The Guilty

Chapter 71

Robie and Reel returned to the Willows, where they found Little Bill Faulconer waiting for them on the porch.

Robie said, “Everything okay?”

Little Bill shook his head and Robie could see his reddened eyes and puffy face.

“Is it your dad?”

Little Bill nodded and wiped his eyes. “He passed on this mornin’. Momma found him out in the Airstream.”

“I’m really sorry, Little Bill,” said Robie.

Reel put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It’s hard, I know.”

Little Bill said, “He was only forty-one years old. Damn young to die.”

“Too young,” agreed Robie.

“Funeral’s goin’ to be on Thursday if y’all want’a come.”

“We’ll be there,” said Robie. “Do you and your mom need anything?”

Little Bill shook his head. “We doin’ okay. I mean, we knew it was comin’, but still.”

“Yeah,” said Robie quietly.

Little Bill got in his old, battered car and drove off.

Robie watched him, the anger building.

Reel looked at him. “You okay?”

“I got somewhere to go.”

“You want me to come?”

“No, I’ve got this one.”

Thirty minutes later Robie pulled in front of Dr. Holloway’s office.

He marched right past the nurse/receptionist, who scrambled after him, protesting his intrusion.

Holloway was in his office going over some paperwork when Robie barged in.

He looked up at Robie and his nurse behind him.

She said, “He doesn’t have an appointment, Doctor. I tried to stop him from comin’ in here.”

Holloway said, “It’s all right, Gladys, I’ll see him.”

Robie closed the door behind him and stood in front of the doctor.

Holloway eyed the sling. “How’s the arm?”

“You heard?” asked Robie.

“About what?”

“About Billy Faulconer! He’s dead.”

“Yes, I did hear. Angie Faulconer phoned me.”

Robie looked a bit taken aback by this. “Angie called you?”

“Yes, she did. I was his doctor after all. Would you like to have a seat?”

“No, I’ll stand,” Robie said angrily.

“All right. Now, you seem to have an issue with my treatment of Mr. Faulconer. Is that right?”

“Yes, I do.”

Holloway nodded. “That’s why I asked for Mrs. Faulconer’s permission to share with you details of her husband’s diagnosis and treatment. HIPPA regulations do not allow me, without that permission, to discuss these types of things with outside parties.”

“I know that,” said Robie curtly. “But she said it was okay to talk to me about Billy’s condition and treatment?”

“Yes, she did. Please sit down, Mr. Robie. This might take a few minutes.”

Robie drew up a chair and sat.

Holloway said, “I know you’re from Cantrell and thus you understand well the history of our state, which has certainly had more than its share of, shall we say, misfortune.”

Robie said nothing.

Holloway steepled his hands. “My father, Mr. Robie, was also a doctor. And a good one. He was competent and professional and his bedside manner was very reassurin’.” He paused. “If you were white, that is. Now if you were black, he was none of those things, principally because he refused to provide medical care to those folks. And he would refer to them in the most repugnant terms you could imagine.”

“So he was a racist?”

“Absolutely. To the extreme. Not so uncommon in men of his generation from the Deep South. He would have been ninety-four this year if he had lived. I was the youngest of seven children. And the only one to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a doctor. Half my siblings took after my father’s views on race, and the other half marched resolutely into the twentieth and twenty-first century. I would count myself among the latter.”

“Okay,” said Robie impatiently. “But what about Billy?”

“When Mr. Faulconer came to me I did a thorough examination, which included X-rays, sophisticated blood testing, and other analyses as part of my diagnostic protocols. I may be a small-town doctor who does a little bit of everythin’, but I received an excellent medical education and was even an organ transplant surgeon early on in my career. I had dealt with many cancer cases, some hopeless, others treatable, over the course of my practice.

“But out of an abundance of caution I sent my findings on Mr. Faulconer to a good friend and professional colleague of mine who’s the chair of the Radiation Oncology Department at Ole Miss Medical Center. He’s a world-renowned authority in the field. He confirmed my diagnosis of stage IV non-small cell lung cancer that had metastasized irreversibly into other major organs, including Mr. Faulconer’s brain and liver, and also his bones. At that stage there are some treatment options, but no realistic possibility of a cure. This particular cancer was virulently aggressive and options were limited.

“Nevertheless, we explored the various options, includin’ radiation, chemotherapy cocktails, and a combination of both. I even looked into some experimental trials that were goin’ on in different states, but unfortunately, Mr. Faulconer, for various reasons, did not meet the test criteria. In any event treatment would have been physically arduous and, at best, would have bought him only a few more months of life, and hardly at a high quality. I discussed this at length with the Faulconers, and they ultimately made the decision to forgo any type of treatment. The decision was made to make him as comfortable and pain free as possible until the end came.”

“But Billy told me all he was taking was oxygen!”

“Billy did not understand many of the things that I explained to him. He was not educated in medical matters, and his brain had already been impacted by the cancer. His short-term memory was very poor and his grasp of details lackin’.”

“He remembered our championship football game in great detail,” interjected Robie.

“I’m not surprised by that. I said his short-term memory was impacted. But memories from long ago might very well be crystal clear. When the end draws near the mind reaches out for…some comfort. Some happiness. I suppose it makes it bearable.”

Robie nodded. “I guess it does,” he said quietly.

“But Angie Faulconer is very capable and was very aware of all that we were doin’. He received morphine and other painkillin’ medications daily through a port I had placed on his forearm. He received every medication and treatment that was possible under the circumstances to ensure that his sufferin’ was as limited as it could possibly be. Either I would travel there to administer them and also check on his condition, or she would. I instructed her precisely on how to do so. Billy’s condition was constantly monitored by a portable sensor system that he wore under his clothing, and that was read every two hours. And I would vary his pain medications based on that.”

“I didn’t know any of this.”

“Mr. Robie, he never suffered unduly. Everythin’ that could be done for him was done for him.”

“I guess just seeing him in that trailer with the oxygen tank. It just seemed that he was all alone.”

“Angie and I implored Billy to go into hospice. He either could have done it in a facility nearby, which I had located and made arrangements for, or else home hospice would have been provided by a local agency that I knew to be very good. I had filled out all the forms, and there was government money available. It wouldn’t have cost them anythin’, really. It was all ready to go.”

“Only Billy didn’t want to leave the Airstream?” said Robie quietly.

“Only Billy didn’t want to leave the Airstream,” Holloway repeated. “And who was I to question the wishes of a dyin’ man?”

Robie looked at the other man, contriteness in his features. “I’m sorry, Dr. Holloway. I obviously got this completely wrong and made a complete ass out of myself.”

“No, you were just lookin’ out for an old friend.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Robie. “I’m not sure I deserve it, though.”

“I watched my father’s bigotry and hatred eventually destroy not only his marriage and his family but ultimately himself. From a very early age, I told myself I would never be like him. And I’m not.”

“Billy was lucky to have you as a doctor. And he’s in a better place now.”

“I truly believe that he is. My father went to church every Sunday and pretended to understand a God who had made it his life’s work to love and welcome all people. I too attend church every Sunday. I read my Bible every day. I worship a God that is truly color blind, as we all should be. But I don’t blame you for thinkin’ what you did. Lord knows there are racists aplenty, not just in Mississippi but everywhere. Fortunately, I am not one of them.”

The two men shook hands.

“Thank you,” said Robie.

Holloway pointed at the sling. “Have you attended to that?”

“Not yet. I have some unfinished business.”

Holloway nodded. “I’ll be at the funeral.”

“So will I,” said Robie. “So will I.”