Читать книгу A Family at Last - Jacqueline Diamond, Lori Copeland, Jacqueline Diamond - Страница 10

In her office on Monday afternoon, Karen was reviewing the nursing home’s financial statement when she became aware of raised voices from the nearby dining room. She was prepared to leave the matter to her staff, when a small crash rocketed her into action.

Hurrying into the large room where a few residents lingered after lunch, she saw a knot of people in one corner. Jane Duke, an aide whose no-nonsense manner generally made short work of minor disputes, was kneeling and picking up the remains of a coffee mug. Eighty-four-year-old Davy Marshak, a retired mechanic with the disposition of a rhinoceros with a toothache, sat in his chair, glaring.

The other members of the group were Davy’s roommate, Junior Ferguson, and food-service director Marquis Lyons, the apparent target of the man’s ill humor.

As Karen entered, Marquis threw up his hands in frustration. “Everyone else says the chicken was tender. And the rice pudding—it’s what you asked for!”

“It had lumps in it!” Davy snapped.

“Rice pudding always has lumps,” Junior said mildly. “Give the man a break, Davy.”

“I don’t like the way he cooks.” His roommate folded his arms. “We need a new chef.”

“You need a new outlook!” Marquis declared. “Yours is so sour, no wonder nothing tastes good.” Few people managed to rile Marquis, but Davy had a gift for pushing people past their limits.

“I want a new chef!” the former mechanic demanded when he saw Karen.

“Absolutely not,” she said. “I’m happy with the one I have and so, at last count, is everyone else.” She had no hesitation on that point. The food specialist took pride in tempting his clients’ appetites.

“He’s a lousy cook!” Davy provoked. “I can’t eat this stuff.”

“I must make it clear that Mr. Lyons has my full and complete support. However, if your appetite is flagging, we can have food delivered for you.” Karen wanted to meet the residents’ needs, although she sensed there might be more at issue here than a problem with the food.

Something was troubling the elderly man. It might, sadly, be a simmering rage at the increasing frailty of his body. She’d seen that before, especially in men accustomed to leading independent lives.

Old age tended to intensify people’s personalities. Some gained in wisdom and became more sweet-natured, but Davy Marshak had grown progressively harder to please during his three years at the home. Thank goodness the easygoing Junior agreed to room with him, because no one else would.

Marquis nodded, mollified. “I’ll get back to work, then. If Mr. Marshak is finished throwing a temper tantrum.” He glanced meaningfully at the broken cup in Jane’s hands.

“I’m tired of sitting here,” Davy announced as soon as Marquis left. “Somebody help me up.”

Depositing the cup in a wastebasket, Jane went to assist. She managed not to make a face at his rudeness, which must have taken incredible self-control.

After he departed, still grumbling, Karen lingered in the dining room with Junior. As usual, he wore plaid pants and combed strands of long hair across his shiny pate. The widower, who’d lived alone in his farmhouse, had come here several years earlier after suffering a mild stroke. If he’d had relatives to stay with him, he could have continued living there.

She welcomed Junior’s company. The sociable fellow lifted the others’ spirits and often helped provide insight. “Any idea what’s bugging Mr. Marshak?”

He considered. “He’s turning eighty-five in two weeks and neither of his kids is planning anything special. Maybe he’s starting to realize his bad temper drove them away.”

Davy’s admitting papers listed him as divorced. His grown son and daughter visited occasionally but didn’t stay long.

“I could ask the counselor to talk to him.” She didn’t hold out much hope. The therapist had had no luck with Davy in the past.

Junior shook his head. “He won’t go for it.”

“We’ll have a celebration here, of course, but in the meantime, he isn’t eating properly.” While she’d long ago accepted, reluctantly, that she couldn’t solve all the residents’ problems, she had a responsibility to keep them as healthy as possible. “Maybe his medications are affecting his sense of taste. I’ll ask the doctor.”

Her companion patted her shoulder. “You’re a good mother hen.”

Karen gave him a hug. “I wish I had a magic wand to make everyone’s difficulties go away, but I can’t even fix my own.” Regretting the mention of personal concerns, she added, “I mean my mother’s health, of course.”

“That reminds me. I promised to play chess with her. She always wins, but I’m working on my strategy.” With a wink, Junior headed for the rec room.

Walking into the hall, Karen wondered why she’d blurted that remark. There was nothing wrong with her life.

Except, perhaps, for the fact that she was thirty-one and hadn’t had a real date in over a year. Meanwhile, her best friend Leah had married and expected a baby next month. Her new friend Jenni had struck a love match with Ethan almost as soon as she’d hit town.

Karen supposed she ought to put more energy into finding someone. It wouldn’t hurt to attend singles events in Mill Valley, and she’d heard of people finding spouses on the Internet.

Of course, she’d also heard of people finding ax murderers on the Internet.

Turning a corner, she stopped short to avoid colliding with Chris. He halted, his face warming until he caught her stern look.

She wondered why he’d worn his white coat from the clinic and wished it didn’t look so good against his lightly tanned skin. “Can I help you?”

“I’m trying to find the director of nursing. She doesn’t seem to be around.”

“That’s Bailey O’Connor. She has the flu.” Abruptly, Karen realized he must be making rounds in Jenni’s place. She’d expected a substitute from Mill Valley, not him. “She left a list on her desk of patients to see. Are you sure you’re supposed to be here?”

“That’s what Jenni told me.”

“I guess she would know. Just a sec.” She nipped into the adjacent office and retrieved the list along with a stack of charts Bailey had prepared. “There’s nothing serious, or we’d have arranged for immediate treatment. Mostly adjustments to medications. I’m not sure how current you are about treating high blood pressure, high cholesterol and diabetes.”

“Diabetes is something I treat occasionally. High blood pressure and high cholesterol are rare.” Chris scanned the material. His quiet confidence inspired respect, although it still felt strange, viewing the boy she’d grown up with in the role of physician. “After I talk to the patients, I’ll phone Dr. Hardison in Mill Valley to discuss any changes.”

That sounded reasonable. Since Bailey had listed the appropriate room numbers, Karen supposed she could turn Chris loose to pay his calls. However, that was hardly fair to the residents.

“I’ll introduce you around,” she told him. “Even though people realize Jenni’s on her honeymoon, it might upset them to have a new doctor show up.” Less than half of the seventy occupants had met him at the winter party, and some of those suffered from mild memory loss.

“I can understand that.” He didn’t seem intimidated by the prospect of meeting a bunch of oldsters. Judging by the glint in his eye, he enjoyed the prospect. “I’ll do my best to loosen them up.”

“You aren’t going to blow bubbles through your sleeve, I hope,” Karen blurted.

“I thought I’d claim I’m here to give tango lessons,” Chris replied with a straight face.

She couldn’t keep from smiling. The guy had that effect on people, even her. “Who’s first?”

It was Mae Anne’s roommate, Fanny Granville, who’d been having circulation problems.

Since Fanny already knew Chris—as it turned out, she’d met him often enough to recognize him, despite her occasional forgetfulness—the meeting went well. So did the subsequent visits. His positive attitude and genuine liking for the elders encouraged them to talk freely.

They enjoyed his jokes, even the corny ones. “You folks are so young at heart, I can hardly tell you from my regular patients,” he teased one woman.

“That’s all right,” she replied merrily. “I’ve been telling my kids I’m entering my second childhood. Won’t they be amazed to find out I’m seeing a pediatrician!”

After finishing the list, Chris paused in the hallway beside Karen. “I’m having to dredge up a lot of knowledge I haven’t needed since my internship,” he admitted. “It’s fun in a way, but I’m going to recommend that the city contract with an outside physician to make these rounds the next time Jenni’s gone.”

Karen wasn’t sure she agreed. “Dr. Hardison isn’t always available. In the past we’ve had consultants who treated the symptoms but not the individuals. A big part of medicine is psychological, and the folks like you.”

His eyes widened. “That’s quite a compliment, especially from you.”

She hesitated, torn by a sense of disloyalty to Barry. “My residents come first,” she said at last.

“Whereas personally, you wish I’d drop off the face of the Earth,” he murmured.

“Something like that.” She didn’t mean to sound churlish, and was trying to decide whether to apologize, when she remembered that she’d meant to ask him about Davy. “Wait, we’ve got one more patient. He has eating problems and he’s uncooperative, to say the least. I suspect his medications might be affecting his appetite.”

Chris cleared his throat. “Saved the biggest challenge for last, eh?”

“You’re not kidding.”

They found Davy in the library, where Karen had amassed a collection of fiction and nonfiction titles. She also arranged rotating selections from the town library next door, since not all the residents were able to visit the facility in person.

The elderly man sat in an armchair, a large-print volume on his lap. He scowled at the sight of Chris’s white coat.

“Don’t need any dad-blamed doctors,” he announced. “Especially not some kindergartener.”

“Actually, I just finished elementary school.” The pediatrician glanced at the book. “What’re you reading?”

“Pornography.”

Chris nodded approvingly. “Large-print pornography. What a great idea.”

Davy snapped the book shut. “It’s about World War II. Ever heard of it?”

“Was that the war with Napoleon?” Chris asked. “Or the one where Teddy Roosevelt charged up San Juan Hill?”

Karen held her breath. If the grumpy fellow took the remark seriously, he’d never deign to discuss his medical problems.

However, he gave a bark of approval. “At least you’ve heard of San Juan Hill. Most of these youngsters, they don’t know what century we fought the Civil War in.”

Chris took a seat. “You’re a history buff?”

“People don’t expect that from a mechanic. They don’t think we can read anything more complicated than automotive manuals.” Davy regarded him cautiously. “Used to be, when a fellow graduated from high school, he knew plenty. Today, they give diplomas to gosh-darned illiterates.”

“And medical degrees to elementary students,” Chris added.

A guffaw escaped his patient. “What can I do for you, doc?”

“Tell me why you aren’t eating.”

Karen braced for a diatribe against Marquis’s menus. Instead, with unaccustomed mildness, Davy said, “My teeth hurt.”

“You need to see a dentist,” Chris replied promptly.

“Can’t stand dentists!”

“That’s why your teeth hurt,” came the calm admonition.

“We schedule regular checkups.” Karen searched her memory. “I don’t understand….” The truth hit her. “You always manage to get sick that day, don’t you? And put off rescheduling. Darn, I let you do an end run around me, didn’t I, Mr. Marshak?”

He cackled. “Got away with it, too.”

“Not anymore.” Chris regarded the man firmly. “Would you like me to come with you?”

“To the dentist?” Davy frowned. “You mean that?”

“Sure, if it would help.”

“I hate when they lay that chair back. Makes me feel helpless,” the old man admitted. “Nobody listens, either, not that I can talk with tools stuck in my mouth.”

To Karen, Chris said, “Let me know when you make the appointment. I’ll clear the time.” To Davy, he added, “No excuses. If you claim you’re sick, I’m coming to give you shots. And I’ll make sure they hurt more than the dentist’s drill.”

To her amazement, Davy burst into laughter. “You’re a smart-aleck. I like that,” he said. “I’ve got a son must be about your age. No, I guess he’s older. Well, okay, doc, I’ll go.”

Karen waited until they’d taken their leave and she’d escorted Chris out the side door onto the patio—empty on this breezy afternoon—to express her concern.

“I can’t believe you intend to keep that promise you made Davy. He certainly isn’t a regular patient of yours,” she said, warming to her subject. “You may think you’re doing him a favor to trick him into going to the dentist, but my staff will have to deal with his outrage when he finds out you didn’t mean it.”

Chris stood there blinking in the sunlight. “Why are you doing this?”

His baffled tone gave Karen pause. She’d expected him to defend his position. “Doing what?”

“Assuming the worst about me.” A pucker formed between his eyebrows. “I keep my promises.”

That possibility hadn’t occurred to her. Because Chris had turned against his best friend, she’d figured he betrayed everyone’s trust.

“Karen,” Chris went on, “when I say something, I mean it.” At this angle, his body sheltered her from the wind. “Listen, there’s something else I need to discuss with you.”

She looked at him unexpectedly and got an uncomfortable feeling.

“It’s about Barry,” he said.

Karen bristled. “Believe me, I’ve heard plenty of criticism about his attitude, if that’s what you mean.”

“I said I wanted to discuss something that concerns him. That doesn’t mean I intend to criticize him.”

Once again, he had her at the disadvantage. Or rather, she’d put herself there by jumping to conclusions. “Sorry, I was wrong,” she conceded as graciously as she could. “Go on.”

A puff of wind pulled at his coat. “After I ran into you two at the park, I decided to go to the police department and read the original reports.”

“You had no business doing that!” His snooping annoyed Karen. “You know what happened.”

“As it turned out, I didn’t.”

Was he going to try to frame Barry all over again? Realizing she’d jumped the gun several times before, she bit back the accusation. “Why not? You were there.”

“I only knew what I personally observed. At the trial, the attorneys wouldn’t let me be in the courtroom except when I was on the stand—they didn’t want my testimony compromised,” Chris explained. “I figured Barry whacked Mr. Anglin a couple of extra times and didn’t realize it. Now I know that’s not the way it happened.”

“What did happen, in your opinion?” Karen stood riveted, unsure where this was leading. It had never occurred to her to study those reports herself.

“I saw Barry lash out once in self-defense. Whoever killed Norbert Anglin deliberately crushed his skull while he was lying on the ground helpless,” Chris said.

“And what do you make of that?” She heard a tremor in her voice. She wanted urgently to believe he was on their side, yet at the same time, she mistrusted him utterly.

“Someone else killed Mr. Anglin.”

He’d actually said it. Barry was innocent. But while her father had believed there was an opportunistic killer, the police had adamantly rejected the possibility. “Who? Any ideas?”

“Not really,” Chris conceded. “One thing’s for sure—I didn’t lie on the stand, Karen, and I don’t believe Barry did, either. I’m sorry he’s wasted so much time holding me to blame. I think it may have blinded him to other possibilities.”

Of course there’d been the two witnesses, but the police had ruled them out. Fifteen years ago, her family had been torn apart—her brother sent to prison, her father dying of a heart attack from the stress. In all this time, no one but the Lowells had ever doubted that justice had been served.

The last person in the world she’d expected to hear it from was Chris.

“Why didn’t you say something at the trial?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you insist another person must have done it?”

“As I said, I didn’t have the whole picture.” The breeze rattled the patio furniture. “Besides, I trusted the system. I figured the prosecutor and the cops knew what they were doing.”

A note of warning sounded in the back of her mind. Was he really in earnest? Or was he seeking to enlist her aid in silencing Barry’s accusations against him?

“What’s your next step?” Karen asked cautiously.

“We should work together,” Chris answered. “You, me and, I hope, Barry.”

She shivered at the idea of approaching her brother with this concept. “Tell the police. They won’t believe Barry, but they might listen to you.”

“I talked to Ben after I read the reports, but he insists on waiting until Ethan returns. He doesn’t see any urgency.”

“Do you?”

Chris ducked his head. “It kills me to think Barry went to prison on my testimony. Now the bitterness is destroying his life.”

“He has a right to be angry,” she declared. “Going to prison killed his dreams. I don’t know if he’ll ever have a shot at being a foreign correspondent.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time.” Chris jammed his hands into his pockets. “Let’s build a case so strong the police will have to accept it.”

“Barry won’t work with you.” The anger and blame ran too deep. “You’ll need to do this on your own.”

“I haven’t got a clue where to start.” He sounded disappointed. “Besides, there’s no use my duplicating research Barry’s already done. We’ll be much more effective together.”

Together, like the old days. A longing for what used to be wrapped around Karen like a blanket. To be friends with Chris again…allies…to wake up in the morning the way she once had, eager for the day to begin because she was almost certain to run into him.

But she could never again be that innocent girl, that teenager who’d given her heart away without a second thought. Not because she cared nothing for Chris but because she cared too much.

Useless to hope. Too much pain and suspicion separated them. Too much harsh experience. Too much loss.

Still, he was the first person outside her family to admit to the possibility of clearing Barry. Even though it might be a trick, she couldn’t dismiss it out of hand.

When the first drops of rain touched her face, Karen retreated into the doorway. “I’ll tell Barry what you suggest. It’s up to him.”

“I appreciate the effort.” He stood studying her as if unaware that he was getting wet.

“You never did have the sense to get out of the rain,” Karen managed to joke. “Go back to work, Chris.”

“Don’t let Barry boss you around,” he advised. “He may be your big brother but you can stand up to him. For his sake, please try.”

She ached to touch Chris’s cheek. To feel the heart beating beneath that coat. To slip her arms around him.

Not now. Not ever.

“I’ll do my best,” Karen promised, and went inside.