The Return(73)

I thought about the lies Callie had told me, especially the last one. There had to be someone in her life. I suspected either one or both parents were still alive, but even if she didn’t want to speak to them, wasn’t there someone else? Brothers or sisters, aunts or uncles, grandparents? Even a favorite teacher or friend? Anyone? When people were in the hospital, they almost always wanted support from those they cared about; when faced with something possibly life-threatening, that desire became almost universal. It seemed almost hardwired into human nature, which made me think something awful had happened to her to make her disavow them.

It was possible, of course, that they had a terrible relationship, even abusive. In that case, I supposed I could understand her reluctance to see or speak to them, but depending on what I learned from the oncologist, she might be risking her life by not bringing them here no matter what.

The hours moved slowly throughout the rest of the day, but eventually it was time to go back to the hospital. I swung by the Trading Post for a coffee and talked with Claude a bit. Like me, he hadn’t a clue what was going on with Callie or why she wouldn’t answer questions. He mentioned nothing about the false social security number that Callie had been using and I wondered if he’d been told about that, guessing that he probably hadn’t.

Later, as I pushed through the hospital doors, I realized something else: Since Callie had fallen from the ladder, my hands hadn’t trembled, nor had I felt on edge. I’d had no difficulty sleeping and was even feeling more like my old self again. It seemed that in trying to save Callie, I’d somehow ended up saving myself.

*



I was early for rounds and settled in to wait. Most of the physicians had offices in town and wouldn’t leave for the hospital until after their last patient had departed. The nurses on duty described Dr. Mollie Nobles, Callie’s oncologist, as having short blond hair cut in a bob and blue eyes, making her nearly impossible to miss. The neurologist, I was told, may or may not be coming, since he’d already been by earlier in the morning.

I took a seat in the lobby near the elevator on Callie’s floor, watching people stride past me in both directions, while also noting the quiet efficiency of the nurses as they darted in and out of rooms. I’d always believed nurses were underappreciated. Half an hour passed, then an hour, but after a couple of years of doing not much of anything, I’d become good at waiting. One by one, physicians began exiting the elevator, but the first four were not the ones I needed. Excellent detective that I am, I noticed that all of them had been males.

The blue-eyed blonde with a bob cut arrived a few minutes after that, looking harried as she exited the elevator, files in hand.

“Dr. Nobles?” I asked, rising from my seat.

She turned. “Yes?”

“I was hoping I could speak with you about Callie.” I introduced myself, indicating that there was a HIPAA form on file. “I know you’re busy and probably have a lot of patients to visit, but I’d really love a few minutes of your time.”

“You’re with Callie?”

“Kind of,” I hedged. “For now, anyway.”

“How well do you know her?”

“Not well. I spent some time with her this afternoon, but I’m not family. I’m not sure she’d even consider me a friend. But it’s important that I speak with you about her situation.”

“Who are you?”

I explained my relationship, adding that I was also a physician, and we went through the same song and dance that I had with Dr. Manville.

When I finished, she looked down the hall toward Callie’s room, then back to me again. “Yeah,” she finally said. “Okay. You said the form is on file?”

When I nodded, she went on. “I’ll need to check on that, but do you want to meet in her room in a few minutes?”

“Is there any way we could speak someplace more private?”

She glanced at her watch and did a quick mental calculation. “All right. But it can’t be long. I’ve got a full house tonight,” she said. “Let’s go to the lounge.”

After she checked the computer in the nurses’ station, we took the elevator down to the lounge and found a seat at a small table.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

“I was wondering if you had the results of the bone marrow biopsy yet.”

“If you don’t know her that well, how do you know she had a bone marrow biopsy? And why did she give you permission to speak with me in the first place?”

“I blackmailed her.”

“Excuse me?”

“I threatened to call the police. It’s a long story, but hopefully, she’ll stick around until she’s better. And for now, you’re free to speak with me.”

“Blackmailing her might have invalidated the form.”

“Or it might not. I’m not a lawyer. However, the form is on file, so you’re technically in the clear.”

She still didn’t look persuaded but finally shook her head. “Frankly, it might make things easier to be able to speak with you. She’s been a difficult patient so far and I’m uncertain what to make of all of it.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t get the feeling that anything she’s told me is true.”

Likewise, I thought. “I can’t help you there. I was more interested in her medical condition.”