by Tom Bierdz
“But, Megan, this doesn’t make a lot of sense. If you want me to move in because you love me, why would you threaten my livelihood?”
“I’ll do whatever I have to do get my man.” She ended the call.
I felt a chill from her tone, like the temperature in the room had dropped twenty degrees. I poured myself a tall scotch, dizzy with speculation, and walked to the window. Rain pelted down on the car I had just washed. I had failed to put in the garage. It didn’t matter. How luxurious to have such mundane concerns. I believed that the Sasha rowboat story was a ploy to get me to see Megan, but it was also part of a broader plan to provide an alibi for Megan if she did, in fact, kill Sasha and possibly set me up as an accessory.
I needed to see Carrie and prayed the Benson murder trial was ending. Instead of moping around I decided to join Nancy, Bruce’s wife, at the ballgame. Her girlfriend had cancelled out and Nancy called to see if I wanted to use her ticket.
37
The rain was relentless, streaming down like sheets, but the stands inside Safeco Field were comfortable because the roof was closed. The intermittent, daunting pounding on the roof was mostly drowned out by the boisterous crowd. Nancy was seated behind the Mariner dugout, clinging to a cup of wine when I arrived. She wore a player’s blue Mariner jacket and baseball cap, the curls of her brunette hair bouncing beneath. She greeted me with bright brown, almond eyes, pert freckled nose, and genuine smile. I hadn’t seen her since my divorce and she looked younger now than then, a sign that life was going well for her. I sat, kissed her on the cheek.
“You’re looking great, Nanc,” I said.
“I don’t know that my mirror agrees with you, but thanks.” She flashed me one of those impish looks where her lips barely curled up like she did when we were in school together. “Every now and then I think about some of the fun times we had in med school.”
“Fun times? I remember it as punishment the way they wore us down.”
“That’s why those dorm room parties were so much fun. We had to let off steam.” She glowed. “I ran into Kelli last month. Remember her?”
Of course, I did. I had a near-affair with Kelli that could have cost me my marriage. Attractive with flaming red hair, she pursued me aggressively. It took everything I had to turn her down. “How could I forget her. She was around every corner, popped up at every bend.”
“She asked about you. I said you were a practicing shrink. She was impressed.”
“Where did you see her?”
“In LA, when I was attending a conference.”
“Kelli’s a pediatrician?”
She laughed. “No, I ran into her at a mall. She didn’t finish. She’s working for a health insurance company.”
“Kelli wasn’t disciplined like you were.” I shouted down a beer vendor. “How’s your practice going?”
“Phenomenal. I have trouble keeping up with it all. I have a PA but I’m going to have to hire another pediatrician. Bruce is on the road a lot so being busy is good in that sense, but this is the first game I’ve gone to. I like to be there for him when he pitches. He doesn’t say it, but I know he’s disappointed when I don’t come.”
“I would have suspected nothing less with your success. You’re the complete package.”
“You also had a thriving practice at one time.”
“Yeah. Lots of things have happened.”
Her expression saddened. She sipped her wine. “Did Bruce tell you I saw Hanna a few months back? She was really down. I was worried about her. I urged her to see a therapist. She didn’t, did she?”
“No. She has had it with therapists.”
She frowned. “Sorry, Grant. I thought you two were good as a couple.”
“Things happen.” I drank from my beer.
“I should have followed up.”
“I’m sure she’d be glad to see you, but Hanna’s doing better. We talk. She’s not as angry at me anymore.”
An announcer asked everyone to stand for the National Anthem. A local singer sang The Star Spangled Banner. Afterwards, Bruce blew a kiss to Nancy, waved to me, and then joined the Mariners who scampered onto the field. Bruce began his warm ups.
I felt a pinch of envy without a trace of resentment for Bruce doing what he loved with a intelligent, supporting wife at his side and mourned my loss. Once I had it all. I even thought my life with Megan was a new beginning. It was not only a false start but fraught with perilous danger.
We were playing the Oakland A’s and it was beginning to turn into a romp, one of those rare days when the Mariners could do nothing wrong. The hits were plentiful, the defense outstanding, robbing the A’s of sure base hits, and Bruce was in the groove threading the strike zone with pitches that moved as if they had a mind of their own. He struck out every other batter which brought the crowd to their feet, waving towels. Nancy was among the first to stand up and shout when Bruce had two strikes on a batter.
“I hear you’re involved with some blonde. You have a picture of her?
I shook my head, then remembered how a tipsy Megan and I had our picture taken on my cell phone by a bystander after dining in a nearby restaurant. Later, I had two shots developed, shoved them into my wallet between my money and had forgotten about them. I never bothered putting them in the plastic windows. “I think I do,” I said, taking out my wallet. The photos were bent, stuffed between the greenbacks. I pulled them out, two near identical, cheek-to-cheek, head photos, and glanced at them. Megan and I were both so loose and uninhibited, caught up in the excitement of our freshness, feeling bold and alive. I couldn’t fathom how the woman in the photo could be the wicked schemer I’d been experiencing lately. I handed the photo to Nancy.
“Stunning,” Nancy said, “even in these photos.” She handed the photos back. “Does Hanna know?”
“She knows I’ve been dating.”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows your dating! This town still has a rumor mill. Grapevine has it that you’ve gone out with eighty percent of the eligible women in town.”
I flushed, embarrassed.
“I’m not judging you, Grant. You’ve been through a lot. You know what they say in the medical professions – Physician heal thyself.”
“You’re right,” I said, lowering my defenses. “I’ve turned the corner. I’m only seeing Megan, but my practice is still suffering.”
Nancy finished her wine, placed the plastic cup in the holder on the back seat in front of her. “I’ll ask you again. Does Hanna know you’re seeing this woman?”
“Yes.”
The crowd erupted when our catcher hit a home run over the center field fence with two men on base, making the score 7 to 0.
“What does she think?”
What should it matter? Nancy’s loyalty to Hanna was coming through. “I don’t know,” I answered. But I did know Hanna felt Megan was dangerous. I didn’t want to get into this with Nancy. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her or value her opinion. It was too complicated with too many layers. Not something to be shared at a baseball game. I needed to talk to Carrie.
“Enough about this,” Nancy said, responding to my mood. “I want you to be happy, Grant, with whomever.”
We tuned into the game, watching the Mariners score three more times in the inning, making it 10 to 0. I went to the refreshment stand, got another beer and a wine for Nancy. A couple of innings later, Nancy asked, “Can I see those photos again?”
“Sure.” I showed them to her.
“I think I know this woman. What did you say her name was?”
“Megan Wilshire.”
Biting down on her lip, Nancy tilted the photo, studied it as if it was a critical medical test result. “I could be wrong but if it’s who I think, her name was Megan Pennington. Bruce and I attended a party of hers in Chicago’s Gold Coast four or five years ago.” She sighed, lazily looked at the field, her mind replaying the incident. “A year earlier I attended a symposium in Chicago on mental disorders in children for ped
iatricians. Walter Pennington, a Professor of Psychiatry, gave a marvelous lecture on Autism.
Shortly after, Benny, an autistic child, entered my practice. He displayed some of the unique symptoms Dr. Pennington had talked about so I communicated with him about the boy. Pennington said he was giving a series of lectures on the treatment of Autism and invited me to attend. As it happened Bruce was scheduled to pitch against the Chicago White Sox the same weekend, so I hitched a ride. The prof and I hit it off and it helped that he was a baseball fan. He invited me and Bruce to a dinner party that he and his wife were having that night.”
A javelin pierced my gut. I could hear Nick tell me that Megan had been married. “You’re sure she was the wife, not a companion?”
“No question. Pennington introduced her as his wife and a wedding picture adorned the fireplace mantel. She was confident, in charge, undoubtedly used to hosting dinner parties. I was in admiration, couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was everything you’d expect from a diplomat or statesman wife. In fact, I didn’t think the professor measured up.”
“Measured up?”
“He was somewhat crass. Socially beneath her.”
“Are you sure his name was Walter, not Jack?”
“I’m positive it was Walter. I corresponded with him, addressed him as Walter.”
She sounded like the Megan I knew. She hadn’t hosted any dinner parties, but the confident swagger, the level of her sophistication matched. “What else can you tell me?”
“There were ten or twelve of us. Dinner was delicious, catered, served by the help. Conversation centered on what was happening in the country. I talked very little with Megan, brain-stormed with Pennington about my patient. Bruce talked with her more. You can talk to him. That’s about it. We never had any more contact with them.”
I could never get back into the game after that. My head was swirling as if someone was shaking my brain made of marbles. Deceived was the word that kept bouncing in my head. Megan had deceived me. She said she never married. Nick and Nancy seem to suggest otherwise. Nick thought her husband’s name was Jack. Nancy was sure it was Walter. Nick could have been mistaken. He guessed it was Jack. And the Megan Nancy identified could have merely resembled my Megan and been someone else entirely. Somehow, however, I suspected I had been deceived and Megan had been married. I needed to confirm this.
I was too nauseous to wait for Bruce. He’d need to talk with reporters and shower and it took everything I had to keep from regurgitating all over Nancy. The more I thought about Megan’s lies and deception, the sicker I became. I needed to gain control; I needed to go home. I couldn’t even remain for the rest of the game. I apologized to Nancy, told her I was sick, thought it was something I ate earlier, and had to leave. I told her to tell Bruce he pitched a hell of a game and that I’d talk to him later.
“Sorry, I didn’t stick around after the game to congratulate you. You pitched a helluva ballgame.”
“I did, didn’t I? It was one of those rare days where I could picture in my mind the exact spot I wanted to throw the ball and I’d hit the target every time. And,” he added, his excitement rising, “the ball would move the way I intended it to. This game is mental. When I can get into that zone, block everything out and focus, I’m almost unhittable. If I could pitch like that sixty, seventy percent of the time, I’d be one of the all-time greats.”
“We both know you’re headed for the Hall of Fame.”
“You really think so?”
“Come on, Bruce, cut out that modesty bullshit.”
Belching out a laugh, he said, “I’ve got an image to maintain. I can’t come off too cocky.”
“You know I tell everyone I see, that Bruce Dieter is such a humble guy. He cares nothing about fame and fortune.”
“Okay, Garrick, what do you want?”
“I’m sure Nancy told you the Megan I’d been seeing might be the same Megan Pennington you dined with in Chicago.”
“I got the fax. She is the same Megan. That’s the real reason you got sick.”
Bruce knew me too well. “I’m flying to Chicago, see what I can find out. I need to tap your memory of that night.”
“What do you hope to accomplish?”
“I’ve learned via the internet that Walter Pennington died from a heart attack some months after your party, but the info on Megan is scarce. I’m looking for leads, something to link me to her. Do you remember the names of any of the guests?”
“Christ! That was a few years ago. Frankly, Grant, my attention was focused on this fascinating woman. And she was fussing over me, a big league ball player, massaging my ego. I only had eyes for her. Nancy can verify that. She thought I went a little overboard. I can’t tell you much about anything else.”
“I didn’t specifically ask Nancy...”
“Nancy and I talked about it. Besides for the host and hostess, no one made a lasting impression. I didn’t think the guests were colleagues of the professor. There were people from the business world, a politician, someone from the entertainment field. I know that’s not very helpful, but the best I can do.”
I was about to hang up.
“Wait. She asked me if I knew any psychiatrists in Seattle. She had a friend who needed help. I gave her your name. I’d forgotten about that. You probably don’t remember. It was a few years ago. I asked you if any new patients mentioned mine or Megan Pennington’s name. You said you didn’t think so but people didn’t always say who referred them.”
I didn’t remember. Trying to jog my memory I didn’t respond.
“You still there?”
“Yeah. I was trying to remember.”
“Are you in trouble, Grant?”
“I don’t know. I need to sort this all out.”
“You need any help, buddy, let me know.”
“Thanks. Bye.”
Holly Christ! I’d been targeted from the beginning.
38
“Don’t forget to bring your husband in with you next time,” I said, to the meek woman as I ushered her out of my office. “He needs to know how this is affecting you. You bring him here and I’ll help you with it.”
She winced, manufactured a half-smile, the thought of any confrontation painful for her.
When she exited I noticed that my next patient was in the waiting room.
“You can go in, Paula.”
I started to follow her into my office when Bobby stopped me. “Wait! Postman had me sign for this when you were in session.” He handed me a letter which I opened on the way to my office. Jolted as if I’d been clubbed with a 2x4, I braced myself against the wall. Taking several deep breaths I tried to compose myself as I entered my office and closed the door.
Paula sat stiffly, smiled at me.
I collapsed into my chair, dazed, unable to smile back.
“You all right, Dr. Grant?” She looked terrified. She worried I wasn’t in control to help her.
“Yeah, I just had a bit of bad news.” I placed the letter on my desk. “A friend of mine. He’s ill. Seriously.” I lied, came up with something believable. I couldn’t tell her about the letter. “So how did your week go?”
The session was hell. I tried to concentrate and present a concerned, listening expression, but my insides were put through a meat grinder.
As soon as she left I grabbed the letter and raced down the stairs to Carrie’s office. She was on the phone, motioned for me to sit. She hung up. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“Megan’s done it. Sent the complaint.”
Carrie read the letter, her expression stony. Setting the letter down, she scratched her head, turned on a smoke-sucking ashtray and lit a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, she blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “This is a copy so your professional association has received the original, or will in the next day or so. We knew this was going to happen.”
“I thought I had some time. I just talked with her the other day and I hadn’t submitted the insurance.”
“Maybe she submitted it. I assume the insurance company would need verification from you.”
“Yeah, they would.”
She took another long drag. “I was talking to the assistant DA when you walked in. They accepted our plea bargain. Benson will plead guilty to manslaughter. That frees me up.” She leaned back in her chair resting her head in her hands, her burning cigarette nearly singeing her hair, then leaned toward me and advised in her most serious counseling tone. “We need to nip this in the bud. First thing we do is contact your association, alert them to the complaint, pledge our cooperation, deny that she has any basis, and that she’s angry and is striking out. We ask for their confidential consideration, that they keep it hush-hush so not to tarnish your reputation.” She paused, locked eyes. “Are you sure you want me to represent you. I never handled any of these.”
“Most definitely. I’d take you before Lee Bailey or Clarence Darrow.”
She twinkled her nose. “Megan’s a mature adult, not some innocent child. I don’t think their investigative arm will feel any urgency. And you’re in good standing.”
“There is my DUI.”
“Ironic how many ways that has haunted you.”
“Tell me about it.”
“But you have no sexual complaints against you. Do you have any enemies on the board, or in the group?”
“None that I know of.”
“Get me the information and I’ll call them this afternoon. I’ll also research the statute.” She put out the cigarette, closed the lid on the astray. “Now you need to bring me up to date. Do you have time now?”
I glanced at my watch. “Yeah, it’s almost noon. My next appointment is at one.”
“Tempus fugit. I’ll call for Chinese take-out.”
I closed my eyes and rubbed them. Where do I begin? “Megan came to see me because she was concerned her sister, Sasha, was going to kill herself. She eventually did...supposedly. In the meantime I got involved with Megan–“
”–had sex with her...outside the office.”
