“You know, I wonder if he might have been trying to say ‘charge nurse.’ Sharp-ners? Charge nurse?” He tried out the syllables.
Vera looked up, startled. “Michael, Cynthia Harper was transferred to East Sunday night because we were short-handed.”
“I’m not sure what you’re saying.”
“Ollie worked the east wing that night.”
“But Cynthia’s not a charge nurse, is she?”
“She was on Sunday night. Or at least Ollie would have interpreted it that way. Betty Holland called in sick at the last minute, and Cynthia was the most senior nurse on the wing. But even if Ollie didn’t realize that, might he have been saying ‘Harper’?”
Michael let the implication soak in.
“I am at a complete loss as to how this should be handled.” Vera sounded almost panicky. “We can’t very well single out Cynthia or make accusations against her, but if we go asking questions of the entire nursing staff, then they will know that we have suspicions. And that would scare off the person we most need to talk to.”
“Do we have suspicions, Vera? You seem to think Cynthia has something to do with this.” He glanced down at the pamphlet that he'd placed on Vera’s desk.
Vera came around from behind her desk and closed the door to her office. She took a seat in front of the desk beside Michael.
“Michael, I didn’t want to say anything because I am getting different stories from both sides, and frankly, until now, it sounded like another ridiculous argument. But. . .”
Vera began to shake her head in disbelief even as she spoke, as though she was just beginning to realize what her words implied. “Geneva Grayson—the charge nurse on West—told me a couple days ago that Cynthia Harper informed her that she'd been instructed by—” Vera swallowed hard, as though the words were distasteful. “By an angel to keep a close watch over Margaret Wallace.”
“What? Margaret Wallace? From the apartments?” Michael was confused. He knew Maggie Wallace well. She lived next door to Millie Overman in the manor apartments. He had spoken to the friendly old woman many times as she strolled the hallways of the building. But what connection did she have to Cynthia Harper? And an angel.
“Maggie was transferred to the nursing unit over the weekend,” Vera explained. “She’s been failing quite rapidly, and the doctors feel certain her cancer has recurred. She is scheduled to go in for tests sometime this week, but she has been so confused and is in such terrible pain that they want to stabilize her before they move her again. You wouldn’t recognize her, Michael. She looks terrible.”
Michael felt truly sorry to hear the news. Maggie brought a spark of life to everyone she touched. But his disquiet over the things Vera had just told him overpowered his sadness at the news.
He tried to make sense of what he'd learned. “Wait a minute. How is this? Cynthia claims an angel told her to watch over Maggie?” He shook his head. “This is getting too strange, Vera.”
“Yes, it is very strange—especially if what you think Ollie might have been trying to say is true. Of course, I asked Cynthia about the statement and she flatly denied it, Michael. That’s why I didn’t say anything to you before. It’s no secret that Cynthia and Geneva have never seen eye to eye on anything. I’m forever mediating their differences.”
His mind was churning with the bewildering possibilities. “Vera, is it possible that Geneva Grayson is the charge nurse Ollie is referring to?” he ventured.
Vera was obviously taken aback. “I don’t think so.”
“I don’t know either of these nurses well, Vera. Is it possible Geneva is trying to stir up trouble for Cynthia? Why would she make up something like that? One of them isn’t telling the truth.”
Vera thought for a minute. “I don’t know. Geneva can be… I guess ‘overbearing’ is the word. But she is a very good nurse, Michael. She might be rather dogmatic, but I don’t believe she’s vindictive. And besides, like you said, there just isn’t any reason to make up something like this.”
Michael was alarmed. He picked up the pamphlet. “Do you honestly think there could be a connection between this flyer and this. . . this angel thing, Vera?”
“I don’t know.” Vera sighed heavily. “I’m trying to think what else Geneva said. She said Cynthia was going to ask to be assigned to the wing where Maggie is. But Cynthia never approached me about it. Of course if she had, I—”
Michael jumped up, interrupting Vera. “She what? Vera, something is very wrong here!” he exploded. “I want Cynthia Harper dismissed!”
Vera replied with a seemingly forced calm. “Michael, wait a minute. Like I told you, Cynthia has completely denied making any such statement. In fact, when I asked her about it she laughed in my face like she thought I was joking. When I pressed her, she said, ‘Yes, of course I believe in angels.’ She also said she had no idea where Geneva might have gotten that idea. I don’t know who to believe, Michael. It’s Cynthia’s word against Geneva’s, and I for one wouldn’t want to be the one to decide who is telling the truth. If either one of them is implicated, there is not one piece of evidence I could cite that would indicate it. Nothing that would give me grounds to dismiss either one of them. Geneva Grayson has performed her duties flawlessly for more years than I can count. Cynthia Harper is efficient and compassionate and dependable.”
“I don’t care. I am not comfortable with that woman working here. If there is any chance that she has made these statements about angels—”
“Michael, I understand your alarm. I’m concerned, too. But you know as well as I do that you cannot dismiss a nurse because she believes in angels! For heaven’s sake, half the world believes in angels. You and I believe in angels!”
“This is different and you know it, Vera. Believing in them and having conversations with them are two different things.”
She gave a deep sigh. “Michael, we don’t even know if that’s true. Even if Geneva is telling the truth about Cynthia’s statement, nothing came of it. No harm has been done. If we fire Cynthia now, with nothing to go on, we would have a lawsuit to end all lawsuits on our hands. How do you think a judge would view this?”
She looked up at Michael, and her eyes were lined with deep fatigue. She sighed heavily. “Don’t you see, Michael? It would be ludicrous to try to base a charge on things we merely have a hunch about. It would be seen as a witch-hunt when we don’t have one shred of evidence to prove . . . prove what? We don’t even know exactly what it is we suspect. Cynthia Harper is, granted, a rather queer duck—but nevertheless an exemplary nurse.”
“Then I want her watched like a hawk. I don’t want her in a room alone with a patient. I don’t want her near the meds. I don’t want her so much as dispensing an aspirin.”
“And exactly how are you going to explain this demotion to her?” Now anger tinged Vera’s voice.
Because the director of nursing was twenty years his senior, and in truth, far more experienced in the health-care industry, Michael had always bowed to Vera’s knowledge and wisdom. He allowed her the tone of authority she took with him now.
“Michael, you can’t limit a nurse’s access to her patients without just cause. And I certainly can’t follow her around the halls every minute of the day. We don’t even work the same shift,” she reminded him.
He slammed his fist down hard on the desk. Seeing Vera’s shock at his violent reaction, he quickly regained control. “I’m sorry, Vera. I know I’m asking for the impossible, but I feel like my hands are tied. How can we just go on as though there’s nothing amiss?”
Vera shook her head. “I don’t know, Michael. I just don’t know. It’s entirely possible there is nothing amiss.”
Michael rose and paced the length of her office. “We have a board meeting next Thursday night. I would do anything in my power to keep from opening this can of worms, but if I have to, I will bring this before the board, including what Gerald Stoddard told me about the board’s role in hiring Cynthia Harper.”
“Michael, you know t
hat would mean this whole thing going public. Too many people would be sympathetic to whoever is doing this.”
He stared at her. “Do you really believe that?”
“I’m sorry. But I do.”
He sat down again, defeated. “I suppose it would also mean a full-scale investigation. Vera, I am not ready to drag this institution through the mud, and I’m certainly not ready to falsely accuse an innocent woman, but something is not right and somehow we have to find out what it is. We can’t just sit here and do nothing!”
Vera looked at him hard. “Do we have a choice, Michael? Do we have any choice at all?”
Chapter 21
The school year was quickly winding to a close, and Claire was finding teaching to be a blessed distraction from her thoughts about Michael Meredith.
The warm spring weather had the students in a less than studious state of mind. Like impatient race horses, they chomped at the bit for recess time to arrive, and when it was over, it took them half an hour to settle down to their classwork. Claire found herself growing short-tempered and crabby with them, and yet she understood their impatience for summer to arrive. She was growing tired of being cooped up in the classroom herself.
One afternoon, in a fit of spontaneity, she herded the entire class out to the playground where they sat cross-legged in the grass and practiced for the upcoming all-school spelling bee.
Claire was delighted with her students’ progress. After working with them for almost an hour, she turned to take in the whole cluster of children sitting on the sparse new grass in front of her.
“I am impressed!” she told them sincerely. “You guys get better every time we do this! Remember what I told you way back at the first of the year?”
“Practice makes perfect!” they all chimed together.
“See! I was right, wasn’t I?”
Eighteen heads nodded proudly in unison.
“Okay, extra recess for you guys! Go!”
They jumped up and ran, squealing and crowing, to various corners of the playground. Claire dusted the grass and sand off her slacks and gathered up her spelling charts with a sigh. Only two more weeks of school! Where had the time gone? And just when she felt she was beginning to make progress with some of these children. It was rewarding and frustrating all at once. Next year she would turn these children over to someone else and begin all over again with fifteen or twenty bright new little faces. It made her tired just thinking about it.
She walked to the rear entrance of the school building. As she reached for the door, Brianne Sizemore and Talisha Jackson untangled themselves from the knot of children at the edge of the playground and ran toward her. Brianne’s pale freckled hand was knit tightly with Talisha’s ebony one, each girl holding her opposite hand secretively behind her back.
“Wait, Teacher. Wait. We’ve got thumthing for you!” Brianne’s lisp was still charmingly evident despite hours spent with the school’s speech therapist.
“For me?” Claire bent down to the girls’ eye level and scratched her head, playing along with the guessing game. “Well, now, what could it be?”
“Ta-da!” Simultaneously, the pair presented already-wilting bouquets of bright yellow dandelions to their teacher.
“Oh! How pretty!” Claire sniffed the pungent bouquet, stifling a sneeze. “You know what? These are the very first flowers I’ve gotten this spring! Let’s go inside and find a vase.”
The two girls skipped through the door ahead of their teacher, obviously proud to have pleased her, and Claire felt the first whisper of contentment and joy she'd known since Michael Meredith walked out of her house on that cold night in March.
Final parent/teacher conferences and plans for last-day-of-school festivities kept Claire busily occupied during the following weeks.
One especially busy day she ran to the post office after school to buy some stamps and mail a package to her grandmother. As she was coming out, a tall figure, partially hidden behind the stack of heavy boxes he was carrying, approached the door from the outside. Smiling politely, she held the door open for the man.
“Ah, thank you,” the masculine voice said. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage that.”
Immediately she knew. As the form entered the building and pivoted so that their eyes met, Claire’s heart began to pound. It was Michael. She had not seen him since the night she'd told him goodbye. Now she felt faint and feared he would see the way her hands were shaking.
“Hello.” It was as though he was a polite stranger. There was no hint of a smile on his lips. She could read nothing in the gray eyes that had always held such deep expression.
“Hello, Michael.”
She felt near tears. Mercifully, the lobby was crowded, and it didn’t seem overly awkward for her to hurry out of the way of the other customers.
She unlocked her car and hurriedly turned the key in the ignition. She was trembling almost too violently to drive safely, but she couldn’t risk him seeing her this way when he emerged from the building. She drove several blocks and pulled off onto a side street. She sagged over the steering wheel and sobbed.
She hadn’t expected his presence to affect her the way it had. She'd been doing so well. She'd immersed herself in the other activities of her life and thought she was getting over him. But now she felt the wound of their rift afresh.
She told Becky Anderson about the encounter that evening when they straightened up their classrooms after an evening of parent conferences. Becky was a sympathetic listener, letting Claire cry on her shoulder and allowing her to voice the same thoughts and fears again and again, rarely offering advice, merely being a sounding board. Claire treasured their friendship . . . especially now.
One Sunday, toward the end of May following a week of rain and cool temperatures, the thermometer soared into the seventies, and Becky invited Claire on a picnic with her and the boys. Randy, Becky’s husband, was out of town on business for the weekend, as his job often required him to be. Becky confided to Claire that she dreaded spending a long Sunday cooped up with her two lively pre-schoolers, and Claire gladly accepted the invitation. It would be nice to have some company and nice, too, to get out of the house and enjoy the sunshine.
Moments after Claire got home from church, Becky’s van pulled into the driveway, horn blaring. Claire hurriedly changed into jeans, and leaving her dress in a heap on the bed, she ran out and climbed into the van.
Claire deftly directed Becky away from the town’s larger park where the band shell and the sledding hill held too many poignant memories. Instead, they drove to Hanover Falls’ smaller City Park on the outskirts of town. They spread a blanket on the greening field near the circle drive, which served as both entrance and exit to the park.
Becky’s small boys gobbled down peanut butter sandwiches and ran off to play on the jungle gym nearby. The two women sat cross-legged on the blanket, savoring the simple lunch and basking in the warmth of the sunshine. They chatted idly and laughed at the boys’ antics.
Claire was telling Becky about an incident that had taken place in her classroom the previous week. As she spoke, she spotted a freshly washed green pickup out of the corner of her eye as it pulled slowly onto the circle drive. Realizing it was Michael’s, she stopped mid-sentence, panic on her face.
“What’s wrong?” Becky stood with her back to the driveway so she could keep an eye on the playground. Now she looked at Claire with genuine concern.
Claire struggled to regain control. “Nothing . . . it’s just. . . Michael’s truck just pulled in over there.”
Becky turned to look. “Are you going to talk to him?”
“I can’t, Becky. I just… Oh good…he’s leaving.”
The truck drove slowly on around the circle, apparently headed back to the main road, but as the passenger side came into clear view, Claire saw that Michael was not alone. A head of smooth, blond hair, a coquettish smile, and slender fingers gesturing animatedly to the driver were all Claire could see of the wom
an seated beside him in the truck. A stab of jealousy went through her, and she felt the blood rush to her face, hot and pounding.
Becky saw the woman at the same moment. “Ooooh . . .” Becky was uncharacteristically at a loss for words, but her low murmur held empathy.
Claire fought for composure. “Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”
Becky found her tongue. “If it’s no big deal, then why are your cheeks so red? And why did you have that look on your face when they first drove in?” She sat with a smug grin on her face, waiting for Claire to defend herself.
Tears sprang to Claire’s eyes, and she fought to hold them back. “Okay, okay. I guess I’m not quite over it.”
“Oh, Claire, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you. I… I know it still hurts.” She leaned over and put a consoling arm across Claire’s shoulders.
“Why can’t I just forget him?” Claire covered her face with her hands.
“Why can’t you just admit that you love him?” Becky countered.
“Even if I did, what difference would it make, Becky? It would never work. There would always be that . . . that thing between us. Besides, he was my brother! I can’t just ignore that fact. That couldn’t be right, could it?”
Becky had heard the whole story and more than once had given Claire her vehement opinion. The past was the past and true love could forgive anything. Now she spoke boldly. “Claire, the only thing between you and Michael is your own stubbornness. And you are not related by blood! I don’t see how living in the same house for a year when you were kids could possibly make having a relationship with him wrong. You’ve told me that he’s willing to work things out and go on from there. Now you need to either face the fact that you still care for him and tell him that, or you need to get over it and forget about him. You’re making yourself miserable. And Michael, too.”
“He didn’t look too miserable just now,” Claire reminded her friend with a wave toward the empty drive.
“You’re jumping to conclusions. For all you know that was a client.”
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