of course it was. Why am I not even surprised to hear that?”

  “Not everything, Charles. But at least I tried. You weren’t interested. You just ran.”

  “Of course I ran. You were a bottomless pit. Nothing I
did was ever good enough. Every time I walked through the door you were lying in wait with more demands and more of your drama.”

  “Demands? Drama?” she snapped. “How is wanting to discuss whether I should fix the car or buy a new one drama? It’s called life where I’m from. Dealing with things as they come up. That’s what normal people do.”

  “No, Karan. Normal people don’t turn everyday decisions into theatrical performances. I couldn’t even walk through the door without you blasting me with nine thousand things that weren’t important. I’d be awake for three days running, making life and death decisions, and you really expect me to care that the dishwasher broke? Everything was urgent to you.”

  “That’s because things usually were by the time you made an appearance. When else was I supposed to address things with you? There were things that needed to be done, decisions that needed to be made. You treated the house like a hotel and me like your assistant. I shouldn’t have had to beg you to make time for our life together because you were too busy running.”

  “I wasn’t running. I was working. My residency was demanding, you knew that. You wanted my career as much as I did, so I could keep you in the style you were used to. Dr. and Mrs. Steinberg, remember?”

  She waved him off dismissively. “You’re ridiculous. I never needed you to keep me. I have a trust fund.”

  He had no response. She was right. She hadn’t needed his income. Or him. His efforts hadn’t been good enough, which she’d proven when she’d gone on to marry Dr. Oncology, who was already well established in his career.

  He stared at her, struggling to control himself against emotions he shouldn’t be feeling. Not so long after the fact. His only consolation was that he wasn’t the only one struggling right now, no matter how dismissive she acted.

  He could see the stark expression on her face and the way she held herself so rigidly, as if she’d been carved from ivory. The simple fact she hadn’t stood told him he’d penetrated, made an impact.

  He knew her that well. And, God help him, he didn’t care.

  He only cared about not feeling this way again, not having to deal with this woman. Ever.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do, Karan. I respect that you’re working with Dr. Camden, but I think it’s obvious you don’t belong in this facility. You want to shop so I’m going to reassign you to work in New Hope’s thrift store. That should be more to your liking and still fulfill the conditions of the court. Is your email on file?”

  She nodded, still inhaling deeply, looking as if she was having trouble catching her breath.

  “I’ll make the arrangements and email you the details.”

  She rose slowly to her feet. “I’m sorry.”

  He wanted to tell her that he didn’t need her apologies. That her words wouldn’t keep their residents safe.

  But he needed to control this urge to lash out, to win the battle with her regardless of the cost. He wanted to retreat to that peaceful place. “You already apologized.”

  “I’m not talking about the computer. I’m talking about your patient. Whoever he or she was. I’m sorry you couldn’t help.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  KARAN CAUGHT THE PHONE ON THE second ring and glanced at the display.

  A. Bryan Kowalski. The phone line to the house Karan had grown up in still bore her dad’s name. Her mother would be on the other end of the line. Karan didn’t even need to glance at the mantel clock to know it was too late to be picking up this call. Not tonight. That scene with Charles had consumed the last bit of energy she had. She simply had nothing left.

  “I’ll call you in the morning, Mom,” she whispered to the handset before returning it to its base. “Hope all is well.”

  The answering machine clicked on, but her mother didn’t leave a message.

  Karan knew what that meant.

  All was not well.

  Sure enough, the ring tone from her cell phone started its jaunty little tune.

  Karan stood, momentarily paralyzed until it finally stopped.

  The land line rang again. This time when the answering machine clicked on, her mother’s voice said, “I don’t know what you’re doing, Karan, but I’ve tried your cell and you’re not picking up there, either. I didn’t think you could drive, so I don’t know where you’d be at this hour, but you’re obviously too busy for me. Call me when you decide to pick up your messages. I want to talk to you.”

  Karan still didn’t move, didn’t have it in her. She couldn’t even bring herself to feel anything. Not relief that her mother hadn’t had some accident and genuinely needed help. Not guilt that she wasn’t willing to pick up the phone. Not even sadness that the loneliness of her mother’s life was obviously occurring to her tonight, upsetting her, angering her.

  When her mother got angry, she needed someone to blame.

  Karan knew it was the alcohol skewing things, but she simply couldn’t be that person for her mother tonight. Blaming Karan wouldn’t make her mother feel any better. Then she’d get even angrier.

  Karan had her fill of dealing with anger tonight.

  From the man who’d once claimed to love her.

  The cell phone rang again. Her mother would likely leave a message this time, more scathing as her temper escalated, but the cell phone was kinder because Karan couldn’t hear what was said since the message rolled into voice mail.

  Karan waited for the land line to ring again, questioning her decision, staring into her quiet living room, the sun fading beyond the windows that made up one wall. The mountain slope was shadowed beyond the porch, a magnificent vista in the daytime, a void at night. No need for any kind of window treatments because once the sun set the blackness would be complete.

  Wouldn’t a good daughter pick up the telephone?

  Probably. But Karan wasn’t good at anything today. Tomorrow her mother wouldn’t remember one bit of this. Not whatever was upsetting her. Not her belief that Karan was ignoring her calls and purposely not picking up the phone.

  The phone didn’t ring again.

  Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. The silence seemed to echo louder than the ringing had. Scooping the phone off its base, Karan depressed the speed dial and speaker function then headed into her bedroom. She flipped on the overhead light, vanquished the shadows then dropped down onto her bed to stretch out. She willed herself to take deep, even breaths like those she applied in her yoga/Pilates classes.

  Only skill would help her relax past the effects of this day. Skill and diversion. Life had evolved into one never-ending nightmare. Three hundred and sixty hours hadn’t sounded all that bad in the courtroom. It felt like an eternity now.

  “Hi, Karan.” Susanna’s upbeat voice shattered the silence, echoing faintly over the telephone speaker.

  “I’ve been exiled.” The very act of talking calmed her.

  “You’ve been what?”

  “I’ve been exiled. Charles banned me from New Hope.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “He did do that. He has decided the residents are safer without me on the property. I got confirmation via email on my BlackBerry before I even got home. He’s putting me to work in the thrift store because I like to shop. I’m feeling the need to drink a glass of champagne to celebrate my spectacular failure. That can’t be good. What do you think?”

  There was a snort on the other end. “If memory serves, drinking is what got you into this mess in the first place.”

  Memory did not serve, but Karan wasn’t going to point that out. She simply didn’t want to risk alienating anyone else in her life. And especially not Susanna.

  “Not drinking. Driving. But since I can’t drive now there won’t be any problem.”

  There was silence on the other end, and Karan sensed her friend didn’t appreciate the attempt at humor. But she also knew better than to ask Karan what she’d done to deserve exile. The very best of friends. All she asked was, “You okay?”

  Karan considered that.
How was it possible that she could still feel hurt by Charles? Didn’t their divorce count for anything? There should be a statute of limitations on hurt. “I will be. Thanks for asking.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nothing to talk about. Charles Steinberg is an idiot. That’s why I divorced him.”

  “Being alone isn’t driving you to drink, is it?” she asked. “Things were…difficult with Patrick.”

  Difficult was a mild understatement, but leave it to Susanna to get to the heart of matters. Karan loved that about her. Relied upon her ability, too. But she also couldn’t deny alternately hating the way Susanna went straight for the jugular when she thought the time was right. With a surgeon’s skill and no anesthetic.

  Karan wasn’t sure how she felt right now.

  Divorce was never fun and she was becoming quite the expert. Divorcing Charles had been awful, but she’d been hurt and angry and beyond ready to stop feeling horrible with the constant reminders of how much her husband, who’d vowed to love, honor and cherish her till death, didn’t care anymore.

  Patrick was…different. She’d liked him. A lot. They enjoyed doing things together. Socially. Leisurely. They were together with career goals and she enjoyed assisting him with his practice. She’d decorated his offices, hired his staff.

  But she hadn’t loved Patrick. Not the way she’d loved Charles. She’d married Patrick because he would be the perfect husband. And he was. Handsome, successful, ambitious, intelligent, established, companionable. He understood the importance of networking, the nuances of social and political connections and their impact on his career.

  Karan had been very content in their marriage.

  Patrick, too. Until meeting the British physician who headed the research of some neurological surgical equipment manufacturer. Then their companionable marriage hadn’t withstood the test of a woman who could “take his breath away.” Karan definitely hadn’t seen that coming.

  “I love you, Karan,” he’d said. “And I know you love me, but we’re not in love with each other. We never were. Life is too short to settle for being comfortable.”