Monday night after Scott Alterman’s call, Monica had barely slept. Tuesday night was the same. Her first thought on waking at six A.M. on Wednesday had again been of him. He’s not serious, she thought, as she had tried to convince herself all the previous day. He’s got to be bluffing. He wouldn’t give up his practice in Boston to move here.
Or would he? He’s a brilliant lawyer. He’s only forty years old and he’s successfully defended high-ranking politicians all over the country and has a national reputation. That’s just it. With that reputation he can go anywhere. Why not New York?
But even if he does relocate, except for occasional phone calls and sending flowers to the apartment once or twice, he hasn’t really bothered me much in the four years I’ve been here, she reassured herself. She tried to take comfort in that thought as she showered, dressed in a maroon sweater and matching slacks, and clipped on small pearl earrings. I shouldn’t even wear these, she thought. The babies always grab at them. Over coffee and cereal, she began to worry about Sally Carter again. Yesterday, I didn’t discharge her and that was a stretch. Today, unless she developed a fever during the night, I
At eight fifteen she was at the hospital to make her early rounds. She stopped at the nurses’ desk to speak to Rita Greenberg. “Sally’s temperature has stayed normal and she’s been eating pretty well. Do you want to sign her discharge papers, Doctor?” Rita asked.
“Before I do I want to talk to the mother myself,” Monica said. “I’ve got a heavy schedule at the office. Please call Ms. Carter and tell her I have to meet with her before I discharge Sally. I’ll be back here at noon.”
“I left a message yesterday to say that as a precaution you were keeping Sally for another twenty-four hours. I guess she got the message, because Mommy dearest never came to visit Sally. I checked with the evening shift. That lady is some piece of work.”
Dismayed, Monica walked into the cubicle containing Sally’s crib. The baby was sleeping on her side, her hands tucked under her cheek. Her light brown ringlets framed her forehead and curled around her ears. She did not stir when Monica’s trained hands felt her back, listening for a sign of a rattle or a wheeze, but there was none.
Monica realized she was yearning to pick up Sally and have her wake up in her arms. Instead, she turned abruptly, left the cubicle, and began to make the rest of her rounds. All her little patients were progressing well. Not like Carlos Garcia, who was touch and go for so long, she thought. Not like Michael O’Keefe, who should have died three years ago.
In the corridor to the elevator she ran into Ryan Jenner, who was approaching from the opposite direction. This morning he was wearing a white jacket. “No surgery today, Doctor?” she asked as she passed him.
She had expected a casual “Not today” kind of answer tossed over his shoulder, but Jenner stopped. “And no windswept blond tresses,” he replied. “Monica, some of my friends from Georgetown are coming up for the weekend. We’re having cocktails at my place and going out to a Thai restaurant on Friday night. A couple of them, Genine Westervelt and Natalie Kramer, told me they hoped you’d be there. How about it?”
Startled at the suddenness of the unexpected invitation, Monica’s response was hesitant. “Well…”
Then, realizing she was being asked to meet with former fellow students and not for a personal date, she said, “I’d love to see Genine and Natalie again.”
“Good. I’ll e-mail you.” Jenner moved briskly down the corridor away from her. As Monica again began to walk to the elevator, she impulsively turned her head to look at his retreating back and was embarrassed to meet his glance.
Sheepishly, they nodded to each other as they simultaneously quickened their pace in opposite directions.
Promptly at noon Monica was back in the hospital waiting for Renee Carter, who arrived at twelve thirty, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had kept Monica waiting. She was wearing an obviously expensive olive green suit with a short belted jacket. A black high-neck sweater, black stockings, and impossibly high black heels gave her the look of a fashion model about to embark on the runway. Her short auburn hair was tucked behind her ears, creating a frame for a very pretty face that had been further enhanced by expertly applied makeup. She’s not going home to take care of Sally, Monica thought. She’s probably got a lunch date. I wonder how much time she spends with that poor baby?
A week ago it had been the elderly babysitter who brought Sally to the emergency room. Renee Carter had arrived an hour later, wearing an evening gown and defensively explaining that the baby had been fine when she left her earlier that evening, and that she hadn’t realized her cell phone was turned off.
Now Monica realized that even with the makeup, Carter looked older than she had appeared that night. At least thirty-five, she thought.
Today, Carter was accompanied by a young woman of about twenty, who nervously volunteered that she was Kristina Johnson, Sally’s new nanny.
Carter made no attempt at apologizing for being late. Nor, Monica noticed with dismay, did she make any attempt to pick up Sally. “I fired the other babysitter,” she explained in a voice that bordered on being nasal. “She didn’t tell me that Sally had been coughing all day. But I know Kristina won’t make that kind of mistake. She’s been highly recommended.”
She turned to Kristina. “Why don’t you dress Sally while I talk to the doctor?”
Sally began wailing when Monica, followed by Renee Carter, left the cubicle. Monica did not turn back to look at her. Instead, heavyhearted at the thought that Sally was being taken away by this seemingly indifferent mother, she firmly warned Carter to pay close attention to Sally’s allergies. “Do you have any pets, Ms. Carter?” she asked.
After a moment’s hesitation, Renee Carter said reassuringly, “No, I don’t have time for them, Doctor.” Then, with visible impatience, she listened as Monica explained the importance of watching for signs of asthma in Sally.
“I certainly understand, Doctor, and I want you to take over as Sally’s pediatrician,” she said hurriedly, when Monica asked her if she had any questions. Then she called into the cubicle, “Kristina, you about ready? I’m running late.”
She turned back to Monica. “I’ve got a car waiting outside, Doctor,” she explained. “I’ll drop Sally and Kristina at my apartment.” Then, seeing something in Monica’s face, she added, “Of course, I’ll make sure Sally is settled before I leave her.”
“I’m sure you will. I’ll call you this evening to see how Sally is doing. You will be home, won’t you?” Monica asked, not caring that the tone of her voice was icy and disapproving. She looked at the chart. “This is your correct number, isn’t it?”
Renee Carter nodded her head impatiently as Monica read off the number, then turned and hurried back into the cubicle. “For Pete’s sake, Kristina,” she snapped, “hurry up! I haven’t got all day.”
11
He’s on the warpath, Esther Chambers thought as Greg Gannon strode through her office after lunch on Wednesday without acknowledging her presence. What’s happened since this morning? She watched as he went into his private office and picked up the file she had prepared for him. A moment later he was standing at her desk. “I haven’t had time to go through this stuff,” he snapped. “You’re sure everything is in order?”
She wanted to snap back,
With mounting resentment, she watched as he stalked toward the double glass doors and turned down the corridor that led to the conference room of the Gannon Foundation.
He’s worried, Esther thought. What’s he got to worry about? His funds are all showing an excellent return, but half the time he’s in a rotten mood. I’m sick of it, she thought wearily, he’s getting worse and worse. With a flash of anger she remembered how Greg’s father was barely in his grave twenty-five years ago when Greg announced he was moving the offices of both the investment firm and the foundation to lavish suites on Park Avenue. That was also when he told her that for appearances’ sake, it would be better if she always addressed him as “Mr. Gannon,” not “Greg.”
