a brow at her. He didn’t act drunk now. “Why are you tired? You went to bed early enough last night. Besides, you slept in class today, didn’t you?”
His sarcastic tone made her madder. “Only because your fight with Julie kept me awake last night,” she snapped. “I’m falling behind in class. Mrs. Watson thinks there might be something wrong at home. She asked me if you helped me with my homework, and I told her you were too busy.” Tedi knew she shouldn’t be saying all this, but she couldn’t help herself.
“So I’m supposed to be doing your homework for you now? Is there something wrong with trying to make a living for my family?”
Tedi narrowed her eyes at him. “But you don’t.”
He stood for a long moment, glaring at her as red color once more crept up his face.
She glared back at him, heart pounding. She felt now as she did when she argued with Abby Cuendet during lunch—mad enough to say just about anything.
But Dad was bigger than Abby, and Abby didn’t drink.
He took a step toward her.
“Can I go to my room now?” Without waiting for a reply, Tedi pivoted away from him.
His left hand came down hard on her right shoulder, and he jerked her around to face him, his thumb and fingers digging painfully into her flesh. His other hand drew back. Way back. His angry eyes burned out at her.
“Daddy, don’t!” Tedi ducked.
She caught her breath and braced herself, tensing for a strike that didn’t land. She remained braced for a long time, then raised her head to find Dad frozen in position, eyes wide, face drained of color.
He released her shoulder and lowered his hand, but the pain still spurted down her arm. “Go to your room, Tedi.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m going back to work.”
The spacious corner office that Dr. Jarvis George had used at Knolls Community for the past twenty years reflected the passion of his life: hunting. A moose head overlooked his credenza. The head and rack of a twelve-point buck peered out from between two glass-fronted bookcases filled with outdated medical texts. A rich, dark brown leather couch and two overstuffed chairs were situated so that visitors had a chance to peruse several hunting pictures taken in the field.
At the moment, Jarvis found no pleasure in his surroundings. He sat behind his massive oak desk and stared at the report. That insolent new doctor had decided to fill it out after that stupid needlestick incident this morning. The RMQA—risk management and quality assurance officer—was a personal friend. Dorothy had seen fit to call this to Jarvis’s attention. Unfortunately, this was not the only copy. The administrator and chief of staff would know about it, and if anything came of it…But of course, nothing would.
Jarvis crumpled the sheet into a ball and threw it into the trash. “Big mistake, Bower.”
He glanced at his left hand, flexed it. He’d scrubbed it well after the needlestick. There was nothing more to do. You don’t catch Alzheimer’s from contaminated blood, and that was this poor old gal’s problem—increased dementia over the past weeks. Alzheimer’s.
Someone knocked on the door. “Jarvis? You in there?”
The sound of Ivy Richmond’s voice lightened his expression as he jumped up from his chair and rushed over to open the door for her.
His frown returned when he saw her face, drained of color and lacking its usual smile.
“Come in, dear, come in.” He gently took her arm and led her to the leather couch, where he sat beside her. “How are the funeral arrangements coming? Do you need any help?”
Ivy shook her head and disengaged her arm from his grip. “Got it done. It’ll be tomorrow at ten at my church. Will you sit with the three of us? No other family is coming.”
“I’d be honored, Ivy. Pardon me for saying this, my dear, but you could do with some rest. Are you feeling okay?” He reached up and felt her cheek with the back of his hand.
She leaned her head back on the couch and closed her eyes. “Maybe some chest congestion…or something. I don’t know. I’m just tired, Jarvis.”
He eyed his stethoscope over on his desk, but before he could decide to get it, Ivy opened her eyes and fixed him with an intent look.
“I’m worried about something, and I don’t know if I have a valid complaint. I’m just confused. I’ve gone through this grief process before, and I know what it can do to your mind. I think it’s working a number on me, but I just can’t tell.”
Jarvis took Ivy’s right hand in both of his. “Why don’t you tell me about it? If there’s anything in my power I can do to help, I’ll do it. You know that.”
She nodded. “But I’m not sure it’s fair to drag you into it—not fair to you or Dr. Bower.”
Jarvis tensed. “Dr. Bower?”
“I shouldn’t even be talking to you about him. I know you didn’t want him here.”
“I still don’t.” And the whole thing was getting harder to swallow as time went on. “We don’t need a full-time doctor here.” And especially not Bower. Already two of Jarvis’s regular patients had been treated by the younger doctor in the emergency room, and their glowing reports about Bower’s compassion and kindness hit a raw nerve. He could be a horrible diagnostician, write scripts for all the wrong drugs, but as long as he had a “good bedside manner,” he was praised as a good doctor. Sounded like slick politics. What about good, honest medicine? How long would it take Bower to convince administration to get rid of all the older docs and replace them with fresh grads who cared more about covering their tails from lawsuits than they cared about human beings?
Ivy pulled her hand from his.
Jarvis released her, shrugging off the bitter thoughts. “I’d like to think I’m enough of a professional to be objective. I think I can make a sound judgment call, especially for your sake.”
She shook her head and sighed. “I may be stirring up trouble for nothing.”
“Hey, I’ve been practicing objectivity as long as I’ve been practicing medicine. You trust me as a friend, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s figure out this Bower business together.”
Ivy took another deep breath, let it out and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I had to fight him to get him to try to save Mother yesterday. I felt as if he wanted to dismiss her as just a dying old woman. Maybe it was my emotions talking, I don’t know, but I question his ethics, Jarvis. I don’t think he holds human life sacred. That’s important to me, especially in my financial relationship to this hospital.” She spread her hands “What do we know about him?”
“Just the basics. What do you want to know? I’ll try to find out for you.”
“For instance, what is his background? Where did he come from? I know he’s a Doctor of Osteopathy. Is he an experienced emergency room physician? How does he feel about abortion and euthanasia?” She
