Of Flesh and Blood (38 page)

After hanging up, William sat and stared at the phone. Without thinking, he let his hand drift to his lower back and began to rub the spot where the cancer had eaten into his vertebrae. As frustrated as he was with Denny Rymer and his inflammatory article, William had bigger worries. An e-mail he had received moments before the phone call threatened to set off a media storm around the Alfredson that would make Rymer’s story pale in comparison. Marked “For Your Eyes Only,” the director of communications’ e-mail warned William that a TV news producer had caught wind of Senator Wilder’s critical illness and the superbug rampaging through the hospital.

William was pulled from his thoughts when the office door flew open and Normie Chow marched up to his desk. He stopped and mock-saluted. “Chicken Little, reporting for duty, sir!”

In spite of himself, William chuckled at the comic sight of the balding, fiftyish microbiologist standing with his back over-arched and his hand glued to his forehead, palm outward. “I’m afraid to ask, Normie.”

Chow relaxed and pulled back a chair. “Believe it or not, Bill, my old man, this doomsday prophet actually bears some good news.”

William sighed. “I don’t even know what that means anymore.”

“A doomsday prophet is someone who—”

“Not that! I meant about the good news.”

Chow shrugged. “It means a few things.”

“Such as?”

“For starters, you don’t need to run out and find yourself a new former presidential front-runner to replace the last one.”

William sat up straighter. “Senator Wilder is better?”

“Much. He surprised the pants off the folks in the ICU. He’s off the ventilator. He’s even taking fluids by mouth this morning.”

“That’s wonderful,” William murmured, feeling his first flicker of hopefulness in days. “What else?”

“Last two days, we’ve had a drop in the number of new
C. diff
infections reported.”

“How big?”

“Five cases yesterday. Only two so far today.”

William smiled. “Two days ago, we had thirteen cases in a single day. This is a promising trend.”

“Before you go planning your parade route, don’t forget the day is young, Bill, my boy.”

William laughed out of relief.

“There’s more,” Chow said. “Our index case from the kitchen has recovered. She was touch and go for a good while. Her poor priest deserves air miles for all the false-alarm trips he made in to offer her last rites.”

William chuckled, enjoying Chow’s eccentricity more than he had in a long time. “Sounds like you’re finally getting your job done, Normie.”

“Don’t go crazy over the top with your praise, Bill. Makes me uncomfortable to see you gush.” Chow threw up his hand, feigning embarrassment. “And speaking of the kitchen, it’s been seventy-two hours without any new
C. diff
detected on our surface swabs.”

“So we can open the kitchen again?”

“Don’t see why not.”

A weight rose off William’s shoulders. His backache even subsided. “This is all good, Normie. Very good. But I keep expecting to hear a catch.”

“Bill, Bill, Bill . . . you know me. There’s
always
a catch.” Chow’s expression darkened momentarily with a hint of uncharacteristic concern. “All the new cases in the last twenty-four hours have come from the Henley Building. Specifically, the surgical ICU.”

“I see.” The ominous implication wiped away William’s smile. The Henley Building, home to the Alfredson’s most critically ill, was the deadliest spot
for the superbug to strike. The fatality rate could be catastrophic among those patients.

“The latest case is a post–heart transplant patient. Matter of fact, your daughter performed her operation. The girl is only twenty-something.” Chow blew out his cheeks. “She ain’t doing well, Bill. Not well at all.”

William massaged his temple. “What do you propose we do?”

“We don’t have a heckuva lot of choice,” Chow said matter-of-factly. “It’s kind of like having a hungry shark loose in the tots’ pool. We have to shut the surgical ICU down.”

“
Shut it down?
” William grimaced. “That would paralyze the Alfredson. We would have to cancel all heart surgeries and most of the bigger cancer operations. Without the backup of critical care beds, we might have to abandon all surgery.”

Normie tapped his bald pate and shrugged. “You got a better idea?”

William thought frantically. Shutting down the surgical program was tantamount to closing the hospital.
We can’t
, he thought.
Not when the board meeting is so close
.

Then an idea hit him. “The medical ICU has not been touched by
C. diff
, has it, Normie?” William asked.

“Not so far.”

“Then we’ll have to double up.”

“Hold the phone! You mean combine the medical and surgical ICUs?”

“Yes. We’ll leave the patients who are already infected in isolation in the surgical ICU. Use it as a quarantine space. All new postoperative patients will have to go to the medical ICU.”

Chow pursed his lips. “Yeah . . . I guess that could work.”

“It has to.”

“I’m on it.” He saluted again with a quick tap to his forehead. “Like butter on toast.”

As Chow hurried from the room, William considered the mixed update the microbiologist had delivered. The decline in the new cases of
C. diff
and Wilder’s recovery both boded well for the Alfredson, but all those gains would be more than erased by the impact of having to close the operating rooms.

In his twenty-five years in senior leadership, William had never endured
a more tumultuous few weeks. He wondered if he was too old, and too physically frail, to helm the Alfredson at this critical juncture in its history.

Have I outlasted my usefulness here?

William stared out the window into the courtyard below. Lately, he reflected more and more on the history of the institution. Now it was all he could think about. No threat, including the devastation wrought by the Spanish flu, had ever shut the Alfredson’s operating rooms. If the
C. diff
outbreak closed them now, the damage might be undoable. Gloom enveloped him as he wondered whether this heinous superbug was destined to negate a hundred years’ worth of the McGrath family legacy.

William’s phone buzzed twice, indicating Eileen Hutchins had arrived for her appointment. Forcing the bleak thoughts out of his mind, he folded the newspaper and slid it into the desk’s top drawer and then rose to his feet. Suddenly self-conscious, he adjusted his loose-fitting jacket before he limped to the door. He picked up the scent of lilacs the moment he reached Eileen, where she stood at the door.

Instead of the usual welcoming smile, she offered only a restrained nod. “Hello, William.”

“Hello, Eileen.” He smiled. “Please come in. Have a seat.”

Eileen walked briskly into the room, her expression and body language more businesslike than before. Still standing, she asked, “Do you have an update on Senator Wilder’s condition?”

William was surprised by how much he missed the warm familiarity that usually accompanied their meetings. “The senator is much improved. He’s in stable condition now.”

Eileen uttered a soft sigh and sat down in the chair across from William. “That’s a huge relief,” she said, but her expression remained distant.

“Eileen . . . something else is bothering you.”

She opened her purse and extracted a piece of newsprint. William recognized the article on Tyler even before she had fully unfolded the paper. “I’ve seen it,” he said.

“And?”

“It’s unfortunate.”

“It’s a bit more than unfortunate, William.” She shook her head. “And the timing . . .”

“It couldn’t be worse. I know.” He rubbed his eyes. “The reporter just phoned me.”

She shuddered slightly in her seat. “Rymer, I assume. What did the man have to say?”

“This whole business is not about malpractice.” He sighed. “The parents are devastated after losing their only son to an incurable cancer. They are lashing out any way they can.”

Eileen pushed back the bracelet on her wrist. “I’m in no position to judge the validity of their allegation, but I do know that their timing is disastrous. And whether the accusation is grounded or not, it looks bad, William. Very bad. Especially considering your role.”

He squinted. “My role?”

“As the father of the accused physician.” She cleared her throat. “It raises the appearance of conflict of interest.”

“What conflict?
Whose interest?
” he said. “It’s a newspaper story. No one, not even the parents, has raised a concern directly with the hospital about the child’s medical care. Besides which, we have already launched an internal review of the case.”

Eileen looked up to the ceiling as if searching for heavenly guidance. “My family is just about to meet to decide the fate of this hospital. And now a very public accusation of malpractice has been leveled at one McGrath, who happens to be the son of the hospital’s CEO. Most of those attending the board meeting are very aware of the long, at times rocky history our two families have shared. I can’t see this helping our cause.”

“I see.” William swallowed away the lump that had formed in his throat. He sat up straighter, a streak of pain searing through him as he did so. “Eileen, perhaps it would be best for everyone if I submitted my resignation—”

She waved her hand to interrupt. “I am not suggesting that.” Her expression softened and a more familiar glow returned to her green eyes. “I am sorry, William. I know you are not responsible. I am just so very frustrated with the way events keep conspiring against us.”

Bittersweet relief washed over him. “I share your frustration, Eileen.” A moment of quiet passed between them. William held out an open hand. “In spite of the setbacks, you have done an admirable job rallying support for the status quo.”

She touched her cheek. “I am not so convinced.”

“Well, I am. You have done wonders.”

Eileen smiled gratefully. “Yet it still might not be enough.”

“I realize that,” he said quietly. “Eileen, I hate to add insult to injury, but we have another potential publicity crisis brewing.”

Her face blanched. “Regarding?”

“Senator Wilder and the infectious outbreak.” He quickly updated her about the alarming e-mail from the communications director. “Of course, now that the senator has improved, maybe the media will lose interest in the story.”

“I’m not so sure.” She laughed mirthlessly. “William, I think our job security might be in jeopardy.”

“I’m not worried about job security.”

“No?”

“I’m more worried about posterity.”

Eileen tilted her head inquisitively.

William had already said more than he intended, but somehow he wanted, even needed, Eileen to understand. “My children don’t see what the fuss is about. To them, the Alfredson is just another hospital. They could resume their medical careers somewhere else tomorrow without much of a sneeze.”

Eileen smiled sadly. “Not quite as easy for you?”

He swept his hand through the air. “I have no desire for a career outside of here, but that has nothing to do with it.”

“What then?”

“Except for college, I’ve spent all my years in Oakdale. At the Alfredson. This is not just my job, Eileen. It’s my life. Has been since I was a child. I remember coming here with my uncles. Even then, all those years ago, it felt like . . . home.”

Eileen offered an understanding nod, but said nothing.

“Lately, I’ve taken more and more comfort from my modest contribution to the Alfredson. And not just mine, personally, but the role my ancestors played in shaping this hospital into a world-class facility. One with a heart and a soul. Perhaps the McGrath legacy doesn’t matter to anyone else, but it means so much to me.” He paused. “Probably too much.”

“Surely not too much, William.”

Embarrassed, he broke off the eye contact and looked down at the polished surface of his desk. “My family has always paid the price for my blind dedication. My wife played second fiddle to this hospital. Jeannette accepted it without ever complaining. I promised her that in our later years, I would make up for some of our lost time. But Jeannette didn’t live to see those years. Besides, I probably wouldn’t have kept my word anyway.”

“William—”

“And my children . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been an absentee father. Luckily for them, Jeannette’s father usually filled the role for me.” He looked up at her again. “Maarten Vanderhof. Now there was a great man. He never had to choose career or family. He did it all.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Am I?” He laughed bitterly. “My son and daughter view me—and fear me—more as a chief of staff than a dad. I don’t blame them, either. It’s what I deserve, really.”

“William,” Eileen said gently, “your children’s reputation precedes them both. I am sure they could have worked anywhere they wanted. And yet they both chose to come back to Oakdale and the Alfredson.” She smiled. “To be near you.”

“I doubt that,” he said, but her words brought him some solace.

“Besides, it’s never too late to reconnect with family.”

The malignant throb in his back reminded him that it might be getting too late to accomplish much of anything.

Eileen leaned forward and grabbed the back of his hand, squeezing tenderly. “I haven’t sacrificed nearly as much as you have, William, but I understand what this hospital means to you.”

He merely nodded, enjoying the feeling of her hand on his.

“I feel it, too, William,” she continued. “It’s more than just pride in my family’s association with the Alfredson. For me, it’s like a bridge to my past.” Her face creased with melancholy and her voice cracked. She let go of his hand and looked away. “It’s hard to imagine that we might not be a part of its future, isn’t it?”

The sight of Paige Newcomb stopped Tyler at the doorway to her room. Sitting up in the bed, the young teen was moving her head to and fro and studying herself at various angles in her handheld mirror.

Tyler broke into a chuckle. She dropped the mirror on the bed and flushed with embarrassment. “What?” she asked coyly.