#
The buzz in the breakfast room when I arrived at 8:30 AM was about Mitchell's arrest. Jonathan Singer's medical condition was, sadly, old news. The room felt empty without Mitchell's burly presence and booming voice, but it didn't seem to have affected the appetites of the conference attendees. I didn't see Paula, either, but the sight and smell of food and drink persuaded me to satisfy that hunger first. Paula was probably somewhere else, making last-minute preparations for her talk.
I took a portion of just about every kind of food I saw. Balancing it all on one plate, the other hand holding a glass of orange juice, was a challenge. I felt up to the task, however--so long as I didn't faint from hunger first. Ready now to sit, I scoured the room again for Paula. Still no sign of her.
I spotted Tracey and Andrea seated at a table, along with an empty seat. Perfect! Well, maybe not. Maybe it was dangerous for me to sit next to Andrea just then. Too bad. If Paula was gallivanting with Rafy, I could sit in the same state as Andrea and eat my breakfast. When I joined them and sat down, however, something told me that I'd made a mistake.
“I hope I didn't embarrass myself with you last night,” Andrea said. “I don't remember much. Those Cosmos were awfully good.”
I never know how to respond to such statements. Yes, you did embarrass yourself. But no, I don't want to say it out loud, and sound rude, and transfer the guilt to myself. So I made a big show of chewing, emphasizing my full mouth, hoping someone else would speak. No takers.
“How's Mitchell?” I segued.
Tracey answered. “No developments this morning yet. But we'll certainly check on him later.”
The two women gave each other surreptitious looks as I ate. Was I drooling, or eating with my mouth open, or committing some other faux pas?
“Have you spoken to Paula yet this morning?” Andrea asked.
My heart jumped. “Is anything wrong?” I gulped down my last bite, and reached for the last of my juice. Queasiness had replaced hunger.
“Nothing serious, but-”
Spit it out, I thought. Stop torturing me.
“There was a little accident at the gym this morning.”
The illusion of time never ceases to amaze me. A lifetime is an eternity and a blink. Such moments in conversations last for mere seconds, but can be packed with an infinite variety of speculations. Had Paula twisted her ankle, or suffered a cardiac arrest?
Tracey picked up the tale. “Paula was lifting weights. Something slipped. We're not quite sure how it happened, but a weight fell on her chest. She was lifting without a spotter”--I half-smiled despite my concerns; it was so typically Paula--“which she shouldn't have done. But that's not important. She was in a lot of pain, but her first thought, amazingly enough, was about the talk she's supposed to deliver.”
“Can you believe that?” Andrea asked.
“Actually, yes I can,” Tracey said, and I thought. I detected a “we're professionals and you're not” tone in her comment. “Anyway,” Tracey added, “we managed to convince her to get medical attention first. I suggested calling you, but she said no.”
I hoped that wasn't because of our fight. “I wish you'd called me, but I probably couldn't have helped besides taking her to the ER to get X-rays.”
“That's exactly what we decided,” Tracey continued. “It didn't seem to be a 911-level problem, so Rafy drove her over.”
And why Rafy, I wondered. My expression must have been easy to read.
“I told Rafy to take her,” Andrea said. “I was just thinking of the conference. With Paula out of commission and Tracey scheduled to talk today, we couldn't spare her, too. Rafy's not up again until the closing session on Friday. I had to stay to figure out who'd take Paula's place.”
I hoped that Andrea's actions weren't really motivated by designs on me, re-pairing Paula with Rafy to clear the field for the two of us. No. That was too far-fetched--but not necessarily too manipulative--for Andrea. “I've got to go to her,” I said. “Can anyone give me a ride?”
The two women looked at each other again. “I have another idea,” Andrea said. “It's been a good hour that she's been in the ER. Maybe she's done. Or almost done. There would then be no reason for you to go.”
“No ER I've ever seen has been that fast.”
“This is the Cape,” Tracey said. “Not an understaffed and overcrowded inner-city ER.”
“Good point. So I need the ER number, and I need to find a phone.”
“No cell phone?” Andrea asked. They both laughed. “Come on, join the twentieth century.” She extended her cell phone to me.
Tracey pulled a neatly folded piece of paper out of a pocket, and handed it to me. “And I've got the hospital number. Because of Jonathan, of course. They can connect you to the ER. But you should try to call Paula directly first, on her cell phone.”
I smacked my forehead, and pushed away Tracey's paper. “Of course, you're right. Not having a cell phone makes me forget that other people have them.” I looked at Andrea's cell phone, in my hand, then stood up. “I'm going to head outside to call her. Better reception.” And to find some privacy.
“All...right...” Andrea said.
“Is that OK with you?” I asked.
“Sure, but just return the phone to me as soon as possible. I get a lot of calls.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
I went outside. My feet took me to the bench at the outdoor fountain. Two toddlers were perched on the fountain's flat ledge, threatening to jump into the water. A middle-aged woman, presumably their mother or nanny, was standing over them, berating them. What are you doing, I thought. Don't argue. Just lay down the rules and enforce them.
I sat on the end of the bench, leaving room for the woman to sit, too. But fortunately, the three of them took my telepathic hint and left--the children protesting with every step. They left a kind of aural vacuum in their wake. There was traffic noise, but I'm so accustomed to that I barely noticed it.
Paula picked up on the sixth ring, just as I was about to give up. I didn't want to leave a voicemail message for her because I hadn't prepared what to say. Our relationship was too delicate at that point to take needless chances.
“Hello?” There was noise in her background, but I could hear her clearly.
“Hi, Paula. It's David. Can you hear me?”
She paused before answering. “Yes. It's noisy, but the reception seems good.”
“I'm surprised but glad that the ER allows cell phones.”
“They do, if you ignore the signs that say they're prohibited.”
Humor! A good sign, in more ways than one. “How're you feeling?” I asked.
“I can’t hear you so well. Did you say something about how your lips are feeling?”
Now that was not a good sign. “Please, Paula. She took me by surprise, and I pulled away immediately. You have to believe me.”
“Do I?”
“Yes,” I said. “You know who I am.”
Silence. “I do,” Paula said in a low voice. “I know who you are, and I know how we feel about each other.”
“Thank you.”
I kind of expected a response, but none came. “Believe it or not,” I continued, “that wasn’t why I called. I wanted to know what happened, how you’re feeling, and what I can do to help.”
“Oh, that. I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“Well, really, I'm fine except for the excruciating pain of my broken rib. But if I don't breathe, the pain level drops all the way to horrible.”
“I'm coming over.”
Loud noises in the ER obscured the beginning of her response. “…Rafy's helping me check out now. I just have to get my discharge instructions, and my narcotic prescription.”
“Rafy?”
“Yes. He's been such a help.”
Now I was the one in pain. “So they took X-rays-”
“Speak up. I can't hear you.”
“They took X-rays, and a broken rib is the only thin
g wrong?”
“Right. Now I have to get back to the hotel to give my talk.”
“Forget about that. Andrea and Tracey are taking care of it.”
“Andrea?”
Touché. Move on. “When you come home I'll be your nurse.”
“But we also have to...”
“Is Rafy there, and you can't talk?”
“Exactly.”
“And you always tell me I don't pick up on things.”
“OK, if you're so smart-”
“I know. We have to continue our investigation. But from now on I'll do the legwork, and you'll be the silent partner.”
“We'll see about that. Next time I'll choose the Rocky Road flavor.”
Gibberish for Rafy’s ears, I surmised. “See you soon,” I replied.
Bye.”
“Remember not to breathe too deeply.”
“Thanks.”
“I-“ She hung up before I could say “love you.” By the end of our conversation my fear for Paula's safety had ebbed. But not my fear for her heart.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
It was 9:05 AM. My mind was on Paula, her broken rib, and her take on our relationship. I wanted to run to the emergency room to help her. To engage her. But the logical thing was to wait. She was probably on her way back by now. When I realized that she'd be walking into the hotel in Rafy Rincon's arms--literally--I decided to attend the first morning lecture.
I sneaked into the back row and sat, then remembered that I still had Andrea's cell phone. She'd made a big deal about returning it. I spotted her in the first row, turning to look at me. OK, OK. I brought her the phone, we both mouthed “thanks,” and I returned to my seat. The hunched-over posture I adopted during my round-trip to Andrea may have eluded radar, but didn't reduce the distraction to audience or speaker. Sorry.
As soon as I settled back in my seat I was enthralled by the speaker's presentation on autism. She discussed Leo Kanner's early descriptions, and the mistaken and pain-provoking theory, propounded by psychologists such as Bruno Bettelheim, that the “refrigerator mother” was responsible for the autistic child. She next addressed the controversial topic of the rise in the prevalence of autism. Is it due to more cases, better recognition/diagnosis of such cases, or changes in the definition of autism? The answer, she made clear, is critical. Because if there are truly more cases, then why is that so?
I didn't know the speaker personally, but her topic was highly personal for me because of my sister Rachel. I've always been grateful that Rachel was born when she was. Had she been born only a few years earlier, she would probably have spent her life in an “institution,” a warehouse for “mentally retarded” or “different” people. Amazing that these same people are now often known to be suffering from diagnosable and frequently treatable medical disorders: schizophrenia, bipolar disorder and autism, for example. On the other hand, despite all the public services she's received, Rachel was misdiagnosed for many years. She will undoubtedly never reach her full potential.
The speaker completed the first half of her talk at 9:45 AM and took a long sip of water. Several people left the room for bathroom breaks. I exited in their midst but broke off to go to the main lobby. Where was Paula? I took the predictable action of walking out into the parking lot, as if getting a few steps closer would bring her back sooner.
I walked back and forth, and went to sit on the bench at the fountain. Had there been further complications? Was she still at the hospital? It was time to call Paula's cell phone again. I stood up, intending to find a telephone inside, when a black Corvette convertible with the top down drove up. Paula and Rafy were talking and laughing, both with their hair streaming behind them. Isadora Duncan times two. I called and waved to them, but they didn't seem to notice me. They parked and began to walk back to the hotel.
In spite of her broken rib Paula looked great in the skin-tight black workout Tee she’d worn to the gym. She was resting her weight on Rafy’s arm.
Paula saw me and smiled. My heart quickened. “Hi, David,” she said. “You didn’t have to leave the conference for me. Rafy's been a great help.”
Rafy cleared his throat. “Actually, Paula, I've got to go. Lots to do at the conference.” He turned to me. “Can you handle her, David?”
I tensed, not certain how many entendres Rafy had intended. “I certainly can. Thank you so much for everything you've done.”
He grinned at me, then turned to Paula. “Catch you later, my dear.”
As he ran inside I took hold of Paula's opposite arm, to steady her. “My dear?” I asked. We both understood the sexist nature of such remarks, having discussed it many times.
“With him it's cultural.”
Bullshit! I almost said, but wisely didn't. We both also knew that her excuse transferred the blame from individual to society, but didn't erase the sexism. Furthermore, Rafy was too Americanized to be absolved of responsibility.
“Should we talk more about last night?” I asked.
“OK. But not now.”
As we walked toward the hotel entrance I had to snatch her back from a mustard-colored Volvo sedan. It passed right in front of us, screeched to a halt, then backed up until it was alongside us. We watched the front passenger window slowly roll down.
“Come in, you two. You're just who I was looking for.”
Paula and I bent down to look through the open window and saw Judith Klansky. I glanced at Paula. She shrugged, and opened the rear door. I steeled myself to join the fearsome Judith in the front, but saw my reprieve in the form of a bundle of knitting in the front seat.
“Do you mind sitting in the back?” Judith asked, possibly reading my mind.
“No problem,” I replied, hoping my relief wasn’t too obvious.
I helped Paula enter first, then walked around to the other side of the car, to join her in the back seat.
“Did something change with Dr. Singer's condition?” I asked.
“Jonathan, you mean? No, no change. But he's one of the two reasons I'm here. Let's get away, though, before anyone spots us.”
She zipped forward, too quickly for safety in a parking lot in my opinion, but docked safely at the other end. We were behind the hotel in the northeast corner of the lot, off the end of the asphalt onto a dirt surface, halfway under a tree. No one else was in sight, and the next parked car was fifty feet away.
I tensed, sensing danger.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
When Judith Klansky put her right arm atop her seat and swung her body after it, in our direction, I half expected her left hand to be holding a gun, pointed at us. My arms rose in a defensive reflex--but all she was holding were car keys. Which she jingled before setting them down on the seat next to her.
Klansky didn’t seem to have noticed my reaction. As I relaxed I saw that she looked worn down, her wrinkles apparent for the first time.
“Thank you for letting me kidnap you,” she said. “I-” She squinted at Paula. “Is something wrong with you?”
Something in Paula's expression or body language must have tipped Judith Klansky off. Hey, I thought. I was supposed to be the snap diagnostician.
“You're very perceptive,” I conceded. “Paula broke a rib.” Judith's eyebrows rose.
“But don't worry about me,” Paula said. “Please continue what you were saying.”
“How did it happen?” Judith asked Paula. Did I detect something beyond concern in her voice?
“I was at the gym this morning. It was just an unfortunate accident.”
“Are you sure?”
“What else--are you suggesting that someone deliberately tried to hurt me?”
“Think about it.”
Judith certainly had me thinking about it. More than ever I had to keep Paula away from danger. But with Paula...
“I wasn't at the gym,” Judith said. “Was Stephanie there?”
“Yes, but so were-”
“Well, Stephanie's the one to watch out for. Please take care of y
ourself.”
“If she doesn't, I will,” I said. I expected Paula to laugh off the danger--but she didn't. Which frightened me further.
“Thank you, David,” Judith said. “Now, about the reasons I wanted to speak to you. It's all about Jonathan. I know that his condition is critical, as it's been from the start. But now Stephanie's talking about pulling out his breathing tube.” She scanned our faces, which showed little reaction. “You don't seem surprised.”
“Stephanie talked to us about it,” I said.
“I was afraid of that. Well, I won't stand for it. What can we do to stop it?”
“We can't. The simple legality is that she's his next-of-kin.”
“Simple legality be damned. That, that harlot can't be the one who decides Jonathan's fate.”
“You understand,” Paula said, “that if the worst happens, that his death will be due to drowning. Not to pulling the plug.”
Judith’s eyes flashed, but then relaxed. “I do understand,” she said. “But that brings me to my second point. Stephanie's responsible for Jonathan's drowning. It's obvious. We, you, have to explain that to the police. Their absurd accusation against Mitchell mustn't be allowed to stand. The reputation of the Singer Institute could be tarnished forever.”
Was that her true agenda, I wondered? Her primary allegiance, to Jonathan Singer, was perhaps being transferred to Singer's legacy. Singer's theories, methods, and followers were his true legacy, but the Institute was their embodiment and protector.
“Are you going to keep working on the case?” she asked.
“I certainly will,” Paula said.
“Both of us,” I said, looking at Paula.
Paula kept her gaze directed at Judith. “Have you had a chance to look through Jonathan's e-mails?” Paula asked. “Did you find evidence of an appointment the other night on the boat?”
Judith shook her head. “Oh, that. I looked yesterday morning. No, I didn't find anything like that.”
“Can you look again?” I asked. “Maybe you missed something. It's really important.”
Judith glared at me. Apparently, she wasn't accustomed to having her word or performance questioned. “I can do that,” she said. “But it won't do any good.”
Terminal Therapy Page 18