She didn’t answer. He should’ve felt glad to have had the last word; but instead, he felt somehow disappointed. He had to admit he’d started to enjoy the verbal duel and resented its ending.
Stillness filled the car for the rest of the ride to the Hospice House. As Richard cooled down, he feared he’d spoken too much. What was he doing, arguing with the suspect he was following and risking losing her trust?
They arrived at Richard’s large SUV in the parking lot. He started walking toward his car, but then, feeling a need to mend things up, he turned back. He tapped her window until she opened it and then held her arm to prevent her from leaving.
“I hope my negative comments didn’t make you reconsider your offer to let me shadow you. I have a lot to learn from you.”
She didn’t answer, and she didn’t look happy. He thought for another moment and added, “I don’t think you’re the type of person who’d discriminate against someone for their religious preferences. In the same way, I’m hopeful that you won’t discriminate against me because I’m a non-believer.”
To his relief, Joy smiled. “Being a psychiatrist is all about unconditional acceptance of my patients. My number one rule is not to judge them or ever invalidate what they say they feel.”
Richard felt briefly reassured. Then, he noticed the change in Joy’s smile and voice when she said, “But you made it clear that you’re not my patient, right?”
He hesitated. “Uh . . . right.”
A long silence fell. Fire shone in her eyes. He was sure she was going to tell him to never come back.
She finally said, “So, since you’re not my patient, allow me to take off my psychiatrist’s hat for a moment and put on my philosopher’s hat to present to you a theorem.”
She spoke slowly. Her voice was calm. “Richard, you have a typical case of anger against God. Think about it. You’re angry with God. By definition, you can’t be angry with someone you don’t believe exists. Therefore, you do believe in God.”
Richard froze.
She smiled. “Conclusion: you’re not a non-believer; you’re an angry believer.”
He gaped at her, speechless. Her smile shifted into a smirk. “Have a good night.”
Then she took off, leaving him standing in the parking lot, unable to answer.
A strange rush of excitement came upon him, reminding him of a time practicing judo with a worthy contestant who’d surprised him with a master judo hold. He smiled.
That had been the most stimulating debate he’d had in ages.
Chapter 8
When watching her from a distance as her husband’s potential murderer, Richard had played with the mental image of Joy as an alluring, sultry temptress hiding under a façade of lady manners. After their verbal duel, he’d recalibrated to see her as a dangerously powerful mind hiding under a façade of sweetness. Now, a week into following her, he had a new theory: Joy Clayton was nothing but a danger to herself.
The woman was a maniac. She rushed all day from one patient to another, walking so fast he had trouble keeping up with her in spite of his much longer legs—and she wore heels! She spent the day nibbling on protein bars, refusing to stop for lunch, and refusing to drink water, no matter how thirsty she was, “so not to have to take bathroom breaks.” Days ago, he’d started putting his foot down and insisting they stop for a real lunch, afraid she’d collapse on him one day.
But the worst part was her pathological distraction. They spent half their free time looking for her misplaced keys, phone, or sunglasses. He constantly had to jump and pull her arm to prevent her from being run over by cars when crossing the street. Her gas tank was always on empty. It was a miracle they didn’t get stranded on the highway every day.
He also found out Bruce wasn’t the only hobo camping at the Hospice House; their cleaning lady was also a “reformed” drug addict staying in the place with a two-year-old. According to Joy, she’d promised to get back to school soon. The FBI had gone to great lengths fabricating a fake online persona for him in case Joy ever researched him, and now he saw they’d wasted their time. The woman believed anything anybody told her without verification.
Not expected at the Hospice House until ten, he arrived early at the FBI agency to check the reports from the night before. No suspicious activity detected at Joy’s house overnight, no suspicious phone calls or web searches.
Samuel arrived, and they greeted each other with a soul shake.
Taking a seat, Samuel extracted some files from a manila envelope. “I have new information. We’ve been working on predicting who could be the next victim for our murderers.”
Interested, Richard leaned forward in his seat. Samuel said, “Since we’re working under the assumption that these killers are punishing politicians who are taking what they consider are unethical measures, we’ve created a list of potential new targets. Surprisingly, two of them are here in Fort Sunshine. One of them you already met, Stephen Fox.”
“I remember him. He’s Michael O’Hara’s former campaign manager.”
“That’s right. After O’Hara’s death, he’s picking up with his own political career. He’s been actively involved in promoting lowering the threshold for the death penalty in Florida to include repetitive minor crimes.”
Richard recalled hearing it.
“The second person’s not strictly a politician, but he will be soon,” Samuel said. “Dr. Joshua Levenstein. He’s an oncologist who recently made the news as the ‘Pro-physicians Lobbyist.’ He’s the founder of a group called The Florida Healthcare Advisory Board, a committee working closely with the Center for Medicare and Medicaid Services to find strategies to cut healthcare costs while defending physicians’ interests.”
“I know him, too. He used to be Nana’s oncologist. I’m afraid I need to stay away from him, or he can blow my cover with Joy. But what can the Co-creators have against him?”
“He’s also known for being a promoter of legalizing euthanasia.”
A cynical smile reached Richard’s lips. “After spending this week at the Hospice House, I don’t blame him.”
Samuel chuckled. “I almost forgot you got away with sneaking in there. What have you found out?”
“I found out that I’m ready to kill myself if I’m ever diagnosed with an incurable illness. I’ve never heard so many depressing stories in such a short time.”
Raising his eyebrows, Samuel asked, “Has it been worth it? Any new clues?”
Richard shook his head. “She doesn’t get phone calls from anybody except referring physicians. She has lunch in her office, if any, and goes straight home from work. There’s no hint of a life outside of work or children. And, boy, does she work! She drags me around the whole city to go to three different hospitals. And by the time I join her, she’s been already working for two hours. I can’t believe her energy!”
Samuel gave him a malicious smile. “Do I hear a little tone of admiration in your voice?”
Feeling attacked by the comment, Richard scoffed. “Are you out of your mind? The woman’s a pathetic workaholic and probably also a ruthless businesswoman profiting on desperate people. She’s going to drop dead soon from overworking herself, if she’s not killed first by one of the bums she’s protecting in her building.”
Sam laughed. “Oh man, you’re bad! You make it sound like torture, but you and I know it can’t be that bad. After all, the woman is hot!”
“She’s not my type.”
With a forced gesture of disdain, Richard picked up his two cell phones and stomped out of the room.
* * *
Richard felt instant remorse about what he’d said about Joy. Strange, since guilt had never been a problem for him. He decided to pick up coffee and bagels for Joy and her staff as a way to keep earning the office staff’s trust.
He arrived at the Hospice House, in a better mood after coffee. The girls from the staff welcomed him like a hero for bringing them breakfast. Taking the large caramel mocha drink he’d picked up
for Joy, he walked to her office.
The office was empty, and he felt disappointed. Leaving the cup on the desk, he walked toward the examination rooms, looking for her.
He found her standing in front of one of the rooms at the end of the hallway. When he saw her from the distance, his heart jumped. In front of her stood one of the most frightening figures he’d ever seen.
The muscular guy must have been seven feet tall. Every inch of skin he could see, including his bare arms and his bald head, was full of tattoos, and he had multiple piercings in his eyebrows, lips, nose, and ears. His two huge hands were holding her arms above the elbows, and he appeared ready to attack her.
Richard immediately reached for his gun hidden under his shirt. He was getting ready to yell “freeze,” when he realized the guy was weeping.
He stopped. Joy hugged the man, who cried like a kid on her shoulder. Richard quickly hid in one of the exam rooms, hoping they hadn’t seen him. He could hear the man sob and Joy’s voice repeating, “It’s okay. It’s okay to cry.”
After a few moments, she said, “Cliff, it’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could’ve done differently.”
“I can’t believe she’s going to die now, and I wasted all those years being angry with her.”
Joy’s voice was soothing. “But you made up for it in the past months. You’ve taken such good care of her. You’ve been the best son she could ever dream of.”
The man’s sobbing started calming down. She walked him back to the exit.
Richard put his gun away and walked back into Joy’s office. She walked in at the same time.
“Good morning, Richard.” She noticed his somber expression. “Is everything okay?”
“I saw you with that creepy man,” he answered, scowling. “I thought he was attacking you.”
Joy was astounded, as if she had no idea what he was talking about. Then something clicked in her mind. “Are you talking about Cliff? No way! Cliff is harmless. His mother’s one of the patients here. He’s having a hard time facing that she’s approaching the end.”
Sighing in exasperation, he exclaimed, “Joy, I’m a law enforcer. I know a harmless guy when I see him, and he’s not one of them. Did you see the tattoo on his right arm? That’s the symbol of the Dark Angels, one of the most dangerous gangs in this county!”
He paced around, jittery. “You need some more security in this place. For goodness sake! You have a pharmacy full of narcotics here, and your main night guard is a homeless alcoholic!”
Joy stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Richard, I appreciate your concern; but I’m telling you, that guy would never hurt any of us. We’ve become like a family to him in these past months.”
Scoffing, Richard shook his head. “You can be so naïve sometimes, Joy! It’s as if you live on your own little planet!”
The next words he was going to say died on his lips. The fury in Joy’s blushing face was obvious. She glared at him as she tried to control the anger in her voice. “Richard, this is the second time you’ve called me naïve, and I don’t appreciate it. It makes me feel very angry. If you don’t like the way we do things around here, you’re always welcome to leave.”
She started walking to the door but then stopped and turned around to face him. “You categorized the guy as a criminal because he has some body piercings and tattoos? Richard, that’s called labeling. You complained bitterly the other day about wars and hate and people beating each other up for being different. Maybe you should look inside yourself for what you can change in that equation so the planet can be better off.”
Richard gasped. “Wait. Are you saying now that I’m responsible for the mess the world is in?”
She took a step toward him. “Just think about it. You meet this guy and immediately decide that, looking the way he looks, he has to be a criminal, so you treat him like one. He senses the rejection in you and treats you worse. He goes home saying, ‘What a bastard. That’s why I hate policemen. They should all be dead.’ Without knowing it, you’ve contributed to pushing him one step closer to becoming a real criminal. And the cycle of hate goes on forever.”
She started walking away again but then turned around and said, her voice rising, “Why don’t you start by giving the guy a chance? Why can’t you hold your judgment for two minutes, two minutes, before deciding who he is? You may find out that this person is a suffering son, seeing his mother dying, or a worried father who’s struggling to feed his children. I challenge you to do that instead of complaining about God and injustice in the world.”
She had yelled the last words. She walked out of the room and slammed the door behind her.
Richard wanted to slap himself. He’d ruined it! All the work he’d done in earning her trust was wasted.
What was happening to him, constantly forgetting the character he was supposed to be playing?
He looked at his watch: twenty minutes to ten. In the meantime, he could calm down and figure out what to do. He decided to head up to Nana’s room for a visit.
He found her sitting on a rocking chair, knitting and looking through the windows, humming a song. She looked happy and spoke enthusiastically about her plans to knit a blanket for her baby great-granddaughter yet to be born. He was pleased to notice she’d gained weight. She called Dr. Clayton “her little angel.”
Richard stayed with her for a while and then said goodbye with a kiss. He went back downstairs and walked toward Joy’s office, not sure yet about what to do.
He thought he probably should leave, call Sam and tell him that the undercover operation was over. That his loud mouth had ruined it again.
At that moment, Joy came out of her office holding the cup of coffee he’d left there. She was beaming. “Richard, did you bring this for me? A large caramel mocha with whipped cream?”
He nodded. To his astonishment, she hugged him.
“Thank you! You saved my life. That was exactly what I needed!”
Before he had a chance to realize what had happened, she let go him and went back into her office.
Cautious, he slowly entered the office. With a smile on her lips, she was sitting in front of her computer, sipping at her cup.
“Aren’t you mad at me?” he asked.
“How can I stay mad at you after you brought me coffee?”
He still feared he’d misunderstood, but there was no sarcasm in her voice. “Is that it? I’m forgiven?” She nodded, and he sighed in relief. “I was worried! I’d never seen you that angry before.”
Putting down the cup, Joy looked at him. “First psychology lesson of the day: it’s okay to feel angry. It’s holding the anger in and letting it turn into rage that causes problems. I’ve learned it the hard way. In the past, I would’ve been polite and apologetic and then would resent you forever. But now it’s said and done, out of my system. It’s called assertiveness, and it feels wonderful. Thank you for allowing me to express myself.”
She went back to paying attention to her computer. Chuckling, Richard shook his head. “This has been the easiest reconciliation ever. Just a cup of coffee? Gosh, you’re easy to make happy!”
The playful smile and the wink she sent his way made her look like a different person.
“I take pride in saying I’m a low-maintenance woman.”
* * *
A couple hours and a dozen patients later, Joy finished her last dictation and stood up from her desk. “I’m going to the plaza to grab some Chinese food.”
“Can I go with you?”
“Sure, you can be my bodyguard in case someone tries to attack me to steal our supply of laxatives.”
Richard laughed.
They walked the block and a half that separated the Hospice House from the nearby outdoor shopping plaza. The midday tropical sun was blazing, but they were so engaged in their conversation about the patients they’d seen earlier that they hardly noticed it.
They placed their food order and sat at a table.
Avoiding he
r eyes, Richard abruptly mumbled, “I’m sorry that I offended you earlier by calling you naïve.”
Joy smiled. “Apology accepted. I guess I should apologize too if I overreacted. Lately, I have little tolerance for intolerance.”
Distracted, she played with the embroidered hem of her turquoise jersey dress. “I had very intolerant, narrow-minded parents and then married a quite intolerant, narrow-minded man. I’m sick of people sticking labels on each other’s foreheads and then finger-pointing and fighting about it. ‘You’re black! You’re white! You’re gay! You’re straight! You’re this! You’re that!’ I’m tired of the whole nonsense.”
Richard made a mental note for his investigation. “So your parents and your husband were intolerant?”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
At that time, their order numbers were called. After paying their separate checks, they sat at their table to eat.
“So, Joy, tell me more about the intolerance of your parents and your husband.”
She rolled her eyes. “Too boring. Why don’t you tell me, instead, where your phobia against tattooed, pierced guys arises from?”
Narrowing his eyes, he placed his finger to his temple. “Well, let me think. Maybe it comes from that guy who ran me over with his motorcycle, or that other guy who stabbed me with his knife, or maybe that other guy who tried to run me over with his car. It could also be the one who shot me three times.”
Joy opened her eyes wide. “All that has happened to you?”
He chuckled at her stunned expression. “Yes, I’ve been on a ventilator twice. I’ve spent a cumulative total of twenty-seven hospital days, most of them in the ICU. Each time, the doctors said they couldn’t believe I recovered without long-term consequences.”
He wasn’t sure why he was telling her the story, except that he enjoyed her dazzled expression. He wished he could tell her more about his adventures in the NYPD or those years working undercover in gang crime control.
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