Life Support

by Robert Whitlow

  Ted moved higher on the keyboard and continued playing with his left hand while he flipped through the pages of his Bible with his right. When he found the correct page, he hit several strong chords that made the hair stand up on the back of Alexia’s neck. She wasn’t paralyzed, but the sound made her want to stand up and move her feet. She gripped the arms of the chair and glanced at Baxter. The decreasing light outside was making it more difficult to see, but it seemed that his right arm moved enough to disturb the sheet that covered it. She leaned forward and stared more intently. If Baxter Richardson were going to be healed, she had a front row seat.

  Ted backed off for several measures before continuing with increasing intensity. His fingers moved effortlessly across the keyboard. Alexia eased up from the chair so she could see the minister’s face. His eyes were closed. The communication between his fingers and his heart was unhindered. It was amazing.

  “Time’s up!” The shrill voice of Nurse Hathcock shattered the atmosphere in the room.

  Alexia felt like she’d been slapped in the face. She plopped back into the chair. Ted played a few more notes and stopped. Baxter was unchanged. His breathing was so shallow that the sheet covering him didn’t appear to move at all.

  Alexia stood up. “But he wasn’t finished—,” she began.

  “You are for today,” the nurse responded crisply. “And if you plan on coming back, it will be necessary that you obtain written authorization from one of the treating doctors. This has been highly disruptive to the atmosphere needed by a patient like Mr. Richardson.”

  Alexia looked at Ted, expecting him to respond to the idiotic nurse. He was calmly unplugging his keyboard and putting it back in its case. Alexia could not let the nurse’s conclusion go unchallenged.

  “That’s ridiculous. The only atmosphere in this room was death. Couldn’t you tell that the music was having a beneficial influence?”

  The nurse’s face became more stern. “I don’t play an instrument, but I have been taking care of seriously ill patients for more than thirty years, and I’ve never heard of anything like this before.”

  “But just because it’s a new idea—”

  The nurse interrupted her. “Ms. Lindale, I’m not going to argue with you. The patient is my responsibility, and it is time for you to leave.”

  Alexia was still fuming when she slammed the door of the truck.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked in frustration.

  “Would it have made any difference?” Ted responded calmly.

  “I doubt it, but at least you wouldn’t have let her think she was right about her opinion. I could feel the presence of God in the room while you were playing. It was as strong as anything I’ve encountered at the church.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  Ted turned left out of the driveway. Alexia continued to vent her frustration.

  “This was a lot of trouble not to accomplish anything. I thought you had a huge desire to play your music until Baxter Richardson was healed or whatever else you expected to happen. Then you meekly slink out without putting up any fight at all.”

  “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth,” Ted said ponderously. Before Alexia could explode, he added, “Listen. I’m upset, too, but I’m not going to let my emotions dictate what happens next. When things go bad in court, do you let your feelings tell you how to respond?”

  “No. I try not to.”

  “It’s the same for me. My job is to ask the Lord what to do next, not lash out at the nurse. There are plenty of people like her. Anything new is automatically viewed in a negative light. I have to deal with them all the time in church situations.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I ask God to change them. If that doesn’t work, I go over their head or around them. In this situation, one obvious step is to get permission from a doctor. The nurse is a stickler about rules. Whatever the doctor orders will be the law.”

  “But you don’t know the doctors. If you contact Dr. Berman or Kolb and ask them to approve music therapy for Baxter, they’re going to brush you off as a nut.”

  “Maybe. But they might listen to you. I may not be a music therapist, but they may be open to the idea. It can’t hurt to try.”

  Alexia sputtered. “I’m not sure—”

  “I like the term ‘music therapy,’” Ted continued with a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “It has a scientific ring to it. I can put together a list of my professional qualifications to send the doctors with your request. It won’t be the first time my worldly accomplishments have served God’s purposes, and I’m not hesitant about trotting them out for display if the cause is just. What do you think?”

  “I’m not sure,” Alexia replied. “I need to think about it.”

  As they drove, Alexia mulled over Ted’s request. The sense of God’s presence that had begun to permeate the room where Baxter lay in the bed was a hard argument to resist. Plus, she couldn’t tolerate the thought of Nurse Hathcock having the last word. They pulled into the parking area for Rachel Downey’s office, and Ted turned off the engine.

  “Okay, I’ll try,” she said. “But I can’t guarantee results.”

  Ted turned in his seat and lightly touched her shoulder. “You don’t have to promise victory. I’m sure even the best lawyers don’t win every case.”

  43

  For nothing is impossible with God.

  LUKE 1:37

  Rena was struggling to fight her way out of a frustrating afternoon nap on a sofa in the living room when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. It was Jeffrey. She debated whether to answer before finally pushing the talk button.

  “Hello,” she said flatly.

  “Sorry I didn’t make it by earlier,” he began. “Is Baxter settled in okay?”

  “Yes, if you can pretend this whole arrangement is normal.”

  “Yeah, I know it’s rough on you to have him back home.”

  Rena had the beginnings of a headache and didn’t want to engage in small talk.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “To follow through with my promises.”

  “Which one? You’ve broken every one of them.”

  “Didn’t I give you money when my father gutted your checking account?”

  “Yes, but you didn’t help with the hearing in Greenville or let me know what is happening to the rest of my property.”

  Jeffrey kept his voice level. “It wouldn’t have helped our long-term goals for me to show up in court in Greenville. My testimony wouldn’t have made any difference, and it was while my father was out of town that I had the opportunity to investigate what he’s done. Have you checked your bank balance recently?”

  “I’m not using the joint checking account anymore.”

  “I’m talking about your new account.”

  Rena paused. “How did you know about my new account?”

  “I told you to open it,” Jeffrey responded patiently. “And I’m on the board of the bank.”

  Rena gave herself a quick internal lashing. She shouldn’t have gone to a local bank. Nothing was secret from the Richardsons within fifteen miles of downtown Santee.

  “Is your father on the board, too?”

  “He came off a few years ago and doesn’t know what you’ve done.”

  As usual, Jeffrey was a step ahead of her.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m listening.”

  “I have the documents proving the transfer of Baxter’s interest in several companies to a new holding company controlled by my father. Everything happened after the accident so this could only be done with the power of attorney.”

  “What businesses are you talking about?”

  “Ones you don’t know anything about and Baxter never investigated.

  It’s all part of the group we discussed in Greenville.”

  “You mean the organized crime—”

  “Don’t ever say that!” Jeffrey interrupted sharply.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, and you don’t know who might be listening.”

  “Is it safe to talk?” Rena asked.

  “Yes, but develop a habit of avoiding comments you wouldn’t want repeated.”

  “Alright, but how is this going to benefit me?”

  “Remember, this is for both of us. I will give you information to pass on to Alexia Lindale so she can file the lawsuit against my father. I don’t think it will take much to convince him to rescind his actions and return to the status quo. You saw how quickly he backed down about the checking account, and he doesn’t want any of this other information coming out into the open.”

  Rena massaged her right temple with her fingers to fight off the headache.

  “But even then I won’t be able to do anything with Baxter’s share of the companies. Everything will just sit there.”

  “My father will not be able to exercise control in these matters without Baxter’s vote, and it will force him to cooperate with me. I want greater distributions of money to both of us than he would do otherwise. He likes to hoard everything; I’m more generous minded. So, there will be short-term benefit from greatly increased income that comes to you.”

  “How much?” she asked, her curiosity increasing.

  “Enough to make the money Baxter gave you seem like a child’s allowance. And if Baxter dies, you and I will be able to take things to a much higher level.”

  Jeffrey’s plans sounded plausible, but Rena sensed something was missing.

  “How do I know that you’re going to follow through? I’ve been waiting weeks for this phone call, and all I have are more words.”

  Silence consumed several seconds.

  “Are you still there?” Rena asked.

  “Yes. I have some things to give you. Are you going to be at home tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Tell me the time, and I’ll be here.”

  “About three o’clock. I’ll see Baxter and then meet with you.”

  The following morning, Alexia left a message for Dr. Berman and then faxed a letter explaining in nonreligious terms what Ted wanted to do. She particularly emphasized Ted’s musical training and mentioned Rena’s support for the idea. An hour later the doctor’s nurse called and promised an answer before the end of the day.

  Shortly before 5 P.M., Alexia was about to go home when Rachel’s secretary brought a fax into her office. It was a brief statement from Dr. Berman approving music therapy for Baxter Richardson to be provided by Ted Morgan for up to thirty minutes a day. Alexia called Ted.

  “You’ve received the neurosurgeon seal of approval,” she began. “If you could only bill the insurance company for your services, it would be a perfect world. I want to be there when you give the slip to Nurse Hatchet.”

  “Was that her name? I didn’t pay attention.”

  “No, it was Hathcock, but I think she should change it. When do you want to go back to see Baxter?”

  “I’m busy until tomorrow afternoon around four o’clock.”

  Alexia looked at her calendar. She’d written Vox v. Vox in large letters beginning at 1 P.M.

  “I have a hearing that starts at one o’clock. It’s a preliminary matter and should be over by three unless it gets bumped down the calendar.”

  “If you’re not able to go with me, should you call Rena and let her know what’s happening?” Ted asked.

  “No, there are people coming and going all the time. The important item is the doctor’s slip. I’ll fax it to the church in case we can’t get together.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “What are you going to play?” Alexia asked. “Will it be like the other day?”

  “Probably, but with some differences. I’ve been thinking and praying about it a lot.”

  “I’d love to go with you. Call before you leave the church to see if I’m out of my hearing.”

  That afternoon Jeffrey left the cottage after spending five minutes with Baxter. The lump of flesh in the hospital bed couldn’t hold his interest. His brother was taking up space and consuming assets without any tangible return. Things would be much more simple and direct if Baxter died, leaving Rena in control of his estate and Jeffrey in control of Rena.

  He walked across to the main house. On the way, he passed a large tree where he’d tried to push Baxter out of a tree house when they were boys. His younger brother’s cry for help had brought their grandmother from the house, and Jeffrey had been ordered to cease and desist.

  Jeffrey and Rena had more in common than they realized.

  Jeffrey stopped by his car, took out his briefcase, and rang the doorbell. Rena opened it.

  “Come in,” she said. “Did you see Baxter?”

  “Just for a second. He’s losing body mass by the day. I don’t see that he can go on much longer like this.”

  Rena nodded. She’d not been over to the cottage all day.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen,” Jeffrey suggested.

  They sat down at a light-colored wooden table. Jeffrey opened the briefcase and took out a single sheet of paper. He handed it to Rena.

  “This is a summary of the information your lawyer will need to file the suit. I have all the backup documentation, but I’m not going to give it to her unless my father tries to fight. I think a strong bluff will be enough to accomplish our goals.”

  Rena read the sheet. It was a list of companies with dates beside them and two lines of percentages. At the bottom was a list of ten people Rena didn’t know. Most were men, but a few were women.

  “What is this? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Lindale will know what it means. Just tell her it represents recent changes in the ownership of the companies listed. The higher percentages were Baxter’s ownership shares before the accident; the lower numbers represent what he holds now.”

  Most of the second column of figures were zeros.

  Rena pointed at the names on the bottom of the sheet. “Who are these people?”

  “My decoys. I don’t want my father to get suspicious as to the source of your information. The men and women listed are employees who have access to information. If you have to reveal why you know something about the businesses, supply one or more of these names.”

  Rena raised her eyebrows. “But won’t they get into trouble?”

  “Yes. They’ll be fired at the first opportunity. But every one of them is a person I want out of the company. They’re loyal to my father, not to me.”

  Rena hesitated. Alexia knew that Jeffrey was her contact. She wasn’t sure the lawyer would cooperate with the subterfuge.

  “I’ve done my part,” Jeffrey said. “Are you going to follow through?”

  “Am I still being watched?” Rena asked.

  She had frequently looked out the window since returning to Santee but hadn’t noticed anything unusual. The dark blue car was nowhere in sight.

  “Guarded is a better word,” Jeffrey responded.

  He reached into the briefcase and casually took out a videotape.

  “Watch this later. It will encourage you to cooperate with me for our mutual benefit.”

  “What is it?”

  “Consider it a home movie. When will you talk to your lawyer?”

  “I’ll phone her tomorrow.”

  After Jeffrey left, Rena picked up the tape. It didn’t have a label on it. She guessed it was probably from the previous year’s Christmas party, but she didn’t recall anyone filming the festivities. She had a small TV/VCR unit in the kitchen. She slid the tape into the player and turned it on.

  The video began with a shot of the front of her house with the red convertible in the driveway. The date and time ran continuously across the bottom of the picture. As she watched, the side door to the house opened, and she saw herself coming outside. She got into the convertible and drove down the driveway. Whoever shot the film was in a vehicle that followed her through several stop signs and a traffic light until a truck pulled in front of them and cut them of
f. The video ended but the date and time stayed on the screen for several seconds.

  Rena gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

  It was the day she went for her joy ride down the coast toward Charleston. The surveillance film would destroy her alibi that her car was stolen while she’d gone for a long walk to the park. She went over to the VCR, ejected the tape, and threw it across the room. It knocked over a frame containing a photograph of Rena in her wedding dress and sent it crashing to the floor.

  The following afternoon Ted called Alexia at three-thirty, but she wasn’t there. During the drive to Santee he repeated the same simple prayer over and over.

  “Lord Jesus, let it be today.”

  He decided to stop by Alexia’s office. As he got out of his truck, Alexia turned the corner down the sidewalk and saw him.

  “I just finished my hearing in court,” she said.

  “Do you want to go with me?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’ve done enough work for one day.”

  Ted got back in his truck and waited. In a moment Alexia appeared and smiled brightly at him.

  “Did you win?” he asked, as he backed the truck out of the parking space.

  “I made progress,” Alexia answered. “Today was a major skirmish and I scored some points. But most cases aren’t won in a day.”

  “That’s how I’m looking at what we’re about to do,” Ted replied.

  They rode in silence the few blocks to the cottage as Ted focused on what lay ahead.

  “Give me the permission slip,” Alexia said. “I want to give it to the nurse.”

  “No,” Ted replied with a smile. “It has my name on it. Be nice or I’ll make you wait in the truck.”

  They parked in front of the tiny house. Ted got out and walked up to the door with his keyboard under one arm and the authorization from Dr. Berman in his hand. He prayed under his breath as he stood on the small stoop, knocked, and waited for Nurse Hathcock to appear. Alexia stood beside him.