We'll Meet Again

“Ms. Simmons, it’s clear we have nothing to say to each other.” Peter Black stood up. “If you’ll excuse me…”

Fran remained seated. “No, I’m afraid I won’t. Dr. Black, you know I drove here from Manhattan because I have some questions for you. The fact that you allowed me to come was, in my opinion, a tacit acceptance of that understanding. I do think you owe me at least ten minutes of your time.”

Grudgingly Peter Black sank back into his chair. “Ten minutes, Ms. Simmons. Not a second more.”

“Thank you. I understand from Molly that you visited her Saturday night with the Whitehalls to ask her to delay my investigation because of your pending merger with other health maintenance organizations. Is that true?”

“That is true. I also had Molly’s welfare in mind. I explained that to you.”

“Dr. Black, you knew Dr. Jack Morrow, didn’t you?”

“Certainly. He was one of our physicians.”

“Were you friends?”

“Friendly. I’d say we were friendly. We respected each other. But did we socialize? No, we did not.”

“Did you quarrel with him shortly before he died?”

“No, I did not. I understand he had words with my colleague Dr. Lasch. I believe it was over a denial of coverage of a procedure Dr. Morrow had recommended for one of his patients.”

“Did you know that he referred to you and Dr. Lasch as ‘a pair of murderers’?”

“I certainly did not, but it doesn’t surprise me. Jack was a rash man and could get very hot under the collar.”

He’s scared, Fran thought as she studied Peter Black. He’s scared, and he’s lying.

“Doctor, did you know at the time that Gary Lasch was having an affair with Annamarie Scalli?”

“I did not. I was shocked when Gary confessed to it.”

“That was only hours before he died,” Fran said. “Isn’t that true?”

“Yes, it is. It had been obvious all week that Gary was upset, and on that Sunday Cal Whitehall and I went to see him. That’s when we heard about it.” Peter Black glanced at his watch and shifted forward slightly.

He’s ready to kick me out, Fran thought. I’ve got to get a couple more questions in first, though.

“Doctor, Gary Lasch was a close friend of yours, wasn’t he?”

“Very close. We met in medical school.”

“Did you see each other regularly after medical school?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I was working in Chicago right after graduation. Gary came here as soon as he completed his residency and went into practice with his father.” He stood. “Ms. Simmons, I really must insist on getting back to work.” He turned and walked toward his desk.

Fran followed him. “Doctor, one last question. Did you ask Gary Lasch to bring you here?”

“ Gary sent for me after his father died.”

“Doctor, with all due respect, he invited you to join him as an equal partner in the institution his father founded. There were a number of excellent physicians already in the Greenwich area who surely would have bought into the practice, but he chose you, even though you had only worked as a staff doctor in a rather undistinguished Chicago hospital. What made you so special?”

Peter Black whirled to face Fran. “Get out, Ms. Simmons!” he barked. “You have extraordinary gall to come up here and make libelous insinuations when half the people in this town were victims of your father’s thievery.”

Fran winced. “Touche,” she said. “Nevertheless, Dr. Black, I don’t intend to stop looking for answers to my questions. You’re certainly not providing me with any, are you?”

59

On Thursday morning, in Buffalo, New York, after a private funeral Mass, the remains of Annamarie Scalli were to be quietly interred in the family burial plot. No details of the service had been made public. There had been no wake. Her sister, Lucille Scalli Bonaventure, accompanied by her husband and two grown children, were the only people present for the private Mass and interment.

The lack of publicity had been a decision made and enforced by a grimly purposeful Lucy. Sixteen years older than Annamarie, she had always referred to her baby sister as her first child. Pleasant faced but plain herself, Lucy had delighted in the pretty little girl who grew up to be as smart as she was nice.

As Annamarie matured, Lucy and her mother frequently conferred about her choices in boyfriends and her possible career paths. They approved heartily when she chose nursing. It was a totally worthwhile career, and there was a good chance she would end up marrying a doctor. Who wouldn’t want to marry a girl like Annamarie? they agreed.

When she accepted the job at Lasch Hospital in Greenwich, Connecticut, they initially had been disappointed to have her go so far away from home, but when she twice brought Dr. Jack Morrow with her to Buffalo for a weekend visit with her mother, it had seemed as if all their dreams for Annamarie were going to come true.

As Lucy sat in the front row of the chapel during the brief service, she thought back to that happier time. She remembered how Jack Morrow would joke with Mama, telling her that even if Annamarie couldn’t cook like she did, he’d put up with her. She remembered especially the night he had complained, “Mama, how am I going to make that girl of yours fall in love with me?”

She was in love with him, Lucy thought as scalding tears burned her cheeks-until that hateful Gary Lasch decided to go after her. She shouldn’t be lying in that casket, Lucy thought angrily. She should have been married to Dr. Jack these past seven years. She could have been both a mother and a nurse-he wouldn’t have wanted her to give that up. Nursing was as much in her soul as being a doctor was in his.

Lucy turned and looked with anguish at the casket, covered with the white cloth symbolizing Annamarie’s baptism. You suffered so much because of that…that bastard, Gary Lasch, she thought. After he turned your head, you tried to tell me that you weren’t ready to marry Jack. But that wasn’t true. You were ready. You had just lost your way. Annamarie. You were a kid. He knew what he was doing.

“May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed…”

Lucy was barely aware of the monsignor’s voice as he blessed her sister’s casket. Her grief and her anger were too great. Annamarie, look at what that man did to you, Lucy thought. He ruined your life in every way. You even gave up bedside nursing, and at one time that was all you wanted to do. You wouldn’t talk about it, but I know you never forgave yourself for something that happened in that hospital. What was it?

And Dr. Jack. What about him? Poor Mama was so crazy about him, so impressed. She never called him Jack. Always Dr. Jack. You admitted that you never believed a drug addict killed him.

Annamarie, why were you so afraid for all those years? Even when Molly Lasch was in prison, you were afraid?

Little sister…Little sister.

Lucy became aware of raw, noisy sobs filling the chapel and knew they were coming from her. Her husband patted her hand, but she pulled it away. Right now the only person in the universe she felt connected to was Annamarie. The only consolation that came to her as the casket was wheeled down the aisle of the chapel was that maybe in a different world her sister and Jack Morrow might have a second chance at happiness.

After the interment, Lucy’s son and daughter escaped to their jobs, and her husband went back to the supermarket where he was a manager.

Lucy went home and began going through the dresser that had been Annamarie’s when she was growing up. It was kept in the bedroom in which she always stayed when she visited in Buffalo.

The top three drawers contained underwear, hosiery, and sweaters, left there so that Annamarie could use them when she came up for a weekend.

The bottom drawer was filled with pictures, framed and unframed, family albums, envelopes stuffed with snapshots, some letters and postcards.