could change. I can’t even be specific. Something could happen. Another reporter, say, could stumble onto the story. I couldn’t allow him or her to beat me. You see?
“But, for now,” Pat took out her note pad, “let’s forget your family planning policies and get back to the original thrust of this story—the hospital, its past, its present, its future, and you.”
Eileen sighed in relief. “Fair enough. I must admit that the possibility of your doing that story has been like a cloud hovering over me ever since we talked about it. This is welcome news!”
“But . . .”
“Yes, I understand your reservation. And if another reporter were going to develop the story, I would make certain you got every bit of cooperation we could provide. It would be the least we could do in return for the favor you’re doing us. Now,” Eileen checked her watch, “how about joining me for a little lunch?”
“Could we talk during lunch?”
“Better. You can meet more of the staff.”
“It’s a deal.”
* * *
“What were you doing here last night?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, it was the evening shift. And you never volunteer for that. We don’t even have volunteers for that shift.” Ethel Laidlaw lifted her cup and allowed the excess coffee to drip back into the saucer. There had been a spill.
“What makes you think I was here last night?” Bruce Whitaker moved his glass about, making thin white circles on the table. He’d had a spill.
“’Cause I seen you. “
“You did?” Pause. “Are you sure?”
“Certainly! I know who you are. I seen you on the main floor after visiting hours.”
Trepidation welled up in Whitaker. She had seen him. Of that there was little doubt. But where had he been when she saw him? How much had she seen? How much did she know? Could she, as his colleagues had warned, prove to be a serious barrier to his goal? And what would he do—what could he do—if she became an obstacle in his path?
“So . . .”A little more milk slopped over and he began making new thin white circles on the table. “. . . you think you saw me, eh? Well, then, smartie, where was I when you saw me?”
“Down around pastoral care. What’s such a big deal anyway? So you were here after hours. So what? What I couldn’t figure out was why you were slinking around. Why was that?”
“What?” He was stalling, shamelessly stalling, to figure a clever way out of this without having to do something drastic.
“Sneaking around! Why were you sneaking around?”
“I . . . I was on a special mission, Ethel. I can’t go into it in any kind of detail. But I was on a special mission. A secret mission.”
“Okay.”
She bought it! He couldn’t believe it. Maybe he had missed his calling. Perhaps he should have been a spy. Or maybe ambassador to the U.N. He had never before tried his hand at subtle equivocation. It wasn’t so difficult.
“So, Ethel . . .”He ceased creating circles; he had used up all the excess milk on his glass. “. . . what were you doing on the main floor at that hour, if I might turn the tables?”
“Saving you.”
“What?”
“From the guard.”
“What guard?”
“The one who was about to find you when you were hiding against the wall.”
“Uh . . .”
“You remember: You were going along the wall, keeping in the shadows, on your secret mission. And that guard challenged you. He was about to shine his light on you.”
“Uh . . .then what happened?”
“I coughed. Didn’t you hear me?”
“No.”
“Well, the guard did. Then he found me instead of you.”
“No kidding? No kidding! Then what happened?”
“Then I . . . uh . . . distracted him.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“To help you, Bruce. You looked like you needed help. I mean, I didn’t know you were on a secret mission. But it did look like you didn’t want that guard to find you. So I made sure he didn’t.”
“And you don’t know where I went after that?”
“No, silly! I was distracting the guard. So your great big special mission is still a secret.”
“Gee, Ethel, that was really great of you! That was a big help. And I didn’t even know. Gosh, I wish there was something I could do for you. I mean, in return for what you did for me.”
Ethel sighed elaborately. “Maybe there is.” She bit into her sandwich and realized that she should not have ordered egg salad. She had been trying, not altogether successfully, to convince Bruce that she was not a congenital klutz. Now here she was with egg salad squeezed out the other side of her sandwich, dripping from her fingers to the plate. It was not a good show.
“You mean there’s some way I can help you?” Bruce seemed not to notice Ethel’s eggy predicament. He might have been preoccupied with renewing the white circles. He had had another spill.
“I need to get that nun out of my hair. But for the life of me, I can’t think how to do it.” She licked her fingers, but to little avail. The egg salad was now dripping from the other side of the sandwich.
“What nun?”
“Sister Eileen.”
“You mean the head of this hospital?”
“Uh-huh.”
His heart soared. Could they be in on the same mission? “But why?”
“Because if I don’t get rid of her, she’s going to get rid of me. “
“But why?”
“There have been reports, entirely unproven, that I am . . . uh . . . clumsy. And that I’ve caused some damage.”
“Ethel!”
“Yes. And at a meeting just this morning, she threatened to fire me if she heard any more of those unfounded rumors. And . . . and . . . Bruce, Bruce, what am I going to do if she fires me? I’ll never be able to get another job. There just aren’t that many jobs around now. And getting fired . . . and not having a recommendation . . . oh, Bruce, I don’t know what to do!”
She was on the verge of tears. As she reached for her cup, a gob of egg salad dropped into the coffee, splashing some into the saucer. When she lifted the cup, there’d be another slop-over.
Bruce was confused. Which was bad news for the integrity of the food in front of him. He did not know how to handle a woman under the best of circumstances, let alone one on the verge of tears.
“That was cruel of her, Ethel.” He tried to touch her arm reassuringly, but managed only to spill more coffee. “But I don’t understand. What did you mean when you said something about getting rid of Sister? How do you mean ‘get rid of’?”
“Oh, I’d just like to kill her!” She shook her head. “I’ve been having such terrible headaches. I even think I may be having one of those—what do you call them—personality changes. It scares me!”
“Ethel . . .” Bruce leaned forward, dragging his tie through the gravy. “. . . you don’t mean . . . m . . . m . . . murder!”
“Oh, Bruce, I don’t know,” she almost wailed. “I just can’t think.”
“Ethel”—by now his tie was stirring the gravy—“I may be able to help you. To solve your problem. Not the way you have in mind. But just as good.”
