Blinded

SIXTY-FIVE

The house was calm when I got home from the two-act farce I’d produced at my office.

The meeting with Jim Zebid had been brief and relatively cordial. He seemed surprised by my revelation that some of the same lapses in confidentiality that had been plaguing my practice were also plaguing my partner’s practice next door. I went into a long explanation about the design of the soundproofing of the interior walls of the offices and why we had ruled out the possibility of eavesdroppers. I then revealed that my partner and I were planning to interview the couple who cleaned the offices for us the next day, and that we suspected that one or both of them may have found a way to get into our locked filing cabinets.

I promised to let him know the results of our inquiries.

He thanked me as he left. Truthfully? I didn’t see a sign that he was playing along with me. He was a better actor than I was.

I helped Grace into her pajamas and told Lauren to keep playing pool, that I would happily read stories to Grace before bed. I checked the charge on my cell phone battery, stuffed the phone into the pocket of my corduroys, and settled into the big chair in Grace’s room to read. She picked the same books that she picked every night-she was in a phase where she liked the idea of cardboard characters popping up at her as she turned the pages. Her current favorite was a tall skinny book full of multicolored, pop-up monsters. We read it twice-I admit that I did most of the reading-and her delight was no more muted the second time through than it had been the first.

That’s when the phone rang in my pocket.

I kissed Grace, lowered her into her crib, opened the phone, wrapped it hastily in one of my daughter’s lilliputian T-shirts, dropped my voice an octave, took a deep breath, and said, “Yeah?”

“You don’t know me, but… but don’t hang up.”

“What?”

“How’s your sc-scrotum feeling? Your… balls?”

“What the- Who’s this?”

“Just listen to me. The doctor who did your vasectomy? She-”

“What the- How do you-”

“No, no, listen to me. She screwed up when she did it. She clipped a nerve. No, snipped, snipped a nerve. You may be… impotent. You need to get a lawyer, sue her ass. She’s… out to get you.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend. You can… trust me.”

My friend hung up.

I did, too.

While I tried to still my pulse, I kissed Grace again, told her I loved her, and made sure her favorite stuffed toys were within her sight.

I walked back out to the pool table, told Lauren that Grace was tucked in and waiting for a good-night kiss, and then plopped down on the sofa in the living room.

The lights of Boulder twinkled in the dark at my feet.

Emily waddled in, her stubby tail darting around on her butt in a parody of wagging, her paw umbrella clacking on the wood floor with each fourth step. She stood in front of me for a moment, looked me right in the eyes, and then lowered her head onto my lap. Prior to joining me in the living room she’d apparently just completed a visit to her water dish, and her long beard was dripping with enough water to wash a small car.

She was telling me that things were going to be all right.

Her instincts about such matters were usually infallible, but this time I couldn’t figure out how it was all going to turn out okay.