Imperfect Contract (22 page)

"Oh, but I am."  He lifted me until he took a nipple into his mouth.

I whispered, "We're sitting in front of a glass door.

"Oh."  He kissed the other nipple, taking his time, using his tongue.  I felt a gentle pull as he sucked.  He slid his hands to my buttocks and massaged them through my shorts.  Then he raised me higher and ran his tongue over the scar from the gunshot wound to my belly.  "I'm sorry for this."  He kissed the wound as if to make it better.

He was having an effect.  A very definite effect.  It was much too late to stick to my guns and decide I didn't want to go there.  The strange thing was that it felt right.  As he lowered me back into his lap, I became aware it felt right to him, too.

I slid off his lap and stood before him, my knees bracketing his as he sat on the sofa.  He leaned forward and took my belly button ring between his teeth.  Then he ran his tongue along the waistband of my shorts and slipped his hand under the hem.  I felt the warmth of his hand against the skin on my behind.  I tugged at his other hand, and he rose to his feet.  He pulled me close to him, and I moved my hips from side to side, rubbing him.  "Sophi," he murmured into my ear, "oh God, how I want you."

The door to the guest room was a few feet away.  I led him by the hand into the bedroom, and he pushed the door closed behind us.

33

I slept until ten-thirty the next morning.  Sunshine cuddled next to my head on the pillow, snoring like a drunkard.  Ray's side of the bed was empty.  I guessed he left at least four hours earlier.  I remembered from the time we lived together, the longer we made love at night, the earlier he awakened in the morning.  I was just the opposite.

On the way to the master bedroom, I saw a three by three inch square of paper on the counter in the kitchen.  In bold block printing, the note read:
Fed Sunshine, let him out, and locked up.
 An arrow pointed to the corner, directing me to flip the paper. 

With my heart pounding fearing the worst, I turned the page.  There, in his tiny, messy script—I held it close to my eyes and squinted. 
Sophi, I love you.  Last night was wonderful.  I only hope you didn't spend the night with me because you felt sorry for me.  I'll call you later.  Love, Ray.

I held the precious paper in my hand, tears of happiness and relief stinging my eyes.  I said aloud what I'd felt all along, "Ray, I love you, too."

I punched the button on the coffee pot—he'd prepared it for me—and glanced around the kitchen.  He'd emptied the dishwasher, cleaned the table on the patio, and rendered the kitchen and Florida room spotless.  Yup, I thought, he had a
very
good night.  I did, too.  I smiled and headed for the bedroom. 

After I showered and dressed, selecting a pale blue pair of slacks, matching sleeveless sweater, and white sandals, I called Connie.  She wasn't working, and I thought we could go into the hospital together and spend some time with Vanessa.  Connie was game, and we decided to meet for lunch first.

I was sitting on a bench in front of Sweet Tomatoes when she rattled in and parked next to my Mini.  "Hi," she called, climbing from her battered old Ford.  Connie had a modest life style, modest older home, modest wardrobe, and modest car.  She believed in getting her money's worth, and the Ford, almost fifteen years old, had close to two hundred thousand miles on it.

When she was within earshot, I said, "Don't you think it's about time to get rid of that ancient clunker?"

"I think so, but both of the kids learned to drive in it.  It's served me well, and I feel loyal."

"Soon you'll feel stranded."

She shook her head and shoulders at the same time, perhaps signaling
who cares
.  Then she pulled open the door to the restaurant, allowing me to enter first.  "You're sure dressed fancy today."  She waved her hand indicating the length of my body, then pointed to the diamond earrings and gold necklace.

"I'll tell you about it after we grab our food."

"Your cheeks are glowing.  I can guess."  She smiled, raised her brows in Groucho Marks style, and picked a tray from the stack near the door.

We moved along the long salad bar, picking and choosing as we went, discussing the various choices.  When we reached the cashier, my tray looked like it usually did.  I piled it high with Caesar salad, then selected a smattering of other goodies—three bean, broccoli, and pasta salads, croutons and sunflower seeds, and a few cherry tomatoes.  I added a cup of soup and a square of cornbread after we picked a table.

Connie emptied her tray and arranged her lunch.  Then she looked at me and said, "You're getting it on with Ray again."

"Maybe it was someone else?"

"You love Ray, not someone else."  She held up a finger.

"And, how do you know that?"

"Everyone knows that.  It's only you who doesn't know that."  She looked at me with a superior, perturbed expression.

"I do, too," I sassed.

"See."  She raised a second finger.  "And, you're all dressed up in the middle of a routine Friday and wearing the earrings and necklace he gave you."

"It's not routine."

"No, I guess it isn't for you.  Just make sure he doesn't hurt you again."

"This is different.  We didn't just fall into bed.  We are spending a lot of time together, and we settled a few things."

"Like I said, be careful."

"Yes, Mother."  I grinned.  She hated it when I called her that.  But she tended to offer parental advice—a genetic trait, I imagined, carried on her nurse-gene.

"What now?" She said, sampling her salad while staring at me.

I took a long time and several bites before replying.  "I love him, but he doesn't know it."

"You could tell him," she said through a mouthful of salad.

"I suppose."  I put my fork down, then told her about Ray's guilt over the shooting and his subsequent affair.  "He said he loves me, and I believe him.  He arranges for us to work together, but then he disappears for months on end.  Then he reappears with another case or another problem."

"You think he'll maintain the pattern, or will he settle down?"

I shrugged, laughed, lowered the pitch of my voice, and said, "Only the Shadow knows." 

We continued with the topic of my romantic interest for a while, concluding with me saying, "I'll be careful, as careful as I can be in any event.  No future planning."

"Sounds smart to me."  She pushed her salad plate away.  "Want dessert?"

"Sure.  You buying?"  I grinned.  The meal included the dessert bar.  "I'll have a dish of frozen yogurt."

She returned with two mounds of vanilla yogurt in black, fluted dessert dishes.  Chopped nuts and chocolate sprinkles covered mine, but not hers.  "Here you go."  She scooted onto the bench seat.  "Now, what's up with Van?  I haven't talked to her for a couple of days." 

"She'll stay in the hospital until she's well enough to go to a shelter.  She needs to get lost until Craig tires of the chase and disappears."

"What I can't fathom is why she let him into her life again," Connie said.

"Loneliness and loyalty are cruel masters."  I tasted the cool, smooth yogurt.  It glided down, leaving a lingering taste of sugar and vanilla.  I smacked my lips.  "Good."

Connie was quiet for a minute.  "I'm thinking about asking for a transfer off the unit."

"Why is that?"

"The ventilator patients depress me more lately.  I've been working with them for years."  She stood up.  "I'm going to get coffee." 

"Sit."  I held up a hand.  "My turn." 

It only took a moment to fill our cups.  When I returned, Connie looked lost in thought.  "As you were saying?"

"It's depressing.  I find myself wondering why families put their loved ones through all the torture of long-term ventilation."

"What choice do they have?"

"They have choices.  Believe me."  She sipped her coffee and stared into space. 

I stayed quiet, fiddling with my coffee as Connie visited her memories.  We'd had this conversation before, and I knew she personalized the topic.

A long moment later, she continued.  "My dad—it would have been easy to disconnect the vent.  His wife wouldn't allow it though.  We talked about it.  The doctors wanted to.  But instead, she let him suffer.  Every case makes me think about it."

"In what way?"  I spoke, my tone muted, a funeral voice.

"Look at Barry Hutchinson, for example.  He suffered.  It was time someone intervened."

"Who do you think did it?"

"Maybe Amelia.  She and I talked about it."

"You did?"

"Sure."

"Did you tell that to Ray when he interviewed you?"

"Of course.  I told her she couldn't disconnect him, that it would be the wrong thing to do, given the fact he still had a remote chance of recovery."  Connie sipped her coffee, then pushed it away.  "I don't think she did anything about it.  I would have if it was Darrell."

"You would?"

"I wouldn't want my husband to suffer."

"Don't take this wrong, but did you disconnect Hutchinson?"

"What, are you accusing me?"  Connie's tone sharpened.

"No, not at all.  I'm asking, just saying, you know," I stuttered and stammered, "I mean. . . you feel strongly about people not suffering.  Barry Hutchinson was suffering."

"Sophia, no I didn't disconnect Barry Hutchinson.  I thought about it, more than once, but I didn't.  That's why I have to transfer to another service.  It's depressing me, making me think thoughts I shouldn't."

"I agree with you there.  Let's transfer somewhere together."  I moved to the end of the bench.  "Meanwhile, let's go see Vanessa."

***

Connie decided to leave her car in the parking lot and ride with me to the hospital.  She climbed into the passenger seat and secured the seat belt, tugging sharply on the strap after the click.  She'd ridden with me before.  I zipped onto University Drive and slammed to a halt—stuck in traffic.

"I wonder if Van will ever get her townhouse."  Connie said as we waited for the police to clear a small fender bender from the northbound lanes.  "She was excited at first.  When I went with her to the realtor, she even had me take pictures of her with them.  It was a huge event in her life."

"When was that?"

She bit her bottom lip and looked toward the roof.  "Oh, it was a while ago, the day she signed the original contract.  She made a ceremony of it.  It was like she finally had her independence from Craig."

I crept forward in traffic.  The lane to the far right opened and cars were turning onto Royal Palm going east.  I worked my way to the far lane and waited my turn.  "It's too bad it turned sour for her.  Now she's stuck with high payments.  The house will be a burden rather than a pleasure.  To make matters worse, with Craig in town, she'll have to stay in the shelter even if she closes."

"Some people have no luck."

I detoured through a parking lot, bypassed the remainder of the traffic mess, picked up a through street, and accelerated with gusto.  We were at the hospital in no time, much to Connie's discomfort. 

"You go on up," I said.  "I want to stop by the Nursing Office and check my schedule.  I'll grab two transfer forms while I'm there."

That only took me a couple of minutes, then I hurried across the first floor of the hospital to the information systems offices.  I needed to research where people were when Barry died.  Maybe the hospital's data bank could help.

34

Harold Rababinishantsky met me at the door.  "Hi, Sophia," he said.  "What can I do for you today?" 

We'd talked a time or two when I was helping with a case.  He provided the information I needed and never told his boss I asked. 

"Hi, Brer." 

Everyone called him Brer Rabbit.  It wasn't only the last name thing—no one except his immediate family could say it or spell it—he looked the part.  He wore loose fitting vests over baggy, mismatched pants.  To add to the effect, his rabbit-brown hair accented his oddly shaped nose and jaw.  He hung around in chairs and on desks looking lazy, but in actuality, he was industrious, clever, and knew the hospital information system better than anyone. 

"Can the system give a listing of when a certain person made entries?"

"Sure."  He pointed to a chair for me to sit in, hopped over a thick cable on the floor, and landed in the high-backed chair in front of his computer.  "Who and what day?" 

"Connie Kuhn.  May twentieth.  Mid-day.  Five Northeast."

He punched the keys and a list of entry times and user names flowed onto the screen. 

I pointed.  "That's our unit secretary."  I tapped a user name.  "That's Connie."  There were entries every few seconds all through the lunch period.  I remembered leaving for the cafeteria with a full rack of orders awaiting the charge nurse's approval.  She and the secretary cleared the rack while I was gone.  No other Five Northeast staff signed onto the system.

"Is there any way to prove who made the entries?"

"No.  Some people share their password."

"Not Connie.  She's a real stickler on legal liability and rule following."

"Then, one must assume, Connie entered the system at those times.  Remember, the system signs a user out after two minutes of inactivity."

True enough.  We complained about it all the time.  Our passwords were only four digits, but it seemed like every time we touched the computer we needed to reenter.  This time, at least, it pleased me.  "Brer, can you print the report and include a heading and your signature to authenticate it?"

"Sure."  His fingers flew over the keys.  The laser printer across the room cycled on, hummed a moment, and ejected a page.  I retrieved it and handed it to him.  He signed the top, then added the coding for accessing the particular segment in time.  "Here you go."  He stood up.  "Anything else?"

"You've been more than helpful.  Thank you."  I left him to his computers, folded the page, and slipped it into my purse.  Ray would agree Connie was no longer a suspect.  I felt relieved but also disappointed with myself, first for not believing in my friend, and second for not checking with Brer earlier and saving Connie the embarrassment of my asking the question.  Mentioning my visit with Brer to Connie would serve no purpose. 

When I walked into the room, Connie said, "I thought you were lost," she said.  "Did you get the forms?"

"Yup, after waiting a while.  The staffing secretary was on the phone, and there weren't any in the box."  The truth was, no one had been in the outer office, and I helped myself from a huge stack.  My fib would protect Connie from knowing I doubted her, even for an instant.  I turned my attention to the patient.  "Vanessa, how you feeling today?"

"Good," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.  "Can you help me get to the shelter on Sunday?  The doctor said Utilization Management is giving him a hard time about keeping me here.  He'll drag his feet until Sunday.  Maybe by then Craig will be bored with his game and go back north."

"Don't count on it.  I'll ask Ray to help you move.  That way there won't be a problem with Craig getting involved."

"It'll keep him at his distance."  She leaned against the pillow and stretched out her long, elegant legs with their scattered fading bruises.  Her just washed hair shone.  Each strand captured and reflected the sunlight streaking in through half-closed vertical blinds.

"Is there anything else you need from the apartment?  Tomorrow is a good day to go there."

"I'd appreciate it.  If you wouldn't mind . . . if you could . . . maybe . . . have the locks changed again." 

"He has a key?"

She crinkled the side of her face in a grimace.  "Gave the son of a bitch one a few days ago.  Things were going well.  Now, oh hell.  Damn.  Shit.  Friggin' screwed.  He's messed up my life—again."

"You can fix all that this time."

"But he's obsessed with me.  And he forces me to do things for him.  There is no choice."

"Then we have to make sure the charges stick this time.  There's another injunction, though the judge wasn't thrilled about granting it after you refused to follow through last time.  If he comes near you, they'll arrest him."

"When the bastard kills me, I won't be in any position to care if the cops lock him up."  Vanessa laughed

"We'll try to prevent anything like that from happening."  I stood, smoothing my sweater and slacks and facing Vanessa.  "Connie, we need to get moving.  Ray will help with the locks tomorrow.  I don't want to be there alone.  He'll come with me."

"Thank you.  Craig will go off the deep end when he realizes I've disappeared.  Last time he did a number on everything in the apartment, ruined all my clothes and trashed most of the furniture."  She snorted as if stifling a laugh.  "We can't let that happen again."

"New locks should help, though you might want to consider having your things moved to secure storage."

"A thought."  She smiled and nodded.  "Worth considering."

"Anything you want me to take to my house?"  I took a spiral notebook from my pocketbook and made notes as she listed the few things she didn't want to lose.