by E. Joan Sims
“Yeah, ‘Obfuscation 101.’”
“Obfus-what?”
“It means ‘I can’t remember how to spell pancreas, but if I write like this, no one will ever be the wiser.’”
“How in the world are we going to be able to find something in these charts that will clear Ethan if we can’t even read them?”
I sighed. I didn’t have an answer for her.
We divided the first year of charts in two, and each of us took a pile to one of the sofas to read. Cassandra was asleep within five minutes. The folders slid off her lap and onto the carpeted floor like a deck of cards. I smiled and got up to cover her with the afghan. After all, she had been up since early this morning saving our butts. I kissed her softly on the forehead and sat back down.
I read through ten charts before I started to get the hang of things. Each folder held an average of three forms. The first page was an assessment of the patient on her first visit to the doctor. It recorded her name, address, and all the rest of her demographic information. Her medical and family history and a physical exam report were also on this front sheet. The next two pages were a log of sorts, which listed the dates of all prenatal visits and the results of the doctor’s findings. There was a space on the bottom of the last page for the outcome of the pregnancy. Certain other things were noted there as well, such as whether or not the patient wanted a Caesarian section at delivery or a tubal ligation afterwards. On one chart, there was a notation that the pregnancy was a result of rape. Another stated that the mother wanted to give the baby up for adoption.
I began to feel like a slimy, sleazy, Peeping Tom. This information was private and very confidential. I decided that we had no business pawing through the most intimate details of other people’s lives. We would have to find another way to help Ethan.
Cassie moaned and shifted position in her sleep. Aggie trotted over from her resting place by the door and hopped up on her stomach.
“Uhpff!”
“Sorry, honey, I should have stopped her, but I was getting ready to wake you up anyway. It’s time to go to bed.”
“But what about all this?” she questioned sleepily as she waved a tired hand at the folders on the floor.
“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. You’ve had a long day. Go to bed.”
“Okay, Mom. I love you.”
I got up and gave her a big hug.
“I love you, too. You’re the most wonderful daughter anyone ever had. Thanks again for what you said on the way home from Sallie’s.”
“Umm.”
She gave me a crooked smile and stumbled off to her bedroom with her fussy little dog bringing up the rear.
I opened the French doors and sat back on the sofa to enjoy the soothing night music of the crickets and katydids. It had been a year since someone had crept into this very room bent on my untimely demise, and I was just now becoming comfortable with open doors in my own home.
Mother had assured Cassie that Ethan would come out of this business unscathed. I wasn’t so certain. I had experienced the posttraumatic effects of life-threatening situations. I had suffered nightmares for years after we left San Romero. The worst one, which I shared with no one, was that Cassandra had disappeared along with my husband. I had awakened from that little nocturnal epic drenched in sweat and crying like a baby.
No matter how brave Ethan pretended to be to impress my daughter, I was sure he had bad dreams about that terrible disease-filled cave in Africa. We were all frail and vulnerable inside no matter how tall and strong we appeared on the outside, and Dr. Ethan McHenry was no exception.
A strange sound echoed in the dark recesses of the backyard, and the katydids immediately paused in their raucous chorus. I jumped up and hurriedly closed and locked the doors. A quick dew of perspiration coated my upper lip like a little wet mustache, and my heart played a game of leapfrog between my ribs. I went to my room reciting a short, quiet litany of prayers for the safety of those I loved. I ended my spiritual conversation with a plea for dreamless sleep, put on my nightgown, and crawled into bed.
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning we held a war council at the breakfast table. Cassie didn’t share my squeamish concerns about invading the privacy of the women whose charts we had stolen. Mother, however, agreed with me.
“Paisley’s right, darling. I have felt all along that we shouldn’t have taken that route to help Ethan. Nothing good can come from a negative act. We need to keep everything we do open and aboveboard.”
“Now you’re talking about Karma, Gran. I thought you pished and tushed my so-called heathen beliefs.”
“I don’t know anything about your Karma, dear,” huffed Mother. “I do know there are plenty of biblical commandments to tell us what we should and should not do.”
Cassie opened her mouth to continue the argument, but I interrupted.
“What did Moses say about a regular visit to the doctor?”
“What? Not again, Paisley!”
It took me thirty minutes to convince my mother to make an appointment with Dr. Winston Wallace.
When she finally did call, the receptionist was efficient and polite and promised to work Mother into Wallace’s morning schedule. I suspected the doctor wasn’t as busy as his staff tried to make us believe. He wasn’t exactly being discrete about his girlfriend, and Rowan Springs was a typical small Southern town. The people here might enjoy the notion of quiet romantic liaison, but they would disapprove of a flagrant “in your face” affair. I would be surprised if his appointment book did not reflect their disapproval.
We drove to town in Mother’s Lincoln. One thing we had all agreed on was that Watson had better stay out of sight and out of mind for a while. On the way, we had a heated discussion about the purpose of our visit. I wanted to check the layout of Wallace’s office in case we needed to make a midnight visit to his digs. I also wanted to see how he handled himself after last night’s little debacle at Sallie’s. Maybe we would get lucky and see if his lady friend was an employee. Mother disagreed with our going altogether. She particularly objected to our suggestions about what her chief complaint should be.
“Cassandra, I think it’s very disrespectful of you to suggest that your grandmother has pinworms.”
“I didn’t say you had them, Gran. I just said you could complain of itching around your…”
“Please, my dear, that’s quite enough! This really won’t do. Paisley, turn the car around. I cannot imagine how I allowed myself to be talked into this. Paisley, I said turn around!”
I pulled over to the curb and parked. “Look, Mother, unless you want Wallace pawing over your virginal…” I turned and glared at Cass, “granddaughter, you will have to be the patient. You’re the only one who can keep him occupied while we snoop around. After all, you’re the lady with the marvelous gift of gab. I might just slug him, and Cassie, well, Cassie is out of the question.”
She pulled down the visor and checked on her beautifully coifed hair and perfectly made-up face.
“All right, I’ll do it. But I’ll decide what my ailment is. No more suggestions from the vestal virgin. Agreed?”
“Absolutely,” I assured her.
“Cassandra?”
“Of course, Gran, just as you wish,” she said, smiling wickedly at me in the rear view mirror. “Now about this ‘virgin’ thing…”
“Cass, that’s quite enough.”
Winston Wallace’s clinic was in a modern office building on the edge of town. There was a lot of cedar and smoked glass, but very little actual design to the place. The structure looked like something between a New Age cathedral and a Japanese sushi restaurant.
There was one beat-up old farm truck in the patient’s parking lot. Behind the building, I could see an older model BMW, a new Mazda sports coupe, and a Ford Taurus which had seen better days.
At first we had trouble finding the front entrance in the expanse of smoked glass and cedar shake. We had to walk across a “garden” of vari
colored pebbles and slate stepping stones to reach the door. On each side of the entrance was a wide empty hole lined with heavy black plastic. I puzzled over what the holes were for until I saw the dried-out water lilies and the rotting dead fish at the bottom.
“Ugh, nasty!”
I had to agree with my daughter.
The reception room was a pleasant surprise. The smoked glass let in enough light to give a mellow look to the severely modern furniture, and large ceramic pots of well-tended plants graced every corner. The floors were Mexican tile with a judicious scattering of hand-woven rugs here and there, and several large paintings on the walls, mostly with a Southwestern motif, added just enough color. I wondered who was responsible for the décor—Wallace, his wife, his mistress, or his decorator.
Mother walked slowly up to the receptionist’s desk. She looked for all the world like a little kid being forced to go to the dentist.
“I’m Mrs. John Sterling. I called earlier for an appointment.”
A handsome middle-aged woman with a fresh clean face and salt-and-pepper hair appeared at the window.
“Hello, Mrs. Sterling, I’m Poppy Hunnicutt. I’m really pleased to meet you. My brother played football at the high school when your husband was coach.”
Mother’s face blazed in embarrassment. She hadn’t counted on having to misrepresent herself to someone she knew. But like the true Southern lady she was, she held her head high and pushed on.
“Why, of course, Poppy. I remember Hank very well. He was a charming boy. We were so sorry to hear…”
Poppy’s smile covered an old hurt as she interrupted, “Yes, well, we all were.” She noticed me and Cassie for the first time. “Are these your daughters?”
Mother smiled at the compliment. “This is my daughter Paisley and my granddaughter Cassandra. They’re staying with me for a while.”
“Nice to meet you both,” said Poppy with that smile again. It made her seem too good to be true. I was reminded of Willy Shakespeare’s “…smile, and smile and be a villain.”
“Now what is your complaint, Mrs. Sterling? Why are you seeing the doctor today?”
Cassie and I crowded up behind Mother. Neither of us wanted to miss this.
But she was too smart for us.
“May I fill out one of those little questionnaires?” She pointed to a clipboard with some printed forms attached to it that was hanging from the desk. “I’m sure that will apprise the doctor of my problem.”
“Why, of course. Here’s a pencil. Just bring it back to me when you’re finished. The doctor will be with you shortly.”
Cassie and I looked at each other.
“Damn,” she whispered. “Mom, go sit beside her and see if you can read what she writes. I’m dying to know.”
But Mother chose a seat in the corner, well away from the rest of us. There was nothing we could do but sit opposite each other on the big squishy Italian leather sofas and read old magazines. I was halfway through the March issue of “SKI!” when Poppy opened the door and asked Mother to follow her. Cassie and I stayed in our seats and waited for a full five minutes. When Poppy didn’t return to the front desk, I got up and casually made my way over to the door. I pushed it open to see long, carpeted corridor opening to four examining rooms. There was another door at the end marked with the unisex symbols for men and women, obviously a bathroom. That gave me an idea of what my excuse would be if I got caught. I motioned for Cassie to stay seated and then slipped through the door.
I slunk down the hall like a good little sleuth, pressing my ear against each door and listening as I passed by. Mother was in the second room on the left. I heard her arguing with Poppy about the necessity of removing her clothing and smiled at the exchange. I knew Mother would hold her own.
There had been one other car in the patient’s parking lot and no one in the waiting room. Somewhere there had to be another patient. Sure enough, just as I reached the last door on the right I heard the knob turn and saw the door opening. I darted back to the next empty room. I had barely made it inside when Dr. Winston Wallace stepped out into the hallway. I peered through a crack in the door and watched as the doctor helped an old man on crutches hobble back to the waiting room.
“Mr. Jackson, you have to stay off that knee if you want it to heal. No more farming for at least two weeks. You had a nasty cut and a worse infection. The pills I gave you will help, but you can help yourself more by just resting for a while with your leg up.”
“But Doc, I got nobody to help me and it’s hayin’ time. I gotta mow before it rains.”
“Look, Jackson, I can’t be responsible if you don’t take my advice. If you don’t like what I have to say, then find yourself another doctor. But be sure and pay his bills faster than you pay mine.”
“Aw, Doc, I don’t mean nothing against you. I’m just up again’ it.”
The door closed on them, and I couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation. I started to leave my hiding place when Wallace opened the waiting room door and called out.
“Betty Lou! Can you please come up to the front?”
The floozy from last night stuck her blonde, overly-permed head out of the bathroom.
“Whatcha want me for?”
“Poppy is with a patient, and Mr. Jackson needs to make another appointment.”
“Sooorry! It’s my lunchtime.”
She left the bathroom and walked slowly toward Wallace. Her hips swayed with the rocking motion of a small boat in high seas. Her white uniform was very short, very tight, and cut very low in the front. Instead of white stockings and thick-soled occupational shoes she had on black high-heeled sandals with stockings to match.
“Please, Betty Lou, can’t you help our patient first?”
“Soooory.”
She spoke the word very slowly with an excruciatingly unpleasant accent.
“This morning you distinctly said that I was to leave and return from my lunch exactly on time. Now didn’t you say that?”
“Well, yes I did.” Wallace hurried down the hall and met Betty Lou almost in front of the room in which I was hiding.
“Dearest,” he whispered, “please try and cooperate a little. You know daddy will make it up to you.”
“Weeell…” She pouted perfectly drawn bright red lips.
“I’m sorry I spoke so sharply about your timecard, but three hours for lunch yesterday was a bit much, don’t you think?”
“If I stay and help out, I’ll be late again today, and you’ll be mad.”
She snaked her ankle around his leg and rubbed her inner thigh against his hip.
“No, darling, I promise. If you help out now you can stay an extra half…”
“Ummm?”
She poked him in the chest with a long red fingernail.
“Okay, you can stay another hour.” His breath was coming in huffs and puffs like an old steam engine.
She broke away from him and straightened her short skirt over her hips. “Okay, I’ll give the old geezer an appointment. But you tell that bitch not to get all bent out of shape if I mess up her precious appointment book. She thinks she owns the place. She’s always making nasty cracks when you’re not around. I hate being treated like trash, sweetie,” she whined. “When are you gonna get rid of Poppy like you promised?”
“Now’s not the time to discuss…”
Betty Lou was suddenly furious.
“You always want something when you want it! I never have what I want when I want it! When is it time for Betty Lou? Never! That’s when. Take care of your stupid old patient yourself! I’m going to lunch. And just maybe,” she added slyly, “I’ll take the rest of the afternoon off. I don’t feel so good. I got a headache coming on, and I think maybe it’s gonna last all week, if you get my drift!”
“But, baby!”
She pushed past him and out the door into the front waiting room. He started to follow and then turned and hurried back to the room I was in. I backed hastily away from the door. Wallace
turned the knob and started to push it open. The farmer saved me.
“Doc? When do you want me to come back? I gotta get going. The missus is waitin’ down to the catalog store for me to pick her up. She’ll be madder than a wet hen.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson. Listen, Miss Hunnicutt will call you tomorrow and set up another appointment, okay?”
“Thanks, and I promise I’ll try and rest some this afternoon.”
“Wonderful, just wonderful.”
During their exchange I looked frantically around for someplace to hide. The room was bare except for the examining table, a chair, a sink, and a dirty clothes hamper. The hamper was my only option. I quietly moved the chair next to the hamper, climbed up in the seat and then stepped down inside what was really a large cloth bag on a frame. I pulled a dirty towel up over my head and held my breath.
One second later, the door opened and I heard Wallace step inside. He dragged the chair back across the room. I heard the paper on the examining table crinkle and tear as he climbed up. There was another sound, like a bottle uncorking, and then a gurgle. The idiot was drinking on the job! More paper tore as he climbed down and cleaned off the table. And then he was gone.
I climbed carefully out of the hamper, sat in the chair, and looked up. The ceiling was made of a suspended tile system. One of the tiles directly over the examining table was slightly askew. I gently lifted the roll of paper off the table so I wouldn’t have to step on it and climbed up. I was nearly as tall as Wallace, so reaching the ceiling was no problem. I lifted the tile and set it aside. The ledge at the top of the cinder block wall was full of bottles. There were several different kinds of wine and at least two bottles of Scotch, but mostly there were lots of bottles, full and empty, of vodka. There were also several boxes from pharmaceutical companies, each one spilling over with drug samples. I reached out and grabbed the nearest one. Percodan. I had read enough to know that Percodan was very addictive and certainly not something a doctor or anyone else should be slugging back with alcohol. He had to be pretty deep into his addiction to still be standing after that little cocktail.
