by Marta Perry
Last chance, a voice whispered in his head. Last chance to make it as a physician. They all know that.
Did they? He might be overreacting. He helped himself to a mug of coffee, gaining a moment to get his game face on.
Getz knew his history, but the elderly doctor didn’t seem the sort to gossip. In fact, Sam Getz looked like nothing so much as one of the Pennsylvania Dutch farmers Jake had seen at the local farmer’s market, with his square, ruddy face and those bright blue eyes.
Dr. Getz tapped on the table, and Jake slid into the nearest chair like a tardy student arriving after the lecture had begun. “Time to get started, folks.” He nodded toward the door, where two more people were entering. “You all know Pastor Flanagan, our fellow board member. And this is his cousin, Paramedic Terry Flanagan. They have something to say to the board.”
Good thing his coffee was in a heavy mug. If he’d held a foam cup, it would have been all over the table. Terry Flanagan. Was she here to lodge a complaint against him?
Common sense won out. Terry would hardly bring up that painful incident, especially not to the community outreach committee. This had to be about something else.
The other people seated around the table were flipping open the folders that had been put at each place. He opened his gingerly, to find a proposal for Providence Hospital to establish a clinic to serve migrant farmworkers.
He pictured Terry, bending over the migrant child in the E.R., protectiveness in every line of her body. Was that what this was about?
He’d been so shocked to see her that he’d handled the situation on autopilot. He’d read equal measure of shock in her face at the sight of him. What were the chances that they’d bump up against one another again?
He yanked his thoughts from that, focusing on the minister. Pastor Flanagan spoke quickly, outlining the needs of the migrant workers and the efforts his church was making. So he was both Terry’s cousin and a member of the board—that was an unpleasant shock.
This was what she’d done then, after the tragedy. She’d run home. At the time, he’d neither known nor cared what had become of her. He’d simply wanted her away from his hospital. Not that it had stayed his hospital for long.
The minister ended with a plea for the board to consider their proposal, and Terry stood to speak. Her square, capable hands trembled slightly on the folder until she pressed them against the tabletop.
Had she changed, in the past two years? He couldn’t decide. Probably he’d never have noticed her, in that busy city E.R., if it hadn’t been for her mop of red curls, those fierce green eyes, and the air of determination warring with the naiveté in her heart-shaped face.
That was what had changed, he realized. The naiveté was gone. Grim experience had rubbed the innocence off the young paramedic.
The determination was still there. Even though her audience didn’t give her much encouragement, her voice grew impassioned, and the force of her desire to help wrung a bit of unwilling admiration from him. She knew her stuff, too—knew how many migrant workers came through in a season, how many children, what government programs were in place to help.
William Morley, the hospital administrator, shifted uneasily in his chair as her presentation came to a close. His fingers twitched as if he added up costs.
“What you say may be true,” he said. “But why can’t those people simply come to the emergency room? Or call the paramedics?”
“They’ll only call the paramedics in case of dire emergency.” Terry leaned forward, her nervousness obviously forgotten in her passion. “Too many migrants are afraid of having contact—afraid their papers aren’t in order or they’re simply afraid of authority. As for the E.R., no one from the migrant camps comes in unless it’s a case where the police or the paramedics become involved. They’re afraid, and they’re also dependent on the crew chief for transportation.”
Jake heard what she didn’t say. He hadn’t thought too highly of the unctuous crew chief, either. But would he really refuse to transport someone who needed care? And did Terry, in spite of her enthusiasm, have the skills necessary to manage a job like this? He doubted it.
Morley was already shaking his head, the overhead light reflecting from it. If he’d grown that pencil-thin moustache to compensate for his baldness, it wasn’t working. “Starting a clinic isn’t the answer. Let the government handle the situation. We do our part by accepting the cases in the E.R. And, might I add, we are rarely paid anything.”
“That’s a point.” A board member whose name escaped Jake leaned forward, tapping his pen on the table for emphasis. “We’d put ourselves at risk with a clinic. What about insurance coverage? When they come to the E.R., we have backups and safeguards. If Ms. Flanagan or one of her volunteers made a mistake, we’d be liable.”
He thought Terry’s cheeks paled a little at that comment, but she didn’t back down. “The hospital can establish any protocol it wishes for treatment. And I plan to recruit staff from among the medical professionals right in our community.”
“How many people do you think have the time to do that?” Morley’s head went back and forth in what seemed his characteristic response to any risk. “Really, Ms. Flanagan, I don’t see how you can make this work in such a short time. Perhaps in another year—”
The mood of the board was going against her, Jake sensed. Well, he couldn’t blame them. They didn’t want to take a chance. He understood that.
“I have several volunteers signed up from my congregation,” Pastor Flanagan said. “And I’ve spoken with the owner of Dixon Farms, the largest employer of migrant workers in the county.”
“You’re not going to tell me old Matthew Dixon agreed to help.” Dr. Getz spoke for the first time, and Jake realized he’d been waiting—for what, Jake couldn’t guess. “The man still has the first dollar he ever made.”
If the minister agreed, he didn’t show it. “He’ll allow us to establish the clinic on his property. There’s even a building we can use.”
“If you can sell this idea to Matt Dixon, Pastor, you’re wasted in the ministry. You should be in sales.” Getz chuckled at his own joke, and Pastor Flanagan smiled weakly.
“That hardly solves the problem of liability,” Morley said. “No, no, I’m afraid this just won’t do. We can’t—”
Getz interrupted with a gesture. “I have a solution that will satisfy everyone.” The fact that Morley fell silent and sat back in his chair told Jake volumes about the balance of power in this particular hospital. “We need a volunteer from our own medical staff to head up the clinic. That’s all.” He turned toward Jake, still smiling. “I’m sure Dr. Landsdowne would be willing to volunteer.”
Silence, dead silence. Jake stared at him, appalled. He could think of a hundred things that could go wrong in an operation like this, and any one of them could backfire on him, ending his last hope for a decent career. He had every reason in the world to say no, but one overriding reason to say yes. He had no choice. This wasn’t voluntary, and he and Getz both knew it.
He straightened, trying to assume an expression of enthusiasm. “Of course, I’d be happy to take this on. Assuming Ms. Flanagan is willing to work with me, naturally.”
Terry looked as appalled as he felt, but she had no more choice than he did. “Yes.” She clipped off the word. “Fine.”
“That’s settled, then.” Getz rubbed his palms. “Good. I like it when everything comes together this way. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I think we’re adjourned.”
Chairs scraped as people rose. Jake glanced at Terry, his gaze colliding with hers. She flushed, but she didn’t look away. Her mouth set in a stubborn line that told him he was in for a fight.
He didn’t mind a fight, but one thing he was sure of. Terry Flanagan and her clinic couldn’t be allowed to throw him off course toward his goal. No matter what he had to do to stop her.
Chapter Two
“It’s not the best thing that ever happened to me, that’s for sure.” Terry slumpe
d into the chair across from Harriet in the E.R. lounge a few days later, responding to her friend’s question about working with Jake Landsdowne. “It looks as if he’s not any more eager to supervise the clinic than I am to have him. He hasn’t been in touch with me at all.”
Actually, she was relieved at that, although she could hardly say so. She’d tensed every time the phone had rung, sure it would be him.
“That’s too bad. How are you going to make any progress if Dr. Landsdowne won’t cooperate?”
Terry shrugged. “I’ve gone ahead without him.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Harriet frowned down at her coffee mug. “He’s very much a hands-on chief. He’s been shaking up the E.R., let me tell you.”
“I’m sorry.” But not surprised. Jake Landsdowne had always been supremely confident that his way was the best way. The only way, in fact.
Harriet shrugged. “I expected it. Just be careful with him. I know how much this clinic means to you. You don’t want to put the project in jeopardy by antagonizing the man.”
Terry thought of Juan’s frightened face, of the suppressed anger she’d sensed in Manuela. Of the other children she’d glimpsed on her trip to the migrant camp.
“I’ll be careful.” She had more reason than most to know she had to tread carefully. For a moment the need to confide in Harriet about her past experience with Jake almost overwhelmed her caution.
Almost, but not quite. She had to watch her step.
Please, Father, help me to guard my tongue. Telling Harriet would put her in an impossible position, and it wouldn’t be fair to Jake, either. I just wish You’d show me a clear path through this situation.
“Did you know Dr. Landsdowne when you worked in Philadelphia? You must have been there at about the same time.”
Harriet’s question shook her. She hadn’t realized that anyone would put the two things together, but naturally Harriet would be interested in her new boss’s record.
“I knew him slightly,” she said carefully. She wouldn’t lie, but she didn’t have to spell out all the details, either. “Mostly by reputation.”
Anybody’s life could be fodder for hospital gossip, and the handsome, talented neurosurgery resident had been a magnet for it. Still—
“Excuse me.”
Terry spun, nerves tensing. How long had Jake been standing in the doorway? How much had he heard?
“Dr. Landsdowne.” Harriet’s tone was cool. Clearly Jake hadn’t convinced her yet that he deserved to be her superior.
“I heard Ms. Flanagan was here.” The ice in his voice probably meant that he knew she’d been talking about him. “I’m surprised you haven’t been here before this. We need to talk about this clinic proposal.”
Not a proposal, she wanted to say. It’s been approved, remember?
Still, that hardly seemed the way to earn his cooperation. “Do you have time to discuss it now?”
He nodded. “Come back to my office.” He turned and walked away, clearly expecting her to follow.
She’d rather talk on neutral ground in the lounge, but she wasn’t given a choice. She shrugged in response to Harriet’s sympathetic smile and followed him down the corridor. All she wanted was to get this interview over as quickly as possible.
The office consisted of four hospital-green walls and a beige desk. Nothing had been done to make it Jake’s except for the nameplate on the desk. Maybe that was what he wanted.
He stalked to the desk, picked up a file folder, and thrust it at her. “Here are the regulations we’ve come up with for the clinic. You’ll want to familiarize yourself with them.”
She held the folder, not opening it. “We?”
His frown deepened. “Mr. Morley, the hospital administrator, wanted to have some input.”
She could imagine the sort of input Morley would provide, with his fear of doing anything that might result in a lawsuit. Well, that was his job, she supposed. She flipped open the folder, wondering just how bad it was going to be.
In a moment she knew. She snapped the folder shut. “This makes it practically impossible for my volunteers to do anything without an explicit order from a doctor.”
“Both Mr. Morley and I feel that we can’t risk letting volunteers, trained or not, treat patients without the approval of the physician in charge.”
“You, in other words.”
“That’s correct.” His eyebrows lifted. “You agreed to the terms, as I recall.”
“I didn’t expect them to be so stringent. My people are all medical professionals—I don’t have anyone with less than an EMT-3 certification. You’re saying you don’t trust them to do anything without your express direction.”
Were they talking about her volunteers? Or her?
“You can give all the sanitation and nutrition advice you want. I’m sure that will be appreciated. Anything else, and—”
His condescending tone finally broke through her determination to play it safe with him. “Are you taking it out on the program because you blame me for Meredith Stanley’s death?”
She’d thought the name often enough since Jake’s arrival. She just hadn’t expected to say it aloud. Or to feel the icy silence that greeted it.
For a long moment he stared at her—long enough for her to regret her hasty words, long enough to form a frantic prayer for wisdom. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No. You shouldn’t.” His face tightened with what might have been either grief or bitterness. He turned away, seeming to buy a moment’s respite by walking to the window that looked out over the hospital parking lot. Then he swung back to face her. “What happened two years ago has nothing to do with the clinic.” The words were clipped, cutting. “I think it best if we both try to forget the past.”
Could he really do that? Forget the suicide of a woman who’d said she loved him? Forget blaming the paramedics who’d tried to save her? Forget the gossip that said he was the one at fault?
Maybe he could. But she never would.
He seemed to take her assent for granted. He nodded toward the folder in her hands. “Read through that, discuss it with your volunteers. Possibly we can arrange for the clinic to be in phone or radio contact with the E.R. when it’s open. We’ll discuss that later.”
“Yes.” Her fingers clenched the manila folder so tightly someone would probably have to pry it loose. All she wanted now was to get away from him—as far away as possible.
He picked up a ring of keys from the desk. “Suppose we go out and look at this clinic of yours.”
“Not now.” The words came out instinctively. “I mean…we can schedule that at your convenience.”
His eyebrows lifted again. “Now is convenient. Would you like to ride with me?”
She didn’t even want to be in the same state with him. “No. Thank you, but I’ll need my car. Why don’t you follow me out? The camp is a little tricky to find.”
If she were fortunate, maybe he’d get lost on the maze of narrow country roads that led to the migrant compound. But somehow, she didn’t think that was likely to happen.
Jake kept Terry’s elderly sedan in sight as they left the outskirts of Suffolk and started down a winding country road. He hadn’t gotten used to the fact that the area went so quickly from suburbs to true country, with fields of corn and soybeans stretching along either side of the road.
He frowned at the back of her head, red curls visible as she leaned forward to adjust something—the radio, probably. He shouldn’t have been so harsh with her. It wasn’t Terry’s fault that he couldn’t see her now without picturing her racing the stretcher into the E.R., without seeing Meredith’s blank, lifeless face, without being overwhelmed with guilt.
Just let me be a doctor again. That’s all I ask. I’ll save other lives. Isn’t that worth something?
And did he really believe saving others would make up for failing Meredith? His jaw tightened. Nothing would make up for that. Maybe that was why God stayed s
o silent when he tried to pray.
Meredith’s death wasn’t Terry’s fault. But if someone more experienced had taken the call—if he had checked his messages earlier—if, if, if. No amount of what-ifs could change the past. Could change his culpability.
He pushed it from his mind. Concentrate on now. That means making sure Terry and her clinic don’t derail your future.
It was farther than he’d expected to the Dixon Farms. The route wound past rounded ridges dense with forest and lower hills crowned by orchards, their trees heavy with fruit. Finally Terry turned onto a gravel road. An abundant supply of No Trespassing signs informed him that they were on Dixon Farms property. Apparently, Matthew Dixon had strong feelings about outsiders.
He gritted his teeth as the car bottomed out in a rut. Surely there was a better way to provide health care for the migrant workers. Wouldn’t it make more sense to bring the workers to health care, instead of trying to bring health care to them? If Dr. Getz had given him any idea of what he’d been walking into that day at the board meeting, he’d have been prepared with alternatives.
Terry bounced to a stop next to several other vehicles in a rutted field. He drove up more slowly, trying to spare his car the worst of the ruts. Not waiting for him, she walked toward a cement block building that must be the site for the clinic. It was plopped down at the edge of a field. Beyond it, a strip of woods stretched up the shoulder of the ridge.
He parked and slid out. If he could find some good reason why this facility wasn’t suitable, maybe they could still go back and revisit the whole idea. Find a way of dealing with the problem that wouldn’t put the hospital at so much risk. To say nothing of the risk to what was left of his career.
Several people moved in and around the long, low, one-story building. Terry had obviously recruited volunteers already. The more people involved, the harder it would be to change.