The Return(72)

“I’m going to need you to sign this form,” I said. “It’s a HIPAA form, and it gives me the right to speak with your doctors, review your charts, and discuss your case. You can consider me your advocate if you’d like. Believe it or not, I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You don’t know that. I can answer questions, explain your diagnosis, discuss treatment options with your doctors. You need to be truthful and answer their questions. And for now, you need to stay here.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I think I can.” I leaned back, keeping my tone conversational. “If you leave the hospital, one of two things is going to happen. Either you’re going to end up in another hospital, or you’re going to end up in jail.”

“I fell!” she snapped. “And I didn’t ask to come here—you dragged me here. I would have told them that I can’t pay.”

“It’s not about your bill,” I said. “You’re using my late grandmother’s social security number,” I said. “That’s a federal crime. You also broke my back door, so you could stay at my house after your trailer burned down. That’s breaking and entering, as well as trespassing. I might even tell them that you’re both a minor and a runaway.” I paused. “Unless, of course, we can make a deal.”

Frankly, I had no idea whether the police would even be interested in any of it, except for her being a possible runaway, and I wasn’t even sure about that. But if nice or professional concern hadn’t worked to get her to be more cooperative, then maybe threatening her would. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, making sure she saw it. “I’ll call the police from here,” I said. “You can listen in, if you’d like.”

When she focused on the television again, I went on. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out. The only thing I’m not sure about is how you met my grandfather in the first place. Were you walking by the house late one night? Maybe it was raining or you were just worn out and you spotted the barn? You snuck in there, saw the cot—the same one I saw—and crashed for the night. Maybe you stayed a few nights, but I’m guessing my grandfather eventually found you. And instead of running you out once he found you, he probably gave you something to eat. Maybe even let you stay a night or two in the guest room. That’s the kind of guy he was. After that, you began to trust him. But you found the social security card in a box beneath the bed. After you helped him with the honey, he suggested to Claude that he hire you, and you used my grandmother’s social security number. After that, he passed away. When your place burned down, you broke into the house through the back door and stayed until you were able to rent another trailer. You ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and apples while you were there, kept the place clean, and used candles since the power was out. Have I about summed it up?”

Though she didn’t answer, her wide-eyed stare confirmed that I was more right than wrong about all of it.

“I also know what you’re thinking right now—that you’ll bolt from the hospital as soon as I walk out of here. In your condition, I’m guessing you won’t get far. Especially since I’ll let the nurses know what you’re thinking, and I’ll be waiting downstairs for the police to arrive.” I paused, letting all of that sink in before leaning forward and tapping the form. “Your other option is to sign this form, be more cooperative with the people here, and agree to stay in the hospital until you’re better. If you do those things, I won’t contact the police.” When she made no move toward the form, I held up my cell phone. “I’m losing patience,” I said, fixing her with a look that let her know I was serious.

Finally, reluctantly, she reached for the form and scribbled her name at the bottom.

“I didn’t steal your grandmother’s social security number,” she said, putting the pen down. “He gave it to me.”

Maybe, I thought. Maybe not. “Where are you from, Callie?”

“Florida,” she answered, almost too quickly. Wherever she was from, it wasn’t Florida.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

Not a chance, I thought. I remembered the way she’d reacted when I’d asked about her parents. “Do you have any family you need me to contact?”

She turned away.

“No,” she said, “there’s no one.”

Again, I didn’t believe her.

*



I brought the signed HIPAA form to the nurses’ station, where they promised to enter it into Callie’s medical records. I learned the names of her other doctors—one was an oncologist, which further raised my concerns—and when they would be making rounds. I let them know I’d be returning to the hospital later to speak with the oncologist, if she was available. After that, I went back to Callie’s room and sat with her awhile. I asked her about favorite books and movies, trying to make small talk, but I could tell she wanted nothing to do with me and I eventually left her room.

By then, the clouds had opened up again and I splashed my way to my SUV. Back at home, I made a late lunch, read about bone marrow biopsies and transplants, and then—killing time—called the contractor I’d hired. I told him that I wanted work started on the roof as soon as I moved to Baltimore, which would hopefully give him enough time to make the arrangements. The tarp, after all, would only last so long.