by Barbara Ebel
“Be my guest. I haven’t seen you in such a long time,” she kidded him.
“I was talking with family members over there, but the conversation has turned to memories of Jennie as a kid. Best to stay out of that.”
Viktoria patted the table-top. “You don’t need an excuse to sit with us.”
Jeffrey pulled in his chair and unfolded the linen napkin and silverware. He pulled out an envelope from his inside pocket and held it. “The table is piling high over there with gifts and envelopes. Better go make a spot for this.”
Viktoria grimaced. “That’s the problem with a spur of the moment wedding invitation. I’m not prepared with a gift. I’ll need to do something about that.”
Jeffrey opened the unsealed envelope and pulled out a pen. “I have the solution. Let me add your name to this card. There’s a check in here which will suffice from all three of us.”
“Three of us?”
“Cathy Banker, our CEO, likes to add a personal touch to hospital employees whenever she can. She added to my monetary gift, and we both signed the card. Add your name, please.”
Viktoria leaned in over her untouched plate. “Are you sure?”
He tilted his head. “If you don’t sign your name, I will.”
She nodded and reached for his pen as he slid the card open and placed it beside her plate. She signed her signature and gave him back his pen.
“Thorsdottir. It is an unusual name.”
“Patients sometimes get tongue-tied.”
“Does your fathers family’s surname have a meaning?”
Viktoria sat up tall. “Thorsdottir is not a family name in the traditional sense. Us Icelanders hand down names differently than all the other Scandinavian countries.”
Susan Rust cocked her head. “I’m listening in, eavesdropping.”
“No problem,” Viktoria said. “The more the merrier.”
“Pray tell us.” Jeffrey slipped the wedding card back in the envelope.
“For short, the name indicates that I am the daughter of my father’s patronym.”
Jeffrey and Susan stole a glance.
“You lost us.” He threw his hands up in front of him.
“My father’s name is Thor Engillsson. My last name is not Engillsson like my father’s. It is Thorsdottir. It incorporates Thor, which is my father’s given name, and the suffix ‘-dottir’ which means daughter. So, literally, I am the daughter of Thor. My brother’s name is Alexander, he is the son of Thor, and his surname is Thorsson. He’s Alexander Thorsson.
“That sounds too complicated.” Susan flinched. “In addition to all that last name mumbo jumbo, the name Thor comes from mythology. So, you’re the daughter of a god. On that note, I’m going to go grab some wine. Save my spot.”
Viktoria nodded and Jeffrey leaned in. “The explanation of your name is fascinating. There is nothing boring about you, is there?”
“No one is boring, unless they live on a sofa.” She sampled a shrimp and nodded her approval.
“Maybe I’m aware of too many full couches in Masonville.” He winked and tapped the envelope. “I’ll add this to the pile.”
“By the way, thanks a lot for adding me.”
“My pleasure.” He rose and scurried off to the envelopes and gifts piled on the table beside the one with the ceremonial white wedding cake.
-----
After the champagne, wine flowed freely the rest of the late afternoon, which allowed everyone’s urge to hit the dance floor much easier. The area jammed up with couples while the newlyweds visited tables hoping to socialize with folks they had not spoken to.
Casey wrapped his arm around Jennie’s waist and guided her to the end of the table with the anesthesia providers. “Thanks for coming everyone,” he said. “Dr. Thorsdottir, I’m glad you joined in with our festivities today.”
“Dr. Benson was kind enough to extend an invitation. I hope you don’t mind. Your wedding has turned my boring day into a festive one and you both make a marvelous couple.”
“Thank you,” Jennie beamed.
“This is quite a place you have here,” Jeffrey said. “The rumors I’ve heard about this ‘estate’ are true.”
“Rumors? An ‘estate’ may be an exaggeration. A big spread is more like it.”
Jeffrey shook his head. “How about a mansion in the middle of Masonville?”
“Call it what you like,” Jennie said unabashed. “It didn’t come cheap. We don’t scrimp when it comes to money.”
Viktoria guessed that Jennie had more to drink than Casey or her ability to hold it lagged in comparison.
“Here’s to inheriting family money,” Dr. Huff said, sitting next to Jeffrey. He held up his wine and sipped.
“I wish,” Jennie said. She slightly bent over and laughed.
“Come on, honey.” Casey coaxed her by the waist and headed to the next table.
The band switched gears and began a slow song. The dinner plates were already cleared off the table and Jeffrey leaned across a cup of coffee. “Before we all get lost in a thick piece of wedding cake and can’t move anymore, would you like to dance?”
She twisted her mouth and he squinted his eyes. “You won’t let a little thing like being married stop you, will you?”
“No. I’m a klutz on the dance floor.”
“I doubt that very much. Come on.” He shoved his chair back.
Susan Rust poked her elbow Viktoria’s way. “If you don’t go with this handsome man, then I’m going in your place.”
“Maybe we can both take turns.” Viktoria stood and he let her walk ahead first. She stopped where the grass and temporary floor met, their hands fell on each other appropriately, and they fell into a rhythmic motion together.
Viktoria felt her pulse bound in her wrist. She could not remember when she last danced with a man. Not ‘just’ a man, but a handsome one, one in whom she needed to occasionally avoid eye contact because she was afraid she’d lock onto his gaze for too long. “I hate to mix business with pleasure, but may I ask you a business question or two?”
“As long as we don’t skip the ‘pleasure’ part.” He set a comfortable pace and they flowed together nicely.
“That won’t happen.”
“Oh?”
Viktoria gulped, wondering if he was thinking of more pleasure than from dancing. She stole a glance and, sure enough, a mischievous smile crossed his face.
“I am married, you know.”
“Yes. I’m sorry about that. You are forthright, aren’t you?”
“Iceland and New York have had a lot to do with who I am. Icelanders don’t like to beat around the bush and New Yorkers can be rude.”
“I haven’t seen a rude side to you, yet we lack bumping into each other as much as I’d like.”
“I can be rude and forthright, but I don’t always recognize when I’m rude.”
“I’ll holler if I notice. So, what’s your business question?”
“Obviously the hospital pays the locum tenens agency who, in turn, pays me. But as far as I know, the anesthesia department at your hospital is not a private self-sustaining group. The hospital also pays anesthesiologists and CRNAs their salary which means that the hospital directly bills insurance companies for anesthesia cases, and they receive reimbursement for same.”
“Correct.” He motioned for them to swivel into a turn.
“On a finer note, how does the paperwork flow from surgeries completed to the hospital people doing the billing?”
“Nothing complicated there. Someone from interdepartmental mail makes rounds twice a day to all the in and outboxes everywhere in the hospital. For instance, when he or she arrives at the anesthesia office, they stuff the charge slips from the plastic tray into an interdepartmental envelope. They scribble ‘billing’ office on it, and it makes its way there during their rounds.” He stopped, wondering if she wanted to hear more, and she nodded.
“And it’s dumped into an inbox in the business office.”
> “It seems like a stupid question but, besides the charge slips, how does the billing office know what cases were done?”
“They receive a copy of the printed OR schedule every day, which is another ‘loose’ record of OR hospital time, supplies, and anesthesia. Different groups of employees file and keep track of these areas’ charges separately.”
“But what about all emergencies and after-hour cases which are not printed on the morning’s schedule?”
“Nurses tend to handwrite them in, but not always. The billing office mostly relies on the actual billing slips. Believe me, the hospital recovers every penny they can from those eleventh-hour cases.”
“What about anesthesia cases?”
“The interdepartmental mail carrier grabs the charge slips from the anesthesia office inbox twice a day, like I mentioned, so those emergency cases’ paperwork is heading to the billing department just like the scheduled cases.”
“Have you ever considered that to count as a loophole in the system?”
He paused and wrinkled his brow. “What makes you ask that?”
“Mr. Appleton, you answered a question with a question.”
“Please, call me Jeffrey, or Jeff if you’d like.”
The band finished playing the slow song, and they came to a stop. The music revved up with a faster tune.
“Are you up for another dance? We are doing so well.”
“Perhaps not,” she said, pointing towards the table. “I am thinking about going back to the hotel. I don’t want to be a negligent pet owner and leave my dog endlessly cooped in a room.”
He nodded with a frown, and they slid between tables back to their seats. Viktoria snatched her purse off the white linen.
“You’re not leaving yet” Susan Rust asked.
“I am,” Viktoria responded. “This has been lovely, but I must go walk and spend some time with my dog.”
“You’re going to miss the best part,” Jay Huff said, “the wedding cake and the throwing of the garter. I heard that Jennie is wearing a garter on both legs, so the question is whether she’ll throw out the left one or the right one?”
Viktoria squinted her eyes. “I can’t remember my own wedding let alone anyone else’s. I still should head out.”
“Well, we’re glad you joined the department outside OR time. Now you know what we all look like with a couple of drinks in us.”
“Yes, we’re all glad you came,” Jeffrey added.
“Thanks.” She turned to Jeffrey. “And thank you for the dance.”
“My pleasure. See you in the hospital.”
She turned around and was close to the front entrance when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“I never asked you.” It was Jeffrey, with his brown eyes locking her in. “Did you find the pet store I told you about?”
“Yes, no problem.”
“It’s a decent one. I buy most of my dog supplies there.”
“Oh? You have a dog?”
“Yes, I’m single, but not totally single. I have a female Golden retriever. Her name is Mattie.”
“How sweet. Too bad you can’t bring her to work.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice. Why? Would you like to meet her?”
“Ha. Maybe someday.” She took a step. “I better go.”
He stepped along with her. “You never told me.”
“Told you what?”
“What did you name your dog? The stray you rescued?”
“Buddy.”
“A befitting name.” He smiled, strolled back in, and watched the newlyweds cut into the wedding cake.
CHAPTER 20
Viktoria dashed into the room to surprise Buddy. She caught him staring out the back-sliding glass door. Two squirrels darted after each other and the dog wanted nothing more than to join them.
“You slacker! I could be a burglar stealing into the room and all you care about are two bushy tailed rodents. They’re simply arguing over who’s going to squirrel away an acorn.”
Almost apologetically, he leaned against her legs, and she rustled his coat. Her heart melted. She changed into leisure clothes first, unwrapped his bandage, and evaluated his stitches. He cooperated and, satisfied with the progress of his leg, she bandaged him back up.
She checked her phone for new text messages, but nothing showed up. Rick had not contacted her since she inquired about the Long Island weather that morning, nor had he enlightened her about anything else.
She and Buddy walked as far as the overpass where she had rescued him almost a week ago, and she shivered to remember the sight. They turned and, back at the hotel, she heard a text ding from her iPhone.
-----
Rick Richter wandered one block down from the Long Island Sound where a few upscale sailboats came in to call it a day. The walk occupied his time long enough, but now he wanted to satisfy his craving. He ducked into a local favorite restaurant, ignored the tables, and positioned himself at the bar.
A waitress with a generous number of freckles on her cheeks came straight over. “What’ll it be, Rick?”
“A beer and …” He paused to think. In essence, he had already eaten a light dinner and now he wanted to satisfy an uncontrollable craving to snack. “Spinach artichoke dip with those blasted pita chips.”
“You got it.”
He set his cell phone on the counter. It seemed like Viktoria had texted him at some point during the day, but he couldn’t be certain if he texted her back. He pressed the green icon and up popped the message. “What’s the weather like on Long Island today?”
Oops, he thought and answered her. “Not bad, although I’ve been busy. Washed and vacuumed my car.”
He left it at that. It was a little white lie, of course. He didn’t like fibbing to his wife, but there was no harm in that silly, small message, so what difference did it make?
The waitress placed Rick’s beer on a napkin in front of him. “Thanks, Sally,” he said.
The appetizer plate soon arrived and Rick dove in. He scooped the tasty dip on chip after chip. Second to the “high” of smoking pot, it was the best kick he derived from his marijuana addiction. Most long-time addicts he knew eventually lost their munchy attacks, but not him.
And he was a dedicated stoner. Faithful to the core. Now thirty-nine, he’d started at age thirty, two years before he and Viktoria had tied the knot. The habit started like a slow-growing cancer, or like when one medical procedure leads to another and then another. So, a few joints in the beginning was no big deal, especially because of the learning curve it took to smoke correctly and transport the stuff to his brain. It took a lot of exposure to marijuana for him to be hooked, and the enjoyment also ramped up with the process. Even learning how to roll the damn flower into a joint made his creative juices flow.
Sally leaned against the back-cash register, scanned her customers, and settled on Rick. “You eat like a race horse when you want to. Want to order a twelve-ounce steak?”
Flashing his sparkling smile, Rick laughed. He stuck a pita chip between his fingers. “No way. That’s not as much fun as throwing these in the back of my throat. Plus, I ate dinner already.”
“Don’t know how you eat so much and maintain a normal weight.”
“Blame it on the local beer. The brew passes right through me with anything else I slide down with it.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped forward. “I wish I had that problem. Let me fill that mug up again.”
“Only half-way,” he said.
Rick savored the flavor of artichokes as he ignored the television screen over the bar. He checked his phone, but there was no return text from his wife. Since it was taking him all day to respond to her, he didn’t blame her for not answering him. His thoughts turned to Viktoria.
They started dating eight months before being married seven years ago. Eight blissful months of in-depth conversations, lovemaking, and courting. Even then, she didn’t smile a lot, but the beam she threw at him when he first approached her,
he hadn’t forgotten. Down the block along the shoreline, where he had just walked before entering the restaurant, was where he had first met her…
He was into his second year of smoking weed, less than what he used now, and as he finished off a joint and leaned against the pier railing, he noticed an attractive female hoisting a kayak off the top of her vehicle. Spellbound by her athleticism, she performed each maneuver with the car, the water craft, oars, life jacket, and personal paraphernalia like a trained Olympian. When she got everything lined up, she reparked her car, and then began lugging the equipment down to the short beach.
She carried the little stuff first and made a little pile on the sand. As she pulled down her baseball cap tighter on her head, she took a deep breath, and snappily walked back to the kayak. Even though she obviously didn’t need any help, her fortitude was commendable, and he couldn’t resist going over to her anymore.
Rick went straight to the opposite side of the kayak as Viktoria. “Please, I’m going that way,” he said, pointing towards the beach and the water. “Let me grab this side and walk it down with you.”
It was the perfect dialogue to feed her. He always believed that if he had offered to “help” her, she probably would have said no. Once a women’s libber, always a women’s libber.
It was a partially cloudy day. A cloud rolled by, and she no longer needed to squint at the man who’d approached her. “Thanks.”
They both clasped a black handle and went silently to the beach, which resembled more of an idea of a beach than anything like Jones Beach on the Atlantic side.
They set the kayak down, and they made the first longer eye contact. His brain scrambled to think of something to say before she went about her dedicated pursuit to tackle the Long Island Sound.
“Do I guess correctly?” he asked. “You’re going out alone? Pitching into this choppy water by yourself?”
“Always do. However, I keep to the shoreline and the marina. The weather around here can change in a flash.”
“I’m a Long Islander, so that is a fact. The wind can change direction, too. You could end up in Connecticut!”
A gust of wind blew past them and she frowned. “If I don’t capsize before then.”