The Missing Year

by Belinda Frisch

  “One of the few good days,” Lila said.

  “Few?”

  Apparently her marriage wasn’t all picnics and puppies.

  Ross hadn’t expected her to admit it.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Blake and I were happily married, but,” Lila turned her attention back to the tree, “nothing’s perfect. If it was, I wouldn’t be here, right?”

  Ross nodded.

  “I keep wondering if it weren’t for our anniversary, if Blake had gone to work, instead, and if he hadn’t brought Princess home, would things have worked out differently?”

  Ross rested his elbows against the desk and folded his arms. “You blame the puppy?”

  “Blake defined himself as a surgeon. He prided himself on a perfect track record. A forty-year-old mother of three died because Blake made a career-ending mistake he was never able to live with. It was my fault for not trying harder to keep him home that day. Blake and I were exhausted. Puppies are like babies their first few nights in a new home. Princess whined all night in her kennel. I offered to let her sleep with us, but Blake said bringing her to bed would only spoil her, that we’d never break the habit.”

  “He was right, you know.”

  “Blake wasn’t thinking clearly. He should’ve let me handle her. I could have slept on the couch or snuck her into bed when he was sleeping, but I didn’t. I let him take shifts, walking her and putting her back to bed. When the alarm went off, Blake was like a zombie. I mean he was never what I’d call a morning person, but something felt off.”

  “Off?”

  “He wasn’t himself. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but a wife notices things after ten years, even if she can’t label them. I had a bad feeling. I knew something was going to go wrong. I asked him to stay home, but he said he could remove a gallbladder in his sleep. ‘From the looks of it, you might have to,’ I said. He told me he couldn’t just call in, that there were patients scheduled for surgery, and said he’d be fine with a thermos of coffee. I went downstairs to make him some, but got distracted by the mess.”

  “What mess?”

  “The first floor looked like we’d been robbed.”

  “You slept through a break-in?”

  “More like a ransacking. Princess came running around the corner with a piece of napkin stuck between her teeth and her fur stained red. I chased her around the living room, but she was fast and I was working on two hours sleep. She ducked under the antique sideboard where I couldn’t reach her. I called and called for her, but she thought I was playing. She bounced back and forth on her front paws, her wagging tail leaving spots on the wall behind her.”

  “What was all over her?”

  “Salsa. She knocked over the trash can on taco night. Again, I think if I had put out the garbage—”

  “Hindsight, Lila. Would have, could have, should have. You had no way of knowing.”

  “I didn’t. No. That doesn’t make my choices easier to live with. I put a pot of coffee on and started cleaning up.”

  “And Blake?”

  “When I came out of the kitchen, he was toweling Princess off with a wet washcloth. ‘Looks like I wasn’t the only one half-asleep this morning,’ he said, swinging the training crate door on its hinge. I was so tired I must have missed the lock. He poured himself some coffee to go, kissed me, and went to work. I was so preoccupied with Princess that I figured Blake would be fine. I should have tried harder to stop him from operating. I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me.…”

  “Didn’t tell you what?”

  “That he wasn’t well,” Lila said. “Two hours later, I got the call.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Ross poured himself a drink from the water cooler and held out an empty cup. “Can I get you something? Water or tea?”

  “Tea, please.” Lila tied off the end of a braid in her now almost dry hair. Ross handed her a cup of hot water with a tea bag in it. “Thanks.” She kicked off her slipper and tucked her left foot under her right leg.

  “Tell me about this call,” Ross said.

  “Right. The call. By the time I cleaned, mopped, took out the trash, and washed Princess, a couple of hours had passed. I’d had enough caffeine to convince myself I was awake and since I hadn’t heard anything from Blake, I figured everything was fine. I was in the shower when my phone started ringing.”

  “It was Blake?”

  “Brenda, his office manager.”

  “Brenda Fowler.” Ross recalled the name of the woman who had found Lila unconscious in her garage.

  “You read my file?”

  “I wouldn’t be much of a psychiatrist otherwise.”

  “I guess not.” Lila went back to plucking the tree.

  “You are going to leave some foliage on that thing, aren’t you?”

  Lila rolled her eyes. “Brenda called to tell me Blake was hysterical, that he had locked himself in his office and she was scared.”

  “Of?”

  “She’d never seen Blake worked up. He was a surgeon with a pretty limited emotional range.”

  “Occupational hazard.”

  “I’m sure, but at that point, I wished I was more level-headed. It’s a wonder I didn’t wrap my car around a tree trying to get to his office. You should’ve seen me, laying on my horn and waving my arm out the window. People thought I was crazy.” Lila chuckled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “A little ironic given where I am, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not a fan of the label.”

  “And here I was just getting used to it.” Lila lifted the dripping tea bag out of her cup and tossed it into the trash. “Anyway, when I got to Blake I didn’t recognize my own husband. I’d never seen him upset like that, sitting there with his head between his hands, his eyes red and his leg pumping up and down. He was shaking all over. Dried blood covered his scrubs and his hair was matted from his surgical cap. He hadn’t even bothered changing. I asked him what happened. He told me he had made a mistake.”

  Ross handed Lila a tissue. “Surgical outcomes are never without risk.”

  “I told Blake that.” Lila dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “But there was more to it. He explained what had happened, and it was his fault—a fatal slip of the hand. I wanted to believe he was perfect as badly as he wanted to be. The patient died of hemorrhagic shock.”

  “Was he up on malpractice?”

  “No. The family never sued. What would be the point? Blake made the patient’s husband an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  “How nice of him.”

  “Don’t get the wrong idea. Blake didn’t prey on the man. He made him an honest deal. He felt horrible for what happened and didn’t want to drag the patient’s husband or her children through a lengthy court ordeal. What Blake paid him wasn’t in exchange for anything. In all honesty, I had wanted Blake to get the lawyers involved to protect us from future lawsuits, but Blake said it wasn’t necessary. He was the last man on Earth to believe in a handshake deal.”

  “And after that? What happened at the hospital?”

  “He took a sabbatical, said he needed to reprioritize. What happened looked like an honest mistake. No one really focused on why Blake had made the fatal cut. Things had started to go back to normal when I found out the truth.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Mark knocked hard on Ross’s door, entering his office before Ross had a chance to answer him. A pair of stained gloves hung from his right hand, his shirt covered in spatter.

  “Is that blood?” Ross said.

  “No time to explain. Dr. Oliver needs your help. Lila, I need you to go to your room.”

  Lila didn’t have to be told twice.

  “You couldn’t have come at a worse time,” Ross said, hurrying to keep up with Mark who was all but sprinting down the hall. “What happened?”

  “Just come on.” Mark bordered on out of breath by the time they got to the community room, which was overtaken by chaos.

  Blood spatt
ered the wall and the area rug in the center of the room where Joshua usually sat, watching his cartoons.

  Elijah washed frantically at the sink. He soaked his head under the faucet and scrubbed his pink and peeling face.

  Kendra twirled her red hair around her finger, her eyes firmly on Ross.

  Sophie stared at the blood.

  “Ross, get over here,” Guy said, he and Eddie struggling to hold Joshua down. Joshua lay prone and screaming. At only one hundred thirty pounds, Joshua had enough of an advantage over a middle-aged hipster and an out-of-shape sexagenarian to make controlling him difficult.

  Eddie’s pale skin turned bright red.

  Guy’s face was purple.

  “What happened?” Ross nudged Guy out of the way.

  Guy pulled himself up using the back of a nearby chair and steadied himself with his hands on his knees.

  “The voices,” Joshua cried. “I still hear them.” A screwdriver protruded from his right ear, the shank buried deep.

  “Joshua, listen to me. You’re going to be all right, but I need you to stop fighting. Take a deep breath, please.”

  “Let go of me!”

  Ross exerted pressure, forcing his knee into Joshua’s shoulder. “Breathe.”

  Joshua inhaled and screamed.

  “Why isn’t he sedated?” Ross said.

  “The hospital wants him conscious for evaluation,” Guy said, the color returning to his face, “in case of brain injury. The ambulance is on the way.”

  “Make them stop,” Joshua said. “Make them stop talking.”

  Ross tried to assess the situation, but between the scratches on and around Joshua’s ear and the blood, it was hard to see exactly how bad things were. “We need to immobilize the screwdriver. There could be cranial damage. Pulling it out could make it worse. Mark, I need gauze, tape, and some kind of packing.”

  “It won’t wash off,” Elijah screamed, talking about Joshua’s blood.

  How it had gotten on him remained one of several mysteries.

  Kendra pointed at Elijah and laughed like a hyena.

  “Come on, everyone. Back to your rooms,” Guy clapped his hands.

  The noise made Joshua scream louder. “Get off me!”

  Eddie lost his grip, making things harder for Ross.

  “Mark, grab him.”

  Mark caught Joshua’s hand as it headed toward his ear and pinned his other shoulder. “I got him,” he said to Eddie. “Get Dr. Reeves what he needs.”

  “Hold his head still.” Ross worried that if Joshua turned his head too far he’d lodge the screwdriver in further.

  Mark applied enough additional pressure to keep Joshua still.

  Eddie returned with the medical supplies. “Here.” He unwound a roll of cotton and handed it to Ross.

  “Thanks.” Ross stabilized the screwdriver and taped it in place. The sound of sirens eclipsed Joshua’s screaming. “Finally.”

  Guy hurried up the stairs with two medics behind him, the collapsed gurney they were carrying fitted with four-point restraints.

  “Help me transfer him,” Ross said to Mark.

  The heavier of the two medics unfastened the belt and moved the gurney closer. “What do we have?”

  “Twenty-five-year-old schizophrenic, auditory and perception issues, lodged a screwdriver in his ear,” Guy said.

  “How did he get a screwdriver?”

  Guy shrugged. “Maintenance has been working on heating issues. Someone must have left it behind.”

  Ross shook his head at Mark, who looked about to confess. He had no intention of calling him out.

  “Have you given him any sedatives?” the younger of the two paramedics asked.

  “None,” Guy said. “ER said not to.”

  “Lift,” the other said.

  It took all four of them, but they loaded Joshua, screaming and thrashing, onto the gurney and fastened the restraints.

  “We’re going to need some more information.”

  “I’ll go to the hospital with him,” Guy said. “Ross, take care of things here. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Eddie, clean this mess up.”

  Eddie stormed off. “What the hell do we have cleaning staff for?”

  “It’s blood,” Guy said. “Take care of it.”

  The sound of Joshua’s ranting echoing up the stairs.

  Mark blew out a breath, ruffling his hair and giving Ross an accusing look.

  Ross’s arms and hands were shaking from holding Joshua down. “Don’t even say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Whatever that look’s about. Don’t say it.”

  “Why did you cover for me?”

  “I didn’t. At the very most we’re talking a lie of omission here.”

  “Twice, Doc.”

  “You’re good at what you do and you’ve been the one person willing to help me out around here. I know you didn’t mean to leave a screwdriver lying around and I know damn well you didn’t intend for Joshua to stuff it in his ear.”

  “Is this about those records?”

  “This isn’t about anything, Mark. Getting Blake’s medical records was a lot to ask of anyone. I’m going to see if I can get information from that doctor I told you about. Don’t worry it.”

  “Don’t worry about what?” Eddie wheeled a mop and bucket around the corner.

  “The mess,” Mark said. “Dr. Reeves was going to help clean it up.”

  “Yeah, don’t worry about that. Eddie will handle it,” he said, speaking in the third person. “What am I supposed to do about the carpet?”

  “There’s only one thing to do,” Ross said.

  He and Mark looked at each other, bent down, and rolled up the rug.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The Joshua Hammond incident escalated once the hospital got involved, the Safety Committee taking special interest since Guy had yet to accept defeat on the merger that would make such instances as much the hospital’s problem as Lakeside’s. Everything and everyone had come under scrutiny about the errant screwdriver, which, despite Guy’s best efforts, remained unexplained. Ross spent the remainder of his day doing what he could to diffuse the situation and calming Mark, who teetered on the brink of a breakdown.

  Maintenance insisted they hadn’t been to the community room or Joshua’s room to address the heating issues.

  No one mentioned Mark helping bleed the radiators, most likely to protect their own hides for letting him do the work they were being paid for in the first place.

  Joshua wouldn’t say where he had picked up the screwdriver, but insisted he had been in the community room and nowhere else.

  Conflicting stories had been only one of the factors that had Lakeside scheduled for a priority site visit from the state.

  Pulling into the driveway of the Peak View Motor Inn, things went from bad to worse.

  A curvy brunette wearing a short black skirt, a sheer blouse, and stiletto heels leaned against the door of his room. Anyone would have guessed her to be a call girl, but they would have been wrong. She was a young woman who knew what Ross liked and went out of her way to play her polar opposite, sex kitten. Her smoky eye makeup and glossy pink lips brought back a night Ross would have rather forgotten, the beginning of the end for an otherwise tumultuous relationship. He debated turning around, but knew he had been spotted.

  Leaving would only prolong the inevitable.

  He locked the rental and headed toward his room, the weight of the day heavy on him. The last thing he needed was an argument, though Mattie wasn’t dressed for one.

  “Mattie, what are you doing here?” Ross unlocked the door to let her in. “Aren’t you freezing?” He was cold wearing a coat.

  “I’m chilly, but hoping you’ll warm me up.”

  Ross had been avoiding her calls for a reason, even if only to dodge commitment. “How did you find me?”

  “Does it matter?” Mattie pulled him into the room with a coy smile and closed the door behind them.

  �
��Since no one is supposed to know where I am, yes.” Ross wasn’t feeling the reckless abandon vibe. He didn’t trust Mattie had found her way to New York from Chicago without an agenda and he wasn’t interested in being party to a Jeckyll and Hyde.

  Mattie started unbuttoning his coat.

  He backed away and finished the job himself, his mind turning over the possibilities.

  “You went to the hospital, didn’t you?” His work was as off-limits as his home.

  “Don’t be mad.” She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back suggestively. “I was worried about you. And I didn’t go to your work, but I called until I got through to Dan. Oddly, he remembered me.”

  Ross had introduced them once at a Christmas party he had regretted bringing her to if for no other reason than the outpouring of support that came from those who had wrongly believed that dating Mattie meant he had gotten over Sarah.

  “I didn’t tell Dan where I was staying.”

  “But he knew you were working at Lakeside. There aren’t too many places close by.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?”

  “I thought you would be happy to see me.” Mattie moved closer and kissed him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Picking up where we left off,” she whispered.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “And I don’t think I can live without you.” Mattie took off her shirt in a single swift motion and let it fall to the floor. Her skin smelled of vanilla and cinnamon.

  Until that moment, Ross felt that pushing Mattie away had to be the right thing to do for both of their sakes. Holding her, he knew better. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed her. “What if I can’t change?”

  “Then at least I know what I’m stuck with.” Mattie kissed him again, slowly, giving him a chance to stop her.

  New York had been a mixed bag and despite their overblown argument, being with Mattie felt like home. Ross returned her kisses, brushing her long curls back from her face and breathing her scent in.

  “What did I ever do to deserve you?” he said, letting go of the part of him resisting what was about to happen.