On their way home, Angela told David about the latest incident with Wadley and Cantor’s reaction to her complaint.
David shook his head. “Wadley I give up on. He’s an ass. But I’d expected more from Cantor, especially in his position as chief of the professional staff. Even if he’s insensitive you’d think he’d be aware of the law–and the hospital’s liability. Do you think he’s slept through the last decade’s worth of legal decisions on sexual harassment?”
Angela shrugged. “I don’t want to think about it anymore. How was your day? Has Marjorie’s death been on your mind?”
“I haven’t had time to dwell on it,” David said. “I’ve got John Tarlow in the hospital and he’s scaring me.”
“What’s wrong?”
“That’s just it: I don’t know,” David said. “That’s what scares me. He’s become apathetic, much the way Marjorie was. He has a lot of functional GI complaints. That’s what brought him into the hospital, and they have gotten worse. I don’t know what’s going on, but my sixth sense is setting off alarm bells. The trouble is I don’t know what to do. At this point I’m just treating his symptoms.”
“That’s the kind of story that makes me glad I went into pathology,” Angela said.
David then told Angela about his visit to Werner Van Slyke. “The man was more than rude,” David complained. “He hardly gave me the time of day. It gives you an idea of the doctor’s position in the new hospital environment. Now the doctor is just another employee, merely working in a different department.”
“It makes it hard to be a patient advocate when even the maintenance department isn’t responsive.”
“My thoughts exactly,” David said.
When David and Angela arrived home, Nikki was happy to see them. She’d been bored for most of the day until Arni stopped over to tell her about their new teacher.
“He’s a man,” Arni told David. “And real strict.”
“I hope he’s a good teacher,” David said. He felt another stab of guilt about Marjorie’s passing.
While Angela started dinner David drove Arni home. When David returned, Nikki met him at the door with a complaint. “It feels cold in the family room,” she said.
David walked into the room and patted the radiator. It was blisteringly hot. He walked over to the French doors leading to the terrace and made sure they were closed. “Where did you feel cold?” David asked.
“Sitting on the couch,” Nikki said. “Come over and try it.”
David followed his daughter and sat down next to her. Immediately he could feel a cool draft on the back of his neck. “You’re right,” he said. He checked the windows behind the couch. “I think I’ve made the diagnosis,” he said. “We need to put up the storm windows.”
“What are storm windows?” Nikki asked.
David launched into an involved explanation of heat loss, convection currents, insulation, and Thermopane windows.
“You’re confusing her,” Angela called from the kitchen. She’d overheard a portion of the conversation. “All she asked was what a storm window was. Why don’t you show her one?”
“Good idea,” David said. “Come on. We’ll get firewood at the same time.”
“I don’t like it down here,” Nikki said as they descended the cellar stairs.
“Why not?” David asked.
“It’s scary,” Nikki protested.
“Now, don’t be like your mother,” David teased her. “One hysterical female in the house is enough.”
Leaning against the back of the granite staircase was a stack of storm windows. David moved one away from the others so Nikki could see it.
“It looks like a regular window,” Nikki said.
“But it doesn’t open,” David said. “It traps air between this glass and the glass of the existing window. That’s what serves as insulation.”
While Nikki inspected the window, David noticed something for the first time.
“What is it, Daddy?” Nikki asked, aware that her father had become distracted.
“Something I’ve never noticed before,” David said. He reached over the stack of storm windows and ran his hand over the wall that formed the back of the stairs. “These are cinder blocks.”
“What are cinder blocks?” Nikki asked.
Preoccupied with his discovery, David ignored Nikki’s question.