by David Wind
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Two days later, Claire sat at the dining room table, her head wrapped in a scarf, dark circles branded her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“The treatments aren’t doing as much as they should. I’ve made an appointment at the clinic we discussed.”
“When?”
“Next week.”
“John, it’s a waste of time, not to mention money. The insurance won’t pay for it.”
“We have the money. Our investments have done well enough.”
“And work. You’re due back next week.”
“I’ll call in the morning and tell them I need more time.”
“If they say no?”
“They won’t.”
“If they do? Then what? John, I’m dying. You—”
“—no! This isn’t about me.”
“Yes it—” She stopped and put her hand over his. Her eyes, the pale blue irises shining within the now constant red rims, twisted at his heart. Then, she nodded. “All right.”
“After I finalize the arrangements, I’ll call the office and let them know.” Standing, he went around the table, bent, and kissed her scarf-covered head.
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At three o’clock, John entered the offices of Bergman, Halpern, & Reikhauser, LLP, said hello to Anna, the receptionist, and stepped through the second doorway and into the inner sanctum of the firm.
He went straight to Halpern’s office, but was stopped a half-dozen times when secretaries and several assistants asked about Claire. At Halpern’s office, he knocked once and stepped inside.
Mark Halpern, immaculately dressed as usual, rose, and came around the desk. His arm was outstretched, and his hand open in welcome. After shaking hands, Halpern motioned to the couch.
When John sat, and the managing partner lowered his lanky body to the couch, Halpern said, “Tell me what’s going on.”
John explained about the clinic in Switzerland specializing in pancreatic cancer and he and Claire’s hopes for this new treatment. When he finished, he sat back and waited for Halpern’s response.
Halpern stared at him over the gold-rimmed glasses for several seconds before saying, “How long will you be there?”
“The treatment takes four to six weeks, depending on how Claire responds.”
Halpern nodded. “John, you know how much I respect you...how everyone in the firm does. And we’ve tried to work with you, but your being out another month or two puts us in a tough position. I was hoping that coming in today meant you would be returning to work. Your absence left us short-handed, which we can’t afford to be, not at this time. I...we... Damn it, there’s no easy way to say this. Lester and Sam are juggling their clients and yours, and they are overwhelmed. We’ve got no choice but to bring in someone to take over your clients or we stand to lose even more accounts.”
John stared at him, Halpern’s words slamming him jackhammer-fast. “What are you saying?”
“We have no choice but to replace you. It’s been two and a half months. We’ve worked out a good severance package: full salary for the remainder of the year and we will maintain your health insurance through the end of the year as well. I...I hope you understand.”
Two things happened: A long-fingered boney hand slipped around his heart and squeezed, and he turned ice cold. “Understand that you are firing me? Is that what you’re asking?”
“John—”
“—I find it hard to understand how seven years of loyalty, of ten and fifteen-hour days, of working toward a partnership counts for nothing, but—” He paused, seeking to contain his anger. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to calm before saying anything. When he spoke, his voice was whisper low. “Thank you for my severance package. I’ll clean out my office and be gone.”
“John, please, it’s not what we want; it’s what we have to do for the firm—a business decision.”
John stood, as he walked to the door, he stopped, turned, and said, “Of course it is.”
He walked out of Halpern’s office, his shoulders squared, head held straight, and went to his office, where he found everything packed into two white cardboard file boxes. He scanned the empty walls. The desk was completely bare.
He opened each file box and examined the contents. Then he put one on top of the other, picked them up, and walked out of his office and down the thirty feet to the reception room door. The associates’ and partners’ office doors remained closed. None came out to bid him farewell.
He studiously ignored the looks of pity on the faces of the assistants and secretaries, each turning slightly away as he passed. Only Helen, the secretary he shared with Sam, met his eyes. Before she could speak or stand, John shook his head. “It’s okay.”
When he reached the reception area, Anna, the receptionist came from around her desk. “John, I’m so sorry.” She bent over the boxes in his arms and kissed him on the cheek. “Please give Claire my best wishes. Tell her that I’m pulling for her.”
John willed a smile. “Thank you, Anna.”
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After putting the two boxes on a shelf in the garage, John went into the house to find Claire missing. Before becoming alarmed, he went through the dining room and out to the deck, where he found her sitting in the sun, a blanket covering her from waist to foot.
He kissed her forehead and pulled a chair next to hers. “Okay?”
She smiled. “I am. The sun feels good. I’ve been so chilly.”
“Did you eat?”
She shook her head. “What did they say at the office?”
“They understood completely. I’m covered until the end of the year.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“I’ll make you something.”
“The drink, just the drink, okay?”
“Perfectly fine,” John said, pushing himself out of the chair. “We leave for Basel in two days.”
Claire caught his hand, and then looked at the engagement ring on her finger. “Another promise you’re keeping.”
John’s brows furrowed. “Promise?”
“You promised to take me to Europe, to spend a month going everywhere.”
“Switzerland isn’t everywhere,” he reminded her.
She favored him with a rare flashing smile. “It’s still Europe, isn’t it?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
September: Fribourg, Switzerland
John glanced from the paperwork to his watch. “My wife is—”
“—fine, Mssr. Edghes, she will be finished with the admittance exam in a few minutes and be brought to her suite. As soon as you’ve finished the paperwork, you will be able to join her.” The woman spoke with a crisp British accent.
John returned to the papers and continued to read. He spent the next ten minutes going over the last three pages before signing the document.
“Very good. Will you be using check or credit card?”
“Card.” He withdrew a slim wallet from his inside jacket pocket, took out a Platinum American Express card, and handed it to her.
Taking the card, she ran it through the machine. She returned it without waiting for the approval. “Your wife is in your suite. The doctors are doing a preliminary examination and will be finished very soon. Dr. Von Lisder will join you at four to explain the course of treatments.” She smiled with a quick curving of the corners of her mouth, which fell as quickly as they’d risen. She pushed the intercom. “Yvette, please come in.”
A tall and thin young woman with light brown hair and pale skin stepped into the office. “Madame Bürkhardt?”
“Yvette, please escort Mssr. Edghes to suite 443E.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Mssr. Edghes, I will have the full packet of papers brought to you later today.”
Yvette looked at John. “Monsieur, come this way, please.”
John rose and extended his hand to the administrator. Her grip was firm, her skin cool. “Thank you.” Releasing her hand, he followed the other woman out.
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From the administrator’s office, they crossed the large domed lobby and entered the east wing where they used the elevator to go to the fourth floor. When he stepped out of the elevator, it seemed as though he’d entered the hallway of a large hotel. The carpet was a deep shade of royal blue; original artwork lined the pale blue walls, and the lighting on the ceiling was bright without being annoying.
She led him along a hallway painted a pale, almost greyish lavender, to the door with the number 443E engraved on a brass doorplate. The room was large and painted a gentle blue. To his left was a sitting area with a couch and two club style chairs. A mahogany coffee table sat between the chairs and the couch, and held several magazines. There was also a low bookshelf filled with hardcover books in several languages including English.
To his right, a small table and two chairs set near a counter with a stainless-steel sink and refrigerator. There was another cabinet against the wall near the table and chairs. Centered in the wall was a doorway, the dark wood panel door closed. On the wall between the door and the window wall, was a large flat screen television.
Directly ahead, facing the outside was a wide sliding door framed by two large windows. Two chaises were on the balcony, separated by a small table. Beige curtains framed the windows.
It was all very nice, but meaningless to him. “My wife?”
Yvette nodded toward the dark wood door. “She is with the doctors.”
The woman’s accent did not diminish the clarity of her words.
“Would you care for a drink while you wait?” She went to the cabinet between the sink and the bedroom door, where she opened it to reveal a small bar. “If we do not have what you like, please let me know and we will have it brought to you.”
He smiled. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”
“Is there anything else?”
John shook his head.
Yvette pointed to the cabinets above the sink. “There are glasses and dishes there. Today’s menu is on the table. They will call at five for your dinner order. Your bags are in the bedroom. If you need anything, please call me.”
Pausing, she handed him a small pale blue business card and pointed to the lower left corner. “I am at this extension. I am also available twenty-four hours a day should you need me.” She looked toward the closed bedroom door. “They will be done in just a few moments.”
“Thank you, Yvette.”
She nodded and left, for which he gave silent thanks.
Going to the couch, he sat. A half-minute later, he stood and went to the sliding doors. Restless energy refused to let him stay still. The instant he stepped outside, his breath caught. The clinic was situated on a mountain slope outside of Fribourg, overlooking the postcard-perfect Swiss town. At this time of year, the explosion of colors from the trees, shrubbery, and mountains themselves, were nothing short of spectacular. Yet the beauty, after its initial rush, was meaningless—his mindset solidly fixed only on Claire and what the clinic could do.
The clinic’s practice was in its use of homeopathic treatments and supplements, neural therapy, acupuncture, anthroposophic medicine, blood-oxygen therapy, and ozone therapy, all of which he was assured would be beneficial to Claire. At twenty-five thousand dollars a week, he prayed it would prove so.
He went back inside, sat on the couch and, as he took a deep breath, closed his eyes. This clinic was their last hope. John knew that if the treatment did not work, he would lose Claire forever. I will not lose her.
The dark sadness brought on by the thought of losing her wound through his mind. Standing, he shook his head in an attempt to disgorge the thoughts. But they remained fixed within.
He went to the bar and scanned the bottles. Settling for the bottle of scotch, he took it down, pulled a glass from the cabinet, and poured three fingers of the amber liquid. He downed the drink in two gulps, poured another three fingers and returned to the couch.
He glanced at his watch. It was three-fifty. The bedroom door opened and Claire, sitting in a wheelchair, emerged. A dark haired male nurse pushed her into the room.
He studied her face as she was wheeled across the room. The dark circles beneath her eyes were more pronounced. Her lips were taut, and he knew she was in pain. He started to stand, but Claire waved him back. “Sit.” Her voice a soft whisper.
The nurse set the wheelchair before him, nodded, and said in a thick Swiss accent, “My name is Stefan; I will be one of Madame Edghes’ nurses. There are three of us on Madame’s team. I will be with you from eight in the morning until five.”
“Pleased to meet you.” John shook his hand before turning back to Claire. “You’re okay?”
Claire gave a half-smile. “Fine, tired.”
“You’re in pain.”
“I’m fine.”
Rather than argue, he took her hand. “I understand.” He knew Claire would not take a pain killer until after they spoke with the doctor.
“I’ll be back in a moment.” Stefan retreated to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
John smiled. “For a moment, I thought I was in a Schwarzenegger movie, when Stefan said, ‘I’ll be back...’”
Claire gave a low laugh. Then her eyes locked on his. “Are you all right?”
John’s brows furrowed, a triple line appeared between them. “Me? I’m fine. I am concerned about you. You’re exhausted and in pain.”
“I can deal with the pain. I want my head clear when we talk with the doctor.”
He nodded, picked up the scotch and took a drink. When he put the glass down, he stood and went behind the wheelchair. “You need to see this.”
Without waiting, he pulled the wheelchair backwards so she could not see outside yet. At the glass door, he turned the chair and she gasped with surprise.
“Oh, my...it’s beautiful.”
A knock at the door followed her words. Stefan came out of the bedroom and went to the door, opened it, and stepped back. A tall woman with dramatically high cheekbones, straight jet-black hair to her shoulders, and wearing a white lab coat came inside, followed by an older white-haired man who also wore a lab coat.
The woman strode across the room. “Madame Edghes, Monsieur Edghes, I am Doctor Von Lisder. This is Doctor Kushmann.”
After shaking hands, the two doctors sat. Von Lisder in a chair next to Claire, Kushmann on the couch next to John. The woman smiled at Claire. “I will make this short, as I see how tired you are. Tomorrow morning, we start therapy with a specialized course of action that has worked well for this type of cancer. We will begin with a full cleansing of the blood...”
<><><>
It was just after eleven when John out onto the balcony.; Claire was under the care of several meds so she could sleep without the pain waking her. The night nurse sat in a chair in the room, reading a book in German, her eyes going to the monitor with every turn of a page.
He shifted on the chaise, wrapping the bathrobe tighter. Although it was the first week of September, the night air in the mountains was quite chilly. He took a sip of his fourth scotch of the day, and exhaled.
Unable to sleep, his thoughts swirled around the doctor’s earlier conversation on Claire’s treatment, he prayed the doctors here could produce the miracle he so desperately needed. His life was Claire, it always had been. She cannot die!
Doctor Von Lisder had spoken softly and precisely when she explained the process. The first part was the cleansing of her blood. Removing any of the remaining chemo drugs, and infusing the homeopathic and naturalistic medications as the blood was returned to Claire’s system.
Each day would follow a specialized course of medical treatments, along with two short yoga sessions, a biofeedback training session, meditation, and one therapy session with Dr. Kushmann, who was the team psychiatrist. As Claire’s husband and caretaker, he was to have his own session with Dr. Kushmann, and would join Claire for both yoga sessions.
He finished the drink, stood and, as a shiver raced along his spine, returned to the bed
room and got into bed next to Claire.
CHAPTER EIGHT
October-November: Fribourg, Switzerland
Nine weeks had passed since they’d arrived in Fribourg, although the accountant in John saw the nine weeks as two hundred twenty-five thousand dollars: the man in John saw only that Claire’s appearance was a thousand times better than it had been nine weeks earlier.
Her skin no longer showed a pasty off-white pallor; rather, color suffused her cheeks, and the familiar brightness was once again in her eyes. It seemed that the clinic had been the answer to his prayers: Claire was doing better.
“Sir?” John turned at the sound of Stefan’s voice and found the nurse standing by the door.
“Your session with Dr. Kushmann is in five minutes.”
John closed his eyes briefly. “Of course.” Even with the evidence before him of Claire’s growing health, his daily sessions with Doctor Kushmann continued.
He stood. “Thank you, Stefan.”
When he entered the psychiatrist’s office, Kushmann was in the chair he used during sessions. His white hair as unkempt as usual, and his thick eyebrows formed wide white arcs above his pale blue eyes. The other chair, a recliner, waited. John eyed it with dislike but went to it anyway.
As soon as he sat, the session began. Kushmann followed the same route he always did by beginning with a round of questions about the day, then about Claire, and finally about John himself.
He knew the pattern all too well after nine weeks of sessions. He answered the questions by rote, wanting only for the hour to end. As time moved forward, and unlike previous sessions, the psychiatrist put down his notepad and laid his pen across it. He leaned back, crossed his hands over his belly and twined his fingers together. “Claire has been doing exceptionally well. The treatments appear to have helped significantly.”
He paused to scrutinize John. “Tell me, John, what if this doesn’t last? What if it is only a short respite?”
“I don’t understand. Why would that be?”