Damn, he’d meant to talk to Wally Moses in Records about Jeff’s medical files. Too late now. He’d have to call or come back in tomorrow.
The corridor was jammed with patients, family members and other hospital personnel, as Richard shouldered his way toward the exit. Up ahead, coming toward him, he saw a familiar blonde head.
“Krista,” he called.
The psychologist looked up at the sound of her name. Richard hurried to catch up with her. “We seem to keep bumping into one another.”
“Small world syndrome,” she agreed, drawing closer to the wall and out of the main traffic path. “I heard you’re up for chairman of one of the Hospital Foundation’s committees.”
“The announcement will be made Saturday at the annual gala.”
“I’d hoped to get a ticket, but I understand they’re sold out.”
“As it happens, I have an extra pair. You and Jeff are welcome to them.”
Krista’s eyes lit up. “That’s great. Thank you.”
“Incidentally, Jeff’s being circumspect about working with you and your patient. He takes doctor-patient confidentiality seriously.”
“My patient has a lot of trust issues. I appreciate his discretion.”
“He’d only say that he sits in on your sessions. That
is
all he’s doing, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Because when he came home last Thursday—”
Krista held up a hand to forestall more explanation, her expression one of pleased assurance. “It turns out I’m a damn good hypnotist. When I suggested he relax, he took it to heart. I’m glad I’ve been able to help him with his headaches.” She glanced at her watch. “Good heavens, I’m late. I’ll see you Saturday—if not before.”
She gave a perfunctory wave and hurried off, soon lost in the crowd of patients and departing personnel.
Damn the woman!
Richard started for the parking lot once more. Jeff would be at the bar by now. Richard decided he’d stop by on the way home and tell him about the gala—gauge his reaction. Jeff’s recent lethargy worried him. Okay, breaking up with Maggie was no doubt the cause of his depression, but he’d already sidled into another relationship. Maybe that was good, albeit surprising.
Threading through the parking lot, Richard found his car, got in, and started the engine. By Saturday he’d figure out a way to charm more information out of Krista.
He pulled out of the lot and headed east. Was he being overly protective of the kid? For some reason, Krista Marsh sent off his alarm bells, bringing out the big brother in him. Jeff wasn’t her type, and she certainly wasn’t Jeff’s type either. Or was it the realization that the cool blonde was no longer Richard’s own choice of woman?
I’m getting paranoid
, he decided. And either way, what difference would it make? What could happen in six days?
Monday evenings
are always slow at The Whole Nine Yards. Maybe that’s why I like working that shift. The tips are lousy, but the people who hang out aren’t usually boisterous, and I don’t worry much about soaking up their negative baggage—other than fatigue from starting a new work week.
Richard came through the door, his expression a mix of concerned apprehension.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked.
Richard claimed a barstool. “Thought I’d stop by on my way home from the clinic.”
Not entirely true, since he’d had to pass his own street, two miles back, to get here.
“The usual?” I asked.
He hesitated, glancing at the bottles on the back bar, then said, “Sure.”
I mixed a Manhattan, garnished it with two long-stemmed cherries skewered by a green plastic sword, and set it on a fresh napkin before him.
“Thanks.” He didn’t seem in a hurry to drink it.
I took care of a couple of customers, then tipped popcorn into a napkin-lined basket and set it on the bar in front of Richard.
“You look tired,” he said.
“I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Did you eat today?”
“Of course,” I answered shortly, but the truth was I couldn’t remember. I’d crashed for a few hours after leaving Krista’s office, and woke up just in time to get to work.
“You know,” Richard began again, and I tensed for a lecture on good nutrition. “Brenda commented this morning that she hasn’t seen much of you lately.”
“I’ve been keeping a low profile.” I rinsed a couple of glasses in the sink. That wasn’t the reason he was here. I waited. He’d get to the point eventually.
Richard sipped his drink, then briefly glanced at the television bolted to the wall above the other end of the bar. A cheer rose from the trio watching the Yankees.
“The Hospital Foundation’s spring gala is being held at the country club on Saturday,” he said, toying with the napkin under his glass.
There was more to the story.
“And?”
“It’s a thank you for all the donors who’ve given money in the last year.”
“Are you one of them?”
“Yeah. And I’m up for a chairmanship. It’ll be announced after the banquet. I’d like you to be there. You and Krista,” he amended. “I already mentioned it to her. She said she’s available.”
Oh, terrific.
“Saturday’s my birthday.”
Richard met my gaze. “Is that a problem?”
“No.”
I don’t know why, but something about it
was
a problem—at the gut level.
“Are they giving you a plaque or something?”
“No, it’s only a fundraiser. But it’s a nice dinner and I thought maybe you’d like to go.”
Why would I want to be go to dinner honoring
him
on
my
birthday?
Petty, Resnick. Really petty
.
Richard wasn’t one to go bragging about himself. The event had to hold special significance or he’d have never brought it up.
“I’ll make sure I have the night off,” I said finally.
Richard smoothed his mustache, a sure sign there was more to it.
“What else?” I asked.
“It’s black tie.”
Great. The place would be full of stuffed shirts. Yet Richard seldom asked anything of me. Surely I could spare one evening of my life to please him. Even if I had to put up with Krista.
“I suppose you own a tux,” I said.
“Of course. If you want, I’d be glad to—”
I held up a hand to stave off the offer. “I’ll rent something appropriate. You won’t be ashamed of me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” I gave him a wan smile. It was all I could muster.
“We’ll do something on Sunday for your birthday. Okay?”
“Sure. It’s no big deal.”
It never was.
Silence fell between us. We weren’t connecting, just like our attempt at camaraderie the evening before. The Anchor Bar had been crowded. Between the noise, the juke box, and the TV screens, conversation had been impossible, and maybe we’d both welcomed it. At least, that’s what I wanted to believe.
I looked down, noticed the bruises on the inside of my right elbow. Unaccountably ashamed, I pulled down my sleeve.
I wanted to tell him about the sense of confusion that had gripped me for days. That something was wrong and fucked up and maybe could never be put right again . . . . But I didn’t have the words, I didn’t
know
what was eating me up inside.
Richard finished his drink.
“Can I get you another?” I asked.
“No, I better get home.” He got to his feet. “See ya.” He headed for the door, paused, then turned back. He leaned over the bar, spoke quietly so none of the other patrons could hear. “You know, kid, if you ever need to talk, I’m there for you.”
I took in his sincere blue-eyed gaze, tempted to bare my soul. But something inside me raised an impenetrable barrier. “Thanks.”
He nodded, looking embarrassed somehow, which wasn’t like him.
I watched him leave, staring after him.
A man down the bar signaled for another beer. I drew it for him, set the glass down on a new napkin and took his five, giving him change.
I washed his glass, and Richard’s.
My brother and I had shared polite conversation. Nothing more. He was always reaching out to me and, dammit, I didn’t have it in me to reach back.
The fault lay with me, not him.
Maybe it was time for me to move on. The thought depressed me, even though I’d always figured that living on Richard’s property was a temporary deal. And where could I go? Leaving meant I’d be totally alone.
I was tired of being alone.
Of course, the ultimate solution would be to just end it.
Oblivion. Eternal darkness. The end of everything.
The TV blared in the corner.
A couple at a table across the way laughed.
And I stood behind that old oak bar—suddenly scared shitless.
Yet another sleepless night. I had a lot to think about. Maggie . . . Richard . . . Brenda . . . and Brenda’s baby, little Betsy. Only I couldn’t think of the kid as Betsy. I’d call her something different. If I was still around.
I guess that was what kept me awake. I’d never before had a serious suicidal thought—not even after the mugging when everything had seemed hopeless. The fact that I’d even momentarily considered it still frightened me. But somewhere around dawn my sense of survival kicked in. I realized whatever was wrong with the way I looked at things had started when Krista Marsh entered my life.
I must’ve stared at the phone for an hour, waiting for my resolve to solidify. This time I wasn’t going to let Krista out-maneuver me. This time I was going to do what I wanted. I had to cut her out now, and the first step was to quit going to Grace’s therapy sessions.
It wasn’t even eight o’clock when I dialed Krista’s office number—she’d never given me her personal phone number. I’d just leave a message for her, that way she couldn’t try to dissuade me.
But then I still had Saturday and that stupid banquet to contend with. Why was Richard butting in and playing matchmaker, anyway?
The ringing stopped. “Dr. Marsh speaking.”
“Oh,” I said, caught off guard. I’d expected her service to pick up.
“Jeff? Is that you?”
“Yes. I—I wanted to let you know I can’t make it to Grace’s session tomorrow.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t see that it’s doing her any good. It’s certainly had a negative effect on me.”
“Jeff,” she started, her voice filled with infinite patience. “You’ve sat in on three sessions. That’s hardly enough time to establish a rapport. I’ve been treating Grace for nearly a year. We’ve made great progress, which wouldn’t be apparent to a layman.”
Okay. Not only was Krista
not
listening to me, but she’d also insulted my intelligence.
“Then let me rephrase it. I can’t subject myself to someone else’s psychological problems.” Not when I’ve got plenty of my own, I thought, but I wasn’t about to voice that to her.
A long silence followed.
“Are you free tonight?” Krista asked.
“Talking about it isn’t going to change my mind.”
“I have an appointment this evening, but I could drop by your place about nine. Would that be okay?”
I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell her to leave me alone.
“Yes,” I heard myself answer, as defeat engulfed my soul. I’d have to find some fortitude before I saw her—from within myself or the inside of a bourbon bottle, it didn’t matter. I could not—would not—let her talk me out of this.
“I’ll see you then,” she said, and hung up.
I replaced the receiver and stared at the silent phone. I had about thirteen hours to kill before she showed up, and already my resolve was crumbling.
The Hospital
Foundation’s door was open when Richard approached, which was not standard operating procedure. It was early—just past nine—and as he neared he could hear the buzz of low, male voices. He dipped a hand into his blazer jacket to take out his hospital I.D. badge, clipping it to his breast pocket.
Mona’s secretary, Penny, stood just inside the door, looking pale and apprehensive. The scattered contents of her file cabinets littered the office floor.
“Morning, Dr. Alpert,” she said, her voice shaky. “Join the party.”
“Looks like you had some rowdy guests.”
“We were robbed!”
“We don’t know that,” Mona said, coming out of her office. “But I’m not ruling it out, either. Hello, Richard.”
“Good morning. Or is that a misnomer?”
“Perhaps today it is,” she said, her smile grim. “Hospital security is poking around. We won’t get much work done for an hour or so.”
“Then let me take you both down for coffee. You look like you could use it.”
Mona spoke briefly with the security officers, letting them know where they could reach her, then she and Penny accompanied Richard to the hospital cafeteria. Despite the reputation of institutional food service, the coffee was surprisingly good. They chose a table on the fringe of the large room and sat down.