Chương 4
I had never asked them to remove any of it.
I had also never asked anyone to describe what time had done to the room.
“Hannah.”
“Yes?”
“Is Caroline’s photograph dusty?”
She hesitated.
“A little.”
“Why?”
“The cleaning staff avoids touching personal items.”
“Because I told them to?”
“I don’t know.”
I almost told her to wipe it.
Instead, I sat behind the desk.
“Find Martin Shaw.”
“My attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Call him?”
“No.”
“Then how am I supposed to find him?”
“That came out wrong.”
“It really did.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Ask him to come here.”
She made the call from across the room.
Martin arrived ninety minutes later smelling faintly of rain and expensive cologne.
He had represented my father before representing me and had perfected the voice of a man who could tell you your house had burned down while making it sound like a scheduling inconvenience.
“Grant.”
“Sit.”
He sat.
Hannah left without being asked.
Martin waited until the door closed.
“Daniel said you were in a mood.”
“Daniel talks too much.”
“He worries.”
“So does everyone.”
“That is the curse of being difficult to replace.”
I ignored that.
“I want my Pier 17 hospital records.”
“You have them.”
“I want the originals.”
“You mean certified copies.”
“I mean everything the hospital has.”
“That can be requested.”
“Without Hale knowing.”
The room changed.
Martin shifted in his chair.
“Why would Vernon know?”
“He was my attending physician.”
“One of them.”
“Exactly.”
Martin folded something, probably his glasses, judging by the tiny hinge sound.
“Is this about a lawsuit?”
“No.”
“Then I’m missing a step.”
“You’re allowed.”
“You usually charge me for missing steps.”
“I want the records.”
He breathed in slowly.
“All right.”
“Today.”
“Medical records departments do not operate according to your preferred definition of today.”
“You’ve gotten federal injunctions faster.”
“Federal judges answer their phones more reliably than hospital clerks.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“Request everything.”
“Imaging.”
“Yes.”
“Operative reports.”
“Yes.”
“Nursing notes.”
“Yes.”
“Medication administration records.”
Martin stopped.
“You’re looking for something.”
“Maybe.”
“Grant.”
“If I knew what it was, I wouldn’t need the records.”
That satisfied him enough to proceed, but not enough to stop thinking.
He removed his phone.
“Your authorization will be required.”
“Put it in front of me.”
“You could use the digital signature.”
“I said put it in front of me.”
Martin went still.
Then paper slid across the desk.
He guided my finger to the signature line.
The pen trembled once between my fingers.
I hated that he noticed.
I hated more that I cared.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Yes.”
I placed my palm flat on the desk.
“Who controls my medical trust?”
“Technically, you do.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Martin took longer this time.
“Day-to-day authorization is delegated.”
“To whom?”
“Daniel for logistical expenses and Vernon for treatment-related approvals.”
“When did that happen?”
“After the accident.”
“I signed it?”
“Yes.”
“Was I conscious?”
His chair creaked.
“That is not a funny question.”
“I’m not joking.”
“You signed a durable management authorization three weeks after discharge.”
Three weeks after discharge.
A period I remembered mostly through sound.
Hale’s voice.
Cross opening curtains I could not see.
The clink of ice in whiskey glasses at two in the morning.
Caroline’s sister crying in the downstairs powder room because she thought I was asleep.
Medication made whole afternoons vanish.
“What did it authorize?”
“Routine management.”
“Define routine.”
“Transportation, treatment invoices, home nursing, adaptive equipment, rehabilitation, security-related medical coordination.”
“And access to records?”
Martin did not answer immediately.
“Yes.”
My hand curled on the desk.
“So Cross can request my medical records.”
“In specific circumstances.”
“And Hale.”
“Yes.”
“Can they see what I request?”
“Not automatically.”
“Can they find out?”
“Possibly.”
“How?”
“Billing, portal access, shared treatment systems, insurance claims.”
“I pay privately.”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Some legacy policies remain active because your father believed insurance companies should suffer whenever possible.”
That sounded enough like my father that I almost heard him saying it.
Martin continued.
“If you want confidentiality, I can route the request through my office and have the records sent directly to me.”
“Do that.”
He waited.
“Grant, should I be worried?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That usually means yes.”
“Then be quietly worried.”
After he left, I sat alone for nearly an hour.
I did nothing useful.
At one point, I found Emma’s elephant under my fingertips and traced the edge of the glass.
The memory that came was not of the drawing.
It was Emma announcing at breakfast that elephants were purple “when they were hiding.”
Caroline had asked what they hid from.
“Taxes,” Emma had said.
I had laughed so hard coffee came out of my nose.
For years, I had avoided remembering her when she was funny.
Grief made saints out of the dead because saints were easier to survive than people.
People had habits and bad moods and cereal preferences.
People left wet towels on beds.
People asked the same question twenty times.
People expected to come home.
A knock interrupted me.
“Hannah.”
“How did you know?”
“You knock like you’re apologizing to the door.”
She entered.
“I found something.”
Every muscle in my back tightened.
“What?”
“The eye drops.”
I removed the bottle from my pocket and placed it on the desk.
“You looked them up.”
“I tried.”
“Tried?”
“There’s no pharmacy label.”
“Hale dispenses them directly.”
“I noticed.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Not automatically.”
“But.”
“But the bottle has a compounding code.”
I waited.
“And?”
“I called the pharmacy that uses that code.”
“You told them my name?”
“No.”
“What did they say?”
“They wouldn’t tell me anything about a prescription.”
“Good.”
“They did tell me the code isn’t for prednisolone.”
The room seemed to contract around her voice.
“What is it for?”
“They wouldn’t say.”
“Could it still contain prednisolone?”
“Yes.”
“Could Hale have described it generally?”
“Yes.”
“So this still proves nothing.”
“No.”
Her answer came quietly.
Then she added, “I called someone I trained with.”
May you like
My jaw tightened.
“You told someone?”
