What We Find (Sullivan's Crossing, #1)(60)

“I know about it.”

“She suffered tremendously. After she died, I tried to be half as brave as she was and just carry on. I stayed in our house, I went to work every day, I called my in-laws every Sunday. I did that for a year. And then suddenly I just couldn’t do it anymore. I finished up or handed off what was on my desk. I tried to resign but my boss wouldn’t let me. He insisted it could only be an indefinite leave of absence and that my position would be waiting for me when I was ready.”

“Doesn’t it figure that we’d have that in common? Why didn’t you just admit you were a lawyer named California Jones right away?”

“The stages,” he said. “First, it’s because to tell one part invites questions that insist on answers. Why aren’t you a lawyer now? Why walk out on a great job at your age? Et cetera. I don’t talk to everyone about my wife, about her illness and the way she suffered. Then the next stage is this—I can’t give legal advice anywhere I’m not licensed. And I wasn’t licensed in California or here.”

“Really? Because I don’t have to have a medical license in the state of Michigan to advise a friend with blinding headaches to get a head CT.”

“There’s an argument that if I don’t get paid for the advice I’m not breaking the law, but it’s an argument that’s been challenged. Doctors and attorneys volunteering their services are still culpable for practicing without a license. Screwing it up could not only get me in trouble, it could compromise your defense. It wasn’t worth the risk.”

“Well, I can’t count the number of cocktail parties where I’ve been backed into a corner and asked if an eye twitch could be a brain tumor.”

“The problem for me was that I’d have to be so careful not to be involved—and you told me you were being sued. So instead of saying anything, I petitioned the state of Colorado for a license to practice. There’s reciprocity between our states. It was just a formality, but a requirement. Now, if you need me, I’m available. And...” He shrugged. “I wanted to tell you I was married before. That seemed like something you should know. It wasn’t important for me to share with anyone before, Maggie. It wasn’t important until it was you.”

“I’m sorry for all that, Cal. It must have been so terrible. So after a year, you just got in your truck and...”

“First, I packed up everything with Sedona’s help. I put a lot of stuff I thought I’d want again someday in storage and sold the house and most of the furnishings. And then I relived the odyssey of growing up, living in a different place every few months. I can’t explain why, Maggie. It makes no sense. The best time of my life was when I was settled, when I had a job, a house, a family even if it was only me and my wife. It was instinctive, I think. Reaching back in time to see if I could retrace my footprints.”

“That’s what I said to Sully,” she said. “That I wanted to go back to the eighth grade and rethink everything.”

“You should definitely try that debutante ball thing,” he said. “I bet you’d look like a regular princess.” Then he grinned at her.

“So...is telling me now significant in some way? Meaning you trust me?”

“It’s more than that. Whatever is happening between us is growing. For me, anyway, and I think for you.” He laughed but not out of humor. “I hope you’re a patient woman because...I’m probably f*cked-up. I’m wound too tight. I’m working on that.”

“What’s the prognosis?”

“That I’m determined to keep working on it until it’s fixed. At least fixed enough to have a life again.”

“Then you might not need me anymore,” she said.

“I don’t need you now, honey. It’s all want. It’s powerful want. It’s driving me forward.”

“Hmm,” she said. “So, you’re a widowed lawyer and I know your resources. You have access to court documents and you know how to research. You’ve studied my case.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to do that. I’m not even tempted to do that, although I do want to know. But I only want to know if you want to tell me.”

She sat up a little straighter and took a deep breath. “Have you got any idea how bad the mortality rate is in neurosurgery? There was a time, when Walter started practicing, that he could face losing half his patients to brain surgery but he put his personal feelings aside and took the emotional risk for the ones he could save. It’s better now but it’s still high. The suit against me alleges that I made a bad choice in a triage situation, that I left a patient to die by not taking him to the OR immediately.”

“So the lawsuit is for malpractice?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Malpractice charges have not been filed, though there was an investigation and it’s still possible. Not likely, the investigation returned no malpractice. It’s a wrongful death suit filed by the parents of a teenager who died in the emergency room. We were in triage hell after an accident that brought five teenagers to the trauma unit. The call I made was practiced, logical and routine protocol. I took the patient who was the most critical—unconscious with an obvious epidural hematoma—to surgery and sent the conscious patient with a head injury for a CT.”

He frowned as he listened. “How do you make the call?”