Broken Things (Faded Photograph Series) (19 page)

“I can’t believe this place actually serves a tasty meal.” Allie dabbed the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin. “I would have expected the food to be something akin to pabulum.”

Gordy laughed and it echoed through the dining area. “That’s one thing Arbor Springs does right―its cooking.” He laughed again. “And its billing, of course.”

“We’ll see.” Allie sent him a wry grin.

His cocoa-brown eyes widened at the come back, but he didn’t appear worried in the least, only surprised. Then he chuckled, and the rest of their lunch break past in amicable banter.

Later, as Allie returned to her office, the security guard at the front reception desk hailed her.

“There’s two women out here wanting to speak with you,” he said.

She thanked the young man before taking note of his attire for the second time that day. Faded blue jeans, a wrinkled white shirt, and yellow Smiley tie. She reminded herself to ask Evan about uniforms for security personnel. They showed up in various outfits, some less than professional, but all within the vague dress code guidelines. However, none in the security department seemed terribly authoritative, and Allie thought imposing a new dress code standard might initiate a change. There was just something about a uniform that commanded a certain level of respect, not to mention professionalism.

“They’re over by the TV,” the guard told her.

Glancing in that direction, Allie spotted the two young ladies. She walked over to them and introduced herself.

“I understand you want to speak with me.”

They both stood.

“Our mother is a patient here,” the female on Allie’s right stated, “and we were told to make sure she’s being taken care of.”

“Because of what’s been on the news,” the young lady on the left added.

Both women had long, dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin. Each wore a tangled collection of gold necklaces, multiple earrings in each lobe, several bracelets on their wrists. They were dressed in shorts and halters, and Allie guessed them to be in their twenties. They had a Hispanic look about them and she thought she detected a slight Spanish inflection in their voices as they spoke.

“We want to talk to somebody who can tell us about our mother,” the gal on the right said.

“You’re welcome to visit your mother and check on her yourself,” Allie offered.

They looked at each other before simultaneously shaking their heads. Their earrings jangled.

“We don’t want to see her,” the one on the right said. “We just need to know she’s okay.”

“What’s your mother’s name?”

“Cynthia Matlock.”

Allie hid her surprise. So these were the daughters who Cynthia claimed had “dumped her off” and refused to visit her.
Very interesting…

“Who advised you to check on her?”

The woman on the left squared her shoulders. “My boyfriend’s father is a lawyer and he is
advising
me and my sister.”

“I see. Well, if you’ll kindly step into my office, I’ll take your names. We can call up to the floor and get the latest report on mother…that is, if you’re sure you don’t want to visit her and see for yourself how she’s doing.”

“Your office is fine,” the woman on the right replied.

Allie nodded, her curiosity mounting. “Then if you’ll both come this way…”

Leading them down the hallway, Allie showed them into her office. The women sat down in the two hardback chairs in front of her desk. Taking her own seat, Allie found a sheet of paper and picked up an ink pen.

“Your names?”

“I’m Patrice Rodriquez,” said the one whose boyfriend had a lawyer-father.

“And I’m Kelly Acevedo,” the other replied.

“You’re Mrs. Matlock’s daughters?”

They bobbed their heads in unison.

“Your addresses and phone numbers?”

“What do you want them for?” Patrice demanded.

“Well, in case―”

“In case,
nothing
,” Kelly said. “Look, we don’t want to be contacted. We just want to know our mother is all right. After that, we’re leaving.”

“And if she’s not all right,” Allie proceeded cautiously, “who should we call?”

Patrice slipped her hand into her shorts pocket and produced a business card. “You can call my boyfriend’s dad at his law firm. Here’s his address and phone number. You can reach us through him too.”

Allie accepted the card, and then phoned the fourth floor. Once she had the nurse on the line, she handed the receiver to Patrice.

“You need to hear the update on your mother for yourself.” Allie dared not play the go-between, lest these two accuse her of lying.

“Hi…yeah, my mother is Cynthia Matlock and I want to know if she’s one of the patients who’s been abused in this place.” Patrice listened a few minutes before tossing the phone at Allie. “I don’t care about Mom’s ‘vital signs,’ and that’s all the stupid nurse would give me.”

“Well, the alternative is to go upstairs and check for yourself.” On one hand, Allie prayed they wouldn’t accept the offer because Cynthia still sported an ugly bruise around her left eye. But on the other, she wished the young ladies would make amends with their dying mother.

The girls whispered something to each other before Kelly answered for both of them. “Maybe we’ll come back another time. And maybe we’ll bring my boyfriend’s dad.”

“That’s entirely your choice.” Allie stood. “Visiting hours are between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m.”

“Yeah, we know,” Patrice muttered.

Watching them exit her office, Allie felt remorseful, and tad guilty, that she hadn’t been more honest with Cynthia’s daughters. However, her loyalty was to Lakeland Enterprises. After a few more minutes of deliberation, she lifted the phone and called Evan. Allie thought this situation might be moving beyond her expertise. Perhaps these phone calls and family members should be referred to a corporate attorney.

“Allie, I saw this coming,” Evan said.

“I know, I know. I never said it would be easy, but we did the right thing.”

“Glad you think so.”

His tone sounded cynical, but she refused to let it intimidate her. Sitting back in her padded desk chair, Allie prayed that God would prove her right to Evan and other board members. The ethical way of conducting business was always the right way. Allie sensed that Evan believed that too, even though he obviously disliked the present consequences.

They talked a while longer and Allie introduced the subject of uniforms for the security guards. Evan liked the idea and encouraged her to bring up the matter at the next board meeting. Allie promised she would.

After wrapping up the call on a positive note, she finished printing the productivity logs she’d created. Last week, she had informed all the supervisors the logs were coming and the news wasn’t well received. But the documents were a necessary evil if Allie was to get the feel of the workflow at Arbor Springs.

Papers in hand, she began the distribution process. She went from the first floor up, speaking with supervisors, and familiarizing them with the forms.

Riding the elevator to the top floor, she glanced at her wristwatch. Ten minutes of five. As the doors opened and she stepped into the hall, she immediately recognized Cynthia’s cries for water. She noted the disturbed expressions on visitors’ faces. Why hadn’t anyone done something to quiet the poor woman?

Allie rushed forward, but when she entered Cynthia’s room, she witnessed the patient’s bad behavior. Up until now, she had only heard about it from the nurses and their assistants.

“Mrs. Matlock,” the male nurse at her bedside said, “you can’t have any water because of the stomach tube―”

Cynthia cursed a blue streak. Next, and much to Allie’s horror, she yanked the plastic tube from her nose. She coughed and sputtered. Allie nearly gagged when she glimpsed the sticky, yellowish coating at the end of the tubing. Nursing was definitely not her calling.

“Nice going.” The RN maintained a calm voice as he shook his sandy-blond head. “You just pulled out your G-tube.”

“I’m thirsty! Can’t you understand that?”

“Oh, I understand. But now you’re going to the ER to get that G-tube replaced.”

Cynthia let loose with another string of obscenities.

“Enough, Mrs. Matlock.” Allie walked further into the room.

Both patient and caregiver glanced her way.

“Angel,” Cynthia murmured.

“Don’t ‘Angel’ me. I’m appalled by your conduct. This man is trying to help you.”

“Thank you.” The nurse’s hazel-eyed gaze narrowed as he considered Allie for a long moment. “Hey, you’re the new consultant, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. Allison Littenberg.”

“I’m Nate Ryden. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Angel,” Cynthia gasped. She moved her head from side to side. “He’s not helping. He’s adding to my misery. I need water.”

“Can’t have it,” Nate insisted. “Doctor’s orders.”

Allie searched her brain for some compromise. “Can you call her doctor and ask him if she really needs that tube?”

Cynthia continued to thrash about.

Nate shrugged. “I suppose I can. But there’s a reason he ordered it in the first place.”

“Because he wants me to suffer,” Cynthia rasped. “You all want me to suffer.”

“That’s not true,” Allie said softly. She came closer to the bed intent on consoling Cynthia. However, the agitated woman succeeded in pulling out her IV. She flung it haphazardly, and the needle stuck Allie in the forearm.

Allie pulled it from her skin, fighting instant panic. She looked wide-eyed at Nate. He motioned her toward the door.

“I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t mean to hurt you!” Cynthia reached for her. “Don’t go….don’t go…”

Cynthia started sobbing, but Nate closed the door on her. Her muted cries followed Allie like a shadow, except sheer fright had replaced any compassion she once felt for the dying woman.

Allie followed Nate to the nurses’ station. “Please tell me that woman is not HIV positive.”

“She’s not.”

Allie closed her eyes in relief and praised God

“And the only reason I know for sure,” Nate continued, handing her a prepackaged alcohol swab, “is because she bit me last week and we had to run labs on her.”

Opening the wipe, Allie cleaned the tiny puncture wound on her arm. “Can you tell me what exactly she does have?”

“Nothing contagious if that’s what you’re worried about. Metastatic lung cancer.”

“Need another incident report?” Sherelle Barnes, the daytime unit secretary, glanced from Nate to Allie.

Allie hesitated.

“Might as well fill one out.” Nate lifted a shoulder. “Especially with the media’s hype about how we all abuse patients. Besides, Room 8’s chart is full of ‘em.”

“Incident reports?”

“You got it.”

Allie accepted the form from Sherelle.

“So how come Mrs. Matlock calls you ‘Angel’?” Nate reclined against the counter. “Wait. I know. It’s because of your heavenly presence.”

“Oh, brother.” Sherelle rose from her chair and walked to the other side of the station.

Allie grinned at Nate’s teasing. “I’ve sort of befriended ‘Room 8.’”

“You’re the only one.”

“I’ve gathered as much.”

She had to admit that Nate was a good-looking guy, and judging by his stance, he knew it. Allie also guessed he was about half her age.

“I understand you’re here to whip us all into shape.”

Completing her form, she met his gaze. “That’s an understatement.”

A slow smile spread across Nate’s face. “Oh, yeah?” He obviously liked a challenge.

However, Allie wasn’t interested in bantering. When Sherelle returned, she handed over the incident report. “Now what happens?”

“Marcy Crandon, the day supervisor, will review it. She’ll probably order some lab work. You’ll have to give us some blood.”

“Fine. Is Marcy still here?”

“Yep. In her office.”

“Great. I’ll hand the incident report to her myself.”

“Hey, before you go,” Nate began.

Allie paused.

“A few of us are going out for drinks after work. Want to join us?”

“Thanks, but no.” Incident form and productivity logs in hand, she excused herself and walked around a grinning Nate.

“Well, okay. There’s always next time…
Angel
.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He chuckled as she moved away from the counter. Passing Room 8, Allie heard Cynthia’s muffled wails and decided this day couldn’t get much worse.

* * *

Marilee watched her mother pace the plush, off-white carpeting. A late afternoon breeze sailed in through the patio doors, carrying with it a warm reminder that summer wasn’t over just yet.

“Three months is not enough time to plan a wedding. What is Logan thinking?”

“He doesn’t understand, Mom. That’s all.”

“It’ll take that long to have the appropriate alterations made to your gown. And the invitations will have to be printed and mailed. We’ll need to rent a hall for the reception…” Mom expelled an exasperated sigh. “Nothing, and I mean
nothing
will be available in the Chicago area at Christmastime!”

“I know. I know….”

Despair reared its ugly head. While yesterday had been so perfect, the announcement of their engagement at church followed by an impromptu luncheon celebration with her parents at Steve and Nora Callahan’s home, today was a sorry contrast as reality set in. Marilee’s mother was right―three months was not enough time to plan a wedding.

“I thought maybe you and I could…well, explain things to Logan. There’s a chance he’ll change his mind.”

“You think so?” Mom sat down beside her and tapped her forefinger against her lips. The silver bracelets on her wrist jingled. “Hm…”

“I’d really like to get married in May, after school lets out.”

“Of course. That’s only reasonable. And if we could set the date eighteen months from now, that would ideal.”

Marilee thought so too, but she doubted Logan would agree to wait that long. Seven months, perhaps. A year and a half, not a chance!

“Logan is a reasonable man. I think we can talk some sense into him.” Marilee grinned. “He’s probably still at church.”

Eileen Domotor’s eyes widened with possibilities. “What are we waiting for? I’ll get my purse.”