Traynor paused, realizing that he was losing his composure. He wiped away the perspiration that had broken out on his forehead. He took a deep breath. “Listen, Dennis, I’ve got to get back into the conference room. You go home, calm down, relax, get some sleep. We’ll get together tomorrow and go over whatever is on your mind, okay?”
“I am a bit tuckered,” Hodges admitted.
“Sure you are,” Traynor agreed.
“Tomorrow for lunch? Promise? No excuses?”
“Absolutely,” Traynor said as he gave Hodges a prodding pat on the back. “At the inn at twelve sharp.”
With relief Traynor watched his old mentor trudge toward the hospital lobby with his distinctive lumbering gait, rocking on his hips as if they were stiff. Turning back toward the conference room, Traynor marveled at the man’s uncanny flair for causing turmoil. Unfortunately, Hodges was going beyond being a nuisance. He was becoming a virtual albatross.
“Can we have some order here,” Traynor called out over the bedlam to which he returned. “I apologize for the interruption. Unfortunately, old Doc Hodges has a particular knack for showing up at the most inopportune times.”
“That’s an understatement,” Beaton said. “He’s forever barging into my office to complain that one of his former patients isn’t getting what he considers VIP treatment. He acts as if he’s still running this place.”
“The food is never to his liking,” Geraldine Polcari complained.
“Nor is the room cleaning,” added Gloria Suarez.
“He comes into my office about once a week,” Nancy Widner said. “It’s always the same complaint. The nurses aren’t responding quickly enough to his former patients’ requests.”
“He’s their self-elected ombudsman,” Beaton said.
“They’re the only people in the town that can stand him,” Nancy said. “Just about everyone else thinks he’s a crotchety old coot.”
“Do you think he knows the identity of the rapist?” Patrick Swegler asked.
“Heavens, no,” Nancy said. “The man’s just a blowhard.”
“What do you think, Mr. Traynor?” Patrick Swegler persisted.
Traynor shrugged. “I doubt he knows anything, but I’ll certainly ask when I meet with him tomorrow.”
“I don’t envy you that lunch,” Beaton said.
“I’m not looking forward to it,” Traynor admitted. “I’ve always felt he deserved a certain amount of respect, but to be truthful my resolve is wearing a bit thin.
“Now, let’s get back to the matter at hand.” Traynor soon had the meeting back on track, but for him the joy of the evening had been lost.
Hodges trudged straight up Main Street in the middle of the road. For the moment there were no vehicles moving in either direction. The plows hadn’t come through yet; two inches of powdery new snow blanketed the town as still more flakes fell.
Hodges cursed under his breath, giving partial vent to his unappeased anger. Now that he was on his way home he felt angry for having allowed Traynor to put him off.
Coming abreast of the town green with its deserted, snow-covered gazebo, Hodges could see north past the Methodist church. There, in the distance, directly up Front Street, he could just make out the hospital’s main building. Hodges paused, gazing wistfully at the structure. A sense of foreboding descended over him with a shiver. He’d devoted his life to the hospital so that it would serve the people of the town. But now he feared that it was faltering in its mission.
Turning away, Hodges recommenced his trek up Main Street. He jammed the copy-machine papers he was holding into his coat pocket. His fingers had gone numb. Half a block farther he stopped again. This time he gazed at the mullioned windows of the Iron Horse Inn. A beckoning, incandescent glow spilled out onto the frigid, snow-covered lawn.
It only took a moment of rationalization for Hodges to decide he could use another drink. After all, now that his wife, Clara, spent more time with her family in Boston than she did with him in Bartlet, it wasn’t as if she’d be waiting up for him. There were certainly some advantages to their virtual estrangement. Hodges knew he would be glad for the extra fortification for the twenty-five-minute walk he faced to get home.
In the outer room Hodges stomped the snow from his rubber-soled workboots and hung up his coat on a wooden peg. His hat went into a cubbyhole above. Passing an empty coat-check booth used for parties, Hodges went down a short hallway and paused at the entryway of the bar.