Fatal Cure

20

To David's and Angela's dismay, Nikki awoke with congestion and a deep, productive cough. Both were fearful that she might be coming down with the same illness that had briefly afflicted Caroline. David was particularly concerned because it had been his decision to allow Nikki to visit Caroline the previous afternoon.

Despite extra attention to Nikki's morning respiratory therapy, she failed to improve. To Nikki's keen disappointment, David and Angela decided she shouldn't go to school. They called Alice, who agreed to come over for the day.

Already tense from events at home, David was edgy as he started his rounds. With so many recent deaths, he was spooked to see his patients. But his worries were groundless. Everyone was doing fine. Even Sandra was much better.

"Your swelling is down," David told her as he tenderly palpated the side of her face.

"I can tell," Sandra said.

"And your fever is below one hundred," David said.

"I'm pleased," Sandra said. "Thank you. I won't even pressure you about when I can get out of here."

"Very clever," David said with a laugh. "The indirect approach is often far more effective than the direct. But I think we have to keep you until we're one hundred percent sure this infection is under control."

"Oh, all right," Sandra said, feigning irritation. "But if I have to stay, could you do me a favor?"

"Of course," David said.

"The electric controls of my bed stopped working," Sandra said. "I told the nurses, but they said there wasn't anything they could do about it."

"I'll do something," David promised. "It's a chronic problem around here, I'm afraid. I'll go out and ask about it right away. We want you to be as comfortable as possible."

Returning to the nurses' station, David found Janet Colburn and complained about the bed situation. "There's really nothing that can be done?" David asked.

"That's what maintenance told us when we reported it," Janet said. "I wasn't about to argue with the man. It's hard enough talking with him. And frankly, we don't have another bed to spare at the moment."

David couldn't believe that he'd have to go to see Van Slyke over another maintenance detail. But it seemed his choice was either to go ask why the bed couldn't be repaired, or go to Beaton directly. It was an absurd situation.

David found Van Slyke in his windowless office.

"I have a patient upstairs who was told her bed couldn't be repaired," David said irritably after a cursory knock. "What's the story?"

"The hospital bought the wrong kind of beds," Van Slyke said. "They're a maintenance nightmare."

"It can't be fixed?" David asked.

"It can be fixed, but it will break again," Van Slyke said.

"I want it fixed," David said.

"We'll do it when we get around to it," Van Slyke said. "Don't bother me. I have more important work to do."

"Why are you so rude?" David demanded.

"Look who's talking," Van Slyke said. "You came down here yelling at me, not vice versa. If you have a problem, go tell it to administration."

"I'll do that," David said. He turned around and climbed up the stairs intending to go directly to Helen Beaton. But when he got to the lobby he saw Dr. Pilsner coming into the hospital, heading for the main stairs.

"Bert," David called. "Can I speak to you a moment?"

Dr. Pilsner paused.

David approached him, described Nikki's congestion, and started to ask whether he thought Nikki should start some oral antibiotics. But David stopped in mid-sentence. He noticed that Dr. Pilsner was agitated; he was hardly listening to what David was saying.

"Is something wrong?" David asked.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Pilsner said. "I'm distracted. Caroline Helmsford took an unexpected turn for the worse during the night. I've been here almost continuously. I just went home to shower and change."

"What happened?" David asked.

"Come and see for yourself," Dr. Pilsner said. He started up the stairs. David had to jog to stay with him.

"She's in the ICU," Dr. Pilsner explained. "It started with a seizure of all things."

David's steps faltered. Then he had to sprint to catch back up to the quickly moving pediatrician. David didn't like the idea of Caroline having a seizure. It brought back disturbing memories of his own patients.

"Then pneumonia developed rapidly," Dr. Pilsner continued. "I've tried everything. Nothing seemed to make a difference."

They arrived at the ICU. Dr. Pilsner hesitated, leaning against the door. He sighed from exhaustion. "I'm afraid she's now in septic shock. We're having to maintain her blood pressure. It doesn't look good at all. I'm afraid I'm going to lose her."

They went into the unit. Caroline was in a coma. A tube issued from her mouth and was connected to a respirator. Her body was covered with wires and intravenous lines. Monitors recorded her pulse and blood pressure. David shuddered as he looked down at the stricken child. In his mind's eye he saw Nikki in Caroline's place, and the image terrorized him.

The ICU nurse handling Caroline gave a capsule report. Nothing had improved since Dr. Pilsner had left an hour earlier. As soon as Dr. Pilsner had been fully briefed, he and David walked over to the central desk. David used the opportunity to discuss Nikki's condition with him. Dr. Pilsner listened and then agreed that oral antibiotics were indicated. He suggested the type and dosage.

Before leaving the unit David tried to bolster Dr. Pilsner with an encouraging word. David knew all too well how the pediatrician felt.

Before seeing his office patients, David called Angela to tell her about Nikki's antibiotics. Then he told her about Caroline. Angela was dumbstruck.

"You think she's going to die?" Angela asked.

"That's Dr. Pilsner's feeling," David said.

"Nikki was with her yesterday," Angela said.

"You don't have to remind me," David said. "But Caroline was much better. She was afebrile."

"Oh, God," Angela said. "It seems to be one thing after another. Can you get the antibiotics for Nikki and take them home over your lunch hour?"

"Okay," David said agreeably.

"I'll be heading up to Burlington as planned," Angela said.

"You're still going?" David asked.

"Of course," Angela said. "Calhoun called me to confirm. Apparently he's already spoken to the officer in charge of the crime-scene division up in Burlington."

"Have a good trip," David said. He hung up before he could say something he might regret. Angela's priorities irked him. While he was worrying himself sick about Caroline and Nikki, she was still obsessed with the Hodges affair.

"I appreciate your seeing me," Calhoun said as he took a chair in front of Helen Beaton's desk. "As I told your secretary, I only have a few questions."

"And I have a question for you," Beaton said.

"Who should go first?" Calhoun asked. Then he held up his pack of cigars. "May I smoke?"

"No, you may not smoke," Beaton said. "There's no smoking in this hospital. And I think I should ask my questions first. The answer might affect the duration of this interview."

"By all means," Calhoun said. "You first."

"Who hired you?" Beaton asked.

"That's an unfair question," Calhoun said.

"And why is that?"

"Because my clients have a right to privacy," Calhoun said. "Now it's my turn. I understand that Dr. Hodges was a frequent visitor to your office."

"If I may interrupt," Beaton said. "If your clients choose to withhold their identity, then I see no reason to cooperate with you."

"That's up to you," Calhoun said. "Of course there are those who might wonder why the president of a hospital would have a problem speaking about her immediate predecessor. They might even start thinking you know who killed Hodges."

"Thank you for coming in," Beaton said. She stood up and smiled. "You won't goad me into talking, not without my knowing just who's behind your efforts. My main concern is the hospital. Good day, Mr. Calhoun."

Calhoun got to his feet. "I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again," he said.

Calhoun left administration and descended to the basement. His next interviewee was Werner Van Slyke. Calhoun found him in the hospital shop replacing electrical motors in several hospital beds.

"Werner Van Slyke?" Calhoun questioned.

"Yeah," Van Slyke said in his monotone.

"Name's Calhoun. Mind if I have a chat with you?"

"What about?"

"Dr. Dennis Hodges," Calhoun said.

"If you don't mind my working," Van Slyke said. He turned his attention back to the motors.

"Are these beds a frequent problem?" Calhoun asked.

"Unfortunately," Van Slyke said.

"Since you're head of the department, why are you doing them yourself?" Calhoun asked.

"I want to make sure it's done right," Van Slyke said.

Calhoun retired to the workbench and sat on a stool. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked.

"Whatever," Van Slyke said.

"I thought the hospital was a smoke-free environment," Calhoun said as he took out a cigar. He offered one to Van Slyke. Van Slyke paused as if he were giving it considerable thought. Then he took one. Calhoun lit Van Slyke's before his own.

"I understand you knew Hodges pretty well," Calhoun said.

"He was like a father to me," Van Slyke said. He puffed his cigar contentedly. "More than my own father."

"No kidding," Calhoun said.

"If it hadn't been for Hodges, I never would have gone to college," Van Slyke said. "He'd given me a job to work around his house. I used to sleep over a lot and we'd talk. I had a lot of trouble with my own father."

"How so?" Calhoun asked. He was eager to keep Van Slyke talking.

"My father was a mean son-of-a-bitch," Van Slyke said. Then he coughed. "The bastard used to beat the hell out of me."

"How come?" Calhoun asked.

"He got drunk most every night," Van Slyke said. "He used to beat me and my mother couldn't do anything about it. In fact, she got beat herself."

"Did you and your mother talk?" Calhoun asked. "Kinda team up against your father?"

"Hell, no," Van Slyke said. "She always defended him, saying he didn't mean it after he'd kicked the crap out of me. Hell, she even tried to convince me that he loved me and that was why he was hitting me."

"Doesn't make sense," Calhoun said.

"Sure as hell doesn't," Van Slyke said acidly. "What the hell are you asking all these questions for, anyway?"

"I'm interested in Hodges' death," Calhoun said.

"After all this time?" Van Slyke asked.

"Why not?" Calhoun said. "Wouldn't you like to find out who killed him?"

"What would I do if I found out?" Van Slyke said. "Kill the bastard?" Van Slyke laughed until he began coughing again.

"You don't smoke much, do you?" Calhoun asked.

Van Slyke shook his head after he'd finally controlled his coughing. His face had become red. He headed over to a nearby sink to take a drink of water. When he came back, his mood had changed.

"I think I've had enough of this chat," he said with derision. "I've got a hell of a lot of work to do. I shouldn't even be monkeying around with these beds."

"I'll leave then," Calhoun said as he slipped off the stool. "It's a rule I have: I never stay around where I'm not wanted. But would you mind if I returned some other time?"

"I'll think about it," Van Slyke said.

After leaving engineering Calhoun made his way around to the front of the hospital and walked over to the Imaging Center. He handed one of his cards to the receptionist and asked to speak with Dr. Cantor.

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked.

"No," Calhoun said. "But listen, tell him that I'm here to talk about Dr. Hodges."

"Dr. Dennis Hodges?" the receptionist asked with surprise.

"None other," Calhoun said. "And I'll just take a seat here in the waiting area."

Calhoun watched as the receptionist phoned in to the interior of the organization. Calhoun was just beginning to appreciate the architecture and lavish interior decor when a matronly woman appeared and asked him to follow her.

"What do you mean, you want to discuss Dennis Hodges?" Cantor demanded the moment Calhoun stepped through Cantor's office door.

"Exactly that," Calhoun said.

"What the hell for?" Cantor asked.

"Mind if I sit down?" Calhoun said.

Cantor motioned toward one of the chairs facing his desk. Calhoun had to move a pile of unopened medical journals to the floor. Once he was seated he went through the usual routine of asking to smoke.

"As long as you give me one," Cantor said. "I've given up smoking except for whatever I can mooch."

Once they'd both lit up, Calhoun told Cantor that he'd been retained to discover Hodges' killer.

"I don't think I want to talk about that bastard," Cantor said.

"Can I ask why?" Calhoun said.

"Why should I?" Cantor asked.

"Obviously, to bring his murderer to justice," Calhoun said.

"I think justice has already been served," Cantor said. "Whoever rid us of that pest should be given a medal."

"I've been told you had a low opinion of the man," Calhoun said.

"That's an understatement," Cantor said. "He was despicable."

"Could you elaborate?" Calhoun asked.

"He didn't care about other people," Cantor said.

"Do you mean people in general, or other doctors?" Calhoun asked.

"Mostly doctors, I guess," Cantor said. "He just didn't care. He had one priority and that was this hospital. But his concept of the institution didn't extend to the physicians who staff it. He took over radiology and pathology and put a bunch of us out to pasture. All of us wanted to throttle him."

"Could you give me names?" Calhoun asked.

"Sure, it's no secret," Cantor said. He then counted off on his fingers five doctors, including himself.

"And you are the only one of this group who's still around."

"I'm the only one still in radiology," Cantor said. "Thank God for my having the foresight to set up this imaging center. Paul Darnell's still here too. He's in pathology."

"Do you know who killed Hodges?" Calhoun said.

Cantor started to speak, but then stopped himself. "You know something," he said, "I just realized that I've been spouting off despite having prefaced this conversation by saying I didn't want to talk about Hodges."

"Same thing occurred to me," Calhoun said. "Guess you changed your mind. So how about it; do you know who killed Hodges?"

"If I knew I wouldn't tell you," Cantor said.

Calhoun suddenly drew out his pocket watch which was attached by a short chain to one of his belt loops. "My word," he said. He stood up. "I'm sorry, but I have to break off this chat. I didn't realize the time. I'm afraid I have another appointment."

Stubbing out his cigar on an ashtray in front of the surprised Cantor, Calhoun rushed from the room. He went immediately to his truck, then drove down to the library. He caught up to Angela as she was strolling along the sidewalk leading to the entrance.

"I'm sorry to be late," Calhoun said after he reached across and opened the passenger door for her. "I was having so much fun talking with Dr. Cantor I didn't realize the time."

"I was a few minutes late myself," Angela said. She climbed into the cab. It smelled of stale cigar smoke.

"I'm curious about Dr. Cantor," she said. "Did he say anything enlightening?"

"He's not the one who killed Hodges," Calhoun said. "But he interested me. Same with Beaton. There's something going on here, I can feel it."

Calhoun cracked the driver's side window. "Mind if I smoke?"

"I assumed that was the reason we were taking your truck," Angela said.

"Just thought I'd ask," Calhoun said.

"Are you sure this visit to the state police is going to go all right?" Angela asked. "The more I've thought about it, the more nervous it makes me. After all, I'll be misrepresenting myself to a degree. I mean, I work at the hospital, but I don't really need the papers to take care of patients. I'm a pathologist."

"No need to worry," Calhoun said. "You might not even have to say anything. I already explained the whole deal to the lieutenant. He didn't have a problem."

"I'm trusting you," Angela said.

"You won't be disappointed," Calhoun said. "But I have a question for you. Your husband's reaction last night is still bothering me. I don't want to cause any trouble between you and your husband. The problem is I'm having more fun on this case than on any since leaving the force. What if I lower my hourly rate. Will that help?"

"Thank you for your concern," Angela said, "but I'm sure David will be fine provided we stick to the one-week time frame."

Despite Calhoun's reassurances, Angela still felt nervous as she climbed out of the truck at state police headquarters in Burlington, but her concern was unnecessary. Calhoun's presence made the operation go far more smoothly than Angela could have hoped. Calhoun did all the talking. The policeman in charge of the evidence could not have been nicer or more accommodating.

"While you're at it," Calhoun said to the officer, "how about making two sets of copies."

"No problem," the officer said. He handled the originals with gloved hands.

Calhoun winked at Angela and whispered: "This way we'll both have a set."

Ten minutes later, Angela and Calhoun were back in the truck.

"That was a breeze," Angela said with relief. She slid the copies out of the envelope the officer had placed them in and began looking through them.

"I never say 'I told you so,' " Calhoun said with a smile. "I'd never say that. Nope. I'm not that kind of person."

Angela laughed. She'd come to enjoy Calhoun's humor.

"What are they?" Calhoun asked, looking over Angela's shoulder.

"They're copies of the admissions sheets on eight patients," Angela said.

"Anything unique about them?" Calhoun asked.

"Not that I can tell," Angela said with some disappointment. "There doesn't seem to be any common element. Different ages, different sexes, and different diagnoses. There's a fractured hip, pneumonia, sinusitis, chest pain, right lower quadrant abdominal pain, phlebitis, stroke, and kidney stone. I don't know what I expected, but this looks pretty ordinary."

Calhoun started the truck and pulled out into the traffic. "Don't make any snap decisions," he advised.

Angela slid the papers back into their envelope and gazed out at the surroundings. Almost immediately she recognized where they were.

"Wait a second," she said. "Stop a moment."

Calhoun pulled over to the side of the road.

"We're very close to the office of the chief medical examiner," Angela said. "What do you say we stop in? He did the autopsy on Hodges and a visit might generate a bit more interest on his part."

"Fine with me," Calhoun said. "I'd like to meet the man."

They did a U-turn in the middle of a busy street. The maneuver scared Angela, and she closed her eyes to the oncoming traffic. Calhoun told her to relax. A few minutes later they were in the medical examiner's building. They met Walter Dunsmore in a lunchroom. Angela introduced Calhoun.

"How about something to eat?" Walter suggested.

Both Angela and Calhoun got sandwiches out of a vending machine and joined Walt.

"Mr. Calhoun is helping investigate the Hodges murder," Angela explained. "We came up to Burlington to get copies of some evidence. While we were here I thought I'd stop in to see if there have been any new developments."

"No, I don't think so," Walt said as he tried to think. "Toxicology came back and was negative except for the alcohol level which I told you about. That's about it. As I said, nobody's making this case much of a priority."

"I understand," Angela said. "Anything more on that carbon under the skin?"

"Haven't had a chance to even think about it again," Walt admitted.

After they wolfed down their sandwiches Angela said she had to get back to Bartlet; she told Walt she was on her lunch hour. Walt encouraged her to come back any time.

The drive back to Bartlet seemed even faster than the drive to Burlington. Calhoun dropped Angela off behind the library so she could get her own car.

"I'll be in touch," Calhoun said. "And remember, stay out of it."

"Don't worry," Angela said. She waved as she got in behind the wheel. It was almost one-thirty.

Back in her office, Angela put the copies of Hodges' papers in the top drawer of her desk. She wanted to remember to take them home that evening. While she was donning her white lab coat Wadley opened the connecting door without bothering to knock.

"I've been looking for you for almost twenty minutes," he said irritably.

"I was out of the hospital," Angela said.

"That much was obvious," Wadley said. "I had you paged several times."

"I'm sorry," Angela said. "I used my lunch hour to run an errand."

"You've been gone longer than an hour," Wadley said.

"That might be," Angela said, "but I plan to stay later than scheduled, which I normally do anyway. Plus, I spoke to Dr. Darnell to cover in case there were any emergencies."

"I don't like my pathologists disappearing in the middle of the day," Wadley said.

"I was not gone long," Angela said. "I'm fully aware of my responsibilities and carry them out to the letter. I was not responsible for surgical specimens which would have been the only true emergency. Besides, my errand involved a visit to the chief medical examiner."

"You saw Walt Dunsmore?" Wadley asked.

"You can call him if you doubt me," Angela said. She could tell that Wadley was partially mollified. She was suddenly glad she'd made the spur-of-the-moment visit.

"I'm too busy to be checking on your whereabouts," Wadley said. "The point is that I'm concerned about your behavior of late. I should remind you that you are still on probationary status. I can assure you that you will be terminated if you prove to be unreliable."

With that, Wadley stepped back through the connecting door and slammed it shut.

For a moment Angela stared at the door. She detested this open hostility with Wadley. Still, she preferred it to the previous sexual harassment. She wondered if they would ever be able to develop a normal professional relationship.

After the last office patient had been seen, David reluctantly headed over to the hospital to make his afternoon rounds. He was beginning to dread the experience for fear of what he might face.

Before seeing his own patients David went to the ICU to check on Caroline. The child was doing poorly and was clearly moribund. David found Dr. Pilsner sitting at the ICU desk in a hopeless vigil. The man was despondent. David could relate all too well.

Leaving the ICU, David started seeing his own patients. Each time he went into another room he felt anxious, only to be relieved when he discovered the patient was doing well. But when he went into Sandra's room the anxiety remained. Sandra's mental status had deteriorated.

David was appalled. The change was dramatic to him even though the nurses weren't impressed. When David had visited her early that morning she'd been bright and aware. Now she was apathetic to her surroundings and was drooling. Her eyes had lost their luster. Her temperature, which had fallen, had now crept back up over one hundred degrees.

When David tried to talk to her, she was vague. The only specific complaint he could elicit was abdominal cramps, a symptom that reminded him of other patients he'd been trying to forget. David felt his pulse quicken. He didn't think he could tolerate losing another patient.

Back at the nurses' station, David pored over Sandra's chart. The only new fact was that she'd apparently lost her appetite as evidenced by an entry in the nurses' notes that recorded she'd not eaten her lunch. David checked all the IV fluids she'd had; they were all appropriate. Then he went over all the laboratory tests; they were all normal. He was desperate for some clue to explain the change in her mental status, but there were no clues in the chart. The only idea that came to his mind was the possibility of early meningitis, or inflammation of the coverings of her brain. It was the fear of her developing meningitis that had moved him to admit her in the first place.

David re-examined her, and although he could not elicit any signs of meningitis, he went ahead with the definitive test. He did a lumbar puncture to obtain cerebrospinal fluid. He knew immediately the fluid was normal because of its clarity, but he sent it to the lab for a stat reading to be certain. The result was normal. So was a stat blood sugar.

The only thing Sandra wasn't apathetic about was pain when David palpated her abscess. Consequently, David added another antibiotic to her regimen. Beyond that he had no ideas. He felt lost. All he could do was hope.

Climbing on his bike, David cycled home. He knew he was depressed. He got no enjoyment from the ride. He felt heartsick about Caroline and concerned about Sandra. But as soon as he arrived he realized he could not wallow in self-pity. Nikki was slightly worse than she'd been at lunchtime when he'd brought home her oral antibiotic. Her congestion had increased and her temperature had reached one hundred degrees.

David phoned the ICU and got Dr. Pilsner on the line. David apologized for disturbing him but felt obliged to let him know the oral antibiotic wasn't helping.

"Let's up it," Dr. Pilsner said in a tired voice. "And I think we'd better use a mucolytic agent and a bronchodilator with her respiratory therapy."

"Any change with Caroline?" David asked.

"No change," Dr. Pilsner answered.

Angela didn't get home until almost seven o'clock. After she checked on Nikki, who was doing better after a respiratory therapy session with David, she went to take a shower. David followed her into the bathroom.

"Caroline is no better," David said as Angela stepped into the shower.

"I feel great compassion for the Helmsfords," Angela said. "They must be heartsick. I hope to heaven that Nikki doesn't come down with whatever Caroline got."

"I've got another patient-Sandra Hascher-who is scaring me the same way the others did."

Angela poked her head out of the shower. "What was her admitting diagnosis?"

"Abscessed tooth," David said. "It had responded nicely to antibiotics. Then this afternoon she suddenly had a mental status change."

"Disoriented?"

"Mostly just apathetic and vague," David said. "I know it doesn't sound like much, but to me it was dramatic."

"Meningitis?" Angela asked.

"That was the only thing I thought of," David said. "She hasn't had any headache or spiking fever. But I did a lumbar puncture just to be sure, and it was normal."

"What about a brain abscess?" Angela asked.

"Again, she's had little fever," David said. "But maybe I'll do an MRI tomorrow if she's not better. The problem is, she's reminding me of the other patients who died."

"I suppose you don't want to ask for any consults."

"Not unless I want to have her transferred to someone else," David said. "I might even get into trouble ordering the MRI."

"It's a lousy way to practice medicine," Angela said.

David didn't answer.

"The trip to Burlington went smoothly," Angela said.

"I'm glad," David replied without interest.

"The only trouble I had was when I got back. Wadley's being unreasonable. He even threatened to terminate me."

"No!" David said. He was aghast. "That would be a disaster."

"Don't worry," Angela said. "He's just blowing off steam. There's no way he could terminate me so soon after I complained about his sexual harassment. For that reason alone I'm glad I went to Cantor. The conversation officially established my complaint."

"That's not a lot of reassurance," David said. "I'd never even thought of the possibility of your being fired."

Later, when dinner was served, Nikki reported she wasn't hungry. Angela made her come to the table anyway, saying she could eat what she wanted. But during the dinner, Angela urged Nikki to eat more. David told Angela not to force her. Soon David and Angela exchanged words over the issue, causing Nikki to flee the table in tears.

David and Angela fumed, each blaming the other. For a while they didn't talk, preferring to turn on the TV and watch the news in silence. When it was time for Nikki to go to bed, Angela told David that she would see to Nikki's respiratory therapy while he cleaned up the kitchen.

David hardly had time to carry the soiled dishes into the kitchen when Angela returned.

"Nikki asked me a question I didn't know how to answer," Angela said. "She asked me if Caroline was coming home soon."

"What did you say?" David asked.

"I said I didn't know," Angela admitted. "With Nikki feeling as poorly as she is, I hate to tell her."

"Don't look at me," David said. "I don't want to tell her either. Let's wait until this bout of congestion is over."

"All right," Angela said. "I'll see what I can do." She left the kitchen and returned upstairs.

Around nine David called the hospital. He spoke at length with the head nurse who kept insisting that Sandra's condition had not changed, at least not dramatically. She did admit, however, that she'd not eaten her dinner.

After David had hung up the phone, Angela appeared from the kitchen.

"Would you like to look at the papers we got from Burlington today?" she asked.

"I'm not interested," David said.

"Thanks," Angela said. "You know this is important to me."

"I'm too preoccupied to worry about that stuff," David said.

"I have the time and energy to listen to your problems," Angela said. "You could at least extend the same courtesy to me."

"I hardly think the two issues are comparable," David said.

"How can you say that? You know how upset I am about this whole Hodges thing."

"I don't want to encourage you," David said. "I think I've been very clear about that."

"Oh, you're clear all right. What's important to you is important; what's important to me isn't."

"With everything else that's going on, I find it amazing that you are still fixated on Hodges. I think you have your priorities mixed up. While you're chasing off to Burlington, I'm here bringing antibiotics to our daughter while her friend is dying in the hospital."

"I can't believe you're saying this," Angela sputtered.

"And on top of it, you make light of Wadley threatening to fire you," David said. "All because it was so important to go to Burlington. I can tell you this: if you get fired it will be an unmitigated economic disaster. And that doesn't even account for the jeopardy you're putting us all in by pursuing this investigation."

"You think you are so rational," Angela yelled. "Well, you're fooling yourself. You think that problems are solved by denying them. I think you have your priorities mixed up by not supporting me when I need it most. And as for Nikki, maybe she wouldn't be sick if you hadn't allowed her to visit Caroline before we knew what the poor girl had."

"That's not fair," David yelled back. Then he restrained himself. He did think of himself as rational, and he prided himself on not losing his temper.

The problem was, the more controlled David became, the more emotional Angela got, and the more emotional Angela became, the more controlled David got. By eleven o'clock they were both exhausted and overwrought. By mutual agreement David slept in the guest room.