03/24/2014
The day is coming to a close. Dr. Alicia Hunt and her husband are sitting propped up in their bed, each with a laptop. At the same time is the local nightly news broadcast. The doctor's attention is on her computer when she hears a familiar name. She looks up at the television screen. "Lockhart Gardner? What did they say?"
"I didn't catch it," says her husband.
She opens up an on-line search for Lockhart Gardner. The story is right there. She reads parts of it aloud. "Will Gardner, dead at 48, partner at the firm of Lockhart Gardner, ummmm shot in court, ummmm allegedly by his client, ummmm, got the gun from a sheriff in the court room, ummmmm yesterday midday. The office must be in turmoil."
"Did you know him?" asks her husband.
"No. His firm is connected to one of my contracts."
Her phone rings. The screen shows the name and number of her partner at the university. Dr. Alicia puts him on speaker. "Did you see the news about Lockhart Gardner?"
"Ya, just now."
"It shouldn't affect our contract," he says.
"I wouldn't think so," she agrees. "See you in the morning."
"Night."
Dr. Alicia's first thought is of Kalinda. She must know him. She begins to call her, when she realizes it's 11:20p.m. A text message would be better, she thought. 'I just heard about Will Gardner. Office must be in turmoil. Will call in the morning. I'm sorry.' Send text.
Dr. Alicia calls Kalinda's number shortly after 08:00. Kalinda doesn't answer so she leaves a message. "It's Alicia Hunt. I heard about Will Gardner. Just want to touch base. My condolences. I'll call again."
It's 1p.m. She hasn't gotten any response from Kalinda. She tries her phone again. "It's Alicia Hunt. I'll try your office." She calls the offices of Lockhart Gardner. The receptionist answers, "Lockhart Gardner."
"Kalinda Sharma, please," requests Dr. Alicia.
"She's not in. Are you a client? Or a personal friend?"
"A friend," answers the doctor.
"I can take a personal message if you like," says the receptionist.
"No," decides the doctor. "I've left her messages on her phone."
The receptionist lowers the tone of her voice, as if she doesn't want to be heard by the others near her. "Are you a close friend?"
"Ya. Pretty close," answers the doctor.
The receptionist, in a whisper, says, "She's not doing well."
"Ok. I got it. Thanks. Really. Thanks." She hangs up and begins to plan. She's avoiding me, which is not a good sign. She's not coping well with the mourning. The doctor dials Kalinda's phone again, knowing full well she won't pick up. "Kalinda, it's Alicia Hunt. I'm out looking for you. Where are you?"
Without much delay, Dr. Alicia receives a text message. 'I'm fine.' The doctor responds repeating her request, 'Where are you?' There will be no more communication. The doctor knows this.
At the end of the day, Dr. Alicia pulls Kalinda's home address from the computer record. She makes her way to the building, finds the apartment door and knocks persistently. No answer. She returns to the lobby of the building and waits.
After a time, Kalinda opens the lobby door and spots Dr. Alicia. "What are you doing here?" she says to the doctor.
"I've been looking for you," answers Dr. Alicia.
"I'm fine," Kalinda assures her. "You should go home."
"I will, in a minute." The doctor assesses her state. Kalinda is sober, but she looks like she's been through hell.
Kalinda gets in the elevator. The doctor follows her in. "What are you doing?" Kalinda asks again.
"I'm visiting for a minute," the doctor lies. She follows Kalinda out of the elevator and down the hallway to the apartment door. Kalinda opens the door and goes in. Dr. Alicia is right behind her. She does not react to the sparseness or whiteness of it all.
"I don't even have a place for you to sit," Kalinda says.
"I'll sit where you sit," the doctor returns.
"I sit on the bed," says Kalinda, thinking that might make her uncomfortable enough to leave.
Dr. Alicia looks around, heads toward the door that must be the bedroom, opens it, goes in, and sits on the bed. Kalinda is right behind her.
"You should go," says Kalinda.
"I will, in a minute."
Kalinda is exhausted. "I don't have the strength for this right now," she tells the doctor.
"Then stop fighting me, because I'm well rested and I can go on like this for a while."
Kalinda sits down on the bed. The doctor thinks she's on the verge of tears. She isn't sure how big an event this is going to be… if it is going to be. She remembers very clearly the woman telling her she hasn't cried since she was 14.
Unbeknownst to the doctor, that's no longer true … by a lot.
The doctor rises from the bed, crosses the room, and puts out the lights. Only the moonlight streaming through the window keeps the room from being completely black.
"Were you friends?"
Kalinda hesitates. It was hard for her to get a word out. "Yes."
"Close friends?"
In a whisper, "Yes."
"I can't see you," says the doctor. "Stop fighting what you feel."
Kalinda begins to weep. "For three days. I can't stop." Her voice is trembling. "I don't know how to stop."
"Don't stop," the doctor advises. "It has to get out." She sits beside Kalinda and holds her hand in the dark while she continues to weep. "I'm going to hold you now," the doctor says. She's not asking if she'd like to be held. "You're going to let me." The doctor takes control and Kalinda has no choice but to let the grief consume her. How long this is to last, is to be determined by Kalinda.
"Lay your head down on the pillow now and sleep."
Kalinda does as she's told.
When Kalinda seems settled, the doctor phones her husband. Dr. Alicia always uses the speaker. "I won't be home tonight."
"Ok. Yes. I see you," he says. The doctor always turns on her GPS tracker app when she's out in the field so that he can follow her. "Are you safe?"
"Yes."
"Ok. Call if you need me. Love you." And he is gone.
When Kalinda is asleep, Dr. Alicia lays down to sleep beside her.
In the morning, Dr. Alicia wakes up alone in the bed. She gets up, anxious to check on Kalinda. As she passes the dresser in the full light of the morning, she notices a photograph. It is a snapshot of Will and Kalinda, probably at a party, Kalinda with her hair down.
She finds Kalinda in the kitchen in her robe, with a cup of hot tea in her hands. She looks completely spent. There is no longer any hint of make-up on her face.
"How's your morning?" asks the doctor.
"Better," replies Kalinda, genuinely. "Men talk to their wives like that?"
"Ya."
"None I ever knew."
"My friend, I'm going to go now." And the doctor lets herself out of the apartment. It has not been a minute's visit. Sometimes you need a small white lie.