leaving the accident and, “What was her name? Leslie. C something,” he had continued north on 36, then to his place. He unloaded the horses, fed and watered them. That was a chore in the rain. He disconnected the trailer, only after he had completely detached the tailgate by its hinge. The Taurus had smashed in the bumper, which had in turn come up and smashed the tailgate, which in turn disrupted the locking mechanism. After a shower he tried to read in bed but was too keyed up to fall asleep. What a lapse of attention on his part. He felt a surge of nausea. Besides the fact that a person could have died, just a small injury to a horse could be devastating, requiring euthanasia on the spot. He had friends who had to shoot horses with broken legs just to put them out of their pain and keep them from flailing about or trying to get up. He went over and over the scene in his mind until the sky over the flat plains outside of Abilene started to turn pink.
4
The phone rang at eight o’clock sharp as planned. Leslie answered it after the first ring. She was instantly wide awake. Answering the phone quickly was a habit. Calls at night were usually emergencies and required thoughtful attention. She always felt that she had to sound as if she were not asleep when she answered. Responding quickly made it seem as if she were sitting by the phone, waiting for the call. And extra rings usually woke up everyone in the house, even though it didn’t matter now.
“Hello.” Expectant voice, with only a touch of morning scratchiness.
“Dr. Cohen?”
“Yes.” Now the voice was tested, and adjustments made to erase all remnants of sleep.
“Hey, Terryl Wells here. We weren’t sure you were going to make it in last night, with the rain and all! Did you have a good trip over from Louisiana?”
“Do you want to know the truth or would just a ‘yeah, no problems,’ do?”
“Wait a minute, you weren’t by any chance involved in that truck and trailer deal out on thirty-six last night, were you?”
“Okay, so you want the truth. How did you know about it?”
“Well, the emergency room folks got a whiff of it through EMS, even though nothing materialized, in terms of, you know, ER admits. This is a small community and word gets around. Man, I can’t believe it was you. What happened?”
“I’ll tell you what. Aren’t we supposed to get together today to go over things at the hospital?”
“We are.”
“So, why don’t we talk about it over coffee?”
“Sure, sure, sorry. How much time you need?”
“Give me forty-five minutes. I’ll need a ride.”
“No problem.”
“And actually, we better make it an hour so I can call the rental company and get them started on delivering another car.”
“An hour for a lady to get dressed, after having a wreck and just waking up. Can you talk to my wife?”
“I was already awake.” She lied unnecessarily.
“Uh huh. Well, I tell you what. Why don’t we meet at that restaurant out front of your hotel? It’s pretty good. Good breakfast. That way, if you’re running a little late, I’ll just wait for you.”
“Sounds good. See you in an hour.” She hung up and looked at the clock. 8:10. How did that happen? She overslept. Not that she cared. It’s just that her inner clock always woke her up at about six o’clock in the morning. She must have been tired. Setting an alarm was something she almost never did anymore.
Leslie swung her feet over the side of the bed and it hit her. That delayed soreness after an accident. It’s the same soreness some accident victims can’t ever shake off and just attribute to getting tossed around. Nothing’s broken. It’ll get better. As Leslie stretched, she smiled, thinking about the tendency to call an attorney versus a doctor.
“Bet there’s the phone number of one conveniently located on the shiny back page of my telephone book.” It was the universal back page of every phone book, in almost any community she’d been to. “What the hell do they do in places where they don’t have trial lawyers? Go to a doctor? Hey, that’s a good idea. How about just wait and see if it gets better on its own.”
She picked up the phone book to look up the local rental car agency. Couldn’t resist the urge to confirm her theory. Sure enough. If a town can support an orthopedic surgeon, it can support a trial lawyer. Ed Sayers. Specializing in negligence of all sorts. Nursing homes, accidents, medical, workman’s comp.
Thumbing from back to front, auto sales, repair, rentals. Hertz. Out of the Abilene Regional Airport. She called the number and made arrangements for a new Taurus to be delivered. Gave them the information on the accident. No big deal. Too easy. She remembered that guy’s comment. “Let the insurance companies handle it.”
She got up and headed to the bathroom. Only had thirty minutes. No time to spare. She got in the shower letting the warm water hit her very sore traps and neck. The ankle was swollen. There was a little bruising along the outside. Maybe she would try to find a brace today. That shouldn’t be a problem. Being an orthopedic surgeon was handy.
Shower, shave. Towel dry her hair, massage in the anti-frizz product du jour, get dressed and go. Life with curly hair meant a never ending search for the right products and stay the hell away from blow dryers. She put on some basic black wool pants, a pullover sweater, practical shoes. Ready to go meet the Taylor County Regional Hospital administrator for breakfast at the twice recommended restaurant out front of the hotel. Does it even have a name? She walked through the door, looking at her watch. Only two minutes late, thank you very much, she thought to herself.
Terryl was four minutes early and was already working on the first of four cups of coffee, served in the little brown crock coffee cups typical of just about all country restaurants. If you could call a restaurant out front of a brand new Holiday Inn Express in Abilene, Texas, a country restaurant. He stood up and yelled to her across the dining room.
“Dr. Cohen, over here!” Just about everyone in the place turned to look at her. She was embarrassed. She didn’t like to call attention to her degree in public. People have preconceived notions regarding doctors, good or bad, and she preferred anonymity. Still, in places like Abilene, people generally respected and liked doctors. As she walked between the tables toward Mr. Wells, people smiled, tilted their heads in greeting. One old fellow touched his index finger knuckle to his ball cap bill, a salute, in his day, to the noble profession. Most likely, a doctor had saved the life of someone dear to him. Just the administration of penicillin, perhaps, no more.
“Hey, you weren’t kidding when you said you’d be ready in an hour! Terryl Wells, doc, nice to meet ya.”
“Same here.”
“You hungry?” He looked across the restaurant and signaled a waitress before Leslie had a chance to respond. A young woman came over to the table.
“Coffee, ma’am?” Now that was the second time she had been called ma’am on this assignment. She was going to have to get used to it all over again.
“Please.” There was already a little stainless steel pot of cream on the table
