Erin closed her eyes. She wiped a tear off her cheek with the back of her hand.
“Do you think I’m reckless?” Lloyd asked.
“No, Lloyd,” Erin said. “I think you’re brave. I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.”
Lloyd checked his wrist watch once more. Then he squeezed her hand. “How about a drive through the old neighborhood?” he said.
They drove past their former homes on North Mason, the front yards littered with bicycles, the buckling sidewalk marked by graffiti in colored chalk. A man in spandex shorts walked a Labrador while his wife in baggy sweat pants pushed a three-wheeled stroller. The neighborhood looked utterly familiar and yet felt strangely foreign.
The elementary school didn’t look quite as small as Erin thought it would and this made her sad. Finally, Lloyd made a U-turn and headed for the little league field. He parked the car so they could stroll by the playground.
“Well, this place sure brings back the memories,” Erin said.
“You have no idea,” Lloyd said.
“I want to go on the swings,” Erin said.
“I thought you would.”
They were walking past the concession stand, a wooden shack behind home plate with a recently painted sign that read, The Dugout Café. A tall blonde in a Cubs jersey stood behind the counter counting a pile of coins that a boy in a soiled T-shirt had just plopped onto the wooden ledge. She looked up and smiled at Lloyd.
“Wait a minute,” Lloyd said. “I want to get something.”
After the boy left with a handful of candy, Lloyd stepped up to the counter and asked, “Do you have any Cracker Jacks?”
“Hmm. Let me check in the back.” The blonde left and returned almost immediately. “It’s your lucky day. I have just one box left.”
“How much is that?”
“This one’s on the house,” she said with a gleaming smile.
Lloyd widened his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
They paced towards the swings. Lloyd tore open the lid of the box. He held the box out towards Erin. She looked at it out the corner of her eyes, her lips pinched in a pout. Lloyd gave the box a shake. She reached in the box, took out a handful of Cracker Jacks and said, “This one’s on the house!” in a high pitched nasal voice.
Lloyd stopped in his tracks and laughed.
“What? You know she was flirting with you.”
“So, you’re jealous,” Lloyd said.
“Shut up, Lloyd!” She tossed the Cracker Jacks in her mouth and reached over for another handful.
They reached the swings and sat on them. A little league game was in full swing on the field in front of them. The air was filled with the screams of overzealous parents whose voices carried like the jeers of huffy grackles. A red headed boy in the outfield held up his mitt to shade his eyes as he craned his neck back to look at the contrails of a high-flying jet.
“I got Cracker Jacks stuck between my teeth,” Erin said.
“It’ll come out,” Lloyd said.
Erin looked at him. “You’re awfully relaxed, you know, all things considered.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve never been so nervous in my life,” Lloyd said.
Erin reached in the box again. “No matter what happens, Lloyd…”
“No matter what happens, what?”
She chewed on the popcorn and watched a pony tailed girl make it to first base as the red-headed outfielder bobbled an easy grounder.
“Anyway, it’s not the tribunal that I’m nervous about right now,” Lloyd said. He glanced at his wrist watch yet again.
“You need to go somewhere?” Erin asked.
“Not yet.”
Erin rolled her eyes.
“You know, I remember that day when we were kids,” Lloyd said. Erin stopped chewing. “I remember what I told you when you were crying because they didn’t let you play for the little league team.”
Erin shaded her brow with her hand and studied his expression. “Yeah? Well let’s hear it.”
“I told you that if I ever had a baseball team, I’d make you the pitcher.” He swallowed. “And that one day I’d marry you on the pitcher’s mound at Wrigley Field.”
“It’s still the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Erin said with a wistful smile. “How did you remember?” She glimpsed at his lips. “Oh. So they really work.”
“I hope you don’t consider that cheating.”
“It is. Still I’m glad you remember.” She turned to look back at the baseball game. “So what about that family curse?”
Lloyd filled his chest with a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I ducked that bullet. Let’s say the curse has been lifted. I just hope it’s not too late.”
“Too late for what?”
Lloyd shook the box. “Look,” he said. “It’s the prize.” He held the box out in front of Erin. “Go ahead, open it.”
Erin reached into the box and extracted the paper package that seemed bulkier than it should have been. She shot Lloyd a suspicious glance.
“What are you waiting for?” Lloyd said.
Erin tore open the package and her jaw dropped. She reached inside the paper wrapper with her thumb and index finger and extracted a glittering ring: a sapphire set in white gold – Ellen Copeland’s ring.
“Please explain this to me,” she said.
Lloyd shrugged casually but was unable to suppress a smile. “I don’t know. I guess the prizes have gotten a lot better since we were kids.”
Erin shook her head. “I can’t keep this.”
“The ring fits you. My mother was so happy to see it on your finger. I want you to have it. It’s yours, no matter what.”
“What do you mean, no matter what?”
“No matter what you say to what I’m about to ask you.” Erin stiffened. “Listen Erin, I’m a wretch. My whole life I’ve never thought of anyone but myself. I felt entitled to trample over other people’s feelings because there were some feelings I denied myself. But now I see how wrong I was and I understand the hurt I must have caused.” He paused for a moment. “Look, there’s a good chance that tomorrow I’ll lose my job… or worse. I have nothing to offer, do you understand?”
“Just pop the damn question already,” Erin said.
Lloyd got up from the swing, stood in front of her and said, “Erin.”
He started to genuflect when Erin said, “Not on your knees. I never want to see you on your knees.” She also rose to her feet.
Lloyd smiled and bowed his head slightly. He looked up again and said, “Erin, will you marry me?”
She studied him with her eyes and took several deep breaths. “Somehow I always knew we’d end up together.” She nodded. “Yes Lloyd, I’ll marry you.”
She plopped the ring in Lloyd’s hand and he slipped it on her finger. They kissed a shy, tentative kiss.
“Will you marry me now?” he asked.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I already said yes, you dope.”
“Yeah but, will you marry me now?”
She released her grasp and peered into his eyes. “What do you mean, now?”
Chapter 44
Lloyd was asked to wait outside the Dean’s library. He took a seat on the cloth sofa next to Martin Bender who kept rubbing his palms on his pant legs and looking about the administrative suite with ratcheting jerks of his head.
Bender scanned Lloyd with a weary smile. “It’s not too late to take the deal,” he said.
Lloyd put a hand on Bender’s knee. “Relax, Uncle Marty.”
A few minutes later the door to the Dean’s library opened. The same secretary that had taken notes at the IRB meetings stepped in the doorway and said, “They’re ready for you now.”
Lloyd and Bender got to their feet and stepped into the room. Erin was sitting a couple of chairs away from George Lasko. She managed a slim smile and winked at Lloyd then glanced over at Lasko who maintained his gaze fixed on a stack of papers in front of him.
Lloyd and Bender took a seat directly across the table from Lasko. Lloyd lay his backpack on the table, zipped it open and pulled out a plastic water bottle. At the head of the table sat Dr. Harlan Fisk, the surgeon who had fought so gallantly to preserve the Southern Style fried chicken in the cafeteria as if the honor of the great South were on the line. He wore surgical scrubs under a denim jacket and maintained a steady scowl that seemed to have been chiseled onto his rugged face at an early age.
Dr. Fisk was an unapologetic Texan. The son of a Houston oil tycoon, Fisk had embraced a cowboy persona despite his high society upbringing and Ivy League education (if you considered Rice University part of the Ivy League which Fisk damn well did). He walked the hospital corridors with a swagger in a heel-toe gait that seemed designed to best display his trademark snake skin boots (custom made in the same Fort Worth shop that supplied Willie Nelson and George W. Bush) which he even wore in the operating room under the requisite disposable booties. Oddly, his Texas drawl seemed to get thicker with each passing year he spent in the Midwest.
On either side of Fisk were Dr. Ira Feynman, a middle-aged oncologist with a lingering smile which was eternally discordant with his mournful eyes, and Dr. Priscilla Townshend, a serious, efficient endocrinologist with intimidating good looks.
Dr. Fisk rapped his heavy jade pinky ring on the table top and said, “Alright y’all, I’m gonna call this meeting to order.” He picked up a piece of paper and read, “This is a closed hearing of the Faculty Disciplinary Tribunal convened to review and investigate charges of egregious professional misconduct on the part of Dr. Lloyd Copeland of the department of Neurology.” Fisk paused and clucked his tongue. He glanced at Lloyd. “Dr. Copeland, I trust you’ve had a chance to review the charges brought against you?”
“I have,” Lloyd said.
“And you’ve had time to review the code of professional conduct and the handbook on…” Fisk fumbled through some documents.
“The university’s rules for due process in the investigation of faculty misconduct,” Townshend said.
“That’s the one,” Fisk said, the canyons of his scowl deepening.
“Yes, I have,” Lloyd said.
“Well, all right then. Let’s get this shindig started.” Fisk leaned back in his chair and swiveled to face Dr. Feynman.
Feynman said, “Dr. Copeland, just so we’re clear, Dr. Fisk, Dr. Townshend and I have been selected to sit on this judicial panel by the hospital’s executive committee and the Dean of the School of Medicine. We’ve been entrusted to listen to the facts, review all the evidence presented, formulate a decision and make our recommendations directly to the Dean within five days. The testimony of all witnesses in this proceeding is expected to be truthful as if under oath.”
“We don’t seem to have a bible in this little library,” Fisk said.
Feynman’s eyes seemed especially sad but were parried by his widening smile. “Also, though we try to follow the general principles of courtroom procedure, we are allowed a fair amount of leeway in how the hearing is conducted.” He paused and Lloyd nodded. “As you know, formal legal counsel is not allowed in these proceedings but you’re permitted to have a faculty member in good standing serve as an advisor. For the record, Dr. Copeland has picked Dr. Martin Bender in this regard.”
“Right,” Fisk said. “Dr. George Lasko, the newly elected Chief of Staff and the complainant in this matter has elected to personally present the case against you.” He turned to Lasko. “Please proceed.”
Dr. Lasko rose to his feet. “Honestly, it’s hard to know where to start.”
“The beginning’s always a good place,” Fisk said.
Lasko cleared his voice. “What I mean is that the charges against Dr. Copeland are many and cover the entire range of faculty misconduct. They include the violation of professional or ethical obligations, fraud and misconduct in research or professional activities, violation of campus rules and regulations, commission of a criminal act and other grave misconduct. Let us start with the willful and wanton insubordination towards a senior faculty member.”
Fisk scratched his jaw. “Would that senior faculty member be you?” he asked.
Lasko raised his chin. “Why yes it is.”
“Well, begging your pardon,” Fisk said, “this all seems a tad…” he turned to Dr. Townshend, “what’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Self-serving,” Townshend said.
“Thank you ma’am,” Fisk said. “I think I speak for all of us on the panel when I say I find it self-serving and frankly a tad petty for the Chief of Staff to prosecute a case of insubordination committed against his own person. Let’s skip the finger food, Dr. Lasko, and rustle up some steaks.”
“Very well,” Lasko said, maintaining his composure. “I plan to prove to the tribunal that Dr. Copeland knowingly and willfully engaged in unapproved research, violating the directives of an Institutional Review Board, squandering university assets. And that in the pursuit of this unsanctioned research he blatantly violated the institutional rules to protect the welfare of animals utilized in scientific research. Furthermore, the tribunal will hear compelling testimony from a physician in training who will testify that Dr. Copeland did willfully subject him to an aggravated assault and battery on campus, which is not only a violation of the professional code of conduct but rises to the level of a criminal violation that merits prosecution in the courts.”
“If I may make a suggestion,” Fisk said. “Let’s tone down the lawyer lingo. It makes me chafe. And take a load off. There’s plenty of chairs in this saloon. You’re bound to make someone jumpy standing there like that.”
Lasko clenched his jaw. He narrowed his eyes but said nothing and sat on the edge of his chair with a stiff spine.
“I take it the last charge you referred to was the incident involving Dr. Todd English?” Fisk asked.
“Yes,” Lasko said.
“Very well. Mrs. Clarke, can you check if Dr. English has arrived?”
The secretary headed for the door, opened it and poked her head out into the hallway. A muted conversation followed. She opened the door widely and stepped back. Stanley Kowalski and Nick De Luca walked into the conference room.
“You Dr. English?” Fisk asked Kowalski.
“I’m Dr. Kowalski from Pathology.”
“And who’s that guy?”
“I’m Nick De Luca, chief of security for the hospital.”
“I’ve requested the presence of Mr. De Luca,” Lasko said.
“Well, where the hell’s this English fella?”
“He won’t be coming,” Kowalski said. He handed Fisk an envelope while De Luca ambled around the table to sit next to Erin. Fisk creased his brow, took the envelope, opened it and pulled out a one page letter. He quietly read it and handed it to Dr. Townshend.
“We’ve just received a notarized affidavit signed by Dr. Todd English,” Fisk said. “He has recanted his prior version of the event in question and refuses to file any form of official complaint against Dr. Copeland.”
Lloyd glanced at Stanley Kowalski. The pathologists’ eyes were beaming, his cheeks puffed out and rosy.
“In that case,” Dr. Feynman said, “I’d like to make a motion to strike that item from the agenda and proceed to the other charges.”
“Not so fast,” Lasko said. “Dr. English may refuse to file charges but the fact remains that Dr. Copeland’s vicious attack violates the university’s code of conduct.”
“But without Dr. English’s testimony, this banjo won’t play,” Fisk said.
“I don’t need his testimony,” Lasko said. “I have all the evidence I need in the form of a video taken by our security cameras.” Lasko turned to De Luca and nodded.
De Luca pulled a flash drive out from his pocket and inserted it in the USB drive of a laptop computer. He tapped on the keyboard and a few moments later a flat screened monitor on a movable cart lit up in solid blue. Then a fixed black and white image appeared on the screen. Lloyd r
ecognized it as the view of the parking garage from a high perch. Erin came into view on the video. She was walking between two cars when a short, stocky man with a crew cut strode up behind her and took hold of her purse straps.
“No, this ain’t right,” De Luca said.
“Can you please explain what’s going on?” Fisk asked.
“It’s the wrong video,” De Luca said. “This here’s the video of how Dr. Copeland foiled that purse-snatcher that was prowling our garages a few weeks back.” De Luca folded his arms as he gazed at the screen, and with a bit of overacting said, “I just don’t’ know how we would have ever caught the perp if it hadn’t been for Dr. Copeland.” De Luca hit pause and froze the video on a frame that showed Lloyd with his arm around the thief’s neck.
“Are you saying Dr. Copeland helped capture the purse-snatcher?” Dr. Townshend asked.
“Don’t know how we could have done it without him,” De Luca said.
Townshend turned to Fisk and Feynman and said, “That creep shattered my nurse’s mandible.”
Fisk inhaled deeply. De Luca waited a moment before tapping away on the computer’s keyboard.
“I think this is it,” De Luca said. He opened another file and turned to look at the screen. The video showed a kid’s soccer game. “Now how in the world did this get in here?” De Luca pointed a finger at the screen and smiled. “Right there, that’s Nicky Junior. Just look at the footwork, would you? Top scorer in the league.”
“Mr. De Luca,” Lasko said. “We don’t care about your son’s soccer exploits and my patience is growing thin. Can you please show us the right video?”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” De Luca said. “It looks like I picked up the wrong flash drive. But don’t worry. I’ll have one of my guys bring the right one over straight away.” De Luca pulled a walkie-talkie off his belt and was already talking when he stepped out the door into the hallway.
Fisk looked at his watch and frowned. “You got anything else we can chew on while we wait, Dr. Lasko?”
Lasko shifted some papers. “On the matter of animal cruelty, I’d like to call Dr. Norbert of the Institutional Animal Care and Use Committee.”
The Art of Forgetting Page 28