He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it. "I think they're perfect." He kissed her ring finger. "Could use a some decoration. I've been thinking that a ring would look nice right here." He ran the tip of his tongue over the ring finger on her left hand.
"Chamberlain?"
"I love you. Will you marry me? Please."
"I'm . . . surprised. I had no idea. Some idea . . . maybe . . . Oh, Chamberlain. I love you, too. Yes, I'll marry you." She looked into his kind blue eyes, her own glossy with tears.
"I didn't mean my proposal to come out like that. I had it planned for Valentine's Day. My father is making your ring, and he isn't finished yet. It popped out."
"Your father is making it? I thought he retired."
"He did, but he still goes into the store to work on custom pieces if he gets a special request. He's well known in Hartford for his designs. He and I planned your ring when I visited at Christmas. He sketched it and started working on the mold. When I was a child, I loved to watch him work, especially when he was electroplating gold or silver onto some of the inexpensive pieces. Anyway, I sat in the old shop and watched him start making your ring."
"He's electroplating the gold onto it?" Abigail teased.
"No, it's solid gold. I didn't mean that." Thorne laughed.
Abigail laughed, too. "I like it, the whole idea of the ring being made by your dad. Let's plan an event for us for Valentine's Day. It's only a month away." She smiled at him. "Meanwhile, we'll keep it as our secret."
Lost in conversation, Abigail and Thorne didn't notice Ray and Marilyn Prentice approaching their table.
"Hi kids, are we interrupting something?" Marilyn said, a knowing smile crossing her otherwise stern face.
"Sit. Please. We were waiting for you," Abigail said.
Thorne slid from the booth and stood. He remained on his feet until the stout woman settled in her seat.
From previous experience, Thorne knew Marilyn Prentice as a gentle, caring lady, though she looked like she was ready to chew nails and spit tacks. Sometimes he wondered if her serious expression was a result of living with Prentice.
"Sorry we're late," Prentice said as he sat, leaning back in the booth long before his wife got comfortable. "Maybe you two should get a room. You were very cozy."
Thorne stared at Prentice but let his rudeness pass. They were long-time associates, and he had learned to tolerate his partner's manner.
Ray Prentice directed his attention toward Thorne. "Mark canceled the golf game for next Wednesday. He thought with Valentine dead, they may get a continuance for his case, but it's a no go."
"What happened?"
"The plaintiff requested the trial go as scheduled. Henninger took over where Valentine left off and is evidently approaching the whole thing as 'win one for the Gipper.'"
"Our livelihoods—and they treat it as sport." Thorne took a sip of his wine and stared into space. The wine, a sweet German selection Abigail favored, tasted bitter to him. He pushed it aside. "I went into medicine to help people. I knew it paid well, but many things do. Bank robbery comes to mind. For a nickel, I'd go back and become a jeweler like my dad wanted."
"All of your caring and talent would have been wasted," Abigail said, touching his arm. Her eyes searched his face.
"I used to think that. But with Jones, I sat for hours with him and his wife. I really cared about them. And nothing was done wrong in the case other than a few omissions in documentation by one of the consulting specialists. Valentine played on the sympathy of the jury for the young widow and the children rather than the facts of the situation. He convinced the jury I would have treated the patient differently if I had called the consultant for a recommendation." Thorne paused. "But I did call. We both agreed the course of treatment I prescribed was the best alternative. Neither one of us documented the conversation. Our experts, nationally renowned men from major institutions I might add, supported my decisions. Their local hired guns didn't. It's not fair. It's not right."
"Chamberlain," Prentice said, "nobody ever told you the dog wouldn't crap in your yard, did they? We need to make our own fairness."
"I understand how people get like that—making their own fairness I mean. But I'm not going to change. Either I practice medicine with compassion, the way it's meant to be practiced, or I'll not practice at all."
"Mark used to think a lot like you, but he's coming around to the facts of life. He knows he's not perfect and he admits his bedside manner isn't always wonderful. But in the case with this stockbroker, he did nothing wrong either. I reviewed the record myself. Telling the nurses to elevate the arm to relieve the swelling was appropriate. It wasn't as though he was neglectful." Prentice explained that Olson's lawyer was pushing him to settle out of court, but Olson didn't want to go down without a fight.
Thorne retrieved his wineglass from the center of the table and swirled the golden liquid. The sweet smell rekindled his interest, and he took a sip. "I heard the other day the stockbroker Wallace Cray has a whole room filled with ships in bottles. In the middle of the room is a large, unfinished model spread out on his worktable. A video crew was in his house filming the room. He lives a few doors down from where Sarah and I used to live. She told me all about it when I picked up Jocelyn for the weekend."
"Sounds like Henninger will be looking for the sympathy vote, too," Prentice said.
"I suspect he will. My daughter is friends with Cray's daughter. She's ten, just like Jocelyn. Anyway, Jocelyn told me she watched the filming, and Cray struggled with his tools. I guess he was demonstrating he couldn't pursue his hobby any longer. Jocelyn said he must have been real nervous in front of the camera, because he did a lot better when she watched him glue on a mast a few days earlier."
"Did you ask her if he had any trouble?"
"As a matter of fact, I did. She said he couldn't get the smaller pieces where they belonged, and he was frustrated, but he finally managed to do it. She's fascinated with craftwork, the way I've always been. She's watched Cray work on his boats a lot and knows it's different now."
"That doesn't mean Mark did anything to cause the problem." Marilyn broke into the conversation.
"From what I heard in the Emergency Department the other day, the fracture was severe, and the experts on Mark's side think he's lucky to have as much use of the hand as he does," Thorne said.
"I wonder if Olson made it clear to Cray at the time of the injury?" Marilyn asked.
"I'm sure he did," Abigail said. "He's always very careful to explain and insists someone be there with him whenever he does. The problem is he doesn't document everything, and it's impossible to read Olson's writing. If he noted the explanation, no one could read it anyway. He should dictate everything."
"Meanwhile, they go after the man as if it's a game. He hasn't lost the ability to support his family. He didn't miss more than two weeks of work, and he, no doubt, was paid during his absence." Thorne stared out the window, knitting his brow and setting his jaw. "Like the whole deal with Carlson. Damn, I hate to go through it all again. The last trial is barely over."
Thorne felt Abigail pat his hand, and he relaxed. "Milton Carlson died. But Milton was a sick man. We attended to every detail. Schmeck and her goons went through that record with a fine-tooth comb, looking for something, anything to hang a lawsuit on. She knows once she's in the courtroom she can get the sympathy vote. She'll parade the grieving widow and children in front of the jury and make us out to be money-grabbing incompetents." He opened his menu and looked at Abigail. "We'd better order. What would you like, sweetheart?"
The conversation lulled while the waiter finished taking their orders. The soft melody of the sixties tune Blue on Blue drifted in from the piano bar while small, white lights flashed patterns on the large windows. The parking lot surrounded the building, but the clever lighting and plantings made the real world of lot attendants and pavement seem remote.
Prentice emptied his Scotch and raised a finger, signaling the waiter. "
Have we heard anything more about the Carlson deal?"
"Tony Conte told me today he heard from Emily Schmeck again. She's asking for more information. He showed me the letter. Schmeck, on behalf of her client, is picking apart a chart entry Tony made and is bugging him with useless questions. For example, she wanted to know who documented the patient's output on one of the flow sheets in the chart."
"Who cares?" Prentice waved to the waiter and then drew his other hand away from Marilyn when she patted it.
"I believe it's obvious Schmeck wants poor Tony to care. His wife is sick, and he's being harassed by a nuisance suit," Thorne said.
"I told you before Schmeck likes nothing better than making us neutered and harmless. Take the Rivera case Nick Messing and I are involved in. It's going to trial next month. She has done everything in her power to keep the Riveras from settling."
Abigail said, "I heard today Julio Villegas is also being sued."
"It happens to the obstetricians all the time. That's one of the most high risk specialties, other than anesthesia and neurosurgery," Prentice said.
"From what he told Tony the other day, he feels as put upon as the rest of you." Abigail repeated what Tony had told her about the bad baby case.
The conversation paused as the young waiter positioned a fresh drink in front of Prentice and topped off everyone else's wineglasses.
Prentice tipped up the drink, talking several swallows. "Good." He smacked his lips. "Villegas is a nice guy, but he's never emphatic about anything. It could be true he didn't try hard enough to convince the woman to have surgery. I've tried to tell him he should be more of a bastard."
Abigail said, "It's lose-lose for the OBs. If they insist on the section, then they're criticized because they don't let the women labor. If they wait, allowing the woman to labor, and there's a bad result, they're sued because they should have insisted on the section." Abigail started her nursing career in obstetrics and had spent many late night hours listening to the physicians worry aloud about the legal risks of their decisions.
"I didn't know you and Villegas ever spoke," Marilyn Prentice said to her husband. "You've never mentioned him before."
"Nothing much to talk about before." Prentice drained the glass. "I see him at the monthly billing meeting Volney put together for Villegas, Olson, and me to stay on top of what our office managers are doing." Prentice glanced at Abigail then his wife. "Volney's the practice management consultant who put together our new computerized billing system. He has all of the practices on the new system linked into the centralized billing office on the first floor. Villegas oversees the billing and computer issues for his group the same way I do for ours."
"I know that name. Volney," Abigail said.
"You should. Volney's a physician who used to be on staff at the hospital before the legal system ripped him off. He lost a big suit, so, stupidly, he hired a couple of thugs to beat up the plaintiff and the lawyer. Volney spent a couple of years in jail, then a few on probation, and he lost his license to practice. He's a computer whiz and has a head for business. He opened a practice management firm and is doing well, networking offices and consolidating billing. The least the physicians in the community can do is to help him make good at his business after the friggin' legal system ruined him."
"I remember when he was on staff," Thorne said, leaning back to give the waiter room to place a plate of shrimp scampi in front of him. The smell of garlic in wine and olive oil radiated from the warm plate. "Seemed like a computer nerd. He never had a talent for bedside medicine, but I remember listening to him give a presentation, neurotoxins I recall, that was exceptionally well done. He has a real mind for detail."
"He's a hell of a business man, too." Prentice cracked a lobster claw sending splatters of liquid in every direction. He didn't apologize.
Nine
On Friday morning, Tony pleaded in hushed tones as they dressed to go to the hospital for the scheduled biopsy. "Jennifer, honey, please be reasonable. I told you, I didn't tell you about the lawsuit because I didn't want you to worry. I would have told you eventually. I never keep secrets."
"Not until now. What else don't I know, Tony? What else?" Tears ran down her round cheeks. "I can't get it out of my mind that already you're making plans to live your life without me, preparing to go it alone." She swiped at her face with a soggy tissue and sat on the side of the bed. "Why worry her? She won't be around to care anyway."
"Honey, baby, please be rational." This whole thing had troubled her far more than Tony expected. "The letter came the same day you found the lump. I just threw it on the seat of my van to take into Eva Grear."
"You went all the way out to your van to put the letter there?"
"I didn't want you to worry about it until I knew more. I was going to tell you. Then I couldn't stand to make you sadder." Tony stood in front of Jennifer and drew her to her feet. He held her close against his naked chest and rubbed her back. He felt her relax against his shoulder, allowing him to nuzzle his face in her silky hair. The faint scent of apples lingered in the thick tresses. "Jen, I love you. I wouldn't do anything on purpose to hurt you. I want you to be okay. That's all that matters. That damn lawsuit doesn't matter. It's the hospital's problem, really it is."
Jennifer put her arms around Tony. They stood holding each other for several minutes. He wished the day had something else in store for them. They broke their embrace when Bella planted her cold nose against Jennifer's naked midriff.
"Bella, you know something's up, don't you? Just be quiet, don't wake the kids." Jennifer bent beside the young dog and hugged her. Bella rewarded her with a slobbery kiss across her face.
"Nonna must have gone into the kitchen and let Bella out of her crate. She wanted to be awake before we left. She's afraid she won't hear the kids." Tony patted Bella on the head and reached for his scrub top. He planned to wait in the Emergency Department during Jennifer's surgery. He knew the operating room staff would call him when the procedure was completed, and he would meet Jennifer in the recovery room. The whole thing wouldn't take very long. Thorne would biopsy several sites, and then they would wait for the pathology results.
"Take the dog out and get your coffee while I finish dressing. I'll be out in a few minutes. Then we can go," Jennifer said.
"Okay." He kissed her. "Come on, pup. It's time for you to go outside." He left with the dog at his side. "Bella, you're subdued this morning. What did you do, decide to mind for a change?"
She slipped her head under his hand, nudging him to rub her golden ears.
"Buon giorno, Ma." Tony said as he reached for the coffee his mother held out for him. "I'll put Bella in the yard and come back."
"Mi scusi, I'm not helpless. She's been out already. She's even had her breakfast."
"Mi dispiace. I don't want to take advantage of you."
"Va bene, you're my son. I'm glad I can be here to help."
***
Tony stayed with Jennifer in the preoperative holding area while an injection made her drowsy. She managed a crooked smile when they wheeled her away from him. He stood shivering in the doorway, watching the small scrub-clad entourage take her through the cold hall. The automatic doors closed in front of him. He reminded Mrs. Rich, the operating room manager, to call him in the ED when Jennifer came out of surgery, then sprinted down the stairs into the Emergency Department corridor.
"Tony, when's Jennifer's case scheduled?" Nick Messing asked, looking away from a chart.
"She's in the OR now. They'll call me when they're done." Glad to be distracted from the wait, he looked around the department and assessed the activity level. It was busy for early in the morning, but he knew with another two staff members arriving at eight and Abigail in charge, they wouldn't miss him when he left.
"Have you heard more from Schmeck?" Nick flipped the chart closed.
"No. I talked to the lawyers about the interrogatory. They'll handle everything needing to be done—file the papers, coordinate the sched
ules, write the letters. All I have to do is appear and be prepared to answer questions. I bet they charge the hospital a fortune."
"Or the hospital's insurance carrier." Nick drummed his fingers on the counter. "I'm wondering how all of these cases get to the same law firm. There are several firms specializing in malpractice cases in this area. Why do they all end up at Valentine et.al.?"
"I've been thinking the same thing. Yesterday, just for fun, I entered all of the plaintiff's names in the computer. Stephen Jones' family sued Thorne, a surgeon. Wallace Cray is suing Olson, an orthopod. The Carney family is suing Villegas, an obstetrician. Carlson is suing us."
"And Rivera is suing Prentice and I. What are you getting at?"
"We know that Mrs. Carlson works for the law firm, and they pulled the record apart because of that. They were looking for something, anything to pick at. But Carlson and the rest of the patients were all on Six West, Surgical Telemetry, including your Rivera by the way. Jones and Carlson died there, and Cray was there after surgery because he had a problem with anesthesia and needed monitoring. I read the chart. Carney—"
"That's a bad baby case. How could there be a connection?"
"That's what I thought. I pulled the chart after I found out the mother was on six. After several hours of labor, she agreed to the C-section, and the pediatricians airlifted the baby to the neonatal unit at County. The mother didn't want to stay with the rest of the mothers and babies. Since Mrs. Carney was a surgical patient, they transferred her to one of the private rooms on six."
"Back then, the hospital wasn't very busy in the summer. There must have been plenty of room on the general surgical unit to accommodate extra patients."
"The fact the hospital was smaller also cuts the number of staff. Carney is the earliest case, and the last one was Carlson—just last year," Tony said.
"Let me guess. You're going to find out which staff member is a likely candidate to be a mole and then put a stop to this."
Illegally Dead Page 6