Her shoulders climbed. She seemed to be phrasing an answer.
But all she said was, “No. Everything will be okay. Okay?”
“Vicki-” “I promise,” she said. “Please? Can I go now?”
Sure,” I said. Sorry if I came on too ~~~~~g~øø She clamped her lips
together, pivoted, and returned to her station.
I went to the Five East elevators. One lift was stuck on the sixth
floor. The other two arrived simultaneously. Chip Jones stepped out
of the central door, a cup of coffee in each hand. He had on faded
jeans, a white turtleneck, and a denim jacket that matched the pants.
“Dr. Delaware.”
“Professor.”
He laughed and said, “Please,” and stepped out into the hall.
“How are my ladies doing?”
“They’re both sleeping.”
“Thank God. When I spoke to Cindy this afternoon, she sounded
exhausted. I brought this from downstairs”-raising one cup-“to help
fuel her. But sleep is what she really needs.”
He began walking toward the teak doors. I tagged along. Are we
keeping you from hearth and home, Doctor?”
I shook my head. “Been and returned.”
“Didn’t know psychologists kept that kind of schedule.”
“We don’t when we can avoid it.”
He smiled. “Well, the fact that Cindy’s sleeping this early means
Cassie must be getting healthy enough for her to relax. So that’s
good.”
“She told me she never leaves Cassie.”
“Never.”
“Must be hard on her.”
“Unbelievably hard. At first I tried to ease her away from it, but
after being here a few times and seeing other mothers, I realized it
was normal. Rational, actually. It’s self-defense.”
Against what?”
“Screw-ups.”
“Cindy talked about that, too,” I said. “Have you seen a lot of
medical error around here?”
As a parent or as Chuck Jones’s son?”
“Is there a difference?”
He gave a small, hard smile. “You bet there is. As ChuckJones’s son,
I think this place is pediatric paradise, and I’ll say so in the next
banquet journal if they ask me. As a parent, I’ve seen things the
inevitable human errors. I’ll give you an example-one that really
shook me. A couple of months ago, the whole fifth floor was buzzing.
Seems there was this little boy being treated for some kind of
cancergetting an experimental drug, so maybe there wasn’t much hope
anyway. But that’s not the point. Someone misread a decimal point and
he got a massive overdose. Brain damage, coma, the whole bit. All the
parents on the floor heard the resuscitation page and saw the emergency
team rush in. Heard his mother screaming for help. Including us-I was
out in the hall, actually heard his mother scream for help.”
He winced. “I saw her a couple of days later, Dr. Delaware.
When he was still being respirated. She looked like a concentration
camp victim. That look of being beaten down and betrayed? All because
of one decimal point. Now that kind of thing probably happens all the
time, on a smaller scale-things that can be smoothed over. Or don’t
even get picked up in the first place. So you “No, thanks,” I said.
He laughed softly. “The voice of experience, huh? Has it always been
this bad?”
Always.”
“Look at this little Erron Valdez we’ve got here.” A faint, rainbowed
slick floated on the black surface. Grimacing, he raised the other cup
to his lips. “Yum-essence of grad school. But I need it to keep
conscious.”
“Long day?”
“On the contrary-too short. They seem to get shorter as you get older,
don’t they? Short and crammed with busywork. Then there’s having to
drive back and forth between work and home and here. Our glorious
freeways-humanity at its nadir.”
“Valley Hills means the Ventura Freeway,” I said. “That’s about as bad
as it gets.”
“Vile. When we were home-hunting, I purposely picked a place close to
work to avoid commuting.” He shrugged. “Best-laid plans.
Sometimes I sit bumper to bumper and imagine it’s what hell would be
like.”
He laughed again, sipped.
I said, “I’ll be experiencing it firsthand in a couple of daysmaking a
home visit.” can’t blame parents for wanting to keep an eye out, can
you?Yes, Cindy mentioned it.
Ah, here comes Ms “No,” I said. “Sounds like you don’t have much