Cathy walked into Ella Mae's glass-walled room and stopped at the foot of the bed. The woman lay perfectly still, her eyes closed, her arms crossed on her chest to the extent that the IV tubing allowed. It was as though she were in a coffin. Cathy remembered the EMT's description of the way he'd found Ella Mae. As though she were laid out. There had to be a message in that.
"Ella Mae, are you awake?"
No movement. No response.
Cathy pulled up a chair. She put her hand on top of Ella Mae's and patted it. "You gave us quite a scare Thursday night. I think you'll be fine, but I need to know why you did this. More importantly, I need some reassurance that you won't try it again as soon as I discharge you. Can you tell me about it?"
No answer.
"Would you like something to eat? I think we can let you have a liquid diet, maybe advance to soft foods tomorrow. How would that be?"
The only response was a deep sigh.
Cathy rose and pushed the chair back against the wall."You know, we can keep you on IVs for a while, but I've got to warn you. You can't lose too many pounds, or we'll never find you among the bedclothes." The attempt at humor fell flat.
At the door, she decided to try one more time. "I'll be by this evening to see you. Maybe transfer you to a regular room. But I still wish you'd talk to me."
Ella Mae's lips hardly moved, and Cathy had to strain to hear the words. "It's all in the note. I'm sorry."
"It's all in the note." What note? It had never occurred to Cathy to ask the paramedic about a note. At the time she'd been more interested in details that might help her save Ella Mae's life. She'd done that, but now she needed to bring her patient back from the depression that still gripped her.
Cathy found a free phone in the corner of the busy nurses' station, thumbed through a dog-eared directory, and dialed.
"Police. How may I help you?"
"This is Dr. Cathy Sewell. I'm caring for a patient who took an overdose in an apparent suicide attempt. I need to speak with the investigating officer."
It took a bit of convincing, but eventually Cathy was put through. The next words made her realize how small Dainger really was. "This is Sergeant Dendy."
"Billy Dendy?"
"Yes, this is Sergeant William Dendy. Who's this?"
"This is Dr. Cathy Sewell. Remember the girl who gave you a black eye in the sixth grade?"
Dendy's tone was warmer than Cathy expected. "How could I forget? I heard you were back in town. It's good to hear from you."
"First of all, I guess I ought to apologize for the black eye."
"Hey, I wouldn't stop pulling your hair. I probably deserved it. How can I help you?"
Cathy explained the reason for her call. "Did you find a note?"
"Nope. No note. Nothing on her computer. The paramedics found an empty prescription bottle, and that was all."Dendy cleared his throat. "The report says this was definitely a suicide attempt. We've closed the books on the case, but if you think somebody tried to poison her we can reopen things."
"No, I'm pretty sure she took an overdose. I just have no idea why she did it. And all she'll say is, 'It's all in the note.' But there's no note."
"Well, if you hear anything we should know, give me a call."
Cathy cradled the phone and tried to ignore the commotion around her. Nurses and doctors crowded into the little nursing station, snatching charts from the rack or shoving them back into their slots. The overhead pager called out sporadically. The business of the hospital went on uninterrupted while she tried to make sense of what she'd just heard.
Why had Ella Mae tried to end her life? And where was the note?
Cathy roused at the sound of the light tap on her door. It seemed as though her head had only touched the pillow a few minutes ago. Was it time to go to work? No, she always set an alarm, and it hadn't gone off. She started to roll out of bed and encountered a wall. Confused, she reached for the bedside lamp, and her fingers found only air.
There was the tap again. "What?" she croaked, her eyes still closed.
"Breakfast is ready. I thought you'd want something before we leave for church."
Cathy's sleep-deprived brain functioned like a lawnmower engine that sputters until it finally catches hold. Different room. Different house. Dora Kennedy. Then the smell of frying bacon hit her nostrils, followed closely by the scent of coffee, strong and rich.
"I'll be down in a second."
Cathy opened her eyes and found the light switch, squinting as the glare hit her dilated pupils. She padded to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Then she wrapped herself in a robe, shoved her feet into slippers, and shuffled down the stairs. If Sunday breakfast at the parsonage was as good as Sunday lunch, there was no way she would sleep through it.
She found Matthew and Dora Kennedy at either end of the table, with Will sitting next to the place that had been laid for her. This was a far cry from Cathy's usual breakfast of a muffin and coffee. Dora had cooked scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits. Two different kinds of jelly, obviously homemade, sat next to a small dish of real butter. A glass of orange juice and a steaming cup of coffee had been placed next to her empty plate.
"Sorry. I overslept," she said.
"Don't worry," Pastor Kennedy said. "Will, would you say grace?"
Cathy longed for several healthy swallows of coffee, hoping it would jumpstart her brain. She silently blessed Will for the brevity of his prayer, joined in the corporate "Amen," and sipped at the wonderful brew in her cup.
"How's Ella Mae," Dora asked, as she passed the bacon.
Cathy wondered how much she could say without breaking patient confidentiality. "Her medical condition is stable."Maybe that would be enough.
"Would it be all right for us to visit her?" Pastor Kennedy asked. "I mean, is it too soon after her suicide attempt?"
Cathy decided that confidentiality was probably a moot point. Besides that, maybe Ella Mae would talk to them. Cathy sure wasn't getting anywhere.
"I believe she's stable enough to have visitors. I'm sure you've been in enough hospital rooms to know when to cut a visit short. I'll leave it to your discretion." Cathy took a bite and revised her previously held opinion that most biscuits had the taste and consistency of hockey pucks. True, Bess Elam's had been better than most, but Dora Kennedy's were like nothing Cathy had ever tasted. They were marvelously light and absolutely delicious. She savored the rich flavor of real butter. Homemade apricot jam was sweet and tart on her tongue. She washed down a bite with coffee before continuing. "I transferred her to a regular room last evening. I don't think you'll have any trouble getting in."
"Where were you all day yesterday?" Will asked.
"Long day, long story. The short version is that after making rounds yesterday morning, I was on my way out through the emergency room when a major trauma case arrived. A minivan collided with an eighteen-wheeler. Driver of the van was DOA. The mother had a ruptured spleen. John Steel was on trauma call and asked me to scrub with him. The two kids in the van were okay except for cuts and bruises. We had to contact a relative to come get them, and I volunteered to sit with them until the family arrived. When I finally got away, I grabbed a burger and ate it in the car on my way home."
"Did the mother survive?" Pastor Kennedy asked.
"She'll be fine, but I pity her and those two children, losing their husband and father."
Cathy expected a response like, "We'll pray for them," or "God will comfort them." Instead, Dora asked, "Are they local? We'll check and see if there's a way to help."
Cathy couldn't understand it. Her perception of the church had always been that it was full of pious people who quoted Scripture but didn't want to have anything to do with the rest of the world. But this family had rolled up its collective sleeves and was ready to help those around them. Had Cathy been wrong? After hearing Dora's story of the death of their baby girl, Cathy's perspective of God's role in the tragedies of the world had changed. Were these folks ri
ght when they told her to lean on God for help?
She let the others carry the conversation during breakfast. When she pushed back her chair and started upstairs to get ready for church, she wondered whether she might have been missing out on something.
17
Church was a different experience today.Cathy didn't sing the hymns; she listened to the words. She didn't join in the responsive reading; she let the Scripture speak to her. And when Pastor Kennedy asked the congregation to turn to Exodus 16, Cathy left her Bible closed in her lap, choosing instead to sit with her head bowed, visualizing the scene of God feeding the children of Israel in the wilderness, sending them manna every morning.
She listened as the preacher took this familiar Bible passage and made it real for her. She flashed back to a Sunday school teacher saying something about "He opened the Scriptures to them." That was Jesus, she was pretty sure, but that also seemed to be what Pastor Kennedy was doing today.
"God provides for His children," he said. "We may not like what He provides, though, because we don't see the big picture as God can. I'm sure there were Israelites who prayed for a varied menu. Can't you just hear them now? 'Manna again today?' But there were also those who remained faithful-faithful for forty years as they wandered in the wilderness waiting for the fulfillment of God's promises to them. These were the ones who awoke each morning with a smile, looked out of their tents, and said, 'Oh, look! There's manna again this morning!' "
Pastor Kennedy moved away from the pulpit and lowered his voice, but the microphone clipped to his tie carried his words to every corner of the room. "We don't always like what God sends. We forget that He sees things we can't. God wants to send us blessings, even though we may not recognize them. And when He blesses us, I hope each of us will take the time to thank Him… for the manna."
Cathy locked the outer door behind her before she picked up the folder from Jane's desk and took it to her own. She hated to leave the comfort of the Kennedys living room and the company of the family that had taken her into their home and hearts. She longed to relax this Sunday afternoon. But she needed to check her balance sheet. Monday promised to be a busy day.
On her way to the office, she had stopped at the hospital to look in on Ella Mae. There'd been no change. Physically, the woman seemed to be recovering from the effects of her overdose. Mentally, however, it was as though she'd crept into a hard shell to keep out the world. Hopefully, the psychiatrist could help her.
Cathy popped the tab on a Diet Coke and settled into the chair behind her desk. She wondered how long it would be before it was all snatched from her: the desk, the chair, the office furniture. She'd shopped with care, overwhelmed by the cost of computers, fax machines, copiers, a phone system. The seventy thousand dollars that seemed like so much when she signed the note shrank like an ice cube in the sun when she started writing checks on her newly opened practice account.
Right now that seventy thousand dollars loomed like the national debt. And she didn't even want to think of the student loans she'd accumulated during four years of medical school. Thank goodness she wasn't due to start repaying those for a couple of years. Even so, they were part of the load she felt pressing down on her. She guessed that whoever said "Money isn't everything" probably had some.
Before she could do more than glance over the figures Jane had put together, Cathy's cell phone rang. The hospital? She wasn't on call. Ella Mae? She had seemed fine just an hour ago. Cathy glanced at the caller ID. Will.
"Hello?"
"Cathy, this is Will. Are you in your office right now?"
"Yes, I'm looking over my finances to see if there's any way I can come up with five thousand dollars by Wednesday." She sipped her soft drink. "I hated to leave. It was nice spending a quiet Sunday afternoon with you all."
"I enjoyed it too. Don't you think you could use the services of your attorney? I mean, two heads are better than one."
Trusting anyone, even Will, came hard for her. "I don't want to bother you."
"No bother."
She shrugged. Why not? "Okay, come on over."
"Would you open the door then? It's lonely out here."
Cathy hurried to the office door. When she lifted a slat of the Venetian blind, she saw an eye peeping back at her and heard Will's voice in her phone. "I'm sorry, but I don't know the password."
"Funny man."
Will reached into his jacket pocket. "I brought you something. Mom thought you might like one of her special chocolate chip cookies."
"I notice there are two, so I guess you expect me to share. Let me get you something to drink. Diet Coke okay?"
With Will settled beside her at the desk, Cathy ran her finger down the column of figures Jane had prepared. On paper, her practice had started to turn a profit. But it would take at least another month before she received sufficient insurance payments for those paper profits to show up in her bank account.
"It will be a stretch just to come up with the money for the interest on the loan. There's no way I can meet the bank's new terms."
Will popped the last bite of cookie into his mouth and licked his fingers. "See what tomorrow brings. Don't forget what Dad said in his sermon today."
Cathy nodded uneasily. She could agree in principal with leaning on God to supply her needs, but in practice? Not so easy.
"What's that?" Will pointed to two sheets of paper peeking out from under the list of accounts receivable.
"Those are the names of everyone in the county who owns a black Ford Expedition. The sheriffthought I might recognize the name of a person who would want to run me out of town. Or kill me."
"Let me see one sheet; you take the other. Then we'll switch."
Cathy had the top of the alphabet. She put down the remains of her cookie and started down the list. Abernathy. Archer. Bascomb. Bell. Clawson. Conroy.
"Whoa," she said. "Look at this." She handed the list to Will and pointed out a name.
"Marcus Bell," he said. "You think he might be behind this?"
Cathy shook her head. "I don't know. At first, Marcus seemed supportive of me professionally. Then he asked me out a couple of times and I said no. After that, he's been a bit less friendly. But, surely, he wouldn't try to hurt me just because I turned him down for a date." She gnawed at a fingernail. "Besides, the incident with the SUV happened before he ever asked me out."
"Maybe we're looking at it backward," Will said. "Maybe Marcus was out to get you even before he asked you out. Remember how something always stopped you from getting privileges? Marcus was in a perfect position to pull that off."
"I can't believe he'd do that."
"When he saw you in the emergency room after the accident, how long had he been there?"
"I'm not sure," Cathy said. "The nurse said he'd come in to look at a patient with possible appendicitis, but that wouldn't take long. The work-up had been done already. And it was a while between the time of the accident and my arrival at the ER."
Will tapped his fingers against his front teeth. "Could he have been in that SUV on his way to the hospital when he saw you and decided to run you offthe road? Or might it have been an accident, and afterward he was afraid to admit it?"
"I don't know." Cathy wanted to scream. "I just want my life back."
Will took Cathy's hand and squeezed it. "Okay. I didn't mean to upset you. Let's finish checking this list so you can talk to SheriffDunaway in the morning. In the meantime, be careful around Marcus Bell."
Cathy chewed the last bite of her cookie, but it seemed to turn to dust in her mouth.
"Sheriff, I want to make it clear that I'm not accusing anyone whose name I've marked. These are just people who seem to be the most likely suspects."
Dunaway inclined his head. "I understand, Dr. Sewell. We'll be very discreet in our questions. I'll have one of my deputies make a few calls to see if these folks can verify where they were at the times you encountered that black SUV. Your name won't be mentioned."
Cathy
came out from behind her desk and offered her hand. "Thank you. I appreciate everything you're doing."
"Not at all. Not only is it my job, I… I don't guess you'd remember. You were only about eight or nine at the time. My son, Jerry, fell out of a tree and hit his head. By the time we got him to the hospital, he had what they called an acute subdural hematoma-bleeding over the outside of the brain. The nearest neurosurgeon was an hour away, and your daddy said that by then Jerry would be dead. He told us he hadn't seen one of these kind of injuries since he was a resident, but he asked our permission to do an emergency operation to relieve the pressure. He called it 'burr holes.' After he did it, he rode in the ambulance to Dallas with Jerry. The neurosurgeon said Dr. Sewell saved our son's life."
Cathy had a faint memory of her father mentioning the episode, but he never made much of it. "Just another day at the office" was his usual comment.
"Your father was a fine man and a good doctor," Dunaway said. "And he took wonderful care of your mother when she got sick. I think you'll find there are lots of folks around here who still feel grateful to him."
"How is Jerry?" Cathy asked.
"Killed in Afghanistan. Threw himself on a grenade to save his buddies." Dunaway blinked rapidly. "But we were blessed to have him as long as we did, thanks to your daddy's work. God was really good to us."
Cathy found herself touched by the attitude of this man and confused by the picture everyone had painted of her father. Maybe she'd been wrong-about lots of things.
Cathy blew a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes and shrugged her shoulders to ease the tension. It had been a busy morning, and the balance of the day promised to be more of the same. She didn't really have time to make this call, but Jane had said it was important.
"Marcus, Jane said that you called."
"Yes. Thanks for calling back." He hesitated so long Cathy thought she'd lost the connection.
"Marcus, are you there?"
"Cathy, this is hard for me. I know you've been angry with me, perhaps with good reason. I don't know. But I'd still like to invite you out-if not for dinner, then just for coffee. What do you say?"
Code Blue pft-1 Page 18
