by Leslie Gould
“I’ll reiterate that we can’t afford a CIO,” Varner said, his voice tense.
“Plenty of small hospitals have CIOs,” Dr. Hamilton countered.
“They have bigger foundations,” Varner explained. “Or very wealthy benefactors. Hope Haven doesn’t have the same resources as some of those other hospitals.”
Dr. Hamilton crossed his arms. “We can’t afford not to hire a CIO. We’ll have to figure something out.”
McGarry cleared his throat and the group turned their attention to the end of the table. “I’ve put out some feelers for a CIO, and Albert’s right—we can’t afford the salary. But, my executive assistant Quintessa has been researching government grants again. She also has a lead on a consultant who’s had better success with actually securing grants. There’s definitely money out there to help install a more sophisticated informatics system, but the irony of the situation is they all want a CIO in place to implement the program.”
Candace leaned forward in her chair. “So what we need to do is find a CIO who will accept a lower salary.”
Varner let out a sigh and Candace’s face reddened, afraid the man saw her as an imbecile.
But McGarry smiled at her. “Something like that.”
Anabelle came to her defense. “It could happen. Maybe there’s a CIO out there who would like to relocate to a smaller town, someone who’s looking to retire soon and would be willing to take Hope Haven on as a project.”
“Any idea where we could advertise for such a person?” Elena asked.
Varner groaned. “This is the problem with these committee ideas. You people don’t understand business.”
Candace’s face reddened more.
“Albert,” McGarry said, his voice firm.
“You’re nurses.” He glanced at Heath. “And a technician.”
“And a doctor,” Anabelle said, nodding at Dr. Hamilton. “Who’s happened to run his own business for years and years.”
“It’s not the same,” Varner hissed.
Heath placed his hands down flat on the mahogany table. “I have a buddy from high school who works for an electronic charting company.” He said it as if he hadn’t heard a word Varner had said. “He does consulting, pro bono, for nonprofits. I also seem to recall that he has some experience with grants.” Heath tilted his head as if trying to remember the particulars of the situation. “I’ll contact him and see if he has any ideas for us.”
Candace wondered where the friend lived. Heath had grown up in Washington State. She knew there were lots of high-tech companies located in the Seattle area. Maybe the friend lived there.
“He sounds like he could be a good resource,” Elena said, her dark eyes focused on Heath.
“It’s certainly worth a try,” Anabelle chimed in, as she looked up from the notebook she’d been writing in. “All of us should ask around and see if we can come up with additional resources.”
Varner crossed his arms. The discussion continued, but Candace didn’t offer any more suggestions as she silently took in the discussion and the ideas of the players around the table.
Anabelle wrote in her notebook as quickly as she could, jotting down who said what and how others responded. She knew she couldn’t record every word of the meeting, but she wanted to get the essence of the discussion. Tomorrow would be another busy day, so she probably wouldn’t be able to type the notes up for a day or two. Then she would e-mail the minutes to the other members.
Dr. Hamilton was saying he was ready to go on to the next order of business. “Which is,” he looked down at his notes, “cutting all budgets by ten percent.”
A collective groan circled the table.
Varner was muttering, but his words were clear to Anabelle as he said, “This is another reason I hate committees.”
“Respect and safety have to be considered in scheduling.” Anabelle looked directly at Varner. “We all need to be aware of cutting expenses, but we have to be careful not to cut to the point of jeopardizing our patients or alienating our staff.”
“We’re not asking that,” Varner said.
“I know,” Anabelle replied, “but sometimes it’s an uneven balance. We’ll do the best we can, but we can’t promise ten percent.”
“I don’t mean to jump the gun,” Varner said, his gaze intent. “But HR will be contacting you tomorrow about a hiring freeze and further cuts, meaning positions.”
Anabelle sank back in her chair. That was exactly what she’d feared. How many jobs would they want her to cut? Because letting one nurse go wouldn’t save 10 percent of the budget, not even close.
“You people don’t seem to understand that either we cut spending to the bone, cut more departments, or close the hospital.” Varner looked around the table from one person to the next.
“But what sort of hospital will we have left?” Anabelle placed her pen next to the notebook on the table. “Will people even want to come to Hope Haven?”
Elena nodded. “You know how much easier it is for personnel to make mistakes when we’re understaffed. If we have dissatisfied clients—and maybe even lawsuits because of minimal staffing—that’s only going to hurt the hospital more.”
“There’s nothing else we can do.” Varner’s eyes sparked under his shock of dark hair. “Haven’t I made myself clear?”
“But how did we get to this place?” Anabelle held her pen like a pointer. “It was just two years ago that it looked like the hospital might close—and yet it was saved. What’s happened to put us in such a negative place again?” She couldn’t bear to lose everything that they’d worked so hard to keep.
“I’ll answer the question,” McGarry said, and turned to Anabelle. “It’s a combination of many things. You might call it the perfect financial storm. Our own staff insurance premiums just went up for the fourth year in a row, patients are choosing only basic health care procedures right now because of the economy, and there’s a whole segment of the population that had insurance a few years ago and doesn’t now, so that’s another contributor. The hospital has had to eat more bad debts in the last year than since the 1930s.”
“I get all that,” Anabelle said, her voice clipped. “What I don’t get is the change in attitude. I know the staff is willing to do whatever it takes, within reason, to keep Hope Haven open, but it feels as if the administration isn’t very hopeful.”
“Now that’s not true.” Varner sat ramrod straight. “We’re doing all we can.”
McGarry cleared his throat. “I’d like to answer that too, if I may.”
Varner nodded.
“I think the administration is worn down. We’re caught between government regulations, the current economy, the needs of the town, and the needs of the staff. Right now it feels close to impossible.”
Varner grimaced in agreement.
“Impossible?” Anabelle looked up as she wrote. “It’s never impossible. Right?” She looked around the table. Dr. Hamilton, Heath, and Elena nodded in agreement. Candace didn’t look as sure.
McGarry cleared his throat. “I said ‘close to impossible.’ Please make sure that’s correct in your notes.”
Anabelle blushed as she reread what she’d written and then met McGarry’s gaze. “That’s exactly what I wrote.”
“How about a piece of pie?” Heath steered his Jeep down Oak Street. “We could stop at the Parlor.”
The clock on the dashboard read nine thirty. Candace was too keyed up to go home to bed. “Sure,” she answered. “That would be great.”
Heath parked across the street from the restaurant.
“It’s a beautiful night,” Heath said, taking her hand.
Candace agreed.
Kerri Lane met them inside the door of the restaurant, two menus in her hand.
“We’re here for pie,” Heath said.
The waitress looked relieved. “We have apple, peach, French silk, and lemon crème,” she said, leading them to a booth.
As they sat down, Heath asked Candace if she knew what she wanted. “
A cup of decaf,” she said to Kerri, “and a piece of French silk.” She could use a good dose of chocolate tonight.
Heath ordered the peach and a glass of water. As Kerri walked away, Candace asked Heath what he thought of the meeting.
“I think we’ll have to wait and see,” Heath said.
“Do you think your friend will have some ideas?” Candace slipped out of her coat.
Heath shrugged. “We just reconnected online last month. I’ll send him a message tonight and see if we can chat.”
Heath seemed so casual about contacting the man that he hardly seemed serious, or hopeful, about it.
“I can’t imagine what will happen if the hospital closes,” Candace said.
Kerri arrived with the water and coffee and then quickly left.
“Try not to visit Worryland,” Heath said.
“Worryland—is that like Candyland?” Candace tried to smile.
“The opposite,” Heath said. “Believe me you don’t want to go there.” He wrapped his hand around his water glass. “We have to take this a step at a time.”
“What will you do if the hospital closes?” she asked.
Heath shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“You haven’t even thought about it?”
He scooted his glass on the table, staring at the trail of condensation it left behind, and then looked Candace in the eye and said, “Sure, I’ve thought of it a little. I’ll apply for other jobs around here. If I don’t get one, I’ll apply in Princeton. If I don’t get one there, I’ll have to think about moving.”
“We’d have to put our houses on the market. Who would buy them?” Candace shuddered. “Who would want to move to a town with no hospital?”
Heath held up both hands. “I refuse to think that far. It doesn’t do any good.”
“But there’s no point denying things might get desperate.”
“I agree,” Heath said, as Kerri approached with the pie. Both Candace and Heath turned their attention toward her.
“Enjoy,” the waitress said, her ash blonde ponytail bobbing around her head as she set the plates in front of the two.
Heath took a bite of pie and then continued. “But there’s no use speculating that the worst is going to happen. We have to take it a day at a time.” He held his pie in midair and spoke quietly, “Live by faith.”
Candace nodded in agreement and took a bite of pie. Heath didn’t talk a lot about his faith, but she knew it was there as a steady foundation for the way he lived.
If she lost her job and had to move, would her mother come with her or move in with Susan? Her mother loved Deerford. It would be so hard for her to relocate. And Brooke, at thirteen, was at a bad age to move too.
“Candace?” Heath’s blue eyes searched her face. “Where’d you go?”
She put her fork on the edge of the plate and picked up her coffee. “Nowhere.”
“Worryland?”
She nodded and then took a sip of the decaf, aware of how difficult it was for her to keep her mind off the issues at work.
“Stick with me, okay?” His gaze was intense. “We’ll get through this, I promise.”
We’ll get through this. Her heart jumped at the realization that they had become a we.
Elena stood in the doorway of Izzy’s room and stared at her granddaughter by the glow of the Little Pony night-light beside her bed. Three Madeline books were on the bed beside Izzy. She’d probably read them to herself before she went to sleep. Now she was clutching her stuffed pig, Oinky; his snout was smashed against her neck in an endless embrace. Elena bent to kiss her granddaughter’s forehead. The swelling of her lip was nearly gone and the bruising was much lighter. Elena squinted in the dim light. The wound was healing nicely, and she was grateful she wouldn’t have to suffer through having stitches removed.
Elena yawned—it was ten o’clock and definitely time for bed—and closed Izzy’s door behind her. She would tell Rafael good night and then join Cesar in bed.
Her son had his math book for his class at the community college spread out on the kitchen table, but he was texting on his phone.
“Did you talk with Izzy’s teacher?” Elena asked.
He closed his phone, put it on the table, and picked up his pencil. “I left her a message but she didn’t call back.”
“Did you find anything online?” Elena nodded toward his laptop on the far edge of the table.
“A few things. I was going to look more tonight.” Rafael’s voice sounded tired.
“Have you talked to Sarah about all of this?”
Rafael started to erase something on the paper in front of him. “No. And I don’t plan to.”
“What if there’s a history of reading problems in her family?”
Rafael turned his head toward her. “Is it hereditary?”
“It could be…” Elena’s voice trailed off.
Rafael sighed loudly. “I have a test tomorrow. I’ll think about talking with Sarah after that.”
Elena told him good night and headed down the hall. She understood that Rafael felt a little overwhelmed. It was a lot to deal with right now and navigating his relationship with Sarah was tricky. For all these years, he was solely responsible for Izzy. And legally he still was. Sarah had given up her parental rights. But Elena knew that now the young woman sincerely—and lovingly—cared about her daughter. And that was a good thing for Izzy.
As she neared the bedroom door, Elena could hear Cesar’s soft snore. She’d been hoping to talk with him about Hope Haven tonight, but obviously she’d missed her chance.
Chapter Ten
ANABELLE SAT AT THE COMPUTER IN THE nurses’ station tightening the schedule for the upcoming week when Leila Hargrave approached the desk. Anabelle peered over her reading glasses at her supervisor.
“I bet you hate to see me coming.” Leila wore a skirt and blouse that did nothing to hide her plump figure. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.” Anabelle stood, her heart thumping. “Let’s go into the break room.”
Leila followed her, and Anabelle shut the door behind them. The two stood facing each other.
“You need to let a nurse go,” Leila said. “I wanted to tell you in person.”
“Any chance I could ask two to go to part-time?”
Leila shook her head. “They’d have to agree to go part-time with no benefits. That’s what’s killing us. Even if we end up paying overtime—occasionally—we save by not having to pay another employee benefits.”
“When?”
“Today.”
Anabelle didn’t respond.
Leila sighed. “As soon as possible.”
“The nurse I need to let go is off today. Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“You won’t be doing her a favor.”
Anabelle nodded. She knew that. But she would be giving herself time to think things through.
“That’s fine,” Leila said. “Just do it as soon as possible. We have a severance package. I’m doing all that I can.”
“I know,” Anabelle responded. “It can’t be fun for you either.”
Leila was not usually a warm person—she did what she had to do—so Anabelle was surprised when her eyes teared up a little. Leila swiped at them quickly.
“What other departments have to cut back?” Anabelle asked, her voice kind.
Leila quickly regained her composure. “I can’t say.” She was all businesslike again. “Report back to me, please.”
Anabelle nodded and the two walked out of the room. Leila took off toward the elevators while Anabelle counted the hours until she could go home. But there would be no escaping Marie’s dilemma. What would the young mother do to support her children?
As James parked his van in the driveway of the Morris home, the physical therapist started out the front door. She’d come early today because that worked the best with her schedule.
James jumped down to the cement and called out a greeting.
She looked up, her face red and h
er blonde hair falling over one eye. She had a chart in one hand but the other flew into the air. “I can’t work with that kid,” she stormed. James forced himself not to smile. She couldn’t be more than a few years older than Joel. “He’s so belligerent.”
“What happened?” James stepped toward her.
She blushed further. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
James didn’t ask if she’d be back. He figured if he asked that question now, the answer would be no. With no more explanation, Polly climbed into her little commuter car and drove off. James prepared himself for a rough few hours and stepped up on the porch.
Melanie opened the door, wearing a coat, and waved him inside. “I have an appointment in town,” she said.
James nodded. He’d be here for four hours. That should give her plenty of time. “So PT didn’t go too well this morning,” he ventured, slipping out of his jacket.
“I don’t think she has much experience working with patients with injuries like Joel’s.” Her voice was low.
James didn’t answer. Chances were Polly had worked with stroke victims and others with injuries that left them less in control of their words and actions. And James wasn’t sure whether Joel’s acting out was due to his injuries or his bottled-up anger.
Melanie grabbed her purse from the table near the door and hurried out, calling out a good-bye—which James assumed was intended for Joel—over her shoulder.
Joel feigned sleep when James approached him. “Time to get moving,” he said.
Joel didn’t respond.
“What’d you do to scare Polly off?”
Joel opened one eye and said groggily, “No one told me I was scheduled to be tortured first thing this morning.”
“Sure they did. It was on the calendar.”
Joel closed his eye.
“Did you forget?” James pushed the button to raise the bed.
“Must have,” Joel muttered.
“Guess I’ll have to be the taskmaster today,” James said.
“You?”
“What? Would you rather fall behind on your recovery? Delay your start in rehab?”
Joel didn’t answer and didn’t open his eyes but muttered, “I’m still tired. Really tired.”