by Cate Beauman
Chapter Sixteen
Reagan sat in Doctor Jacobson’s office parking lot, tapping her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel and staring at the digital clock. She’d only been waiting fifteen minutes in her parking spot close to the front door, but she’d been up since four, running through what she planned to say in anticipation of a more productive conversation and in-depth explanation of Henry’s diagnosis. Doctor Jacobson wouldn’t find it quite so easy to be rude and evasive without the shield of his computer. Face to face interactions were best whenever possible, and she intended to have one.
Nine ‘o clock finally arrived, and she got out of the Pajero, grabbing her laptop case, making her way up the walk, her black pumps echoing on the pavement with her quick strides. She paused by the front door, giving herself a once-over in the reflection of the glass, and stepped inside the upscale waiting area, wearing a charcoal-gray pencil skirt and fitted white sleeveless blouse. For an extra boost of confidence, she’d taken the time to curl the ends of her hair and apply her full arsenal of makeup. More than ready to begin, she stopped in front of the receptionist’s window.
The pretty black-haired woman slid the glass to the side. “Good morning.”
Reagan smiled. “Good morning. I need to speak with Doctor Jacobson please.”
“What time’s your appointment, ma’am?” She began to type.
“I don’t have one.”
Her fingers paused on the keyboard as she looked at Reagan. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to—”
“If you would please tell Doctor Jacobson that Doctor Reagan Rosner is here to see him, I’m sure he’ll make an exception.”
“Ma’am—”
“I’m not leaving until I talk to him.” She smiled pleasantly again as the woman eyed her.
“Just a minute please.” She slid the partition closed and picked up her phone. Moments later, a tall, well-built blond man opened the office door.
“Doctor Rosner?”
“Doctor Jacobson.” She held out her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
He returned her shake. “Why don’t you come on back?”
“Thank you.”
He walked her to his office, shutting the door behind her. “Have a seat.”
She sat down, studying his handsome features, noting the lack of a wedding ring on his finger. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”
He settled himself behind his desk. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t meet.”
“No. You decided that, but I’m afraid I need answers.”
He steepled his fingers. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you.”
She crossed her legs, folding her hands in her lap, doing her best to give off the pretense of calm. “You can help me understand your diagnosis.”
He shook his head. “My hands are tied.”
Her eyes sharpened on his. “Consider this a professional courtesy.”
He sighed. “All right. When I saw Mr. Dooley, we performed several pulmonary functions tests, and I reexamined the x-rays you sent along via e-mail versus the images our radiology department took here.
“Can I see your x-rays?”
“I don’t have them on hand.”
“I’d be happy to wait while you get them.”
He sat back in his chair. “Doctor Rosner—”
“That’s fine. I brought the series I took with me.” She pulled the sheets from her bag, stood, and moved to the window, putting the image up to the light. “I’m looking at fibroids—dozens filling Mr. Dooley’s lungs, especially the upper right lobe here.” She pointed to the large white spots.
“I see a classic case of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.”
Her gaze whipped to his, shocked that he was still willing to say so. “With all due respect, Doctor Jacobson, I don’t agree. Correct me if I’m wrong, but if Mr. Dooley was afflicted with COPD, wouldn’t we be seeing infective changes in association with a background of hyperinflation, a flattened hemidiaphragm, and less prominent lung markings?”
“Doctor Rosner, I’m very comfortable with my diagnosis.”
Her temper started to heat with his flippant answers. “Frankly, Doctor, I’m not. I’ve examined this image time and again, comparing it to both COPD and complicated black lung. This is classic progressive massive fibrosis.”
“I could see how you might come to that conclusion. Your films are grainy and subpar.”
Clenching her jaw, she looked from him to the perfectly good picture. “The images I’ve taken are certainly of good quality.”
“Doctor Rosner, we could go round and round all day, but I just don’t have the time. I won’t be reversing my diagnosis.”
She moved back to her bag, putting her films away. They weren’t getting anywhere here. “I will be speaking with the Dooleys again, and I will be urging them to seek a third opinion.”
He shrugged. “As you have every right to, but let me remind you that you’re a general practitioner. I’m the lung specialist.”
She wouldn’t waste her time explaining her specialization in Emergency Medicine. “And typically I would respect that—”
“Doctor Rosner, I’m not telling you how to do your job, nor am I questioning your decisions. I would appreciate the same courtesy.”
Pompous ass. “This isn’t about ego or hurt feelings.”
He raised his brow.
Apparently Doctor Jacobson was more than fine with being rude, even face to face. “This is about someone’s life. I’ll be suggesting a third opinion. Should I discover any more cases of black lung, I won’t be passing them on to you.” She grabbed her bag. “Enjoy your day, Doctor.” She closed the door behind her and walked out, shaking with fury.
She took her seat behind the wheel, steaming for most of the two-hour ride home. Never had she met a man so full of himself. Doctor Jacobson wouldn’t even listen to what she had to say. He was so impressed with his own credentials that he was blind to the facts staring him right in his smug face. The jerk of a doctor was certain Henry didn’t have progressive massive fibrosis. He didn’t actually take the time to defend his opinion, but that was fine, because every fiber of her being told her Henry did.
She passed the Black Bear Gap gas station and minimart, glancing toward the men standing around smoking their cigarettes and drinking their soda, and punched the gas, more determined than ever to get to the bottom of this mess. The town didn’t believe her, Doctor Jacobson had written her off, and none of the other physicians she’d reached out to would call her back—including Doctor Hargus at the mine. But all that was fine too, because she wasn’t backing down. The families here needed her whether they knew it or not, and she finally had Doctor Schlibenburg’s number, which she intended to call again.
She pulled into the parking lot next to Shane’s vehicle, slammed her door, and hurried inside, relieved that he and Jenny were up in the loft. Now wasn’t the time for a chat.
“Reagan?” Shane peered over the banister.
“Later,” she called over her shoulder, making a bee-line to her room. Closing her door, she set her laptop case on her bed and picked up the number she’d tried more than a dozen times yesterday. Dialing, she started pacing, waiting through the first three rings, then four. “Come on,” she whispered. “Please pick up.”
“Hello?” came a voice on the other end. A man’s voice, with a subtle German accent.
She stopped dead, her eyes widening. “Uh, yes. Is this Doctor Heinz Schlibenburg?”
“Who’s asking, please?”
“This is Doctor Reagan Rosner. I’m a physician working with the Appalachia Project in Black Bear Gap, Kentucky.” She moved to the window, staring out. “I’ve been researching advanced pneumoconiosis. I saw your name mentioned—”
“How did you get this number?”
“I found it,” she fibbed.
“I’m retired,” he interrupted.
“Yes. I know.” She turned, realizing Shane was st
anding in her doorway. “I’m hoping we might be able to meet. I believe I have four cases of progressive massive fibrosis right here in the community—”
“I can’t help you,” he interjected.
Her shoulders grew heavy as she realized the biggest name in pulmonology—the man she’d been counting on to back her up—was turning her down. “Please, Dr. Schlibenburg. I’ve had one doctor tell me I’m wrong. The half dozen others I’ve contacted won’t even call me back.” She held Shane’s stare as she spoke.
“There is nothing I can do.”
She swallowed and turned away again. “I’m desperate enough to beg, Doctor, if that’s what it takes. You’re my last hope.”
“I don’t—”
“Please, Doctor.” She pressed her lips together, closing her eyes.
Dr. Schlibenburg sighed in her ear. “I can meet with you tomorrow for one hour. One o’ clock.”
She blinked her eyes open. “Okay. Yes. Yes. I’ll take any information you can give me. Where can we meet?”
“Wait a minute, Doc,” Shane whispered, stepping closer.
She shook her head, ignoring him as she moved to her desk, picking up a pen.
“I’m close to Berea. Call this number when you reach the town and I will give you directions to my home. Come alone.”
“Yes. I’ll call when I arrive.” The phone line went dead, and she frowned. “Hello?” She shrugged and put the receiver back in the jack.
Shane grabbed her elbow, turning her around. “Reagan, what are you doing?
“Finding answers.”
“I thought that’s what the Doctor Jacobson thing was about today.”
She shrugged. “He’s not interested in cooperating.”
“Why?”
“Why?” She laughed humorlessly, pressing her fingers to her temple. “Isn’t that the million-dollar question? Why did Dr. Jacobson completely blow me off yet again? Why can’t I find another doctor who will look at my x-rays?” She started pacing for the second time as her frustration grew. “Why is Eastern Kentucky the only Appalachian region with extremely low reports of a disease that regularly runs rampant in coal mining communities?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Neither do I, but Doctor Shlibenburg does. Or I think so, anyway—at least I hope. I’m meeting him tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I heard that. What about Jenny and Faith?”
She frowned. “What about them?”
“Are we bringing them with us?”
“Where?”
“To the meeting.”
She steamed out a long breath, her patience already shot as she and Shane played twenty questions. “Meeting?”
“Tomorrow. With Doctor S.”
“I’m going by myself.”
He shook his head. “No, you’re not. I don’t like this—any of it.”
“That’s the only way he’ll speak to me.”
“I’m not letting you go off to meet with some guy you don’t even know.”
“He’s a colleague who not only had billing as top pulmonologist in the country but also lived and worked in this region for forty years. Besides, you gave me his number.”
“For a phone call.”
“This isn’t your choice; it’s mine. I need these answers, Shane. I need them.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets as his eyes grew dark with temper. “You’re chasing after something that sounds like trouble.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you need to let this go.”
She expelled an exasperated breath. “Let it go?”
“Yes. Has it ever occurred to you that there may be more to this than what you see? Why is it that no one else wants to touch it?”
“I have no idea, but one thing’s for sure, my practice is ruined.” She rushed up to stand in front of him. “All the people we’ve helped won’t come back because they think I’m wrong.”
“That’s their choice. You’re a good doctor. If they can’t deal with one mistake—”
“I didn’t make a mistake. Henry has black lung and so do at least three other men. I’m sure of it.”
“Damn, Reagan.” Jamming his hand through his hair he walked away, then back. “You’re driving yourself crazy over some nasty bastard who’s more hung up on the fact that you’re a woman than the fact that his bad habits are killing him.” He grabbed her arms, holding her by the biceps. “You need to come to terms with the fact that Henry sucked on one too many cancer sticks. He’s got COPD. You made a mistake. You’re wrong. Move on.”
She blinked with the slap of his words, his lack of faith in her as painful as any fist. “Get out.”
“Reagan—”
“Get out.”
Clenching his jaw, he held her gaze and left her alone.
~~~~
Shane lay in bed, staring at the sliver of moonlight cutting across his ceiling in the dark. He glanced at the bedside clock as he’d done several times throughout the night, watching the early-morning hours tick by. Sighing, he rolled to his side, trying to get comfortable, then rolled to the other, fought with his sheets twisted around his leg, and sat up. “Damn it,” he muttered, punching his pillow into a ball, then settled his hands behind his head as he thought of Reagan.
They hadn’t spoken since they argued. Hell, she hadn’t come out of her room since she demanded he get out. Wincing, he remembered the flash of hurt in her eyes when he basically told her to get over herself and move on. “Idiot,” he murmured, chastising himself for handling the situation so badly. He hadn’t exactly been Mr. Cool during their brief shouting match, but it bothered him that Reagan wouldn’t let this whole black lung thing go. One physician was telling her she wasn’t seeing what she was sure she did, and several more wouldn’t touch the cases she wanted them to take on. Now she was meeting with Doctor What’s-His-Face alone at some secret location, and Henry didn’t even want her help. Something definitely didn’t feel right.
Clenching his jaw, he closed his eyes and opened them when he heard the loud bang outside. Seconds later, tires squealed and men shouted. Shane rushed to his feet and yanked on his shorts. He hurried to the closet and grabbed his gun, shoved a magazine into the clip, and wrenched open his door, swearing when Reagan plowed into his chest.
She stifled a scream, gripping his biceps as he caught her around the waist, turning with her and taking the brunt of their collision as they crashed into the wall.
“There’s someone outside,” she said on a trembling whisper, her eyes huge with terror.
“I know. Call the cops.” Not that the police would do him much good. Kentucky State Troopers were a rarity in Black Bear Gap; their nearest hub was a good twenty minutes away. “Stay in here with Jenny and the baby.” He let her go and started down the hall.
“Wait.” She grabbed his hand. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
“To figure out what the hell’s going on.” He turned again, eager to be on his way, certain the clinic was going up in flames. When people were unhappy around here, things caught on fire.
She tugged on him again before he’d taken two steps. “Don’t go out there.”
“Reagan, I have to. Stay with Jenny and Faith.” He hurried down the darkened hall to the side door they rarely used and peeked out the curtain over the glass. The coast appeared clear as he stepped outside, listening and scanning his surrounding with every step he took, his weapon gripped in both hands, aimed forward and ready to fire. He moved closer to the clinic, relieved to see the building still intact, but noted the black scrawl covering sections of the metal. Turning, he startled when he spotted Reagan standing on the porch in the light pouring from the open front door. “Jesus. That’s a good way to get yourself shot.”
“Sorry. That’s why I waited up here.” She ran to him in her tiny shorts and thin cotton spaghetti strap top, her feet bare. “I thought you would want this.” She handed over the sturdy police-issue flashlight.
<
br /> “You should’ve waited for me to come back inside.”
“We both heard them leave.” She crossed her arms in the chilly air.
“Next time wait anyway.” He turned on the flashlight, shining the beam on the walls of the building.
GET OUT. FEDS AINT WELCOME. QUACK. SLUT. TRADER.
He moved toward the front door, assessing the damage. “A couple more good kicks and they would’ve had this.” He looked at Reagan as she shook her head and turned away. “Where are you going?”
“Inside. I’ve seen enough.”
Sighing, he followed. This definitely couldn’t be easy for her. “I’ll call it in.”
“I already did.” She nibbled her lip as she looked up at him. “She’s not safe here with us.”
“I’m assuming you’re talking about Jenny and their attempt at spelling ‘traitor.’”
She stopped, frowning. “How can you make a joke at a time like this?”
“I’m not. There’s nothing funny going on around here, Doc.” Luckily the vandals had kept their warning to spray paint and minor destruction, but he still needed to call Ethan and figure out how they were going to proceed with this latest development.
Reagan walked inside with him following directly behind. Before he could blink, Jenny came bursting out of her room with Faith in her arms.
“I was so scared. I thought somethin’ happened to you two. You guys were out there for so long.”
They’d been gone less than ten minutes, but he wrapped his arm around her as Reagan did the same, sandwiching Jenny and the baby between them. “It’s okay.” He kissed the top of Faith’s head, holding Reagan’s gaze. “We’re okay. Everything’s all right.” But it wasn’t. The peaceful days in The Gap were clearly over.
Chapter Seventeen
Reagan drove along Route Twenty-One, half-listening to the music on Shane’s MP3 player instead of the country music on the radio. She yawned despite the catchy beat pouring through the SUV’s speakers and the brilliant sunny day, shook her head in an attempt to banish the exhaustion hazing her brain, and yawned again. “Crap,” she said, rolling down the window to let in the mild temperatures and fresh air instead of the air conditioning.