Cathy hesitated in the doorway of the hospital conference room
until she caught Marcus Bell's eye. He pointed to the far corner, away from the table where the committee members were seated. She eased into the chair and looked around, wondering if one of the physicians assembled here tonight was responsible for the harassment. Maybe after the meeting she'd have a better idea.
Marcus tapped his water glass with a spoon. Conversation died down, coffee cups were pushed away, and six men looked expectantly toward the head of the table. Marcus took a sip of water. "I guess we'd better get this meeting underway."
Cathy let her eyes roam around the long table, putting names with faces. At the head of the table, Marcus, as Chief of Staff, was the chair of the Credentials and Privileges Committee of Summers County General Hospital. There were six other members, but Cathy had already been told that votes were generally swayed by the opinions of two men: Dr. John Steel and Dr. Arthur Harshman. They were seated opposite each other. Somehow, the positioning seemed right to Cathy.
Steel was middle-aged, a bit portly, and casually dressed. He had an easy air and seemed to smile freely. Cathy had referred several cases to Steel and considered him a competent surgeon who cared about his patients. He, in turn, had recommended her to some of his patients who were looking for a family practitioner. Their relationship had been good to this point. She hoped it wouldn't change because her request included privileges for appendectomies and a few other surgical procedures.
Harshman was a different kettle of fish- a cold fish, actually. He looked to be about sixty, with a touch of gray at the temples of his coal-black hair. Whereas Steel wore a sport shirt and slacks, Harshman was dressed in a dark blue suit that fitted his spare frame as though custom-tailored. When he removed his steel-rimmed glasses to clean them with a spotless handkerchief, Cathy thought his eyes looked like ice before the spring thaw.
Despite trying not to let Karen Pearson's tales about Harshman influence her opinion of the man, Cathy found herself vacillating between fear and dislike. There seemed to be no question among his colleagues about Harshman's professional capabilities, but the way he dealt with patients was the subject of constant gossip around the hospital. Cathy's dealings with him had been limited to a few words exchanged in the doctors' lounge. She had no idea what to expect from him in response to her request for privileges to perform deliveries.
The other men around the table represented a crosssection of the physicians in the community: an internist, a pediatrician, a radiologist. The last member of the committee was Dr. Ernest Gladstone, the family practitioner whose impending retirement had sent a trickle of new patients to Cathy. He'd been mildly cordial in their limited dealings so far. Cathy hoped he wouldn't be put offby her desire to go beyond what he'd done in his own practice.
Marcus opened the meeting with the usual boilerplate: acceptance of the minutes of the last meeting, voting to renew privileges of various staffmembers, accepting the resignation of several doctors who were retiring. Cathy was surprised that Gladstone's name wasn't on that list. Maybe he wanted to leave the door open in case he got bored with retirement.
"Now we come to the application of Dr. Cathy Sewell for staffmembership and privileges. You've all received a copy of the relevant forms. In addition to the usual privileges granted to family practice specialists, Dr. Sewell has requested additional privileges in surgery and OB. You'll note that, in support of her request, she's provided letters from the heads of those departments at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center, where she did her residency training." Marcus uncapped a fresh bottle of water and drank before continuing. "What is the pleasure of the committee?"
So that was it? No introduction of her to the group? No chance for her to speak? She started to open her mouth, but a glance from Marcus and an expression that said, "Trust me," made her lean back in her chair and remain silent.
"I think we're extraordinarily lucky to have someone with these qualifications practicing in Dainger." John Steel squared the stack of papers before him. "I'd suggest that we grant all the privileges requested, with the stipulation that Dr. Sewell allow one of our surgeons to scrub as an unpaid observer on her first three cases and one of our obstetricians to observe her first three deliveries."
Cathy took a deep breath. One hurdle down. If the surgeon supported her, that could only help.
"I'm totally opposed to granting obstetric privileges of any kind to someone other than a board-certified specialist."Harshman's nasal voice cut through the room, and Cathy's heart skipped a beat. He turned to look directly at her."Doctor, I'm sure you did a fine job on the uncomplicated deliveries they let you do under supervision during your training, but obstetrics can be like flying- boredom interspersed at times with moments of stark terror. You never know when you'll be dealing with a placenta praevia or an abruptio placenta."
"Ease up, Arthur." Dr. Gladstone's rich baritone carried a note of authority that Cathy found surprising. "You've gotten too used to old coots like me doing family practice. The world is changing. In case you haven't noticed, the 'kindly old GP' has been replaced by the board-certified family practitioner. These men-and women-have been trained to do a great deal more than I ever did. Why don't you follow John's example? Give her the privileges, observe her first three deliveries?"
"Never." Harshman's visage was like pink marble, cold and unmoving.
The discussion continued for another fifteen minutes. Each time Cathy started to defend herself, Marcus silenced her with a look or a gesture. Finally, Dr. Gladstone called the question, and the matter was put to a vote.
"The motion is for Dr. Cathy Sewell to be granted staff membership, with privileges for all the procedures she has requested, but with the following stipulations: a member of the surgical staffis to observe her first three operations and a member of the obstetrics staffwill observe her first three deliveries. All in favor, raise your hand."
Three hands went up: Gladstone, Steel, and the pediatrician.
"Opposed?"
Three other hands went up: Harshman, the internist, and the radiologist.
"The chair declines to break the tie. Let's table this request and re-vote on granting standard family practice privileges."
The motion was quickly made and seconded. It passed five to one, with Harshman still dissenting.
"Dr. Sewell, welcome to the staff." Marcus extended his hand, and there was a mild smattering of applause.
Cathy shook the hands that were offered, nodded coldly to Marcus, and left the room, still smarting. Why hadn't he broken the tie? And why hadn't he let her defend herself? She had depended on him, and he'd let her down. Just like Robert. Just like Carter. Just like Daddy.
Cathy sat at the table in her landlady's kitchen and cut into a steaming biscuit.
"Well, look at you. Pretty as a picture." Bess Elam stood in the doorway, drying her hands on her apron. "Going to church today?"
Cathy lowered the two biscuit halves onto the plate in front of her, looked at her landlady, and calculated what she could tell her without starting rumors that would spread through Dainger like a measles epidemic. She decided on a partial truth. "That's right. I'll be attending the First Community Church."
"Glad to hear it. Pastor Kennedy is a wonderful preacher. Sometimes we sneak over to hear him when our own pastor's out of town."
Cathy picked up the biscuit again and buttered it. "I hope you don't mind. You told me yesterday to come over this morning and help myself. They smelled so good I couldn't resist."
"Not at all. You shouldn't have to eat Sunday breakfast by yourself over in that garage apartment. Let me pour you some coffee to go with it."
Soon the two women were seated at the kitchen table with coffee in front of them. Cathy applied a dab of Bess's homemade boysenberry jam and popped the last bit of biscuit into her mouth. The sweet flavor of fresh berries lingered on her tongue until she washed it away with a sip of coffee.
"Do you remember how to get to the church?" Bess asked.
"Yes, but someone's giving me a ride."
"Oh? Who would-?"
The sound of the doorbell stopped Bess in mid-sentence. Cathy felt her pulse quicken. Could she manage to slip out before Bess saw Will? Cathy pushed back her chair, but Bess was already at the door, opening it.
"Will Kennedy? You come in this house and have some coffee and a biscuit." She buried him in a hug before turning back to Cathy. "Is this your ride to church?"
Judging by the burning in her cheeks, Cathy had wasted the blusher she applied that morning. "Yes, he is."
Will smiled at Cathy. "I knocked on your door, but there was no answer, so I thought I'd check Bess's kitchen. Glad I did. I'll take a rain check on that biscuit, Bess. You and Joe doing okay?"
"Fine and dandy. Now you take good care of Dr. Cathy. She's my star renter, and she'll be my doctor if I ever need anything. Now that Joe and I have a good doctor, a good lawyer, and a good preacher, I guess we don't need anything else."
Will had parked his pickup at the curb. He held the door for Cathy, a gesture she thought died with the advent of the Wwomen's movement.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Since almost every place in Dainger was no more than twenty minutes from any other place, the ride to the church was short. Will filled the time with comments like, "That's the old Henderson place. They're both in a rest home now, and their kids are selling it."
Cathy glanced at the Bible on the front seat between them. "I'm sorry I didn't bring my Bible this morning. I'm afraid there are still some boxes I haven't unpacked, and it must be in one of them. I keep hoping that my practice will take offand I'll be able to get a house instead of renting the apartment over the Elam's garage."
"I can understand your not unpacking everything, but I hope you'll dig out your Bible soon. I think you'll find it helpful in dealing with the stress you're under right now."
Cathy flinched. Here we go. Pressure me into church, then give me the lecture about how terrible it is that I haven't been on great terms with God since my parents died. God let me down then, and so far as I'm concerned, it's up to Him to make the first move.
To Cathy's surprise, Will switched the topic back to local gossip. After a few minutes, she relaxed.
Will guided her gently through the parking lot, stopping to shake hands and exchange hugs with what seemed like half the folks there. Once through the doors, she started toward the church sanctuary, but Will stopped her with a hand on her arm. "No, let's go here first."
She followed him down a hall to an open door marked Pastor's Study. He tapped at the door and then motioned Cathy in.
Looking at Matthew Kennedy standing next to his son, Cathy could imagine what Will would look like someday. Both men stood a shade over six feet and were slim but muscular. The primary difference, aside from the few wrinkles Pastor Kennedy had developed since Cathy last saw him, was that the elder Kennedy's thick head of hair had turned silver-white, while Will's was jet black. Other than that, the men might have been brothers.
The pastor took Cathy's hand in both of his. "It's so good to see you again. I was so sorry about your father and mother. I'd hoped to speak with you after their service but never had the chance." His blue eyes reflected the sincerity behind the words.
"Thank you. That was a tough time. I guess I wanted to put Dainger behind me as quickly as I could after the funeral."
"No matter. You're back now, and we're so glad you're here this morning. I hope you find the service helpful. And Dora and I are thrilled that you and Will are having lunch with us today. Once you've had her fried chicken, you'll never want any of that stuffThe Colonel serves."
Cathy tried not to compare the handful of patients she'd seen this morning to what she'd ordinarily see in the family practice clinic at the medical school on a typical Monday. She guessed some doctors would probably be happy to carry such a light caseload. But those doctors didn't have bills stacking up and the bank breathing down their necks.
Jane looked up as Cathy passed the front desk. "How was your weekend?"
"Not bad."
"Heard you attended First Community Church with Will Kennedy. How did you like the service?"
Cathy shook her head. "Between you and my landlady, is there anything that happens in Dainger that you don't know about?"
Jane shrugged. "How did your lunch with the Kennedys go? What did you think of Dora's fried chicken?"
What was it with the chicken? "Lunch was fine. The chicken was probably the best I've ever tasted, and can we please get on with the day?"
"Sure. Your phone messages are on your desk." Jane paused long enough for Cathy to reach the doorway to her office before asking, "Do you plan to see Will again?"
Cathy ignored the question. She closed the office door firmly, slumped behind the desk, and tried to turn her attention to the three pink message slips.
The first call was from a patient exhibiting typical symptoms of the flu. He wanted to "come by for a shot of penicillin." Cathy finally convinced him to come into the office that morning and let her check him over. She knew that if her phone diagnosis turned out to be correct, antibiotics would have no effect on the disease. However, one of the new antivirals might shorten the course of the illness. She made a mental note to recommend flu vaccine to her patients. The season appeared to be starting early.
The second call came from a mother who was worried about her child's diarrhea. There had been numerous cases of rotavirus in the community, and Cathy figured this was probably another one. However, after giving the mother detailed instructions, she encouraged her to call back if the symptoms continued or worsened. She hated to give phone advice, but the mother convinced her there was no way she could bring the child to the office. Besides, Cathy knew the expense would represent a real hardship for the struggling family.
She made notes on the two pink slips and put them in her out box so Jane could file them in the patient charts. Then she saw the name on the third slip: Will Kennedy. Was this about yesterday?
She'd expected a hard sell from Will's parents. Come back to church. Get right with God. Instead, Pastor and Mrs. Kennedy had seemed genuinely glad to see her, making no mention of the way she'd pulled away from the church. Will had confined his remarks to reminiscences of the good times they'd had in high school. He steered clear of any mention of how they drifted apart after they went offto different colleges. She'd started medical school, he'd begun law school, and their lives had diverged even further.
She should return his call. There was an unfamiliar fluttering in her stomach as she pulled the phone toward her, lifted the receiver, and punched in the number. To her surprise, the next voice she heard was Will's.
"Will Kennedy."
"Will, this is Cathy. I expected to get your secretary."
"This is my private line. I hope you'll write it down and use it in the future. After hours, I forward it to my cell phone. I don't want to miss a call from you. Let's not lose touch again."
She felt the same shiver she'd experienced the first time Will had asked her to a high school dance. No doubt about it. Once he'd recognized her, Will's attention at the crash site went beyond being a Good Samaritan. Maybe he'd gotten over the way she'd hurt him in the past. A part of her was thrilled at the prospect of rekindling their relationship. But then the little voice in her head whispered, You can't trust a man. You can't trust anyone.
Will's voice cut into her thoughts. "Cathy, did you hear me?"
Cathy pulled Will's business card from beneath the edge of her blotter. She turned it over and transcribed the number from the pink slip to the back of the card. "Thanks. I'm writing it down right now."
"Good."
"Now what's up?" Cathy asked.
"First of all, I had a wonderful time with you yesterday. My folks told me to invite you for Sunday lunch anytime you're free."
"I enjoyed it too."
"But let me get to the business at hand. After you were in my office last week, I went down to the bank and talked with Ella Mae. She called me first thing this morning to report. I don't know how she did it, and I wasn't about to ask, but she talked with one of the higher-ups in your insurance company. Apparently, she was pretty convincing. The deal she worked out is that the insurance company and the bank's liability insurer will split the payment for the damages to your car. You'll be getting both checks within a couple of weeks."
"Will, that's wonderful."
"There's more. I'm a full-service attorney, after all."
Cathy struggled to process the news. "You're amazing. What else have you done?"
"I called James Wood Motors and talked with James. If you'll go by the dealership sometime this week and pick out a car, he'll apply the total of the two checks you're getting against the price. That'll be a pretty hefty down payment on your new one. And he'll forgive the charges on the rental car."
"Better and better. Thanks so much."
"James promised me he'd give you a great deal, but be sure to let me see the papers before you sign anything. He kind of owes me a favor or two and I'm not above asking him to sweeten the deal even more."
It was as though someone had piped pure oxygen into the room. Cathy's head was clearer. The tension in her neck and shoulders eased. Maybe things were looking up. She had a fleeting thought that apparently everyone in Dainger owed Will a favor. She'd have to keep that in mind.
"Thanks," she said. "I believe you mentioned that my having lunch with you would cover your retainer. How much do I really owe you for this?"
"For talking with Ella Mae, you couldn't afford my services. But I'll settle for another lunch next Sunday."
Cathy didn't hesitate. And it wasn't merely the thought of Dora Kennedy's fried chicken that made the decision easy."Of course." Then Will's comment about Ella Mae registered."But why was it such a chore to talk with this woman?"
"Because she feels it's her duty to make a play for every man she sees. I think it's sort of a reflex. But maybe you already know that."
Cathy wondered what she'd missed. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Why would I know?"
"Oh." That single syllable from Will brought a picture into Cathy's mind: Will, his cheeks reddening and his hands moving to cover his mouth after saying something he shouldn't. She'd seen it dozens of times when they were teenagers.
"Will, what did you mean?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Hey, I'm due in court in fifteen minutes. Got to run. I'll call you later."
Cathy hung up the phone just as Jane stuck her head through the door. "Your first patient is here."
Outside the exam room, Cathy looked at the name neatly lettered in heavy black letters on the tab of the thin manila folder: Ella Mae Mercer. What were the odds?