Chương 10
Claire’s skin went cold.
“Was that allowed?”
“It was not consistent with the agency’s policy.”
“Did Margaret know the dose?”
“The syringe was labeled.”
“How much?”
“One milliliter.”
Claire opened the hospice record on her laptop.
The undocumented dose that morning appeared as administration time 10:47.
No volume.
Margaret had initialed it.
Claire found her in the garden trimming dead roses.
“Did the nurse leave a syringe?”
Margaret’s hands stopped.
Claire knew before she answered.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I forgot.”
Claire laughed in disbelief.
“You forgot a prepared morphine syringe?”
“I forgot that she prepared it instead of me.”
“How much was in it?”
“One milliliter.”
“And you gave it to Dad?”
“Yes.”
“At ten forty-seven?”
“I don’t know.”
“The record says ten forty-seven.”
“Then probably.”
“Why didn’t you write the volume?”
“I assumed it was obvious because the syringe was prepared.”
“Obvious to who?”
Margaret set down the pruning shears.
“I made a documentation mistake.”
“Dad died two hours later.”
“Yes.”
“Was there another syringe?”
Margaret’s face went still.
Claire felt the world narrow.
“Margaret.”
“No.”
The answer came too slowly.
Claire stepped closer.
“Was there another syringe?”
Margaret looked toward the house.
“I don’t know.”
“You just said no.”
“I said no because I don’t remember another one.”
“That is not the same answer.”
“No.”
Claire’s hands began to shake.
“Did you give him more than one dose?”
“I gave him what he was prescribed.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Margaret picked up the shears, then set them down again.
“I may have given him another dose later.”
Claire stepped back.
The movement was instinctive.
Margaret saw it.
“Claire.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“He was in pain.”
“How much?”
“I said I don’t know.”
Claire called Price.
Margaret did not stop her.
That afternoon, Price and Helen Ross sat with Margaret in the study while Claire and Daniel waited in the library.
Two hours passed.
Claire read the same page of a novel nine times.
Daniel drank coffee.
At some point he fell asleep in a chair for eleven minutes.
Claire envied him.
When the interview ended, Ross asked to speak with Claire.
Margaret remained inside.
Ross closed the library door.
“Margaret disclosed that she may have administered a second morphine dose approximately ninety minutes after the first.”
Claire stared.
“May have?”
“She does not have precise memory.”
“How convenient.”
Ross did not react.
“The second dose, if given, would still have been within the as-needed prescribing interval according to one set of instructions in the home.”
“One set?”
“There were conflicting instructions after a dose adjustment.”
Claire sat down.
Daniel leaned forward.
Ross continued.
“The hospice medication sheet listed one interval. A physician’s revised order listed another. It appears the updated sheet was not printed until the following day.”
“After he died.”
“Yes.”
“So did she overdose him?”
“We do not know.”
Claire felt anger rising.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Did the second dose kill him?”
“We do not know.”
“Did she give it because he asked?”
Ross looked toward the door.
“That is the more difficult issue.”
Claire went still.
“What did she say?”
Ross hesitated.
“She said Arthur was moaning and restless. She believed he was asking for relief.”
“Believed?”
“He was no longer speaking clearly.”
Claire stood.
“He told Dr. Levin he was afraid she would medicate him when he said no.”
“That was days earlier.”
“He wrote me a letter.”
“I know.”
“He was scared.”
“I know.”
“And she gave him medication when he couldn’t say yes.”
Ross’s expression remained calm.
“In end-of-life care, designated caregivers sometimes administer prescribed comfort medication when a patient can no longer communicate clearly.”
“Was she authorized?”
“Yes.”
“Was she supposed to call hospice first?”
Ross did not answer.
Daniel did.
“Yes.”
Claire turned toward him.
He had found the instruction sheet.
Call hospice for significant change in consciousness, breathing, or inability to swallow.
“Did she call?”
“No.”
Claire walked out of the library.
Margaret was sitting alone in the study.
The cabinet remained broken, covered now by temporary protective acrylic.
Claire stopped in the doorway.
“Why didn’t you call?”
Margaret looked at her.
“I thought they would send an ambulance.”
“Hospice does not automatically send an ambulance.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew that then.”
“I was not thinking clearly.”
“You keep getting to be confused.”
Margaret’s face tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“Dad was confused, so we’re supposed to discount what he said. You were confused, so we’re supposed to excuse what you did. Everyone gets to be confused except me.”
Margaret stood.
“I am not asking you to excuse me.”
“What are you asking?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire laughed.
“There it is again.”
“Fine. I am asking you to believe that I did not kill your father.”
“Did you give him the second dose?”
“I think so.”
“Did he ask for it?”
“He was in pain.”
“Did he ask?”
“I couldn’t understand him.”
Claire’s eyes filled.
Margaret’s did too.
“Then why?”
“Because I had watched him suffer for ten months.”
“That wasn’t your decision.”
“No.”
“His body was not your decision.”
“No.”
“His fear was not your decision.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Margaret’s voice broke.
“Because he looked at me.”
Claire stopped.
Margaret pressed one hand against her mouth, then lowered it.
“He looked at me the way he did when he wanted me to fix something.”
Claire stared.
“That is not consent.”
“I know.”
“Did you know then?”
Margaret did not answer.
Claire’s anger became something colder.
“Did you want it over?”
Margaret flinched.
Claire hated herself for asking.
Then Margaret answered.
“Yes.”
The room seemed to contract.
“For him?”
Margaret’s face twisted.
“For both of us.”
Claire stepped backward.
Margaret did not follow.
“I did not want to kill him,” she said. “I wanted the dying to stop.”
Claire left the house.
May you like
She drove without deciding where.
Twenty minutes later she parked outside a grocery store and sat with both hands on the steering wheel.
