“Oh no. Never. In fact, now that I think of it, Sherry denied having left it out. She felt certain she'd properly disposed of the syringe she used in the sharps container.”
“Do you remember the details, Geneva? What floor were you on when this happened? Who was the patient? We’ll need to document all of this.”
“Well, let’s see . . .” The nurse thought for a minute. “It seems to me that I was working the east wing that day. Oh, I remember. It was in the room of that German-speaking woman. What was her name? Schultz . . . Helga Schultz. I remember because— Oh!” Geneva gasped, a hand to her mouth in alarm. “Helga Schultz died the next morning. It was the beginning of that siege of pneumonia we had last winter. Don’t you remember?”
“You surely don’t mean that Ollie could have. . . ?” Michael couldn’t finish the horrible thought.
“Oh no, Michael. No.” Vera’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
Michael’s head was spinning as a labyrinth of possibilities assembled itself in his mind. Ollie had been discovered with a syringe in his possession twice now. He was the one who had produced the pamphlet touting euthanasia. Maggie!
Claire had found the syringe in Ollie’s hands the day after Maggie Wallace died. Was Ollie behind all this? Was it possible that this five-foot-two simple man was capable of such things? Had he fooled them all? The man had been at Riverview for almost thirty years. Had he been quietly ending lives under their very noses all this time? But how could he have obtained the means to carry out such things? Did he have an accomplice? Or was he someone else’s accomplice? Michael had to admit that explanation seemed more plausible.
No. There had to be some mistake. Oliver Moon wasn’t capable of such evil. There had to be another explanation. Suddenly he remembered that Claire had the syringe in her possession. If they could determine what it had contained, maybe it would give them some answers.
Leaving the two nurses gaping after him, he ran down the hall toward his office.
As he ran, a horrifying thought struck him. Had Cynthia Harper been falsely accused? The statements she'd been purported to make were frightening, to say the least. But what if the suspicions they’d had—beginning with Frederick Halloran’s death early in Michael’s tenure—pointed not to Cynthia, but instead to Oliver Moon?
Either way, it seemed clear now that the unthinkable had happened. No longer suspicion or a nagging intuition, it had become reality. Suspicious deaths had occurred during his supervision, and Michael knew that a formidable time of investigation and placing blame lay ahead of them. How could any of them—the residents, the nursing staffs the families involved . . . indeed, the entire community—ever recover if he’d allowed such a tragedy to happen?
Light-headed and out of breath from more than his dash down the hallway, he closed the door to his office and dialed Claire’s number.
Chapter 29
Claire still shuddered when she thought about her encounter with Oliver Moon. More than the incident itself, she was embarrassed and discomposed by the fact that she'd left the building with the syringe in her possession. What had she been thinking? It had been a foolish, foolish thing to do. Beyond the fact that she could have stuck herself with a contaminated needle, she also could have destroyed or damaged important evidence.
She found small comfort in the fact that Michael didn’t seem to feel it was a serious matter. She found it hard to understand how it could not be serious to have an employee like Oliver Moon in possession of such an object. Perhaps her prejudice against this disabled man was coming through too frankly. As Michael had explained when he called her back Monday morning asking her to bring the syringe by immediately, it was possible that Ollie was diabetic and gave himself insulin injections. Michael had seemed rushed and distracted when she spoke with him then, but apparently the center was going to send the syringe to a lab to find out just what it had contained.
At any rate, Claire scarcely had time to think about the incident with all the preparations to be made for the new school year. In addition, with Nana to be looked after, yard work, and her volunteer hours at Riverview, she fell into bed each night exhausted.
Despite her hectic schedule, reading to Robert Tripleton had become the highlight of Claire’s days. They'd finally finished Anna Karenina, and to Claire’s surprise, Rob had chosen a popular new mystery for their next book. There was far less to discuss in this fast-paced novel and they finished it in a few days.
As Claire’s friendship with Rob grew and as she learned more about him and revealed more of herself to him, she began to suspect he held deep feelings for her. Her feelings for him grew ever deeper, as well. She supposed she did love him in a way. But was it the love that lifetime relationships were made oft She was confused about the nature of love after everything that had happened with Michael Meredith.
She couldn’t deny that the age difference concerned her more than a little. Rob was almost ten years older than she. Yet it certainly did not prevent them from having much in common and a seemingly endless supply of topics on which to converse. More and more, Claire found herself wondering if Rob might be the man God wanted in her life. Of course, she'd thought that about another man not very long ago.
Michael was rarely on the floors of the nursing unit where Nana and Rob resided, being more involved with the apartments and the senior center. Still, Claire couldn’t avoid running into him occasionally when she visited Millie. They'd developed a polite, rather serious way with each other, speaking briefly, warmly, yet about nothing of consequence. And yet she always felt a sense of excitement in his presence. It was disturbing. If her friendship with Rob was becoming closer and more intimate—if indeed, she was growing to love Rob—why were thoughts of Michael never far from her mind?
Claire knew that Rob had met Michael several times during his stay at Riverview. Once, when he mentioned Michael’s name to Claire, she gave him the briefest information about her relationship to Michael, telling Rob simply that they had dated for a short time and were friends. She'd confessed her unhappy childhood to him and even told him about Joseph, but she didn’t tell Rob the profound connection between Joseph and Michael. It somehow seemed that to do so would have been, a betrayal of Michael’s trust.
Rob seemed to be making progress in recovering from the surgery, and his injuries—except for his loss of vision—were virtually indiscernible now. The bandage and neck brace were gone, and though he still wore the dark glasses, he claimed to be seeing more clearly, now able to make out smaller shapes and even to distinguish some colors. Claire could see that he now seemed to be looking directly at her when she spoke. She often felt self-conscious when she caught him squinting in her direction, as though he were attempting to make out her features.
Often Claire would walk with Rob, guiding him to the courtyard to sit for an afternoon of reading and conversation. The hot days of summer seemed to linger, and they often sought the shade of a bench on the east side of the courtyard. Here a row of Bradford pear trees bolstered a leafy canopy over the bench, and a choir of wrens and robins blended with the rustling of leaves to provide soft background music for their reading sessions.
It was in this serene setting that Rob first saw Claire’s face.
He had asked her to read his mail to him. She was reading a dry description from a university course catalog when she heard his sharp intake of breath. Looking up from the booklet, she saw that he'd taken off the dark glasses and there was a look of astonishment on his face.
“What? What is it, Rob?”
“Claire! I… I can see you. More clearly than ever! I can see even the color of your eyes—they are hazel! And your hair . . .” He reached up in amazement and touched a wayward curl.
His excitement was infectious. “Oh, Rob! That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you!”
Suddenly tears sprang to his eyes, and he covered his face in a futile effort to hide his emotions. Then he began to weep openly. “Thank you, God. Oh, thank you,” he prayed through tears.
Despite the fact that she shared his joy and gratitude, Claire felt uncomfortable at his ardent expression of emotion.
She sat in silence, her head down as he wept. When at last she heard him quiet, she looked up into eyes that undeniably saw her—scrutinized her.
“Oh, Claire. I . . .” He stretched his arms out in front of him and waved his hands slowly from side to side, testing. “Things are still fuzzy peripherally, but when I look straight ahead, I see unbelievably more clearly than I did even yesterday.” His voice turned to a whisper. “You are as beautiful as I imagined, Claire. More beautiful.”
“Please, Rob . . .” Struggling to escape the seriousness of his declaration, she laughed artificially. “You make me doubt that you truly have your sight back.”
Immediately she was sorry she'd made light of his comment. She was allowing her unease with his genuine compliment to overshadow the miracle that had seemingly taken place.
Trying to make up for it, she told him, “Let’s walk back to your room and see how it is out of the sunlight. Don’t you think you should contact your doctors?”
“Yes!” He stood and, declining the offer of her arm, held his hands out in front of his body and began walking slowly toward the entrance.
Michael Meredith felt guilty at his unintended eavesdropping, but he could not make himself walk away from the window. Taking a quick stroll through the assisted-living wings as he often did on his way back to his office from staff meetings, he couldn’t help but hear the sweetly familiar voice that floated through the open window from the courtyard outside.
The dense foliage that grew up between the building and the yard prevented him from seeing the source of the sound, but there was no mistaking Claire Anderson’s gentle voice. Some acoustical peculiarity of the narrow passageway carried crystal clear snippets of the conversation through the open window. It didn’t take long to surmise that Claire was speaking to Rob Tripleton. The tender expression and the gentleness of her words caused him to stop abruptly.
In spite of the rather unpleasant exchange they’d had the week before when Claire had called to tell him about finding Ollie with the syringe, Michael found that hearing her speak now moved him deeply. Feeling almost paralyzed by the melody of her voice, he wasn’t sure he could have walked away had he wanted to.
“Oh, Rob, I’m so happy for you,” she was saying. They were obviously celebrating some wonderful news.
What Michael heard next, however, cut at his heart. Robert Tripleton was telling Claire how beautiful she was. The deep, emotion-filled voice conveyed much more than simple admiration.
Michael realized he’d unintentionally intruded on a romantic interlude between two people who were obviously falling in love. He half feared he might do something foolish—might race out the door and attempt to talk some sense into Claire’s head. How could she even think of loving someone else when he still loved her so deeply?
He forced himself to turn away, to put his mind back on the responsibilities, the pressing problems he had here at Riverview. But the significance of the exchange he'd just heard left him feeling chilled.
He walked on, his heart sinking as their words of affection echoed through his head like a baleful warning bell.
Rob’s sight improved rapidly over the next few days. Though his peripheral vision remained blurred, and it was virtually impossible for him to read any but the largest print, by week’s end he was making plans to move back to his apartment. He even voiced his hope that he might be able to return to teaching.
“Of course it’s too late for this semester. And I’d need someone to read research papers and test essays to me so I could grade accurately,” he told Claire, “but with the help of a graduate assistant I know I could do it. I know the material I’d be teaching like the back of my hand. The classroom wouldn’t be a problem at all.”
The enthusiasm in his voice made him sound like one of his young students. It was so different from the formal, dignified manner Claire had grown accustomed to.
“Rob, I’m so excited for you. It really does seem like a miracle.”
“It is a miracle, Claire. Whether it was performed by God himself or by the hands of doctors He created and guided, I won’t call it anything but a miracle.”
They were sitting in the shade on the same bench where they'd sat when Rob’s sight had returned. More and more often the intention of reading books had gone by the wayside in favor of these quiet conversations.
Rob turned to her now. “Claire, you are so dear to me. You’ve made this whole ordeal bearable.” He touched his eyes gingerly as though remembering the pain of his accident. “You . . . well, you’re a very special woman. There are so many uncertainties in my life right now. I don’t have much to offer, Claire, but I hope we can continue to… to be friends. I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back to teaching, if I’ll ever be able to drive a car again. The doctors aren’t willing to make any promises about how much more of my sight I’ll get back, but… I just hope you’ll give me a chance.” His voice was taut with emotion, revealing that he wasn’t speaking lightly.
Claire’s heart filled with love for Rob. He was a. dear friend and a special man. They shared a special relationship, and she would always have warm memories of this summer. But Claire knew she didn’t love Rob in the way she was afraid he was hoping for. Perhaps their friendship would grow into something more . . . maybe someday it would.
Gently, she tried to put him off. “I know you can’t think too far into the future right now, Rob. We both need time—”
He held up a hand. “I know. I understand. We’ll take it one day at a time. I’m not asking for more than your friendship right now.”
She reached over and hugged him. “You know you have that.”
Today, for the first time, Claire let herself think about what Rob’s newfound independence and his moving back to Mullinville would mean for their friendship. Neither of them had ventured to speak of how his leaving would change their relationship. She supposed they were both pretending that nothing would change. But she knew that was a supposition born of denial. Until Rob had begun to speak of leaving Riverview himself, Claire had been able to imagine that her times with him would continue indefinitely.
Rob’s friendship and flirtatious attentions had filled a void in her life, taking her mind off the turmoil of the past months. He had given her fascinating, inspiring stories to think about and discuss, and Claire appreciated how they understood each other. But no matter how she tried, she could not deny the deep feelings she still held for Michael Meredith. How did one know what love was? Did she love either of these men? Both of them?
The questions monopolized her thoughts as she walked with Rob back to his room.
If he sensed her preoccupation, he said nothing. Claire told him good-bye at the doorway, no longer needing to help him find his way around the room.
School started in the midst of record-breaking high temperatures. Without air-conditioning, the classroom was an oven, and despite her excitement at beginning her second year of teaching, Claire found herself crabby and impatient with her new crop of third-graders. She'd forgotten what a struggle it was to learn twenty new names and faces and to establish a routine and a sense of discipline that fit this particular mix of personalities.
She couldn’t help but feel a bit sad when she saw her students from last year’s class in the hallways and realized they would never again share the bond that had been so special. And yet she trusted that soon the same bond would endear her to the unfamiliar faces in the desks before her, and that just like that first year, she would come to know and care for these children almost as if they were her own.
As the time for Rob Tripleton’s departure from Riverview drew near, Claire found herself pensive and downhearted, wondering what would become of the friendship they'd established and had been such a blessed distraction for her.
Sometimes she felt they were meant to be together. But at other times she couldn’t b
egin to imagine a life with Rob apart from Riverview. It startled her to realize that their entire relationship had developed on the grounds of the nursing facility. She'd never once seen him in the “outside world.” She wanted to talk with him about these things, wanted to explore the feelings they had for each other. But Rob had so much on his mind, so many decisions to make about what he would do after he left Riverview. He was still adjusting to the remaining physical handicaps from his accident, and she didn’t want to burden him with another emotionally charged matter.
Sadly, the possibility of losing Rob’s friendship caused her to think more than ever of Michael Meredith.
More than two weeks had passed since Claire had spoken with her grandmother about meeting Michael. Nana had mentioned it once or twice, and Claire had told her the truth.
“Nana, I haven’t been able to talk to him. I’m not sure what’s up, but there seems to be something going on in the administration department.”
“Something going on? What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. There have been a lot of people in the office—people I’ve never seen here before. The employees seem on edge.”
“Probably just the health inspectors. I know the nurses at Elmbrook used to get antsy whenever they knew the inspectors were coming.”
“That must be it. I keep thinking I’ll ask Michael about it, but every time I see him he’s either with one of these inspectors—or whoever they are—or he’s in a hurry and doesn’t have time to talk. He seems very preoccupied.”
The worry that tinged Claire’s voice was because she feared something more serious was happening at Riverview. Michael had indeed been preoccupied—almost to the point of being rude—and the expressions on the faces of the official-looking strangers she'd seen him with were grave and stern.
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