Godplayer (23 page)

Happily, when she entered her office, Maureen still was nowhere to be seen.

Cassi knew she was going to have difficulty concentrating on what Maureen had to say because Robert’s decision to have his surgery brought up the issue of her own. She knew Robert was right. After a moment’s indecision, she dialed Thomas’s office.

Unfortunately, he was still in surgery.

“I don’t know when he will be out,” said Doris. “But I know it will be late because he called me and told me to cancel his afternoon office hours.”

Cassi thanked her and hung up. Blankly she stared at her Monet print.

Joan’s comment about the “impaired physician” disrupting his appointment schedule flashed into her mind. Then she dismissed the thought. Thomas had obviously canceled his office hours because he was stuck in surgery.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. Maureen’s listless face appeared in the doorway.

“Come in,” said Cassi as cheerfully as she could. She suspected that the next fifty minutes were going to be a good example of the blind leading the blind.

It was Doris, not Thomas, who called Cassi in the middle of the afternoon to say that Dr. Kingsley would meet her at the front entrance to the hospital at six o’clock sharp. She insisted Cassi be on time because of the party that night. Cassi was in the lobby promptly, but when the clock over the information booth showed twenty after six, she worried that she may have gotten the message wrong.

The entrance of the hospital was crowded with waves of people coming and going. The people leaving were primarily employees, and they chattered and laughed, glad to see the workday come to an end. Those arriving were mostly visitors who seemed subdued and intimidated as they lined up in front of the information booth to get directions from the volunteers in their green smocks.

Watching the crowds made time pass, and when Cassi looked back at the clock, it was almost six-thirty. Finally she decided to call Thomas’s office, but as she moved toward the phone, she caught a glimpse of his head above the crowd. He looked as tired as Cassi felt. His face was shadowed, which turned out to be an irregular growth of beard as if he’d not shaved carefully that morning. As he came closer, Cassi could see that his eyes were red-rimmed.

Unsure of her reception, Cassi held her tongue. When she realized that Thomas had no intention of talking or even stopping, she hooked her arm in his and was carried toward the rapidly revolving door.

Outside Cassi was confronted by a mixture of rain and snow, which melted the instant the flakes touched the ground. Hefting her bag onto her shoulder, she shielded her face and stumbled behind Thomas toward the parking garage.

Once inside the garage, he stopped and, finally turning to Cassi, said, “Awful weather.”

“We’re paying for such a nice fall,” said Cassi, encouraged that Thomas did not seem to be in a bad mood. Maybe Patricia would not tell him of the visit to his study.

The engine of the Porsche reverberated like thunder in the garage. As he watched the dials and gauges, Cassi carefully did up her seat belt. It took a conscious effort for her not to tell Thomas to do his, especially given the bad weather, but remembering his previous response, Cassi remained silent.

Whenever it snowed, traffic in Boston slowed to a frustrating stop-and-go mess. As Thomas and Cassi proceeded east on Storrow Drive, it was mostly stop. Although Cassi wanted to talk, she was afraid to break the silence.

“Did you hear from Robert Seibert today?” Thomas finally asked.

Cassi swung her head around. Thomas still had his eyes on the road despite the fact that the car was immobilized in a sea of red taillights. He seemed hypnotized by the rhythmic click-clack of the windshield wipers.

“I did speak to Robert today,” admitted Cassi, surprised at the question. “How did you know?”

“I’d heard that one of George Sherman’s patients had died. Apparently it wasn’t expected, and I wondered if your friend Robert was still interested in that series of his.”

“Absolutely,” said Cassi. “I went up after the autopsy. And when I did, Robert told me how you rescued him at death conference. I think that was very nice of you, Thomas.”

“I wasn’t trying to be nice,” said Thomas. “I was interested in what he had to say. But he was a fool to do what he did, and I still think he should get his butt kicked.”

“I think he did get his butt kicked,” said Cassi.

With a faint smile Thomas took advantage of the thinning traffic and goosed his car up the grade to the expressway.

“Was this last death another suspicious one?” he asked as the car accelerated to seventy, He drove with both hands on the wheel, blinking his high beams furiously as he came up behind people traveling more slowly.

“Robert thinks so,” said Cassi, her hands involuntarily gripping each other. Thomas’s driving always scared her. “But he hasn’t done the brain yet. He thinks the patient convulsed prior to death.”

“So it wasn’t like the last case?” asked Thomas.

“No,” said Cassi. “But Robert thinks the situations are related.” Purposely she kept her own role in the discussion secret. “Most of the patients, particularly over the last several years, have died after their acute postoperative course was over. One point that occurred to Robert today was that all the patients may have been on IV when they died. He’s checking on that now. It could be significant.”

“Why? Does Robert think these deaths could be suspicious?” asked Thomas with shock.

“I guess it’s occurred to him,” said Cassi. “After all, there was a case in New Jersey where a series of patients were given something like curate.”

“That’s true, but they all died with the same symptoms.”

“Well,” said Cassi. “I guess Robert feels that he has to consider all possibilities. I know it sounds awful and it certainly accentuates any insecurities Robert has about his own imminent surgery.” Cassi was hoping to shift the topic to her own operation.

“What kind of surgery is Robert going to have?”

“He’s finally having his impacted wisdom teeth removed. Since he had rheumatic heart disease as a child, he has to be treated with prophylactic antibiotics.”

“He’d be a fool not to,” agreed Thomas. “Although he must have suicidal tendencies. That’s the only way I can explain his behavior at that death conference. Cassi, I want you to be sure to stay away from this so-called SSD study, especially if there are going to be ludicrous accusations. With everything else going on, I certainly don’t need that kind of grief.”

Cassi watched the cars in front as the Porsche relentlessly passed them. The monotonous movement of the windshield wipers mesmerized her as she tried to find the courage to broach her own operation. She’d promised herself she’d start speaking as soon as they came abreast of that yellow car. But the yellow car soon dropped behind them. Then it was the bus. But they’d passed that, too, and still Cassi remained silent. She gave up in despair, hoping that Thomas would bring up the subject himself.

The tension exhausted her. The idea of Ballantine’s party seemed less and less attractive. She had trouble understanding why Thomas, of all people, wanted to go. He hated hospital affairs. The idea occurred to Cassi that maybe he was going for her benefit. If that were the case, it was ridiculous. All Cassi could think about was clean sheets and their comfortable bed. She decided she’d say something when they got to the next overpass.

“Do you really want to go to this party tonight?” asked Cassi hesitantly as an overpass flashed above them.

“Why do you ask?” Thomas pulled the car sharply to the right, then gunned the engine to pass a car that had ignored his blinking high beam.

“If you’re going for me,” said Cassi, “I’m exhausted. I’d much rather stay home.”

“Goddammit,” shouted Thomas, banging the steering wheel. “Must you always think only of yourself?. I told you weeks ago that the board of directors and the deans of the medical school are going to be there. Something strange is going on in the hospital that they are not telling me. But I don’t suppose you think that’s important?”

As Thomas reddened with anger, Cassi sank in her seat. She had a feeling that no matter what she said, it would only make matters worse.

Thomas lapsed into a sullen silence. He drove even more recklessly, taking the car up to ninety as they crossed the salt marshes. Despite the seat belt, Cassi found herself being thrown from side to side as the car rounded the sharp bends. She was relieved when he began to down shift before turning into their driveway.

By the time they got to the front door, Cassi had become resigned about the party. She apologized for not understanding its implications and added gently, “You look tired yourself.”

“Thanks! I appreciate your vote of confidence,” said Thomas sarcastically. He started for the stairs.

“Thomas,” called Cassi desperately. She could tell he’d interpreted her concern as an insult. “Does it have to be like this?”

“I think this is the way you want it.”

Cassi tried to object.

“Let’s not have a scene, please!” yelled Thomas. Then in a more controlled voice he said, “We’ll leave in an hour. You’re the one who looks terrible. Your hair is a mess. I hope you’re planning on doing something with it.”

“I will,” said Cassi. “Thomas, I don’t want us to fight. It terrifies me.”

“I’m not getting into this kind of discussion,” snapped Thomas. “Not now. Be ready in an hour.”

Hurrying into his study he went directly to the bathroom, mumbling under his breath about Cassi’s selfishness. He’d told her very specifically about the party and why it was important, but she’d conveniently forgotten because she was too tired! “Why do I have to put up with this,” he said, running a hand over his beard.

Getting out his shaving paraphernalia, Thomas washed and lathered his face. Cassi was becoming more than a source of irritation. She was becoming a burden. First her eye problems, then her preoccupation with the fact he took an occasional drug, and now her association with Seibert’s provocative paper.

Thomas began to shave with short, irritated strokes. It was beginning to feel as if everyone were against him, both at home and in the hospital.

At work the key offender was George Sherman, who was constantly undermining him with all the supposed teaching bullshit. just thinking about it filled Thomas with such frustration that he threw his razor into the shower with all the force he could muster. It ricocheted off the tiled walls with a clatter before coming to rest near the drain.

Leaving the razor where it was, Thomas got into the shower. The running water always tended to soothe him, and after he’d stood under the spray for a few minutes, he felt better. While he was drying, he heard the door to his study open. Expecting it was Cassi, he didn’t bother to look, but when he was done in the bathroom, he opened the door to find Patricia sitting in his armchair.

“Didn’t you hear me come in?” she asked.

“No,” said Thomas. It was easier to fib. He went to the cabinet below the bookshelves where he’d been keeping some of his clothes.

“I can remember when you used to take me to these hospital parties,” said Patricia plaintively.

“You’re welcome to come,” said Thomas.

“No. If you’d really wanted me you would have invited me rather than making me ask.”

Thomas thought it better not to respond. Whenever Patricia was in one of these “hurt” moods, it was safer to say nothing.

“Last night I saw the light come on in the study here, and I thought you’d come home. Instead I found Cassandra in here.”

“In my study?” demanded Thomas.

“She was right over there behind your desk.” Patricia pointed.

“What was she doing?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask her.” Patricia stood up with a self-satisfied expression. “I told you she would be trouble. But, oh no! You knew better,” She sauntered out of the room and closed the door gently behind her.

Thomas threw his clean clothes onto the sofa and went to his desk.

Pulling out the drawer with his drugs, he was relieved to see the bottles of pills exactly as he’d left them behind the stationery.

Even so Cassi was driving him crazy. He’d warned her to stay away from his belongings. Thomas could feel himself begin to shake. Instinctively he reached into his cache of pills and extracted two: a Percodan for the headache he could feel behind his eyes and a Dexedrine to wake him up.

If it was worth going to this party, he should at least be alert.

Cassi could sense a tremendous change for the worse in Thomas’s mood as they drove toward Manchester. She’d heard Patricia come into the house and guessed that she’d visited Thomas. It didn’t take too much imagination to figure out what she’d told him. Since Thomas had already been in poor humor, she couldn’t have chosen a worse time.

Cassi had made a real effort to look her best. After taking her evening insulin, which she’d upped because of sugar showing up in her urine, she’d bathed and washed her hair. Then she’d selected one of the dresses that Robert had suggested. It was a deep brown velvet with puffed sleeves and a tight bodice that gave her a charming medieval look.

Thomas said nothing about her appearance. In fact he said nothing at all.