Medical Error

by Richard Mabry

  Nick Valentine frowned and opened his mouth, but Anna put a hand on his arm and said, "That's okay. Go on home. We'll talk later."

  Nick nodded once and turned to go, but not before giving Ross a glance that would have peeled paint.

  Ross closed the door and gestured Anna to one of the client chairs. He took the other one, turning it so they were facing each other, their knees almost touching.

  "What do we have left to settle?" Anna asked.

  "We'll eventually need to talk about straightening out your identity theft, but that's not why I asked you to stay." Ross's throat suddenly went dry. "It's personal."

  He looked at Anna and remembered the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach when he heard she'd been held at gunpoint, imagining how terrible it would be to see her hurt . . . or worse. That was when he realized that she'd become more than a client to him. That was when he made up his mind to tell her how he felt.

  Ross cleared his throat. "Anna, I've come to think a great deal of you. Almost from the start, I've thought of our relationship as more than just lawyer-client. And I was hoping that you might feel that way about me as well."

  Those cool green eyes never wavered. Anna nodded almost imperceptibly. "Ross, I'm flattered. I'll admit that I've found myself attracted to you as I've gotten to know you better. But—"

  "Yeah, there's always a 'but,' isn't there?" He felt the pain in his heart as surely as if this surgeon had slipped a scalpel in him.

  "Yes, there's a 'but,' " Anna said. "I guess I looked at you as sort of a white knight, galloping to my rescue. But when I thought I was about to die, it wasn't you I was thinking about. You weren't the one I wished I could see one more time." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ross."

  What was there to say? In his heart, he knew she was right. There'd been physical attraction on both sides. More than that, just as she'd been attracted to him as a champion who could save her from her troubles, he'd been delighted to find an attractive woman who needed him for his legal expertise, skills he'd been afraid he'd drowned in an excess of alcohol.

  "So there's nothing there for us?" he asked.

  "No, but then again, I don't think it was me you had feelings for. I was just a substitute."

  He thought about that for a minute. Maybe Anna was right. Maybe he'd transferred to Anna what he still felt for his ex-wife.

  As though reading his thoughts, Anna said, "Ross, you're a great guy. You'll be a wonderful husband for someone. Matter of fact, I'll bet you were a pretty good husband to Laura until you let your life get out of control. Why don't you call her and see if she's ready to give it another try?" She grinned. "You can tell her I said the liar and cheat she told me about has been replaced by a caring, considerate, sober man. I'll even give you a note from your doctor if she wants to see it."

  21

  ANNA FROWNED AS LIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THE DRAPES IN HER BEDroom. She felt as though she'd run a marathon—tired, aching in every muscle, unable to muster the energy to lift a finger. Did she have to get up? Was she due at work?

  She dragged her watch from the bedside table and squinted at the tiny window that indicated the day. "SU." Sunday. She could roll over and go back to sleep. No, today she wanted to go to church. It just felt right. Anna swung her feet over the side of the bed and into slippers. She sat that way for a moment, yawning and stretching, before she shrugged into her robe. Half an hour later she was dressed, with her hair and makeup carefully done. She poured her second cup of coffee and took it to the kitchen table, where she picked up the Sunday paper and turned to the comics. The ringing of the doorbell interrupted her amusement at Garfield's latest antics.

  She glanced through the peephole, then undid the safety chain and opened the door to admit Nick. He looked handsome in a blue Oxford cloth shirt, open at the neck. The creases in his khaki pants were sharp enough to cut butter. His cordovan loafers were burnished to a dull shine. "May I come in?" he asked.

  "Of course."

  He looked expectantly at her. "I hope you don't mind my showing up like this. I mean, I know you and Ross Donovan are— Never mind that. Truth is, I want to go to church today, and I'd feel a lot more comfortable going with you. Would that be okay?"

  "Of course we can go together. Come in. I think we have time for some coffee. Would you like a cup?"

  Nick grinned and seemed to relax a bit. "You know me, always ready for a caffeine fix. And if there's not a Starbucks handy, I'll take yours."

  Anna poured a cup for Nick and replenished her own. "Sit down. We need to talk."

  "Yeah, I guess we do." He followed her to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. "I hadn't prayed in a long, long time before I got that call of yours. But I have to tell you, I was praying from the moment I got into my car until the time Detective Green showed up. And I feel . . . I don't know. But I think it made a difference."

  "I'm glad, Nick. I prayed too."

  Nick took another sip of coffee. "I'm glad it worked out okay."

  "It wouldn't have worked out without your help. I owe you."She reached out and touched his hand. "And I'm glad you still had your gun when you got my call for help."

  Nick drained his cup like a man just offthree days in the desert. "Well, I don't have it anymore. The police took it for evidence, and I told them to get rid of it when they were finished. I don't like being on either end of a gun. This was the second time. I don't want there to be a third."

  Anna picked up the pot and refilled his cup. "But gun or no gun, you were willing to risk your life to save me. I'll never forget that."

  Nick swallowed a couple of times before he spoke again."Of course I'd risk my life for you. I guess I didn't fully realize how much I cared for you until I thought I might lose you. I'm sorry you don't feel as strongly about me."

  Anna put down her cup. "Who said?"

  "Well, I thought you and Ross Donovan had something going."

  "That was what my shrink friends would call transference," Anna said. "I was looking for him to rescue me. He was substituting me for the wife he'd lost. We've got that straightened out now."

  The look of relief on Nick's face quickly gave way to a frown."So what about you and me?"

  "Maybe when my life gets back to normal, I'll have a better sense of where we're headed. Of course, you may get to know me well enough to decide you've had enough of me."

  Nick shook his head. "I don't think that's going to happen. But I'm willing to take it a step at a time. That is, if you are."

  Anna rose from the table and moved to stand beside him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "I guess you'd like some kind of a sign, wouldn't you?"

  "It would help."

  She leaned down and brushed her lips with his. "Well, Dr. Pathologist, suppose you put that one under your microscope and let me know the prognosis."

  Discussion Questions

  1. The action takes place in a large city. How might the story have unfolded differently if it were set in a smaller town?

  2. Our first glimpses of Dr. Anna McIntyre are in stressful situations. What could you discern about her personality from the way she reacted? Did you see it change as the story progressed?

  3. Why do you think Nick was so taken with Anna at their first meeting? Have you ever met someone and gotten a "vibe" about them, even before you had a full introduction to their character? How often has that been right?

  4. If you or someone you know has ever suffered identity theft, discuss the complexity (or simplicity) of correcting the resulting errors. Do you think Anna's reaction to her identity theft was more related to financial and professional consequences or a sense of personal violation?

  5. Compare the reactions to Anna's predicament of her chairman (Dr. Fowler), the dean (Dr. Dunston), and the medical school's legal counsel (Laura Ernst). How were their actions dictated by their professional positions? How would you have wanted any of them to react differently?

  6. Ross Donovan seems to be a charming scoundrel. Did you expect him, a
t some point, to revert back to his drinking? What does it take for an alcoholic or addict to prove he's turned his life around? Can he ever win back the trust of those around him?

  7. Do you think the different ways in which they contributed to helping her affected Anna's perception of Nick and Ross? What finally caused Anna to see her true feelings toward both men?

  8. Can you see the reason behind Nick's hesitancy to attend a church service? Were his fears well-founded? Common? Are you surprised that he could get good counsel from a casual conversation at a church party?

  9. How did Anna's obsession with "doing it herself " in solving the mystery of identity theft cause her problems? If she'd refrained from those actions, how do you think the story would have unfolded?

  10. What were your reactions to Nick and to Ross when they were introduced, and how did they differ? What factors colored your reactions?

  Bonus chapters from book three in

  The Prescription for Trouble Series

  Coming in April 2011

  Diagnosis Death

  1

  SHE STOOD BY HIS BEDSIDE AND WAITED FOR HIM TO DIE.

  Outside the room, the machines and monitors of the ICU hummed and beeped, doctors and nurses went about their business, and the hospital smell—equal parts antiseptic and despair—hung heavy in the air.

  With one decisive move she flipped the switch of the respirator and stilled the machine's rhythmic chuffing. In the silence that followed, she imagined she could hear his heartbeat fade away.

  She kissed him and exhaled what passed for a prayer, her lips barely moving as she asked for peace and forgiveness—for him and for her.

  She stood for a moment with her head bowed, contemplating the enormity of her action. Then she pocketed the empty syringe from the bedside table and tiptoed out of the room.

  Dr. Elena Gardner approached her apartment as she had every night for six months—filled with emptiness and dread. The feeling grew with each step, and by the time she put the key in the door, fear enveloped her like a shroud. Some nights it was all she could do to put her foot over the threshold. This was one of those nights.

  She turned the key and pushed open the door. The dark shadows reached out at her like a boogieman from her childhood. The utter stillness magnified every sound in the old apartment, turning creaking boards into the footsteps of an unknown enemy.

  She flipped on the light and watched the shadows turn into familiar surroundings. Even though the thermostat was set at a comfortable temperature, she shivered a bit.

  Elena dropped her backpack by the door and collapsed into the one comfortable chair in the living room. The TV remote was in its usual place on the table beside her. She punched the set into life, paying no attention to what was on. Didn't matter. Just something to drown out the silence, something to remind her that there was life outside these four walls. That somewhere there were people who could laugh and joke and have fun. Somewhere.

  She sighed and picked up the phone. She should call David.

  He'd been firm about it. "Call me anytime, but especially when you get home at night. That's the toughest time. It's when the memories butt heads with the what-ifs."

  She dialed the number. Maybe she should put him on her speed dial. But that implied there wouldn't be an end to this soon. And she wasn't ready to think about that.

  "Hey, Elena." Although Dr. David Merritt—a resident physician in one of the busiest obstetrics programs in the southwest—was surely as tired as she was, his voice sounded fresh, almost cheery. "What's up?"

  "Oh, you know. Just needed to hear a friendly voice."

  "Glad to oblige. How was your day?"

  That was one of the things Elena missed most. Now that Mark was gone, there was no one to share her day. "Not too bad until I was about to check out. The EMTs brought in a thirty-two-year-old woman, comatose from a massive intracranial hemorrhage. The neurosurgeons rushed her to surgery, but . . ."

  She knew David could guess the rest. He cleared his throat."Did that . . . was it tough to take?"

  Elena started to make some remark about it not bothering her. But that wasn't true. And she knew David wanted the truth. "Yeah. Not while it was happening. Then I was pretty much on automatic pilot. But afterward, I almost had a meltdown."

  "It'll get better."

  "I hope so."

  "Any more phone calls?"

  Elena felt goose bumps pop up on her arms. "Not yet. But it's Tuesday, so I expect one later tonight."

  "Why don't you call the police?"

  "What, and tell them that for four weeks I've answered the phone every Tuesday at midnight and heard a woman sobbing, then a hang-up? That's not a police matter."

  "And you—"

  "I know what they'll ask. Caller ID? 'Anonymous.' Star 69? 'Subscriber has blocked this service.' Then they'll tell me to change my number. Well, this one's unlisted, but that doesn't seem to matter. How much trouble would it be for whoever's calling to get the new one?"

  David's exhalation was like a gentle wind. "Well, let me know if there's anything I can do."

  "You've done plenty already. You know, after Mark died, I had a lot of people fuss over me for about three days, but you're the only one who's stayed with it. Why?"

  His silence made her think she'd asked an embarrassing question. People didn't go out of their way to be nice the way David had with no thought of something in return. Did they?

  "Elena, I've been where you are," David said. "Oh, I know. A spouse divorcing you isn't the same as one dying, but a lot of the feelings are the same. I mean, when I saw my wife and little girl pull away from the house for the last time, I wanted to lie down and die."

  She knew exactly what he was talking about. "That's me. I wanted to crawl into the coffin with Mark. At that point, my life was over."

  "But I got past it," David said. "Oh, I didn't 'heal.' You don't get back to where you were, but you learn to move on. And when Carol sent me the invitation to her wedding, it broke my heart, but it helped me realize that part of my life was over. Anyway, I made up my mind to use what I'd learned to help other people. And that's what I'm doing."

  Elena sniffled. "Sorry." She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. "That's another thing. I feel like tears are always right there, ready to come any time."

  "That's normal. Let them out."

  They talked for a few minutes more before Elena ended the conversation. She wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and looked in without seeing the contents. She wasn't hungry. Since Mark's death she'd lost twelve pounds off a frame that had little to spare. Maybe she should patent the process. "Sure-fire weight loss guaranteed. Withdraw life support and let your husband die. If you don't lose weight, double your money back."

  Her lips drew back in what started as a hesitant smile but turned into a grimace of pain. She dissolved into tears.

  Elena wasn't sure how long she sat at the kitchen table with her head cradled in her arms before the ring of the phone roused her. She looked at her watch. A little after nine—too early for her midnight caller. Had the routine changed?

  She shuffled back to the living room. When she checked the caller ID, she felt some of her tension subside. Dr. Helen Bennett represented the only ray of sunshine in Elena's dark landscape right now.

  "Hello?"

  "Elena, did I wake you?"

  "No, not really. Just starting to unwind. What's up?"

  "We need to talk."

  That didn't sound promising. "Wow, that sounds like what I used to tell boys in college before breaking up with them. What's going on?"

  "I'd rather do this face-to-face. Why don't we have breakfast tomorrow morning? I usually make rounds at six-thirty. Can you meet me in the St. Paul Hospital staffcafeteria at six? We can talk then."

  Elena hung up with a growing sense of unease. Mark's death had plunged her into a dark abyss. The only glimmer of hope for a future had been Dr. Helen Bennett's offer to join her practice. The oppor
tunity to work alongside a woman who was one of the most respected family practitioners in the community, a doctor Elena had admired since her days in medical school, seemed like a gift from above. Was that about to be taken from her?

  The evening dragged on as Elena worried about the problem like a kitten with a ball of yarn. Finally, she ate some peanut butter and crackers, forced down a glass of milk. She'd shower in the morning. Right now, she just wanted to crawl into bed.

  Sleep was elusive as a glob of mercury. She picked up the book from her bedside table and tried to read, but the words blurred on the page. Finally she closed the book, turned out the light, and tried to sleep. Instead, she watched the red numerals on her bedside clock change: 10:00, 10:40, 11:15.

  She was tossing in a restless slumber when she heard the ring of the phone. The clock showed 12:05 as Elena reached for the receiver. Her left hand clutched the covers tighter around her as her right lifted the phone and brought it to her ear.

  At first there was silence. Maybe this was simply a wrong number. Maybe the calls had stopped.

  No, there it was. Sobbing. Starting softly, then rising to a crescendo. A woman's voice—a husky alto, like a lounge singer in a smoky, second-rate club.

  "Who is this?" Elena said.

  No answer. Only sobbing.

  "What do you want?" Elena's voice rose to a shriek.

  A click. Then silence.

  Elena stabbed blindly at the phone's "end" button, finally hitting it as an electronic voice began, "If you'd like to make a call—"

  She turned on the bedside lamp and stared at the cheap lithograph on the opposite wall. In it, a young man and woman were walking through a field of flowers. They looked so happy. Like she and Mark had been.

  But he was gone, and she'd never be happy again. Ever.

  She reached for the light but withdrew her hand. No, leave it burning. Elena burrowed deeply under the covers, the way she used to do as a child after hearing a ghost story. She closed her eyes and watched the images march across her brain: endless days spent at the bedside of a living corpse, Mark's casket disappearing into the ground, a faceless woman at some shadowy location sobbing into a phone.