by Leslie Gould
Varner squinted as he searched the group. James raised his hand a little higher.
Varner cleared his throat. “James?” He crossed his arms as he spoke, his smartphone still in his hand.
“Thank you,” James said, stepping away from the wall, praying his voice sounded even and that he wouldn’t stammer. He did not want to add any drama to the evening. “I’ve heard lately about government grants for IT programs, and I wondered if Hope Haven has looked into those.”
“Of course we have.” Varner sounded both impatient and defensive and, even from the back of the room, James could tell that sweat was beading on the man’s forehead.
McGarry stood. “As the chief financial officer for Hope Haven, I’d like to address James’s question.”
Varner gave him a nod, and McGarry turned toward James. “It’s an excellent, ongoing question. We have applied for grants in the past but haven’t qualified. We haven’t applied for a grant this year however.” McGarry paused, looked as if he had more to say, and then sat back down.
Clearing his throat, Varner stared at McGarry. James could make out the man shrugging his shoulders. There was obvious tension between the two executives. Varner gestured toward the table, then addressed the crowd. “That’s an issue that the advisory committee will have to address.”
Valera Kincaid, the reporter for the Deerford Dispatch, raised her hand.
Varner sighed and then acknowledged her.
“Is the advisory meeting open to the press?”
James didn’t wait for Varner’s answer. He slipped out the door, leaving his friends and colleagues behind. He had no hope for clear answers from the administration. The general meeting had simply been a public relations move. He hoped the advisory committee wasn’t a similar ruse.
He strode down the hall, half regretting that he hadn’t agreed to be on the advisory committee, but he couldn’t imagine Varner’s allowing it. The man seemed intimidated enough just having James at the meeting.
Feeling isolated and alone, James headed to the lobby. He shouldn’t have come to the meeting. There was no away around it. Getting laid off hurt, and being at the hospital and seeing the administration dodge important questions was painful too.
He rounded the corner. The lobby was completely empty as he crossed it. Before he realized what he was doing, he was in the hospital chapel, sitting in the back pew. A single lamp lit the altar area, but besides that, the room was dim and the stained-glass window was nearly dark, just muted tones of purple, scarlet, and emerald green.
He leaned back against the wooden bench and ran the numbers in his head. He had a little bit of a rainy-day fund set aside, and they had Fern’s disability checks, but that was all. He’d need to apply for unemployment right away.
He’d always felt sympathetic toward the unemployed, but now he identified completely.
“What am I going to do, Lord?” he prayed. He waited a few minutes. No answer came.
He sighed and stood.
Persevere. That was what he was going to do. He didn’t need to wait for God to tell him that. It had been the story of his life.
He smiled a little. Persevere and go play basketball with his boys. He couldn’t change what had happened. He couldn’t predict the future. But he could shoot hoops with his sons. That was here and now.
Anabelle leaned back in the comfortable boardroom chair and watched Varner out of the corner of her eye. Clearly he didn’t feel comfortable having Valera stay for the advisory committee meeting. He’d dodged the questions during the public meeting, and now the CEO was consulting with McGarry in the corner of the room. Anabelle stood and stretched, taking a couple of steps closer to the two men.
“We don’t have anything to hide,” McGarry said.
She couldn’t understand Varner’s response. He was whispering as he glanced down at the screen of his smartphone. Maybe he was checking a document to see what his options were.
“Better safe than sorry,” McGarry answered.
“Exactly.” Varner looked please. He approached Valera, who sat in a chair in the back of the room.
“It’s going to be a closed meeting,” he said. “No media. No public.”
“On what grounds?”
“The usual,” he said.
“But this isn’t a trustees’ meeting. This falls under your own bylaws concerning open meetings.”
Varner looked confused.
Valera opened her bag and pulled out a file. “I have it right here.”
Varner turned toward McGarry and the CFO stepped forward. “Let’s agree to have Valera attend tonight. We can re-examine the issue for future meetings.”
Valera looked pleased.
Flustered, Varner called the meeting to order.
“What is the status of Hope Haven’s compliance to technology standards?” Dr. Hamilton asked.
“I’ll defer to Zane on that,” Varner answered, wiping his forehead with the handkerchief that he’d been clutching in his hand for the last few minutes.
“James’s idea of pursuing a government grant is great.” McGarry leaned forward and looked around the table. “By planning to implement new technology, not only would we qualify for grants, but we’d also be eligible for ongoing government money.” He paused. “Besides, if we don’t pursue updates soon we’ll be out of compliance, as I’m sure you suspected. The government is changing the laws about medical records.”
Anabelle wrote down McGarry’s words, verbatim, in her notebook. She’d read about the new technology standards in health care, but it gave her a headache to think about it even though she knew it was inevitable. She’d been resistant to e-charting and all it entailed long enough. It was the future.
“Why aren’t we already on the bandwagon with this?” Dr. Hamilton asked.
McGarry glanced at Varner.
“Zane’s working on it,” Varner answered.
McGarry put his palms down flat on the table. “Actually, I’m not. I’m not qualified, nor do I have the time to educate myself about all of this and do my current job.”
“Zane.” Varner dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief again.
“We’ve put off hiring a CIO long enough.” McGarry’s voice was low and firm.
“CIO?” Candace asked.
“Chief informatics officer. To implement and maintain the technology we need. Plus, the person would be responsible for writing grants.”
Anabelle wrote down what McGarry had said.
“And what department would we have to cut to hire a CIO? They aren’t cheap.” Varner crossed his arms, his handkerchief wadded in his fist.
Valera sat in the first row of chairs, typing away on her laptop. Anabelle could imagine what Thursday’s headline would be—maybe “Hope Haven Administers Squabbles.”
Varner’s voice rose as he spoke. “Because we’d have to cut something.” He turned his attention to Heath. “How about the imaging department? Everyone could go to Peoria for their ultrasounds and X-rays. Then again…”—he turned his attention to Candace—“if we cut the Birthing Unit, we won’t need as many ultrasounds. Or…”—he glanced from Dr. Hamilton to Anabelle—“We could completely gut the cardiac department and get rid of all vascular surgeries. That would greatly reduce the number of patients on the CCU floor.”
Anabelle’s cheeks grew hot as she turned her attention back to her notebook. Varner had made his point. Everything was important, as well as expensive.
“We could send all critical patients, not just the cardiac ones, to Princeton or Peoria.” Now his attention was on Elena. Anabelle expected a sassy comeback from Elena, but her friend’s face was frozen.
“Wait a minute.” Anabelle had had enough. “Could we redirect the meeting? I don’t see how threatening all of us is constructive.”
Varner sank back in his chair. “You’re right. It’s not constructive. My hands are tied right now. The only thing I can see to do is ride this out and hope enough other small hospitals are facing the same probl
em and that the government comes to our rescue.”
Anabelle wanted to groan. She realized that, despite Varner’s drama, they really didn’t know what the status of Hope Haven was, whether it was just the new program that needed to be cut or more.
Dr. Hamilton cleared his throat. “I propose that the advisory committee meet independently, without any executives present.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” McGarry said.
“But we need more information.” Dr. Hamilton sat ramrod straight. “About how serious the situation is. And how close Hope Haven is to closing.”
Albert Varner’s shoulders sagged and he glanced at McGarry and then at Valera Kincaid. “I need to close the meeting,” he said. “If any of this gets out to the public, it will only make things worse.”
She hesitated for a moment and then closed her laptop. “I’ll call you first thing in the morning,” she said to Varner, “with follow-up questions.”
“Fine,” he said.
It was as if the whole room held its breath as Valera walked toward the door. Once it closed, Varner let out a sigh. “As much as I’ve been trying to deny it, Hope Haven is in a bad spot,” he said, placing his smartphone on the table. “Zane forced me to listen to him late this afternoon. I’ve been wanting to downplay the financial part of this—as a PR move. But Zane let me know we’re past that now.”
Zane nodded. “If we don’t come up with an immediate solution, I’d say we have another month or two before we close the doors…unless we find a way to tap into the available grant money.”
Anabelle scribbled McGarry’s words into her notebook and then held the pen numbly in midair. She couldn’t imagine Deerford without the hospital. She couldn’t imagine her life without it. She couldn’t imagine why God was allowing them to go through this again, not after what they’d already gone through.
“I need the numbers,” Dr. Hamilton said. “For each department. I need everything you’re going to give the board. I need all the government requirements concerning the new technology and predicted costs.”
McGarry nodded. “My pleasure,” he said. “I want the advisory committee to take a look at this and give us your input—especially concerning ways to secure a grant.”
“We’ll give you the numbers as long as I’m allowed to attend the advisory committee meetings,” Varner interjected. “Suggestions have to be grounded in facts. We’ve already grappled with everything you’ll see. You’ll just waste your time if I can’t clue you in on what we’ve already discovered.”
Dr. Hamilton thought for a moment and then nodded in agreement.
Anabelle looked at the long faces around the table, from Candace, to Heath, to Elena. How were they supposed to be able to fix what hospital executives couldn’t?
Dr. Hamilton stood and shook Varner’s hand. “I know this has been a stressful evening for you.”
The CEO wiped his forehead again and Dr. Hamilton turned toward McGarry. “And thank you for your effort in all of this too.”
McGarry nodded. “It’s a dire situation, but I don’t think we’re totally without hope.”
Dr. Hamilton glanced around the table. “I’ll get copies of all of the paperwork to the four of you ASAP. Then we’ll meet again after that.”
“And I’ll have copies of these minutes to everyone by Wednesday,” Anabelle said, closing her notebook.
“And we’ll all pray in the meantime,” Elena muttered under her breath. Anabelle nodded her head in agreement.
Chapter Seven
WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TODAY?” GIDEON asked James as he crammed his chemistry book intohis backpack.
James swallowed the coffee in his mouth and put his cup down on the kitchen table. “Errands. Look for a job. Try to recover from our game last night.” He smiled.
Gideon pretended to shoot a basketball and then pulled his arm down with a satisfying, “Yes.” He’d won their one-on-one tournament the night before, and he was proud of it. But then his expression quickly morphed into a grimace. “I thought medical jobs were recession-proof.”
“Usually they are.” James stood and patted his son’s shoulder.
“Come on,” Nelson called out from the doorway. “Or we’re going to be late.”
James gave Gideon a hug and then stepped toward Nelson. His youngest son gave him a quick squeeze and then led the way to the front door. A few seconds later, he heard Gideon’s car start and then sputter, so James stepped to the window. Gideon revved the engine and, after revving the engine a couple of times, backed out onto the street. It sounded as if the car needed a trip to the shop soon, but that wasn’t in the budget. Maybe he could take a look at it after school.
After pouring himself a second cup of coffee, James headed down the hall to the office and logged onto the computer, finding the Illinois State unemployment Web site. He skimmed the text, stopping on benefits. It would take three weeks before payments began arriving.
He clicked on start an application and began scanning the questions. Soon, he was filling in his Social Security number, contact information, recent position, employer, gross earnings, schooling, and past pay.
“James?” Fern’s walker wheels whispered against the wood floor in the hall. He might not have heard it if she hadn’t spoken. “Are you still here?”
“In the office,” he said.
She’d slept a little later than usual, which James was thankful for. He was afraid the extra stress might exacerbate her symptoms. Any additional rest she could get helped.
“What are you doing?” she asked, stopping in the doorway.
“Applying for unemployment.” He smiled at her. “There’s oatmeal for breakfast.”
Fern headed for the kitchen. James could tell when she reached it because the sound of the wheels of her walker changed to a whir on the tile from the soft noise they made on the hardwood floors. Then the whir stopped, followed by the clank of removing a bowl from the cupboard. It started again and then stopped. Softer clanking sounds indicated she was at the stove dishing up her breakfast. He was tempted to go carry her cereal for her, but reminded himself that most mornings she got along fine without him.
The phone rang and James picked up on the first ring, hoping it was someone at Hope Haven. It wasn’t. It was Valera Kincaid. After a quick hello she asked if she could interview him.
“About?”
“Hope Haven. Being laid off. What you think the hospital should do.”
“I’m sorry, Valera, but I don’t have any comment,” James replied. He was certain it wasn’t in his best interest to talk to the media about any of this.
“This is your chance to get out your side of the story.”
“I’m sorry,” James repeated. “I need to—”
She interrupted him. “Could I call you back in a few days?”
“—go.” James quickly, but politely, said good-bye and hung up the phone, feeling out of sorts. He didn’t want to become a spokesperson about Hope Haven when he didn’t have a clear understanding of what was going on. He tried to focus again on the unemployment Web site. He could mail in a direct deposit request and a canceled check. That sounded like a good idea. He printed the form and kept reading. A form would arrive in the mail within a week stating what his unemployment would be. He would have to log on to the site and report on his job-search and work status every week. Payments would be made every other week. There would also be scheduled phone calls with a representative from the state to evaluate his job search and previous year’s gross income.
James skimmed the application one more time to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. When he’d thought about applying for unemployment, he’d imagined going to an office packed with waiting people, many of them down and out. Applying online was certainly more convenient.
James submitted the application, picked up his coffee cup, and headed to the kitchen. Fern was holding on to the counter, taking baby steps to the table, the bowl of oatmeal in her hand.
“Want a
cup of coffee?” James asked.
“Just a half cup,” she said.
He poured a half inch of milk into a mug and added the coffee—a little caffeine didn’t seem to affect Fern’s balance—and sat down at the table beside her.
“What do you have planned for today?” she asked.
“I need to stop by the bank. And go to the grocery store.”
“I thought we could have split-pea soup with chunks of ham for dinner,” Fern said. “And bread and a salad.”
James nodded. It helped him immensely when Fern came up with meal ideas. It was such a relentless task.
“I’ll put peas on to soak this morning,” she said. “And start the soup this afternoon. We have the leftover ham that needs to be used.”
He liked her economical menu ideas too. He had the hardest time keeping track of the leftovers, and he’d always admired how Fern could come up with ideas of how to use them.
They sat in silence for a little while as James scanned last evening’s newspaper. Finally Fern said, “At least the old house sold last month. This would be even harder if we were still making that mortgage payment.”
James agreed.
“And I’m so thankful we have the down payment for this house,” Fern said.
James agreed to that too. He needed to call the bank and let them know he’d been laid off. He wouldn’t share his concerns with Fern about not qualifying for a loan until he knew for certain what the outcome would be.
He thought about the old house and all the fix-it projects he’d had to do there, which was ironic since he would have plenty of time for projects on this house—although none were needed—if he didn’t find another job. He took another sip of coffee and added go by bank first to his mental to-do list.
Though he needed to go back to work full time, he enjoyed sitting and enjoying his coffee with Fern. But real life called him away, and he headed out to take care of those things that just couldn’t wait.
He deposited his settlement check and then waited to talk with Shelly Baxter, the loan officer he’d already consulted with. At that time, he’d planned to apply for a loan for the new house this week.