Deficiency

FOUR

Hyman adjusted their schedules so that Terri could attend Paige Thorndyke's funeral.

"Although," he told her, "during all the years I've lived here, Terri, I think I could count on my fingers how many of my patients' funerals I've attended. I know doctors who have never attended any. I suppose it's a touch of paranoia, something that comes with the territory. You sit there in church or synagogue and you feel the eyes of loved ones and you think they are wondering if you made a mistake or if there was something more you could have done. Ridiculous, I know, but nevertheless, you feel it. At least, I did. Still do.

"And I don't blame them," he added. "We're always second-guessing, wondering if we should have seen that heart attack coming or that stroke. I've often revisited patient histories with just that question. Even after years and years of practicing medicine, I do it on occasion.

"Of course in this case, you have nothing to second-guess. You never treated the woman for anything, and you had no opportunity to provide any medical diagnosis or prescribe any therapy," he concluded.

"For what it's worth," she said, "Curt is on your side. He and I had a bit of a quarrel about it last night. He thinks I'm losing my critical objectivity."

"A certain amount of aloofness is important. It helps you maintain the objectivity you need to do your best," Hyman told her. "I wouldn't even deliver my own children. Sent my wife to Crackenberg, who charged the full ticket, I might add. No professional courtesy. He was not what anyone would call a generous man. His was a funeral I attended, motivated by a bit of glee, I'm ashamed to say."

Terri laughed, thanked him, and prepared to get to the church. It was a heavily attended service. Most of the hamlet had turned out, as well as people from Bradley's airline, the entire travel agency, and various relatives of the Thorndykes. The bizarre nature of Paige's death gave the funeral an unrealistic air, a sense that everyone was moving within the same nightmare. Terri could see it in the way people greeted each other, shook their heads in confusion, and stared at the grieving parents and Paige's brother Phil, all three of whom now looked stunned, gazing occasionally at the faces of the attendees as if they were looking to see if anyone could tell them why they were here. Bradley Thorndyke held his wife tightly, supported and guided her along, but to Terri it looked like he was really doing it to hold himself together as well or even more so. Phil Thorndyke held hands with an attractive brunette. They were comforting each other. Terri heard someone say her name was Eileen Okun and she had been Paige's closest friend.

Everyone stood while the coffin was removed through a side entrance to the waiting hearse and then everyone began to file out, no one speaking in anything above a whisper, greeting each other with nods or movements of their eyes. With her eyes down, Terri marched behind the crowd of mourners and, like everyone else, felt she was escaping from under the shadow of death when they left the church.

It was one of those perfect fall days when the sun seems to be holding back in intensity, but not brightness, and every cloud in the sky looks as if it was whipped with fresh milk. The air was redolent with the aroma of apples streaming in from an orchard near the church. It was a day designed for backyard touch football games and barbecues, which all made a funeral seemed that much more jarring and unreal.

Terri paused on the street outside the church while the funeral procession was being organized and directed to proceed to the cemetery. There, she had a chance to speak with Will Dennis, the county district attorney. Tall and lanky with a Lincolnesque look of melancholy that Terri imagined was carved by twelve years in the elected position, seeing the results of one vicious act after another, Dennis had the demeanor and bearing of someone dependable, someone in whom you would comfortably trust the important things in your life. It was this charisma that made him invulnerable election after election, that and his uncanny memory for putting together faces and names, a politician's biggest asset. Be introduced and shake hands with him once and you were remembered forever.

"Dr. Barnard," he said, nodding at her.

"Mr. Dennis." She stood beside him and both of them watched the hearse creep away from the church, the line of automobiles following to snake slowly up to the cemetery in Glen Wild, a hamlet best known for its cemeteries. She sighed deeply and then blew some air between her gently closed lips.

"Tough one," Will Dennis muttered. "Especially when it makes no sense." He looked at her.

"Medically speaking, of course," he added.

"Yes," she agreed. "Have you determined whether or not there was a criminal act committed?"

"In what sense?" he asked, his heavy eyebrows turning in and toward each other. "There wasn't any violence. It was scurvy, right?"

"I was referring to the man who brought her to the motel, leaving her there."

"Oh. No, we don't have anything concrete about him and I don't know how we could indict someone for that. We'd have to establish that she was sick and he knew it, but everything we've learned suggests there was nothing wrong with her. On the contrary, she was a ball of energy if you want to believe the eyewitnesses."

"Right. So the BCI investigator is leaving the case?" Will's lips curled up and in as he turned to look at her.

"What BCI investigator?"

"The one who interviewed me, Clark Kent?"

His grimace of confusion softened into a look of amusement.

"Is that some sort of joke? Clark Kent?"

"No. That was his real name. He claimed his parents had a sense of humor. How could he come see me without your knowing anything about it?" she wondered.

"I mean, does that happen?"

"No," he said shaking his head, the grimace gone now. "Someone was obviously pulling a very, very sick joke on you, Terri. What did he look like?"

"Look like? He was tall, about six feet one or two, blond-haired, blue eyes. He had a slight cleft in his chin and he was well tanned, like someone who had just returned from the Caribbean. I'd say he was in his mid-to late thirties." Will Dennis nodded.

"There's no detective in this county I know of who matches that description. Let me know if you ever see or hear from this piece of shit again," he added angrily.

"I'll have him indicted and prosecute him to the full extent of the law for impersonating a police officer."

She shook her head.

"He seemed so convincing and very nice. He talked about his pregnant wife and moving recently to upstate New York. I don't understand."

"Hang around my office for a day or two and you will," the district attorney said. "You'll quickly tell yourself you won't ever doubt how low humanity can sink. Well, I have to get back to the office. Take care," he said and walked to his waiting limousine.

She stared after him, her heart thumping. Suddenly, she felt violated, abused as if something had been taken from her. She looked about quickly when the cold chill at the back of her neck slid down until it settled between her shoulder blades. The remaining mourners clung to some conversation to help ease themselves back from the gloom. People shook hands. People hugged each other. Contact was very important.

A man hurrying away turned around the corner of the church, the shock of blond hair gleaming in the late morning sunlight. It sent an arrow of ice through her chest. She hurried in his direction, practically running, but when she turned the corner, too, he was gone.

Who was he?

Was that the man who had pretended to be an investigator? Why had he done such a sick thing?

Why would he come to the funeral, too?

How in hell could Paige Thorndyke have died of scurvy? It's a Third-World problem, especially to the extent it was present in Paige Thorndyke. She felt like screaming the questions at the church as if it was truly a conduit that would bring her words to the ears of God and then bring back His enlightening response.

She heard nothing but the slamming of car doors and the starting of engines. Walking briskly back to her car she angrily thought, Curt should have been here with me. He should have adjusted his schedule, not only because this was a person whose family he knew, but most importantly because he should have been at her side.

Why that suddenly occurred to her and with such vehemence was unclear. She looked back at the corner of the church. Maybe, if Curt had been with her.... She jabbed her key into the car's ignition and drove off, her thoughts falling back like thunder against the front steps of the church.

He sat on one of the oversized, chipped, and faded wooden lawn chairs and stared at the murky pond. It was still warm enough for water flies and mosquitoes to practice their insane circling inches above the water. It convinced him that Nature was far from perfect. It was an unfinished work, still being developed through trial and error. What in hell could be the purpose for this sort of maddening life? Food for frogs, bats? And who were they food for and if there were no mosquitos, would we need frogs and bats? One mistake engendered another. That's all. Simply and sweet, a fuckup of global proportions.

Man had been created to fix all these mistakes, he thought. He was here to work through science and correct, improve, and perfect the world. Weather must not be permitted to remain random and whimsical. Every disease had to be cured and eliminated. Sources of energy that were restorable had to be discovered and perfected, and all these vermin had to be exterminated.

From where all these ideas came to him, he did not know. All of it was just there. It was like opening a closet or a cabinet and finding all sorts of food and not having the slightest clue as to how it got there. However, even though not knowing the origins of things that pertained to him did bother him from time to time, it was only in a small and momentary way. He didn't dote or dwell on it, and he certainly didn't toss and turn at night worrying about it. Why worry about anything? All problems were solvable eventually, and the solutions were never more than an arm's length away.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear Kristin come up beside him until she actually began to speak. He didn't jump with surprise, however. He lacked that weakness he saw in other human beings. Nothing could surprise him and if it did, it never frightened him. Only one thing frightened him, malnutrition, and that was easy to starve off. It would always be easy.

"Hi," she said.

He turned slowly and looked up at her, giving her his best smile of hello, warm, full of delight at her presence, a smile designed to deliver a compliment and instill pleasure and confidence in its recipient. He was a master of smiles, a magician who could turn an expression into a look of wonder and innocence or just as easily, a look of sophistication and innocence. His eyes could almost change color to please. Like any successful performer, he could read his audience and reach into his repertoire to produce the look, the words, the very body motion to please. It gave his prey the sense that he was there solely for her. His whole body was truly a web and he was never so proud of it and what it could trap as he was now.

"Hi," he replied. "Thanks for recommending your grandmother's place." She shook her head, smiled, and looked at the pond, the expression on her face turning quizzical as she looked at the water and the surrounding birch, maple, and hickory trees. Earlier heavy rainfalls had practically stripped the trees of their beautiful fall foliage, leaving the forest stark and dreary. She was surely wondering why was he sitting here so contentedly and looking at the surroundings? What could he possibly get out of this?

"It's so peaceful here," he said anticipating her question. "You're lucky."

"Lucky? Hardly," she said grimacing. "This is like dead-endsville. Peaceful as a cemetery. Things don't grow here anymore. They just rot, people included."

"Really? I thought it was a very busy, exciting resort area," he said.

"It's still busier than it is most of the year, but only for about ten weeks in the summer. Nothing here is like it used to be. It's dying. Look at my grandmother's place. She doesn't bother to spruce it up anymore. She's getting what she can out of it and then it, too, like so many similar small rooming houses, small hotels, and bungalow colonies, will either be bought up by some tax-free religious group or left to rot. I'm not interested in inheriting it. I can tell you that. If I don't get myself out of here soon either to return to college or just travel She left her words hanging in the air like someone hoping some mysterious and wonderful hero would come along and scoop them up, taking her and them off on a magic carpet of promise.

He turned and looked back at the pond. She's so perfect, he thought. He felt blessed. He really was blessed. Something more powerful than anything was ensuring that he would always have what he needed.

"Where would you want to go if you didn't return to college?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the pond.

"Anywhere but here," she said and followed it with a small, insecure laugh. He nodded.

"Too bad we can't stand still and have everything come to us," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"You know, all new things, exciting things come to us. We partake of them and then they move on and something new arrives. We'd never be bored." She shook her head.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Well," he said turning back to her. "You're here and now I've come." She held her smile. Her face was still bubbling with confusion.

"It takes time," he explained. "Time to understand. I'm still in the process myself." He gazed at the pond.

"What if it takes me too long?" she asked, following it with a giggle that sounded like a pocket full of change.

He looked at her again. "I wouldn't worry, Kristin. You're too special to be left behind."

"Right, sure," she said. She glanced at her watch.

"Going to work?"

"Yes. I don't go in until noon today. I'm off at eight," she added, obviously not just to provide trivial information.

"Why don't I come around about then? Maybe we can go for a drink somewhere and you can relax and tell me more about your future plans. Would you like that?"

"Sure," she said.

"I'll be waiting for you outside the restaurant," he promised. "I'd go back for dinner, but your grandmother looks like she would consider it a capital crime for me or anyone to reject one of her meals."

Kristin laughed.

"That's for sure."

"I'm looking forward to it anyway. I never had turkey meatloaf. I hope she is a good cook. I have a ravenous appetite," he said and added, "in every sense of the word."

She raised her eyebrows and released that small, thin laugh again.

"Just tell her how good it is and she'll pile your plate sky high. Flattery, will get you everywhere. It's a family weakness," she added and started back toward the house.

"Flattery will get you everywhere? It's a family weakness? How original," he muttered.

He stared ahead. Water flies caused ripples. They seemed to continue forever in his head.

"Will Dennis said that?" Curt asked, stretching his lips as if he had just bitten into a rotten piece of fruit. "When you told him about the investigator, he said that?"

She stared at him. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what part he didn't understand. It wasn't in her to be sarcastic and short with people, especially him, but at the moment, she didn't feel anything like herself. Her stare made him squirm in the booth.

"I'll make a call," he said. "Something doesn't sound right." She couldn't resist.

"No shit, Dick Tracy."

He started to smile, thought a second time about it, and glanced instead at the menu. Before the death of Paige Thorndyke, they had made the date to have dinner at Melvin's Trout Reserve this particular evening. Originally, he was supposed to pick her up, but his court schedule and her delays at the medical offices made it better for them to meet at the restaurant. They were coming to it from opposite directions.

Terri had always hated going to and from a date alone, especially if she arrived before he did, which was most often the case. Heads turned and she could read their eyes, especially the eyes of the men with their legs dangling over bar stools as if they were riding horses. She imagined third eyes situated right at the center of their crotches.

Curt wasn't as bothered by separate arrivals, and she wondered if it wasn't simply a male-female thing. She hated that sort of explanation for anything. It truly made it seem as if they were a separate species, one more tolerant of something than the other. Men cringed at the sight of a rat just as much as women did, she thought.

But were women more romantic? Was that why it bothered her to come here alone and leave alone? In the end after the years of medical school, the degree and the professional accomplishments making her just as big a wage earner if not a bigger wage earner than Curt was, didn't she still want doors opened for her, chairs pulled out for her? The feminine in her would not, could not be denied?

He lowered the menu, deciding he would explain himself after all, her Dick Tracy remark gnawing at his ego like a termite in a heart made of wood.

"What I meant was, Will Dennis wasn't being truthful, and that suggests something to me."

"Why wouldn't the district attorney be truthful, Curt? What does it suggest?"

"I don't know. Maybe there's something going on undercover and he doesn't want to blow it."

"The man who came to my office wasn't under any cover, Curt. He was out front with a badge and all."

"Well... what the hell was he, a private detective posing as a state officer, someone hired by the Thorndykes, maybe?"

She looked up, her eyes bright.

"Yes, maybe that's it." She put folds of skepticism in her brow. "But so soon after, even before the funeral, they go looking for and hiring a private detective?"

He shrugged.

"People don't have faith in their hometown police. It makes sense to me. It takes too much effort and imagination to really investigate something as complicated as this appears to be.

"Look, Terri," he continued, reaching across the table for her hand, "you've got to put this behind you. If you let every death, every patient get to you like this, you'll soon become a patient yourself," he concluded.

She nodded.

"I know. You're right, of course. Hyman is with you on that, too."

"I always liked Hyman. I think I might even have trouble suing him."

"If you even thought of representing someone who would want to do that," she said, her eyes growing big with a fury he thought could consume them both. He laughed.

"Hey, I gotta do what I gotta do, don't I? You can't turn away a sick person just because you don't like him or her, or because he or she is a criminal, can you?"

"I sure as hell could discourage him or her from using me," she fired back and then sadly thought, and that's the difference between us.

Before the waitress returned to their table with their cocktails, Terri saw Eileen Okun enter the restaurant holding hands with a red-haired man who looked familiar. As they stepped down to follow the maitre d' to their table, the man glanced at her and smiled. She immediately recalled the strikingly hazel brown eyes and realized he was a nurse at the hospital and he, in fact, had been one of the nurses on duty the night Paige Thorndyke had been brought into the ER. How strange to see him with the woman Terri had been told was Paige's best friend, the woman on Paige's brother Phil's arm at the funeral.

"What is it?" Curt asked, noticing how she was staring at the couple. She told him who they were.

"So? This is a popular restaurant and there aren't all that many good ones open this time of the year. I'm not surprised," he said with a shrug. He was annoying her so much tonight, she thought. Usually, she had more tolerance. She recognized just how much she was on edge.

"Have you decided?" the waitress asked.

"I have," Curt said. "Terri?"

"The poached salmon," she snapped.

"I'll have the same," Curt said. The waitress took their menus and Curt ordered himself another cocktail. He smiled at her.

"So, have you given thought to remodeling our bedroom? I have Frank Curtis coming over tomorrow to decide how we would go about cutting in the patio door. I thought, if we could cut it on the west end, we would build the balcony and be able to see the sun set over the Shawangunk Mountains. Huh?"

"That does sound very nice, Curt."

"Can you make it over, say about ten? Or better yet, sleep over tonight?" He reached for her hand again.

"You want to hear something funny?" she said instead of replying. "Hyman had four calls from patients today asking about the daily requirements for vitamin C. Like they thought a scourge of scurvy was about to descend on us. Despite all the information over the Internet, education, television, whatever, most people are relatively ignorant when it comes to their own bodies. I guess part of the reason is there is so much conflicting information. First, coffee is no good for you, then it is. First, you should take more supplements, then a study shows it could be harmful."

Curt stared coldly.

Then he leaned back.

"So I have this case involving a mother who has illegally tapped into her own children's trust funds. The children have hired me to sue their own mother. Now, of course it gets complicated when you begin to consider the defined benefit pension plan her husband had created and then there is the matter of the family trust fund and IRS code..."

"Okay," she said putting up her hands in a gesture of surrender. "I get the point." The waitress served Curt his second cocktail. As soon as she left, he leaned forward, smiling.

"I'd rather talk about us than anything, Terri, anything."

"I know. I'm sorry." She put her hand into his just as Eileen Okun stepped up to their booth.

"Excuse me," she said. "Mark, who's a nurse at the hospital, just told me who you are. I'm Eileen Okun. I was a very good friend of Paige Thorndyke's and..."

"Yes," Terri said quickly. "I know. I saw you at the funeral."

"Oh, you were there?"

"Yes, she was there," Curt said sharply, his eyes on her.

"How can I help you, Eileen?" Terri asked, trying to overpower his stern tone.

"I just wanted to tell you that I was with Paige twice this past week. We had dinner together the night before, and that was when we had made plans to meet at the Underground. I was unable to get there because of a family problem. Anyway," she said her eyes moving nervously from Curt to Terri, "I don't mean to bother you, but I wanted to tell you that there was absolutely nothing wrong with Paige."

"Are you in the medical field?" Curt asked.

"No. I'm a marketing consultant for Scanlon Insurance and..."

"So how can you make a diagnosis?" he followed, as if she were on the witness stand.

"Oh. I just meant... she was... she looked fine and she ate well and..."

"We're all confused about it," Terri confessed. "I wish I could tell you something that would help you understand it. I haven't learned anything new." She nodded.

"I'm just trying to keep myself occupied and not think about it, but I was wondering if there was any possibility of there being something contagious or anything," she said, smiling weakly at Curt and then looking at Terri.

"Why don't you ask your boyfriend?" Curt said.

"He's not really my boyfriend and he's not a doctor. I just thought..."

"It's all right, Eileen," Terri said, her eyes soft and friendly. "Scurvy is not contagious, no. It's a disease caused by a deficiency of vitamin C. You don't have to be concerned because you were in contact with Paige shortly before," Terri added as reassuringly as she could.

Curt, either by reflex or because he was annoyed, followed with, "What sort of contact did you have with Paige?"

Terri's eyes went large.

Eileen looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

"Just... friends, having dinner. We hugged at the end of the evening. That's all," she said. She shook her head. "It just didn't make any sense. Even Mark says that, so I wanted to talk to you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

"It's all right," Terri said. "When something crazy like this happens, it makes us all a little terrified."

Eileen smiled her appreciation, threw a colder glance at Curt, and then returned to her table.

"Well, you were right," Curt said quickly. "The amount of ignorance and stupidity despite the improved technology and communication

"And the lack of compassion," she added. "She's just a frightened young woman, Curt. What happened to her friend is devastating."

"Right," he said.

The waitress brought their food.

"I'm sure there is a sensible explanation waiting out there. Or else it's just a freak accident of some kind. We've all just got to take a deep breath and think next and go on. Doesn't this look good?" he concluded nodding at the food.

"Yes," she said, but she had lost her appetite. Eating became mechanical.

"I hope there's some vitamin C in here," Curt kidded. The untimely crudeness of the remark made her eyes glitter with steel.

"I hope there's plenty of antioxidants," she countered.

"Antioxidants? Why?" he asked, his fork poised.

"Keeps brain cells healthy," she said.

"Very funny. I can see it's going to be interesting being married to a doctor," he said, but it didn't come out sounding like something positive. She swallowed down the feeling along with her food.

Although they had come in later, Mark and Eileen left before she and Curt. On their way out, Eileen glanced back. Terri smiled at her and she smiled back.

"Are you coming over or what?" Curt asked when he paid their check.

"I'll be there tomorrow. I'm tired," she said.

"No better rest than the rest you'll have at the farm lying in my arms," he insisted.

"Somehow, I don't think it will be just cuddling."

"So?"

"Tomorrow," she repeated with a firmness he had gotten used to knowing was rarely unhinged.

"Right. Tomorrow," he muttered.

They kissed at her car, where he tried to be softer, apologetic, and loving. She let him try and then she repeated her desire to go home and get a good night's sleep. Disappointment was masked poorly with a perfunctory smile and another quick, obligatory goodnight kiss and then he got into his Jaguar and sped into the night.

She followed out of the driveway and turned slowly toward Centerville. These rural mountain roads were quiet even during the summer months. Miles of forest was interrupted by an occasional house and lawn, but real development didn't begin until she was five miles or so from the hamlet proper. She was driving slowly, almost totally by rote, not thinking much about the route itself. The sight of a police car's bubble lights flickering ahead brought her out of her daze. She slowed and saw the patrol car was parked behind a black Jeep Cherokee. The patrolman was on the driver's side. The door was open and he was leaning in. He turned as she pulled up beside.

"Anything wrong?" she asked. "I'm a doctor."

"A doctor? Christ," he said, "am I glad you're here!"