v
The next time Leslie opened her eyes she was propped up into a semisitting
position on a narrow bed with a thin, hard mattress and covered by a stiff white
sheet that smelled of strong detergent. A sickly-green curtain, a shade darker
than the equally nauseating tiles on the walls, covered the doorway. The
overhead light was so bright she was forced to squint. She was ? eetingly very
happy she didn’t have a migraine. What she did have was a plethora of
intravenous lines and leads and other things she didn’t recognize connecting her
to an assortment of monitoring devices that ringed the bed. Surely whatever was
wrong with her didn’t warrant this much attention. She felt a frisson of anxiety
that she quickly squelched and fumbled around on the bed for a call button.
Annoyed when she found none, she considered shouting, but decided that
would only win her even more unwanted interest.
In search of the handle to lower the bed rail, she slid her hand along the outside
of the stretcher. She’d just located it when the curtain was twitched aside and a
smiling man in a white lab coat entered. The words Emergency Physician were
embroidered in red, slanting letters over his left breast pocket. Beneath that was
his name. Peter Erhart, M.D.
“I’m Dr. Erhart.” He stated the obvious and pressed Leslie’s hand by way of
greeting. “How are you feeling?”
“Other than a little tired, ? ne. I hope you’re here to discharge me.”
The doctor pulled a stainless steel stool to the side of the stretcher and sat
down. When he crossed his arms on the top of the bed rail, he and Leslie were
nearly eye to eye. “We’d like to keep you overnight for observation.”
• 22 •
WHEN DREAMS TREMBLE
Leslie’s stomach tightened, but she knew from experience that nothing would
show on her face. Calmly, she asked, “Why is that?”
“Your EKG shows frequent runs of supraventricular tachycardia and occasional
short bursts of atrial ? utter accompanied by a precipitous drop in your blood
pressure.”
“Which is why I fainted.”
Dr. Erhart looked surprised. “I understand you’re an attorney. Do you handle
medical cases?”
“No, but my…an associate does. I understand what you’re saying.”
She’d discussed enough malpractice cases with Rachel to understand the
terminology. She wondered idly if anyone had called Rachel, and then realized
no one would have had any reason to. A few people in the of? ce, including
Stephanie, were probably aware of her relationship with Rachel Hawthorne, but
it wasn’t as if they presented themselves as a couple. Which they weren’t. Not
technically. She realized her mind was wandering, something else that never
happened to her, and she forced herself to focus. “What’s causing it and what
needs to be done about it?”
Dr. Erhart smiled. “I wish I could answer both questions right now, but I can’t.
Any number of things could be causing the accelerated heart rate, including ?
uctuations in hormone levels, medications, drugs.”
When he let the last word linger in the air, Leslie narrowed her eyes. “I’m not on
any medication and I don’t take drugs of any kind. I don’t smoke and I drink in
moderation.”
“Your baseline blood pressure is also off the charts for someone your age. So it
might be something as simple as stress…perhaps something at work? Or at
home?”
“No. Neither.” Leslie made an impatient gesture, which was cut short by the taut
intravenous line tethering her to a nearby pole. “Look.
I understand the need to be thorough and—”
The ? uttering in her chest started at the same time as the monitor next to the
bed began to screech. She struggled to catch her breath and found she couldn’t.
She was aware of Dr. Erhart speaking into the intercom next to the door, and
after what seemed like an eternity, a woman in scrubs appeared and injected
something into Leslie’s IV line.
A minute later the monitor fell silent, and the wild churning in her chest subsided.
• 23 •
RADCLY fFE
“Jesus,” Leslie whispered, still short of breath. “What was that?”
“That was another run of very rapid tachycardia,” Dr. Erhart said solemnly. He
turned to the nurse. “Call admissions and tell them we’ll need a telemetry bed
for Ms. Harris.”
This time, Leslie didn’t argue. “I need to make some calls. Could someone see if
Stephanie Ackerman is here?”
As Leslie suspected, Stephanie had come to the hospital directly from the
courthouse. When she appeared, Leslie felt ridiculously comforted. “Thanks for
sticking around, Steph.”
“Hey,” Stephanie said softly. “Of course I would.” She glanced at the monitors
on either side of the bed and then back at Leslie. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, they’re just being careful. CYA.” Leslie trusted Stephanie, but she had no
intention of sharing the details. After all, it was all going to be straightened out in
a matter of a few hours. “By the time they ? nish with all their tests, I’m
probably not going to get out of here until the morning. I’ll need you to check
with Bill and ? nd out how the judge is going to rule on continuing the trial.”
Stephanie made notes on the rest of Leslie’s requests and promised to call her
that evening with any follow-up.
“I think that does it.” Leslie leaned back and closed her eyes, more tired than
she’d realized. “Thanks. I’ll call you when I get home in the morning.”
“Sure.” Stephanie hesitated. “Uh…anyone else you’d like me to call?”
Frowning, Leslie opened her eyes. “Did I forget something?”
“I meant personally.”
Leslie blushed. “Oh. I don’t know that that’s necessary. But thanks.”
“Sure.”
Feeling as if she should explain, Leslie added, “I’ll take care of those calls when
I get upstairs.”
“I understand. If you need anything, you know my number.”
“’Preciate it.” Leslie smiled goodbye, glad for the quiet and the chance to close
her eyes again.
When a cheerful middle-aged Asian man arrived to transport her to her room,
Leslie was surprised to discover that she’d slept for almost two hours. When
she was ? nally settled and alone after repeating her medical history yet again to
the nurses and resident staff, she used the
• 24 •
WHEN DREAMS TREMBLE
