Читать книгу Sacred Trust - Hannah Alexander - Страница 12

T hursday morning Lukas arrived at work later than usual, dripping with dew from the light rain outside. He could have kicked himself for oversleeping. The shift change would just have to be with the emergency department director, Dr. Jarvis George.

“Morning, Judy. Any patients waiting?” Lukas asked as he checked his mail cubicle.

“Good morning, Dr. Bower.” The E.R. secretary for today’s shift turned from her computer and smiled at him. “Dr. George is in the laceration room sewing a nursing-home patient who was injured when she became combative. We’ve got an irritable child in five and a possible sprain or fracture in seven. Dr. George hasn’t seen them.”

Lukas glanced at his watch. Even though he was ten minutes late, he had time to change into his scrubs. The patients weren’t critical, and Dr. George would want to finish his own sutures. “Thanks, Judy. I’ll be right back.”

He glanced into the emergency room and glimpsed the director bent over his patient. Jarvis George’s graywhite hair, army-cut short, could have depicted a kindly older gentleman who loved his patients and whose patients trusted and loved him. Maybe that was the case. Lauren’s warning about Dr. George echoed from last night.

When Lukas walked into the laceration room a few moments later, he was friendly and upbeat.

“Good morning, Jarvis. Do we have any patients you want me to take?” He glanced at the elderly female who lay prone on the table, her nearly fleshless tailbone and hip exposing a small gash beside a partially healed bedsore.

The older man straightened from his work and pierced Lukas’s friendliness with a glare. “I don’t know how you were taught to address your superiors in your Kansas City hospital, Dr. Bower, but I prefer a little less familiarity, if you don’t mind.”

Lukas managed not to stare. “Excuse me, Dr. George. I meant no disrespect. I guess I am accustomed to a more casual atmosphere.” Wow, Lauren was right. There seemed to be a problem here.

Dr. George returned to his sewing. “You can see to the whiny kid in five. He’s got an earache. The patient in seven has a probable sprained ankle. I’ve been busy sewing, and since you came in late, I haven’t had a chance to—Ouch!”

Lukas had watched it happen, had seen the needle pierce the glove in the palm of the man’s left hand, and winced as he imagined the puncture.

“Can’t believe I did that,” the director muttered to himself. He shot a quick look toward Lukas, as if blaming him for the distraction.

Lukas stepped out of the room. “Nurse,” he called and found redheaded Beverly coming from the child’s room. “We need a needlestick protocol in here, please.”

“I beg your pardon,” Dr. George rumbled as he stepped around the laceration table and out toward Lukas. “Nurse, ignore that request,” he said, not taking his gaze from Lukas.

Lukas cleared his throat, staring back at his new director in dismay. “I’m sorry, Dr. George, I didn’t mean to offend. I’ve just been reading about protocol, and—”

“I’m aware of protocol, Bower,” Dr. George snapped. “I helped write it.”

Lukas winced. He was not winning a friend here.

The director waved Beverly away, still glaring at Lukas. “If you will kindly take care of your patients and leave me alone with mine, I’ll be able to get home sometime this morning.”

“Yes, Dr. George. Sorry. I’ll go see my patients now.” Lukas hustled away, resisting the urge to ask the director if his tetanus was at least up-to-date.

The sprain turned out to be a hairline fracture. The earache did not require antibiotics. After Lukas had splinted the ankle and convinced a distraught mother that the medicine she requested could actually set her child up for a more resistant strain of ear infection later, Lukas finished his charts and checked for more arrivals.

“Think I’ll go to breakfast now, Beverly,” he said when he found no other patients listed on the schedule board. He started down the hallway, then turned back. “Oh, by the way, where are the incident report forms kept?”

Beverly raised a brow at him. “They’re filed in the secretary’s cabinet. Tell me you’re not going to report Dr. George.”

“Rules are rules. Even if he doesn’t follow protocol, I’m required to make a report. It’s plainly listed in the little booklet I received the other day.”

“You’re going to find that we don’t always follow the rules to the letter around here.”

“Thanks, Beverly, but safety comes first. There’s a good reason for those rules.” He’d gotten into trouble before when he’d been lenient with a nurse and overlooked a break in protocol when she had violated a direct order from him. It gave her a chance to falsify the record.

“He’ll find out. He knows everything that goes on around here,” Beverly warned.

He waved and left for breakfast.

Theadra Zimmerman—Tedi to anyone who valued life—couldn’t concentrate. She could barely keep her eyes open even to look outside, where the rain fell as if God had decided to wash off the new leaves and speed the growth of the grass.

Good thing she sat behind Jeff McCullough in class. His broad shoulders would cover her from Mrs. Watson’s probing eyes and catch-you-off-balance questions. The fifth-grade teacher always seemed to ask Tedi more questions than anyone, and she even expected better answers from Tedi than she did from Abby Cuendet, who always got straight As.

Tedi leaned her chin down onto her fists on the desk as Mrs. Watson droned on about new discoveries regarding the rings of Saturn.

Dad and Julie had fought last night, the first time Tedi had heard them fight since they’d begun dating two months ago. Julie didn’t like Dad drinking so much. Big surprise. Tedi didn’t like it, either, but that didn’t stop him. Last night she’d sat up in the hallway, eavesdropping, wondering if maybe he would listen to Julie, even though he wouldn’t listen to anyone else.

When Julie finally left, she’d slammed the front door behind her. Apparently Dad had not listened to her, either.

Tedi felt a weird combination of disappointment and satisfaction. Why should a near stranger be able to do something she herself had tried to do for such a long time?

And what made Julie think that just because she was blond and pretty and wore a lot of makeup…

“Tedi Zimmerman, I asked you a question,” came Mrs. Watson’s sharp voice.

Tedi jerked. Her chin slipped off her fist.

Jeff’s shoulders shifted as he turned to look at Tedi along with the rest of the fifth-grade class. This gave Mrs. Watson a clear view of Tedi trying to straighten up and look alert.

Mrs. Watson gave her that “I’ve had it with you, kid” look and shook her head.

“Class, I want you to read the next few pages on Neptune. No talking while I’m gone. Tedi, come with me.”

For a moment Tedi sat and stared at Mrs. Watson. “Where?”

“Now, Tedi.”

This was new.

“Theadra Zimmerman—”

“Okay.” Tedi didn’t look at anyone else as she got up and followed Mrs. Watson out the door. She could imagine Abby’s smirk behind her back, but who cared? Nobody liked Abby.

Mrs. Watson closed the door on the classroom and turned to face Tedi, arms folded in front of her. “Ordinarily I would send a sleeping child to the nurse’s office to take a nap, but you are not an ordinary child. I’ve had high hopes for you, but you’ve done more daydreaming, talking and disrupting than you’ve done homework in the past few weeks. I want to know why.”

Tedi stared at her teacher’s frowning face. She didn’t look mad, but she wasn’t happy.

“Are you taking me to the principal’s office?” Tedi asked in a meek voice.

Mrs. Watson sighed and leaned against the hallway wall. She studied Tedi’s face. “Does your father help you with homework?”

Uh-oh, she is going to drag Dad into this. “He’s been really busy lately.”

“How about your mother?”

“I don’t see her every night.” And she wasn’t about to waste time on homework during visitations.

Mrs. Watson put a gentle hand on Tedi’s shoulder. “What’s going on at home?”

Tedi looked away. “Nothing.”

Another sigh. “Look, I’m trying to be fair about this, but your parents are paying a lot of money to send you to this school, and—”

“My mother is paying the money.”

Mrs. Watson nodded thoughtfully. “Nevertheless, this is an accelerated class, and you’re falling behind. We need to do something about it.”

Tedi didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t done all her homework lately. Dad wasn’t there to nag her about it much, and it was just easier to read or watch TV.

“Come on.”

Tedi’s eyes widened. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to call your father. Maybe he can help us find out what the problem is.”

Tedi drew back. “Why don’t we call Mom? She’s the one—”

“Your father has custody.”

Tedi didn’t move. “I still have a mother.”

Mrs. Watson continued down the hallway. “Fine, stay there. Your father will find you there when he comes to get you.” She turned around. “Unless you want to talk about it.”

Tedi shrugged. “I guess he’ll find me here.” Then he’ll kill me. My blood and guts will be all over the hallway when class gets out. Hope it makes Abby Cuendet throw up.

But then what would happen to Mom and Grandma Ivy?

At least an hour later, Tedi saw Dad coming down the hallway from the principal’s office. She held her breath until he reached her. His neck and face were flushed all the way up to his short blond hair.

The bell rang, and classroom doors opened all along the hallway.

“Let’s go,” Dad said.

Tedi breathed again, following him out the side exit. She ignored the other kids as they rushed out of class. Dad ignored them, too, which probably broke Lyssa Cole’s heart. She had a crush on him. She was weird.

After Tedi stepped into the passenger side of their red BMW, Dad slammed the door so hard she went cold all over. Yep, he was mad.

Her hands gripped each other tightly in her lap as the engine roared into life and the car sprang forward. Why had she been so stubborn with Mrs. Watson? She’d refused to even go back into the classroom and get her books. Now she’d not only be in trouble, but she would be making trouble for herself for later.

But she wasn’t trying to be stubborn. Not really. She just hadn’t wanted to face the class.

Okay, maybe she was a little mad at Mrs. Watson. Why did she expect so much?

Tedi glanced sideways at Dad. Was that alcohol she smelled?

He made a turn too fast, and Tedi fell against the door. She didn’t have her seat belt on. She reached up and pulled it down and fastened it. Just in time.

Dad slammed on the brakes, screeching the tires for at least three feet.

Yes, that was alcohol on his breath.

Tedi looked at him. He had “patriotic” eyes—red, white and blue. She’d heard Mom use that term about him often enough that it wasn’t funny anymore. Especially now.

He stared straight ahead. “You think I’m a reckless driver?” he demanded.

Reckless was a stupid word. Made it sound like you could never have a wreck. Dad was “wreckful,” not “wreckless.” He’d had several accidents to prove it.

“No, Dad, I don’t think you’re reckless. I just forgot to put my seat belt on when we got into the car. I always wear my seat belt. Mom makes me wear it. When you turned—”

Dad gunned the motor and sped along Highway F toward home. “I get your point.”

How could he get a point she was trying not to make?

She glanced sideways at him again. “Um, Dad, would you please slow down a little? This is scaring me.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you made that airhead teacher of yours call me.”

Tedi grimaced with growing anger. “I didn’t make her call you. I fell asleep in class, and she made a big deal out of it.”

“That’s not the way I heard it from her. I heard this isn’t the first time you’ve caused trouble in class lately. Do you know she had me paged from an important luncheon meeting with some prospective buyers for the Reynolds Ranch? Do you know how much commission I stand to lose on that deal?” He turned into their drive at home.

Tedi wondered if that was one of those martini lunches she’d heard about. “Sorry I’m such a pain to you, Dad.”

He didn’t even catch the sarcasm in her voice. “If I lose that sale, we may think about taking you out of that fancy school of yours.”

Tedi gritted her teeth. Why should he care? He wasn’t paying for it.

He got out and slammed his door. She did the same with hers, pushing the door with as much force as she could. It made a satisfying WHOMP!

Dad just walked on up the sidewalk toward the front entrance.

Tedi opened the car door wide, then slammed it even harder. “I hate you,” she said under her breath, glaring at Dad’s back. “I hate you, hate you, hate you.”

He unlocked the house and turned to wait for her.

She continued glaring.

He just waited.

Her glare wavered. Grandma Ivy said that hatred destroyed everything it touched. Tedi didn’t really hate Dad. She just wanted him to stop drinking and stop saying bad things about Mom.

Dad kept waiting, and Tedi finally went in.

He closed the door behind them, slowly and quietly. He did that when he was really mad and trying to keep from losing his temper. He’d lost his temper and kicked a dog so hard once that he broke its ribs. He’d broken windows with his fists and kicked holes in walls. Always he’d been drinking when he did it.

“Can I go up to my room?” Tedi asked. “I’m tired.”

He raised a brow at her. He didn’t act drunk now. “Why are you tired? You went to bed early enough last night. Besides, you slept in class today, didn’t you?”

His sarcastic tone made her madder. “Only because your fight with Julie kept me awake last night,” she snapped. “I’m falling behind in class. Mrs. Watson thinks there might be something wrong at home. She asked me if you helped me with my homework, and I told her you were too busy.” Tedi knew she shouldn’t be saying all this, but she couldn’t help herself.

“So I’m supposed to be doing your homework for you now? Is there something wrong with trying to make a living for my family?”

Tedi narrowed her eyes at him. “But you don’t.”

He stood for a long moment, glaring at her as red color once more crept up his face.

She glared back at him, heart pounding. She felt now as she did when she argued with Abby Cuendet during lunch—mad enough to say just about anything.

But Dad was bigger than Abby, and Abby didn’t drink.

He took a step toward her.

“Can I go to my room now?” Without waiting for a reply, Tedi pivoted away from him.

His left hand came down hard on her right shoulder, and he jerked her around to face him, his thumb and fingers digging painfully into her flesh. His other hand drew back. Way back. His angry eyes burned out at her.

“Daddy, don’t!” Tedi ducked.

She caught her breath and braced herself, tensing for a strike that didn’t land. She remained braced for a long time, then raised her head to find Dad frozen in position, eyes wide, face drained of color.

He released her shoulder and lowered his hand, but the pain still spurted down her arm. “Go to your room, Tedi.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m going back to work.”

The spacious corner office that Dr. Jarvis George had used at Knolls Community for the past twenty years reflected the passion of his life: hunting. A moose head overlooked his credenza. The head and rack of a twelve-point buck peered out from between two glass-fronted bookcases filled with outdated medical texts. A rich, dark brown leather couch and two overstuffed chairs were situated so that visitors had a chance to peruse several hunting pictures taken in the field.

At the moment, Jarvis found no pleasure in his surroundings. He sat behind his massive oak desk and stared at the report. That insolent new doctor had decided to fill it out after that stupid needlestick incident this morning. The RMQA—risk management and quality assurance officer—was a personal friend. Dorothy had seen fit to call this to Jarvis’s attention. Unfortunately, this was not the only copy. The administrator and chief of staff would know about it, and if anything came of it…But of course, nothing would.

Jarvis crumpled the sheet into a ball and threw it into the trash. “Big mistake, Bower.”

He glanced at his left hand, flexed it. He’d scrubbed it well after the needlestick. There was nothing more to do. You don’t catch Alzheimer’s from contaminated blood, and that was this poor old gal’s problem—increased dementia over the past weeks. Alzheimer’s.

Someone knocked on the door. “Jarvis? You in there?”

The sound of Ivy Richmond’s voice lightened his expression as he jumped up from his chair and rushed over to open the door for her.

His frown returned when he saw her face, drained of color and lacking its usual smile.

“Come in, dear, come in.” He gently took her arm and led her to the leather couch, where he sat beside her. “How are the funeral arrangements coming? Do you need any help?”

Ivy shook her head and disengaged her arm from his grip. “Got it done. It’ll be tomorrow at ten at my church. Will you sit with the three of us? No other family is coming.”

“I’d be honored, Ivy. Pardon me for saying this, my dear, but you could do with some rest. Are you feeling okay?” He reached up and felt her cheek with the back of his hand.

She leaned her head back on the couch and closed her eyes. “Maybe some chest congestion…or something. I don’t know. I’m just tired, Jarvis.”

He eyed his stethoscope over on his desk, but before he could decide to get it, Ivy opened her eyes and fixed him with an intent look.

“I’m worried about something, and I don’t know if I have a valid complaint. I’m just confused. I’ve gone through this grief process before, and I know what it can do to your mind. I think it’s working a number on me, but I just can’t tell.”

Jarvis took Ivy’s right hand in both of his. “Why don’t you tell me about it? If there’s anything in my power I can do to help, I’ll do it. You know that.”

She nodded. “But I’m not sure it’s fair to drag you into it—not fair to you or Dr. Bower.”

Jarvis tensed. “Dr. Bower?”

“I shouldn’t even be talking to you about him. I know you didn’t want him here.”

“I still don’t.” And the whole thing was getting harder to swallow as time went on. “We don’t need a full-time doctor here.” And especially not Bower. Already two of Jarvis’s regular patients had been treated by the younger doctor in the emergency room, and their glowing reports about Bower’s compassion and kindness hit a raw nerve. He could be a horrible diagnostician, write scripts for all the wrong drugs, but as long as he had a “good bedside manner,” he was praised as a good doctor. Sounded like slick politics. What about good, honest medicine? How long would it take Bower to convince administration to get rid of all the older docs and replace them with fresh grads who cared more about covering their tails from lawsuits than they cared about human beings?

Ivy pulled her hand from his.

Jarvis released her, shrugging off the bitter thoughts. “I’d like to think I’m enough of a professional to be objective. I think I can make a sound judgment call, especially for your sake.”

She shook her head and sighed. “I may be stirring up trouble for nothing.”

“Hey, I’ve been practicing objectivity as long as I’ve been practicing medicine. You trust me as a friend, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s figure out this Bower business together.”

Ivy took another deep breath, let it out and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I had to fight him to get him to try to save Mother yesterday. I felt as if he wanted to dismiss her as just a dying old woman. Maybe it was my emotions talking, I don’t know, but I question his ethics, Jarvis. I don’t think he holds human life sacred. That’s important to me, especially in my financial relationship to this hospital.” She spread her hands “What do we know about him?”

“Just the basics. What do you want to know? I’ll try to find out for you.”

“For instance, what is his background? Where did he come from? I know he’s a Doctor of Osteopathy. Is he an experienced emergency room physician? How does he feel about abortion and euthanasia?” She shook her head apologetically at Jarvis. “I’m sorry, but these are questions I really want answered.”

Jarvis frowned. Okay, maybe he was going to have more trouble with objectivity than he thought. It was too tempting to play on Ivy’s suspicions, but it wouldn’t be fair to Ivy. He didn’t care about Bower.

“I don’t know much about him,” Jarvis said. “His credentials are obviously in order, or our administrator would not have cleared him to treat patients here. She’s conscientious. I’ve heard that Bower comes from Truman Medical Center in Kansas City, so he’s obviously had some good experience.”

“Is he board certified?”

“I don’t think so. Most docs will include that with their title, and he hasn’t. He would at least have done his internship before he could practice medicine in Missouri, so I’m sure he has a permanent licensure.”

“Did he bring any references from Truman?”

“I’m sure he did, but no one has seen fit to share them with me. Remember, I’m just the director.” Jarvis didn’t try to keep the resentment from his voice. It had even been suggested by the hospital’s chief financial officer that this new upstart should receive the director title since he was going to be the only full-time physician on staff for emergency room. Even the gung ho administrator had refused to consider that—for now. She’d suggested that they try this guy out first and see how capable he was. These people had no loyalty to their tried-and-true medical staff.

“Jarvis, did you hear me? Do you know anyone at Truman? I would think after all these years and all the medical seminars you’ve attended—”

Jarvis straightened. “Of course. One of the advanced trauma life-support instructors is a trauma surgeon at Truman. I’ve taken the course with him several times, not that I couldn’t teach it myself if I were so inclined.”

“Would he have worked with Dr. Bower?”

Jarvis got up from the couch and went to his desk. He fanned out a business card file. “Dr. Sal Probstfield just happens to be a duck hunter. Ducks aren’t my forte, of course, but you get a couple of hunters into a room with 150 golfers, racquetballers and tennis jocks, the hunters will tend to find each other. Ah, here it is.” He pulled out a card with a mallard printed on it.

“Don’t tell me that a trauma surgeon hands out business cards.”

“For his guide service. During duck season he takes groups out on hunting trips. It’s what he plans to do with his time when he retires in three years.”

“Sounds like you know him pretty well.”

Jarvis reached toward the speakerphone and punched his numbers. “Well enough to get information from him about Bower.”

They reached Dr. Probstfield at home. After a few preliminaries, Jarvis asked, “Sal, we have a new full-time doctor down here. Does the name Lukas Bower mean anything to you?”

There was a pause, then a low whistle. “So you’re the guys who stole our whiz kid.”

Ivy raised a brow at Jarvis. She mouthed the words, “Whiz kid?”

Sal continued. “He’s awful at hospital politics, so his colleagues tend to resent him. He’s great with patients and diagnoses and he puts on a good show of confidence, so his colleagues tend to resent him.” He chuckled at his own attempt at humor. “Give him time. He’s not obnoxious. He’s just got a small problem with social graces. He’s not as cocky or self-confident as he seems.”

Jarvis saw the relief in Ivy’s expression.

Sal’s voice came again. “Those guys over at Cunningham Memorial lost themselves a good internist when they kicked him out of the residency program.”

Ivy’s head jerked up.

Jarvis stiffened, trying to control the surge of hope he felt. “What?”

“You know he’s not board certified, don’t you? That’s why. The hospital’s board of internal medicine decided he was endangering patients, and they fired him. He never got into another residency program. I know the trainer Bower had over there. Vicious man, very vindictive. He didn’t like being shown up, and I’d hazard a guess that Bower did so without even realizing it. The director of internal medicine backed up Bower’s trainer. They even tried to block Bower’s permanent licensure. I hear he had to take them to court to get it through.”

“I see,” Jarvis muttered, glancing at Ivy. “Is that all you know about it, Sal?”

There was a pause. “I’ve heard other rumors, but nothing was substantiated.”

“How did they feel he was endangering patients?”

“You’ll have to get that information from somebody else. Remember, I liked the guy. All you have to do is ask Bower about it. He’s an innocent, and he’s never learned to keep his mouth shut.”

“Thanks, Sal, I owe you. See you soon.” Jarvis hung up and looked at Ivy. “I know some people at Cunningham. I’ll give them a call later and see if I can come up with more info.”

“Why don’t you just ask Dr. Bower?” Ivy suggested.

Jarvis shot her a skeptical glance. “I’ll call Cunningham.”