The Children's Ward (16 page)

Sixty-seven

The car had stopped moving.

Tiffany leaned forward, wiping the fog off the windshield with the arm of her coat.

“David.” She shook his arm. “We’re sideways in the middle of the road. We’ve got to move before somebody hits us.”

He looked at her blankly.

She released her seatbelt and opened the door, then walked quickly around to the driver’s side.

“Get over,” she said urgently.

He moved.

She got into the car, adjusted the seat, and put the car in reverse, backing into the correct lane. Then she inched forward, slowly gathering speed, unwilling to chance another spin.

Tiffany turned the fan to defrost.

When the windows had cleared she allowed herself to sit back in the seat and took a deep breath.

It was over, she told herself.

Her marriage was over.

She would not stay married to a man who had so little respect for her life as to play foolish games on a rain-slick road.

She cast a glance in his direction.

He was sitting there, expressionless.

She wanted to yell at him, ask him if he knew how close they had come—how close
he
had taken them—to death. They could have gone
off the road entirely. The car could have rolled and burned. Another car could have struck them as they sat helpless in the road.

She nurtured her anger. She would need it to get her through what had to be done. She could not afford to vent it on him now.

After the meeting she would go to the house and pack. Her things and Courtney’s. She would stay in a motel until she could find a suitable apartment.

Funny. It didn’t bother her to think of leaving the house. She had put so much work into it…

Now she was willing to leave it to him, sign over the deed.

The hospital parking lot was just ahead. She slowed and made the turn.

Sixty-eight

“Dr. Logan?”

Quinn turned to see Ian Campbell walking toward her.

“Good morning, Dr. Campbell.”

“Morning. Are you on your way to the parents’ meeting? Mind if I tag along?”

“Not at all, but I thought you were seeing Courtney White this morning.”

“Well, I did see her in a manner of speaking. She was so tired she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

She’s asleep in my office.”

“Lucky Courtney. This morning I’d have done anything to have stayed in bed.”

“Yes…I understand you had a rough day yesterday.”

She looked at him. “Word gets around.”

“People like to talk…”

“And what are they saying?” They reached the conference room door.

“Have lunch with me and I’ll tell you.”

“All right,” she said.

Joshua looked up as they entered.

“I see we’re all here now,” he said, looking around the table. “I’ve spoken to each of you in private before but I wanted to introduce Dr. Logan,” his eyes met hers, “and Dr. Campbell to you and to give you an opportunity to ask any questions you might have before we go into the second week of the program.” With another glance at Quinn he continued: “Mr. Delano has been out of town for a few days and has had less of a chance to keep up to date, so I’ll start with him. Mr. Delano?”

Frank Delano leaned forward. “I haven’t even seen Russell since I got back…and the last thing I heard from my sister was that he’d spent a night in ICU. How is he?”

Joshua inclined his head in Quinn’s direction. “Dr. Logan?”

She was a little surprised that he wanted her to answer; he hadn’t indicated that she was to do more than observe the session.

“He’s doing very well. I’m sure your sister told you that he was only in ICU for observation after he fainted in…” she hesitated slightly “. . . physical therapy. He’s back in the ward and in all honesty, he’s shown some improvement since then. He hasn’t complained of pain—”

“That’s not unusual for Russell,” Joshua interjected.

Quinn nodded, continuing, “He hasn’t required any medication, and his attitude…” her eyes flicked to Joshua, “. . . has improved.”

Delano looked from Quinn to Joshua. “Are there any signs that he might…?” He was unable to finish the question.

“As far as objective findings, no. But subjectively I am hopeful.” Joshua’s smile was genuine. “I saw him this morning in the hyperbaric chamber and he’s still optimistic. He might surprise us yet.”

“Dr. Fuller, if I may?” Ian addressed Frank Delano. “I’m Dr. Campbell and I’m conducting the psychiatric consultations for the program. I haven’t had a chance to talk with Russell yet—I believe that’s scheduled for this afternoon—but I’ve reviewed his chart and I’ve worked with similar cases in England. In these cases, where the post-traumatic symptoms are more severe than the physiological findings would suggest, there have been some fairly dramatic recoveries.”

“But he hasn’t walked since the accident.”

“That’s not to say that he won’t.” He looked around the table. “I don’t want to take any more of the group’s time, I know the other parents must be eager to discuss their own children…but I’d be glad to meet with you after I see your son.”

“Thank you, Dr. Campbell.” Joshua consulted his notes. “Russell will continue to receive hyperbaric treatments. He also will be undergoing isotonic exercise therapy using a device they’ve had a certain amount of success with back in Ohio. We’ve also scheduled an electromyogram for determining muscle function.”

Frank Delano nodded, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Now,” Joshua said. Alicia Vincent and James Wolf sat on opposite sides of the conference table. “About Tessi.”

Quinn had been watching Alicia Vincent. Everything about the woman suggested barely repressed hostility. Even the way she was sitting—back straight and stiff and shoulders squared—was indicative of rage.

It was directed at James Wolf.

Joshua was detailing Tessi’s condition and Alicia was listening intently, but not as a mother concerned for her child. Alicia, Quinn felt, was looking for ammunition.

Quinn thought about what Ian had told her about Tessi; that the child would not be healthy as long as the conflict between her parents continued. She wondered what Alicia Vincent would say if someone told her that?

Would she be willing to put Tessi’s well-being before her thirst for…vengeance?

Alicia sat, hands balled into white-knuckled fists, apparently oblivious to her lacquered nails digging into her palms.

Quinn doubted that anything short of death…Alicia’s or James Wolf’s…would end the bitterness.

Poor Tessi, Quinn thought.

“All of Courtney’s blood cultures were negative. She is asymptomatic at this time. She will have an electroencephalogram, but as you know, all of her previous studies have been negative for abnormalities.” Joshua looked up from his notes. “Do you have anything to add, Dr. Logan?”

“Not at this time.”

“What you’re saying,” David White said, “is that you still don’t know what’s causing her attacks.”

“Not exactly. All of the seizures are directly related to a febrile episode. It is not uncommon for children to seizure when they have a significantly high body temperature. But we don’t know
why
she keeps running fevers.”

“It seems to me that at these prices—”

“Dr. Logan,” Tiffany White interrupted her husband, “I wanted to thank you. The nurse told me that you were there when Courtney had her last attack.”

Quinn smiled lightly. “I’m supposed to be there.”

“She said you were very gentle with Courtney.” Tiffany looked on the verge of tears. “That means a lot to me.”

“It’s too bad Abigail’s grandmother couldn’t be here,” Quinn said to Joshua after the parents had left. “I’d like to talk to her.”

“Why don’t you call her in Baltimore?” Joshua gathered his notes. “Her phone number’s in the chart.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

Ian, who had left the room to talk to Frank Delano in the hall, stood in the doorway. “Ready for lunch?”

“Yes, I…” she looked at Joshua, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Sixty-nine

“Nobody can get into this system,” the engineer said flatly.

“Somebody has.” Simon Harrington spoke with quiet certainty. “What I want you to do is make sure they can’t do it again.”

“Look, the problems you’re talking about are penny ante things that can be explained away as human error. Somebody made a mistake, didn’t want to admit it, so all of a sudden there are mysterious glitches in the system.”

“Several somebodies have come to me about the problem. Why go to the acting administrator about a ‘penny ante’ problem and call attention to yourself, if in fact the people using the system are the problem?” Simon shook his head. “It’s not reasonable.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dr. Harrington. I really don’t.”

“I’m not placing fault. I’m not blaming anyone for any of this…yet. But I want you to make sure that no vital functions can be accessed by computer—”

“You mean take the life support systems offline?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. All of the equipment can be operated independent of the computer. I know it’ll take a little manpower on your part to do it, but I want those units out of the matrix. And I want it done before something else happens.”

“You’re the boss,” the engineer said. “If you authorize the overtime…”

“I will.”

“Then we’ll get on it.”

Simon nodded, satisfied.

Regardless of what the engineer thought, Simon believed that there was someone who not only had gotten into the system but who was selectively sabotaging various operations of the hospital. He had instructed all of his department managers to report any incident, no matter how trivial it might seem on the surface, that involved the computer system.

What he was seeing was a pattern of tampering. From something as simple as having every one of the computer-run time clocks break down at the same time, to destroying essential financial reports, to potentially life-threatening errors in anesthesia concentration rates, programs were being altered and sometimes eliminated.

He hated to think what would happen to the patients who were reliant on machines if those machines were affected. Computer-set and monitored parameters suddenly erased, there was no telling what might happen.

A glitch?

Did glitches show malice?

Seventy

Tiffany watched David’s car pull away from the house and felt only relief. There was no sorrow, no sense of loss and, surprisingly, no anger.

It was just over.

He did not know it, would not know it until this evening sometime. Since it was a Friday, he would probably not come home until eight or so, by which time she would be situated in a motel room.

She turned from the window, anxious to get started.

The luggage had been a wedding gift but she did not think he would care or even remember. They had laughed, then, about not needing luggage on their honeymoon since they wouldn’t be leaving the hotel room.

She went to Courtney’s room first.

Clothes, some books, the few personal items that her daughter had. Courtney was not a collector, neither had she ever been sentimental about any of her belongings. No favorite doll. No treasured teddy bear.

The diary that they’d given her last Christmas (“What does a nine year old need a lock on a diary for?” David had sneered). It was unlocked, the key still taped inside the front cover. She flipped through the pages. Blank.

For some reason, the empty pages made her sad. What would her daughter remember? She put the diary in the suitcase.

Looking around the room…the closet open and empty, drawers staggered…she realized that there was nothing really
of
Courtney in the room. No clue to her daughter’s personality, no reflection of her interests. Taking away Courtney’s belongings had not made a difference; the room had been as empty before.

She zipped the suitcases and carried them out of the room, taking them down the stairs and leaving them by the door.

She went into the walk-in closet in the master bedroom. Without allowing herself time to think she began grabbing armfuls of clothes and carting them out to the bed. She worked methodically, filling suitcase after suitcase. She could feel her blouse sticking to her skin and sweat roll down her back.

It was still early.

She had plenty of time.

She went into the bathroom, looking at her face in the mirror. Cheeks flushed, eyes determined.

She splashed cold water on her face.

It was beginning to get dark when she brought her car around to the front door and started loading the suitcases. She thanked God that she hadn’t bought a sports car.

She worked quickly, breathing through her mouth as she lifted suitcase after suitcase into the trunk. Then the final three suitcases went into the back seat.

Locking the car, she went back into the house.

She collected all of her bank books and papers from the safe in the den, then went back upstairs for a final look around. She found Courtney’s baby book and took two of the photo albums, leaving their wedding pictures behind.

What else was there?

She stood in the center of their bedroom.

Nothing.

All that remained for her to do was write the note.

She turned out the bedroom light and left without a backward glance.

The note was simple. She was leaving him and would be filing for divorce. She wanted custody of Courtney. She would sign over the house to him and he could decide whether to sell it or keep it. She would no longer offer any financial support. Her lawyer would contact him next week.

She took the house keys off her key ring and left them on top of the note. She went into the kitchen and took a bottle of chilled champagne from the refrigerator.

Then she was out the door.