Boston branch of the bank that had handled Jeffrey’s first real estate purchase. Jeffrey had been a resident in anesthesia at the time. Fourteen years previously, Jeffrey had bought a Cambridge three-decker and Dudley had arranged the financing.
Dudley saw them as soon as he could, taking them back to his private office and seating them in leather chairs facing his desk.
“What can I do for you?” Dudley said pleasantly. He was Jeffrey’s age but looked older with his silver-white hair.
“We’d like to increase the mortgage on our house,” Jeffrey said.
“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Dudley said. He went to a file drawer and pulled out a folder. “What kind of money are you looking for?”
“Forty-five thousand dollars,” Jeffrey said.
Dudley sat down and opened the folder. “No problem,” he said, looking at the figures. “You could take even more if you wish.”
“Forty-five thousand will be enough,” Jeffrey said. “But I need it by tomorrow.”
“Ouchl” Dudley said. “That’s going to be tough.”
“Perhaps you could arrange a home equity loan,” Carol suggested. “Then when the mortgage comes through, you can use that to pay off the loan.”
Dudley nodded with eyebrows arched. “That’s an idea. But I tell you what, let’s go ahead and fill out the forms for the mortgage. I’ll see what I can do. If the mortgage doesn’t come through, then I’ll take Carol’s suggestion. Can you come in tomorrow morning?”
“If I can get out of bed,” Jeffrey said with a sigh.
Dudley shot a glance at Jeffrey. He intuited that something was wrong, but he was too much of a gentleman to inquire.
After the bank business was concluded, Jeffrey and Carol walked out to their cars.
“Why don’t I stop at the store and get something good for dinner?” Carol suggested. “What would you like tonight? How about your favorite: grilled veal chops.”
“I’m not hungry,” Jeffrey said.
“Maybe you’re not hungry now, but you will be later.” I doubt it,” Jeffrey said.
“I know you and you’ll be hungry. I’m going to stop at the grocery for food for tonight. So what’ll it be?”
“Get whatever you want,” Jeffrey said. He climbed into his car. “With the way I feel, I can’t imagine I’m going to want to eat.$’
When Jeffrey reached home, he pulled into the garage, then went directly to his room. He and Carol had been occupying separate rooms for the past year.
It had been Carol’s idea, but Jeffrey. surprised himself by warming to the idea right away. That had been one of the first clear signs that their marriage was not all it should be.
Jeffrey closed the door behind him and locked it. His eyes wandered to his books and periodicals carefully shelved according to height. He wasn’t going to need them for a while. He ‘walked over to the bookcase and pulled out Bromage’s Epidural Analgesia and threw it against the wall. It poked a small hole in the plaster, then crashed to the floor. The gesture didn’t make him feel any better. In fact it made him feel guilty, and the effort exhausted him even more. He picked up the book, smoothed out a few of the bent pages, then slipped it back into its designated spot. By habit, he lined the spine up with the other volumes.
Sitting down heavily in the wing chair by the window, Jeffrey vacantly stared out at the dogwood, whose wilting spring blos-
soms were past their prime. He was gripped by overwhelming sadness. He knew he had to shake this self-pity if he was to accomplish anything. He heard
Carol’s car pull up, then the door slam. A few minutes later there was a quiet knock at his door. He ignored it, thinking she’d guess he was asleep.
He wanted to be alone.
Jeffrey struggled with his deepening sense of guilt. Perhaps that was the worst part of having been convicted. By undermining his confidence, he again worried that maybe he had erred in administering the anesthesia that fateful day. Maybe he had used the wrong concentration. Maybe Patty Owen’s death was his fault.
Hours slipped by as Jeffrey’s preoccupied mind wrestled with a growing sense of his worthlessness. Everything that he’d ever done seemed stupid and pointless. He’d failed at everything from being an anesthesiologist to being a husband. He couldn’t think of one thing that he’d succeeded at.