Chương 4
Miguel had found him a pair of old paddock shoes from the tack room, but they were too large. Noah had gone back to being barefoot.
Richard found himself staring at the boy’s feet.
He remembered how hard he had grabbed Noah.
“You all right?”
Noah looked up.
“My shoulder?”
Richard nodded.
“It’s fine.”
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
Noah shrugged.
“You thought I was hurting her.”
Evelyn watched them.
Richard asked, “Does your mother know Dr. Patel?”
“No.”
“Did she ever mention another doctor?”
Noah’s gaze moved toward Evelyn.
“She said one time you should see somebody who didn’t get paid by your family.”
Richard sat back.
Evelyn’s expression stayed still.
Richard said, “Vale was paid because he treated her.”
“I know.”
Noah said it without sarcasm.
That made it worse.
The front bell rang.
Richard stood.
A housekeeper entered a moment later.
“There’s a Ms. Reed at the door.”
Noah set down the orange juice.
Teresa Reed came into the library wearing dark cleaning pants, white sneakers, and a navy polo embroidered with the name of St. Agnes Parish. She was thirty-six, perhaps thirty-seven, with tired eyes and the stiff posture of someone who had spent her drive preparing to be spoken down to.
She saw Noah first.
“You.”
Noah stood.
“You had one thing to do today.”
“Miguel needed help.”
“You are not Miguel’s employee.”
“He gave me twenty dollars.”
Teresa closed her eyes.
“Of course he did.”
Richard stepped forward.
“Ms. Reed—”
She held up one hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“I remember you.”
“I figured.”
“You signed the letter.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t ask me one question.”
Richard had no answer that would improve the room.
Evelyn did.
“What did you see?”
Teresa looked at her.
For several seconds, anger left her face.
Something else replaced it.
Shame.
“I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t.”
“I thought at least after I left they’d retest you.”
“They didn’t.”
Teresa looked toward Richard.
“They said they did.”
Richard felt heat rise beneath his collar.
“Who said?”
“Dr. Vale. Caroline Mott. Your family office called me after I complained and said my observations had been reviewed.”
Caroline Mott had been Evelyn’s supervising private nurse during the first year at home. She no longer worked for the family. Richard remembered a resignation involving a sick parent in Arizona.
Evelyn asked, “What exactly happened?”
Teresa sat down without being invited.
“I worked nights. You didn’t sleep much.”
“I still don’t.”
“I know.”
Teresa rubbed her palms against her uniform pants.
“One night I was washing you. You hated the disposable wipes because they smelled like a dentist’s office, so I used warm water and cloths when Caroline wasn’t around.”
A faint line appeared between Evelyn’s brows.
“I remember that smell.”
Teresa almost smiled.
“Everybody did.”
Then it disappeared.
“I dropped one cloth. I grabbed another from the basin, but it had gone cold. I put it against the outside of your ankle and you said, ‘Jesus, that’s cold.’ Just like that.”
Richard leaned forward.
“What did you do?”
“I asked where.”
“And?”
“She said her ankle.”
Evelyn stared at her knees beneath the blanket.
“I don’t remember.”
“You were half asleep.”
“Did it happen again?”
Teresa nodded.
“I tested it the next night.”
Vale had taught the family to distrust that word from nonphysicians.
Tested.
Richard heard his old reaction in his head.
Unqualified.
Uncontrolled.
Unreliable.
Teresa continued.
“Cold cloth. Warm cloth. Pressure. Not needles or anything. I wasn’t trying to play doctor. I just wanted to know if I’d imagined it. Sometimes you got it wrong. Sometimes you didn’t feel anything. But sometimes you did. I told Caroline.”
“What did she say?”
“That involuntary responses and phantom sensations happen. She told me not to encourage fixation.”
Noah looked at Evelyn.
Evelyn’s face had gone pale.
Teresa said, “Then I noticed your toes moving when you were asleep.”
Vale’s voice seemed to enter the room from memory: spontaneous spasms are common.
Teresa must have seen the skepticism on Richard’s face.
“I know. Reflexes. That’s what they said. So one night I asked Evelyn to move her big toe.”
Evelyn whispered, “Did I?”
“A little.”
“How little?”
Teresa pinched her thumb and forefinger almost together.
“Enough that I saw it twice.”
Richard asked, “Was anyone else there?”
“No.”
There it was.
The problem.
One tired aide. One patient with fragmented memory. One observation in the middle of the night.
Richard felt his brain reaching automatically for reasons not to believe her.
Then Teresa pulled out her phone.
“I texted Caroline.”
The device was old, its case cracked near the camera.
She scrolled for nearly a minute.
“Changed phones since then. I backed up messages because…” She stopped.
“Because?” Evelyn asked.
Teresa gave a humorless little shrug.
“Because rich people make you learn things.”
She found the exchange.
The messages were dated thirty-one months earlier.
Teresa had written: Evelyn correctly identified cold sensation lateral right ankle twice tonight. Also possible voluntary movement right great toe on command. Please advise whether neuro team wants reassessment.
Caroline had replied twenty-three minutes later.
Do not repeat informal sensory tests. Dr. Vale is aware. These responses are not clinically meaningful and can reinforce unrealistic expectations. Document only care tasks tonight. We will review Monday.
Teresa had written:
Should I chart what she reported?
Caroline answered:
Dr. Vale will address the neurological portion.
Richard read the exchange twice.
“What happened Monday?”
“Nothing. Tuesday I asked again. Caroline said it was handled.”
“Did you speak to Vale?”
“Wednesday.”
“What did he say?”
Teresa’s mouth tightened.
“That I had crossed a professional boundary and confused the patient.”
Evelyn looked up.
“Did I seem confused?”
“No.”
“Did he examine me?”
“I don’t know.”
Richard did.
He opened the calendar on his phone, though three years of appointments were not there. The family office archived them.
“I can check.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“No.”
He froze.
“What?”
“Not you.”
Richard stared at her.
May you like
She took a breath.
“I want access to everything myself.”
