Chapter 37

"Wife Number Four"

I WENT TO SEE DR. GRESH IN THE HOSPITAL THAT FRIDAY NIGHT, AS SOON AS HIS DOCORS SAID IT WAS OKAY FOR HIM TO HAVE OUTSIDE VISITORS. I WAS THE LAST TO GO. JERRY SUNDAY HAD STUCK CLOSE ALL ALONG BECAUSE HE WAS WORRIED FOR HIS FRIEND, AND HIS PRESENCE THERE WAS GOOD FOR TOM. OOB AND RUTHIE VISITED TOGETHER A DAY OR TWO LATER, AND NANCY AND 'DORI SHORTLY THEREAFTER. BY THE TIME I COULD LEAVE THE CLINIC IN THE HANDS OF TWO NEW HIRES AND STOP BY THE HOSPITAL FOR A WHILE, TOM WAS RESTLESS AND ALERT AND ANTSY TO GET OUT OF THERE.

HE WAS STILL HOOKED UP TO IVS AND MONITORS. THAT WAS TO BE EXPECTED. HE COULD GET OUT OF BED WITH HIS ROLLING STAUNCHION AND GO TO THE HEAD AND BACK WITHOUT BEING BERATED BY ANY OF THE NURSES FOR WANDERING AWAY. WHEN I VISITED, HE WAS IN A PRIVATE ROOM AND THE HEAD OF HIS BED WAS RAISED. SOME OF THE COLOR HAD RETURNED TO HIS FACE.

PATTI SAT IN A CHAIR BY HIS SIDE AND HELD HIS HAND AS THOUGH HE MIGHT TRY TO GET UP AND BOLT AWAY FROM THERE IF SHE LET GO. WHEN I WALKED IN, SHE LOOKED AT ME WITH A DESPERATE KIND OF PLEA IN HER EYES. LIKE A TRAPPED BIRD IN A CAGE. DID SHE THINK I WAS GOING TO STAND THERE AND RAT TO HER HUSBAND THAT SHE HAD MADE A PASS AT ME THE WEEK BEFORE? NOT A CHANCE!

"HOW ARE YOU, TOM? YOU HAD ALL OF US WORRIED."

"DON'T BE WORRYING ABOUT ME, JAMES," HE SAID. "YOU'VE BEEN SADDLED WITH THE BULK OF THE HEAVY STUFF. I'LL BE FINE IN A COUPLE OF WEEKS, AND I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW MUCH I APPRECIATE ALL YOU'VE DONE TO HELP KEEP THE PLACE UP AND RUNNING."

"I WAS JUST DOING WHAT HAD TO BE DONE. RUTHIE AND OOB HAVE HAD MY BACK ALL THE WAY, AND I GUESS YOU ALREADY KNOW WE'VE HIRED TWO NEW PEOPLE TO TAKE OVER PATTI'S JOB AND HOLD DOWN THE FORT. SHE'S A HARD WOMAN TO REPLACE, YOU KNOW …"

I FELT HER EYES BORING INTO ME LIKE TWIN SABERS.

TOM SMILED. "YEAH, I KNOW THAT ONLY TOO WELL. HOW ARE THE NEWBIES WORKING OUT?"

"THEY'RE FINE. THEY LEARNED THE SYSTEM QUICKLY. THEY JUST HAVE TO BECOME MORE FAMILIAR WITH LOCATING SOME OF THE INFORMATION IN THERE, AND GET TO KNOW THE PEOPLE FROM THE OUTSIDE AGENCIES WE DEAL WITH. IN ANOTHER WEEK THEY'LL BE GOOD TO GO." I WATCHED PATTI'S FACE WHILE I WAS TALKING, BUT HER HEAD DROPPED DOWN AND HER EYES WERE EVERYWHERE BUT ON ME. I WASN'T SURE HOW TO TAKE THAT, BUT I DECIDED IT WAS BEST LEFT ALONE FOR NOW.

I CHATTED SMALL TALK WITH TOM A WHILE LONGER, AND THEN GOT UP AND LEFT AS SOON AS I COULD REASONABLY DO SO. I HAD A FEELING THIS BUSINESS WASN'T OVER YET …

I'd asked Tom Gresh some time ago for his permission to peruse some of the hundreds of volumes of medical history that filled the bookcases along the walls of his big office. To my astonishment, he gave me not only permission, but slipped me a key to his office door to allow me entrance even when he wasn't there. I felt especially fortunate, since I knew such access had not been granted to others; not even Jerry.

I did not abuse the privilege, and visited the collection only about once a week on my lunch break when the office was open and the staff would be gathered there anyway. But now, while he was in the hospital, I sometimes stayed late and took full advantage of the opportunity to study the titles of the books and read some of the more obscure medical journals from all over the world.

Once in a while I would pick out texts at random, but most of the time I could browse and choose. I could visit the older volumes, some of which were fragile and hermetically sealed; their pages available only on microfilm. These were the books of historic significance and the ones that thrilled me the most. From these, one could trace the evolution of medical history page-by-page, almost from ancient times to the modern age. I could seek out some of the earliest cancer cases … back when doctors did not know what the disease was … sometimes using ugly and inhumane methods to 'drive the cancer out' …

Some of it was chilling and made me shudder, but I remained anxious to follow the progression.

I decided to visit again one evening after the clinic was locked down and silent, and I would have the privacy to let my fingers do the walking, so to speak.

It was late. The place was dark, and so quiet I could almost feel the pulse of the night. Interior lights were all on station and the security alarm was turned on. I was sitting in Tom's chair at the desk. I'd put away the old cancer cases I'd been studying because some of them made my skin crawl. I had chosen another book at random, and was paging through it. It was part of a two-volume work by Ulysses S. Grant, who had written his memoirs while he was dying of throat cancer. The set was published by Mark Twain in 1885.

I leafed slowly through the old book, reading snatches here and there and turning the yellowed pages carefully. Grant had been an intelligent and concise writer, not committed to the flowery phrases of the era. His literary voice was authoritative and commanding, and I found myself intrigued with the entire narrative.

Fascinated by descriptions of Civil War battles and Lee's dignified surrender at Appomattox, I immersed myself completely. When I looked at my watch, I was astounded to realize that almost two hours had flown past me and I had hardly made a dent in the first volume.

With reluctance I set the book aside for another time, stretched my shoulders and turned to the pile of medical journals I'd pulled from the collection. One or two of these, and I would head for home and bed. There were five in the pile before me, most published within a ten-year range, but not necessarily up to date. I always liked to keep up with these, but my own upheavals of recent years caused me to relax my vigil. All my subscriptions had lapsed.

I had a copy of 'California Clinical Controversies' that I had never heard of before; a copy of 'JAMA', 'The Lancer', 'The New England Journal', and 'The Journal of Emergency Medicine'.

I lifted the unfamiliar one off the pile and turned back the front cover.

Suddenly, in the still of night, there came a vibration and a loud click that killed the security system and about scared me out of my shoes. The office door opened slowly. I looked up.

"Patti? What are you doing here? Did you turn the alarm off?"

"Yes. I was at the hospital and drove by on the way home. I saw the light on, and I …"

I held my hand up, palm extended. "Whoa! No one can tell there's a light on, even from the hallway. Why are you here? Is Tom all right?"

She moved further inside, pushed the door closed behind her and walked across to where I was sitting at the desk. She leaned both arms seductively on the top of it. Obviously she knew I could see every-thing she normally concealed behind the front of her low-cut dress and black designer bra. She smiled. "Tom is fine. I just wanted to see if you were here. I knew you were working extra hours to help out while he's in the hospital, and I thought …"

"Thought what?" I asked gently, heaving to my feet. I was afraid of what the answer might be.

"I wanted to see you."

I sighed. My spinal column was radiating warning signals of an electrical nature.

*Christ!*

This foolish drama must be nipped at its root before it grew any longer. I held a great admiration for Thomas Gresh, and respected him as an employer. The thought that his wife might find me attractive had never occurred to me. They both knew I'd been married three times with each of those unions ending in failure. Maybe Patti felt a little daring and presumed that I might be open to any willing prospect that came along and showed interest. I had to admit: she was a knockout at any age.

I shoved the chair back, warning her off by pushing outward with both palms to keep her literally at arms' length.

Patti must have taken that gesture to mean something else entirely. She straightened from her desk-top pose very quickly and almost threw herself past the physical barriers and into my arms.

I gasped as she pushed her way against my chest.

Both of us nearly landed on the floor with our limbs tangled together. I tripped over one of the legs of the chair … the kind with casters … and we did a mad tango of scrambling to keep from going down in a heap. I regained a precarious balance by grabbing the edge of the desk and the back of the chair, and fought my way upright. I then removed her arms from around my shoulders and pushed her away from me. Gently but firmly. All I could think of was getting the hell out of there.

"Don't do this, Patti. You don't know what you're asking. It's not right. I won't be responsible for this ..."

She turned accusatory very quickly. (Woman scorned?) "What do you mean … 'something like this'?"

I met her look. "Deception."

"Is that what you think this is?"

"If it's not, then what is it?"

She was beginning to cry; a woman's most effective weapon. Her mascara made black tracks down her cheeks. Just what I didn't need: tears and makeup all over my shirt and tie. I backed away and halted at the opposite end of the desk.

She looked at me through tears of resentment and regret. "Tom is tedious … and boring. Don't you see, James? He's old and sick and it frightens me. I don't want to be that way too. I'm drawn to you. I was sure you felt it too. Don't you care? I need some real love in my life before it's over …"

"My God, Patti! Listen to yourself! You have love in your life. Tom. Sure I care. But I care about both of you. This is no time to start something you can't end. I don't want this and neither do you. You're a beautiful woman, Patti. I'm not blind. But we can't do this. I'm not in love with you. I like you, and I respect you, but a love affair between the two of us is impossible."

I knew I was babbling; trying to talk my way out, spouting words with little meaning. She looked at me with vacant eyes and I kept going.

"Tom loves you. He told me so. He told me how you've always worked side-by-side with him. He told me how you helped set up this room and everything in it. He said it took both of you over a year of working together, and he's proud of that …"

"He did?"

"Yes. He did."

"He never told me that."

"Sometimes men are thoughtless about the wrong things. He probably assumed that you knew. Don't do this to him. Please. It's time for you to go home now. Right now. Get a good night's sleep and start over in the morning …"

*Good heavens … I sound like Dear Abby!*

Patti gathered herself and wiped her eyes daintily with the tip of a linen handkerchief. Her face was splotched from crying, and the pink of her cheeks was beginning to run, turning a sickly grayish hue. She looked at me blandly; the look of a lost child.

And I knew what it was. It jumped out at me like a bird, suddenly frightened out of a tree.

Then she seemed to gather herself. Placed a hand over the gap at the top of her dress. "I'm sorry, James," she whispered. "I'm a daydreaming, sentimental fool. Please forgive me."

Her hand settled on the doorknob, and then she was out in the hallway, pulling the door closed.

And then she was sticking her head back inside, and there was still a coquettish twinkle in her eyes.

I stared. Heaved an exhausted sigh.

"But I really do love you, James …"

The door closed behind her and she was gone.

I fell back into the desk chair. My knees buckled and I landed in an exhausted heap. I sat with my head down on my crossed arms at the desk, not knowing what to think, or what to say for myself Monday morning, or what to do next. Did Tom know?

What could possibly become of all this? Should I mention something to one of my colleagues? Could I trust any of them not to betray what I would tell them?

I sat for another half hour, my mind in turmoil and knowing that anything I might say about the situation could make me sound guilty. I might be suspected of assaulting an older woman. She might even say that it was I who came on to her … or she could say nothing … until it happened again.

And I knew it would.

Finally, I sat up and glanced around, trying to get my bearings and clear my mind. I had dropped my head onto the stack of medical journals which were of no interest now. But I also had a sheen of nervous sweat on my forehead. It had left a smudge on the top page, and it would not rub off.

I glanced down at the old journal without seeing it.

Then something at the bottom of the page caught my eye. And then my complete attention:

"Bold New Author Writes Controversial Article on Science of Nephrology:"

"Can Man Live Without Kidneys?"

We have not heard from Dr. Kyle Calloway before, but he has quickly become a total mystery to some in the Medical Profession.

Read more. Turn to Page 32 for the complete article.

Would YOU attempt something like this?

With my breath catching in my throat and Patti Gresh's amorous advances totally forgotten, I turned to the specified page and began to read.

By the time I'd ploughed halfway through the so-called "article", I was laughing through tears that blocked my vision, and I had to stop to regain composure.

The wording was so insane, and at the same time so artfully written, that it might have won an award on the literary market for confusion, convolution and Doublespeak, right from the pages of "Nineteen Eighty Four".

The article professed to be about and alluding to Nephrology, one of Gregory House's specialties. The word "Nephrology" actually appeared once or twice during the narrative. I saw the proof of House's genius in every word … and it was meticulously crafted, although a work of total nonsense. It had House's unique tongue-in-cheek signature stamped all over it, as familiar as Ronald McDonald's red hair.

Who to realize that truth more completely than me? This article was a setup: a siren song for the terminally obsessed. I immediately realized I was supposed to discover, on my own, where the old Wild Goose had flown to … and then I must fly there too.

"Dr. Kyle Calloway" indeed. If he'd wanted to use a hook to pull me in, this was surely the perfect one. I'd never mentioned the name of my high-school rival to anyone but Gregory House.

This article was nearly four years old. He had been searching for me that long? All I had to do now was track him down. And I would … now that I knew where to begin.

The grin on my face would have rebuilt the Walls of Jericho.

Patti and Tom Gresh would have to work things out in their marriage, and what would happen to them later, without any influence from me, or any attempt at an explanation. The explanation would manifest itself soon enough.

Patti had done me a favor, the likes of which she would never know. I would write a polite letter of resignation, explaining that a family emergency had caused me to leave without prior notice.

Then … like a coward … I would run away.

I suddenly felt an urgent need to get the hell out of Dodge. South Florida didn't look like the end of the rainbow any longer.

And I certainly wasn't ready for wife number four …

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