The Units

by Jamie Mackay

Chapter 19

  The rest of the week was basically a write-off. Tatum was unable to think; her head whirled with thoughts and hypotheses about who might have killed Julia, and what the possible motive might have been. She had spent a few hours continuing with her work on the Autism Center proposal, but that had been her only productive activity.

  Despite her foggy, distracted head, she had promised Sam that she would spend the weekend helping her prepare her materials for court the following week, and she intended to hold true to her word.

  .

  Needing the relaxation and focus of yoga more than ever, Tatum lay her mat on the floor and anxiously waited for Sam to arrive.

  "Hey you," Tatum called out to her freckled friend when she finally came through the door, "I'm so glad to see you."

  "Wow, that's weird. What's up?" said Sam, knowing Tatum well enough to understand that her expression of direct affection was kind of out of character; she was more prone to humor.

  "Just a bad week. Looking forward to spending some time with a friend."

  "Good, cause we've got a lot of time to spend. My stuff needs a lot of work before a judge can see it."

  "We'll get 'er done," said Tatum confidently.

  The two friends worked diligently throughout the afternoon arranging receipts, organizing contracts and sorting out financial paperwork. Finally, everything that could be sorted or filed had been handled and it was time for dinner.

  "How's wings and beer sound?" asked Sam.

  "Took the words right out of my mouth," answered Tatum.

  .

  The wings were hot, requiring more beer than Tatum typically consumed. By the time she'd finished eating and she and Sam had parted ways, Tatum was feeling just drunk enough that for the first time in days she wasn't obsessing about WMI. She teetered down the street to her apartment, humming to herself and thinking about Jake.

  When she reached Regency Apartments, she stumbled up the stairs, opened her door and flopped down on the sofa, waiting for time to reduce the effects of the beer. Then, as quickly as the positive mood created from the beer had come on, it was gone. Tatum felt as if a million emotions passed through her simultaneously; confusion, fear, and terror all swept through her at once, each overwhelmed by the primary emotion of sadness. For the first time, Michael might die, became real in her mind. Tatum picked up the phone, suddenly desperate for any news about her brother.

  "Hi Mom?" she said.

  "Tatum. What's wrong?"

  "I just needed to talk to you. That's all."

  "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine. Just feeling a bit down."

  "Are you drunk?"

  "A little. How's Michael?"

  "It's the same sweetie. We've talked to the surgeon now and he says we should have a date for surgery soon. Maybe in a week or two."

  "Has he responded at all?"

  "No sweetie. But, I'm sure he can hear us."

  "I hope so. I miss you mom."

  "I miss you too honey. I will give him a kiss for you, okay?"

  "Thanks mom. Love you."

  "Love you too. Now go get some sleep," Sophia instructed in her most motherly tone.

  Tatum put the phone down, but she had no intention of going to sleep. Her buzz was starting to wear off, but not so much that her inhibitions weren't still slightly reduced. She picked up the phone again,

  "Hi Dr. Z.?"

  "Tatum?"

  "Yah, it's me. I need to talk. I need to talk to you specifically actually. I don't have anyone else to talk to about this."

  "Is it more suspicion of WMI?"

  "Yup, but now it's getting really crazy. I don't think that the patient who they said killed Julia actually did it."

  "Why?"

  "Well, I have no real evidence, but I talked to him and he said he didn't. I think he's telling the truth."

  "Why? Patients lie all the time Tatum."

  "I know. But the two crimes described in his file are different. The first one is a crime of situation. He got scared and made an unintentional, but costly mistake - like a child. Julia's death was intentional, violent. It doesn't make sense that he would do it."

  "If he says he didn't do it, did he tell you who did?"

  "He just said that he was put in the room after she was already dead and he got scared."

  "Tatum, this is probably something you shouldn't get messed up in."

  "I know. I know. But, I'm already in too deep. I think something really wrong has happened."

  "Is there anything else?" Dr. Z. asked, not sure if she actually wanted to know.

  "You remember the unexplained scars."

  "Yes."

  "Dr. Gagnon does rat research, really fine, very skilled rat surgery."

  "Oh Tatum, lots of researchers work with rats."

  "Yah, I guess. But, I'm starting to think that all of this is not just my own paranoia Dr. Z."

  "Tatum?" her trusted mentor said slowly.

  "Yes?"

  "Be careful."

  .

  The next morning Tatum's beer had worn off, but her drive for answers hadn't. She went down for coffee determined to find out as much information from Milligan as he was willing and capable of providing.

  "Good Morning Milligan," she said as she headed over to the coffee pot.

  "Well, good morning Tatum. What brings you out so early on a Sunday?" Tatum looked at her watch; she was indeed earlier than normal.

  "Just couldn't sleep anymore."

  Milligan had completely moved coffee time into the common room in the building, hunkered down in preparation for winter. The mornings now meant a late sunrise and cool temperatures, too cool for most of his patrons.

  "Well, grab your seat. I'll get your coffee."

  Tatum took a deep slurp of the delicious black liquid in the cup he passed her, the warmth filling her deeply. She looked at her friend and suddenly felt guilty about what she was about to do. He would have no idea that her questions held any purpose but sincere concern for his well-being.

  "So, Milligan?"

  "Yah."

  "Yesterday you told me the grandkids were all involved in sports?"

  "Umm hmm."

  "You never really said which ones. I played soccer and baseball growing up in Chicago; we have a strong Latino influence there. What do kids play here?"

  "Baseball is huge here too. They all play ball. Nicole and Amber also dance; I think it's that jazz or whatever they call it?" Tatum nodded. "And Craig plays hockey in the winter."

  "Hockey, hey? A real Canadian boy," Tatum laughed.

  "Yeah, it's something most Canadian boys seem to want to play. Just part of who we are, I guess."

  "Did Billy play hockey when he was young?"

  "Oh yah, I spent many an early morning over at the coliseum. He went right to junior."

  "What's that?"

  "I'm not sure how it would equate to ball exactly, but maybe we could think of it as a step below the minors?"

  "Got ya. So he was pretty good."

  "Yup. Loved it too. Hockey was all that kid could think about when he was young. He ate, slept and breathed hockey."

  Tatum decided that now was as good of a time as any to ask the questions she'd been burning to get to.

  "And, how about your other boy? Did he ever play?"

  "No. He was only just over two when he got sick. We never had a chance to figure out what sports he wanted to play."

  Milligan answered the question without becoming too obviously upset, so Tatum pressed on.

  "What was his sickness again?"

  "You know, I can't really say. That was a long time ago and Jennie was always the one that dealt with the appointments and the doctors and such. One day he got worse than normal, so Jennie took him to the hospital and he never came home. After that everything is just a blur. Jennie got so much worse; that's when she finally had to go up to the Units. She dealt with all the arrangement for the memorial and everything and then she became someone else. It was just
too much for her. I was so busy trying to keep Yvonne and Billy okay that I think I was really somewhere else. Your brain is amazing; it kind of just shuts off stuff you don't really want to remember. It's a bit of a gift really. I don't know if I'd want to remember every detail of that time."

  Tatum just about had what she'd come for, but she decided to make one final push for the last piece of information she was seeking.

  "I know from the last while with Michael, that there are definitely days that I'm in a fog and, like you, I'm kind of thankful for that. Losing your boy and your Jennie at the same time is almost unimagineable," she continued. "I'm sorry Milligan, I can't remember, did you tell me your son's name?"

  Milligan just looked away.

  One step too far, thought Tatum. She quickly changed the topic as if she'd never asked the question.

  .

  Only five days remained until Jake returned. Tatum could hardly wait. Work kept her busy; her patient load was heavy, and a heavy patient load always meant lots of reports and clinical files to complete. Sam was going to court on Thursday, so several of Tatum's evenings were full with continuing to help her friend prepare. She spent her time thinking about Michael, Jake, Sam, and work, giving her a much needed break from her whirling, suspicious head.

  Finally, Friday arrived. Tatum was, as usual, spending the day in the Research Unit, and it was the day where her proposal for the Autism Diagnosis and Treatment Center would be completed and submitted to an agency called the Canadian Institutes for Health Research. CIHR was the Canadian equivalent of the American National Institute for Health, an agency she was far more familiar with. Applying to an international agency was daunting, especially as a new applicant. Tatum had asked Tim, Dr. Fraser and Dr. Zubert for feedback to improve her application. As she had expected, Dr. Zubert's comments had been most helpful. The comments of Tim and Dr. Fraser were minor, like would be expected from someone who had glanced at, rather than read, the materials provided.

  At just before noon she received an email to her work address, something Jake rarely did.

  "I'll be back at just after three. Going to go home and spend time with Brady until he's ready for bed. Can I come over after? Should be around eightish. Jake."

  Tatum felt the best she'd felt in weeks.

  "I can't wait. I'll cook. Dinner at eight thirty. See you tonight! Tatum."

  Feeling like she had a new bounce in her step, Tatum left to have lunch with James. She purchased a sandwich and then grabbed two cinnamon rolls and two lattes; she wanted to share her good mood with James.

  As always, James was sitting by the window, looking nonchalant about his expectation of his usual visitor.

  "Hi James. How are you today? I'm great. Jake's coming home tonight. I brought you a roll and a latte. I'll set them on the window sill like usual, okay?"

  Tatum knew that after she left, the nurses would help James consume whatever she'd left for him. They had explained to Tatum that, if they didn't give him her offerings, his stereotypies became much more agitated.

  Some days were kind of quiet during their visits. Sometimes they just sat. Today was not one of those days. Tatum was excited and feeling good, so she managed to ramble at James for the full hour. At the end of their visit, Tatum was pleased to hear James' goodbye, but this time she witnessed him trying out his voice even further.

  "Bye Tatum," he said, adding her name for the very first time. She noticed how, over the last many weeks, the use of his voice was improving the clarity of his words.

  .

  Tatum starting getting ready for Jake's visit almost as soon as she arrived home from visiting the grocery store after work. She vacuumed, cleaned the kitchen, disinfected the bathroom, tidied her bedroom including changing her sheets, and dusted. When she was satisfied that the comfy, warm apartment was at its best, she set her sights on her own appearance. She showered and then moved to her closet for the all-important choice of wardrobe. She did not want to appear too dressed-up, but, at the same time, knocking Jake's socks off was definitely what she had in mind.

  Knowing that she would be staying in, she started by choosing a pair of fitted, soft, black slippers, the type that barely covered her feet but gave the appearance of shoes. She eventually decided on her favorite, worn blue jeans. They would be comfortable and she didn't want anything interfering with her enjoyment of the evening. Also, they were shorter than most of her other pants, appropriate for wear with her nearly bare feet. She paired her jeans with the black camisole and knitted top she'd worn on her first night out with Sam. But this time, in place of the clubbing look she had created previously, she tied her hair back in a low, loose pony tail and applied her make-up lightly, but with care. Alongside her face and neck she created soft, long tendrils, a look that Jake had complemented her on during past times together.

  Satisfied that she looked her best, Tatum moved to the kitchen and started to prepare the roast she had planned for their dinner. She had learned well from years of living with a family whose lives revolved around food. Tatum had spent many afternoons in the kitchen with her mother, and a roast beef dinner was Sophia's specialty.

  Jake had said several times during their phone conversations how much he hated eating every meal in a restaurant; he was looking forward to a home-cooked meal and Tatum was determined not to disappoint him. While the roast cooked, Tatum carefully set the table, something she hadn't done since she'd moved to Wainwright. She found two matching wine glasses and added them to the place settings. Then, as a final touch, she added a candle and some quiet music in the background.

  .

  Jake arrived just after eight. After buzzing him up, Tatum opened her front door to see the strong, sexy man she'd been anxiously waiting for walking quickly down the hall. Not saying one word, Jake walked up to the door, put his arms around Tatum and pulled her close. He kissed her and she kissed him back.

  "Sorry I'm a few minutes late," he said when their lips finally parted. "Brady missed me and so I stayed with him until he was distracted by his movie. Three weeks is a long time."

  "You're telling me," Tatum said as she smiled, letting Jake know she'd been eagerly awaiting his return.

  "Something smells amazing," Jake commented as he walked further into the apartment.

  "It's a roast. I hope you like it," said Tatum. "Why don't you sit down? I'll go get us a glass of wine and some appies."

  Jake sat down and admired the woman he'd come to see as she walked back into the kitchen. Tatum had chosen a dry red, but had intentionally veered away from Two Oceans. She didn't want any reminders of Niko this evening. She returned to the living room with a glass for each of them and a tray of small snacks to hold them over until dinner was ready. They sat, ate, and talked, enjoying the good food and the great company.

  Finally, after just enough wine to make them brave, but not near enough to reduce their senses, Jake pulled Tatum into his arms, kissing her long and deep. Prepared to give in completely, all Tatum could do was groan, hoping he wouldn't stop there. He didn't. Jake kissed her neck as he let his hands explore the full length of her body. Tatum leaned her head back to fully expose all the parts of her neck and then slipped her hands under his shirt. His body was hard and muscular, different than Niko. The lean, wiry feel of Niko's body seemed like it had been small and effeminate in comparison to the well-built torso of the strapping man who held her close. Despite the strength in his hands, his touch was soft and the feel of his fingers lightly caressing her skin covered her body in goose bumps.

  "You are so beautiful," Jake mumbled under his breath to Tatum as he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear.

  As he spoke, his hands found the bottom of her shirt as she had found his. Jake slipped Tatum's shirt over her head and then took just a moment to fully realize her beauty prior to slipping off his own shirt so that he could feel her skin against his own. For a moment, the two lovers just held one another and appreciated the closeness created only by skin on skin.

  Ly
ing in bed next to Jake, Tatum once again felt as if she was finally where she had always belonged.