Obsession (4 page)

“Maybe if you tell him what Mommy was like, he won’t think I’m totally whack. I’m so glad I came back to you. You understand why she was more than the best mother. I didn’t come out of her womb and when Lydia ditched me, it would have been easy to send me off somewhere and go on living her life. Instead, she
gave
me a life.”

“You brought meaning to her life, as well.”

“I hope.”

“Her pride in you was obvious, Tanya.”

“It wasn’t equal, Dr. Delaware. Without
her
I’d be
nothing
.” She glanced at her watch.

“We’ve got time left,” I said.

“That’s really all I have to talk about.” She stood again. Out of her purse came a white business-sized envelope that she’d brought to me.
P. L. Bigelow
embossed on the back flap, an address on Canfield Avenue. Inside was a sheet folded in perfect thirds. Typed list, centered.

Four other addresses, each accompanied by Tanya’s handwritten notation.

Cherokee Avenue, Hollywood.
We lived here four years, from when I was three until I was seven
.

Hudson Avenue, Hancock Park.
Two years, seven until around nine or so
.

Fourth Street, the Wilshire district.
One year, nine to ten
.

Culver Boulevard, Culver City.
Two years, ten until twelve, then we bought the duplex
.

Constructing the timeline using her age. Playing adult but clinging to the self-centered world view of an adolescent.

I said, “Maybe whatever happened was relatively recent.”

Pretending to be a believer.

“At Canfield? No, it’s been peaceful there. And I was older when we moved, would know if something happened in the neighborhood. By the way, I relinquish all confidentiality so feel free to tell Detective Sturgis anything you want. Here, I’ve put it in writing.”

Out of the purse came another razor-creased paper. Handwritten release note, composed in the stilted wording of amateur legalese. Then a check, made out to the discounted fee I’d billed her mother ten years ago. Twenty percent of what I got nowadays.

“Is that okay?”

“Absolutely.”

She headed for the door. “Thank you, Dr. Delaware.”

“Did your mother ever talk about any malpractice cases at the hospital?”

“No. Why?”

“The E.R.’s a high-risk unit. What if a patient she was involved with died and she felt responsible?”

“No way she’d ever mess someone up fatally, Dr. Delaware. She knew more than some of the doctors.”

“Lawsuits don’t always depend upon truth,” I said. “In a hospital situation, lawyers sometimes go after anyone who blinked at the patient.”

She leaned against the door. “Malpractice. Oh, my God, why didn’t I think of that? There could be some huge lawsuit pending and she was worried someone would go after my trust fund. Or the duplex. She wanted to tell me more but ran out of steam—you’re brilliant, Dr. Delaware!”

“It’s just a suggestion—”

“But a great one. Scientific parsimony, right? Go for the simplest explanation. I can’t
believe
I didn’t think of it.”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind. I’ll call Dr. Silverman right now.”

I reached the E.R. Rick was in surgery. “He’ll call back. If there’s something to tell you, I promise to let you know right away.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Delaware—no offense but can we be sure Dr. Silverman will be up front? Maybe his lawyers have told him not to discuss—okay, sorry, that’s stupid, I’m being paranoid.”

“Still want me to talk to Detective Sturgis?”

“Only if Dr. Silverman says there was no malpractice issue for Mommy, but something tells me you’ve figured it out. She always
said
you were brilliant.”

Ten years ago my treatment of her had been anything but. I smiled and walked her out.

When we reached her van, I said, “Once we resolve this, would you consider a couple more sessions?”

“To accomplish what?”

“I’d like to know more about your living circumstances and who you have for support.”

“My living circumstances haven’t changed. The duplex is all paid off, and the downstairs tenants are a really nice young family, the Friedmans. Their rent covers expenses plus extras. They’re in Israel for Dr. Friedman’s sabbatical but they advanced me a year’s worth and are planning to come back. Mommy’s insurance and investments will take care of me until I finish at the U. If I end up at a private med school, I may have to take out some loans. But physicians do fine, I’ll pay them off. My friends at school give me support, there’s a group of us, all premed, they’re very cool and understanding.”

“Sounds good,” I said, “but I’d still feel better if you were open to coming back.”

“I will be, I promise, Dr. Delaware. Just as soon as my exams are over.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not having any of my old problems. I appreciate your caring. Mommy always said for you it was more than a job. She told me I should observe you, learn what caring for patients meant.”

“How old were you when she told you that?”

“That was…right before the second time I saw you, we’d just moved to Culver, so…ten.”

“At ten, you knew you wanted to be a physician?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a physician.”

As we descended the stairs, she said, “Do you believe in the Hereafter?”

“It’s a comforting concept.”

“Meaning you don’t?”

“Depends on what day you catch me.” Images of my parents flashed in my head. Dad, red-nosed, in boozer’s heaven. Were there celestial procedures in place for unpredictable behavior?

Maybe Mom could finally be happy, nestled in some heavenly duplicate bridge club.

“Well,” she said, “that’s honest. I guess it’s the same for me. Mostly I think in terms of scientific logic, show me the data. But lately I find myself believing in the spirit world, because I sense her with me. It’s not constant, just sometimes, when I’m alone. I’ll be doing something and feel her. It could be just my emotional need but the day it stops may be when I show up for some
real
therapy.”

Rick said, “No, nothing like that, current or past. In fact, we’re having a nice quiet spell, shyster-wise. And when the vultures swoop, they avoid the nurses. No financial incentive.”

“Did Patty moonlight?”

“Not since she’s worked for me. When she wanted extra money, she double-shifted.”

“Where did she work before she came to Cedars?”

“Kaiser Sunset, but only for a year. Scratch the malpractice angle, Alex.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“How’s Tanya doing?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“Good. Gotta run. Thanks for seeing her.”

Straight to the point. Surgical. Just like his original referral.

“I know you’re not doing much therapy, Alex, but this sounds more like a consultation.”

“Who’s the consultee?”

“Best nurse I ever worked with, a woman named Patty Bigelow. A few years ago her sister dumped a kid on her, then left for parts unknown. Sister died in a motorcycle accident and Patty adopted the girl, who’s now seven. She’s got some parenting questions. Can you see her?”

“Sure.”

“I appreciate it…”

“Anything else I should know?”

“About what?” he said.

“Patty, the girl.”

“I’ve only seen the girl in passing. Cute little thing. Patty’s super-organized. Maybe a little too much for a kid.”

“A perfectionist.”

“You could say that. She fits in great in my E.R. It was hard for her to admit having a problem. I don’t know why she chose me to tell.”

“She trusts you.”

“Could be that…I’ll give her your number, gotta run.”

An hour later, Patty Bigelow had called. “Hi, Doctor. I won’t gab on the phone because you sell your time and I’m no mooch. When’s your next opening?”

“I could see you today at six.”

“Nope,” she said, “on shift until seven and Tanya’s out of day care at eight, so I’m in for the evening. Tomorrow I’m off.”

“How about ten a.m.?”

“Great, thanks. Should I bring Tanya?”

“No, let’s talk first.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. What’s your fee?”

I told her, said I’d be cutting it in half.

“That’s seriously below average,” she said. “Dr. Silverman assures me you’re not.”

We debated for a while. I prevailed.

Patty said, “I don’t usually give in, Dr. Delaware. You might be just the right person for Tanya.”

The next morning, at nine forty-two, I was out on the landing when a blue minivan pulled up in front of the house. The engine switched off but the vehicle stayed in place.

A woman with short brown hair sat behind the wheel, balancing a checkbook. As I approached she put it away.

“Ms. Bigelow?”

A hand shot out the window. Compact, nails cut square. “Patty. I’m early, didn’t want to bother you.”

“No bother, c’mon in.”

She got out of the car, holding a black briefcase. “Tanya’s medical records. Do you have a Xerox machine?”

“I do, but let’s talk first.”

“Whatever you say.” She climbed the stairs just ahead of me. I put her at forty or so. Short and dark-eyed and round-faced, wearing a navy turtleneck over easy-fit jeans and spotless white tennies. The clothes made no attempt to streamline a broad, blocky body. Brown hair streaked with gray was cut in an anti-style as frivolous as a lug wrench. No makeup but good skin, ruddy with a faint underglow and no age lines. She smelled of shampoo.

When we reached the stairs to the front landing, she said, “Real pretty out here.”

“It is.”

No more conversation as we headed to the office. Midway there, she paused to straighten a picture with a fingertip. Hanging back a half step, as if to avoid notice. I noticed anyway and she grinned. “Sorry.”

“Hey,” I said, “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“Be careful what you ask for, Doctor.”

She scanned my diplomas and perched on the edge of a chair. “I see another couple more crooked ones.”

“Earthquake country,” I said. “The ground’s always shifting.”

“You’ve got that right, we’re living in a jelly jar. Ever try museum wax? Little dab on the bottom center of the frame and if you need to get it off the wall you can peel it without leaving a mark.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

Positioning the briefcase so that its front end was flush with a chair leg, she said, “May I?” and got up before I could answer. When the prints were straight, she returned to her chair and folded her hands in her lap. A peachy blush coined the upper rims of her cheeks. High cheekbones, the only bits of definition in the wide, smooth face. “Sorry, again, but it really drives me nuts. Should I talk about Tanya or me?”

“How about both?”

“Any preference as to order?”

“Tell it the way you want,” I said.

“Okay. In a really small nutshell here’s my story, so you’ll understand Tanya. My sister and I grew up on a ranch outside of Galisteo, New Mexico. Both our folks were drunks. My mother was the ranch cook, good in the kitchen but she didn’t give a hoot about mothering. My father was the foreman and when he got plastered, he came into our bedroom and did ugly stuff to me and my sister—I don’t need to go into details, do I?”

“Not unless you want to.”

“I
don’t
want to. It affected my sister and me differently. She turned wild and chased men and drank and took every drug she could get her hands on. She’s gone, now, motorcycle crash.” Short, deep breath. “I became a Goody Two-shoes. The two of us weren’t very close. As it turned out, I have no interest in men. None. Or women, in case you’re curious.”

“I’m always curious, but that hadn’t occurred to me.”

“No?” she said. “Some folks think I’m pretty butch.”

I said nothing.

“Also, seeing as how Richard—Dr. Silverman—was the one who referred me and how people jump to conclusions, I could understand you thinking I was gay.”

“I work hard at not jumping to conclusions.”

“It wouldn’t bother me if I was gay, but I’m not. I have no interest in anybody’s anything below the waist. If you need a label, how about asexual? That make me crazy in your book?”

“Nope.”

Another partial smile. “You’re probably just saying that because you want to develop whatchamacallit rapport.”

I said, “You’re not interested in sex. That’s your prerogative. So far I’ve heard nothing crazy.”

“Society thinks it’s weird.”

“Then we won’t let Society into the office.”

She smiled. “Moving on: My sister—Lydia, she went by Liddie—couldn’t keep her pants on. Maybe God played tricks, huh? Two girls dividing up one sex drive?”

“Hers on Monday, yours on Tuesday but she got greedy?”

She laughed. “Sense of humor’s important in your business.”

“Your business, too.”

“You know much about my job?”

“Dr. Silverman told me you’re the best nurse he’s ever worked with.”

“The man exaggerates,” she said, but her eyes sparkled. “Okay, maybe just a slight exaggeration, ’cause off the bat I can’t think of anyone better. Last night we had a guy, a gardener, mangled both hands in a lawn mower. Too much empathy and you find yourself depressed all the time…speaking of bad stuff, plenty happened to my sister, but nothing she didn’t earn. She died on back of a Harley on the way to a big bike meet in South Dakota. No helmet, same for the genius driving. He took a turn wrong, they went flying off the road.”

“Sorry to hear about that.”

She squinted. “I cried some but—and this is going to sound cold—the way Liddie lived it was a miracle it didn’t happen sooner. Anyway, the gist of all this is to explain how I came to have Tanya. She’s Liddie’s biologically but one day when she was three, Liddie decided she didn’t want her anymore and dumped her on my doorstep. Literally, middle of the night, I hear the doorbell, go out, find Tanya clutching a stuffed toy, some killer whale souvenir she got in Alaska. Liddie’s parked in a hotwheels at the curb and when I go to talk to her, the car peels out. That was four years ago and I never heard from her again, didn’t even get the death notice until a year after the accident because Liddie was carrying fake I.D., it took the highway cops awhile to figure out who she was.”