by Davis Bunn
“No, Asha. You have already arrived.”
“And here I thought the evening couldn’t get any better. Thank you, Dino.”
“You are welcome. Now back to my question.”
“I haven’t thought further than finishing the course.” She tasted her wine. “I suppose I could go on for my doctorate.”
“You could. Or . . .”
“What?”
“Asha, I think you should consider going for a degree in medicine and becoming a psychiatrist.”
She took very great care in setting down her glass.
“There are serious advantages to this approach,” Dino went on. “It would position you at the top of the hospital department’s totem pole. You could continue counseling and social work, but added to this would be your ability to prescribe both drugs and examinations. Psychology has changed, Asha.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
“Treatments have become increasingly medicinal. Psychotropic drugs have completely shifted the landscape. And this is only the beginning.” He gave her a chance to respond, then continued. “The true holistic approach requires a medical degree. Not to mention how it would open up an entirely different world. And put you in a position to write and teach and research anywhere you choose to go.”
What she thought was My father would be thrilled beyond words. Asha said, “What about getting accepted somewhere?”
He leaned back, clearly satisfied. “I’ve considered that.”
“Have you?”
“Ever since I read your thesis’s first draft. Your work is outstanding, Asha. What you need at this point is a means of showing the world just how good you are.”
The evening coalesced into two words: “Luke Benoit.”
“Your patient’s situation has become unique. I’ve had a word with the editor of the Journal. She is so interested, she’s offered a preliminary spot in their winter publication.”
Asha would have said that the evening could not contain another astonishment. She struggled desperately to control her swirling thoughts. The American Journal of Psychiatry was one of the very top publications in the entire world. To have her name on an article, while still a graduate student, would be planting a flag at the top of Everest.
“This news was the opening I needed to speak with the dean of the medical school at my alma mater.”
“I’m sorry . . . What?”
His words came at a rush. “I told him you were not aware of this discussion. But I felt . . . Asha, given the quality of your work, if this article is accepted for publication, the dean assures me your application would be viewed in a most positive light.”
She found it necessary to turn away. The words bounced around her heart and mind, such that any number of responses seemed ready to explode from her.
Dino grew increasingly worried at her silence. “I know I’ve overstepped the boundaries. But I was concerned that they might not . . . Have I just destroyed the evening?”
She forced herself to focus on the man seated across the table. “Dino . . .”
“Yes? Talk to me. Please. I’m dying over here.”
She reached for his hand. “You have just redefined the meaning of a wonderful first date.”
CHAPTER 29
The instant Asha entered her apartment, she knew it was time to make the call.
Her mother was a late-night person. Glenda Meisel’s most productive hours began around the time Asha’s father went to bed. Asha’s mother liked to say that the Internet had saved their marriage. She worked until after midnight most nights. She had retired from full-time hospital administration, but still served as consultant to a number of the regional health clinics. Glenda and Aiden Meisel lived within a true partnership, one strong enough to overcome the disparate natures of their lives and habits. Asha loved her parents dearly, but their relationship astonished her. Her father possessed the typical surgeon’s autocratic nature. He ran the surgical wing like a personal fief. His standard way of addressing his team was a soft bark. Asha’s mother was also highly opinionated and extremely stubborn. She was without question the only person who could keep her husband in check. Most of the time.
Asha had dreaded this call since watching Jeffrey’s Ferrari roar away. As far as Glenda Meisel was concerned, Jeffrey made an almost-ideal match for her daughter. All right, yes, Jeffrey had succumbed to temptation in a moment of personal weakness. Which only heightened his need for a strong partner, as far as Glenda was concerned. She saw Jeffrey’s wealth and potential rise within the turbulent Los Angeles waters as a sign that Asha had met her match. Asha hated to argue with her mother. But a drawn-out battle over Jeffrey was inevitable. Or so she had assumed.
The alternative struck her as Asha set her keys down on the front-hall table. She walked straight into the kitchen and dialed the number before she could come up with reasons to stop.
“Well, finally.” Glenda had a clipped manner of speech when she was irritated. She was far too well-bred to shout. Instead, she carved each word from a block of iron-hard ice.
Normally, the first sign of her mother’s chilled wrath was enough to have Asha frothing at the mouth. Their battles were few, but legendary. Tonight, however, Asha met her mother’s ire with honeyed warmth. “Hello, Momma. How are you? How is Daddy?”
“Your father is working far too hard, as usual. Which you would already know, if you had returned any of my eleven calls.”
“I am so sorry it’s taken this long to come back to you. But something wonderful has been happening. And I wanted you to be the first to know.”
Asha’s tone did not completely disarm her mother. But it did manage to force Glenda to lower her weapons. “I thought . . . Well, what is it?”
“I have the most marvelous news.” Asha pulled out a stool and seated herself. “I’m in love.”
“You . . . What?”
“I’ve known him for two years. And I’ve liked him from the first moment we met. Sometimes it seems like even before then. But tonight . . .”
“Is he there now?”
“No, Momma. I wanted this to be just the two of us.”
“But Jeffrey . . .”
“I know we need to discuss him. But could we set him aside for tonight? Please?”
“I . . . don’t know what to say.”
Which was a definite first. “I understand this must come as a surprise.”
“A complete and utter shock.”
“There’s more, Momma.”
“What . . . Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”
Asha laughed. “No, it’s nothing like that. Actually, it’s something I want you to tell Daddy.”
“Darling, are you crying?”
She wiped her face and realized, “Maybe a little.”
“Well, tell me!”
“I might be published in The American Journal of Psychiatric Medicine.”
This time Glenda did not respond.
“It’s all very tentative. But my thesis adviser discussed a project I’m currently working on with the Journal’s senior editor. They think it’s important enough to merit publication. They have given me a slot in the winter journal.”
Glenda was married to a senior surgeon at a teaching hospital. She understood full well what the news meant. “Your father is going to be so proud.”
“What about you?”
“Daughter . . . it’s a shock. Yes, of course, I’m so happy for you. Thrilled, in fact.”
“Thank you, Momma. There’s more.”
Glenda actually managed a fractured laugh. “All right. Tell me.”
Asha had to clench the hand not holding the phone, and swallow very hard, before she could manage to say, “I’ve been invited to apply to medical school.”
CHAPTER 30
Nine o’clock on Monday morning Lucius was seated in the outer office that served a number of the university’s deans. Four secretaries and two summer interns worked behind the wainscoted counter. The room was octagonal and rimm
ed by six doors. Four were open. Lucius was there because the previous afternoon he had used his new phone to call Asha. He’d left a message with her answering service requesting an appointment. She had phoned back to say she had a cancellation on Tuesday, and reminded him that he had an appointment with the academic dean scheduled for nine today. For what reason, she had no idea, and having Lucius ask her did nothing to improve the tone of their conversation. Lucius pressed her because he had no choice. Asha finally conceded that he had been very worried about the meeting, and feared the university was going to kick him out.
Lucius had been up for almost four hours. The predawn start was his way of dealing with the fear of another attack. Lucius had always relied upon his mental strength and stability. It was the loss of this faculty, as much as the experience itself, that frightened him. For the first time Lucius knew a genuine sympathy for the traumatic state this young man must have endured.
Lucius had spent most of Sunday dreading the loss of mental control and the return of that dark bedlam. But he took Sonya’s advice and tempered his activities and rested. He ate yogurt and fruit for breakfast and had a smoothie for lunch. For dinner he ate a bland but satisfying meal at a vegetarian restaurant. Returning to the guesthouse, he recalled how Winston Churchill had suffered from bouts of depression, and had referred to them as attacks by his black dog. For whatever reason the dark hound had left Lucius alone that day. Sunday night he slept and did not dream.
On Monday morning he was the restaurant’s first client. He then dressed in his new training gear and walked the silent streets. There was a unique pleasure in the dark silence, the padding of his new shoes, the sound of his breath. An hour later, he returned to the guesthouse, showered and dressed, checked his list, and set out. First stop was his apartment. Lucius had the taxi wait while he started the six sleepy students on their tasks. Then it was off to the university.
The academic dean’s secretary apologized that Lucius had to wait, but there had been an urgent situation regarding some exam. Lucius assured her he did not mind. He pulled a hardbacked chair slightly away from the others awaiting their appointments. His new laptop was in his new briefcase, leaning against the chair leg. He used his new phone to work down his list of calls.
His first was to the hospital. Jorge, the orderly who had helped Lucius make that crucial phone call and identified the attorney, was not on duty until eleven that morning. Lucius left a message and clicked off, only to discover that brief link to those first hours was enough to leave him perspiring.
Lucius then stepped into the hallway and called Sol Feinnes, the attorney who had helped him escape the hospital. The secretary’s voice grew guarded when he identified himself, which only heightened his own sense of unease. Whatever trust he received from these people would clearly be hard-earned. He set up an appointment for that afternoon and was about to return to the office when a voice said, “Luke!”
An attractive young woman rushed toward him. She wore half a T-shirt that was cut off to show her midriff, and boots that laced almost to her knees. Her denim shorts were tight and frayed. Metal rimmed both ears and sprouted from her nose and her navel. The tattoo of a giant bird of prey wrapped around her right side. Her dark hair was streaked with purple. “Man, what happened to you?”
“I . . . had an episode.”
“I called your place. Mannie said you had freaked out, they were probably gonna lock you up. I shoulda probably come by, but you know how it is with me and authority.” She surveyed him from hairline to loafers. “What’s with the threads, you got a court date?”
Lucius felt a rising sense of helpless dread. He pointed to the door beside him. “I . . . need to get back.”
“First you gotta tell me what’s going on with you. And why are you talking like that?”
He had no interest whatsoever in discovering what she meant. “I’ve forgotten everything. Including your name.”
Her face hardened to a remarkable degree. “What is this, your idea of a brush-off?”
“It’s the absolute truth.”
“Yeah, right.” When he said nothing further, she snapped, “When your memory decides to turn back on, don’t bother calling.”
Lucius watched her storm away, then retreated into the office. He seated himself and wiped his face. He had half expected something like this. But the reality had been far more unsettling.
Lucius liked to think of himself as a hardheaded businessman. Give him a problem and he would find a workable solution. But entering into this new realm meant confronting one uncontrollable event after another.
Women had always confounded him. Jessica Waverly had been no different in that regard, then or now. He had no idea how to go about contacting her. Everything he had learned suggested that she was completely beyond his reach. Her status and her wealth would form impenetrable barriers. He disliked how his mind shifted back and forth between Jessica and the strange woman who had accosted him in the hallway. Then he realized the receptionist was referring to him as “Mr. Benoit.”
“Yes?”
She said, “The dean will see you now.”
CHAPTER 31
Dean Rhea was an older Hispanic woman whose dark hair was streaked with a steel that matched her gaze. She was dressed in a stylish linen suit of gold-and-cream stripes. She greeted him with a stern expression and the words “Do sit down, Mr. Benoit.”
Luke took the lone chair directly opposite her, and reflected that many students must have endured their most horrid hours while planted in this very same position.
“I asked for this meeting in order to determine the level of progress on your independent project,” she said. “Or the lack thereof.”
Lucius had no idea what she was talking about, so he remained silent.
“We agreed to give you the spring semester off. And to hold your place as a junior in the business department. But in return I wanted to see considerable advancement both in your work and in your ability to handle the responsibilities of your personal situation.”
Lucius did not respond.
She slipped on a pair of reading glasses and tapped the keys on her computer. “Now, then. Your project was to make a detailed analysis of the trust your parents established.”
Lucius breathed a silent sigh.
She mistook his response and her tone hardened. “I must warn you, Luke. Unless there has been substantial—”
“The lawyers responsible for the estate are stonewalling me,” Lucius said.
“Explain.”
“I have made repeated requests. The attorney of record is Graham Avery.”
“I know him, of course, since he serves on the university’s board of trustees.” She inspected him over the rim of her spectacles. “Proceed.”
“His tone could hardly have been more condescending. I have three letters from him directly, and half a dozen more from his junior partners.” Lucius knew this because he had spent hours going through the packing crate Luke Benoit had used to store his business correspondence. “Store” was a generous term. The crate had as little order as a rubbish bin. He went on, “The attorneys’ responses range from patronizing to outright rejection. They state that the trust was established to protect my interests, and from this they claim the right to deny me information.”
She took off her glasses and settled back. “Go on.”
In fact, Lucius was grateful for the chance to run through his findings in advance of his meeting with Sol Feinnes. “I have made a preliminary assessment of property values in this neighborhood. A house of comparable size on the same street recently sold for seven hundred thousand dollars. But the Benoit property is three times as large, almost an acre and a half. I would estimate the value at somewhere approaching a million dollars.”
Dean Rhea said, “The Benoit property.”
“Correct. It was deeded to . . . me by . . . my aunt.” Lucius found her gaze too penetrating. His only recourse was to rise and start pacing. “There is an initial base income de
rived from three tenants, whose rent is more than the trust’s monthly outlay to . . . me. This monthly stipend has not altered since the accident that killed . . . my parents. There is also the matter of the inheritance, and any insurance they might have taken out. My concern is, the attorneys of record are abusing their position and draining away the reserves.”
“What do you intend to do about it?”
“I have a meeting with another attorney this afternoon at three.”
“Who is it?”
“Sol Feinnes.”
She nodded. “The university has dealt with him on occasion. Come back and sit down, Luke.” When he did so, she asked, “What happened to your accent?”
Lucius had no idea what she meant, which left him only able to say, “I’ve endured a . . . shock.”
She examined him intently, but merely asked, “Are you still planning to take the remedial class in accounting this summer?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been studying on my own. Quite a lot, actually.” He was struck by a thought. “But summer school sounds like an excellent idea. Is there a higher-level finance class on offer?”
The dean slipped back on her spectacles, checked her screen, and observed, “Your records show an ‘incomplete’ on all your previous attempts at accounting, Luke. Which I imagine was the professor’s way of being kind, given your . . . history.”
“As I said, I have been studying. Extensively.”
She tapped the keys. “There is a class in business and financial analysis. Open to graduates and undergraduates. I see space is available.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“The professor is the same one who gave you your incomplete in Intro to Accounting. She will insist upon interviewing you.”
“That sounds more than reasonable. May I trouble you for her contact details?”
Dean Rhea regarded him over the top of her spectacles. “I must say, Luke, this is hardly the conversation I had expected to have with you today.”
“I understand.”
“We have, of course, received notification from the hospital of your recent . . .”
