The Missing Year

by Belinda Frisch

  The number registered as “Private.”

  “Hello?”

  “Ross? Guy Oliver calling.”

  Even if the man hadn’t identified himself, Ross would have recognized the familiar voice. Ross cracked a slight smile, remembering the strict but brilliant mentor with whom he’d spent four years of residency. “It’s good to hear from you. How are things in New York?”

  Guy cleared his throat. “Good. Well, okay.”

  “Is something wrong?” Ross said. At Guy’s mid-sixties age health issues were likely.

  “Not necessarily. It’s just that … I hate to even ask you this.”

  “Doc, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  “I have a patient I need a hand with.”

  “You mean like a case review? Why didn’t you just say that? Is it something I can do online?”

  “I wish it was that easy. I know it’s an imposition, but I would need you to come to the center.”

  “For how long?” Ross could manage a couple of days, but with the Arlene Pope situation he couldn’t afford more than that.

  “A month. Six weeks, maybe?”

  “Oh,” Ross said. That kind of commitment was out of the question.

  “You know I wouldn’t ask if I thought there was anyone else.”

  “Guy, I’m flattered, but I’m in the middle of a big case. I really don’t think I—”

  “Ross, I really need you on this. We’d pay your flights, rental car, and a per diem on top of matching your current salary.”

  “It isn’t that.” Ross hadn’t been back to New York since Sarah’s funeral. Their hometown, less than ten miles from Lakeside, held too many painful memories.

  “If you’re worried about work, I’ll talk to Dan for you.”

  Dan, Ross’s boss, was both a friend and former colleague of Guy’s. Guy had initially recommended Ross for his current job.

  “It’s not Dan, either. Even if he’d give me the time, I have this case—”

  “How much longer?”

  “How much longer for what?” Ross said.

  “Until the patient discharges.”

  “I honestly don’t know.” His report would certainly get the ball rolling on Arlene’s transfer to jail, but Ross had no idea if that meant hours, days, or weeks. Arlene’s lawyer was most likely going to push for a second opinion. Ross expected to have to defend his position.

  “What if I give you two weeks to wrap things up in Chicago? That would give you a month here.”

  “Guy, I really can’t.”

  “A woman’s life depends on this. My patient, Lila, is suicidal and non-verbal. Her family is threatening to remove her from care. If anyone can get her to talk, you can.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because it was her losing her husband that landed her here.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  After the disaster Ross had made of his relationship with Mattie, accepting Guy’s offer wouldn’t have been the worst idea. A month or two in New York would have given him the time and distance he needed to decide whether Mattie was the one for him, if there was such a thing after losing Sarah. He had turned down the offer but couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he could handle the emotions of a widow when he was still grieving.

  Ross headed downstairs and stopped to trace the edge of Sarah’s lime green windbreaker, which hung from the coat rack by the front door. The house was exactly as she had left it. Her things surrounded him, allowing him to live in some semblance of the past life he longed for.

  A life he could never have again.

  He poured himself a glass of wine, collapsed onto the sofa, and opened his laptop to complete the report he’d started but made almost no progress with at Mattie’s. Work had served as his primary distraction for years and he needed it now more than ever.

  He called up the file and read the first few lines of what he had written. A knock at the door interrupted him. It was slow, hesitant, and soft. Ross considered the short list of who might be on the other side.

  In the two years he had been dating Mattie, it was understood his house was off-limits. He had never invited her there and she never asked, at least not after the first time. The fact that she knew where he lived went without saying.

  Dan, his boss, had only come to the house when things with Sarah had gotten dire. He had been Ross’s friend once, a relationship Ross had strained by causing one too many problems at work. If it were Dan outside now, it could only mean that he’d learned what Ross had done with Arlene Pope and had come to let him know he had no choice but to fire him.

  Ross didn’t keep close friends, or distant ones for that matter. All of his acquaintances were back in New York, undoubtedly buying into some small town legend contrived to explain his disappearance. He’d be lying if he said he missed rural living and gossip.

  The only other possibilities were the people who lived on either side of him. He didn’t feel like dealing with neighbors.

  “I’m busy. Go away,” he said.

  The knocking continued.

  “I’m working. Please leave.”

  “Ross, open the door. We need to talk.”

  It was Mattie.

  Ross sprang up from the couch to answer the door.

  Mattie wouldn’t have come unless she planned to forgive him. He didn’t know until that moment that it was what he had wanted.

  “Mattie, what are you doing here?”

  Mattie had changed clothes, opting for jeans and an oversized sweatshirt in place of her sexy dress and heels. Her hair was twisted into a knot at the back of her head and her eyes were red from crying.

  Her gaze settled on his wedding band.

  “Can we talk?”

  Ross didn’t know what to say. His mind was sending mixed signals. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He had left her apartment to avoid confrontation, to let things cool off, and to give them time and space to think before either of them said something else they’d regret.

  “Ross, I’m sorry. I have to do this now or I won’t do it at all.” Mattie pushed past him into the living room. Her eyes fixed on Sarah’s jacket. “I can see why you haven’t invited me here.” Her mouth bent into a frown.

  “Mattie, I’m sorry about dinner and about what I said.” Ross could not bear to repeat it.

  “Do you always wear your ring?”

  Ross shook his head. “Not always. No.” There was no answer that wouldn’t hurt her.

  He sat on the couch.

  She sat on the ottoman in front of him, wringing her hands.

  “I shouldn’t have come to dinner tonight,” he said. “This case I’m working has brought up a lot of feelings, thoughts about Sarah.”

  “Please, I can’t hear her name right now.” Mattie, who would have normally comforted him, shifted back in her seat. “What am I to you, Ross?”

  He wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but he didn’t like her tone. “Excuse me?”

  “What … am … I … to … you?” She paused between each word. “Am I a security blanket? A coping mechanism? A convenience?”

  “No. It’s nothing like that.” He reached for her hand and she crossed her arms.

  “Then what?”

  Ross opened his mouth to answer. Nothing came out.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said. “You know, I knew the risk when I pushed you to go out with me. I kept thinking you’d learn to cope. I convinced myself that you, of all people, could get past what had happened to you, but whenever you get too close, you put the wall back up. Two weeks ago we were talking about the future and now, nothing. You shut me out like you always do.”

  He’d have denied the fact, except it was absolutely true. His heart was unreachable.

  He didn’t know how many times he could apologize, but it was all that came to mind. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, Ross. I’m the sorry one. I came here because I felt bad, like I overreacted. I know you
didn’t mean to do what you did, but it really magnified the problem. Do you know how hard it is to be in love with someone and have no idea who they’re thinking about when you’re with them? I thought if I was patient, if I listened and was there for you when you needed a shoulder to cry on, you’d come around, even when everything about you said otherwise.”

  “Mattie, please—”

  “You have no idea how badly it hurts me to have to let you go.”

  “Then don’t,” he said. “I came home to let things cool off, to give us both time to think things through. My feelings for you are complicated.”

  “Then uncomplicate them. I know you miss your wife. I know you’re hurting, but by ignoring the problems between us, I’m letting you hurt me. Five years and you’re still not over her. She’s gone and she’s never coming back. I can’t be her.”

  Ross’s hurt turned to anger. “No one asked you to.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Guy buried his face in his hands, the call having not gone as he had expected. The Ross Reeves he knew never shied away from a challenge or from helping someone in need. Something had changed, and whatever it was had left Guy in a lurch.

  He picked up the phone and dialed Ruth Wheeler’s number. Ruth answered on the second ring.

  “Dr. Oliver, good morning.”

  “Ruth, we need to talk.”

  “Okay, let’s skip the pleasantries.”

  “What, exactly, do you want me to get out of Lila?” It was the most direct he had ever been with her.

  “I don’t want you to get anything out of her, Dr. Oliver. I want you to help lift the weight of her grief, to get to the bottom of whatever’s bothering her.”

  “Why? You aren’t her flesh and blood, Ruth. You have no reason to take care of her. You say there isn’t something you’re specifically looking to hear, but then why the donation if she opens up? What do you get out of any of this?”

  “The satisfaction of taking care of my son’s wife. It’s what Blake would have wanted. The money is a token of my appreciation for all that Lakeside has tried to do. Lila’s family has never approved of her choices. From the minute Lila married Blake, forsaking having children, her parents have been distant. Well, more so than usual. They’re business people, in love with an easy lifestyle. They aren’t the ‘taking care of someone’ type. Someone needs to look after Lila.”

  “And that day, when we were doing the admission paperwork, you asked to be separated from Lila. If you were overseeing her care because you loved her or because of some obligation you felt to your son, why couldn’t you be in the same room as her?”

  “Things had been strained between us since Blake’s passing. I didn’t want to be in the room with Lila as much for her sake as for mine. She’s,” Ruth paused as if choosing her words carefully, “fragile.”

  “I agree, but I can’t help feeling there’s more to this. I put my license on the line for you, Ruth. The least you can do is to explain to me why.”

  “If you’re worried about your license, don’t be. No one knows Lila signed those papers under heavy sedation except for me.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.” Guy’s limited dealings with Ruth Wheeler had him believing her capable of anything. “Please, Ruth. One hint. One clue about anything that might get Lila to open up.”

  “Something happened in those last days before Blake was shot, something dramatic enough for Lila to want to take her own life. It’s up to you to find out what.”

  “I’m trying, but how am I supposed to do that if she won’t talk to me? Lila transferred here a year ago with a copy of her hospital chart and a suitcase and you expect a miracle. I read her file, cover to cover, and there’s nothing in there that matters.”

  “Then find out what isn’t in there.”

  The line went dead.

  Ruth had hung up on him.

  Guy was furious, and out of options. There was only one solution. He dialed the phone again, this time punching in the Chicago number from memory.

  “Dr. Daniel Long speaking.”

  “Dan, it’s Guy calling. I hate to ask, but I need a favor.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ross peeled off his sunglasses as he entered Southeast Memorial’s parking garage and handed his ID badge to the gate guard.

  “You’re all set,” the older man said after comparing the picture to Ross’s face twice.

  Ross pulled into one of several parking spots marked “Reserved” and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked like hell. Red rings rimmed his tired eyes and his complexion looked pale. He’d say he was sick if asked, but he wasn’t. Between pining for Sarah and what had happened with Mattie, he was an emotional wreck.

  Walking through the hospital’s main entrance, he couldn’t help feeling that all eyes were on him. Ross lowered his head and broke for the nearest elevator. He rode the car to the third floor Psychiatry Department and exited, immediately overcome by dread.

  Dr. Daniel Long stood outside the unit’s secured entrance wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and a navy blue suit Ross knew was reserved for meeting days. His silver hair gave away his age of sixty-three years, his aging doing little to diminish his presence.

  “We need to talk,” he said in an authoritative tone that intimidated Ross from ten feet away.

  There was no question in Ross’s mind that Dan knew what he had done with Arlene Pope’s meds.

  Dan swiped his keycard and opened the unit door to the long hallway of offices preceding the unit where the patients were kept behind a second electronically locked entrance.

  “Can I set my things in my office first?”

  Dan shook his head. “It’s probably better you bring them with you.”

  “If this is about Arlene—”

  “Ross, please. I don’t want to have this conversation out here.” Dan unlocked and opened his office door, gesturing for Ross to go inside. “Have a seat.” He closed the door behind them.

  Ross’s eyes went immediately to the completed disciplinary notice on Dan’s desk.

  “I had an interesting visit this morning.” Dan said, his steely blue eyes lending a severity to his stare.

  “From who? Kallie?” After their last conversation, Ross suspected she would unburden her soul sooner than later.

  Dan didn’t confirm or deny that she had. He loosened his tie and ran his hands through the white hair at his temples. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Ross leaned forward in his chair, debating coming clean. It was like being pulled over for speeding. There was no right answer to the question, “Do you know how fast you were going?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Nothing?” Dan said. “About Arlene Pope and a medication switch?”

  “Arlene Pope was faking,” Ross said.

  “Arlene is a scared seventeen-year-old girl.”

  “And a murderer.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to refuse her medication, Ross.”

  “It does if she didn’t need it. Arlene Pope isn’t schizophrenic. There were no voices. Look at her M-FAST, at her chart—”

  “I have, and it doesn’t change anything. You’ve put me in a terrible position. Me and the hospital.”

  “By finding out the truth?”

  “By upsetting a patient to the point that she attempted suicide.”

  “What?”

  “That’s why Kallie came to talk to me. Arlene’s in the ICU after drinking from a bottle of bleach. Kallie confessed out of fear.”

  “And you forgave her in exchange for turning me in?”

  “I’m not going to discuss her disciplinary actions with you. This is about what you did.”

  “Dan, I met with Arlene’s mother yesterday. Arlene confessed. She’s guilty.”

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t change this.”

  “Where did she even get bleach?”

  “An unlocked cleaning cart on the unit.”

  “Then you sho
uld be talking to housekeeping. Incriminating Arlene was the right thing to do under the worst circumstances. Besides, the worst bleach would do is to cause gastritis and maybe make her throw up.”

  “Unless you mix it with ammonia. I’m dealing with housekeeping, Ross, but you’ve become a real liability. This isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this.”

  “And this isn’t the first time you’ve put me on a case knowing how I might have to go outside the norm to solve it.”

  “Be that as it may, I can’t let this one slide.”

  “Are you firing me?”

  Dan shook his head. “Administrative leave with pay. Human Resources will explain the details.”

  “For how long?”

  “Six weeks.”

  “And when I come back?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Six weeks suspension.

  To Ross, it felt like a death sentence. Work had kept his mind busy since a week after Sarah’s burial.

  Dan had said Ross hadn’t given himself enough time to grieve.

  Ross had wanted to return to the hospital sooner.

  Heading into the house full of Sarah’s things, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to be there full-time. He paced the living room, Sarah’s jacket reminding him of the argument he had with Mattie, who was the one person he would normally call on for advice at a time like this. He picked up his cell, scrolled to her number, and stopped, realizing how unfair it was to draw her back in as a crutch.

  He needed an escape, time to think, and New York suddenly seemed like the best place to do that. He dialed Guy’s extension at Lakeside.

  “Good afternoon, this is Dr. Guy Oliver speaking.”

  “Guy, it’s Ross.”

  “Ross, how are you?”

  “I’m good,” he lied.

  “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to be calling, but I’ve had some time to consider your offer. I’ve been thinking about that case—”

  “Lila Wheeler.”