Life Support

by Robert Whitlow

  Rena spoke slowly. “Okay, if that’s what you recommend. Call me back as soon as you talk to him.”

  Alexia put the phone down on the scratched surface of the desk and stared at the wall for a few seconds. Her conversation with her new client made one thing crystal clear. Rena Richardson might have forgiven Baxter, but she didn’t want him to live.

  Ted Morgan was on a ladder at the highest corner of Marylou Hobart’s rickety house. He hummed the opening measures of the Sonata in B Minor by Franz Liszt as he probed the soffit for rotten wood. The old woman was leaning on her cane near the bottom of the ladder and peering up at him through thick glasses. Mrs. Hobart was a nonpaying customer. She wasn’t even a member of the Sandy Flats congregation. But the need for a carpenter, painter, and handyman is universal, and Ted occasionally performed volunteer work for people in the community. A church member mentioned Mrs. Hobart to Ted as a person who needed help, and since then Ted had made many trips to the elderly woman’s home.

  Mrs. Hobart lived in the same house where she had been born. She’d married and moved away to Alabama, but when her husband had died, she had returned to Santee and the place where her life had begun. The frame house had weathered two hurricanes, but the cumulative effects of the coastal weather had taken their toll. Ted was frustrated that every repair revealed two more problems, but his affection for Mrs. Hobart overcame any resentment. The old woman was so deaf that she could barely hear Ted hammering a nail in the next room, and their conversations were like separate speeches that would tangentially intersect.

  When he asked her how old she was, Mrs. Hobart replied in a crackly voice, “1742 Franklin Road. Years ago it used to be 1246, but they built more houses and changed the numbers. Don’t ask me how they figure it.”

  “I’m forty-five!” Ted yelled.

  Mrs. Hobart squinted at him. “I’d say that’s about right. By the time my husband, Harry, was your age, he was bald as an egg. He only had a little fringe over his ears that was more trouble than it was worth. He should have changed his name. You have such nice, thick hair.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I should thank you for all you’re doing around this place. Did you know we didn’t have running water in the house until Dwight Truman was president?”

  “That’s Harry Truman,” Ted shouted.

  “Not my husband,” Mrs. Hobart replied in exasperation. “The president of this here country. Are you married? I don’t see no wedding ring on your finger.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Why not? You have a fine head of hair and are handy around the house.”

  “I’m divorced.”

  “Delores? I don’t know who you’re talking about. I don’t get out much no more. But I’d like to meet her. What does she like to eat?”

  At that moment Alexia Lindale flashed across Ted’s thoughts, and he asked himself the same question. He’d offered her steak without trying to find out what she liked to eat. Her food preferences were unknown territory.

  “I don’t know!”

  “You’re not skinny. You must be a good cook. Ask her over to your house and feed her yourself.” Mrs. Hobart wagged a wrinkled finger. “And she’ll ask you back if ’n she has any manners at all.”

  And so, in a roundabout way, Mrs. Hobart confirmed Ted’s decision to act on his tentative interest in Alexia Lindale.

  Alexia phoned Dr. Draughton’s office. She’d researched brain injuries on the Internet and prepared a series of questions that would connect the practical effects of a severe head trauma to the legal guidelines for termination of life support. There was no answer on the physician’s private number, so she waded through three levels of prerecorded voice prompts before reaching a live person who paged the doctor’s nurse. The nurse came on the line, and after Alexia explained her mission, the nurse put her on hold while she talked to the doctor. Ten minutes later Alexia was still waiting. As time passed, Alexia discovered that someone had carved his or her initials on the lip of the desk in her office. She then completed a series of complicated doodles across the top of her legal pad.

  Finally, the doctor picked up the phone. Within a few minutes, Alexia concluded that if the physician’s demeanor on the witness stand was as effective as his telephone voice, he would make an excellent witness.

  “What was your initial assessment of Baxter’s condition?”

  “It was obvious from external trauma that the patient had received a severe blow to the head. He had a stellate skull fracture with multiple linear fracture lines diverging from a central point of impact. By history, I knew that he had fallen from a cliff and struck his head on a large rock. This was consistent with the trauma observed by examination and plain x-ray films.”

  “What effect did this blow have on his brain?”

  “He had severe localized swelling in the area of the fracture, and a significant subdural hemorrhage that increased in size during the forty-eight hours after his injury. All of this is documented on successive MRI scans and the readings from an intracranial pressure monitor.”

  “Do you have copies of the scans in your office?”

  “Yes.”

  Alexia made a note in the margin of her legal pad. “Could you make them available to a medical illustrator and then review the drawings prepared for accuracy?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Did you assess the severity of his coma?”

  “Yes.”

  The doctor then explained the Glasgow Coma Scale and the profile developed by the Institutes for the Achievement of Human Potential that assessed sensory and motor functions.

  The more Alexia heard, the more confident she became.

  “Have you continued to monitor Mr. Richardson’s condition?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you performed any other type of testing?”

  “Yes, both electroencephalogram and evoked potential tests.”

  “I’ve read about those procedures but wasn’t sure exactly what they measured.”

  By the time the doctor finished his explanation, Alexia understood the purpose of the testing and had reached a legal conclusion: The neurologist could provide the medical expertise needed to support an order terminating Baxter Richardson’s life support.

  29

  Some chord in unison with what we hear is touched within us, and the heart replies.

  WILLIAM COWPER

  Rena phoned Jeffrey at his office. Before reaching her brother-in-law she had to listen to expressions of concern and self-centered sympathy from Jeffrey’s secretary, a brunette woman about the same age as Rena.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about Baxter,” the young woman said in a deep drawl. “I guess you’re devastated.”

  Rena flipped on her story switch. “Yes, it was a terrible accident.”

  “If something like that happened to my Rick, I think I would have jumped over the cliff after him. You know, we were married a couple of months before you and Baxter. Nothing nearly as fancy as y’all, but it was nice, and we had a reception at—”

  “Could I speak to Jeffrey?” Rena interrupted. “It’s important.”

  “Just a minute,” the woman snipped.

  Rena didn’t care if she made the secretary mad. Baxter had mentioned that Jeffrey went through clerical help almost as quickly as he did girlfriends.

  “What is it?” her brother-in-law asked.

  “I’ve got to talk with you,” she said. “I just—”

  “Why did you call me?” Jeffrey asked in a harsh voice. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  The phone clicked off. Rena stared at it in disbelief. Jeffrey had turned against her as dramatically as Ezra had turned toward her. While she was trying to sort out what to do, her cell phone rang. She retrieved it from her purse and looked at the number. It was someone from Richardson and Company. Not sure which Richardson was calling, Rena thought about letting her voice mail take a message, but on the third ring she pressed the talk button.
>
  “Hello,” she said in a tentative voice.

  “It’s me,” Jeffrey said.

  “Why are you calling? You hung up on me.”

  “Sorry about that. My father doesn’t know we’re communicating, and I don’t want him to suspect any cooperation. He may be recording my telephone conversations from the office phone.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “For the same reason I have a tap on his phone.”

  “You record your father’s phone calls?”

  “Not all of them. It’s set up to catch specific numbers as a way of keeping track of what he’s telling certain people.”

  Rena had no aversion to lying, but she was used to deception of her own making.

  “Did you tap Baxter’s phone?” she asked.

  Jeffrey didn’t directly answer. “Just relax. Nothing bad has happened to you since we talked, has it?”

  “No, but it makes me nervous that someone could be watching me.”

  “Pretend it’s like the Secret Service. They don’t do anything unless there is danger.”

  Rena walked to a window and looked outside. The large, flat lawn in front of the old house was empty, and the only cars in the semicircular drive were Baxter’s SUV and her own red convertible.

  “Is someone watching me now?”

  “Probably not, but I know you had lunch yesterday with Ms. Lindale at Katz’s Deli. What did you talk about?”

  “You tell me,” Rena shot back. “Your friends probably had one of those listening devices in a van outside the restaurant.”

  “I told you to relax. I’m glad you met with her. Is she going to help us?”

  Rena summarized her discussion with Alexia at the deli. She didn’t add the postscript about their subsequent phone conversation and Ezra’s apparent change of heart.

  “I disagree,” Jeffrey said. “She needs to file the case against my father as soon as possible. Baxter isn’t going anywhere, but every day the power of attorney remains alive can complicate the business side of things. You’ve paid the lawyer a good retainer. Tell her to seek a temporary restraining order that will stop my father. That should do the trick without having to go any further.”

  Jeffrey’s comments reassured Rena that her own phone wasn’t tapped. He didn’t know what Alexia had told her, but his lack of knowledge about Ezra was disturbing. Jeffrey’s supposedly sophisticated spy network hadn’t picked up the information about his father’s change of mind about the power of attorney.

  “Do you have specific information I can give Alexia about the way your father is using the power of attorney to transfer property out of Baxter’s name?” Rena asked.

  “Besides the checking account?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a brief pause on the other end. Rena could hear Jeffrey talking to someone while covering the phone with his hand.

  “Rena, I have to go to a meeting. I have plenty of documentation to give your lawyer at the right time, but I have to be very careful or I’ll run the risk of destroying everything we’ve built. My goal is to influence the direction of the business and who receives the benefits of it. You stand more to gain in this than anyone else. You’ll have to trust me on when to release information.” He spoke rapidly. “I have another ten thousand dollars for you. Where do you want it delivered?”

  “Uh, put it in the passenger seat of my car by eight o’clock in the morning. I’ll leave it unlocked.”

  “Okay. I’ll send a courier.”

  Rena put the phone back in her purse. She doubted Jeffrey’s deliveryman would be wearing a FedEx or UPS uniform.

  The following day, Alexia arrived early at her temporary office with her first priority contacting the remainder of her clients. Over the next three hours she made almost as many phone calls as a telemarketer. All but ten of her clients wanted her to continue representing them, and those who opted out had connections with Leggitt & Freeman that predated Alexia’s representation. One of the calls she dreaded the most was to a woman named Mona Jones, a perpetual complainer who was impossible to please.

  “What in the world would cause you to leave Ralph Leggitt?” Mona asked. “He’s the most respected lawyer in Santee.”

  “It was a decision that had to be made,” Alexia replied. “It was time for me to move on.”

  “Well, before I let you continue to handle my case, I want to talk to Ralph about it.”

  “Go ahead, that’s your right.”

  Mrs. Jones grew more indignant. “I wasn’t sure I should let someone so young handle my case, but Ralph reassured me that you knew what you were doing. Now I find out that you’re going out like a vagabond on your own.”

  If the personal attack had been more subtle, Alexia might have gotten angry. As it was, she had to stifle a laugh.

  “Mrs. Jones, you’re right. It would be better if you hired another lawyer, one with more experience who works at a larger firm. That way you would have more confidence about the advice you receive.”

  “Are you saying you’re not going to represent me?” the woman asked in surprise at the turn of events. “I’m not sure that’s what I want to do.”

  “It’s what I want to do,” Alexia said with emphasis. “I’m going to file a motion with the court to withdraw as your attorney. There isn’t much left to do in your divorce, and someone else can adequately handle the remaining matters. Your file will be available for you to pick up or I can mail it to you by certified mail.”

  “Well, if that’s your attitude, I demand that you send everything to me immediately.”

  “It will go out in today’s mail. Same address?”

  “Of course. Unlike you, I’m not going anywhere!”

  Alexia hung up the phone and crossed off Mona Jones’s name with relief. After several more calls, she took a break and drove to Leggitt & Freeman to pick up more boxes of files.

  Gwen was too busy to talk, but the third time Alexia walked down the hallway the secretary motioned for her to come over to her desk. Alexia wiped a few beads of perspiration from her forehead.

  “How many more boxes are there?” Gwen asked.

  “This is it. Mona Jones doesn’t want my help anymore so I’m leaving her file and a few others. I told her if she has any questions to call here and ask for your extension.”

  Gwen made a face. “I learned fast to pass her on to you without wasting my time. Mona was in a class by herself.”

  “Actually, I fired her,” Alexia said. “If you have time, box up her stuff and send it to her today. There isn’t much to do in her case. The final order has been signed, but it will be someone else’s headache to implement it.”

  “Will do. Did she ask you for the name of another attorney?”

  “No, and there’s no one I hate enough to send her to.”

  Gwen lowered her voice. “What’s happening with Rena Richardson? Her father-in-law and Baxter’s brother, Jeffrey, spent a couple of hours with Mr. Leggitt and Bruce Fletchall yesterday.”

  “Are you sure it was Baxter’s brother?”

  “Yes. He’s a good-looking guy but a bit oily around the edges. He used to date my friend Sandra’s niece. Sandra can’t stand him. Jeffrey showered her niece with expensive gifts and then dumped her for no reason. Sandra says he should have been the one who fell off a cliff.”

  Alexia put her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell me anything else. All I can say is that I’m helping Rena, and Leggitt is representing Ezra. There have been some skirmishes, but full-scale war hasn’t erupted. If it does, it wouldn’t be right for me to obtain any information from you.”

  Gwen shrugged. “I don’t know any details. What about the house you want to buy for your office?”

  “The bank has everything they need from me. Once the appraiser sends in a report and the title work is complete, I want to begin the renovation as soon as possible.”

  “Do you have a contractor?”

  “Yes. Do you remember the minister I contacted in Barbara Kensington�
��s case?”

  “Fred something at Sandy Flats Church.”

  “His name is Ted. I asked him to take a look at the house on King Street, and he’s putting together an estimate.”

  “Have you seen any of his work?”

  “Uh, he was painting the old parsonage one of the days when I went by the church. I think he was doing a good job.”

  Gwen perked up. “How many times have you been by the church to see Rev. Ted?”

  Alexia hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

  “More than two?”

  “Maybe five or six. His full name is Ted Morgan.”

  “Do you know his middle name?”

  Alexia grinned. “No.”

  Gwen leaned forward. “What’s the draw? You don’t even go to church on Sunday, much less during the week.”

  Alexia glanced over her shoulder.

  “Leonard is gone for the afternoon,” Gwen said. “Tell me.”

  Alexia stepped to the side so that she wasn’t visible from the hallway.

  “He’s a musical genius who can play the piano well enough to perform in Carnegie Hall. The first time I went to the church, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was incredible—like listening to someone in a recording studio. I don’t know why he moved to a place like Santee. He could be in New York, Los Angeles, or at least in a big church somewhere. He’s divorced and his daughter is a professional musician in New York.”

  “Wait,” Gwen interrupted. “His daughter is an adult? Is this guy a prospect for you or for me?”

  “Either, I guess,” Alexia responded playfully. “Do you want me to set you up?”

  “No, but I don’t want you running after an old man. If he’s out of shape, you might catch him.”

  “How many men have you seen me chasing recently?” Alexia asked.

  “Okay,” Gwen admitted. “But are you interested in dating him?”

  “I don’t know. He’s asked me over to his house tomorrow night for dinner, and I accepted. He’s cooking steaks, and we’ll probably drink fresh-squeezed lemonade. The invitation was a surprise to me. I thought he was spending time talking with me because he wanted to convert me, but he admitted that he’s been interested in me ever since we met.”