Viral

Chapter 15 August 31

Squinting his eyes, Brian walked out of the MMH Inwood Emergency Department into the glare of the late summer sun and then hesitated on the sidewalk. He was overwhelmed and had never felt so much in a daze in his whole life. Was he locked in a terrifying dream with no escape? If it was reality, was he depressed or furious? It was difficult to decide as his mind flipped back and forth from one extreme to the other.

Just an hour before, Dr. Hard had led him back into the depths of the Emergency Department, coming to a stop outside of the trauma room where the paramedics had taken Emma. After telling Brian he had very bad news for him, he’d not said anything until that moment. Brian had known what was coming and had tried to brace himself.

“We ran an emergency EEG, which is an electroencephalogram, on your wife, which is a recording of brain waves.”

“I know what an EEG is,” Brian had said irritably, not yet ready to hear what else the doctor had to say.

“Your wife had a flatline EEG, including no activity from the brain stem, which is responsible for basic life function. What we believe is that her status epilepticus had gone on too long, depriving her brain of oxygen for a protracted period.”

Although Brian had suspected as much, Dr. Hard’s words were like lightning bolts and suddenly the meaning was clear: Emma was dead. A seizure caused by brain inflammation from a disease carried by a mosquito had killed her. To him, the odds seemed impossible. Was human life really so fragile and tragic? The question kept reverberating in his mind, as did Emma’s last wish to be readmitted to the hospital, where she could have been treated immediately for her third seizure and thereby might still be alive.

At that point Brian had been permitted to view Emma’s body in the trauma room. Gazing down at the pale, lifeless form on the table with an endotracheal tube protruding from her mouth and an IV line going into her arm was an image straight from a nightmare. It was hard to believe that someone in her prime, with such vitality and strength, could be so easily brought down by an insect, which seemed so tiny and inconsequential in comparison.

After viewing Emma’s body, Brian knew he had to make some decisions. In a kind of a trance he remembered the funeral home that had handled his father’s funeral a year and a half prior. After a quick call, it was arranged, and he couldn’t believe the finality of it all. Brian was told that after Emma was seen and cleared by a medical examiner investigator, her remains would be picked up by the Riverside Funeral Home. Then after signing some forms, he was told that he could go home.

The wail of a siren yanked Brian out of his momentary trance as he watched an ambulance race up the hospital driveway and then make a rapid three-point turn to back against the ED receiving bay. He watched the doors open as a patient was extracted, similar to the way Emma had been handled a few hours earlier. Had it really only been a few hours ago?

After taking a deep breath, Brian pulled out his phone. He’d been putting off calling home to report the news, but he knew he’d have to do it at some point. Of course, he could wait until he got back and do it in person, but he thought that was somehow unfair since he’d promised he’d keep everyone informed. Involuntarily he shuddered at the thought of having to tell Juliette that her mother was gone and never coming home. Considering how much she had suffered when Emma had been hospitalized, he knew this was going to be devastating.

Marshalling his courage, Brian opened his contacts and was about to tap on Aimée’s number when he paused. Something arresting caught his attention. About a hundred feet away, a uniformed, mildly overweight driver carelessly flicked a cigarette butt onto the sidewalk. Equally attention-grabbing was the vehicle whose front passenger-side fender the chauffeur was leaning up against. It was a gleaming black Maybach parked in a clearly marked no-parking zone directly in front of the hospital’s main entrance. Although Maybachs and other luxury cars were common in some areas of Manhattan, particularly Wall Street and Midtown, in Inwood they were scarcer than hen’s teeth. Brian pocketed his phone and, desperate for a diversion from the paralyzing sadness, headed over to get a closer look. As he approached, the driver went through the ritual of lighting another cigarette, and after doing so, he proceeded to toss away the used match with the same disregard he’d exhibited with his cigarette butt. He then crossed his arms and assumed a posture of boredom and haughtiness that truly rubbed Brian the wrong way. The man had a face mask, but it dangled uselessly from an ear.

Without any particular plan in mind, Brian approached. The driver eyed him with a kind of colonial disdain as if Brian was a native of a distant, semi-civilized part of Manhattan. Feeling a tidal wave of anger at this individual’s self-satisfied superiority as clearly a member of the capitalistic world that had also created Peerless Health and the MMH hospital chain, Brian tensed. From his experience as a police officer, he could see the man was wearing a shoulder holster from a characteristic bulge in his overly tight chauffeur’s uniform. Even the fact that the man thought it necessary and appropriate to be armed for his visit to the “wilds” of Inwood struck him as offensive.

In fact, he was about to tell the man that he had to pick up his cigarette butt and used match, which he was certain the man would refuse, when a sudden realization popped into Brian’s head. Up until that moment it hadn’t occurred to him to question who the owner of the Maybach might be.

“Quite a nice set of wheels,” Brian voiced, nodding toward the Maybach’s imposing hulk.

The driver didn’t respond but rather eyed him with hooded eyes that Brian could just make out through the man’s aviator sunglasses. He was wearing a chauffeur’s hat, but it was jauntily sitting back on his shaved head.

Purposefully being provocative while maintaining the required six-foot distance, Brian walked directly up to the Maybach’s rear passenger-side door. With almost every muscle tensed in his six-foot-one, nearly two-hundred-pound frame, he quickly rapped on the window with his knuckle. As he expected, it made almost no sound, confirming his suspicion that the Maybach limo was armored.

The snobby chauffeur was caught off guard by Brian’s actions. He straightened up, flicked away his half-smoked cigarette, and spoke in a strong Brooklyn accent: “Don’t touch the car!” It wasn’t a request but rather an order.

With his body taut like a high-note piano wire, Brian was fully ready to take the man down. But the driver did not follow up his threatening order with any gesture whatsoever. Instead, he added, “Please step away.”

With some disappointment, Brian relaxed a degree and then said: “An armored Maybach! We don’t get to see too many of these babies around here in Inwood.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t seen this one on occasion. It comes up here maybe two or three times a week.” He then leaned back against the car’s front fender and looked off into the distance as if Brian didn’t deserve any more of his time.

Brian bent down and looked at the rear tire. “Wow! Run-flat tires, too.” He stepped back from the vehicle so he could see both passenger-side tires at the same time. “Yup. Run-flat tires, front and back.” He was now reasonably sure who the owner of the vehicle was, especially if this person visited the hospital two or three times a week and could afford an armored Maybach. It had to be the MMH Inwood CEO, Charles Kelley.

Turning his attention from the car, he looked over at the main entrance to the hospital. It seemed to him, particularly in his current state of mind, that fate might be providing him with a rare opportunity to address his pent-up anger at Emma’s avoidable death. If she hadn’t been discharged, she would have been under seizure watch and likely still alive. Suddenly there was little doubt in Brian’s mind that Charles Kelley and Heather Williams bore significant responsibility not only for Emma’s passing, but also for his future bankruptcy, the possible loss of his home, and the ruin of his life.

With a new sense of purpose, Brian turned his attention back to the snotty driver. “Tell me. Could this impressive armored vehicle belong to the one and only Charles Kelley?”

A slight but detectable smile briefly turned up the corners of the driver’s lips as he turned to look condescendingly at him. “I’m not allowed to say exactly who it is I chauffeur.”

To Brian the driver’s response was the equivalent of admitting what Brian suspected, and the effect was immediate. As if propelled out of a cannon, he bolted for the hospital entrance, shocking the driver out of his staged indifference. “Hey!” the surprised driver shouted. “What the hell? Where are you going?”

Brian didn’t slow or respond. He was a man on a mission. Having visited Roger Dalton’s office so many times and even Kelley’s office once, he knew exactly where he was going. Because the hospital had instituted visiting restrictions due to the pandemic, he was confronted the moment he navigated the revolving door by a woman with a clipboard who asked if she could help him. Besides her clipboard, she was holding a number of face masks for those who needed them.

Without slowing since he was already wearing a mask, Brian just called over his shoulder that he had an appointment in administration with Mr. Charles Kelley. That was sufficient for the greeter, who merely nodded and waited for the next arrival.

Although his decision to confront Kelley had been spur of the moment, now that he was on his way, he became progressively determined to follow through with his plan. He knew he’d undoubtedly be considered a persona non grata, but he was committed to saying his piece. As he pushed through the door separating the vast, marbled hospital lobby and the carpeted admin area, he made a beeline for Kelley’s office after seeing that the conference room was clearly empty.

“Excuse me!” a receptionist-cum-secretary called out as Brian swept by, heading for the closed door. “Where do you think you are going? You can’t go in there!” She was the same individual who had unceremoniously escorted Brian out of Kelley’s office on his previous spur-of-the moment visit. Swiftly she picked up her phone and frantically punched in a series of numbers.

Reaching Kelley’s office door, he didn’t bother to knock. Instead, he tried the knob, which was unlocked, and burst in. Inside Kelley was clearly having a meeting with five of his underlings, including Roger Dalton, all seated on the oversized leather couch or occupying assorted side chairs. Kelley was standing behind his massive desk, apparently in the middle of a PowerPoint presentation. There was a flat-screen wall-mounted TV displaying Raising Collections on Accounts Receivable During the Covid-19 Crisis.

For a moment time stopped, allowing Brian to get a good look at Charles Kelley and to appreciate the skill of the painter who had done the man’s portrait hanging over the faux fireplace. True to life, Kelley was a handsome man with high cheekbones, sharply defined features, carefully coiffed sandy-colored hair, and an expensive business suit. Unlike the portrait, he was darkly tanned, and his hair was streaked with golden blond as if he’d just returned from a Caribbean vacation despite the pandemic. To Brian he looked like a model in a top-of-the-line menswear advertisement. The only thing that surprised him was Charles’s height, which Brian guesstimated to be somewhere in the six-foot-eight realm.

“Who the hell are you?” Charles demanded, having finally recovered from his momentary stunned silence at Brian’s precipitous arrival. His tone was condescending, as was the facial expression he quickly assumed, reminding Brian of Heather Williams.

“I’m an aggrieved customer and a long-term resident of this community,” Brian snapped as he strode toward Kelley, pointing his finger up at his face. “I need to talk to you about this hospital and its mission, and you need to hear me out.”

Roger Dalton struggled to his feet from where he’d been sitting in the deep couch and leaped forward to intercept Brian. “He’s Brian Murphy,” Roger called out, positioning himself between Brian and Charles Kelley. “His account is seriously in arrears and has been turned over to collections.”

Brian was briefly taken aback by the audacity of the rail-thin Roger Dalton. “Sit down, Roger!” he ordered, pointing back to where Roger had been. “You are not personally responsible for this travesty, unlike Mr. Kelley.”

“Yes, sit down, Roger,” Charles echoed. “Okay, Mr. Murphy. Exactly what do you think you can tell me that I don’t already know and know invariably far better than you?”

“Fat chance you know it better than I!” Brian sniped, approaching closer to the desk while continuing to jab his index finger up into Charles Kelley’s tanned face. “Do you have any conception whatsoever of what your profit-oriented leadership is doing to families like mine, struggling to get through this pandemic? My wife just died minutes ago from encephalitis after being discharged from this hospital while still ailing with EEE, all because I couldn’t pay an outlandish and incomprehensible bill.”

“I am sorry to hear about your wife’s passing,” Charles offered, casually crossing his arms. “But I can assure you that her discharge and her passing did not have anything whatsoever to do with your ability to pay. At MMH all patients are treated with the same attention to clinical detail and are given the finest care possible.”

“Bullshit,” Brian countered. He could tell stock language when he heard it and what Charles had just said certainly wasn’t at all what he and Emma had experienced. “Here are the facts: My wife needed to be under seizure watch because she was still suffering brain inflammation, yet she was discharged even though neither of us wanted that. If she had remained in the hospital, she wouldn’t have died. It’s as simple as that.”

At that moment two hospital security guards dressed in dark suits came flying into Charles Kelley’s office, clearly responding to the distress call by the secretary. Without waiting to assess the degree of danger Brian represented, they made the mistake of rushing at him.

Reacting by reflex and using his tested skills, Brian made quick work of both security guards, throwing them ignominiously to the floor and pulling their jackets up over their heads. As they struggled to free themselves, Charles’s demeanor changed dramatically as he sensed real danger from Brian. Uncrossing his arms, he grabbed his wheeled executive chair and stepped back from his desk. Brian, for his part, had now moved up to the desk and was leaning on it with both hands, glaring up into Charles’s alarmed face.

“Here’s what I think in a nutshell,” Brian said with vehemence. “I think you are running what amounts to fraud with your health insurance coconspirators by taking advantage of this country’s laissez-faire healthcare situation to maximize your profits. In the process, you and your collections people are bankrupting me and hundreds of others.”

Before Charles could even respond to this denunciation, the limo driver doubling as a personal bodyguard came flying into the office in a manner similar to the hospital security people. Making the same mistake as they, he came at Brian at a run. On this occasion, not only did Brian throw him to the floor, pull his jacket over his head, and rip it in the process, but he also disarmed him.

By now the first two security people had managed to disentangle themselves from their jackets and had gotten to their feet. Thinking of trying their luck with him a second time, they took a step forward but then hesitated upon seeing that Brian was holding the limo driver’s Glock pistol. But to their surprise and relief, Brian merely emptied the gun, tossing the shells into the corner of the room, where they clattered against the bare floor and hit up against the wall.

“I’m here to talk, not fight,” he warned, looking both security men directly in the eye to make certain they got the message and were willing to stand down. “I need to get off my chest what needs to be said about what this hospital is doing to this community.” With a particularly large clatter that made everyone in the room jump, he tossed the gun into a wastebasket beside the desk.

Intent on trying their luck again with Brian, both security guards took yet another step toward him, but now Charles held up his hand, intuitively sensing that Brian was more than capable of holding his own. “Stand down!” he ordered. “Let the deadbeat have his say.”

“Thank you,” Brian said insincerely, sensing that Charles was merely humoring him. “Until recently I had good health insurance, so I never concerned myself with hospital bills, like when my daughter was born prematurely. I now think that was a big mistake. Everyone, myself included, is guilty of giving you people free rein, and your greed and your secrecy has had no bounds. You are all new age robber barons.”

Brian was just getting warmed up in giving this haughty, unprincipled businessman a dressing-down when he was again interrupted by the arrival of additional security. On this occasion it was an older uniformed patrolman who, like Brian had done years ago, was clearly earning some extra money covering the hospital on his day off. As he ran into the room, keeping the various police paraphernalia attached to his service belt from falling out, he pulled up short when he saw him. Almost simultaneously they recognized each other.

“Brian Murphy?” the officer questioned with shock. He’d been warned that a deranged individual had broken into the hospital CEO’s office.

“Liam Byrne?” Brian questioned. He’d not seen Liam for almost two years, and the man had gone prematurely gray. Plus, the face mask made recognition more difficult.

Charles immediately pricked up his ears at this interaction between apparent old acquaintances. Speaking scornfully to Liam, he said: “Do you know this trespasser?”

“Yes. He’s with the NYPD, like myself. In fact, he’s a member of the elite Emergency Service Unit. And his father, rest his soul, was commander of my precinct.”

“That’s a shock,” Charles said with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. “A policeman! It’s hard to believe with the way he’s carrying on. He should have known better. Well, you’ve saved him from himself, but get him the hell out before I have him arrested for trespassing and criminal intimidation.”

“Yes, sir,” Liam said. He stepped up to Brian and whispered, “I think it’s best I walk you out of here with no arguments.”

For a moment of indecision, Brian looked back and forth between Charles Kelley and Liam Byrne. He had a lot more that he wanted to say to Charles, but seeing a community friend, particularly one who’d known his father, shocked him back to a sense of reality. In his confused state of mind brought on by Emma’s death, the last thing he should have done was rush into Charles Kelley’s office and make accusations. He shuddered to think of what might have happened had the limo driver drawn his gun before coming into the room or if the other security people had been armed. Someone could have been killed, and there was a chance it could very well have been him.

Suddenly feeling embarrassed, he locked eyes with Liam and said: “Okay! You’re right. Let’s go.”

Liam grasped Brian’s upper arm, and the two of them walked out. The secretary didn’t say anything as they passed her desk, but her expression suggested she was satisfied that her quick thinking had saved the day. They started down the hallway, but behind them they could hear Charles ranting and raging about how the hell such a miscreant had been able to saunter into his office.

Brian and Liam didn’t say anything until they’d reached the hospital lobby, where they knew they could talk without being overheard.

“What on earth were you doing in there mouthing off to the hospital CEO?” Liam asked in a forced half whisper, sounding truly concerned. “He’s a bad dude from what I know.”

“My wife, Emma, died about an hour ago. I wasn’t thinking,” he said after letting out a deflating sigh.

“Mary, Mother of God, I’m so sorry. What was it, an accident? Or Covid?”

“No, neither.” He struggled against tears and had to take a few breaths in an attempt to keep them at bay. Despite his best efforts his eyes brimmed and a few tears ran down his cheeks, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. “She died of a viral disease called eastern equine encephalitis,” he added when he could.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Liam said, putting an empathetic hand on Brian’s shoulder.

“I hadn’t heard of it, either,” Brian admitted. He took a deep breath. “But apparently we are going to hear a lot more about it in the coming years thanks to climate change. It’s transmitted by mosquitoes that used to live in the tropics, but because it’s getting warm, they’re now all the way up to Maine and beyond.”

“Another virus we have to worry about besides coronavirus?”

“I’m afraid so,” Brian said with another sigh.

“Were you really mouthing off to Charles Kelley about climate change?” Liam asked.

Despite his precarious mental state, Brian let out a brief laugh and shook his head. “Hardly,” he said. “No, I wanted to make sure he knew that there was a chance my wife died after she had been discharged while she was still sick because I couldn’t pay any of her nearly two-hundred-thousand-dollar insane hospital bill. At least that’s what I’m afraid happened. I’ve been learning a lot of shady things about hospitals and health insurance companies the hard way. They’re in this together, sucking money out of the system like there’s no tomorrow.”

“What about our great health benefits as members of the NYPD?” Liam said. “How did you end up owing so much money?”

Although he was tired of once again explaining, Brian went ahead and described how he and Emma had retired from the NYPD to form their own security company and ended up with Peerless Health Insurance, which he described as legalized fraud. “These short-term health policies collect your premiums but then figure out a way of avoiding paying for most everything. Of course, I didn’t read the policy. I mean, nobody reads their health insurance policies.”

“You got that right,” Liam said.

“The hospital is already suing me,” Brian went on to elaborate. “And as I understand, that kind of aggressive, sped-up approach is all Charles Kelley’s doing. He even had the hospital form their own collections division.”

“I’ve heard he’s a mean son of a bitch,” Liam agreed. “I steer clear. Do you remember Grady Quillen?”

“Yeah, I do,” Brian said. “I’m surprised you brought him up, because he is the one who served me the papers for the hospital suit against me.”

“That’s why I mentioned him. I’d heard he worked as a process server after his retirement for the collections department here. I thought he might be someone for you to talk with for some advice.”

“He gave me the name of a lawyer,” he said. “He also told me how busy he is, meaning that MMH Inwood is suing a lot of people, so I’m not alone.”

“I can second that. A neighbor of mine is also being sued.”

“He said the same thing about one of his neighbors,” Brian said. “MMH Inwood is a lot more predatory than I thought. Until this happened, I’d always considered it a valuable part of the community. Now I’m not so sure.”

“How did you get here?”

“I came in an ambulance,” Brian said.

“I could call the precinct and have a squad car come and drive you home,” Liam offered.

“No need,” he said. “It’s a short walk. But thanks for offering.”

After a final conversation about how much everyone at the precinct missed Deputy Inspector Conor Murphy, Brian said goodbye. He thanked Liam for coming to his rescue in Charles Kelley’s office, admitting that he’d gone there in a fit of rage without giving it any thought.

As Brian emerged back out into the sunshine, he stopped for a moment to eye the gleaming black Maybach sedan again. Seeing as the luxury car was owned by someone involved with healthcare, it seemed immoral at best.

Chapter 16 August 31

In a kind of trance, Brian headed home totally unaware of his surroundings. The impulsive, histrionic display in Kelley’s office was so contrary to his usual style of careful planning and goal-oriented behavior. He knew that there was no way the episode could help rectify the situation in which he now found himself trapped. To make matters worse, calling Charles Kelley a new age robber baron was probably kowtowing to the man’s monumental ego.

Turning onto Park Terrace East and starting up the hill, Brian slowed his pace and then stopped. In the middle of his brooding, he realized what had really propelled him into Kelley’s office: It had been a way to avoid facing Juliette, Aimée, and Hannah or even thinking about telling them the horrible news. In many ways he was unconsciously denying Emma’s death, and the act of telling the others, including Camila, would shatter that tenuous denial.

“Maybe they already called the hospital,” Brian wondered out loud, but he knew that was wishful thinking. The burden of the truth was most likely squarely on him. What he feared the most was telling Juliette. He couldn’t even imagine what her reaction was going to be.

Taking a deep breath, Brian recommenced walking. He knew he was not as adept in the psychological arena as he was in the action realm, so for the next few minutes he tried not to think at all.

From the moment Brian entered the house he could tell that the news had not preceded him. He could hear the songful cartoon soundtrack of Pinkalicious & Peterrific coming from the kitchen, and Aimée and Hannah were in the living room quietly talking. Both adults immediately appeared in the foyer’s archway as Brian removed his mask and shoes.

“How is Emma?” Aimée asked warily. Hannah was standing next to her, but slightly behind, with a look of agonizing worry on her face.

Once again Brian choked up as he had with Liam Byrne. It took him a minute to pull himself together. By then both women knew what was coming. “Emma didn’t make it,” Brian finally managed with difficulty.

Hannah let out a high-pitched but thankfully short-lived wail as her face contorted into an expression of horror. In contrast, Aimée responded by putting her arms around Brian and hugging him tightly. “I can’t imagine what you are feeling. I’m so, so sorry, mon fils.”

“Thank you,” Brian choked. While Aimée held on to him, with a halting voice he recounted the details of what had happened. It was difficult to repeat, but he thought they deserved to know.

Finally, Aimée let go of Brian and exchanged a quick glance with Hannah, who had quieted down. “We have to tell Juliette,” Aimée said, keeping her emotions in check.

Hannah nodded several times, wiping tears from her face. “Yes, that’s the first thing that needs to be done, no question, and it should be Brian who does it.”

“Bien sûr,” Aimée added. “I agree completely.”

“And a wake has to be planned and notices sent out,” Hannah said. “There is a lot to do.”

“I don’t want a wake,” Brian blurted. He was shocked that such a suggestion was Hannah’s first reaction, but he knew he shouldn’t have been. He was well aware that Hannah’s method of dealing with any crisis was to suppress emotion with activity and planning. Emma had pointed it out on multiple occasions.

“But there has to be a wake!” Hannah countered in a manner that brooked no argument. “It’s expected!” She was equally shocked at Brian’s response, which was a sharp break from recognized and revered Irish tradition.

“Not here,” Brian pleaded. “Not around Juliette. And I have to think about what I can afford. Plus, these are not normal times.” As he spoke Brian realized he had no idea what Emma would have wanted. Despite the dangers they’d confronted as NYPD ESU officers, they’d never spoken with each other about their deaths and what their preferences might be.

“Well, there has to be a wake and a funeral mass even if it is limited because of the pandemic. And we can help with the expenses.”

“Not here,” Brian repeated, but realized this spur-of-the-moment response might seem selfish to Hannah and her family. He and Emma, although they’d grown up with a strong Irish connection to the Catholic faith, had drifted away from it during college. Neither had made a complete apostasy, but both felt the church was too ritualistic and out of touch with the times. As a consequence, they had not kept up with all the obligations on a regular basis, like going to mass and attending confession.

“That’s fine,” Hannah said with resignation. To her credit, she recovered quickly. “We can have the wake at our house. I can also make all the arrangements for the funeral mass at the Church of the Good Shepherd. Meanwhile you two and Camila can concentrate on Juliette. Is there a funeral home involved yet?”

“I called Riverside on Broadway,” Brian said.

“A good choice,” Hannah said. “I’ve worked with them before. They are very professional.”

“That was my experience, too,” Aimée said. “They were particularly helpful with Conor’s funeral.”

“I remember,” Hannah recalled. “All right, I’m off. Good luck with Juliette.” Without waiting for a response, she bent down and slipped on her shoes. She then put on her mask. “Let’s be in touch,” she added before leaving.

“Wow,” Brian let out as he closed the front door behind Hannah. “She’s really motivated.”

“Hannah has been like that for as long as I’ve known her,” Aimée said. “It’s her defense mechanism. And I’m not surprised. After all, it is an Irish tradition with a death to channel emotion as much as possible into celebration rather than pure mourning. It’s a tradition I’ve come to appreciate, especially after your father’s passing.”

“Yes, I remember you saying as much.”

“Now it is time for the difficult part,” Aimée said. “Are you ready to face your daughter?”

“Hardly,” Brian admitted, his heart squeezing in his chest. “Do you really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely,” Aimée reassured him. “It has to be you. Do you want a suggestion? I don’t want to interfere, but as your mother I do have some advice.”

“Please,” Brian said, desperate for any guidance.

“This would be a good time to take advantage of some of the consoling power of faith,” Aimée advised. “For the last year I’ve been taking Juliette to mass with me, which I’ve appreciated you and Emma allowing. She’s absorbed a lot. Although she mostly enjoys the dressing-up part, she has been responsive to discussions about beliefs, especially when we talked about heaven and Grandpa Conor. I think it is a way of making death seem not so final, particularly in a child’s mind.”

“Okay, I guess I can do that,” Brian said, thankful for any suggestions.

“I know you can,” Aimée said while giving Brian’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Together, Brian and Aimée went into the kitchen. Juliette looked up at them briefly but then went back to watching her PBS cartoon. Brian motioned for Camila to step out into the hallway, while Aimée sat down with Juliette and watched TV.

Once out of the room, Brian told Camila the news about Emma.

“No, no!” Camila muffled her voice as she made the sign of the cross. “I’m so sorry, Brian.”

“Thank you. I’m still in a kind of denial about it all, but I have to tell Juliette, as hard as it will be. How has she been doing after seeing the seizure?”

“Not so good,” Camila said. “At first, I couldn’t get her to talk about it. Then, when she did, she didn’t say much and instead started complaining again about not feeling well.”

“How so?”

“First she says she’s not hungry and feels sick to her stomach,” Camila began. “She won’t eat anything no matter what I suggest. And she’s complaining again she has a headache. But it can’t be much of a headache because all she wants to do is watch TV, so I don’t know what it is. In general, she’s very cranky, which I suppose is entirely understandable.”

“Has she said anything at all about what she saw?”

“No, not a word,” Camila said. “And I didn’t know whether to bring it up. I mean, it upset me. It was so violent.”

“It’s very disturbing,” Brian agreed. “Especially the second time. All right, thank you. Either way, I have to tell her that her mother is gone and hope we can handle her reaction.”

Despite all the hostage-negotiating seminars and discussions he’d had during his ESU training, Brian now felt totally unequipped to deal with his own four-year-old daughter. Nonetheless, he walked back into the kitchen and sat at the breakfast nook table across from his mother and Juliette. Unsure how to begin, he first reached out, picked up the remote off the table, and turned off the TV.

Juliette reacted instantly and angrily, reaching for the remote, but Brian extended it beyond her reach. “I need to talk with you, Juliette,” he told her. “After that we can turn the TV back on.”

Juliette looked at her father with obvious anger as if she knew what was coming, yet Brian persisted, trying to think of the best way to take his mother’s suggestion. “Mommy was very sick, as you know,” he began, “and she wasn’t feeling better, but now she has gone to heaven and all her pain is gone. She’s with Grandpa Conor, and they are very happy being together.”

For a few seconds Brian closed his eyes, feeling monumentally unsuited for this discussion, saying things he didn’t quite believe himself. And for a brief moment he wondered if Heather Williams and Charles Kelley ever thought that their behavior led to horrible situations like these, ones that should never have to happen. When he opened his eyes, Juliette was still staring at him as if digesting what Brian had said. Taking a deep breath, he continued: “So, Mommy will not be coming home. But I want you to know that I am here for you, as are your grandmas and Camila. We are all here for you.”

Suddenly Juliette let out a tortured wail somewhat akin to Hannah’s, then scrambled out of her seat and leaped onto Brian’s lap. With her arms around his neck and her legs around his midsection, she hugged him tightly and buried her face in his shirt. He could feel her sob. Brian hugged her back and exchanged a helpless glance with Aimée. He didn’t know what to do or what else to say. But one thing he did know was that Juliette was his sole responsibility and his life’s work from that moment on.

As suddenly as Juliette had begun crying, she stopped and disengaged herself from Brian’s embrace. She regained her seat and spoke up for the first time: “When will Mommy come home from the hospital?”

“Honey, I told you she won’t be coming home,” Brian said. “She’s with Jesus and Grandpa in heaven.”

Instead of asking any more questions, Juliette lunged for the TV remote, and this time Brian let her have it. In the next instant the happy, melodious soundtrack of Pinkalicious & Peterrific filled the room, especially after Juliette raised the volume. Aimée stood up and tried to give Juliette a reassuring hug, but Juliette resisted, preferring to keep the TV in view.

“Your daddy is right.” Aimée spoke loud enough to be heard over the TV. “We’re all here for you, so you are safe even if your mommy had to go to heaven.”

Camila then followed suit and got the same lack of response from Juliette. The three adults exchanged a glance and a shrug, communicating that there apparently wasn’t anything else to do for the moment. Juliette had been told, even if she didn’t want to believe it for the time being.

For several minutes Brian just stood there leaning against the sink, looking at his daughter and mother, and thinking about his mother-in-law’s reaction while his mind flip-flopped between disjointed thoughts and emotions about Heather Williams, Charles Kelley, and Emma. Focusing on Emma, he found himself questioning if it could possibly be true that she was gone forever. Or equally as disturbing: Would she still be alive if he’d insisted somehow on her staying in the hospital? How responsible was he for having let it happen?

Brian felt a new wave of emotion well up inside of him, which he hardly thought would be appropriate to display in his daughter’s presence. Pushing away from the kitchen counter in hopes of having a moment alone, he left the room and headed for the home office. For the time being he’d let Aimée and Camila bear the burden of comforting Juliette.

Seated at the large partner’s desk positioned under a chandelier, Brian made it a point not to look across at Emma’s empty seat. Instead, he woke up his sleeping monitor to go over finances in a vain attempt to rein in his emotions. With Emma gone, he’d need to seriously think about the viability of Personal Protection LLC and whether it would survive now without her input and partnership. Then, with surprise, he found himself wondering if he should investigate the possibility of trying to reverse his retirement and get his old NYPD ESU job back. Under his current circumstances the idea of a guaranteed salary, decent health benefits, and pension plan had enormous appeal.

In the middle of such thinking, the business landline started to ring. Hoping it meant someone was in need of security, Brian snatched up the phone. To his dismay it wasn’t a prospective client, but rather a Premier Collections agent. With an irritatingly high-pitched voice, the individual launched into a rapid threatening tirade, saying that if Brian didn’t immediately offer an acceptable plan for paying off his $189,375.86 debt, his credit rating was going to be trashed, making it impossible for him to get a credit card, any kind of loan, or a mortgage.

In his hyperemotional state, Brian lost control, telling the caller to go fuck himself. He then slammed the phone down with such force it caused a portion of the handset to pop off. For a split second Brian scanned the desk’s surface for something else to destroy, but the urge quickly passed. Then the phone rang again. This time Brian didn’t answer it. Knowing what he did about collection agencies, he was aware that he was destined to be pestered relentlessly. It was the name of the game.

Letting the phone ring, he pulled up his online banking account and looked at the balances. Things were hardly looking rosy, especially with the thought of an upcoming funeral. He really had no idea what kind of money would be involved, and he wondered selfishly how much his in-laws, the O’Briens, might be willing to shoulder following Hannah’s offer. Unfortunately, he knew that he would soon be finding out answers to these questions. Finally, the phone stopped ringing, and except for the distant sounds of the PBS cartoon coming from the kitchen, the room returned to silence. The one thing the call did do was remind him that he was indeed being sued, meaning he needed to do something before his time limit to respond to the complaint ran out. The specter of losing the house loomed in the back of his mind. He could not let that happen for a number of reasons, chief of which was Juliette. Losing her mother was going to create a terrible insecurity, and losing her home on top and the familiarity of her room would just add immensely to the impact.

“All right, that’s it,” he said out loud. Pulling out his phone for a Google search, he typed in “Patrick McCarthy.” He needed a lawyer, expense be damned, and with Grady recommending him, Patrick seemed like a good risk to take, especially with him being part of the community.

To his surprise, the lawyer answered on the second ring, making Brian wonder if that was a positive or a negative sign. He’d fully expected having to talk with either a secretary or leave a message. For a moment, Brian was caught off guard, but that changed as soon as he introduced himself.

“I know you,” Patrick said. “Wasn’t your father chief of police?”

“He was,” Brian confirmed. “Commander of the 34th Precinct.”

“I know your sister as well. We were in the same grade. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m being sued for almost two hundred thousand dollars by MMH Inwood,” Brian said. He liked the sound of Patrick’s voice, as it conveyed a sense of confidence.

“That, unfortunately, is a familiar story.”

“Really?” Brian was still a bit surprised to hear that. “Have you handled many such cases?”

“Quite a few,” Patrick said. “Especially lately with the pandemic. Have you been served?”

“Just this morning, by Grady Quillen.”

“Then we have thirty days to respond,” Patrick said. “When would you like to get together?”

“As soon as possible.” Knowing himself as a man of action, Brian needed to be active to keep from being overwhelmed by Emma’s passing and worry about losing the house.

“I could see you as early as tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

“Absolutely,” Brian said. “The earlier the better.”

“I could be here at the office at seven-thirty. Is that too early for you?”

“That would be fine,” Brian said. He thought the chances he’d be able to sleep very much that night were slim.

“I’ll see you then,” Patrick confirmed. “Bring your service papers, of course. And also a mask. I require it in my office.”

“No problem,” Brian said. He liked hearing that Patrick was sticking to appropriate Covid-19 pandemic rules.

“My office is at 5030 Broadway,” Patrick said. “I don’t have a secretary, so when you get here in the morning, call me, and I’ll come down and let you in.”

“I look forward to meeting you,” Brian said before disconnecting.

Chapter 17 September 1

As he had expected, Brian found sleep almost impossible that night. Even with the sleep medication, which he felt guilty taking since it had been prescribed for Emma, he spent most of the night wandering the house with his mind in turmoil. On multiple occasions he found himself looking in on Juliette. Each time he found her asleep, holding on to Bunny and looking peaceful. He was impressed the child seemed to have weathered the news with more equanimity than he had anticipated, which relieved him to a degree. He gave full credit to the grandmothers, both of whom had spent the rest of the day and evening with her. They’d even taken her out for a walk in her beloved Isham Park and then on to the Church of the Good Shepherd to light a devotional candle for Emma. When Aimée had told Brian of the plan, he’d rolled his eyes at the idea of resorting to ritual with a four-year-old, yet the episode seemed to have soothed Juliette considerably, making him wonder if he should rethink the role of religion in his and Juliette’s life. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that what was holding him together at the moment was his responsibility to his daughter to make sure she could navigate this emotional sea of losing her mother.

By seven a.m., with Juliette and Camila still sleeping, Brian prepared to leave the house. He wrote a note for Camila and texted Aimée to let her know where he was. He then collected the papers Grady had served him from the home office.

One of the many beauties of living in Inwood was how close everything was. Because the neighborhood was only a little more than a square mile, with a third of it forest-covered parkland, everything was within walking distance, in particular the commercial establishments along Broadway. Brian’s route took him down the West 215th Street double stairway, a unique Inwood landmark that played a fond role in his childhood.

When he reached Patrick McCarthy’s building, which was one of the few multistoried modern commercial structures in Inwood, he followed Patrick’s directions and called to be let in. As he did so, he briefly questioned what it might mean if the lawyer wasn’t successful enough to have a secretary, but he let the thought go when he saw Patrick get off the elevator and approach. He was impressive-looking and younger than Brian expected. He was tall, maybe even close to Charles Kelley’s height.

“Welcome,” Patrick said as he opened the door. His voice in person was more confident sounding than it had been on the phone.

As Brian passed by the man on his way inside, he did feel an immediate if minor bond. Like him, Patrick had dark, almost black hair with blue eyes.

“I appreciate you being willing to come in person despite the pandemic,” Patrick said as they walked back to the elevator. “I think it is important for us to literally see eye to eye if we are going to work together. Besides, I need the papers you were served, which I see you have brought.” Brian handed them over as they got into the elevator.

As they rode up to the fourth floor, Patrick leafed through the papers while Brian gave a capsule history of Emma’s illness, hospitalization, and then death the day before. That news took Patrick by surprise. “I’m so sorry,” he said with real empathy. “You are being sued for several hundred thousand dollars and you’ve lost your wife. What a terrible combination.”

“I lost my wife and my business partner,” he added.

“I’m in awe that you are able to function so soon after your loss.”

“I suppose I’m still in denial, if I’m being honest,” Brian said. “I’m also a very active person. It’s always been difficult for me to sit around under any circumstances.”

Inside Patrick’s office, which was singularly spartan, Brian sat in one of two metal folding chairs while Patrick lowered himself into in an aged desk chair behind a metal desk. The only other furniture was a small bookcase and a file cabinet. The décor was hardly suggestive of a lucrative practice. The only hint of it being the twenty-first century was an iMac, keyboard, and mouse on the desk.

“Well, I will answer the complaint, and we will get a court date,” Patrick offered as he aligned the court papers by tapping them on the desk before carefully laying them down in front of himself. Looking directly at Brian, he said, “I have to be up front with you. We’ve got an uphill battle here.”

“When Grady served me, and, by the way, he gave you a good recommendation, he said you had tried to help his neighbor Nolan O’Reilly, but that things hadn’t worked out.”

“That’s an understatement, but we tried our best.”

“That’s not a very good advertisement,” Brian said, hoping for some reassurance that his situation would be different.

“I can understand why you might feel that way. As I said, it is an uphill battle, and I’ll tell you why. Judges are, more often than not, forced to rule in the hospital’s favor because services have been rendered and everyone had been forced under duress of the admission process to sign a form that they will be responsible for the bill. Plus, the hospitals can charge whatever they damn well please without telling the patient or the family anything beforehand.”

“I can attest to that,” Brian said with a short, mirthless laugh. “But I would like to know if my case is significantly different than the O’Reillys’, since there’d been a summary judgment involved in theirs.”

“I’m sorry, but because of attorney — client confidentiality rules, I can’t discuss the details of other cases. I hope you understand.”

“I suppose,” Brian said. He didn’t think merely confirming a summary judgment would be a violation, but he let it go. “Have you had a lot of experience with this kind of case?”

“Tons of experience, unfortunately. I’ve got more than twenty open cases right now.”

“Similar to mine?”

“Strikingly so,” Patrick confirmed. “MMH Inwood has been suing many families for outstanding hospital bills, particularly since the Covid-19 pandemic began.”

“Have you had some cases where the outcome is a bit better than the O’Reillys’? Grady told me they even lost their house.”

“Absolutely,” Patrick said. “Rest assured, I’ve had many with a significantly better outcome.”

“Okay, that’s encouraging. To be honest, my biggest concern is losing my house.”

“Understandable,” Patrick said with sympathy. “Are you up to date with your mortgage payments?”

“No,” he admitted, feeling a jolt of fear. “Does that make a difference?”

“I’m afraid it does.” Patrick raised his eyebrows. “With the New York State Homestead Act, a home is protected in a bankruptcy filing, but not if the home is in arrears on the mortgage.”

“Shit,” Brian responded. “It’s only been a couple of months’ lapse because of the pandemic.”

“If you can possibly manage it, I’d strongly recommend bringing it up to date as soon as you can.”

“The bank is aware why I’ve not paid,” Brian said. “I’ve certainly been in contact with them, and they actually encouraged it. My wife and I started a new security business at the worst possible time: the middle of December, just before the pandemic hit. We’d been trying to preserve our cash to hold the business together.”

“I understand, but I’m sure the other side will try to exploit it. So, if you can, I’d bring it up to date.”

They then spent a few minutes talking about Patrick’s fees, which he agreed to put off after an initial, modest retainer of five hundred dollars. “Believe me, I can understand your situation,” Patrick said. “We’re all in it, thanks to this pandemic. You can pay me the balance when your company gets back to providing you with an income.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Brian said, thankful and pleased. He felt strongly that such trust was yet another benefit of living in this community.

“Okay,” Patrick said, placing both his hands flat on top of Brian’s papers. “I’ll take care of these with the court immediately. Meanwhile, I’ll need to get the hospital bill. Have you been given one?”

Brian let out a short, disgusted laugh. “With effort I got one, but it’s useless. The damn thing is in code. I can’t make sense of nine-tenths of it.”

“That leads me to another question. Have you considered retaining a medical billing advocate?”

“It’s interesting that you ask. My mother asked the same question. I’d never even heard of a medical billing advocate.”

“It is a sign of the times,” Patrick said. “Many hospitals have become so rapacious because they are being driven by private equity people to maximize profit, and one way to camouflage it is to make the billing process as incomprehensible as possible.”

“How might a billing advocate help my case?”

“He or she would go over your bill with a fine-toothed comb. They understand the confusing language and invariably find all sorts of mistakes and overcharges. Sometimes they alone can reduce the bill by half or more.”

“Who would have thought it would come to this?” Brian said, throwing up his hands in amazement. “It’s so damn ironic. Hospitals are supposed to save people, not cheat them.”

“As I said, it is a sign of the times. The US Congress has been asleep at the wheel, allowing medical costs to go through the roof. And it’s across the board: hospital prices, drug prices, or device prices like artificial joints — it’s all the same.”

“So you recommend I find an advocate?”

“Very strongly recommend it,” Patrick said. “Even if it is yet another expense for you.”

“Do you have anyone specific you recommend?”

“I do. There’s one right here in this building who is excellent in my experience. She’s helped me on a number of cases. Her name is Megan Doyle, and she also went to PS 98 like we did.”

“Megan Doyle,” Brian repeated. “She’s actually the one my mother mentioned. She said she’d helped a neighbor.”

“I’m not surprised. Megan has helped a lot of people.”

“Do you have her contacts by chance?”

“I can do better than that,” Patrick said. “I could give her a shout right here and now. It’s better to start the process ASAP because she’d need to get a complete copy of your hospital record, and hospitals are not cooperative with billing advocates to say the least. In fact, they make it as difficult as possible, creating all sorts of hoops and delays that have to be navigated.”

“I already have a hospital bill, which I could provide her,” Brian offered.

“She’ll get a better, significantly more complete one,” Patrick said. “Mark my words. The bills a hospital gives to patients are never broken down like she’ll demand. Should I call her? She’ll need to see you to start the process.”

“Do you think she’d see me now while I’m here?”

“I believe she will. This wouldn’t be the first time she’s helped a client of mine.”

“Fine, give her a try,” Brian said.

Using the speaker on his phone, Patrick made the call. In contrast to him, Megan Doyle had a secretary who put Patrick through directly to her. The call was friendly, curt, and decisive. Megan would squeeze him in between appointments, and told him he should come down directly after seeing Patrick.

After a short conversation involving another shared client, Patrick disconnected the call, then looked over at Brian. “You’ll like her,” he said. “She’s very personable but very professional, and she’s good at what she does.”

“Even if my bill is reduced to half, I’m going to be hard put to pay it off,” Brian said warily. “But let me ask you something else. What about going after my supposed health insurance company called Peerless? They’ve turned down my claims, denying any fiscal responsibility despite all the premiums I paid. To me it’s a fraud.”

“I’ll be happy to look into it, if you insist, but I can tell you up front that the chances it would be successful are minuscule. Short-term health insurance is a tolerated scam in my experience. They have spent millions in legal fees to protect themselves with their contracts. Did you read your policy?”

“No, I didn’t,” he admitted.

“That’s what they count on,” Patrick said. “They advertise themselves as being inexpensive, and they are. They love to take your premiums but are loath to pay out anything at all, and when they do, it is never even close to being adequate.”

“Why is it tolerated?” Brian asked, genuinely confused.

“That’s a question I can’t answer,” Patrick said with a shake of his head.

“I have one other issue that should be looked into. I think there’s a chance my wife was discharged before it was safe and possibly because I wasn’t paying the bill. I think that Charles Kelley, the hospital CEO, has created a very strongly profit-driven culture that’s willing to put patients in danger.”

Patrick’s eyebrows raised. “Let me understand what you are implying. Do you think there might be negligence involved?”

“I do,” Brian said. “If she had still been in the hospital under a seizure watch, she’d probably be alive today.”

“Hmm. That could possibly put a different spin on the situation down the road,” Patrick pondered. “At the same time, I wouldn’t count on it influencing this current case. What I can do is run it by a malpractice attorney friend of mine, provided you give me the okay.”

“Sure, if you think it is appropriate.”

“I’ll give it more thought,” Patrick said. “Meanwhile, I’ll start the process of getting you a court date.” He stood up, and Brian did the same, interested to meet his very first medical billing advocate.

Chapter 18 September 1

Conveniently it took Brian mere minutes to go from Patrick McCarthy’s office down to Megan Doyle’s on the ground floor. But the change was substantial. In contrast to Patrick’s space, there was a generous-sized waiting room and a receptionist, suggesting that Megan was doing significantly better financially than Patrick. Business for Megan was apparently brisk in spite of the pandemic, or maybe because of it.

To Brian, the elderly receptionist looked strikingly similar to the librarian of his middle school, and he was tempted to ask if she was related but couldn’t remember the librarian’s name. In keeping with the needs of the pandemic, a plexiglass shield had been added to the woman’s desk. Combining that barrier with his mask, he had to speak up when he gave his name.

“Miss Doyle will see you as soon as she can between patients,” the receptionist responded equally loudly. “Meanwhile, please fill out this form so we have all your contact information.”

Armed with the form on a clipboard, Brian turned to look for the most appropriate spot to sit in the waiting area. Despite it being as early as it was, there were two people waiting who had chosen opposite corners of the room beneath the windows that looked out on Broadway. In keeping with social distancing requirements, Brian went to the other end of the room.

As he was filling out the form, he thought about the receptionist calling Megan’s clients “patients.” It struck him as mildly bizarre that Megan was considered an integral part of the medical community, suggesting that dealing with a ridiculous hospital bill was somehow akin to setting a broken bone.

As he finished with the form, a fourth person came into the waiting area. What caught Brian’s attention was the woman’s age. Although the man and the woman under the windows were somewhere near his mother’s age of seventy, this newly arrived individual was closer to Brian’s thirty-six. She was dressed in biking shorts and a bright pink jersey with white stripes. And similar to Brian, when she gave her name to the receptionist behind the plexiglass, she spoke up to make sure she was heard. Her name was Jeanne Juliette-Shaw. Then the receptionist told her the same thing she’d said to him, indicating she, too, was being squeezed in. The only difference was that she was not given a form to fill out, implying that she was an existing client.

Despite the circumstance of being in a medical billing advocate’s office, his life in total disarray, and it being in the middle of a pandemic, Brian couldn’t help but be intrigued with this stranger on three accounts. The first was the woman’s youth, which suggested that similar to Brian, she shouldn’t be struggling with a difficult hospital bill. Second was her obvious French accent. When she pronounced her given name, it was “jhân,” not “jēēn,” suggesting that she had grown up in France just like Aimée. And third was her family name: Juliette-Shaw, calling to mind his daughter’s given name.

Jeanne retreated to the remaining corner of the room, relatively close to him although certainly more than the required six feet away. As she sat down, she nodded a greeting to Brian, who couldn’t help but closely watch her despite recognizing he might be acting mildly impolite. She then took out her phone from a pocket on the back of her bike jersey and became engrossed.

“Excuse me,” Brian said, unable to restrain himself. “I couldn’t help but hear the first part of your hyphenated family name, Juliette. It’s quite...” For a brief moment he didn’t know what to say, as he had spoken impulsively and hadn’t planned ahead. Finally, after an awkward pause, he added: “It’s quite beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said, but quickly reverted her attention back to her phone.

“It caught my attention because it’s my four-year-old daughter’s name,” Brian added, in an attempt to initiate a conversation.

Jeanne looked up again. Because of her face mask, he couldn’t be sure of her reaction, but there was a faint crinkle of the corners of her eyes at least suggesting a smile, but to his dismay she didn’t speak, forcing Brian to stumble ahead: “The reason we chose the name is that it was my mother’s maiden name. My mother grew up in France. She didn’t come here to the United States until college age, actually to go to Barnard College, where she met my father, who was going to Columbia on a hockey scholarship and then had us kids.”

Brian felt distinctly uncomfortable, which was why he’d carried on so long. Although social to a fault, he’d never been particularly comfortable talking with women he didn’t know.

“Juliette is not that common as a surname,” Jeanne said. “Even in France. Where in France did your mother come from?”

“Normandy,” Brian said, relieved to be asked a question. “Near Bayeux.”

“That’s a very interesting part of France.”

“Have you been there?”

“Of course. Everyone visits Bayeux because of the tapestries.”

“I suppose you are right,” he said. “Even I have seen the tapestries: several times, in fact. My mother took me and my brothers and sister to France every year to visit our French grandparents. To make it easier, she even got us all French passports so we could zip through immigration. My middle name is Yves, after my mother’s dad.” Brian didn’t know why he felt pressured to keep speaking. Being a private person normally, it was unlike him to be so revealing about himself.

“You and your siblings were very lucky,” Jeanne said.

“We were,” Brian agreed. Then, in hopes of turning the conversation away from himself, he said: “You have a distinctive and charming accent. Are you French?”

“Yes and no,” she said. “Like your mother, I grew up in France. I, too, came here to the USA to attend college but ended up staying and becoming a citizen. I consider myself American as well as French.”

“As you should. Could you be related to my mother’s family since, as you say, Juliette is not a common family name?”

“I doubt it,” Jeanne said. “I grew up in a totally different area of France that’s not that well known outside of the country. It’s called the Camargue. It’s way in the south, and all my relatives have lived there forever.”

“You are right, I’ve never heard of the Camargue, but I’ll ask my mother.”

“She’ll know of it; it’s the Rhône River delta,” Jeanne explained. “It’s marshy and agricultural with more birds, cattle, and horses than people.”

“I’ll check it out with Google,” he said. “I should introduce myself. My name is Brian Murphy.”

“Nice to meet you, Brian,” she said. “I’m Jeanne Juliette-Shaw.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. If you don’t mind, let me ask you a question about Megan Doyle. Is this your first visit, like it is mine?”

“No, she’s been working with me for a number of months. I’m just here to sign some final paperwork.”

“Has she been helpful?”

“She’s been most definitely helpful,” Jeanne confirmed. “I just wish I had come to her sooner. I wasn’t even aware such people existed.”

“Nor was I, not until a few days ago.”

“One of the main things I miss about France is the healthcare system,” she said. “It is so, so much better. Here it can be a disaster, and I am living proof.”

“So, I assume you had a large hospital bill, too?”

“Énorme,” Jeanne said. “Huge.”

“Were you sued as well?”

“Oh, yeah! Yes, I was sued.”

“A local hospital?” Brian asked.

“Yes again. MMH Inwood.”

“Did you not have insurance?” Brian asked.

“We had insurance, but it was a short-term policy and ultimately worthless,” Jeanne said. “They didn’t pay anything.”

“Could it have been Peerless Health Insurance, by any chance?”

“How did you guess?” she said, eyebrows raised.

“Merely by your saying they didn’t pay anything,” he said with a scoff. “We had the same insurance, and they haven’t paid a dime. I’ve learned it’s their modus operandi, thanks to their CEO, Heather Williams.”

“I’ve heard of her,” Jeanne said. “She’s popular with Wall Street.”

“What excuse did Peerless give for not paying any of your bill, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“They claimed my husband’s heart attack was due to a preexisting condition,” Jeanne began. “Somehow they found out he had gone to a doctor several years ago with chest pain. Even though the doctor at the time found nothing except mildly elevated cholesterol and blood pressure, the insurance company claimed his heart attack was due to a preexisting condition. Unfortunately, it held up in court. We were duped. We didn’t know that short-term health insurance could do such a thing.”

“That is criminal. I mean, almost everything can to some extent be considered a preexisting condition.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she said. “It is criminal.”

“Did your husband at least do okay medically?”

“I wish,” Jeanne said. “He died after multiple procedures, waiting for a heart transplant. It didn’t happen. With lousy health insurance, which wasn’t going to cover anything, and without adequate personal resources for the half-million-dollar procedure, the hospital dragged its feet. It became clear to us that the chances of him getting a heart were not good. He lived for a while with what’s called a ventricular assist device, but it wasn’t much of a life.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Brian said, feeling self-conscious he’d asked. And then he surprised himself by saying with a catch in his voice: “I can certainly sympathize. I lost my wife, too, just yesterday.”

“Oh, no!” Jeanne exclaimed. “What happened?”

“It was a viral disease called eastern equine encephalitis, or EEE for short, that she got from a mosquito. I think she’d been bitten while we were having a beach barbecue a few weeks ago.”

“Good lord! So tragic. I’ve never heard of EEE.”

“I hadn’t, either,” Brian said. “But it’s a developing problem that I’m afraid we are all going to hear more and more about. The Asian tiger mosquitoes that carry it have spread all the way up to Canada from the tropics.”

“Between that and coronavirus, it seems that viral diseases are becoming an existential threat. And you say your wife died just yesterday?”

He nodded.

“You poor man. How can you be out and about? I couldn’t even leave home for weeks after my husband died.”

Brian took several deep breaths, started to speak, and then had to pause again. Finally, he managed: “I’m still in the denial and anger stage, I suppose. But I had to get out, especially with MMH Inwood suing me and threatening my house. That’s why I’m here to see Megan Doyle and a lawyer upstairs, hoping they can help.”

“I assume you mean Patrick McCarthy. Wow! You are on a similar trajectory as I. If it is any consolation, I can at least assure you that they work well together.”

“That’s good to hear. Thank you.”

“This kind of situation would never happen in France,” she said. “It’s enough to make me think seriously of moving back even though there is a lot to love about this country.” Then, wrinkling her forehead, she added: “You said you have a daughter. How is she taking this tragedy?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. She’s always been a mommy’s girl. She’s had a lot of trouble since my wife was hospitalized two weeks ago. Telling her yesterday that her mother died was possibly the most difficult thing I’ve done in my life.”

“It’s an awful experience for a child to lose a parent, particularly a mother, no offense to you as a father.”

“No offense taken. I get it.”

“Your biggest challenge will be to convince her you will be there for her, that she is safe. Fear of abandonment will be her biggest concern, which you’ll need to address head-on.”

“It sounds to me like you know more about this kind of situation than I. Have you had some professional mental health training? Or are you a parent yourself?”

“No, I’m not a parent,” Jeanne said. “But I did study psychology at Fordham University, where I met my husband, probably similar to the way your mother met your father. I also took a master’s degree in school psychology and was an elementary school psychologist for a few years. While in that position, I had to deal with several students who had lost parents.”

“Well, that explains it,” Brian said, impressed by her experience.

“You’ll have to be prepared for a potentially wide range of symptoms on your daughter’s behalf,” she explained. “She could get psychosomatic symptoms, like gastrointestinal complaints. In the mental arena, she could exhibit practically no change to outright regression.”

“What do you mean by ‘regression’?”

“Reverting to an earlier age. For instance, she could stop talking, forget her potty training, or demand a bottle and refuse to eat solid food. There’s no way to predict. You’ll have to be prepared for whatever comes.”

At that moment the door to the inner office opened, and a white-haired man appeared on crutches. He was immediately followed by a woman Brian assumed was Megan Doyle. Despite the mask covering half her face, she looked younger than he expected, quite a bit younger than Patrick McCarthy, more like a college-aged woman than a professional with graduate training. She was dressed in a blue blazer over blue jeans with a white, open-necked blouse. Her medium-length light brown hair was a forest of curls. But what he liked immediately was that she projected a sense of assurance and almost cheerleader exuberance as she greeted the two older clients who were waiting by the windows, saying she’d be with them shortly.

After handing off some papers to the receptionist and taking the clipboard that contained the form Brian had filled out, she also greeted Jeanne before calling out his name and waving for him to follow her back into her office.

“Good luck,” Jeanne said as Brian got to his feet.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to need it.”

Chapter 19 September 1

Like Megan’s outer office, the inner one was a polar opposite of Patrick McCarthy’s shabby domain. It was hardly posh, but the furniture was relatively new, indeterminately modern, and constructed of a blond wood with a Scandinavian simplicity. Besides the obligatory desk and chairs, there was a good-sized bookcase that Brian could see was nearly filled with myriad hospital billing manuals and coding texts, underlining his ignorance of the entire field, one he never even knew existed.

“Please,” Megan said, pointing to one of the chairs that was a bit more than six feet away from her desk. She sat behind her desk and quickly scanned the form that Brian had filled out.

“Okay,” she began cheerfully. “This preliminary meeting won’t take but a few minutes, and it is mainly to get you to sign a patient advocacy authorization form, so we can get the ball rolling to get a complete copy of your hospital bill. It will also give us an opportunity to talk about my fees. I see you are being sued by MMH Inwood for nearly one hundred and ninety thousand dollars.”

“It’s going to go up,” he warned. “There will be an additional charge for an ED visit yesterday.” Brian then gave her a quick history of Emma’s illness and her death the day before.

“I’m so sorry to hear you have lost your wife,” Megan said with genuine empathy. Her shoulders visibly sagged.

“It’s the worst part,” Brian said. “But the financial impact is a real issue I still have to deal with. Do you think you can help me?”

“Absolutely, without a shred of doubt,” Megan said, regaining her fervor. “I’ve yet to have a client whose bill I haven’t significantly reduced. I can assure you that MMH Inwood pads their bills and makes billing errors with as much or more regularity than the other hospitals in the city, especially for the uninsured or poorly insured. By poorly insured I mean those people whose health insurance companies haven’t negotiated significant deductions in the hospital’s charge master price.”

“I apologize, but what is the hospital’s ‘charge master’? Is it like a list of prices for their services? I’ve never seen that.”

“Nor will you see it, even if you ask,” Megan said. “It’s not meant for the public to see. It’s a list of artificially high prices for goods and services that merely serves as a starting point for negotiating deductions for the more powerful, meaning large, health insurance companies. These prices have nothing to do with cost plus profit, which is how prices are usually determined in a real market and how Medicare tries to determine how much it will pay. And to make matters worse, hospitals keep raising their charge master prices, particularly when a hospital chain buys a failing community hospital. It’s all a big game as hospitals and health insurance both benefit the more money is thrown at healthcare. Unfortunately, it is people like you who suffer the most because of this stupid and enormously expensive game. You end up being charged the artificially high charge master price, which is much more than everyone else pays.”

“Good grief. I knew none of this. I feel like a babe in the woods, for Christ’s sake.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself. Most people have no idea of any of this unfortunate reality, and most people still labor under the delusion that all hospitals and health insurance companies exist to help them in their time of need.”

“I’m afraid I fell into that group for sure.”

“All right, enough of this grim reality,” Megan said, regaining her enthusiasm. “As soon as you sign this patient privacy authorization form, I will start the uphill climb of getting a complete, fully itemized bill, which is never easy because they will try hard to keep it from me. But don’t worry. I know all their tricks and all their delay tactics. Have you been dealing with anyone in particular in the hospital’s billing office?”

“Yes,” Brian said. “A Roger Dalton.”

“Good. He’s almost human.” She laughed at her own joke. “And I assume you are working with Patrick McCarthy as well since he called me?”

“Yes, starting just today,” Brian confirmed.

“Perfect!” Megan said. “We have a good working relationship. Do you have any questions for me?”

“I don’t know enough to have any questions at the moment.” He knew he’d probably have a dozen as soon as he walked out of the office.

“Let me give you a quick thumbnail sketch of what will most likely happen,” she added. “Although I can’t promise you anything, but by my past experience with MMH billing, I should be able to reduce your bill anywhere between twenty-five to ninety percent. I know that is an awfully large range, but that’s been my experience. As soon as I get your completely itemized bill, I’ll start to work. After this in-person meeting, we can work remotely for the most part. I assume you have a computer and internet.”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Actually, I have thought of a question. You seem to be busy. Are there a lot of Inwood people in need of your services?”

“Too many. And the pandemic has made it worse with people losing their employment-based healthcare and either going it alone or resorting to short-term health policies like you did. It’s another developing part of the Covid-19 American tragedy.”

“What about your fees? How will I be paying you?”

“You can either pay by the hour or as a percentage of what I save you,” Megan said. “It will be your choice, and you can decide at some later point. After I get a look at your hospital bill, I’ll be able to give you a better idea of what my fees might be.”

“Patrick offered to put off payment until after the pandemic eases up and my business picks up. Are you willing to offer that as well?”

“I am,” Megan said. “I’m sorry to have to cut this short, but I need to get back to seeing my scheduled clients. But first, let’s have you sign this patient privacy authorization form to get the ball rolling.”

“Of course.” He got to his feet and approached the corner of the desk where she had slid the papers that needed his signature.

With the papers signed and in hand, he followed Megan out into the waiting room. While she called one of the elderly clients, Brian went to the receptionist as he’d been instructed and handed over the signed form. As he was doing it and listening to her saying she would be in touch if anything more would be needed on his part, he was trying to work up the courage to re-engage Jeanne Juliette-Shaw. Luckily, he didn’t have to improvise. To his relief, as soon as he was finished with the receptionist, Jeanne stood up and approached him. In her hand she was holding a business card.

“Excuse me, Brian,” she began. “I am truly sorry about your wife, and I have been thinking more about your daughter. The experience I had as a school psychologist suggests it is not going to be easy for you or her. If I can be of help in some way, particularly if there are problems, I’d be happy to do so. I’m not working presently for a number of reasons, which I won’t bore you with, so I would be available if you were so inclined. Of course, it would be entirely pro bono.”

Brian was immediately overwhelmed by Jeanne’s generosity and impressed with the force of her character. “That’s incredibly kind of you,” he stammered.

“I wanted to give you my number if you are interested,” Jeanne said, extending the business card.

He took the card and tried to read it but with difficulty. His eyes had teared up at Jeanne’s offer and her altruism threatened to dissolve the veil of denial he’d erected to keep his emotions in check. “I might very well call you,” he stammered.

“I’m sorry if I’m upsetting you,” Jeanne said. “But I would like to help if you think I could.”

“You are not upsetting me,” Brian struggled to say, even though he was lying. He focused on the business card to get himself under control. In bold letters it said: shaw alarms followed by a Washington Heights address. Her title was vice president. There was an office telephone number, but it was crossed out, and below that was a mobile number.

“Whoa,” Brian said, taking a deep breath to pull himself together. “All this time I didn’t know I was speaking with a vice president!”

“Vice president of a bankrupt alarm company,” Jeanne corrected with a laugh of dismissal. “Shaw Alarms was forced into bankruptcy after I tried to pay MMH Inwood what I owed, which was impossible, and then was sued by them.”

“My God,” he remarked as rising anger saved him from his mournful emotions. Jeanne’s story was a stark reminder of how predatory MMH Inwood was and how perverse Peerless was to more people than just him. “MMH’s suit caused your company to go under?”

“Yes, with a little help from the pandemic.”

“Sounds like a perfect storm,” Brian said. “A storm I’m caught in as well. My wife and I started a personal security company just as the pandemic was starting in Wuhan, China. There’s been almost no work for us since it arrived here in the US.”

“You’ll notice on the card that the office landline phone number is crossed out,” Jeanne remarked. “But the mobile number is still operative. So please call if you decide you’d like to get ahold of me for some professional advice regarding your daughter. Or yourself, for that matter. Having recently lost my spouse, I can imagine what you are going through.”

“Do you live in Inwood?”

“I do. On Seaman Avenue. My unit overlooks Emerson Playground.”

“That’s one of my daughter’s favorite spots,” Brian said, managing a smile.

“I can understand why,” Jeanne responded. “Where do you live?”

“West 217th Street.”

“Nice! I’m familiar with the neighborhood. Do you by any chance live in one of those darling single-family homes?”

“I do, and I’d like to keep it from MMH Inwood’s predatory hands,” he said, his mood going dark and anxious again.

“Amen,” Jeanne responded, giving him a sympathetic look.

Chapter 20 September 1

As Brian came in through the front door of his house, he had no idea what to expect. No one had texted him for the two-plus hours he’d been away. The first thing he noticed was the soundtrack from a PBS cartoon coming from the kitchen; it sounded like Curious George. Thankfully there was no arguing or crying. The second thing he heard was Aimée and Hannah talking in the living room. Aimée waved and beckoned him to come in.

“Did you have any luck?” she questioned.

“It depends on what you mean by luck,” he said. “I did retain a lawyer. His name is Patrick McCarthy, he was in Erin’s class in elementary school, and he seems competent enough although he looks younger than I expected.”

“I’m sure he’ll be good,” Aimée reassured him. “It’s a fine family. And his father is a lawyer, too.”

“I also retained a medical billing advocate. It’s Megan Doyle, the one you mentioned helped a neighbor. I have to say she seems very professional although she looks even younger than the lawyer. The important thing is that she’s confident she can lower Emma’s hospital bill significantly. It crossed my mind that she might even be a bit overconfident, but we’ll see.”

“I’m pleased to hear you’ve taken my advice. She certainly aided Alana Jenkins. But we want to warn you about Juliette. She’s not doing so well.”

“What’s wrong?” After taking the sound of the cartoon coming from the kitchen as a modicum of promising news, this was not what he wanted to hear.

“She refuses to talk to either one of us.”

Brian nodded while replaying in his mind Jeanne’s warning about regression.

“And she won’t eat,” Aimée continued. “Camila has really risen to the task and bent over backward, even making her favorite breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast strips with sugar. To give Camila a break, I sat with Juliette for a time, trying to get her to interact with me, but I had no luck. It’s such a change from yesterday afternoon when we took her to the Church of the Good Shepherd, and she was acting herself. Now all she wants to do is watch cartoons, and she cries if anyone tries to interfere.”

“That’s not good,” he said. “All right, I’ll go in and see if I can turn things around.”

“Before you do, how are you doing?” Aimée asked, catching Brian off guard.

As if his mindset were poised on a knife blade, as soon as Aimée asked her question, he felt a wave of emotion wash over him. She saw it and responded by standing up, coming over to him, and giving him a long hug. Brian didn’t resist. When she finally let go, he wiped the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he managed.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Aimée insisted. She pulled him toward the couch where she’d been sitting. “Before you see to Juliette, join us for a moment. Hannah has some news she needs to share with you.”

Lacking the strength to resist, Brian sat and sighed, sounding like a balloon losing its air. Hannah spoke up immediately. “I’m happy to say I’ve made a lot of progress,” she began. She moved forward where she was sitting on the opposing couch. “I’ve been in touch with Riverside Funeral Home, and they have been most helpful. As soon as Emma is prepared, which I’ve been told will be in a few hours, they will bring her to our home for a proper wake, which will start this afternoon and continue overnight. Some family members and even neighbors have offered to help with food, drink, and other preparations like candles and flowers and arranging the house. How does all this sound to you?”

Hannah paused in her monologue and looked at him for some kind of response. Brian didn’t know how he felt about all this traditional rigmarole but was unwilling to openly object even if he did. It was so apparent to him that Hannah was trying to come to terms with her daughter’s death by attending to all the details. Once again, he wished he and Emma had discussed death in some form or fashion so he’d have some idea of what she would have wanted. If he had to guess, he thought she’d want her mother to decide if that could somehow be a help. With that in mind, all he did was nod.

“Okay,” Hannah said, as if relieved by Brian’s tacit agreement. “For tomorrow, I have arranged a funeral mass at the Church of the Good Shepherd, followed by interment at Woodlawn Cemetery. I hope you don’t mind, but we have gone ahead and covered the expenses.”

“That’s very generous of you,” he managed to say. He wasn’t one who expected or generally accepted handouts, but this was an exceptional time, and he was grateful, considering the state of his finances.

“We’re happy to help, knowing your security business is struggling,” Hannah said, offering him a sympathetic look. “The one thing I’d like to ask you to do is to alert some of Emma’s NYPD friends and colleagues about her passing even though attendance will be limited at both the wake and the funeral mass because of the pandemic.”

“I can do that,” Brian said. It also occurred to him that at the same time it might be an opportunity to at least float the idea of his returning to the NYPD with the ESU commander, Deputy Chief Michael Comstock. With Emma gone, he truly had no idea how much enthusiasm he still had about Personal Protection LLC, especially with the ongoing pandemic.

“Good!” Hannah voiced, slapping her knees with the palms of her hands before getting to her feet. “I’m sorry to have to leave you two to handle Juliette for the time being, but I have to get home to make sure everything goes smoothly. There’s so much to do.”

“We understand,” Aimée said. “We’ll see to Juliette, and thank you for bearing the burden of the wake and the funeral.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Hannah said with a wave of dismissal. She turned around, hurried into the foyer for her shoes, and disappeared out the front door.

For a moment mother and son eyed each other.

“She’s a whirlwind,” he offered at last.

Aimée nodded. “She needs to be, and you are generous to allow it.”

“I don’t have the energy to interfere. Besides, I don’t know what Emma would have wanted other than not wanting her mother to suffer.”

“Je comprends,” Aimée said. “Besides, your worry at the moment really has to be Juliette. My mothering instinct tells me she is going to need a lot of your attention. I’m more than willing to help, but I’m afraid the major burden will fall on you.”

“My fathering instinct is giving me the same message,” Brian agreed as he reached into his pants pocket and produced the card for the defunct business that Jeanne had given him. “To that end, I had an unexpected experience waiting to see Megan Doyle. Another of Ms. Doyle’s clients came in, and I heard her give her name: Jeanne Juliette-Shaw.” He handed the card to Aimée.

“Really?” she questioned. She looked at the business card and raised her eyebrows. “That’s surprising. Juliette is not a common family name.”

“That’s exactly why I had the nerve to strike up a conversation,” he said. “It turns out that she, like you, grew up in France and, also like you, came to the United States for college, Fordham University to be exact, and met her husband-to-be.”

“Une telle coïncidence,” Aimée said. She handed the business card back. “Mon Dieu! Did you ask where in France she’s from?”

“I did. She’s from the Camargue.”

“Fascinating, but I surely don’t know any Juliette families from the Camargue,” Aimée said. “I’ll have to ask my mother. It’s a unique part of France, rather sparsely populated. I’ve never visited myself. What I do remember about it is that they have a special breed of horse called the Camargue, which has a unique light gray, almost white coat.”

Suddenly the sound of the cartoon emanating from the kitchen stopped, yet there was no further sound from Juliette. Brian tensed, and he and Aimée exchanged a questioning glance as they listened for a moment.

“I wonder what that means?” he asked.

“I wonder the same. At least there’s no complaint from Juliette, so it can’t be all that bad.”

“I guess,” Brian said as he visibly relaxed. “Anyway, to get back to my story, I know it sounds odd under the circumstances for me to have had a conversation with a stranger while waiting to talk to a medical billing advocate, but our situations are surprisingly similar. Jeanne also recently lost a spouse and was sued by MMH Inwood. But most interesting of all is that we talked briefly about Juliette. She has a graduate degree in psychology, had been a school psychologist, and had experience with students who’d lost parents. She offered to give some advice, which is why she gave me the card with her mobile number. In fact, she even warned me that Juliette might regress and have psychosomatic symptoms.”

“Sounds like she could really be useful,” Aimée said. “Considering how Juliette has behaved this morning, I think some professional advice might be wise. Perhaps you should call her. My sense is that Juliette is going to need help, and your presence and attention are going to be crucial but might not be enough.”

“You might be right,” Brian said, getting to his feet and starting for the kitchen. Instead of following, Aimée headed toward the foyer. “Aren’t you coming, too?” he asked.

“I think I should go and give Hannah a hand, and I think Juliette needs your undivided attention.”

He nodded and continued into the kitchen. To his surprise Juliette wasn’t there, just Camila rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.

“Where’s Juliette?” he asked.

“She’s upstairs in her room,” she said. “She suddenly said she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go to bed. To tell you the truth, although I wasn’t happy to hear her say she wasn’t feeling well, I was glad to hear her say something. It was the first time she has spoken since she woke up.”

“That’s not good,” Brian said, recalling Jeanne’s warning about regression.

“She did look a little flushed to me and I thought I saw her have a chill, so I took her temperature. It was 101.”

“Uh-oh,” Brian voiced. “Why would she have a fever? But wait! Is 101 a fever for a four-year-old?” He knew temperatures varied considerably during the day, even in adults but more so in children.

“Interesting you asked,” Camila said. “I questioned it myself, so I googled it. I got the impression that anything over 100.4 could be considered a fever, but it’s sort of borderline. But combined with her saying she doesn’t feel well the last few days, it makes me nervous.”

Remembering also that Jeanne mentioned Juliette might develop psychosomatic symptoms, he wondered if that could include a fever. He truly didn’t know, and despite his EMT medical knowledge, he’d not had much pediatrics experience. Although he was mildly reluctant to call Jeanne the same day he’d met her for fear of taking advantage of her generosity, he thought the potential fever issue serious enough to overcome his hesitation. Sitting down on the banquette, he took out his phone and Jeanne’s old business card. After giving Camila a brief description of Jeanne’s professional qualifications, he placed the call, hoping Jeanne wouldn’t think he was being too pushy by calling so soon. It had to ring a number of times, and just when he thought her voicemail message was about to start, she answered. He could tell she was out of breath. After he gave his name, he asked if he was calling at an inopportune moment and if she was still at Megan Doyle’s.

“Heavens no, on both accounts. I’m glad to hear from you. I’m on my bike in Inwood Hill Park not too far from the Indian Caves. It just took me a minute to get my phone out of my back pocket.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt what must be a fun ride,” Brian said. “But I have a specific question, if you have a moment. You mentioned that my daughter might have psychosomatic symptoms in response to my wife’s death. Can a fever be a psychosomatic symptom?”

“Good question! If I remember correctly, fever can definitely be a psychosomatic symptom. But I think it has only been seen in children considerably older than your daughter. You said she is four, correct?”

“Yes, she’s four, but also like you suggested, just today she seems to be behaving as if she is much younger. She’s stopped talking for the most part.”

“Oh, dear,” Jeanne said. “That doesn’t sound so good. Listen, I can stop by if you would like and see if I can talk with her. I’m generally pretty good with kids. If you are concerned about Covid, I can also reassure you that I had a test just last week that was negative, and I abide by the pandemic rules to the letter.”

“I would appreciate that very much,” Brian said, and gave his house number. He then added that he’d had a relatively recent negative test as well, and as a family they’d been careful about following all the recommended precautions.

“Sounds good! We should be okay in that regard, and I’m on my way.”

After he disconnected the call, he sat at the banquette for a few minutes, thinking how lucky he’d been by striking up a conversation with Jeanne. Even though he’d been fully engaged in the process of raising Juliette, Emma had been most definitely in the driver’s seat. Now on his own, he felt like a fish out of water. “Well, that couldn’t have gone any better,” he said to Camila, who had sat down across from him. “She’s coming over.”

“I hope she can help,” she said.

“I’m going to go up to Juliette’s room and see if she’ll talk. Do you want to come with me, or do you need a break?”

“I’ll come. There’s nothing for me to do in the office.”

On the way up the back stairs, Brian gave Camila a thumbnail sketch of meeting Jeanne similar to what he’d told his mother.

“What a lucky encounter,” she said as they headed along the upstairs hallway and entered Juliette’s room. “She could be a big help.”

Still in her pajamas, Juliette was lying on her side on the bed, facing away. As Brian came around the end of her bed, he could see that her eyes were open and unblinking, yet she didn’t move. She was also sucking her thumb, which she hadn’t done for years. It seemed to him further evidence that she was regressing. Her other hand was clutching Bunny to her chest.

“Hello, Pumpkin,” Brian said, using one of his many endearing nicknames for her. She didn’t respond or even move. “Camila said you weren’t feeling well. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you have a sore throat or is your stomach upset?” There was no response. “Camila said you had a chill, is that right?” Still no response.

Brian put his palm on Juliette’s forehead, and she felt warm to him. “How about coming back to the kitchen and we’ll watch something, whatever you want? We’ll watch it together. What do you think? Is that a good idea?” Juliette didn’t move or answer. He looked back at Camila, who shrugged her shoulders as if to say “I told you so.” Redirecting his attention back to Juliette, Brian said: “I want to take your temperature again. Should we do it here or in the kitchen?”

“I want my mommy,” Juliette whispered just loud enough for him to hear, and it melted his heart.

“I know you do, Pumpkin,” Brian whispered back. “I miss her, too, but Mommy is in heaven. I’m here and someone else is coming who wants to meet you. Are you okay with that?”

When Juliette didn’t respond or move, he gave her shoulder a squeeze just to make contact. “Okay, I’ll get the thermometer, and I’ll be right back.”

Chapter 21 September 1

Jeanne, Camila, and Brian stepped out of Juliette’s room, and all three hesitated at the top of the main staircase. Both Brian and Camila had been impressed with the creative way that Jeanne had managed to interact with Juliette and gotten her to talk. What she’d done was first engage Bunny as if Bunny was the one suffering, telling Bunny that as a little girl, she had a very similar rabbit friend who was so important to her that she’d brought her to America. Jeanne had then asked Juliette if she could hold Bunny, and to Brian’s and Camila’s surprise, Juliette had handed her the floppy stuffed rabbit.

“Oh, poor Bunny,” she had said, stroking its head. “No wonder she’s not feeling well. She’s missing one of her eyes.”

“But she can see fine,” Juliette responded. With that little exchange Jeanne had started a conversation and had been able to switch the topic to Juliette’s symptoms. Within a relatively short time she was able to get the child to admit to a sore throat, a headache, and an upset stomach.

“You certainly have a way with children,” Camila observed.

“Thank you,” she said. “I had a lot of practice being a school psychologist.”

“So, what do you think?” Brian asked.

“I do think Juliette is experiencing psychosomatic symptoms, but I’m a little concerned she might also actually be sick,” Jeanne said. “The fever issue is what bothers me. You say you confirmed her temperature is elevated?”

“I did,” he said. “I took it again just before you got here. It’s 100.8, which I guess is just over borderline. She has a fever, but not much of one.”

“Whether it’s a fever is beyond my expertise. I’m hardly a doctor, but tell me this: Is there any chance she might have been exposed to the coronavirus? I hate to say it, but there is a very slight chance she could have Covid.”

“Not while I’ve been with her,” Brian said. “And not here in the house.” He looked at Camila questioningly.

“Certainly not here in the house,” Camila said. “We haven’t had any visitors, aside from the medical personnel yesterday, and they were in full protective gear. And I can’t imagine when she could have been exposed on the few times she and I have gone out since Emma was hospitalized. On those occasions we only went to Emerson Playground or Isham Park, and she didn’t socialize and wore her mask. But you know, thinking about how she has been acting makes me think she hasn’t been feeling well for some time.”

“I agree,” Brian said. “Ever since my wife got sick, and Juliette saw her have a seizure, she hasn’t been herself.”

“Well, if we have learned anything over the last eight months, coronavirus spreads remarkably easily in certain situations,” Jeanne remarked. “My advice is that she should at least be seen by her pediatrician. Does she have one?”

“Of course,” he said. “Dr. Rajiv Bhatt on Broadway. Let’s go down to the office, and I’ll give him a call.”

Brian led while the others followed. As they filed in, he turned on the light.

“A nice touch,” Jeanne said as she glanced around. “I haven’t been in too many offices with a crystal chandelier.”

“It was a formal dining room that my wife and I turned into an office for our security business,” Brian explained as he gestured for Jeanne to take one of several side chairs.

“I’m going to get some coffee and then check on Juliette to make sure she is still sleeping,” Camila said. “Does anyone want anything from the kitchen?”

“I’m good,” Brian called out as he searched his contacts for Dr. Bhatt’s office number.

“Thank you, but I’m fine, too,” Jeanne said with a wave.

As the call went through, he looked over at his visitor, who was still dressed in her biking clothes. “You look like you are an avid biker,” he said. “My wife and I were, too.”

“It was the one sport my husband and I did together.”

Brian raised his hand to indicate his call had connected. He listened but didn’t speak, then quickly disconnected and put the phone down. “Busy,” he said.

“Camila seems very committed to your daughter,” Jeanne said.

“She is. Unbelievably so. I am so lucky to have her. We hired her because of her business background, but she ended up moving in with us because of the pandemic. Since then she’s become family in a very real way. I truly don’t know what I’d do if she were to decide to leave.”

“I hope you aren’t offended by my asking,” she said, “and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I’m intrigued by you saying that you and your wife had a security business. What’s your background to have that kind of expertise?”

“We were both New York City policemen,” Brian explained. “But more importantly we both were graduates of the Emergency Service Unit Academy and then served as ESU officers for a combined total of ten years, which is an extraordinary amount of law enforcement experience between the two of us.”

“Excuse my ignorance, but I’m not familiar with ESU,” Jeanne said.

“It stands for Emergency Service Unit. It’s like special forces with the military. Whenever the NYPD are confronted with someone dangling off a skyscraper or a bridge, an active shooter, a hostage situation, a mass casualty event like 9/11, or even serving a high-risk warrant, we were the ones who were called to take care of it.”

“You mean you were a member of a SWAT team?”

“Special Weapons and Tactics was just one small aspect of our role,” he said. “ESU training was really extensive and intense. We were cross-trained in multiple disciplines and immersed in SCUBA, negotiation tactics, jumping out of helicopters, EMT requirements, you name it. My wife, Emma, was one of very few women who took the training. It was very physical to say the least.”

“My word. It sounds to me like you are overtrained to do mere personal security.”

“That was the idea. We thought we’d be in high demand with our backgrounds. It’s just that the timing turned out to be problematic thanks to Covid-19.” He raised his phone. “Let me try the pediatrician again.”

Brian redialed and listened. He listened for longer than Jeanne expected without speaking and then let out a sigh of frustration before disconnecting. “Damn, he’s on vacation!”

“Did the recording give the name and number of a covering doctor?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not surprised. There aren’t too many pediatricians in the immediate area. What’s suggested in his outgoing message is for anything that can’t wait until he gets back this coming Monday should be seen at the MMH Inwood Emergency Department. He’s made arrangements that the MMH ED doctors have online access to his records if it’s needed for the continuity of care.”

“Might continuity of care be important in Juliette’s case?” she asked.

“It could be,” Brian said reluctantly. “I don’t know for sure, but Juliette was a premature baby and spent her first couple of months in the Children’s Hospital at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital. That was where we originally met Dr. Bhatt.”

“Okay, that solves it. Let’s have her be seen at MMH Inwood. It might even be easier since they can go ahead and do a Covid-19 test straightaway.”

“I don’t know!” Brian said with a questioning expression. “In the middle of being in for nearly two hundred thousand dollars, the MMH Inwood ED might be the last place I want to take her. Hell, they might even refuse to see her for all I know.”

“They aren’t going to refuse to see her,” Jeanne scoffed. “By law I don’t think they can refuse.”

“Maybe so, but they sure as hell might be less than accommodating or even rude to us.”

“I can’t imagine,” Jeanne said. “The MMH Inwood might be predatory and overly profit centered, but I’ve come to understand there is a definite divide between their clinical side and their billing and collections shenanigans. Not once did I have the impression the doctors doing the day-to-day care had any idea of what was going on on the business side. Of course, whether they should have is an entirely different question.”

“I disagree,” he countered. “With my wife, it was the chief medical officer who saw fit to discharge her, and I’ve been worried it might have been because the hospital wasn’t being paid.”

“Hmmm,” she voiced. “You might be right. Do you know that the position of chief medical officer is a relatively new position in hospitals?”

“I didn’t,” Brian said.

“During my lawsuit and because of my budding interest in business issues when I changed from being a school psychologist to running an alarm company, I’ve spent many hours researching modern-day hospital business practices. It’s eye-opening, to say the least, or maybe horrifying is a better term. One of the things I came to understand was that the chief medical officer, or CMO in hospital jargon, is really an administrator hired by the hospital CEO. Although originally trained as a doctor, the CMO usually has some subsequent business background like an MBA, so their main interests revolve more around hospital costs than clinical outcomes. Although it sounds similar, the chief medical officer isn’t the same as chief of surgery or chief of internal medicine, whose orientation is just the opposite.”

“I had no idea,” Brian said. “I thought the CMO might have been a combined position representing both surgery and internal medicine and still more attuned to what’s best for the patient.”

“No, it’s definitely administrative and mostly geared toward keeping costs down to maximize profits,” Jeanne said. “I hope I’m not boring you with all this economic minutia.”

“Quite the contrary, but you are making me more concerned my wife was discharged prematurely. I feel so naïve about this current medical world.”

“You and a lot of other people. Unfortunately, it’s all about money. The sheer amount of money involved in healthcare attracted private equity because of the sky-high potential profits. It’s the private equity investors who have forced hospitals to hire a bevy of compensation consultants.”

“What the hell are compensation consultants?”

“They are highly trained businesspeople whose sole goal is to maximize revenue,” Jeanne explained. “They don’t care if the company is a hospital or trucking firm. Their shenanigans and advice have contributed significantly to a major uptick in hospital prices and thereby profit.”

“I thought a lot of hospitals were now struggling financially,” he said, realizing he’d been getting mixed information from Roger Dalton.

“That’s true,” she said. “But that’s just since the coronavirus has forced them to cut back on lucrative elective surgery like joint replacements. Otherwise, hospitals, particularly chain hospitals, have been virtual gold mines thanks in large part to their teams of compensation consultants. It’s the community hospitals and rural hospitals, which are still primarily oriented toward patient care and the neighborhoods they serve, that are hurting. They are either going out of business or being snapped up by hospital chains backed by private equity, which quickly turn them into money-making machines. And it’s happening across the country, thanks to all their compensation consultants and CEOs like Charles Kelley. Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

“It all infuriates me,” Brian snapped. “With what you are saying, I’m even more convinced my wife was discharged because of economics. What a disaster!”

“It’s possible,” Jeanne said. “I give you that. But the point I want to make is that the MMH Inwood CMO and the compensation consultants have nothing to do clinically with what happens on a day-to-day basis in the Emergency Department. No one there will have any idea you owe the hospital money or that the hospital is suing you. And to get back to Juliette, I really think she should be seen and seen at MMH with her medical records available if needed and get a Covid test. Actually, what I think will be more of a problem is that she’s going to refuse to go, but I’ll be happy to help convince her if you would like.”

“I’m sure you are right; she won’t want to go. She can be very willful. It’s very generous of you to offer help, which I sincerely appreciate, but why are you, if I might ask without sounding ungrateful?”

“To be entirely honest, it’s mostly because I feel for you having just lost your wife yesterday,” Jeanne said. “I have a visceral idea of what you are going through because of my own recent grief. I don’t know how you are coping as well as you are.”

“Like I said in Megan’s office, it’s with a lot of denial, but I’m also one of those people who needs to be doing something, and Juliette needs me to support her and hold together what I can of our life.”

“I understand,” she said, getting to her feet. “Let’s see if we can get her to cooperate without too much difficulty.”

At that moment his cell phone rang. He answered as he got to his feet, motioning to Jeanne to hold on for a moment. It was Aimée calling from the O’Briens’.

“Emma’s wake is about to start,” Aimée said. “Hannah asked me to call because she wants to know when you and Juliette are going to come over? I know you sounded reluctant earlier, but she thinks it is important for Juliette to say goodbye to her mother and maybe leave something for her in the casket.”

“A problem has arisen,” Brian began, wincing at the whole idea of the wake, particularly in relation to his daughter. He had forgotten all about it with his rising concerns about his daughter’s health status. “Juliette seems to have a fever and doesn’t feel great, making us worry she might have coronavirus.”

“Oh, no!” Aimée exclaimed. “Mon Dieu! What are you going to do? Are you going to have her tested?”

“Yes, I think we must, as it could have dire consequences if she’s positive. We’re going to take her to the MMH Inwood ED.”

“You and Camila?”

“No, with Jeanne Juliette-Shaw, the woman I mentioned earlier,” Brian said. “I called her because Juliette hasn’t been talking, and Jeanne came over and has been very helpful. She was able to get Juliette to open up. That’s how we know Juliette’s not feeling well, because up until then she wasn’t talking. Luckily, she doesn’t have any cough or breathing issues, but what can I say? We can’t ignore it. I tried to call her pediatrician, but he’s on vacation.”

“Oh, goodness, mon fils,” Aimée said empathetically. “I’ll let Hannah know so she can perhaps hold things up. If Juliette is positive, we’ll have to cancel the wake since we’ll all have to quarantine. This could be a disaster on top of a disaster. Can you call me as soon as you know? Hannah’s going to be really upset. All this planning activity is what’s holding her together.”

“Of course,” Brian said, feeling a tinge guilty with his reservations about the wake, especially whether Juliette should be subjected to seeing her mother’s body. He wasn’t even sure how he felt about it himself.

As they headed for the stairs with Brian in the lead, Jeanne asked: “What was the name of the chief medical officer who encouraged your wife to be discharged before she probably should have been?”

“Dr. Kathrine Graham,” he called over his shoulder.

“I thought so,” she said irritably. “What a lousy ambassador for the medical profession! She was also the one I blame for MMH Inwood not being all that motivated to find a heart for my husband. Of course, the real fault really falls on Charles Kelley, who’s responsible for the culture and hiring her. Doesn’t it all irritate you to death when you think about it?”

Brian paused at the top of the stairs and waited for her. “It makes my blood boil,” he admitted angrily as she gained the landing. “I even stormed into Kelley’s office right after Emma died, and I would have done the same for Heather Williams’s if it had been handy. But I can’t think about this kind of stuff right now. I’ve got to concentrate on Juliette and finding a way out of this mess.”

Chapter 22 September 1

Reaching into his pocket, Brian took out his phone and checked the time. “Shit,” he whispered. “We’ve been here almost two hours.” He was talking to Jeanne but didn’t want Juliette to hear, which was unlikely because she had earbuds in and was watching cartoons on his laptop. The three of them were sitting relatively by themselves in the corner of the ED waiting room.

Getting Juliette to come to the hospital hadn’t been easy. At first, she downright refused, but Jeanne used the same tactic she’d used to get Juliette to talk in the first place. She spoke extensively to Bunny, explaining to the toy why she had to go to the hospital for a Covid-19 test. Then when Bunny finally agreed, Juliette did the same. Camila drove them and also agreed to come and pick them up after Juliette had been seen.

“I’m starting to think they are definitely being passive-aggressive and making us wait,” Brian said, still speaking softly. “I’m not as confident as you that there is the disconnect between the business side and the clinical side here in the ED. It doesn’t seem that busy for us to have to wait almost two hours with a sick four-year-old.”

“Let’s avoid jumping to conclusions. They’ve been busy enough with the three ambulances that arrived since we got here. And the clerks and the triage nurse couldn’t have been nicer. Plus, we have no idea what’s going on back in the treatment rooms.”

“I’m surprised that Juliette hasn’t complained,” Brian said, glancing over at his daughter.

“She’s been an angel,” Jeanne agreed. “Let’s give the ED team the benefit of the doubt and hope she’ll be seen shortly.”

“I have another question for you as a school psychologist. When we were in my office, it was my mother who phoned. She was calling me to say that my wife’s wake was about to begin and wanted to know when I would be bringing Juliette. I don’t know how I feel about subjecting a four-year-old to her mother’s wake. What’s your opinion?”

“Probably like your mother, as an outsider of sorts I’ve developed a lot of respect for Irish funeral traditions, including wakes. There was a wake for my husband, and I was surprised by how many children showed up, including a nephew of ten and two nieces about Juliette’s age.”

“But it’s her mother, not an aunt or uncle. I’m worried that forcing her to see the body will just add insult to injury. I mean, she already had to witness her having two seizures.”

“My advice is to ask Juliette what she wants to do. Spell it out as an opportunity to say goodbye but remind her that her mother will not speak to her or even respond in any way at all. Just be totally up front and let her decide.”

“Really?” he questioned skeptically. It seemed beyond him to turn such a decision over to a four-year-old.

“In my experience, children are capable of making a lot of decisions for themselves,” Jeanne said. “More than a lot of people give them credit for. Anyway, that’s my advice.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“What about the viral illness your wife had? Is it at all contagious?”

“No, eastern equine encephalitis needs the mosquito vector,” Brian said. “I’ve learned the mosquito has to bite an infected songbird, which is the normal host, and then bite a human or some other animal.”

“Why is it called ‘equine’?”

“It first showed up in horses.”

“Thank God it at least doesn’t spread like Covid-19,” she said.

“You got that right,” Brian said without a lot of enthusiasm. He had too many other things to worry about.

“It’s terrifying to think you can get a fatal disease attending a summer barbecue. What’s amazing to me is that I’ve never learned so much about viruses until this year.”

“We healthy human beings have no real appreciation of how close we are to the precipice at any given time,” he said. “It’s especially disturbing when the institutions you count on to help when you need it, like hospitals and health insurance, can’t be depended upon.”

“It’s a scary situation on so many levels.”

“How much did MMH Inwood sue you for?” Brian said. “I hope you don’t mind me asking.”

“No, I don’t mind at all,” Jeanne reassured him. “It was a bit over four hundred thousand dollars.”

“Yikes,” Brian said. “How did your bill get that high?”

“It’s easy,” she said. “There were multiple admissions involved, several stays in the cardiac intensive care unit, and the surgery to implant the ventricular assist device. It adds up quickly, especially for people like you and me with lousy health insurance.”

“That’s what I’ve been learning,” he said bitterly.

“The four hundred thousand — plus was before I got Megan Doyle involved. She’s cut it down almost in half.”

“That’s encouraging.”

“Yeah, but it’s still about a quarter of a million dollars,” Jeanne said. “That’s enough to bankrupt most Americans except the top one percent. What excuse did Peerless give for not paying any of your hospital bill? It couldn’t have been the preexisting excuse they used for us.”

Brian gave a short, disgusted laugh. “No, they didn’t claim Emma’s problem was a preexisting condition. There were two parts to their strategy. The first part was the ED bill, which they said they weren’t going to cover because Emma was ambulatory and should have gone to a GP who could have arranged admission. They said they were trying to rein in the overuse of hospital Emergency Department visits. It was just a bogus excuse, and they invited me to sue, the bastards. With the hospital bill it was a unique way of interpreting the deductible. I won’t bore you with the details. But even if they were going to pay, it would have only been a thousand dollars a day, which, when my wife and I were in the market to get health insurance we could afford, we mistakenly thought was a significant contribution. We had no idea how pitifully inadequate it is.”

“We were duped in the same way.”

“How long ago did your husband pass away?” Brian asked. “If you’d rather not talk about it, I understand.”

“It’s all right. It was just a little over a year ago.”

“Did MMH Inwood sue you right away like me?”

“No,” Jeanne began. “Stupid me tried to pay them the original amount. There was some cash in the business, so I gave them sixty-five thousand up front and agreed to pay twenty thousand a month for two years. I’d made several monthly payments, but then the pandemic hit, and everything shut down, and the alarm business mostly dried up. That’s when they sued me.”

“Did they have something to do with your company’s bankruptcy?”

“Of course,” she said. “They also garnished any income I might have earned from the business if I’d tried to keep it going. But to tell you the truth, with my husband’s passing, I wasn’t all that interested in running the company even though I had learned a lot about alarm technology and business in the three years I’d spent involved. While he was alive it made sense because he was a techie, not a businessman, and he had been paying someone much too much to run the business side of the operation.”

“I can understand. I’m already wondering if I have what it takes to try to make a go of Personal Protection LLC without my wife. I’m probably more like your husband, since Emma handled the business side along with Camila. I’ve already wondered if I should try to get my old position back with the NYPD ESU.”

“I’m going to go back to school psychology as soon as the legal dust settles,” Jeanne said. “The only reason I’ve held off is because I certainly don’t want MMH Inwood garnishing my wages.”

“I want to go home,” Juliette said suddenly, taking out her earbuds.

“I’m sure you do, sweetie,” Brian agreed. “I do, too. I think I’ll see what is holding things up.” As he started to get up, Jeanne reached out and gripped his arm.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ll get any satisfaction making a fuss,” she said. “And you could make things worse. Just a suggestion.”

He hesitated, looking over at the information desk, which was always a beehive of activity. When they’d first arrived two hours earlier, a triage nurse had listened to their story about Juliette’s symptoms, noted she was a patient of Dr. Rajiv Bhatt, whose records were available if needed since she had been a preemie, checked Juliette’s vital signs, and told them they’d be seen shortly. That was the last contact they’d had without any apology or explanation. At the same time, he knew Jeanne was correct and that raising a ruckus could very well be counterproductive.

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” Brian promised. “I just need to make sure we haven’t been forgotten somehow.”

Chapter 23 September 1

Juliette Murphy!” a nurse in gown and mask called out after emerging from the depths of the Emergency Department.

“God! It’s about time,” Brian mumbled as he got to his feet. It had been more than three hours that they had been waiting. Mercifully, Juliette had fallen asleep about a half hour earlier.

“It’s been a long wait,” Jeanne agreed. “But, again, try not to act angry, for Juliette’s sake.”

“It’s going to be difficult for me not to point out that we’ve seen a number of people arrive, be seen, and leave while we’ve been sitting here with a sick four-year-old.”

“I can’t imagine you’ll get any satisfaction if you act irritated,” Jeanne said. “And try to remember that at least she’s going to be seen, and you’ll get the Covid-19 test out of the way.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “You are right. I’ll try to be nice.” He then reached down and picked Juliette up. “Come on, Pumpkin!” he urged. “We’ll get you checked out and then get you home.” She mumbled a brief complaint but fell back asleep almost immediately in Brian’s arms with her head on his shoulder. While he reached for Bunny, he added to Jeanne: “No matter what you say, I’m convinced they’ve been keeping us waiting because of the outstanding bill I owe. I’m sorry, but it’s the only explanation.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Jeanne said.

“I feel it.”

“Feeling it and knowing it are two different things.”

“Maybe,” Brian said. “Can you get the rest of the stuff?”

“Leave it! I’ll watch it. No worries.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

“I’m not family and with the pandemic rules, we’re lucky they let me even in the waiting area. I’ll be here when you’re done. Good luck.”

“You’re probably right,” he said. “Okay! We’ll try to at least make this part quick.”

With the sleeping Juliette in one arm and Bunny in the other, Brian walked the width of the waiting room and approached the nurse who’d called out Juliette’s name. She was wearing a face shield as well as a mask.

“Well, well,” the nurse said good-naturedly. “The sweetie seems to have fallen asleep. I think that is a good sign, maybe she’s feeling better.”

“We’ve been waiting more than three hours,” he said, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

“Sorry about that. We’ve been busy as usual. My name is Olivia. Would you please follow me?”

Still carrying the sleeping Juliette and Bunny, Brian trailed the nurse back to a tiny ambulatory examination room with an exam table, a sink, two chairs, and a built-in desk with a monitor. Olivia patted the exam table, asked him to put Juliette down, and then washed her hands. At first Juliette resisted, but then became cooperative in the new surroundings when Olivia gave her a hemostat to hold. In a gentle and kind fashion, Olivia took Juliette’s vital signs while keeping up a conversation about Bunny, which Juliette had taken from Brian.

“What’s her temperature?” Brian asked.

“Ninety-eight point six,” Olivia read off the number. “Nice and normal.”

“Really?” he questioned. “Last time we took it at home it was almost 101. Are you sure of your reading?”

“I’ll take it again,” Olivia offered happily. She was using a thermal scanner. “Yup! Normal.” Addressing Juliette, she asked: “And how do you feel now, love?”

“I want to go home,” Juliette said.

“I’m sure you do,” Olivia responded. She looked briefly at the tablet she was holding and then asked, “But what about your sore throat, and headache, and upset stomach?”

“I’m okay now,” Juliette said.

“Are you sure?” Brian asked, butting in, shocked at the reversal of Juliette’s complaints.

“Yes,” Juliette insisted. “And Bunny feels better, too.”

“I’m so glad,” Olivia said. “Okay, Dr. Kramer will be in to see you, Miss Juliette, in just a few minutes. Is that okay?”

Juliette nodded, handing back the hemostat before Olivia left the room.

“Are you sure you don’t have a sore throat any longer?” Brian asked, mystified.

Juliette nodded and then started to climb down from the exam table, but Brian stopped her and sat down next to her. Taking a cue from Jeanne, he talked more about her symptoms using Bunny as a go-between. She continued to be insistent that Bunny’s throat, head, and stomach were fine.

It was almost twenty minutes before an extremely youthful Dr. Mercedes Kramer came swooping ebulliently into the tiny exam room along with Olivia. Now bored, Juliette answered all the doctor’s rapid-fire questions with a curt no: no sore throat, no congestion, no headache, no coughing, no vomiting, and no generally feeling bad. Maintaining a happy chatter, Dr. Kramer quickly washed her hands and then rapidly but thoroughly examined the child, even allowing Juliette to listen to her own heart. When she was finished, she said: “Miss Juliette, I think you are in fine shape.” She then gave Juliette a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

“Dr. Kramer, can I speak with you alone for a moment?” Brian said when the doctor turned to him, presumably to declare Juliette a picture of health.

“Of course,” Dr. Kramer said, motioning for him to step out into the corridor.

“I thought it best to tell you that my daughter is under a lot of stress,” Brian said, struggling to stay in control of his emotions, now heightened by the long wait to be seen and Juliette’s disappearing symptoms. “Her mother died yesterday from EEE and my daughter happened to witness her suffering two grand mal convulsions, including the one yesterday that resulted in her death.”

“Oh, what a terrible story,” Dr. Kramer voiced with sympathy. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Was your wife seen here in our ED?”

“Yes,” Brian said. “Yesterday. She was brought in by ALS ambulance.”

“Oh, yes. I heard about that case. Such a tragedy for an otherwise healthy young woman. EEE is a bad disease, but it seems that your daughter is weathering your wife’s passing rather well.”

“Actually, she hasn’t,” he argued. “During the two weeks that my wife had been sick, my daughter had been struggling emotionally and behaviorally. Then it all came to a head yesterday when she was told her mother had died. She stopped communicating, and then today she had a chill, and when her temperature was taken, it was 101.”

“She’s afebrile now,” Dr. Kramer stated.

“But her fever was real,” Brian insisted. “I took it myself. It wasn’t quite 101 but very close. I’m worried that she might be coming down with something, like Covid.”

“Has she been exposed to someone with Covid?” Dr. Kramer asked. “Or has she been to any large functions or gatherings?”

“No, not at all.”

“Have any of her friends or anyone in the family tested positive?”

“No, no one. And even when she was occasionally out, she didn’t socialize, and she has been very good about wearing a mask. Or at least that is what I was told. But, still, her symptoms made us worry she might have the virus.”

“She likely doesn’t have Covid-19,” Dr. Kramer said. “And she has plenty of reason to have significant psychosomatic symptoms, including a slight elevation in body temperature. If someone has contracted Covid-19 and has begun to have symptoms, even mild symptoms, they don’t just spontaneously recover in a matter of hours. Trust me!”

“How can you be sure about my daughter?” he questioned. “I’d like her to at least have a Covid-19 test and maybe some blood work just to be on the safe side.”

“Mr. Murphy, your daughter is afebrile, currently has no symptoms, and has a completely negative physical exam. She doesn’t need blood work or a Covid-19 test. Besides, we currently are swamped with Covid-19 tests for people with real indications and for those being admitted as inpatients.”

“We’ve waited for more than three hours to be seen,” Brian snapped. “The least you could do is indulge me.”

“I’m sorry to hear you’ve had to wait,” Dr. Kramer said, trying to remain calm. “We make an effort to see everyone in a timely fashion according to their need.”

“I’ve heard that before, but it’s not been that busy. Three hours is a long time to wait with a sick child.”

“We try to triage as best as we can,” Dr. Kramer said with growing irritation. “We need to give priority to the sickest patients.”

“You’re not hearing me. We’ve witnessed a number of people who walked in after us who didn’t look or act sick, were seen, and walked out while we were ignored. I’ll tell you what it makes me think. I think we have been forced to wait because I owe the hospital a ton of money for my wife’s treatment. And now, also because of that, you are refusing to really look into my daughter’s symptoms. You don’t want to do any lab tests because you worry you won’t get paid.”

Clearly taking offense, Dr. Kramer said: “Mr. Murphy, we here in the ED have no idea of any patient’s financial status vis-à-vis the hospital. We don’t discriminate at all for any reason whatsoever except the degree of emergency involved. With an ambulatory patient, once they are signed in, we diagnose and we treat just as soon as we can. We order tests when we think they are called for. That’s the long and short of it.”

At that moment, Olivia stuck her head out from the examination room. “Sorry to interrupt, but Miss Juliette and Bunny very much want to go home.”

“Mr. Murphy, I strongly recommend you listen to your daughter and go home. You both are under a lot of stress. I’m sorry for your loss.” With that, Dr. Kramer turned on her heels and walked away.

Feeling newly annoyed at now being patronized, Brian stared after her, resisting going after her to get in the last word. Instead, he turned around and went into the examination room.

“Let’s go, Pumpkin!” he said, reaching to pick Juliette and Bunny up into his arms.

Chapter 24 September 1

By the time Brian got out to Jeanne in the waiting area, he’d calmed down to a degree. What had helped was seeing that Juliette had been entertained while he was having words with Dr. Kramer. Once again Olivia had given her the hemostat to play with, and now Juliette was telling him she wanted to be a surgeon when she grew up.

“Well, what was found?” Jeanne asked, pocketing her phone. She stood up and picked up his laptop.

“Absolutely nothing,” Brian answered, his frustration clearly showing. “They gave her a clean bill of health, and they refused to do any blood work or give her a Covid-19 test. We waited for three hours for nothing.”

“What about her fever?”

“It was gone,” Brian said. He sat Juliette down so he could get out his phone to call Camila. “I couldn’t believe it. They took her temperature twice with a thermal scanner. Both times 98.6. I’m not sure they believed that it had been 101 earlier.”

“Are you okay?”

“A little stressed,” he admitted. “I was hoping that they would have been willing to be a bit more aggressive diagnostically.”

As Brian made the call to arrange for them to be picked up, Jeanne asked Bunny how she felt about the examination. Juliette responded by talking about playing with the hemostat and explained how it functioned. As soon as he finished contacting Camila, all three walked out into the warm afternoon sunshine to stand at the turnout in front of the hospital. While they waited, Jeanne asked why the doctor didn’t do a Covid-19 test at the very least.

“She didn’t think it was necessary, especially with no history of exposure or symptoms,” Brian explained irritably. “She told me that their testing was currently swamped with people with definite symptoms and those who were about to be admitted as inpatients.”

“Isn’t a temperature elevation, a sore throat, and a headache enough to qualify?”

“By the time Juliette was seen she didn’t have any symptoms and had no fever,” Brian said with obvious frustration. “I still tried to force the issue, but the doctor was adamant, saying that Covid-19 symptoms don’t resolve over the course of a few hours, and for what it’s worth, I’m sure she is right. As for Juliette’s symptoms, the doctor attributed them to being psychosomatic.”

“Even the fever?”

“Yeah, even the fever.”

“Well, at least Juliette seemed to have enjoyed herself and now wants to be a surgeon,” Jeanne said, trying to look on the bright side.

“I wish I could say the same for myself,” Brian said. “The doctor’s attitude irked me, and I’m afraid I kind of provoked her by accusing the ED of purposefully making us wait.”

“Uh-oh, I was afraid of that.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” he confessed.

“Well, at least we know Juliette is okay,” Jeanne offered. “Now I think you should call your mother and let her know so the wake can get underway.”

“Oh, shit!” Brian whispered, gritting his teeth. “I was trying not to think about that. I still don’t know how I feel about the whole wake idea. I’m not sure I can face it or want to subject Juliette to it.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I felt the same reservation going to my husband’s, Riley’s, wake a year ago. But you know what? Ultimately, I was glad I was forced to participate, and it gave me an appreciation for the Irish funeral traditions as a celebration of a life rather than purely a mourning for a loss. On top of that, I actually became closer to my in-laws because of it.”

“So you really changed your mind about your husband’s wake after going?”

“Yes, I did,” Jeanne said. “It definitely helped me deal with the whole situation. I truly was glad I was pressured to attend.”

“All right, I’ll take your word for it, but what about you-know-who?” He nodded down at Juliette, who was holding on to Brian’s hand. “Do you really think I should ask her if she wants to go?”

“As I said, Riley had a young nephew and two young nieces, all of whom came to his wake. Two of them I think were four, same as your daughter. At the time, I was somewhat fearful of the effects on their young psyches, but they weathered it well and seemed to have been appreciative of being included. As I said, my advice is to ask her. Kids that age have some intuitive idea of what death means.”

“Oh, boy,” he muttered. He looked down at Juliette, who had let go of his hand to retrieve Bunny from the sidewalk. As she was wiping off the stuffed rabbit, Brian said, “Juliette, I have a question I need to ask you.”

“You are going to do it here?” Jeanne asked with alarm. “Do you think this is the right place?”

“Why not? Suddenly I have the courage and need to get it out. Do you think asking her here is a mistake?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Juliette, love,” Brian continued while retaking her hand. “Yesterday we lost Mommy. She died and went to heaven, and today Grandma and Grandpa O’Brien are having a celebration of Mommy’s life called a wake. Mommy’s body will be there for people to see for the last time to say goodbye before she is buried.”

“How can Mommy’s body be at Grandma’s if she went to heaven?” Juliette asked, looking up at him.

“Her spirit or soul went to heaven,” Brian explained, exchanging a rapid glance with Jeanne for reassurance. She nodded encouragement. “Her empty body is still here with us. But there is no life. She won’t talk or move.”

“Will she look icky?” Juliette asked, making a face.

“No, she will probably look beautiful just like always,” Brian reassured her, struggling with his own emotions. “You can bring something to leave with Mommy’s body if you would like to keep her company.”

“Can I bring Bunny?”

“Of course you can bring Bunny,” he said, taking a deep breath to keep himself under a semblance of equanimity. He glanced again at Jeanne and could tell she was having the same control issues. “I’m sure that Mommy’s spirit will be very happy if you bring Bunny.”

“I want to go and bring Bunny,” Juliette insisted.

“Okay, perfect. You, Bunny, and I will all go together.” He again looked over at Jeanne, who gave him a thumbs-up.

“I want you to come, too,” Juliette said, looking up at Jeanne.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Jeanne said. She was touched and exchanged a quick, teary glance with Brian. “But I don’t think that would be appropriate. The wake is for family, especially during the pandemic when the number of visitors will likely be limited. But if you’d like I’ll come and visit you tomorrow, and you can tell me all about it.”

“Okay,” Juliette said agreeably as the Murphys’ Subaru appeared, coming up the driveway onto the hospital grounds.

Chapter 25 September 1

The ride from MMH Inwood to the house took only a few minutes, but it was long enough for Brian to call Aimée and report that Juliette had been given a clean bill of health, providing a green light for Emma’s wake. Aimée had been pleased on both accounts and promised to let Hannah know immediately. She then asked when Brian and Juliette would be arriving, and he said they’d come over within the hour.

Camila turned into the Murphy driveway and stopped alongside the house. After everyone got out, Camila and Juliette headed for the back door, which led directly into the kitchen. Jeanne held up, saying she’d get her bike from where she’d placed it back by the garage and head home. “I hope all goes well at the wake,” she added. “And I hope it has the same effect on you my husband’s had on me.”

“I hope so, too. And I want to thank you sincerely for your help and generosity. You’ve been amazing with Juliette. Really! I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” Jeanne said. “She’s a darling little girl. And dealing with her has reminded me of what I missed about being a school psychologist. It’s so much more rewarding than running a business. So, if you need more help with her, say, after the wake and funeral, I’m certainly available, and you have my number.”

“As I said and I say again, I appreciate your generosity.”

After Jeanne retrieved her bike Brian walked with her back out to the street.

“I’m sorry about the pavement around here,” he said. “Be careful. They ground down the street in preparation to repave it, but when it’s going to get done is anybody’s guess. With all the utilities sticking up, it’s treacherous.”

“I’ll be careful,” Jeanne promised. “I’ll walk the bike, until I think it’s safe.”

“Good idea. Thanks again for everything. Truly.”

“You are welcome,” Jeanne said, waving over her shoulder as she walked her bike down toward Park Terrace West. Brian watched her until she turned the corner.

Using the front door, he entered the house. He found Camila and Juliette upstairs in Juliette’s room, trying to decide which of her many church dresses that Grandma Aimée had bought for her that she wanted to wear. While that was in process, Brian went into his closet, got out the only dark suit he owned, and put it on. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn it. He then pushed around his unruly, relatively short hair with a hairbrush. Returning to Juliette’s room, he saw that she had made up her mind about her outfit and was now almost ready. She looked precious in a pink dress with her golden hair braided and tied with a matching ribbon. On her feet were black patent-leather shoes. Whether such clothes were appropriate for a wake, he had no idea, but he didn’t care. If that was what Juliette wanted to wear, it was fine with him. She was holding Bunny tightly, clutched against her chest.

As he was admiring his daughter, he felt his phone vibrate, indicating he’d gotten a text message. Taking it out, he saw it was from Roger Dalton, and opening the message, he read that Roger wanted him to call as soon as possible. Brian couldn’t help but wonder what it might be about, knowing it couldn’t be anything good. But then he thought that perhaps it had something to do with Patrick McCarthy or Megan Doyle and their need to obtain a full printout of the hospital record. But whatever it was, he decided to put it off until after the wake. He was already under enough stress despite everything that Jeanne had said and still had reservations about going, both for himself and Juliette. He also decided at some appropriate time in the future to let it be known that when his own time came, he’d prefer not to have his body go through all such rituals.

“How about you, Camila?” he said when Juliette was completely ready. “I apologize for not asking earlier whether you’d like to come with us, but you are welcome.”

“No, thank you. I think a wake is for immediate family,” Camila said, echoing Jeanne.

“You feel like family to me,” Brian observed.

“Thank you for that, but others might not feel the same. I prefer to stay here.” She then pulled Brian to the side and said in a lowered voice, “With Jeanne gone, Juliette seems to be reverting back to her silent mode. She’s hardly talking again.”

“Oh, no,” he said. “Good grief! That’s not encouraging. What’s your opinion? Should I rethink taking her to the wake?”

“No, I’m convinced she wants to go,” Camila said. “She wouldn’t have been so involved in picking out a dress and her hairstyle if she didn’t. Just keep it in mind that the whole situation is extremely stressful for her.”

“That’s understandable,” Brian said, thinking of his own ambivalence. “All right, let’s get it over with.”

As they exited the house, he complimented Juliette on how lovely she looked but got no response. Nor did she speak as they descended the steps in the front yard when he asked how she felt about going to the wake now that they were on their way. The only response he got was when he asked her if she had enjoyed meeting Jeanne. The answer was a simple yes without any elaboration.

The trip only took a few minutes, and the only minor problem was Juliette navigating the roughly striated street in her patent-leather shoes when they needed to cross to the other side. As they got closer to the O’Briens’, which was also one of the very few single-family homes in Inwood, they could see about a dozen people standing in the small front yard and a few more on the front porch, all engaged in small group conversations and mostly maintaining a reasonable amount of social distancing. All were wearing masks, including the handful of children who were present. Many of the adults were holding cut-crystal glassware, which Brian assumed contained Jameson whiskey. Despite the masks, he recognized most people although there were a few he couldn’t place. Over the years he’d met almost all of Emma’s many relatives at various holiday gatherings. Emma had three older brothers with families, and Emma’s mother and father had a total of five siblings altogether. Brian also recognized a few of his relatives on his father’s side, including an uncle who was a retired NYPD officer. He didn’t see any of his siblings, but assumed they’d merely not yet arrived. None of them were currently living in Inwood.

After coming through the front gate of the proverbial white picket fence and heading for the steps up to the front porch, Brian nodded to a number of people and he also thanked those who were close enough to voice their condolences, but he didn’t stop. As he and Juliette gained the porch, Hannah appeared from within the house as if she had been watching for them.

“Welcome, you two,” Hannah said with a kind of nervous energy. Then, taking Juliette’s hand, she added: “Come, Juliette. Come and say a proper goodbye to your beautiful mother.” She then scooped Juliette up in her arms and headed indoors. Brian was mildly taken aback by her fervor, but realized it made sense given that Emma had been the beloved baby as well as the only girl with three older brothers.

Suddenly bereft of his daughter, he was besieged by well-wishers. Brian thanked all and touched elbows with a number of others, all the while wondering what was happening with Juliette inside the house. As soon as he could, he excused himself and went inside.

In the foyer Brian noticed the mirror above the console table had been turned around. It was a tradition he’d seen before at Irish wakes he’d attended. Pausing, he glanced around the interior of the O’Briens’ large house. In the background he could hear Celtic music playing softly, and a dozen-plus people were standing in small groups in the living and dining rooms conversing quietly.

In the dining room the table was heaped with food, mostly sandwiches. Brian’s father-in-law, Ryan O’Brien, a large and considerably overweight man in his early sixties, was in the living room manning a makeshift bar on a bureau. To the right in a leaded-glass windowed alcove was the bier with a large, expensive-looking open coffin and a cascade of white flowers, mostly roses, which were emitting a pleasant aroma. From where he was standing he could see Emma’s body outfitted in a white dress with her head and striking red hair resting against a white satin pillow. The image gave Brian a physical and emotional jolt, but he was distracted by the sight of Hannah standing next to the coffin, holding Juliette in her arms. It was obvious Hannah was talking but because of the distance compounded by the background music, he couldn’t hear what was being said. Regardless, Juliette appeared frozen, staring at her mother with one hand around Hannah’s neck and the other still clutching Bunny.

Moving closer in hopes of hearing what Hannah was saying, Brian’s effort was thwarted by laughter coming from several male relatives grouped around Ryan. Just as he was getting close enough to hear, someone behind him called out his name. Turning, he saw his mother coming in his direction. She’d emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of additional sandwiches even though the dining table was already heaped with them.

Momentarily torn between his daughter and his mother, he turned toward his mother as she rapidly approached.

“Great to see you two,” Aimée said. “How are you holding up, mon chéri?”

“Reasonably well,” Brian answered. “I’m just concerned about Juliette.”

“Have either of you eaten anything? We’ve got lots of food, with more coming.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said. The last thing he wanted to do was eat or drink.

“I’m glad you brought Juliette. I sensed you were reluctant. What changed your mind?”

“Jeanne Juliette-Shaw,” Brian said. “The woman I told you about from Megan Doyle’s office. She suggested I ask Juliette if she wanted to come, which I did, and Juliette agreed. It surprised me but maybe it shouldn’t. Jeanne seems to really understand children.”

“Well, I know how pleased Hannah is,” Aimée said. “She’s been beside herself waiting for you and Juliette to arrive.”

At that moment Brian and Aimée watched as Hannah leaned forward, allowing Juliette to tuck Bunny in alongside Emma’s right side at chest level. Then Juliette tentatively reached out with an extended index finger and touched Emma’s firm and lifeless cheek. Almost immediately Juliette pulled her hand back as if she’d touched something scorchingly hot and let out a whimper loud enough for both Brian and Aimée to hear.

His heart skipped a beat, and he stepped forward just as Hannah turned around and faced into the room. Seeing her father, Juliette reached out with both hands. Feeling instantly protective, Brian gladly took hold of his daughter, who quickly buried her head in the crook of his neck and wrapped her arms tightly around his head.

“Juliette was very good and said goodbye to her mother,” Hannah said. “And she gave her Bunny to keep her company. I’m very proud of her.”

Feeling Juliette holding on to him with surprising force, Brian was immediately concerned that the experience hadn’t been without some psychological pain, making him wonder if he’d made the wrong decision to bring her. It was yet another reminder that his life’s work had totally devolved to her needs.

“Your cousins will be here shortly,” Hannah told Juliette as she reached out and patted the child on the back. “Are you hungry? We have cake coming out soon.”

Juliette didn’t answer but rather gripped his neck with more intensity.

“I think I’ll take her home,” Brian decided on the spot. “My sense is that it has been a bit difficult for her.”

“You should stay and have something to eat!” Hannah offered quickly. “We have a lot of food, including the cake I mentioned.”

“I’m really not hungry. Thank you for all your efforts on Emma’s behalf.”

“You are welcome,” Hannah said. “Will you be back? I’m sure there are lots of people who would like to offer you their condolences.”

“Possibly,” Brian answered, although he knew he didn’t mean it. He’d had enough as well. His consuming love of his wife was for her essence or soul, certainly not for her eviscerated, empty body. He could appreciate that such funeral rituals were helpful for some people and served a social function, but not for him and maybe not for Juliette as well. Recalling the phrase “dust to dust” and its meaning from his catechism instruction as a child, he was developing a new regard for the benefits of cremation.

“Okay,” Hannah said tensely. “Tomorrow the mass will be at ten at the Church of the Good Shepherd followed by the funeral. If you’d like to walk with us, you are more than welcome. We could come by and pick you up.”

“Thank you,” Brian said, not knowing how he felt about it. “I’ll let you know.”

Without putting Juliette down, he headed for the door. As he went, a number of people gestured toward him with their drinks as if making some kind of toast. He nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t stop. Outside, as he crossed the porch, descended the front steps, and then walked the length of the walkway, other people did the same, but thankfully no one tried to stop him. It wasn’t until they were on the street that Juliette indicated she wanted to be put down. After he had, he took her proffered hand, and they walked on in silence. At the halfway mark, he asked her if she was all right and if she was glad she’d said goodbye to her mother. When she didn’t respond, he worried anew whether it had been a mistake to bring her to the wake, although at least he was glad he’d given her the opportunity to decide and hadn’t forced her to go.

Sensing Juliette might have trouble coming to terms with the experience, Brian was glad that Jeanne had offered to help. He also found himself again wondering if the likes of Charles Kelley and Heather Williams had any conception of the real pain and consequences their selfish policies engendered in real families. It was enough to make him furious all over again.

Chapter 26 September 1

When Brian and Juliette came in through the front door, they were met by a concerned Camila.

“How did it go?” Camila asked. “You’re back much earlier than I expected.”

“Do you want to tell her?” Brian asked Juliette as they both took off their shoes and face masks. When she stayed silent, he added: “Juliette touched Mommy, and it upset her. Isn’t that right, Pumpkin?”

Juliette made a beeline for the stairs, apparently retreating to the sanctuary of her room.

Brian and Camila watched her go. “In retrospect, I don’t think her going to the wake was that great an idea,” he said when the child was out of hearing range. “It wasn’t a disaster, or at least I hope not, and it appeared she was doing reasonably well in her grandmother’s arms until she touched Emma’s face. I don’t know if it was her decision to do it or if Hannah encouraged her, or even if it is important. One way or the other, it freaked her out. I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t have wanted to do it myself. At any rate, I thought it best to bring her home right away.”

“Oh, dear,” Camila exclaimed, looking up the stairs. “I’ll go up and help her out of her fancy dress and get her into something more comfortable. Then I’ll see if she is hungry.”

“Thank you,” Brian said with a relieved sigh.

“What about you?” she questioned. “How are you holding up?”

“So-so,” Brian said, holding his hand out and tilting it from side to side. “I’m finding the funeral rituals hard to get through. I didn’t like them when my father died, and I like them even less in relation to Emma. For me, the grieving should be personal, not public.”

“Are you going to go back to the wake?” Camila asked. “If you are, I’ll keep Juliette occupied.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve also had enough public mourning for one day. I’ll be in the office. I need to make a call.”

Sitting at his desk, he found himself staring at Emma’s empty work station. The sudden acknowledgment that she was gone for good swept over him, bringing an overwhelming sense of loss along with it. Luckily the emotions abated almost as quickly as they had emerged when he thought of Juliette suffering upstairs in her room. Her immediate needs trumped any thoughts of indulging his own emotions, and he had to concentrate on helping her come to terms with losing her mother at the tender age of four.

Yet looking at Emma’s empty chair also reminded him of the thoughts he’d had yesterday about Personal Protection LLC and whether he wanted to continue building the company in such a difficult time. With that issue in mind, Brian put off calling Roger Dalton, which was who he’d intended to call, and instead rang Deputy Chief Michael Comstock, the commanding officer of the NYPD ESU. Fully expecting to have to leave his name and number and get a call back, Brian was pleasantly surprised when he found himself talking with his former commanding officer. Although the deputy chief had not been happy losing two very popular and talented officers when he and Emma had retired, he now sounded very happy to hear from Brian.

“How are you and Emma and how is your security company navigating the pandemic?” Michael asked.

“I’m afraid I have bad news on both fronts,” he said. “The company is doing very poorly at the moment. It might have been the worst possible time to start a security firm because of the pandemic. There’s been almost no work. But worse still, Emma passed away just yesterday from a virus.”

“Oh, no!” Michael said. “Oh, I’m so very sorry. That’s terrible news. Was it Covid-19?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Brian said with a catch in his voice. “It was eastern equine encephalitis.”

“Is that something like West Nile virus?”

“It’s similar,” Brian said. “It’s a different virus, but it is also spread by mosquitoes. We think she got it when we had a beach barbecue on Cape Cod.”

“Such a tragedy, such a loss! She was an exceptional woman. When are the services scheduled, so we can send a delegation, myself included?”

“Services and funeral are tomorrow. Thank you for your offer to attend, but due to the pandemic, it’s only going to involve immediate family.”

“Understood,” Michael said regretfully. “Well, you have my most sincere condolences to you and your whole family.”

“Thank you, sir. There is something else I want to discuss with you. With my wife gone, I’m questioning my interest in continuing with our struggling company, especially with the pandemic and no end in sight. What I wanted to inquire is whether you might look kindly on me reversing my retirement and rejoining the ESU.” Brian found himself superstitiously crossing his fingers, hoping for an affirmative reply even though he’d not yet completely given up on Personal Protection LLC.

“It depends on your level of commitment,” Michael began. “With your indirect question, it sounds to me as if you haven’t quite made up your mind, which is understandable since it’s so soon after your wife’s passing. Let me say this: With all your training, the city has a significant investment in you, and that’s definitely to your advantage. But to give you a second chance here at the ESU, I’d want to be convinced you are one-hundred-percent committed to returning before I give the green light. To be perfectly honest, both your and your wife’s sudden resignation had a negative effect on morale for a time since both of you were highly respected around here.”

“I’m sorry,” Brian said. “That certainly wasn’t our intention.”

“Here’s what I recommend. When you are up to it, come out here to headquarters and meet with me and then spend some quality time participating in some of our activities. Because of the pandemic, there wasn’t a new class of cadets this spring. Instead we’ve ramped up refresher and recertification activities for the entire ESU force, particularly in the TAC House and SCUBA unit. Does that sound appealing to you?”

“Very appealing,” he agreed. “I’d love it and the sooner the better as far as I am concerned.”

“Well, I’ll leave that up to you and your family. I’m sure you need some time to adjust and mourn your wife.”

“On the contrary,” Brian said. “I need to keep busy. I would like nothing better than to get back into fighting shape and run recertification drills. It would actually help me cope.”

“Okay, then,” Michael said. “Without a new class of cadets, currently my calendar is flexible although all that will soon change. Next month there will be a new, small class despite the pandemic.”

“Would as soon as tomorrow afternoon be possible for me to stop by and see you, say around three?” Brian asked. “I’d even like to participate in any drills if possible.” The idea of experiencing simulated assaults in the TAC House had enormous appeal, as did any type of special weapons exercise. He had not practiced once with any firearm since December, not even with his omnipresent P365 Sig Sauer automatic, which he could currently feel pressing against the small of his back.

“I’m sure I can find the time. I’ll also spread the word with the instructor team. It’s good timing. I know there is going to be a sizable group in the TAC House tomorrow, including some officers from the A team. You can at least observe initially. I’m sure everyone will be delighted to see you.”

“Likewise,” Brian said. When he had been an ESU member back before his retirement, he’d often spend his days off at the ESU Academy at Floyd Bennett Field helping the instructors with the cadets and even participating, as it helped to hone his skills and maintain his recertification requirements.

“And if you change your mind tomorrow after the funeral I’ll understand,” Michael said. “Just let me know, and I can let the others know.”

“Of course.”

After appropriate goodbyes, Brian disconnected the call and stared ahead for a moment with unseeing eyes. The idea of intense physical activity gave him a modicum of relief from the emotional devastation of Emma’s passing as well as his ongoing concern about Juliette’s adjustment to losing her mother. Unfortunately, it didn’t last, since the memory of needing to call Roger Dalton intervened.

With his phone still in his hand, he placed the call. As it went through, he again wondered if it was going to have something to do with Patrick McCarthy and Megan Doyle needing a full printout of the hospital bill. From what Megan had said, he expected the hospital to attempt to drag its feet.

“I thought you should know that the value of the suit brought against you by Premier Collections might soon be raised by $26,399.46,” Roger stated as soon as he came on the call. “Unless, of course, something miraculous happens.”

With some difficulty Brian held himself in check. He was offended by Roger’s derisive attitude, and had he been there in his office, he might have been hard put not to intimidate the skinny bastard in some physical way. In Brian’s mind he’d been fully exposed as the irritating front man for the profit-crazy Charles Kelley.

“Did you hear me?” Roger demanded when Brian didn’t respond.

“I did, but I was waiting for you to tell me what this additional twenty-six-some-odd-thousand represents?”

“It’s the latest ED charges for Emma Murphy,” Roger said. “As if you couldn’t guess.”

“Is this for yesterday?” he asked with surprise, even disbelief, at the speed involved in the billing.

“Yes, it is for yesterday,” Roger said. “Since you are already significantly delinquent, the hospital doesn’t have high hopes for payment. What people like you don’t understand is that our considerable expenses mount second by second, day by day, and we don’t have the luxury of avoiding paying them as soon as they are due.”

“Go ahead and submit the bill to Peerless,” Brian ordered as he was about to discontinue the call. He was growing to seriously dislike the man. It was as if the bureaucrat was deriving sadistic pleasure out of pushing the knife MMH Inwood had sticking in him a little bit deeper.

“I already submitted it,” Roger spat. “You and your health insurance deserve each other. They got back to me within the hour to inform me that once again they would not be covering.”

“Wait just a second!” Brian exploded. “How could that possibly be? This was an emergency of the highest order. My wife didn’t walk in on this occasion. She was carried in while being given CPR!”

“Peerless was given all the records including statements from the paramedics who responded to your 911 call,” Roger said. “Why they have refused the claim, I have no idea, but you better look into it quickly and get their decision reversed or the amount of money involved in your lawsuit by Premier Collections will be amended upward.”

“I will certainly find out.” Brian felt a renewed burst of anger toward Peerless and Heather Williams’s schemes, a resentment that was now equal to his hate of Charles Kelley and Roger Dalton. At the same time, the amount of money involved for a few hours in the emergency room seemed beyond the pale and equally as infuriating. Although he knew complaining about prices to Dalton was an exercise in futility, he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll certainly talk with Peerless, but how the hell could a couple of hours in your ED cost more than twenty-six thousand dollars? That’s highway robbery, especially considering the outcome.”

“I resent that,” Roger snapped. “As I’ve said, over and over, running a trauma 1 ED twenty-four-seven is hugely expensive. Your wife used the facility and the high-tech equipment. She also required an entire team of highly trained people and equipment to carry on the CPR and do an emergency neurological assessment. Furthermore...”

Unable to listen to another word, Brian cut Roger off by disconnecting the call. He felt like a volcano ready to explode. Getting up from his desk, he quickly went down into the basement, where he and Emma had set up a small workout room with a stationary bike, a rack of free weights, and a flat-screen TV. Needing an outlet for his anger and frustration, he picked up two forty-five-pound hand weights and did a series of curls until he couldn’t do any more. With a loud clank, he dropped them back into the rack.

Feeling a bit less out of control, he reclimbed the stairs and returned to the office. After sitting down and taking a deep breath, he placed a call to Ebony Wilson, which, as he anticipated, took some time to connect. The process required him to suffer again through several long, agonizing bouts of Muzak.

“Hello, this is Ebony Wilson, claims adjustment supervisor,” she said with her honeyed voice when she finally came on the line. “And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

After Brian identified himself, he asked if she remembered him, resulting in a short laugh: “Of course I remember you! How could I not? You became the talk of the company the way you waltzed in here despite all the security our CEO demands. I have to say, you were extremely lucky you weren’t arrested or even seriously hurt.”

“I’m not sure that would have been the outcome had the situation escalated,” Brian countered, indulging in a bit of law enforcement patois. “But luckily that’s water over the dam. What I need to talk to you about is yet another claim denial involving my wife, and I demand an explanation.”

“I’m sure there is one. I’ll be happy to look into it. Can you give me your policy number again, so I can bring it up on my screen?”

After Brian did as he was told and after he had to suffer through yet another bout of Muzak, Ebony eventually returned on the line. “Okay, sorry for the wait. I have the adjuster’s report in front of me. I see the claim again involved another ED visit for your wife, Emma Murphy. I also see she is no longer with us. My sincerest condolences.”

“Thank you,” he said, rolling his eyes at the irony of someone from Peerless expressing condolences. “Last time Peerless saw fit not to cover an ED visit was because my wife had walked in during the afternoon. The explanation was that she didn’t need the resources of a Trauma 1 ED just to be admitted to the hospital. On this occasion, as I’m sure you can plainly see, she was literally carried in while undergoing CPR.”

“Yes, I see that,” Ebony agreed. “But I also see that the CPR wasn’t necessary.”

“Come again?” Brian asked with astonishment.

“It appears that our adjusters went over this claim rather carefully from their extensive write-up,” she said. “What they gathered from the paramedics’ report was that the patient was already brain dead in the paramedics’ judgment prior to even being put in the ambulance. In New York State, paramedics legally can determine death, meaning treatment efforts from then on were superfluous and Peerless is not fiscally responsible for them.”

“That’s crazy,” Brian blurted. “The paramedics started the CPR in our home and continued it all the way to the hospital.”

“That might have been the case, but they clearly thought the patient had suffered brain death from extended hypoxia. At least that’s what was in the report. I can understand you might not like this decision, and the same recourses are open to you if you feel our adjusters are in error. You can request a review and/or you can seek legal advice. It’s your right.”

Unable to take any more of such self-serving malarkey, Brian disconnected the call. Feeling equally as upset as he did after speaking with Roger Dalton, he was about to return to the basement workout room for another bout with the barbells when Camila came in.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, unaware of Brian’s state of mind, “but there’s a new problem with Juliette.”

Caught between two polar emotions of rage and solicitude, he let his head fall into his hands and for a moment he forcibly massaged his scalp while his brain tried to reboot itself.

“Are you okay?”

After gritting his teeth and then running his fingernails through his thick hair several times almost to the point of pain, he looked up at Camila. The whites of his eyes were bright red. “What’s the problem?”

“She’s crying and seems inconsolable. She wants Bunny back.”

“Good God,” Brian managed, unable to think of an easy solution.

“She’s upstairs in her room and is really upset, and I don’t know what to say to her.”

“I’ll handle it,” Brian said. He stood up and headed for the stairs. Despite all his training both at the Police Academy and particularly at the ESU Academy about how to deal with psychological crises associated with hostage taking, suicide prevention, and talking down armed and desperate criminals, the thought of facing his bereaved daughter about her beloved stuffed rabbit seemed an impossible task. As he entered her room and looked down on her coiled up in a fetal position on her bed and sobbing, he felt totally inadequate. The rage he’d felt only moments before evaporated and was replaced completely by concern for his daughter.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Brian stroked Juliette’s back. “Camila says you miss Bunny and want her back. Is that right?”

If anything, she seemed to respond by crying with more intensity.

“We can get her back if that’s what you want,” he said. “Or we can pick out a new Bunny.”

When there was still no response, Brian looked up at Camila standing in the doorway. She shrugged her shoulders, indicating she was at a loss.

“Okay,” Brian said. “Let’s see if we can find any wonderful rabbit toys to get for you so Mommy can have the company of Bunny like you wanted.” He reached for Juliette’s tablet and searched online for stuffed rabbits. He wasn’t certain there would be any, but he was pleasantly surprised. There was page after page of all sorts of stuffed rabbits, some that looked like Bunny and some that were significantly more attractive, especially given Bunny’s worse-for-wear condition. “Look at this,” he continued. “There’s lots and lots of options.”

If anything, Juliette’s tears only increased, and when Brian tried to put the tablet in her line of vision, she roughly pushed it away. It was clear she wasn’t going to have anything to do with searching for a new Bunny, but Brian was mildly encouraged. She’d at least responded.

“Do you want to go back to Grandma’s house and get Bunny?” he asked. He put down the tablet.

She shook her head no, which encouraged Brian even more. “If you stop crying and talk to me, we can figure this out,” he said. “Do you want me to go back to Grandma’s by myself?”

He waited for a few minutes and even repeated the question about him going back to the wake on his own and retrieving the rabbit. But Juliette didn’t respond although the tears lessened. Continuing with the back stroking, Brian remained sitting on the edge of the bed for several more minutes before getting to his feet and approaching Camila.

“I’m as lost as you are,” he said in a lowered voice. “I have no idea what to do. Do you think I should just go back to the wake and get the damn rabbit?”

“I’m not even sure that would have much of an effect. What about calling Jeanne? She’s amazing with Juliette. Maybe she might have a suggestion?”

“Actually, that’s probably the best idea.”

Taking out his phone, he stepped out into the hallway and made the call, hoping for the best. It felt a little embarrassing calling a woman whom he’d just met for advice for the second time in one day. But he was desperate. He was relieved when she answered in a friendly fashion using his name, meaning she’d at least probably added his name and number to her contacts.

“I hope I’m not catching you back in Inwood Hill Park,” he said, trying to be lighthearted despite the circumstances.

Jeanne laughed. “No, I’m home, but I must confess that I did go back and finish my ride when I left you. How did it go at the wake for you and your daughter?”

“It was a big stress for both of us,” Brian said. “And indirectly that is why I am calling. You encouraged me to call if I needed help. Well, Juliette put Bunny in the casket to keep my wife’s body company.”

“Bless her soul,” she said.

“Unfortunately, she has had a change of heart. At the moment she is crying her eyes out, wanting Bunny back. To make matters worse, she’s not talking again. I’m at a loss. Do you have any suggestions? I’ve offered to go back to the wake and get the damn thing, which I’m not excited about doing, but she won’t acknowledge that will make her feel better.”

“Oh, dear!” Jeanne voiced. Brian could hear her sigh. “Off the top of my head, I think your inclination is correct. I don’t think you should go back and get the toy. She misses her mother and now misses Bunny, probably conflating the two. She might be somehow thinking that if she gets the rabbit back, she’ll also get her mother back.”

“I suppose that is possible. I’m also concerned that if she did get Bunny back, it would always remind her of seeing and touching her dead mother.”

“Did Juliette touch her mother’s body?”

“She touched her face. I don’t know if she was encouraged or did it on her own. I was across the room when it happened, and her grandmother was holding her, letting her reach over into the coffin with the toy. I think it spooked her.”

“I can well imagine. Would it be okay if I came over and tried to talk with her? I have an idea that might help.”

“Oh, please do,” Brian said gratefully. “Both Camila and I are at a complete loss of how to handle this. It’s heartrending to see her suffer.”

“I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

Chapter 27 September 1

It was just over forty minutes later that Brian heard the doorbell chime. He had been waiting impatiently, alternately sitting with Juliette and pacing in the living room.

“You are like the proverbial cavalry arriving at the last minute to save the day,” he said, trying to make light of the situation as he welcomed Jeanne back. No longer in bike clothes, she was dressed in a white summer blouse and black shorts and carrying a shopping bag.

“I’m sorry if it took too long. I had to shower and get out of my bike gear.”

“Not a problem now that you are here,” Brian said. “But I have to admit, we’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival. We’re really at a loss.” As she took off her mask, he noticed something he’d not noticed before. In contrast to his pale complexion, hers was almost as olive as Camila’s. When he mentioned it as she removed her shoes, she explained that there was a bit of Algerian in her heritage and maybe even a bit of Moroccan even farther back.

“How is Miss Juliette doing?” Jeanne asked as they mounted the stairs.

“Not much change,” Brian answered. “She stopped crying when we told her you were coming over to see her, but she’s still not speaking. Camila and I have alternately stayed with her since you and I spoke on the phone.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do in a situation like this,” she said. “Patience is a virtue with children. Insecurity is going to be a challenge for her for a while, maybe for life.”

As they entered Juliette’s room, Camila stood up from the bed where she’d been sitting. She’d been reading to Juliette even though Juliette had remained unresponsive and curled up on her side. As Camila and Jeanne exchanged a verbal greeting, Juliette surprised everyone by rolling over on her back. She stared up at Jeanne.

“Hello, ma Juliette,” she said, trying to sound upbeat while sitting down in the spot that Camila had just vacated. “I’ve heard that your visit to your grandma’s was upsetting. Is that right?”

Juliette nodded.

“Seeing your mommy like that must have been scary,” Jeanne said. “But at least you got to say goodbye.”

Juliette nodded again.

“Did it feel strange when you touched her?” Jeanne asked.

With an added expression of distaste, Juliette said, “It was icky.”

“I’m sure it was. You were brave. I understand that you did something very nice: You gave your mommy Bunny to keep her company.”

“I want Bunny back,” Juliette demanded with a defiant expression.

“I’m sure you want both your mother and Bunny back. But I have an idea of what might help, and it is here in this shopping bag.” She raised the bag so Juliette could see it plainly. “Are you interested to see what it is?”

Juliette’s expression softened. “Yes,” she said.

Jeanne opened the bag, reached in, and pulled out another stuffed rabbit. It was about the same size as Bunny but a light gray instead of a light brown and less floppy except for the ears, which were longer. It was also in far better condition and had both of its eyes.

“This is Jeannot Lapin,” Jeanne said, pronouncing the name in a distinctly French fashion. “I told you about her earlier. She’s been my friend since I was about your age, but she would like to live with you if you will have her and treat her well.”

To Brian’s surprise and joy, Juliette reached for the stuffed toy, and when she had it in her hands, she examined it closely. When it apparently passed muster, she tried hugging it. She then looked up at Jeanne and once again nodded.

“She is a beautiful rabbit,” Brian said to his daughter. “I think she is fantastic. Do you like her as much as I do?” When Juliette indicated she did, he asked: “What will her name be: Jeannot Lapin or Bunny 2?”

“Jeannot Lapin,” Juliette declared, impressing everyone by imitating Jeanne’s French pronunciation perfectly.

“Jeannot Lapin it is,” Brian said with relief. “What about Bunny: Can she stay with Mommy?”

“Yes,” Juliette answered without hesitation.

He exchanged a grateful glance with Jeanne, once again feeling thankful he’d had the serendipitous pleasure of meeting her in Megan Doyle’s office. Even if Megan Doyle’s efforts were to come to naught, Brian was certain he’d feel indebted just for the opportunity of meeting Jeanne and the help she was bringing to Juliette.

Camila, who had been watching from the doorway, now came into the room and added her appreciation. After giving the stuffed rabbit a long list of praises, she asked the rabbit if she was hungry. Juliette answered for her, saying that she was hungry for eggs and bacon.

“Then let’s take her down to the kitchen and see that she gets fed,” Camila said. “I’m hungry, too.”

As Juliette and Camila filed out of the room, Brian turned to Jeanne. “Bravo,” he said. “Once again, I can’t thank you enough. You really are a child whisperer. Thank you so much for all your help and for parting with such a personal possession. Can I at least pay you something for it?”

With true mirth, she laughed. “I’ve gotten more than adequate compensation from that toy. I couldn’t have imagined a better fate for it now. It was my mother who insisted I bring it here to the USA. I’m lucky I was able to find it after we talked. When I moved into my current, smaller apartment, I had to pack away a lot of my belongings.”

“Regardless, giving it to Juliette is enormously generous. Frankly, had you suggested it on the phone, I probably wouldn’t have thought it would work. I tried to get her excited about looking at stuffed rabbits online, and she was totally uninterested. Again, it’s obvious you have a way with children.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Jeanne said. “Maybe it’s the child in me, but I do love interacting with young people. Obviously, that was why I ended up in school psychology, at least for a time. And I find Juliette darling. You are lucky to have her. I truly regret that Riley and I didn’t have children. We shouldn’t have put it off for the sake of the damn business.”

“I can understand your feeling. In many ways Juliette is holding me together.”

“I can see how committed you are,” she agreed.

“I’ve had some more bad news about Peerless and MMH Inwood,” Brian said. “It never stops. Can I bend your ear? I feel like complaining to someone.”

“Of course.”

“Let’s go down to the living room and at least be comfortable.”

As they descended the stairs, Jeanne said, “I think you are doing a marvelous job trying to deal with Juliette’s grief, but what about yours? You’ve lost a wife and a life partner, after all.”

“You are right. As I’ve said, it’s mostly denial. It’s also true that I haven’t had time to really let it sink in.”

“If it is anything like my experience, it’s going to be tectonic when it hits.”

“I can imagine. I guess I should be thankful for Juliette.”

“That’s my point exactly,” Jeanne said. “But beware, it might be paralyzing.”

In the living room they sat on opposing couches beneath the large, multipaned window looking out onto West 217th Street. Brian related the calls he’d had, first with Roger Dalton at MMH Inwood and then with Ebony Wilson.

“I can’t believe Peerless,” Jeanne exclaimed when he finished his rant. “They certainly have perfected the art of disclaiming responsibility, but they can’t have just singled us out. They must do it to all their policy holders.”

“I’m sure they do,” Brian said. “It’s no wonder they have the money to pay their CEO millions. It’s a type of legalized fraud. Like last time, I was told I could request a review, which is guaranteed to be an exercise in futility, or I can sue. Proceeding with a lawsuit is probably equally as pointless as asking for a review. With their in-house attorneys, they have undoubtedly prepared for any and every eventuality. On top of that, suing is expensive, with no guarantees.”

“Having grown up in France where this type of tolerated robbery involving healthcare would never happen, I have to wonder how has it come to be here in the United States that hospitals and health insurance companies operate with such impunity?”

“I think it has been a kind of accident of history,” Brian said. “It certainly wasn’t planned that healthcare got associated with employment here in the USA way back during World War II. And from my own experience, having relatively good health insurance from being a member of the NYPD made me indifferent to cost. I never cared or questioned. I guess it’s a kind of moral hazard, and the consequences have been dramatic over the years. Can you ever imagine that a few hours in the emergency room for my wife would cost almost twenty-seven thousand dollars, only for her to end up dead? Beyond the emotional costs, that’s akin to being forced to buy something like a car without knowing the price and being given a nonfunctioning wreck with no recourse.”

“In France the government has tried to hold down costs, but it’s not easy with what’s going on here in the USA.”

“France and the entire rest of the industrialized world as far as I know have tried to rein in healthcare costs,” Brian said. “It’s a uniquely American disaster, although what’s happening here is putting pressure on prices elsewhere I’m afraid.”

“I agree with you. It’s American capitalism run amok with no moral balance in an industry that’s supposed to be altruistic. Private equity shouldn’t be allowed to interfere in healthcare.”

“You’re so right,” he agreed with a shake of his head. “Talk about irony: It’s a tragedy of personal greed trumping altruism.”

“Exactly, and the final result is to cause suffering for people like us,” Jeanne said. “It’s infuriating, and Charles Kelley and Heather Williams are poster children for the whole damn situation.”

“It’s a wonder they can sleep at night.”

“They must make it a point to avoid thinking about the lives they turn upside down. Unfortunately, I’m a prime example. Not only did I lose my husband, but in the course of my lawsuit and bankruptcy, I lost my business, most of my savings until Patrick and Megan put a stop to it, and then even my house.”

“Don’t tell me that,” he pleaded. “You lost your house?”

“I’m afraid so,” Jeanne confirmed. “It was partially my fault. While trying to pay off the hospital, I got behind on the mortgage, which exposed it to Kelley’s pit bull lawyers.”

“Yikes,” Brian said. “At the moment that’s my biggest worry, especially if it aggravates Juliette’s sense of security. I’m behind on my mortgage payments as well.”

“From my experience, I’d advise you to change that if you can.”

“I know. Patrick McCarthy recommended the same thing. The trouble is, I need some income. As I said when we were in the hospital waiting for Juliette to be seen, I’ve been thinking of trying to get my old NYPD job back. I even called my commanding officer a little while ago and made plans to go out to the ESU Headquarters tomorrow after the funeral to talk to him about it.”

“That sounds like a prudent plan to me, as this pandemic is not going away tomorrow.”

“I have to do something,” Brian said. “He suggested for me to join in on some of the training opportunities they’ve set up in lieu of having a new class of cadets. I’d like nothing better than to immerse myself in some simulation exercises, whether I end up back on the force or not. The mere physicality of it would be therapeutic. I haven’t gotten any real exercise since I came back from Cape Cod, and I need to find a way to take my mind off of things.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Jeanne said. “And to encourage it, I’d be happy to come over tomorrow and help with Juliette, provided you wouldn’t mind.”

“Mind?” Brian questioned with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “I’d love it. It would be a great relief. Leaving Camila to carry the burden of Juliette, especially if the funeral upsets her as much as the wake, was the only reservation I had. One thing I can say without exaggeration is that my daughter seems to truly adore you.”

“Likewise,” she said. “It will be a pleasure to spend time with her. But to get back to what we were talking about earlier, I find myself wondering if you and I are outliers, or if there are other people in this community who have suffered like we have at the hands of Charles Kelley and Heather Williams.”

“That’s a good question. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re not alone by a long shot. Grady Quillen, the retired cop who served me, said he’s been a busy bee for Premier Collections, especially of late. And Megan Doyle seems pretty booked, too.”

“The more I think about it, the more curious I am,” Jeanne pondered. “If there is a huge number, why hasn’t it been the subject of some kind of exposé in the media so that Kelley and Williams could get the comeuppance they deserve?”

“That’s maybe even a better question. Personally, I’d hate that kind of notoriety myself with my sad story in the tabloids, but you are right: It seems like perfect fodder for the likes of the Post or Daily News. Tearjerker stories about powerful elite ogres who are being paid millions to exploit the masses have a strong appeal for obvious reasons. Maybe it has something to do with patient — client privilege that makes the media hesitant.”

“But they wouldn’t have to use real names,” Jeanne said. “I think it’s curious. At least I’m curious. I’d like to find out how many people right here in Inwood have suffered like we have and learn their individual horror stories. The local hospital is supposed to help people and the community, not bankrupt everybody.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult to get a good idea of the numbers regarding MMH and Charles Kelley in terms of lawsuits,” Brian said. “It would be more difficult to dig up much of anything about Peerless Health and Heather Williams.”

“How so?”

“That kind of general information about lawsuits is available on the New York Civil Court’s and the New York Supreme Court’s websites. All you’d have to do is run a search using Premier Collections as the plaintiff.”

“I didn’t know such information was available. How about giving it a try?”

“Come on into the office! We’ll use my computer.”

A few minutes later, with Jeanne looking over his shoulder, he brought up the New York City Supreme Court website and typed in his search parameters. A millisecond later they were taken aback. Just since 2014 there had been many hundreds if not thousands of cases in Manhattan involving MMH Inwood and the significantly larger MMH Midtown. Scrolling forward, they also could see that there had been a significant uptick in activity since the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic.

“My God!” Brian murmured. “Who would have guessed? And these are only cases involving more than twenty-five thousand dollars. If we look at the Civil Court for under twenty-five thousand there will probably be a lot more. It seems as if MMH and Premier Collections have sued a sizable portion of the entire metropolitan New York population.”

“Let’s look at the Civil Court website,” Jeanne said.

A number of clicks later, they were again shocked by the numbers. “This is certainly eye-opening,” Brian said. “The trouble is we can’t use this resource to tease out the cases here in Inwood like you wanted. At least I can’t do it. Maybe Patrick McCarthy might be able to. As a litigator, he has more options available to him for online data on these websites. What would also be interesting to know is how many of the cases are pending like mine and how many are closed.”

“This is a bigger problem than I could have imagined.” As if weighed down by this new information, Jeanne collapsed into one of the side chairs with her legs splayed out in front of her, her arms limp at her sides. “And to think the hospital prevails in most all the cases because the ‘services have been rendered.’ Those are the words Patrick McCarthy used to explain to me why I lost my case. People don’t realize what they are signing when they go into the hospital.”

“You’ve got that right,” he said. “Especially when it involves an emergency situation. They’re told ‘sign here’ to get their loved one treated, and they sign without reading anything. I did, too.”

“People also count on their health insurance to take care of things and not only think about their profits.”

“The whole situation is outrageous. It’s also frustrating during these lawsuits that the court can’t rule on the prices the hospital charge, no matter how ridiculous they are. It’s got to be discouraging to be a judge.”

“Plus, most hospitals won’t tell you their charge master prices, which they’ve spent the last fifty years raising beyond any reason.”

“Oh, yeah,” Brian said with renewed disgust. “I forgot about the infamous charge master prices. How do you know about that?”

“I told you that when I got sued, I spent quite a lot of effort researching USA hospital business practices. What do you know about it?”

“Only what Megan Doyle happened to tell me during our brief meeting.”

“It’s a major part of the hospital scam,” Jeanne said. “The only time patients can find out what things cost is after the services have been rendered, and they get the bill, and even then, they have to hire someone like Megan Doyle to figure it all out. It’s absurd.”

“I know how we could get at least a partial list of Inwood residents that MMH Inwood has sued or is in the process of suing,” he said. “We could ask Grady Quillen, who served me. He wouldn’t be restricted by any patient — client confidentiality issues as far as I know.”

“Do you think he would give you that information?”

Brian shrugged. “I don’t see why not. We’ve been acquaintances for years, and my father was his commanding officer. We could assure him we wouldn’t give out our source, so his employer wouldn’t find out. He already gave me one name: Nolan O’Reilly, whose story rivals ours, as he lost his son and his house in the process.”

“If we could put together even a couple of dozen or so stories combined with the sheer number of court cases, we might be able to get either the Post or the Daily News interested enough to run an exposé.” Abruptly she sat up straighter in her chair, her amber eyes sparkling. “And do you know what else we could do?”

“No, not really,” he said, raising his eyebrows in curiosity.

“We could go to our city council member for the 10th District,” Jeanne said excitedly. “I’m sure we could get him interested and involved. The more I think about all of this, the stranger it seems that it has been allowed to go on for so long.”

“It’s definitely an unconscionable problem,” Brian agreed, but without the enthusiasm she was exhibiting. He was much too emotionally caught up in his own precarious situation, with his wife’s funeral scheduled for the following day and Juliette’s problematic behavior, to think about some kind of social movement, no matter how appropriate.

“Suddenly I feel a little like an Erin Brockovich,” Jeanne said zealously. “Did you see that film with Julia Roberts?”

“I think so,” he said, struggling to reboot his brain. “Yes, I saw it.”

Suddenly Camila appeared in the archway leading out into the front hall. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Juliette just threw up and now says she’s feeling sick again.”

“Oh, God! Where is she?” Brian asked nervously, getting to his feet.

“She’s upstairs in her room,” Camila said. “I think you’d better go and check on her.”

Chapter 28 September 1

Disturbingly similar to a few hours earlier, Juliette was lying on her side, immobile, facing the wall with her legs drawn up. The only difference was now she was clutching Jeannot Lapin against her chest in a firm embrace.

“Camila says you’re feeling bad again, Sweet Pea,” Brian said as he sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her back as he’d done earlier. Jeanne moved to stand at the foot of the bed. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Juliette didn’t respond or move and Brian could see she had her eyes closed. He also noticed she wasn’t sucking her thumb, which he thought was mildly encouraging.

“What about Jeannot Lapin?” he asked, imitating Jeanne’s earlier way of getting Juliette to talk by addressing the rabbit. “She looks like she’s not feeling so good, either.”

“She is hot,” Juliette said, turning her head and looking up at her father. “She’s cold and then she’s hot.”

Brian reached out and pretended to feel the rabbit’s forehead and then did the same with Juliette’s. “You are right,” he agreed. “Jeannot feels a little warm to me. Maybe we should take her temperature.”

“Her name is Jeannot Lapin,” Juliette corrected before rolling over onto her back.

“You’re right,” Brian said. “I stand corrected.” He turned, looked up at Camila, and asked her if she’d bring the thermometer.

“Of course,” Camila said and disappeared.

“Does Jeannot Lapin have a sore throat?” he asked, redirecting his attention to his daughter and continuing with the indirect questioning.

Juliette shook her head.

“How about a cough, or does she just feel sick? Does she think she might throw up again?”

Juliette shook her head for the second time.

“How about a headache?” Jeanne asked.

“Yes, she has a headache,” Juliette said.

Brian and Jeanne exchanged a glance. Each shrugged their shoulders, not knowing what else to ask. Camila returned with the thermometer. Juliette allowed her to put it under her tongue before Camila stepped back out of Brian and Jeanne’s way.

“How long after eating did Juliette throw up?” Brian asked Camila.

“It was while she was eating. By the time I had made the bacon and eggs, she didn’t seem very hungry and ate very slowly. Then she threw up sitting at the table. It was all very sudden.”

He nodded. “Maybe there was something wrong with the eggs.”

“I don’t think so,” Camila said. “I had some myself and had no problem.”

After waiting for the usual three minutes, Brian took the thermometer out of Juliette’s mouth and then twirled it in his fingers, looking for the column of mercury. “100.8 again,” he said when it flashed into view. “No wonder Jeannot Lapin feels hot.”

Standing up, he motioned for Jeanne to step out of the room with him. Once in the hall he said: “It’s certainly not a particularly worrisome fever, but I think it is a fever, nonetheless. What should we do? God! I wish that Dr. Bhatt wasn’t on vacation. The last thing I want to do is go back to the MMH Inwood ED, not with the way we were treated earlier.”

“I’m with you there,” Jeanne said. “I don’t think it will be necessary, but I do wish they had at least done a Covid test.”

“The doctor was adamant it wasn’t indicated, but who knows. I’m still irritated. I also wish they had done basic blood work just to be sure she wasn’t coming down with something.”

“I have to use the bathroom fast,” Juliette said urgently to Camila from inside the room yet loud enough for Brian and Jeanne to hear. As they ducked back inside, they saw Juliette and Camila disappear into the bathroom and the door slam behind them.

“Uh-oh,” Brian said. “Sounds like more stomach issues.”

While they waited, he picked up Jeannot Lapin as a nervous gesture and gave it a close inspection. “This little rabbit has been a godsend. I’ve never been into stuffed animals, but this one is damn cute. Did you really have it since you were Juliette’s age?”

“Just about,” Jeanne said. “Maybe a year older.”

“How did it stay so pristine?” Brian asked. “In comparison, Bunny looks like she’d been through a war.”

“I don’t know, to be truthful. I guess I’ve always been on the meticulous side.”

Five minutes later Juliette and Camila emerged from the bathroom. Juliette made a beeline for Brian and rescued Jeannot Lapin. Then she climbed back up on the bed and rolled over on her side, assuming the same position she’d been in when Brian and Jeanne had arrived.

“A bit of diarrhea,” Camila reported. “And some cramps, but I think she feels better now.”

“Thank goodness,” he said. He placed his palm on her forehead. “She seems to be about the same temperature as before.” Juliette pushed his hand away.

“She said she wanted to sleep,” Camila said.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Brian said. “Is that right, Pumpkin? You want to take a nap?”

Juliette nodded, and he could see she had her eyes closed. “Okay,” he said. “Hopefully you’ll feel back to normal when you wake up. We’ll be downstairs if you need us, okay?” He straightened up and herded the others out of Juliette’s room.

As they were descending the stairs, Jeanne asked if Brian might be willing to give Grady Quillen a call to see if he was comfortable giving the names of the Inwood families he’d served over the last year.

“I suppose, but to be honest, I’m not sure I have the stamina at the moment to pursue the kind of Erin Brockovich investigation you have in mind.”

“Of course you don’t,” Jeanne reassured him. “As I said, I don’t know how you are functioning as well as you are. But I have both the time and the inclination. If you can get me the names, I’ll start the process and you can participate as much or as little as you’d like.”

“All right,” Brian said. It was the least he could do in the face of all the help and support Jeanne was so generously providing.

Chapter 29 September 2

As dawn’s light slowly crept into the master bedroom preluding sunrise, Brian’s eyes popped open. Other than his eyelids, he purposefully didn’t move a muscle lest he disturb Juliette, who was sleeping on her side with her head on a pillow facing him. She was in Emma’s place in the bed, and Jeannot Lapin was on its back between them with Juliette’s arm thrown over the stuffed rabbit’s midsection.

As far as sleep was concerned, the first part of Brian’s night had not gone well. He’d had trouble going to sleep even though he was clearly exhausted from having slept so poorly the night before. He’d even dozed off in the kitchen while having something to eat with both Camila and Jeanne. They’d encouraged him to go to bed, which he did, but by the time he got upstairs, out of his clothes, and brushed his teeth, he no longer felt tired.

Finally, after ten o’clock, he’d broken down and tried one of Emma’s Ambien tablets, which provided a few hours of sleep before he was awakened by the sound of his bedroom door creaking open. By reflex from his martial arts training, he’d tensed, ready to spring up and face any potential intruder, but it wasn’t necessary. With the help of the half-light in the room coming in through the white, gauzy curtains from the streetlight outside the window, he recognized Juliette in her nightgown holding Jeannot Lapin. Brian had sat up and asked her if she was okay, and she’d answered by asking him if she could sleep with him.

“Absolutely, Sweet Pea,” Brian had said immediately, throwing back the edge of the sheet. Juliette responded by jumping up onto the bed, scrunching down under the covers, and placing Jeannot Lapin between them. A moment later she’d melted his heart by saying: “I miss Mommy.”

With some difficulty, Brian had told her that he understood and that he missed Mommy, too. With those few words spoken, Juliette had fallen asleep and eventually he had dozed off while hoping he could at least partially fill the void that Emma’s passing had created.

As the intensity of the daylight gradually increased, Brian got a progressively better view of his angelic daughter’s features, and he marveled at the sheer mystery and mind-boggling implausibility of the reproductive process. How could it have been possible for him and Emma to create such a perfect human being? But then in the middle of his appreciation, he noticed something disturbing. Juliette’s forehead was covered with tiny, iridescent droplets of perspiration, and the discovery brought a pang of fear down his spine. With the pandemic threatening a fall surge, a prolonged fever was certainly not a welcome sign.

Being careful not to wake his daughter, Brian slipped out of the bed. As carefully as he could, he folded down the light cotton blanket, leaving only the sheet to cover her. He then turned down the air-conditioning a few degrees before he went to retrieve the thermometer in her bedroom. Although he hated to do it because she was sleeping soundly, when he got back he woke her by gently shaking her shoulder.

Juliette’s response at being disturbed was to cry and then complain that she didn’t feel well. He could see that the whites of her eyes were mildly suffused red.

“What’s bothering you?” he asked. “Is your throat sore?”

Juliette nodded. “And I have a headache,” she said, putting her hand momentarily on her forehead.

“I think you might have a fever.” He felt her forehead with his hand, admitting to himself that she did feel warm. “We need to take your temperature.”

Although she initially complained that she didn’t want her temperature taken, she eventually succumbed to Brian’s persistent urging. As they waited for the requisite three minutes, he stroked her head, marveling at the color of her hair and wondering where it had come from in either his or Emma’s genealogy. Juliette kept her eyes closed the entire time.

When the time was up, Brian took out the thermometer. When he read it he caught his breath. It was 102.3! Making an effort to camouflage his concern, he said: “Yes, you do have a fever. Do you feel warm?”

“No, I feel cold,” she said, and ostensibly shivered.

Quickly, he replaced the blanket that he had earlier turned down. After he told her to stay in bed, he slipped on his robe and walked down the hall. When he reached Camila’s room, he knocked softly. From inside he heard a muffled: “Just a minute.” A moment later the door opened, and a sleepy Camila stood in the door frame, clutching her robe closed.

“Juliette has awakened with a temperature of over 102,” Brian told her. “Sorry to wake you, but we need your help. As much as I hate doing it, I think she’s got to be seen again at the ED, and I need you to drive us so I don’t have to worry about parking.”

“Oh, no! I’m sorry to hear,” Camila said, now looking more alert. “She seemed fine yesterday after her upset stomach. Are there any other symptoms?”

“Yes, she again has a sore throat and headache. On the positive side, I don’t think she has any digestive complaints, but I didn’t specifically ask her.”

“Do you want to go right away?”

“I do,” Brian said. “I’d like to get in and out of the ED as quickly as possible. We’re both expected to show up for Emma’s funeral mass at ten and the sooner we get there the sooner we’ll be seen.”

“Let me throw on some clothes.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll dress also and get Juliette’s robe. At the moment she’s in my room. She came in in the middle of the night feeling lonely and ended up staying with me.”

“The poor dear. Okay, I’ll be quick.”

After returning to his room with Juliette’s robe in hand, Brian approached the bed. Juliette appeared to have fallen back asleep, but her eyes opened the moment he sat down. “I was just talking with Camila,” he said. “She’s going to drive us back to the hospital so the doctors can take a look at you again.”

“I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“I’m afraid we have to go,” Brian said, suppressing the urge to say he didn’t want to go, either. He sat her up and helped her get her arms into her bathrobe. “We have to find out what’s making you have a fever, so we can get you some medicine to make you and Jeannot Lapin feel better. I imagine she’s not feeling so well, either.”

While he ducked into the master bedroom’s walk-in closet to dress, he found himself suddenly transfixed by the sight of the clothes hanging on Emma’s side. At this moment, with no warning whatsoever, his glass house of denial spontaneously shattered, forcing him to acknowledge that his wife had died, that she was gone, that she wasn’t coming back, and he was never again going to hear her crystalline voice or her infectious laughter or feel her touch or experience one of those marvelous episodes when they shared the very same thought at the same time. “Shit,” he hissed through clenched teeth, quiet enough so Juliette couldn’t hear. The existential question of why this terrible loss had happened to him leaped into the forefront of his mind, but he had no answer. All he knew was that this totally unexpected, unforeseen tragedy had happened because of a tiny mosquito.

Feeling suddenly drained of strength, Brian was forced to reach up and grab the hanger rod to keep himself upright. At the same time, he felt a rush of tears, and he let himself cry. But after a few quiet sobs, he regained his equilibrium. Remembering Juliette out in the room, he yanked himself back to reality. “Pull yourself together!” he commanded in a forced whisper, recognizing that Juliette’s needs trumped feeling sorry for himself. She needed him to buck up, and with the kind of determination that had characterized his life to date, he rapidly put on the same dark suit he’d worn for his brief appearance at the wake. Not knowing how long he’d be in the emergency department, and certainly hoping it wouldn’t be as long as the previous day, he wanted to be ready for the funeral mass at ten.

By the time they were in the Subaru heading for the hospital, it was going on eight o’clock. Hoping for the best but wanting to be ready for the worst, he again had his laptop with an attached DVD player and a selection of Juliette’s particularly favorite movies in a backpack. He also knew there was internet in the ED, so they’d also be able to stream PBS cartoons or other movies if Juliette preferred. Also, at Camila’s suggestion, he had some snacks if needed. All in all, he felt reasonably prepared provided they were treated fairly and didn’t have to wait for three hours. As he had anticipated, Juliette was obviously not feeling well and had resisted going, but now that they were in the car, she acted resigned and silent.

“If you can give me a little warning, I can be back here, so you don’t have to wait,” Camila said as Brian and Juliette got out at the hospital. He gave a thumbs-up as he and Juliette donned their masks and headed for the door.

The ED waiting room was sparsely populated, which encouraged Brian. At the information desk there was no line, and Brian was able to check in straightaway with one of the clerks who recognized them from having been there the day before. The clerk then passed on the information to a triage nurse who seemed distracted as she read aloud the symptoms of a 102.2 fever, sore throat, and headache with an episode of vomiting and diarrhea the previous day. She then wordlessly took Juliette’s temperature with a thermal scanner. Luckily Juliette was tolerant and silent through it all.

“What’s the temperature?” he asked.

“100.8,” the nurse replied.

“It was much higher less than an hour ago,” Brian said. He was relieved to hear it had come down yet worried it might put them in a less urgent section on the patient list. “Maybe you could take it again, please, just to be sure.”

Without comment, but with subtle signs of annoyance that were not lost on Brian, the nurse took the temperature again. “100.8,” she voiced with a roll of her eyes as if retaking the temperature had been an imposition.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Did my asking to retake my daughter’s temperature provoke you in some way?”

“I’ve been here since eleven o’clock last night,” the nurse responded, ignoring Brian’s question. “We’ll be with you as soon as we can.” She then walked off.

“Good grief,” Brian let out under his breath. Already his interaction with the ED staff was only marginally acceptable in his opinion, making him worried whether the current visit might end up rivaling yesterday’s fiasco.

Retreating to a relatively deserted corner of the waiting room, he and Juliette made themselves as comfortable as possible. Juliette wanted to lie down, and Brian allowed her to do so on a blanket he’d brought with them from the car. When he asked her if she wanted to watch something on the laptop, she said she wanted to sleep. As she settled in, he noticed that the perspiration that he’d seen earlier on her forehead had disappeared, making him more confident that the thermal scanner temperature the nurse had taken had been correct. It also made Brian wonder why, like yesterday, Juliette’s symptoms had suddenly disappeared.

“What about your headache and a sore throat?” he asked her, but she chose not to answer and already had her eyes closed. Thankful she was being cooperative, he didn’t press her. Instead he made himself as comfortable as he could, wondering how long they would have to wait. In the distance he heard the undulating sound of an approaching ambulance. As the siren progressively increased, he couldn’t help but selfishly hope it wasn’t some major trauma that would engulf the ED and extend the wait.

Trying to avoid revisiting the momentarily paralyzing episode he’d had in the closet, Brian kept his mind busy by mulling over the conversation he’d had the day before with Jeanne about how many other people in the community out of its sixty thousand residents had experienced the kind of tragedy that he and Jeanne had suffered. Although at the time he had thought that he didn’t have the time or the fortitude to participate in any intensive investigation in the near term, Jeanne had asked him to call Grady Quillen and ask if he would provide a list of all the neighborhood people he’d served in the last year or so.

As Brian had expected, Grady had been more than happy to provide the information, especially after Brian had assured him that his being the source would never be revealed to anyone, especially Premier Collections. Grady had promised he’d print out a list and get it to Brian, and also mentioned something particularly disturbing. Nolan O’Reilly, the friend who’d lost his son and house, had just died by suicide. If nothing else, that terrible news was enough to galvanize him to join Jeanne’s commitment to look into the problem as a neighborhood disaster.

The ambulance he had heard approaching arrived, and it was obvious that it involved a major problem as various ED personnel started scurrying about. For a second Brian wondered if Emma’s arrival two days ago had caused the same stir, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind lest it lead to another emotional storm.

Over the next thirty to forty minutes, more ambulatory patients began arriving, forming a line with six-foot separations at the information desk. There were also several more ambulances. It was disturbingly obvious to Brian that the ED was becoming busier.

After an hour of waiting and with Juliette asleep, he got up when there happened to be no one in line for the information desk. Trying to keep himself calm but feeling progressively irritated that he and Juliette were being forced to wait as long as they had, especially since the time of Emma’s funeral mass was rapidly approaching, Brian headed over to the clerk who had initially checked them in.

After taking a quick glance back at Juliette to make sure she was still asleep, Brian got the clerk’s attention. “Excuse me,” he said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “My daughter and I have been waiting more than an hour for her to be seen. What’s the holdup?”

A free triage nurse who’d overheard his question stepped closer and intervened. “What’s the name?” she asked in a neutral tone.

Brian gave Juliette’s full name, and the nurse consulted her tablet. “Okay, yes, I see your daughter’s name,” she said. “She’s definitely in the queue. You’ll just have to be patient. We have to deal with real emergencies first.”

For several beats, he debated whether to respond to the implication that Juliette’s fever of 102.2 with flu-like symptoms was not an emergency or whether to raise the issue about his seeing other patients come and go into the ED, but for the moment he held himself in check. He could hear Jeanne’s words from yesterday warning him that raising a ruckus could make things worse. Biting his tongue, Brian headed back to his seat next to Juliette’s sleeping form.

Thinking about Jeanne, he took out his cell phone and called her in an effort to keep himself under control. As the call went through, he worried again he was taking advantage of her and hoped she wouldn’t mind hearing from him so soon. To his relief, any concerns were instantly dispelled by the alacrity with which she answered.

“Good morning!” she said brightly. “I’m so glad to hear from you. I’ve been wanting to call you but was worried it might be too early. Have you gotten the defendant list from Grady Quillen?”

“Wow! I’m impressed. You really are motivated about this.”

“I suppose I am,” Jeanne said. “Have you heard from him? Is that why you are calling?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t gotten the list yet,” he said. “No, that’s not why I am calling. Unfortunately, I’m back in the ED. Juliette woke up this morning with a 102.2 fever.”

“Oh, no!” Jeanne cried. “That’s not what I wanted to hear. Does she have other symptoms or just a fever?”

“She has a sore throat and headache again,” Brian said. “I was hoping that by getting here as early as we did, we’d be seen quickly. It didn’t happen. We’ve been here for more than an hour already, and we haven’t been called.”

“Oh, God! How frustrating!” Jeanne said. “I’m sorry. How is Juliette behaving?”

“She’s being an angel,” Brian said. “She’s sleeping. I’m the one who might misbehave. I’m feeling paranoid again that we’re being purposefully and passive-aggressively ignored.”

“Is the ED particularly crowded?” Jeanne asked.

“It wasn’t when we arrived,” he said. “At least it didn’t appear to be out here in the waiting room. Of course, I can’t see when ambulances arrive, and I know at least one did. What bugs me is that just like yesterday people have walked in after we did and already have been seen, and it’s getting more crowded now.”

“Would you like me to come over and keep you company?”

“That’s nice of you to offer,” Brian responded. “But I’m hoping we’ll be called soon, and I’m already feeling guilty about counting on you to come over later this afternoon to spend time with Juliette while I go out to the ESU Academy.”

Before Jeanne could respond, Brian’s phone vibrated in his hand, indicating he had a call coming in. It was Aimée. “I’ve got to go. My mother is trying to get through, and I’m sure it’s about the funeral.”

“No problem,” Jeanne said. “I’m available if you need me.”

He switched lines and greeted his mother.

“Why don’t we all go to the funeral mass and burial together like Hannah suggested?” Aimée said with no preamble. “We could pick you and Juliette up on our way to the Church of the Good Shepherd. And tell Juliette that Grandma would love to see her in that new blue dress that—”

“There’s a problem,” Brian said, interrupting. “Juliette woke up with a high fever, and we are again back at the Emergency Department waiting to be seen.”

“Mon Dieu! I’m sorry to hear,” Aimée said. “How is she feeling now?”

“At the moment she’s asleep,” Brian answered. “Even that’s not normal behavior for her.” He didn’t mention that the temperature was significantly lower now.

“Goodness gracious! This is not good news. What do you think; will you be able to make the church service?”

“It’s totally dependent on when Juliette will be seen and then how she feels,” he said. “I’m hoping she’ll at least be seen soon, since we’ve already been here more than an hour.”

“I certainly hope you and Juliette make it,” Aimée said. “You’ll be sorely missed, and I know Hannah will be beside herself if you don’t. But will you come even if Juliette isn’t up to it?”

“I’ll try my best,” Brian said, feeling a bit guilty that he wasn’t being entirely up front. Not knowing how he felt about any of the funeral rites or how his wife might have felt, he wasn’t as disappointed as he guessed his mother and Hannah would be if he and Juliette couldn’t make the funeral mass or, perhaps, even the interment at the cemetery. Although he certainly wanted to honor his wife’s memory and not offend anyone, so far the funeral rituals seemed to be more of a challenge to his emotional stability than a help. At the same time, he recognized the mass and the burial might be consoling on some level as a kind of closure and certainly not as upsetting as the wake. Brian desperately wanted himself and Juliette to remember Emma with the vitality that she embodied rather than as a cold, unresponsive shell staged with makeup to look as if she were merely sleeping.

“Well, I hope Juliette is seen soon,” Aimée said.

Suddenly Juliette woke up as if from a bad dream and began crying.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “I have to go. Juliette’s awake and not happy.”

“Okay, try to keep me informed, my dear,” Aimée said and rang off.

“What’s the matter, Pumpkin?” Brian asked soothingly as he pocketed his phone. Juliette was looking around, seemingly orienting herself.

“I’m hungry and I want to go home,” she managed to say, choking back more tears.

“I’m glad you are hungry,” Brian said as he got out the graham crackers and mentally thanked Camila for suggesting them. “But we have to stay until the doctor sees you and tells us why you have a fever. What about watching something fun?”

“I want to go home,” Juliette repeated, obviously becoming more cranky.

“I do, too,” he said. He got out the collection of DVDs he’d brought. Thankfully Juliette started pawing through them while munching on a cracker until she came across a Pink Panther DVD. Without saying anything, she handed it to Brian and with a sense of relief that she had found something, he set her up watching it.

With Juliette occupied, he sat back and tried to be patient, but as time passed, he found himself getting progressively irritated. Finally, after a total of two hours, at which point he knew the funeral mass was probably beginning, he couldn’t sit still any longer. After making sure that Juliette had significant time remaining on her current DVD, he walked back to the information desk.

On this occasion, Brian had to stand in line before getting to talk with one of the clerks, and it wasn’t the woman whom he’d spoken to earlier. It was a youthful man with hair down to his shoulders.

“My daughter, Juliette Murphy, and I have been here for more than two hours,” Brian snapped, tired of forcing himself to be polite. “I’m beginning to think we are being purposefully ignored. I want to be reassured that is not the case and find out when we will be seen.”

The clerk treated him to an overtly questioning expression that was obvious even with his mask. After telling Brian to wait a minute, he got up and stepped over to speak with one of the free triage nurses. Brian watched them converse and had the impression the clerk was new to his job. After checking her tablet, it was the triage nurse who came back to speak with Brian.

“We’re sorry you’ve had to wait, Mr. Murphy,” she said consolingly and with respect. “We try our best to see everyone as quickly as we can, but with the Covid-19 pandemic, we’ve been stressed, as I’m sure you have heard.”

“That I understand,” Brian said, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice but not succeeding. He told her he’d seen people arrive after them and already be seen, and voiced concern that he was being treated differently because he had outstanding hospital bills.

“Oh, heavens, no!” she said. “I can assure you that we have no idea of your financial situation with the hospital. We see the sickest patients first. Some of those people you’ve seen most likely came in for something very easy to solve, like a prescription refill. We will get to your daughter as soon as we can.”

Feeling frustrated and questioning that people might come into the ED just to get prescriptions refilled, he went back to Juliette and tried to rein in his growing anger. Despite what the triage nurse had said about the ED not being influenced by financial considerations, he still had his doubts. With Charles Kelley so focused on profits, such an orientation and culture had to trickle down into all corners of the hospital. He was sure of it.

It wasn’t until three-quarters of an hour later that Juliette was called, and by then Brian was fit to be tied. To him, as angry as he was and for having been forced to miss his wife’s funeral mass, there seemed to be no explanation other than that they were being overtly discriminated against.

To Juliette’s chagrin the nurse who greeted them wasn’t Olivia, but she quickly established herself as being equally as good with children. After leading them back to the same exam room they’d visited the day before, Nurse Jane pretended to take Jeannot Lapin’s vital signs as she took Juliette’s. And when Juliette asked for a hemostat to play with, Jane happily complied. She also acted impressed when Juliette demonstrated how well she could use the instrument by attaching it and releasing it at various locations on Jeannot Lapin.

“What’s the temperature?” Brian asked after the nurse took it. He made a distinct effort to keep his voice from reflecting his irritation.

“98.2,” Jane said happily. “Same with the rabbit.”

With this surprising news and despite his annoyance, it was time for Brian to roll his eyes, feeling mildly embarrassed as well as exasperated that the main reason for coming to the ED had vanished just as it had the day before. Of course, he was pleased the fever was gone, but he was also perplexed. Had she really had a fever or could the thermometer at home be malfunctioning? But then he reminded himself of the perspiration on Juliette’s forehead. That had been real, meaning something must have been wrong. Particularly because of his EMT training, he knew more than most people about symptoms and signs of disease, and a disappearing fever of 102.2 made no sense to him, nor did it make sense that Juliette’s sore throat had vanished when Jane asked her about it. The only symptom that remained was the headache. When Jane asked Juliette where she felt the pain and whether it was localized, Juliette motioned all over her head.

With the vital signs retaken, Jane said that the doctor would be in to see Juliette in a few minutes and left. Yet it was more than a few minutes; it was twenty minutes, long enough for Juliette to start crying, saying she wanted to go home, and long enough to allow his befuddlement to morph back to anger. In his mind, having been forced to wait three hours, two days in a row, couldn’t have been by chance. It had to be punitively deliberate, not to mention inconsiderate and unethical.

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door and before Brian could respond, in walked an ebullient Dr. Robert Arnsdorf along with Jane. He was an athletic-looking physician, who Brian guessed was in his fifties, comparable in height with Brian but slenderer and with a bit of white hair protruding from beneath his surgical cap. A stethoscope was casually slung around his neck. Brian was relieved it wasn’t Dr. Kramer.

“Ah, I see Miss Murphy is a little unhappy,” Dr. Arnsdorf said friskily, seemingly for Juliette’s benefit. “What’s the problem today, my chickadee?” Without waiting for an answer, he looked down at his tablet and began reading.

In his agitated state Brian found the doctor’s breezy attitude and seeming unpreparedness galling rather than playful and certainly not endearing. Juliette didn’t buy it, either, and continued crying until Jane got her reinterested in playing with the hemostat.

“The problem is we’ve been waiting for over three hours,” Brian blurted out.

“Sorry about that,” Dr. Arnsdorf said simply. “Let me finish Dr. Kramer’s note.” After a moment he put the tablet down on the desk. “Okay, seems that we’ve had a repeat from yesterday: A phantom fever and sore throat along with a single episode of vomiting and diarrhea yesterday afternoon. Interesting.”

“I hardly think ‘interesting’ is an appropriate description,” Brian said.

“First, let me extend my sincere condolences about your wife,” Dr. Arnsdorf said, continuing to ignore Brian’s displeasure. “It’s entirely understandable that there have been psychosomatic symptoms, including a fever. But, to be on the safe side, let’s take a look.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself. Then after a brief wash of his hands, he quickly examined Juliette, starting by first looking into her mouth, throat, nose, and ears. He then listened to her chest and let her listen to his. Finally, he palpated her abdomen while she was lying on her back, managing to get her relaxed enough to elicit a little laugh. Brian watched the rapid exam and stayed quiet throughout although he already was concerned that the doctor had a low index of suspicion.

“You are in perfect health,” Dr. Arnsdorf declared to Juliette while playfully touching her on the tip of the nose with his index finger. He then turned to Brian. “I think she is fine, very healthy in fact. And I’m impressed with her size, having been a preemie. My guess is she’s out there on the positive side of the bell curve development-wise for her age.”

“What does her having been a preemie have to do with anything?” Brian asked. In his hypersensitive state, it seemed like a statement out of the blue, like trying to change the subject.

“Nothing, really,” Dr. Arnsdorf said. “The doctor’s note from yesterday noted Juliette was a tiny baby when she was born. We’ve seen a handful of Dr. Bhatt’s patients over the last couple of days. He’s a fine pediatrician. Did you meet him when he was a resident at Columbia-Presbyterian Children’s Hospital?”

“Yes,” Brian said. He relaxed a twinge, realizing he shouldn’t fault doctors for being thorough even though Juliette’s current situation had nothing to do with her spending the first month of her life in a NICU at Columbia. She’d been transferred there from MMH Inwood right after delivery.

“My advice if these phantom symptoms continue is to consider having her talk to a pediatric social worker,” Dr. Arnsdorf said, picking up his tablet as if he was about to leave. “Also, perhaps you should make an appointment to see Dr. Bhatt when he comes back after his vacation.”

“Wait a second,” Brian began. “I’m not comfortable assuming her symptoms are psychosomatic. She hasn’t been acting herself even before my wife’s passing, and this morning she woke up with a real fever. She had perspiration covering her forehead. Especially with this pandemic still going on and a second wave expected, I at least want her to have a Covid test. I’d also like to see if her blood count is normal.”

“I disagree,” Dr. Arnsdorf countered. “I agree with Dr. Kramer. Your daughter also complained of a sore throat, but her throat looks perfectly normal. Likewise, her ears. And her temperature at the moment is actually low, not high.”

“I want her to have some blood work,” Brian demanded, losing patience. “And a Covid test at a minimum.”

“The hospital is backed way up on its Covid testing,” Dr. Arnsdorf said with exasperation. He’d been making an effort to placate Brian but was beginning to resent his insistence.

“There’s something not right with my daughter. This is the second time in two days we’ve been here.”

“Calm down, Mr. Murphy,” Dr. Arnsdorf said, forcing himself to be calm as well. “We’ve been asked by our lab on a temporary basis only to do testing on patients with a strong indication, who have sustained symptoms, or have been exposed to someone with Covid-19, or are being admitted to the hospital. Your daughter doesn’t fit in any of these categories. Covid-19 symptoms vary from patient to patient, but they don’t come and go over a few hours in the same patient, not in our experience. As for doing a blood count or any other blood work, I don’t see any rationale whatsoever. Subjecting a child to a phlebotomy, which can be a traumatic experience, shouldn’t be done unless there is a strong indication.”

“Does your reluctance to do the little I’m asking have anything to do with this hospital suing me for the bill to treat my late wife’s EEE? Are you people all so damn worried I won’t pay whatever outrageous price you’ve put on these tests?”

For a second Dr. Arnsdorf stared at Brian in shocked surprise. “Absolutely not!” he said, finding his voice. “That’s an insult. You are one paranoid individual, Mr. Murphy.”

“Of course I’m paranoid,” he retorted. “It’s hard not to be paranoid in this day and age dealing with healthcare. Don’t tell me you aren’t fully aware that your CEO is one hell-bent profit-motivated individual intent on keeping prices high and costs low to justify his multimillion-dollar salary.”

“I’m a doctor!” Dr. Arnsdorf retorted. “I take care of people, not business.”

“That’s a cop-out if I ever heard one,” Brian snapped. “Yes, you are a doctor, and MMH Inwood is a hospital, which is supposed to be your house and not Charles Kelley’s gravy train.”

“I’ve had enough of this conversation.” Dr. Arnsdorf turned back to the sink and rewashed his hands before swiftly leaving the exam room.

Equally fed up and sensing he was getting nowhere, Brian turned to Juliette and scooped her up in his arms. He ignored Jane as she said goodbye to Juliette. On their way to the waiting room, Brian struggled to get out his phone, and while walking and carrying Juliette, he used Siri to call Camila.

“My, you have been there a long time,” Camila said immediately as she came on the line.

“Don’t remind me,” Brian said. “Can you come and get us?”

“Of course! I’ll be there shortly. How is Juliette doing?”

“She’s doing fine,” he said. “I’m the one who’s struggling.”

Chapter 30 September 2

Once Brian and Juliette were in the car, Camila briefly tried to get both to talk to find out what had happened, but it quickly became clear to her that neither was so inclined. With Juliette it was because she was busy getting the laptop out of the backpack to return to the DVD she’d been watching earlier. With Brian it was apparent from the outset that he was seriously irritated. In Camila’s experience, he rarely got upset, but when he did, she’d learned it was best to let him mull over whatever was bothering him, which usually didn’t take long. And true to form, by the time they drove out of the hospital grounds, he let out a protracted sigh and said with a shake of his head: “Well, that was another exercise in futility.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” Camila said. “What happened? What did they find?”

“Nothing,” Brian answered with disgust. “But in their defense, by the time we were seen after another three-hour wait, once again her fever had vanished along with most of her symptoms. I think she still has a headache, but that’s it, and apparently even the headache is better. It clearly hasn’t hindered her from watching videos.” He glanced over his shoulder to see if Juliette was back to watching, and she was. “The doctors are convinced it’s all psychosomatic, fever included.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” Camila said. “Did they do any tests this time to make certain?”

“None,” Brian said. “That’s what irked me. I tried to get them to do even a routine blood test, but no go with the excuse they’re backed up with their Covid testing. It’s all very suspicious to me. I’m worried that they didn’t do any tests because they’re afraid they are not going to get paid since I already owe them so damn much money.”

“Do you really think that is a possibility?” Camila asked.

“I do,” Brian said. “Having to wait to be seen more than three hours two days in a row and then refusing to do anything I asked speaks volumes. And this morning when we first arrived, the triage nurse acted put out when I asked her to repeat Juliette’s temperature.”

“Next week Dr. Bhatt will be back.”

“Hallelujah,” he said. “I can’t wait.”

“By the way, a Grady Quillen stopped by and left you a large manila envelope. He said that you would know what it was about. It’s on your desk.”

“I do,” Brian said. “It’s a list of people like me and Jeanne who he’s served.”

When they pulled into the driveway and stopped, Juliette said she was hungry.

“How about you, Brian?” Camila asked as they all got out of the car. “Want to join us?”

“You guys go ahead. I’ve got to call my mom. I’m afraid Juliette and I have missed at least the funeral mass.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Camila said. “That’s right. I’ll hurry with Juliette.”

“Don’t rush!” he said. “Let Juliette enjoy her belated breakfast. I’m delighted she’s hungry, and to be truthful, I’m not sure what I want to do at this point.”

Once in the house, Brian went to the office. He knew he had to contact his mother, but he hesitated. It was now 12:20 p.m., and he imagined the interment was in progress, meaning even if he tried to rush out to Woodlawn Cemetery, he had probably missed the ceremony. He felt fairly guilty and worried that he’d let Hannah down, yet Juliette’s well-being was far more important to him than his sense of responsibility to his in-laws. Besides, he had to admit that he felt relieved not to have witnessed the stark reality of putting Emma’s body in the ground.

Instead of making a mad dash to the cemetery or even calling Aimée, he sat down at his desk and used a letter opener to get at the contents of the manila folder Grady had brought over. After he and Jeanne had seen on the internet the huge number of people the Manhattan Memorial Hospital had sued or was suing in the metropolitan area, he wasn’t totally surprised the list comprised hundreds of Inwood residents whom Grady had served. Having spent his entire life in the neighborhood, Brian fully expected there would be a number of people he knew personally. Sure enough, just with a random glance, he found Donavan Bligh’s name with an address on Indian Road, a ten-minute walk from where Brian was sitting. He knew the family because they had a son who’d been in his sister Erin’s class at P.S. 98 like Patrick McCarthy.

Although Brian was now more interested to help Jeanne learn the gory details of a number of the cases to hopefully motivate the media and maybe even the local politicians to do something, he slipped Grady’s list back into its envelope, and put it aside. He then got his phone out with the intention of calling Aimée, but still he hesitated. Instead of initiating the call, he put the phone down on the desk and stared at it. Not only did he feel guilty about missing the burial, but he also now worried about the possibility of his call coming at just the wrong time if the interment was still in progress. If that happened, he’d only be adding insult to injury. With that concern in mind, he wondered if he should wait just a little longer, or send her a text instead. He knew Aimée was expecting him to be in contact.

While Brian sat paralyzed by indecision, the phone suddenly rang with its raucous “old phone” ringtone, making him jump. In a kind of panic, he snapped it up to see who was calling. To his great irritation it was Roger Dalton. Recalling the anger the man’s phone call had incited the previous day, he debated whether to answer. He was already in a foul mood, and Roger Dalton, as the embodiment of MMH Inwood’s business tactics as well as Kelley’s sidekick, was fast becoming for him a persona non grata. Yet rationality intervened, making Brian again question whether he might be calling concerning Megan Doyle’s or Patrick McCarthy’s need to get a complete printout of Emma’s hospital bill. With that possibility in mind, he answered but quickly wished he hadn’t.

“This is rapidly becoming a farce,” Roger said without even identifying himself. “I don’t know why I’m making the effort to call you other than feeling some sympathy for what’s happening to your life. Another charge for which you are responsible was brought to my attention. Of course, I immediately sent it to Peerless Health, and in their usual rapid but disappointing way, they have refused any coverage. Ergo, if you don’t get them to reverse yet another denial, it will be added to your growing delinquency. Can I expect you to look into this quickly and get back to me?”

For a moment Brian struggled to control an almost overwhelming vexation and didn’t answer immediately, partially because Roger Dalton had at least expressed an ounce of empathy. “Is this new charge for my daughter’s Emergency Department visit?”

“It is indeed,” Roger said.

“You are not talking about today, are you?”

“No, yesterday,” Roger said. “Did you return to the ED today?”

“Yes, I just got home. I was there all morning.”

“Oh, dear,” Roger said. “Well, that makes it more important to get in touch with your insurance company. Because your account is flagged, I’ll be hearing about a new charge probably this afternoon. Both these charges will be added to your default unless you would like to take care of these ED bills yourself. Is that a possibility?”

“How much is the charge?” he asked hesitantly. Since nothing had been done in the way of laboratory tests or imaging, he thought there was a possibility he could show some good faith, but it depended on the amount.

“Yesterday’s charge is $1,776.55,” Roger said. “We’d be happy to accept a check or credit card.”

“Wait a second!” Brian blurted. “That’s almost two thousand dollars! There must be some mistake. We had to wait for so long that my daughter’s symptoms disappeared, so nothing was done: no tests, no nothing. That’s impossible.”

“Quite the contrary,” Roger said. “The facility was used and the facility charge is a good portion of the bill. On top of that, your daughter was seen by a doctor, so there was a charge for that.”

“I have never even heard of a facility charge,” Brian said. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that everyone who is seen in the ED has to pay some costs involved in constructing and maintaining the whole facility and all its necessary equipment, including all the X-ray machines, MRIs, you name it.”

“How much was the facility fee?” he asked.

“Let me check,” Roger said. There was a brief pause before he added: “Eleven hundred dollars.”

“Good God! I’m being charged eleven hundred dollars for merely walking into the ED.”

“No, you are being charged eleven hundred dollars for your daughter to be seen, examined, and treated in a Trauma 1 facility.”

Brian tried to rein in his outrage. Instead he harkened back to the lecture Megan had given him about hospital-inflated charge master prices used to negotiate with the larger health insurance companies, but which Medicare didn’t pay. “If my daughter was on Medicare, how much would the facility fee be then?”

“That’s proprietary information,” Roger answered.

“Oh, come on, Roger,” Brian said. “I’m sure I could call Medicare and they would tell me. You expressed some sympathy for what I’m going through. Help me out here, so I can begin to understand what I’m up against. How much would Medicare pay? I won’t tell anyone you told me.” Brian rolled his eyes at his own falsity.

“It is true Medicare could tell you,” Roger admitted.

“There you go,” he said. “Save me the effort.”

“Somewhere in the three- to four-hundred-dollar range,” Roger said. “It depends on what part of the ED was actually used.”

“That’s quite a difference,” Brian responded, keeping his real thoughts to himself. “When we first met, you gave a lot of credit to Charles Kelley. Has he been involved with this facility charge situation?”

“Of course,” Roger said. “It’s a key element in his turning the hospital around financially.”

“Interesting,” Brian managed. Struggling to contain himself, he changed the subject. He knew it was a hopeless cause arguing about prices with the likes of Roger Dalton or finding fault with his CEO and hero. “Did Peerless give you any reason for denying the claim for my daughter’s ED visit?”

“No,” Roger said. “They rarely do. That’s for you to find out and try to rectify. What about this most recent ED bill? Do you want to use a credit card? I could take direct payment over the phone. It’s your choice.”

“I’ll call Peerless,” Brian said.

“Fine,” Roger said with irritation. “You do that.”

Without another word being spoken, he found that the call had been disconnected. Yesterday he’d hung up on Roger Dalton; today Roger Dalton had hung up on him.

With his own anger and resentment mounting, Brian subjected himself once again to the frustration of calling Ebony Wilson. As he waited through the required hold music, he tried to imagine what reason Peerless was going to give for denying Juliette’s ED visit. He also marveled at what a nightmare American healthcare had become for himself, his family, and apparently for too many of his neighbors and friends. After this whole ordeal, he’d be happy to never have to speak with another healthcare representative again.

After more than a half hour, Ebony Wilson came on the line using her signature pleasant voice with its mildly southern accent.

“It’s Brian Murphy again,” he said in response to her initial scripted introduction. He then immediately rattled off his policy number without being asked and said he was again calling about a claim denial and wanted yet another explanation.

“Let me check for you,” she said cheerfully. If she’d been offended by his abrupt disconnect the day before or his current supercilious attitude, she didn’t let on. Brian assumed that she probably had to deal with a lot of angry people in her role as a claims adjustment supervisor of a company that made it a point to deny claims.

After less than five minutes of additional Muzak punishment she came back. “I see the latest claim was for Juliette Murphy at the MMH Inwood ED. Is this the claim you are inquiring about?”

“Yes,” he said. “Why was this one rejected, or are all claims automatically rejected?”

“Our adjusters are experienced, hardworking, and very qualified professionals,” Ebony said by rote, seemingly immune to Brian’s brashness. She then went on to say: “This claim was denied for two reasons. The first was because of a preexisting condition, which your policy does not cover.”

“What kind of preexisting condition?” he interjected with surprise.

“Serious prematurity,” she said. “The attending physician had noted that the child had been born at thirty weeks, weighing only two-and-a-half pounds, which required more than a month in the neonatal intensive care unit.”

“But that was four years ago,” Brian sputtered. “After the first year she caught up size-wise, and she’s been fine ever since.”

“Prematurity has lots of potential complications down the road, or so I’ve been told,” Ebony said. “Do you want to hear the second reason?”

“I’m not so sure...”

“The visit was in the middle of the day at a Trauma 1 Emergency Department,” she continued. “Your daughter should have been seen by her pediatrician or an urgent-care center.”

“I called the pediatrician’s office and was advised to take my daughter to the MMH Inwood ED,” Brian argued. “I was following doctor’s orders.”

“We here at Peerless take our responsibility of reducing healthcare costs very seriously,” Ebony said. “That means encouraging people to use lower-cost alternatives.”

“I’ve heard this argument from you already,” he snapped. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Again, if you don’t like our adjusters’ decisions you have the right to resubmit the claim and request a review or...”

“Or I can sue,” Brian said, filling in the rest.

“That is correct, and thank you for being a Peerless Health Insurance customer,” Ebony finished, again by rote.

Without another word and infuriated by the call, he disconnected and, like yesterday, immediately charged down the cellar steps and hurried into the small basement workout room. Using the same forty-five-pound weights, he quickly exhausted himself. Brian had always been a physical and mildly self-righteous person whose first instinct when attacked or wronged was to strike out. With his size, strength, and agility, he’d had to learn to suppress such urges, using sports as a release. When competitive athletics wasn’t available, barbells or strenuous cardio activity would suffice.

Ten minutes later and feeling moderately under control, he returned upstairs and sat back down at his desk. Looking at the phone lying on the blotter, he again debated getting in touch with Aimée. He knew he should, but when he picked up the phone, he still didn’t call his mother. Instead, he called Jeanne, more for moral support than anything else, although he planned on using the Grady material as an excuse.

Again the phone rang more times than he would have liked, and he felt guilty about calling her so much. As he was thinking about what voice message to leave and whether to leave any, she answered. It was clear she was out of breath.

“Am I catching you out on your bike again?” he asked, hearing what he thought was the sound of wind in the background.

“You are,” Jeanne admitted. “Sorry. I had to get the phone out, this time from my backpack.”

“No reason to apologize,” Brian said. “I should be the one apologizing for interrupting your ride again. Are you back in the park?”

“I am, but now I’m riding along the Hudson River, and it’s beautiful. I wanted to get out and get some exercise. What about Juliette? How is she? What did the doctor find this morning?”

“Once again they found nothing, and she’s remarkably improved despite the 102.2 fever and multiple complaints when she woke up. And once again, they did absolutely nothing despite us again waiting more than three hours. I can’t help but feel it was a deliberate slight, same as I did yesterday. Anyway, by the time she was seen, her fever was gone, same with her sore throat. I don’t know about the headache. They said she was fine, thought her complaints were all psychosomatic, and recommended a social worker should her symptoms come back.”

“Did they run any tests this time to be sure?”

“None, even though I made a big stink,” Brian said. “No matter what I said, the doctor refused. I know you might think I’m being paranoid, but I really do think it is all about the money. I’m sorry, but having to wait more than three hours two days in a row and refusing to do any tests, even a simple blood test, has to be deliberate. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“There’s no way to know,” Jeanne said.

“True, but it’s my gut feeling,” Brian insisted. “The doctor tried to tell me some bull about him not knowing anything about the business side of the hospital, but he has to know. They all have to know. I wouldn’t be surprised if the chief medical officer was on their backs all the time with the way that my hospital account manager carries on about the cost of running the Emergency Department. My guess is that Kelley is watching every penny they spend in the ED to make sure it’s a money-making venture.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Speaking of my hospital account manager, I had to have yet another phone conversation with him a little while ago that was as maddening as ever,” Brian said. “Then of course I had to talk again to the Peerless claims adjustment supervisor, which was equally as infuriating. It never ends, but I’ll tell you the gory details later.”

“Oh, my,” Jeanne said with sympathy. “What a day you are having.”

“Well, at least Juliette’s feeling better than when she awoke,” Brian said. “She even said she was hungry when we got home.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said. “I hate to ask, but what about the funeral services for your wife? Were they postponed?”

“I wish,” he responded. “I’m afraid Juliette and I missed both the mass and the burial. We went to the hospital early enough that I thought we’d be back in plenty of time. It’s unfortunate that didn’t happen thanks to the damn ED, but what could I do? Juliette’s fever of over 102 had to take precedence even though it spontaneously resolved. I know my mother will understand, and I just hope Emma’s mother does, too.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jeanne said. “You poor man. You have so much on your plate.”

“There is a bit of good news,” Brian interjected to change the subject. “Grady delivered, as I was confident he would. I have his service list, and it’s going to make our investigation easy now that we have hundreds of Inwood names and addresses.”

“Terrific,” Jeanne exclaimed. “I’m excited to get on with that. The more I think about it, the more important I believe exposing all of this is. Someone has to do it.”

“Are you still planning on coming over this afternoon to spend time with Juliette?”

“Absolutely! I’m looking forward to it,” she said. “That’s why I wanted to get some exercise in this morning. What about you? Are you still planning on visiting the ESU Academy?”

“I am,” Brian admitted. “With all this extra stress, I’m looking forward to it even more. I’ll be leaving soon for a three o’clock meeting, and hope I, too, can get in some exercise while I’m there. It would do wonders for my psyche.”

“I have a confession to make,” Jeanne said. “Last night I googled NYPD ESU, and I have to say, I was really impressed. Kudos to you and your wife. The training you guys went through is intense. I had no idea. You put your life on the line, literally. Have you really rappelled down skyscrapers and out of helicopters?”

“That and more,” Brian answered with a bit of pride, although he was usually more self-effacing.

“I’m truly impressed,” Jeanne said. “In French we say ‘très impressionné.’ ”

He laughed in spite of himself. “Je me rappelle the expression.”

“I’m not sure I’ll see you before you leave,” she said. “I’ve got to bike home and shower. But I’ll see you when you get back. Try to enjoy yourself!”

“Merci beaucoup,” Brian said. He then disconnected before bringing up Aimée’s number.

Chapter 31 September 2

The mere act of driving out onto the Floyd Bennett Field in the southeastern part of Brooklyn was therapeutic for Brian. He’d not been there for almost a year and had forgotten the effect of the huge expanse of 1,300 acres of mostly grassland, pristine salt marshes, and five enormous, decaying runways all within the confines of New York City. He knew something of the history of the place, as did all ESU officers who spent eight months training at the school. It had been a commercial airport in its early life but then was taken over by the federal government in World War II to be used mostly as a Naval Air station and a Coast Guard facility. It was now primarily administered by the National Park Service. The NYPD had used a small portion of the eastern part of the field as far back as 1934 for an aviation unit, which was still the case. The Emergency Service Unit’s headquarters and academy were also positioned there a bit later in four recycled Coast Guard buildings immediately adjacent to the aviation facility.

As he pulled up in front of the ramshackle admin and classroom building that served as the heart of the ESU complex, he had to smile at its appearance. When he’d been part of the unit, he’d been there so often that he never appreciated how decrepit the old buildings were. Perhaps when they had been built by the Coast Guard more than a half century earlier as hangars and barracks, they hadn’t looked too bad, but they clearly had never been architectural exemplars. When compared to the new, multistory NYPD Academy in Queens, the ESU Academy looked like a forgotten afterthought despite its enormously important mission.

After opening the car’s door, Brian hesitated as another part of his brain interrupted the pleasurable reveries he’d experienced driving onto the field. Like a sudden thunderstorm plunging a beautiful summer day into gloom, thoughts of Emma came back in a rush. It was here at the academy and in this very building that he’d first met her when she was a recruit and just starting her training. Brian could well remember the day because it had been one of his days off, and he had debated whether to go out to the academy to lend a hand with the new class of cadets. Little did he know that the day would change his life. He could vividly recall as if it were yesterday and from their first interaction how impressed he’d been with the way Emma stood out from her classmates. Her enthusiasm was palpable and sheer athleticism was obvious, especially as one of the very few females willing not only to take the physical punishment the training entailed but somehow enjoy it. It had been the same way he had reacted to the training when he’d been a recruit.

In an effort to regroup from a sudden paralyzing stab of grief, Brian reclosed the car door, shut his eyes, leaned his head against the steering wheel, and took a few deep breaths. It seemed so utterly impossible that Emma was gone. Despite the understanding both he and Emma shared as ESU officers that they were putting themselves at risk of death on a daily basis, they hadn’t given the possibility much thought. With their youth and health, it seemed a theoretical problem that had been easy to ignore.

Before leaving home to head out to Floyd Bennett Field, he had finally forced himself to call his mother. During the call he’d learned that the burial had indeed taken place. He’d also learned that he and Juliette had been sorely missed at the interment, but everyone understood the reasons for his absence. Aimée told him that at the conclusion of the ceremonies, Hannah had suffered a major emotional breakdown now that all the funeral planning she’d busied herself with was over.

“God damn it!” Brian shouted in the confines of the car as he pounded the steering wheel with his fist to the point of pain. Luckily both withstood the abuse. For a fleeting moment he thought about dashing into the makeshift weight room set up in the larger, hangar-type building to his left to let off some steam. But the urge quickly passed when he diverted his thoughts to Juliette, his new raison d’être. In a minor panic, he struggled to get his phone out of his pocket to put in a call to Camila. He felt a sudden urge to make sure everything was okay even though he’d only been gone an hour. Juliette’s fever of 102.2 that morning still plagued him despite its rapid resolution, especially since earlier he’d googled “psychosomatic fever” to learn that it was considered rare in children Juliette’s age, especially as high as 102.

Camila answered on the first ring and relieved him by immediately reporting that Juliette had eaten a healthy meal and that Jeanne had arrived. She added that they were all busy playing an old board game that Juliette enjoyed called Dinosaur.

“I just arrived at the academy,” Brian said. “I haven’t yet gone inside but I’m about to. I just wanted to check in before I get involved in a training exercise.”

“All is well here,” Camila assured him. “Juliette is acting completely normal and seems happy, so relax and enjoy yourself. Everything is under control. By the way, a call came in about a possible security gig. I said that you would call them back. Are you up for that?”

“Of course,” Brian said, trying to be positive, although if pressed he wasn’t entirely sure he could handle a difficult job under the circumstances. “Was there a rush on the callback?”

“Heavens, no,” Camila said. “It’s a possible wedding, but it’s not until December, and it didn’t strike me as a definite. Do you want to speak with Jeanne?”

“Tell her I’ll speak with her later,” he said, checking the time. “I’m on the brink of being late for my meeting.”

After a quick goodbye, Brian disconnected, turned the ringer off, and pocketed the phone. He then took a few more deep breaths. Hearing that Juliette was acting normal was reassuring, and he was confident Jeanne could help if need be. The sudden, paralyzing rush of grief reminded him he had a long way to go to deal with Emma’s loss, but at the moment it was important for him to hold his own emotions in check as much as possible. Translated into the near term, that meant he needed some income and benefit security and rejoining the ESU, if they would have him, would accomplish both. With that in mind, he reopened the car door and got out.

As he walked toward the admin building door, he noted how quiet the entire, relatively large compound was. All he could hear were some seagulls in the distance. In normal non-pandemic times, the place would be hopping with thirty to fifty recruits in training, dispersed into smaller groups. Beyond the large hangar building and to the right of the huge ESU garage he could see the group of cars used for practicing with the “jaws of life” to rescue people after car wrecks. Beyond the car wrecks was an NYC subway car, which looked like a huge fish out of water in the middle of an old airport. It was used for tactical and rescue training, seeing as it was the ESU who was called to get people — or what was left of them — out from under subway trains when they jumped or were pushed. Brian could well remember training for all sorts of rescues, whether from the tops of bridges, the sides of skyscrapers, or underwater, and most all of it happened here at the ESU Headquarters.

The interior of the admin building reflected the exterior in all its ramshackle glory. The first person Brian encountered was Helen Gurly, a very capable African American woman who’d served the last four ESU commanding officers. When an ESU officer had an administration problem, they all knew Helen was the first person to go to.

“Well, well, what a sight for sore eyes,” Helen said with her usual candor and humor. “The boss man is waiting on you, so go right on in!”

He thanked her and said that seeing her made him feel like coming home. She responded with a wave of dismissal, accompanied by a smile that he could detect despite her face mask.

Although the usual uniform for ESU personnel was dark blue for normal activities or black for tactical situations, Deputy Chief Michael Comstock always wore a bracingly white, impeccably ironed shirt with epaulettes and scalloped breast pocket flaps. He was a big man with a completely shaved head, hazel eyes, and a full rounded face with a ruddy complexion. Although certainly part of the brass, with his rank of deputy chief, he could compete physically with the rest of the ESU team and was respected for it. He was, in short, what a leader should be. His office and its furniture, like the entire building, looked worse for wear, but the ensemble had a homey touch with lots of family pictures alongside the compulsory head shots of the mayor and police commissioner.

As soon as Brian walked in, Michael put down his pen and stood up. With a smile he extended his elbow over his desk, so he and Brian could do the pandemic-inspired elbow-touch greeting. Michael laughed while he did it as a kind of acknowledgment that everybody was caught in the Covid-19 nightmare and had to make the best of it. He then pointed to a seat a good six feet in front of his desk.

“Let me again express my sincere condolences for your loss,” Michael began. “It’s a loss for all of us. Everyone I’ve told is heartbroken. She was, like yourself, well liked and respected around here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Brian said. “It’s been a shock, as you can imagine. It might have been the very last thing I could have expected happening.” He braced himself against tears, which he could feel coming on. He hadn’t wanted to talk about Emma but knew it was inevitable.

“We and the rest of the staff are sorry we couldn’t attend the burial today to pay our proper respects,” Michael said.

“I appreciate that.” Brian purposefully avoided saying he’d not been there, either, hoping to move the subject away from that day’s events.

“After your call yesterday, I talked to a number of the staff,” Michael continued. “I particularly made it a point to talk with your A team commander, Captain Deshawn Williams. I also talked with Sal Benfatti, our TAC House sergeant. I’m happy to report that the response was uniformly positive. Everyone would be thrilled to have you back on the force, Deshawn in particular. So, if you were at all concerned about how you would be received, I can tell you there would be no problem whatsoever.”

“That’s reassuring to hear,” Brian said. He had hoped there wouldn’t be any resentment, and it was reassuring to have it confirmed.

“But I have to emphasize again that your rejoining has to be a true commitment,” Michael warned. “I don’t want to put through the paperwork if there is going to be any waffling. You have to be sure. Are we clear on this?”

“Perfectly clear,” Brian said. “My plan is to spend a week or two re-immersing myself here, running recertification drills and just getting back into physical shape. After that, I’m certain I’ll be able to make an absolute commitment. I’d also like to spend some time at one of the shooting ranges. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss the opportunity to practice and stay current. This has been the first year in the past decade I didn’t attend the spring Sig Sauer course up in New Hampshire.”

“I can appreciate what you are saying,” Michael said, “which is why the ESU puts so much emphasis on retraining and recertification. No worries! I can arrange for you to have access to one of the shooting ranges. Do you have your NYPD ID?”

“Of course,” Brian responded. He’d never been without his ID since joining the force more than a decade ago, even after his retirement.

“Where would you prefer? Camp Smith or Rodman’s Neck in the Bronx?”

“Rodman’s Neck,” Brian answered without hesitation. “It’s closer. I’ve got a four-year-old daughter who is having a difficult time with my wife’s passing, and I’d like to stay closer to home, at least in the short run.” Brian knew Rodman’s Neck was less than a half-hour drive from Inwood.

“I understand,” Michael said. “I’m sure she is suffering, the poor child. I’d forgotten about your daughter although I do remember the anguish you had when she was born and spent so long in the hospital. I trust that she’s been healthy since.”

“Very healthy, thank you,” Brian said, reluctant to mention the recent health concerns.

“The reason I even suggested Camp Smith is that it has a considerably longer range, if that is something that interests you.”

“Rodman’s Neck has a three-hundred-yard rifle range,” Brian said. “That’s long enough for my purposes. Actually, at least initially, I’ll probably only use the pistol range.”

“I had an ulterior motive mentioning Camp Smith’s longer range,” Michael said. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we are in the process of possibly replacing our Remington 700 sniper rifle, the old standby, with the newer Remington MSR. Since I recall you were quite extraordinary with the sniper rifle, I’m wondering if you would mind giving the new one a try and give us your impression. We’re trying to figure out if the benefits justify the cost. The MSR is considerably more expensive.”

“I’d be happy to give my opinion,” Brian said eagerly. Playing a bit of an advisory role in the face of everything else that was going on had a lot of appeal. “Would you like me to check the rifle out sooner rather than later?”

“The sooner the better,” Michael answered. “Today, in fact, if it is possible. I’m tasked to submit a report on it, and to that end, I’ve had a few people try it, and the response has been mixed. Of course, some people have trouble with change of any kind and are accordingly biased. I’ve tried it, but I was never that good with a sniper rifle. Your opinion would be helpful, having been one of our crack shots.”

“I’ll enjoy putting it through its paces at three hundred yards,” Brian said. “And today will be fine. Will they have one out at Rodman’s Neck for me to use?”

“I imagine they do, but I can do better than that. I’ll sign one out to you, and you can take it with you to the range. Having it in your possession will give you a chance to make the customizing adjustments beforehand. I’ll call Rodman’s Neck while you are over at the TAC House. I assume that the TAC House was your plan for this afternoon?”

“It is,” Brian responded. “Other than speaking with you, sir.”

“Perfect,” Michael said. “I’ll sign you out a Remington MSR and call Rodman’s Neck and make the arrangements. How many rounds of ammo would you like?”

“A couple of boxes should be enough. Can you also give me a couple of boxes of nine-millimeter for my Sig Sauer, so I can use one of the pistol ranges as well?”

“Not a problem,” Michael answered. “But I’ll give you three boxes for the MSR just to be sure. You can bring back what you don’t use. Is there anything else you wanted to do here this afternoon besides the TAC House?”

“Yes, I’d like to meet up with Detective Jose Garcia. I assume he’s still the SCUBA instructor.”

“Oh, yes!” Michael confirmed. “He’s not going anywhere. He’s here for life.”

Jose Garcia had been one of his favorite instructors. Jose had managed to turn the required SCUBA training Brian had to undergo from a dreaded experience into a joy. Although he was still certified, he hadn’t made a refresher SCUBA dive in well over a year. Prior to his ESU training, Brian had never been that comfortable in the water. He’d always joked that it had taken life millions of years to get out of the water, and he didn’t see any reason to reverse the trend. Now he loved it.

“Could you let him know I’ll be stopping by after my session at the TAC House? I’d like him to pick me out some equipment so that I can do a recertification dive in the next couple of days.”

“You got it,” Michael said. “And when you are done with your rounds, stop back here. I’ll have one of the Remington MSRs and the ammo available.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said. “I really appreciate your help and support.” Being back at his former stomping grounds and with his former colleagues, he was already feeling more secure about the future.

Chapter 32 September 2

Just to the north of the ESU admin building was another sizable, nondescript commercial structure that looked equally as aged and dilapidated as the others. This building contained the TAC House, or Training Ammunition Combat edifice. As Brian approached, he again had to smile. On this occasion it wasn’t because of its run-down appearance. It was because from the outside there was no hint whatsoever of what was inside.

Brian pushed through a battered outside door and stepped into a simulated night scene. What confronted him in the expansive, darkened, several-story interior was a worse-for-wear modular structure the size of a modest one-story house. It had no ceiling and could be configured in various ways to represent an entire apartment with an outer door, a kitchen, living room, bathrooms, and bedrooms, an office, or any indoor structure. It was used for adaptive urban, non-ballistic assault exercises in various lighting conditions and with various numbers of targets played by instructors positioned inside, sometimes armed with non-lethal weaponry. Several catwalks above were used by the instructors to watch the simulated assaults so they could comment and make recommendations.

In addition to the TAC House structure, Brian was also confronted in the half-light by a group of seven ESU officers heavily armed and outfitted in the usual ESU tactical gear with midnight-black uniforms and bulletproof vests with multiple pockets for gear and ammunition. In addition, they were wearing helmets, gloves, eye protection, and balaclava face masks in anticipation of taking part in the next drill. Although Brian had no chance of identifying anyone in face masks and dim light, most of the officers recognized him and immediately crowded around to say hello and extend their sympathies about Emma’s passing. One officer, Carlos Morales, who was a member of the A team and who Brian knew well, said he’d heard a rumor that Brian might be rejoining the ESU. All of them cheered as a group when Brian told them he was giving it serious thought.

“Do it, do it, do it!” rang out as a spontaneous chant from the group. Brian laughed, unsure of how to respond. Finding his voice, he admitted he was leaning toward rejoining but wanted to make sure it was the right decision for his daughter and career.

For Brian this was even more of a homecoming than seeing Helen Gurly in the admin building, and it soothed his soul. It made him remember how much he valued being a member of a group with a common interest, extending all the way back to grammar school when he first began participating in organized sports. Through high school and college, it had been the same, and it had been one of the reasons he’d gravitated toward law enforcement as a career. In many ways he’d not been entirely aware of how much he missed this type of camaraderie since his retirement.

Suddenly the animated conversation was interrupted by someone within the TAC House yelling “Police! Police!” followed by a series of non-lethal rounds being fired, indicating that the simulation drill that was in progress when Brian arrived had terminated in gunplay. The blanks were particularly loud in the confined spaces.

“That’s it, guys,” Carlos called out to the group. “We’re on deck, front and center!” He then picked up a ballistic shield that he had leaning against his leg. He was going to be the lead man on the next assault simulation. Another officer picked up a Blackhawk Halligan bar used to breach the outer door. Every member of the assault group had a specific, planned role to play to maximize safety, which was key if it were a real-life situation.

“Where’s the tactic sergeant?” Brian asked Carlos.

“He’s up on the catwalk,” Carlos said, pointing to the wooden stairs to Brian’s right.

“Good luck,” Brian said, making a halfhearted salute gesture. He then walked to the stairs and started up. At the top Brian could see down into the illuminated mock living room/kitchen below, which was empty for the moment. Raising his eyes, he searched the maze-like elevated walkways that created an opportunity for the instructors to closely follow the activity below during a simulated assault. Brian could make out Sergeant Sal Benfatti with two of his instructors at the far end over the bedroom area. The tactic sergeant was leaning over the railing while talking down to the assault team below. Brian assumed he was giving a mixture of both praise and criticism regarding the simulation.

By the time Brian made it over to where the group was standing, Sal had finished his analysis with the group below and was conferring with the two instructors by his side. Below, Brian could see the team that had just completed the drill along with several instructors who had been acting as the bad guys. Brian had the sense the drill had been a mock-up hostage situation.

“Ah, Brian Murphy,” Sal said welcomingly, seeing Brian approach. They knew each other well, not only from Brian’s cadet days, but also because Brian had frequently helped out and participated in TAC House activities. Sal introduced Brian to his two instructors, who’d come on board since Brian’s retirement.

As expected, Brian initially had to weather a brief conversation with Sal about Emma, but they soon turned to discussing why Brian was there; namely, to participate in a number of assault simulations. “I hope you weren’t counting on starting today,” Sal said. “This next drill is our last.”

“That’s fine,” Brian said. “With your permission, I’d like to come back in the next couple of days.”

“Terrific! We’ll look forward to it. We’d love to have you. Do you want to stay and watch the next drill with us?”

“Absolutely,” Brian answered.

The group moved from over the bedroom area to over the living room/kitchen. On this occasion there were to be two armed suspects, one in the kitchen area behind an island and the other in the living room sitting on the couch. When all was ready, Sal initiated the assault with a remote device. In the next second the front door was quickly breached with the Halligan bar, and Carlos swooped into the room with his ballistic shield followed closely by his team, all yelling “Police! Police!” at the top of their lungs while executing a predetermined set of movements.

On this occasion, with the two suspects in the front area of the sham apartment, there was an immediate shootout. Since the two officers directly behind Carlos precisely followed their preordained ballet with one concentrating on the kitchen and the other on the living room area, they bested the suspects. Within seconds the drill was over to well-deserved acclaim.

Twenty minutes later Brian walked out of the TAC House building, feeling particularly good about the visit. Having watched the drill and having experienced the palpable esprit de corps of the people involved made him progressively confident that rejoining the ESU was the proper decision for him, especially when he compared it with some of the security gigs he’d done. A number of those jobs involved squiring around and kowtowing to the demands of entitled wealthy narcissists and their spoiled offspring. In many ways Brian was coming more and more to identify himself as a blue-collar kind of guy who liked to get his hands dirty. It almost seemed as if the NYPD ESU, with its constant action, was tailor-made for him.

Rounding the northern end of the admin building, Brian walked into the middle of a dozen ESU officers who’d just finished a recertification SCUBA dive and were busy rinsing their equipment. In a repeat of what had happened when Brian first entered the TAC House, there was a warm interaction with condolences about Emma and encouragement for Brian to rejoin the ranks.

Entering the largest of the four buildings that formed the ESU complex, Brian walked into the SCUBA section. Passing through the storage and maintenance area, he entered Detective Jose Garcia’s cramped and rather messy office. The detective was at his desk with the guts of a regulator exposed, as he did most of the upkeep and repair work himself. Similar to Michael Comstock, Jose was a big, thickset man, and except for a significant difference in complexion, they could have been brothers, down to the shaved heads. The main difference was that Jose had an impressive number of tattoos covering his forearms from a stint in the US Navy directly out of high school.

Although Brian would have preferred not to talk again about Emma’s passing, he knew he didn’t have a choice. Emma was extraordinarily well liked both at the academy and in the unit, probably more than Brian because of his mild but recognized self-righteous streak on certain subjects, including extremists on both sides of the political divide. One of Emma’s admirable qualities had been her acceptance of others.

“So, Michael says you are interested in doing a recertification dive with us,” Jose said.

“I am,” Brian confirmed. “It’s not critical since I’m still certified, but I would enjoy it. It’s your fault. You turned me from a committed terrestrial into an amphibian.”

Jose laughed with true mirth. “You were a tough cookie to crack, but I was optimistic.”

They then spent a few minutes reminiscing about some of the dives they’d done together, particularly one to retrieve the body of a suicide jumper in the East River, where the currents can be notorious.

“Well, then,” Jose said when there was a pause in their reminiscing. He slapped his desk with the palms of both hands and stood up. “Let’s get you ready for a dive by setting you up with a locker, a wet suit, whatever else you might want, including one of our newest regulators. You are going to love it.”

Fifteen minutes later, with all the dive equipment set aside in a locker, Brian left the SCUBA area and walked the length of the large hangar-like building. He emerged back out in the sunshine on its west side, and from there it was a short route back to the admin building. As he neared it, he felt really good about his visit as well as progressively convinced that in the not-too-distant future he would be back to being an ESU officer.

“Deputy Chief Comstock had to leave for an impromptu meeting downtown with the police commissioner,” Helen Gurly explained when Brian approached her desk. “But no worries. He had me make the arrangements with Rodman’s Neck and all you have to do is show your ID at the gate and then meet up with Captain Ted Miller, one of the firearms and tactics instructors, at the gunsmith. He’ll be expecting you, provided you get there before six. There’s also a surprise for you waiting on the deputy chief’s desk that I’m told you already know about.”

“You are talking about the Remington?” Brian asked.

“None other. Have a good day, I’m outta here.” With that, Helen grabbed her bag, said that it was a joy to see him again, and pushed past on her way out into the corridor.

Entering Michael’s office, Brian saw a camouflaged rifle bag with a shoulder strap on the desk along with five boxes of ammunition: three in 7.62mm NATO caliber for the rifle and two in 9mm for his pistol. Unzipping the bag, he found himself admiring a particularly lethal-looking, light tan sniper rifle with a folding stock and a suppressor. What impressed him immediately was the amount of customizing adjustments available, and how intuitive they were to utilize. Within minutes he adapted the length between the stock and the trigger to his needs, as well as the height and position of the cheek piece and the position of the scope. As for the finer adjustments of the telescopic sight for parallax and minute of angle, he’d do that at the shooting range when he’d be able to experience how well engineered the firearm actually was in comparison with the older Remington 700. After refolding the stock, Brian returned the weapon to its bag and slung it over his shoulder. Picking up the boxes of ammunition, he headed back out to his Subaru.

As he climbed into the car, he felt pleased with his visit to ESU Headquarters and more inclined to believe that rejoining the NYPD would be a wise move for many reasons. What especially encouraged him was that Michael Comstock, the commanding officer, had ostensibly recovered from his pique about his and Emma’s retirement and wanted him back on board.

Chapter 33 September 2

Ten minutes later Brian was heading north on the Belt Parkway with Jamaica Bay off to his right and sparkling in the summer sunlight. The traffic was moderate, but being late afternoon and rush hour, he knew that would significantly change despite the pandemic. As far as the timing was concerned, he thought it was a good time to visit the Rodman’s Neck shooting range. As an active NYPD officer, he’d been there more times than he could count for various firearms classes and recertification exercises, which usually had been in the mornings when it was always crowded. There were seven shooting ranges, of which six were for pistols and one for rifles, and the complex was used by not only the NYPD, but also the FBI, NYC Correction, New York Fire Marshals, and even ICE.

As he drove, his thoughts drifted back to Juliette and how the day had begun, including the aggravating visit to the ED. After the disturbing call with Roger Dalton earlier and finding out the cost of yesterday’s visit, he wondered what the charges were going to be for today. Reluctantly, he assumed it would be equally as outrageous considering what he now knew about hospital business practices.

Facing at least an hour of downtime before arrival at Rodman’s Neck, Brian thought it a good opportunity to check in with Camila to give her an idea of when he’d be arriving home. He also considered broaching the idea that he was thinking of rejoining the NYPD, as such a move would impact her life, though he realized it wasn’t the best time. As for Juliette, he was relatively confident she was doing okay following the positive news about her behavior he’d gotten earlier. Surely if anything significant had changed, Camila or Jeanne would have called or texted. For that reason, it was shocking when Camila started the conversation by saying that Juliette’s fever had returned.

“Good grief!” Brian responded with alarm. He sat up straighter, gripping the steering wheel. This was not what he wanted to hear. “How high?”

“Not high,” Camila responded. “Nothing like this morning. It was 100.5.”

“What made you decide to take her temperature?” he asked. He relaxed slightly, settling back into his seat. He wasn’t happy about the fever returning, and it brought back with a rush his frustration that he’d been unable to get the ED doctors to do any kind of testing, even a simple blood count. Although he was the first one to admit he wasn’t a doctor or a psychologist, his daughter’s on-again-off-again symptoms bothered him, and he had a reluctance to ascribe them to being psychosomatic at this point.

“She suddenly had a visible chill,” Camila said. “Both Jeanne and I saw it. When we asked her about it, she said she wasn’t feeling good and wanted to go up to her room. It came as a surprise because she’d eaten well and was clearly having fun playing Dinosaur.”

“What about her headache?” Brian said. The headache seemed to be the one constant symptom.

“Yes, she still says she has a headache,” Camila said, “but that’s it: no other complaints like sore throat or upset stomach. I asked her specifically. As for the headache, I thought it had improved given the way she was interacting with us. She seemed to be her old self.”

In the back of his mind, he wondered what should be done if a high fever returned, vowing that there was no way he’d take her back to MMH Inwood. Briefly he considered taking her to one of the neighborhood urgent-care centers, but he nixed the idea because they wouldn’t be able to do a Covid test and have the results right away. Instead, if need be, he decided he’d drive her down to Columbia-Presbyterian in Washington Heights, thinking that was probably what he should have done originally. “I’ve finished my meeting at the ESU Headquarters,” Brian said after a pause. “I’m on my way to the NYPD shooting range for an hour or so. But I could cancel and come directly back home if you think I should.”

“Not for Juliette’s sake, if that’s your thought. While I was taking her temperature, she got very sleepy. She’s up in her room resting. I’ve just checked on her. I think we should let her sleep.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Preoccupied with this surprise news about Juliette, Brian decided against bringing up the issue of his possible return to the police department. “Call or text if there is a change in her status, and I’ll come back straightaway. What about Jeanne? Is she still there?”

“No, when Juliette went to sleep about a half hour ago, Jeanne left. She did take the papers that your friend Grady Quillen dropped off. I hope that was okay.”

“That’s fine,” he assured her.

After ringing off with Camila, Brian considered contacting Jeanne to get her take on Juliette, but he held off, thinking it might be best to first check on Juliette himself when he got home. He worried he was taking too much advantage of her generosity by contacting her so often; plus, if this was a medical problem and not a psychological issue, he wasn’t sure she could add much.

As he expected, traffic did slow up considerably approaching the Whitestone Bridge to cross the East River, but then it sped up again once he was on the other side. All in all, he turned in to Rodman’s Neck peninsula just about an hour later. For the next quarter of a mile, after passing a broad field containing a baseball diamond and a number of warning signs about unauthorized entry, he drove through virginal forested land that was almost as unexpected within New York City as was the wide-open expanse of Floyd Bennett Field.

Ahead appeared a guard gate similar to those on military installations. He pulled to a stop. Lifting his mask up over his nose and mouth, he rolled down the window and presented his NYPD ID to the friendly uniformed NYPD officer. There was no problem thanks to Helen Gurly’s efforts, and Brian was permitted to drive into the shooting range. Reminiscent of Floyd Bennett Field, it was composed of a motley group of buildings, some in better shape than others and some reflective of their military origins. Like Floyd Bennett Field, Rodman’s Neck had a history that included use by the armed forces, this time both the army and navy, although the facility eventually had been given over to the NYPD. Besides the shooting ranges there were also outdoor TAC facilities and even a biohazard safety level 4 lab, and at the far end of the peninsula there was an isolated pit for detonating bombs and other explosive devices like confiscated fireworks.

As he expected, the expansive parking area was nearly empty this late in the afternoon, allowing him to park directly in front of the admin building. Although he’d been mildly concerned about finding Captain Ted Miller of the Firearms and Tactics Unit, it turned out to be extremely easy, as the man was expecting Brian and was waiting for him just inside the entrance door.

“You just made it under the wire,” Ted said. He was a mildly overweight man with a salt-and-pepper crewcut whom Brian recognized from having dealt with him in the past. “There’s been no one using the rifle range for more than an hour and Mark Bellows, the range master, has been eager to close up shop, so we best head there first and then use the pistol range after. Is that okay with you?”

“Fine with me,” Brian answered, thankful for the man’s assistance.

Once he had been supplied with the required eye and ear protective gear, they used Ted’s vehicle to drive the mile or so out to the rifle range. It was hardly an impressive physical setup and the immediate area looked more like a partially deserted dump thanks to a handful of abandoned vehicles and storage containers sprinkled about. Brian had used the range in the past, so he wasn’t surprised. The row of connected shooting positions was constructed of rough-hewn, unfinished lumber that had grayed over the years and, taken together, looked a little like the starting gate at a horse racetrack. Ahead stretched a grassy field of more than three hundred yards facing a dunelike hill.

Sergeant Mark Bellows was a beefy firearms and tactics officer who looked somewhat long in the tooth and ready for retirement. He was friendly enough but clearly eager to leave for the day. “What distance are you looking to use?” he asked in a tired voice.

“I’d like to use all three,” Brian said. He knew the range was set up for one hundred, two hundred, and three hundred yards, so he wouldn’t have to use a range finder.

“Okay,” Mark said resignedly. “Pick any firing position that suits your fancy and let’s do it. I’ve refreshed all the targets, so you are good to go. Just let me know when you are ready.”

Brian didn’t care which position he used and just picked one at random as Ted and Mark stood back and chatted together. After getting the rifle out of its bag, he unfolded the stock and placed the gun on its bipods, using the rifle bag under the stock for added stability. Once again, he appreciated the mere appearance of the gun as a stunningly formidable weapon, particularly with its perforated handguard and suppressor. The fact that he knew it was reportedly deadly accurate close to a mile added to his sense of awe.

Quickly Brian used the cloudless sky as a backdrop to adjust the ocular so that the crosshairs visible within the scope were clear. Then he adjusted the focus on the side of the scope for the target at one hundred yards, opened a box of ammunition, filled the rifle’s magazine with ten cartridges, and inserted the magazine into the underside of the rifle.

“I’m ready,” he called over his shoulder.

“Okay,” Mark responded immediately. “Commence firing.”

Using the bolt handle on the rifle, Brian loaded the first round into the barrel chamber. The ease and the feel of this action impressed him. There was no doubt in his mind that he was using a precision instrument. Totally relaxed, he sighted through the scope and saw the target clearly. Using a very steady pull on the trigger, Brian shot a round and immediately saw the hole appear in the target slightly lower than he anticipated. After a minor elevation adjustment of minute of angle, he shot another round, and on this occasion the hole appeared exactly where he intended: dead center. The sound and the feel of the weapon were outstanding, far better than what he remembered with the Remington 700. Then in rapid succession he fired eight more times, emptying the weapon.

After quickly refilling the magazine with ten more cartridges, he moved to the target positioned at two hundred yards. Repeating the process, he found he didn’t have to change the minute of angle to achieve equivalent and impressive accuracy. Moving then out to the three-hundred-yard targets, he again repeated the process, shooting ten more rounds and finding that he did have to make a very slight adjustment as he’d done initially.

Knowing that the range master was impatient to leave and concerned about getting home himself after hearing about Juliette’s latest fever, Brian checked the gun’s breech to be absolutely sure it was empty, removed the magazine, and called over his shoulder that he was done.

“Cease fire,” Mark called out as if there were other people firing besides him. Then he added: “Wow, that was quick. Are you sure you are finished?”

“I am.” Brian stood up and started to repack the Remington MSR back into its shoulder bag. Under normal circumstances he would have enjoyed continuing to put the gun through its paces, but he felt guilty about not getting home earlier. And he felt that with the thirty rounds he did fire, he could give Deputy Chief Comstock a definite thumbs-up about the weapon. In his estimation it was clearly better than the older model, but whether it was worth the increased cost was another question entirely, especially since he didn’t know the details.

“Would you like to go downrange and retrieve your targets?” Mark asked.

“No, thanks,” Brian said. “I could see what I needed to see through the scope.”

From the rifle range, Ted dropped Brian off at the pistol range, telling him that the range master was expecting him.

At the range, he wasn’t alone despite the lateness of the afternoon, sharing the facility with a half dozen other NYPD officers. As a consequence, he couldn’t be quite so efficient timewise, as safety protocols had to be scrupulously followed. Still, Brian managed to go through a full box of fifty cartridges in relatively rapid order. After forty minutes, he was already on his way back to his car, having left the protective equipment with the range master. Climbing in after putting the Remington in the back of the Subaru, he forwent the opportunity to have either gun serviced at the gunsmith, which he’d usually done in the past. Instead, to save time, he planned on cleaning the pistol himself later in his basement, and as for the rifle, it had been used so little he doubted it needed any attention whatsoever.

As soon as Brian could, he put in a call to Camila. Although he hadn’t gotten any call or text from her, he was still uneasy about Juliette. He was relieved when Camila reported that all was quiet.

“Is she still sleeping?” he asked.

“Last time I looked, about a half hour ago,” Camila said. “I have a feeling she’s down for the night as soundly as she is sleeping.”

“I’m on my way now,” Brian said. “I’ll be home in twenty minutes, tops.”

“There’s no need to hurry.”

“Okay, good,” he said, feeling some relief. “In that case, how about I pick up some Mexican takeout from Tijuana Restaurant on my way home?”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Why don’t you call and order for the three of us in case Juliette wakes up?”

“Okay,” Camila said agreeably. “What should I order for you?”

“I don’t care,” Brian said. He actually wasn’t particularly hungry although Mexican food sounded good. “Just double up whatever you want.”

“When you called earlier, I forgot to tell you that your mother and your brothers and sister stopped by after the funeral,” Camila said. “I told them where you were. I hope that was okay.”

“Of course,” he said through gritted teeth. Hearing that his family had come by fanned his guilty feelings about missing the funeral formalities. “They’re probably at my mother’s. I’ll call them when I get back.”

“There was also another request about a possible security gig,” Camila said. “It’s for another potential December wedding. The info is on your desk with the other one.”

“Okay, thank you,” Brian said. He thought it mildly ironic that just when he was seriously thinking about going back to the NYPD, there’d been two requests for security work after it had been so quiet. He couldn’t help but superstitiously wonder if such a coincidence was a kind of subliminal message that he shouldn’t be so quick to abandon Personal Protection LLC.

Traffic was heavy and the driving slow, even stop-and-go in places. Still mystified by Juliette’s recurrent fever, he changed his mind and decided to call Jeanne after all. Although earlier he’d worried about calling her too much and planned on waiting until he was able to check on Juliette himself, he still felt comfortable enough to get her opinion and perhaps ameliorate some of his anxiety that was mounting the longer it took to get home.

“How was your visit to the ESU?” she asked the moment they were connected, dispensing with any traditional hellos. She sounded happy to be hearing from him, which relieved him of his concerns of calling her too frequently.

“The visit couldn’t have gone better,” he said. “The best part is that it made me feel even more inclined to go back to being a cop. At the same time, ironically enough, there’ve been a couple inquiries about security gigs this very afternoon to muddy the waters.”

“Serious inquiries?” she asked.

“That I don’t know until I call them back,” Brian said. “Both involve possible December weddings.”

“I’m not sure if you should count on December weddings,” Jeanne said. “Especially with the coronavirus spike that’s expected.”

“You’re probably right,” he agreed.

“More to the point, it sounds as if your visit to the ESU was a good idea.”

“It was a great idea,” Brian agreed. “I even got a chance to visit the shooting range, which I enjoyed just as much. I hadn’t been able to do that for almost a year.”

“Good for you,” Jeanne said.

“Now to a more important topic: Juliette. I was distressed, to say the least, when Camila told me that her fever had returned, and I wanted to get your take.”

“I’m not completely convinced it was a fever even though she had an obvious chill,” Jeanne said. “It was only a tad over a hundred: certainly nothing like the 102 you saw this morning. But I’ll tell you what surprised me more than the possible fever was how quickly her mood changed. One minute she was enjoying herself immensely, even giggling because she was doing so well with the board game the three of us were playing. But then it was like a shadow came over her face, and she seemed miserable. She didn’t want to finish the game even though she was clearly about to win fair and square.”

“That is strange,” Brian agreed. “It’s not like her at all. She’s a competitive little thing.” He audibly sighed. “I can’t help it, but I think she’s fighting something off. Whether it’s a cold or flu or what, I don’t know. Luckily it’s unlikely to be Covid, with the way the symptoms come and go, at least according to the MMH ED docs. But I wish they weren’t so quick to label them psychosomatic. It irks me to death that they refuse to do any testing, even a simple blood test, much less a Covid test.”

“Well, in their defense, she certainly has reasons to have a psychosomatic reaction,” Jeanne said. “How is she doing now?”

“Camila just told me she’s still sleeping soundly. I’m actually not home yet. I’m stuck in traffic, but I’ll be home shortly, and I’ll let you know what I think if you’d like.”

“Please do,” Jeanne said. “On another note, I’ve had a chance to look at the list that your friend Grady supplied. Although we suspected as much, I’m shocked at the number of Inwood residents MMH has sued. It’s unconscionable. It’s like they want to suck every last penny out of this neighborhood. I’m looking forward to hearing some of the actual stories and putting together a real exposé. This can’t go on.”

“I agree,” Brian said, but he wasn’t interested in getting into a protracted discussion about MMH at the moment, as caught up as he was with Juliette’s ongoing problems. And then as traffic began to speed up and require more of his attention, he told Jeanne he’d call her back after he’d had an opportunity to check on her.

Unfortunately, after loosening up, the traffic again quickly bogged back down, with some of the worst congestion in Marble Hill, just across the Harlem River from Inwood. By the time he pulled up in front of the Tijuana Restaurant, the trip from Rodman’s Neck had taken over an hour rather than the twenty minutes he’d expected. Less than ten minutes later, with their takeout dinner in hand, he pulled into his driveway.

“Is Juliette still sleeping?” Brian asked as he entered the kitchen and put the sizable bag on the table. Camila had come into the kitchen when she heard his car arrive and was getting out the dishes and flatware.

“To be truthful, I haven’t checked since you and I talked on the phone,” Camila said. “I’ve been in the office again looking at our books.” She grimaced. “I do hope one of these inquiries materializes into a gig. It’s not a pretty picture if they don’t.”

“Tell me about it,” Brian said sardonically. “And the books are going to look even worse when I catch up with the house mortgage, which I should have done today. The longer I wait, the more chance the house will be at risk with the MMH Inwood lawsuit.”

“Both callback numbers are on your desk.”

“Duly noted,” Brian said without a lot of enthusiasm. After his conversation with Jeanne, he wasn’t optimistic that either wedding would take place. Although he was beginning to feel guilty he’d not mentioned to Camila the possibility of his rejoining the NYPD, he was loath to bring up the issue before he was more certain of what he thought was best for him to do.

With Camila busy unpacking the food, he climbed the stairs to look in on Juliette. Soundlessly he pushed open the door. With the blackout curtains closed, the room was filled with a dim half-light, just adequate enough to see the outline of her sleeping form but no details. Moving closer, he silently bent over for a better view. Now he could make out that she was on her back with her slender arms out of the covers and her right hand clutching Jeannot Lapin to her chest. As his eyes adjusted to the near darkness, he could appreciate the cherubic features of her face. To Brian she looked like the most beautiful child in the world, suddenly reminding him of Emma’s verbatim adoration of her that fateful afternoon in Wellfleet, Massachusetts.

The sudden remembrance of his wife’s words caused him to catch his breath. It had been just over two weeks since their fateful barbecue, but it seemed like a lifetime with all that had happened. Pulling himself together with some difficulty, Brian went back to observing Juliette, noticing with relief that her breathing was gentle and rhythmic.

Just to be sure and being careful not to disturb her, he gently placed the palm of his hand against her forehead to feel if it was overly warm or moist with perspiration. To his relief, neither was the case. Removing his hand yet still bending over her, he felt almost intoxicated by parental love and so very thankful that he and Emma had had a child so soon in their relationship. Although Juliette was without a doubt her own person, Brian felt she embodied an essence of Emma that would live on.

Straightening up, Brian tiptoed out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him. Confident her temperature was normal and that she was sleeping soundly, he felt a definite sense of relief. As the foundation on which he intended to rebuild his life, her well-being was by far his primary concern. As long as she was okay, he felt empowered to face the current challenges of dealing with the impending MMH lawsuit, deciding between continuing with Personal Protection or rejoining the NYPD, and otherwise surviving the ongoing coronavirus pandemic. On top of all that, he even felt that by combining efforts with Jeanne, the two of them could possibly do something about the toxic healthcare system that was responsible for her woes, his and Juliette’s suffering, and probably Emma’s death.

Chapter 34 September 3

Brian awakened from a vivid dream he was having about effortlessly running through a landscape sprinkled with abandoned vehicles that was visually reminiscent of Rodman’s Neck shooting range. As he opened his eyes, he noticed the streetlight sifting through the white gauzy curtains. As he held his breath to figure out what might have roused him from his deep slumber, he heard a car’s tires complain against the striated pavement. Glancing around the darkened room, he also noticed the curtains were rustling from a soft breeze, but he couldn’t imagine that could have disturbed his sleep.

Turning over, he glanced at the bedside clock, noting that it was 3:25 a.m. Rolling back, he stared up at the ceiling and again listened as the sound of the car out in the street faded, wondering if another mosquito could have gotten inside. He strained his ears for the characteristic whine, but heard nothing. But then he became aware of a rhythmic, distant thumping that he seemed to feel rather than hear. For several minutes his mind tried to place the disturbance, wondering if something could be amiss with the refrigerator or the washing machine way down in the basement, thinking perhaps Camila couldn’t sleep and decided to do a load of laundry.

Unable to come up with an explanation, Brian turned over onto his stomach, putting the pillow over his head in an attempt to go back to sleep before his mind latched on to one of the many problems that had been making sleep impossible lately. Yet despite the pillow, he could still feel the thumping even though it was nearly subliminal. Angrily throwing off the pillow, he sat up and as he became progressively more and more awake, the thumping sound suddenly sounded all too familiar.

“No!” Brian gasped as he leaped to his feet. Clad only in his Calvin Klein pajama bottoms, he rushed from the bedroom, and dashed down the hallway into Juliette’s room. Snapping on the light, he was confronted by his worst nightmare. Juliette was in the throes of a seizure, her back arching and her head rhythmically banging against the headboard. The image was all too familiar.

Screaming Camila’s name, he rushed to the bedside and pulled Juliette’s convulsing body away from the head of the bed. Her face was scrunched into a grimace, but most worrisome of all, her lips were startlingly blue. Quickly he rolled her onto her side, and saliva spilled out onto the sheets from between her clenched teeth.

Camila appeared in the doorway in her pajamas. As she caught sight of Juliette, her face metamorphosed into an expression of horror. “Should I call 911?” she shouted through the hand covering her mouth.

“There’s no time,” Brian shouted back, understanding too well that by the color of her lips, she’d been seizing much too long. “You’ll have to drive us to MMH Inwood.”

As he tried to scoop up Juliette, which he found extraordinarily difficult with the strength of her contractions, Camila disappeared. When Brian finally got the child into his arms, he found it equally as hard to carry her through the doorway and particularly down the stairs. Running along the main hallway on the ground floor and into the kitchen, he was relieved to see that Camila had left the door ajar for him. Outside, she had also opened the rear door of the car, and she was now in the driver’s seat with the engine running.

Ducking headfirst into the car while clutching Juliette against his chest, he managed to climb in and collapse back against the seat. Holding the bucking child as best he could, he reached out and pulled the door closed.

“Go, go!” he shouted, making sure Juliette’s head couldn’t hit any surfaces as Camila rapidly backed out of the driveway and accelerated up West 217th Street. Again, when Camila turned left onto Park Terrace East and then right onto West 218th Street, Brian had to use all his strength to keep himself upright and Juliette’s head safe.

Although the ride was just minutes, with Camila merely slowing at red lights instead of stopping, the eight-minute journey seemed to take a lifetime as he held his seizing daughter against his body. “Please stop, please stop,” Brian murmured over and over again until Camila pulled up to the emergency entrance with squealing tires.

Leaping out of the driver’s seat, Camila ran around the car to help open the door for him. It again took all of his strength to exit the car with Juliette in his arms. He then ran for the entrance, impatiently waiting for the automatic sliding door to open enough to run inside.

Despite the hour, there were more than a dozen people in the waiting room. Without the slightest hesitation, Brian ran directly up to the counter. Immediately one of the triage nurses, upon seeing Juliette’s convulsions, waved for him to follow her back into the treatment area. Within seconds she guided Brian at a run into one of the Trauma 1 rooms.

“Put her here on the table!” the nurse ordered, patting the location with a gloved hand.

Brian laid Juliette down on the sheet-covered exam table, holding on to her lest her convulsions caused her to fall off onto the floor. To his relief word must have spread quickly because other medical personnel flooded into the room and pressed in around the table. All were dressed in scrub clothing. One youthful woman quickly asked Brian how long Juliette had been seizing.

“I don’t know,” Brian cried. “I heard a kind of thumping from my bed for maybe five or ten minutes and couldn’t figure out what it was. How long it had been going on before it woke me up, I have no idea. Then it took about ten minutes to get here. I’m afraid it’s probably been going on at least thirty minutes, though probably more.”

“Okay!” the woman said quickly, redirecting her attention to the medical people in the room. “We need an IV immediately or intraosseous access. Start oxygen and an oximeter! We’ll need an ECG and glucose and let’s get a body temperature, BP, and intubation setup. Draw up four milligrams of midazolam. Let’s go!”

As a flurry of activity erupted around his daughter, a nurse pulled him back and away from the table. Brian resisted, not wanting to leave Juliette. “I’ve had EMT training,” Brian said in his defense.

“That doesn’t matter,” the nurse said. She handed him a face mask. “You need to leave! And you have to check in properly and provide the patient’s name.”

“She’s been seen here several times,” Brian sputtered while putting on the face mask. “In fact, she was seen here less than twenty-four hours ago. Her name is Juliette Murphy. Just look it up on your tablet.”

“You have to check in at the front desk today as well,” the nurse said evenly, trying to calm him down.

“But why?” Brian demanded. He knew he was beside himself and not thinking clearly. “I’m telling you, she was just seen yesterday by Dr. Arnsdorf, and Dr. Kramer the day before. Really, look it up! You can get all you need to know and then some.” As he spoke, he was trying to keep his eye on Juliette over the nurse’s shoulder. There was a lot of frantic activity, which encouraged him and terrified him in equal measure.

“What was found on those two occasions?” the nurse asked.

“Nothing,” Brian snapped. “Nothing was found and nothing was done. Both times we were here for more than three hours, and they wouldn’t even do a damn blood test. They insisted her symptoms were psychosomatic. Obviously, they weren’t!” He noticed more medical personnel arriving, enhancing the sense of a developing crisis and magnifying his fears. More urgent orders were called out, including a call for anesthesia and neurology consults.

“Do I have to call security?” the nurse asked calmly but decisively. Gently she urged Brian to move toward the hallway.

Finally, sensing the inevitable, Brian allowed himself to be led from the trauma room and then out into the waiting area. His last image of Juliette was a gaggle of medical staff hovering over her convulsing body. A few minutes later he found himself waiting to talk to one of the intake clerks. As he was waiting, the nurse who had urged him out of the trauma room returned with a set of scrub pants, shirt, and slippers. Despite his state of anxiety and irritation, he thanked her and immediately put the outfit on over his pajama pants.

When he finally got to talk to a clerk, he felt stupid even bothering to list Peerless Health as his health insurance carrier, but he did anyway. With that out of the way, he found a seat and tried to calm himself. As he waited, time dragged. Each minute was emotionally exhausting, and he tried not to think about what was happening back in the treatment room.

A short time later he was shocked to see Camila walk into the waiting area and search for him. He stood up and waved. Once she saw him, she came over, carrying a shopping bag.

“How is she?” she asked when she got close, her face creased with worry.

“I haven’t heard anything yet but hoping I will soon,” Brian said. “I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t expect for you to come back until I called.”

“I didn’t expect to come back, either,” Camila said. “But when I got back to the house, I remembered that you were in your pajama bottoms. So I got a pair of jeans, a shirt, socks, and shoes out of your room.” She held up the shopping bag. “But I see they have supplied you with some hospital clothes, so maybe you don’t want them. I can take them back.”

“You’re so kind,” he said, moved by her thoughtfulness. “Thank you, but these scrubs will do, and I don’t want to go through the angst of finding a place to change.”

“Understandable,” Camila said. Then, reaching into her pocket she added: “Oh, also, I brought your phone from your bedside table. I know I’d feel naked without mine.”

“That I can use,” Brian said. He took the phone and turned it on. “Again, thank you for your kindness. I don’t know what Juliette and I would do without you. Truly.” Despite the fear of not knowing what was currently happening with his daughter, he marveled at the luck of having teamed up with Camila. He truly felt she’d become like family given the way she clicked with Juliette, especially with all the crises they had gone through lately.

“It’s been a mutual win-win,” Camila said. “Do you need me to stay and keep you company? If so, there’s a problem with the car. It’s right out front in a no-parking zone.”

“No, I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll call you when we are ready to come home.”

“Do you expect Juliette will have to stay in the hospital?”

“I have no clue,” Brian answered. He was trying not to think about the immediate future. “But given how serious it looked, I imagine so.”

“It’s probably best. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

Brian watched Camila as she walked back to the exit, wondering if he should have encouraged her to stay, given how unhinged he felt. As she waited for the sliding glass door to open, she turned and waved to him. Camila’s question of whether Juliette would need to stay in the hospital was unsettling, to say the least. Since Juliette had never had a seizure and since Emma’s EEE started with a seizure, the implications were now suddenly obvious to him. He had thought it was just a flu, but Juliette could have contracted the same horrible illness at the same fateful barbecue two weeks earlier.

With shaking fingers, he used his phone to pull up the Wikipedia article he’d found about eastern equine encephalitis back when Emma had been diagnosed. Scrolling to find out about the length of the incubation period, he felt his stomach sink when he learned that it could take between four and ten days for symptoms to appear, which is a rather large variation. From his EMT training, he knew that such an interval was based on statistics, meaning for some cases it could take less and in others more.

Still holding his phone but now staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes, Brian suddenly reluctantly acknowledged there was a very good chance that Juliette had been suffering from EEE the whole time, especially when he thought back to her multiple flu-like complaints over the previous ten days or so. Emma’s illness had had a faster trajectory, but started out like the flu.

“God damn it,” he murmured through clenched teeth. This sudden very real possibility not only terrified him, but it also made him wonder why it hadn’t been considered by the doctors who had seen Juliette, especially since they knew Emma had died of EEE right here in their hospital.

Going back to his phone, Brian quickly searched to find out whether there was a blood test for EEE. Finding out there was only fanned the growing antipathy he had for MMH Inwood. Not only had the powers that be made him and Juliette wait more than three hours on each of their two visits, but they had refused to do any testing even though it could have been key to properly diagnosing and treating her.

Forcing himself to go back to the EEE Wikipedia article, Brian reluctantly reread with growing horror that a large portion of those patients suffering encephalitis as evidenced by a seizure or other serious neurological symptoms ended up with severe intellectual impairment, personality disorders, significant paralysis, and cranial nerve disfunction.

Suddenly he stood up with the urge to run back to the treatment room where Juliette was to shout out that she could very well have EEE. But he held up, realizing that making the diagnosis at that moment was secondary to getting her seizure under control. Not only could the interruption do more harm than good, it might get him thrown out of the ED, and he needed to be there for Juliette when things settled down. As difficult as it was, Brian held himself in check. He also faulted himself for not thinking about EEE when Juliette first complained she wasn’t feeling well and for not specifically demanding the test. Had he insisted, it would have been more difficult for the two doctors to fall back on assuming all of Juliette’s complaints were psychosomatic.

Instead of running back to the treatment room, he nervously paced back and forth. Sitting still and waiting was driving him crazy. A few people eyed him warily, but he didn’t care.

The siren of an approaching ambulance caught his attention as it got louder and louder before trailing off upon arrival outside. A few minutes later there was evidence of a flurry of activity back in the ED’s treatment area, but it soon passed.

Twenty minutes later and unable to stand the wait any longer, Brian hurried back to the information desk. Forced by security to wait his turn, he demanded to know how his daughter was doing and if the seizure had been controlled.

“What’s the name?” a bleary-eyed clerk who was nearing the end of his shift asked in a tired voice.

“Juliette Murphy,” Brian practically shouted angrily.

The clerk rolled his eyes at his tone before spending what seemed like an excessive amount of time on his monitor. Just before Brian was about to boil over, the clerk said, “There doesn’t seem to be any information yet, but I’m sure the doctors will be out to talk with you soon. Next!” He tilted his head to the side to get the attention of the person behind Brian.

Hardly satisfied, Brian returned to his seat, beside himself with anxiety. Out of desperation, he took out his phone. He needed to talk to someone and for a few moments debated whom to call. It wasn’t an easy decision, since it was now five in the morning. He thought first of Camila since she’d been already disturbed by the situation, but he hesitated, thinking she might have gone back to sleep and that she’d already helped enormously. He thought about his mother but was afraid she might make things worse by being more anxious than he. He thought about some of his ESU buddies, particularly those who worked the graveyard shift, but he nixed the idea, as he’d not spoken to them in months and they might be in the middle of a call. He then thought about Jeanne, whom he knew would probably be the best choice considering her background with children, yet he wavered.

Despite all his reservations about taking advantage of her and as a sign of his desperation, he impulsively called, especially because she was the only one who could truly sympathize with his problems from her own experience. While the connection went through, he winced at disturbing her sleep, and he struggled to think of what to say. After the fourth ring, he seriously considered disconnecting, but then she answered.

“Uh-oh,” she said sleepily, the moment she answered. “This can’t be good news.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you—” Brian began.

“Don’t be silly,” Jeanne interrupted, already sounding more awake. “What’s up? Did Juliette’s fever spike again?”

“Worse than that,” he admitted. “She’s had a seizure in her sleep, a bad one. I don’t even know how long she’d been seizing when the noise woke me up, but it might have been for a while.”

“Mon Dieu! Where are you?”

“I’m afraid I’m back at the MMH Inwood ED,” Brian said. “My least favorite place.”

“How is she?”

“I haven’t heard,” Brian said, running a hand nervously through his hair. “We’ve been here about an hour. They haven’t told me anything. They haven’t even told me they’ve stopped the seizure. Nothing!”

“You poor man,” Jeanne said with true empathy in her voice. “Would you like me to come and join you to keep you company?”

“Thank you for offering,” he said. “That’s a lot to ask, and besides, I imagine I’ll be hearing shortly that she’ll be admitted. I just needed to talk to someone. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Jeanne chided. “I’m glad you called. And I’m going to come join you whether you want me to or not. Case closed.”

“Are you sure?” Brian asked. He wasn’t the kind of person who normally asked for favors, and he considered self-sufficiency a virtue, but even he recognized he was particularly vulnerable at the moment. Besides, he didn’t have the mental strength to talk her out of it.

“I’ll be there in fifteen to twenty minutes,” Jeanne said definitively.

With a bit of surprise, Brian found that she had hung up on him. Slowly he pocketed his phone, then bent over and cradled his head in his hands. He’d never felt quite so weak in his life, and as a consequence found himself praying, not in the way he’d learned as a child, but more as an attempt to bargain with a God he wasn’t sure he believed in. He promised that he could learn to accept losing his wife and soul mate, but only if his daughter made it out of this unscathed.

Sudden yelling interrupted his thoughts, and he straightened up. The disturbance was coming from an obviously inebriated individual who’d stumbled into emergency with his business attire askew. Uniformed hospital security personnel responded immediately by emerging from their windowed enclave overlooking the ED entrance and the waiting room. The man was efficiently corralled and escorted to a separate section of the ED. After that, an expectant peace returned.

Brian tried to go back to his bargaining, but he found he couldn’t after the drunken disruption. His growing worry about Juliette’s condition was crowding out the possibility of any other thoughts. Twenty minutes later, Jeanne dashed into the waiting area, searching for Brian. He stood up and waved. The moment she spotted him, she hurried over. Despite the social distancing protocols and their short friendship, they embraced, holding on to each other to the point that Brian began to feel self-conscious.

“Sorry,” he managed as he released her.

“No need to apologize,” Jeanne said as they both sat down. “Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing at all,” he responded. “I don’t know why they’re keeping me in the dark like this. It’s torture. They could have at least come out and told me the seizure’s been controlled but that they want to do X, Y, and Z. Hell, I’d understand. I’m all for testing. For all I know, they’re doing an MRI or some other test that takes a long time. I just wish they’d let me know.”

“We should hear soon,” Jeanne said, trying to be encouraging.

“With her having a seizure like this, I’m concerned she got infected with EEE just like Emma, even on that same night. I read someplace that mosquitoes prefer female hosts.”

“You’re joking,” Jeanne said.

“No, I’m serious. It’s true. Female mosquitoes, which are the ones that bite, prefer human female type O blood. If Juliette does have EEE, it would explain all the complaints she’s had over the last week or so, including the fever. What irks me to death is that when we brought her in here, not once, but twice, they never thought of testing her for it.”

“That does seem surprising in retrospect,” Jeanne admitted.

“It’s more than surprising,” Brian said. “To me it smacks of malpractice, especially when there’s a good chance they didn’t do any testing because I owe them so damn much money and they were afraid they’d not get paid. And that’s on top of treating us like second-class citizens, making us wait for so long.”

“Maybe it’s best if we talk about something else while we wait,” Jeanne said, seeing Brian’s face flush and sensing his anxiety.

“As if I can think of anything else.”

“How about talking about our upcoming investigation,” Jeanne said. “I spent some time looking at your friend Grady’s list. I counted the cases and there are almost five hundred Inwood families that have been sued or are being sued. Can you imagine?”

“Now I can. I used to think we as a community were lucky to have MMH here, but not any longer.”

“It should be an asset,” Jeanne said, “and it could be again.”

“Maybe if...” he started. He wasn’t so sure, not with Kelley and company in charge, but he didn’t finish his thought. At that moment, both he and Jeanne saw two doctors emerge from back in the treatment area and head in their direction. They were both dressed in scrubs, although the male doctor was wearing a long white coat. As they got closer, Brian recognized the woman despite her mask. She was the one who’d called out orders back in the Trauma 1 room. Both had grave looks on their faces.

A new burst of worry propelled him to his feet, and Jeanne followed suit as the two physicians halted about six feet away from them. The male doctor, with a name tag that said dr. anish singh, chief of emergency medicine, spoke with a lilting subcontinent-Asian accent. He identified himself and asked if Brian was the father of Juliette Murphy.

“I am,” Brian managed as his pulse raced. He could feel Jeanne clutch his arm.

Dr. Singh cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “I’m very sorry to have to report that despite our efforts, your daughter didn’t make it. We tried—”

With lightning speed and before the doctor could finish his sentence, Brian lunged forward, grabbed a handful of Dr. Singh’s scrub shirt and coat from the front of his chest, and practically lifted the slightly built doctor off his feet. He yanked the man’s masked face within inches of his own, all the while yelling over and over: “No! No! No!”

Jeanne tried to pull Brian’s arm away without success. She was shocked by the suddenness of the assault and overwhelmed by his strength. Several security guards burst out of their windowed alcove and came running over. Everyone in the waiting room, clerks and patients alike, stopped whatever they were doing and stared at the sudden ruckus like a freeze frame in a movie.

“You people let her die!” Brian snarled through clenched teeth behind his face mask. “You could have made the diagnosis yesterday, but no, you didn’t, you wouldn’t! All because of money.”

The two security men arrived, and they, too, tried to break Brian’s iron grip on Dr. Singh’s clothing, but it wasn’t until he let go that they succeeded. “Easy now!” one of the guards said.

While Dr. Singh calmly rearranged his shirt and jacket, he told the security guards that he was fine and that they should back off. Reluctantly, they let go of Brian, who was continuing to eye Dr. Singh with barely controlled fury. Jeanne regrasped his arm, although she, too, was aghast at the news and had trouble finding her voice.

“We tried very hard to save your daughter,” Dr. Singh said. “I don’t know what you are implying about money, but I can assure you that concerns about cost do not influence one iota of what we do with patients here in the Emergency Department, and they certainly didn’t in regard to your daughter. We pulled out all the stops.”

“I don’t believe you,” Brian snapped, causing the two guards to step forward once more.

Dr. Singh motioned for the guards to stand down. “You don’t believe in the last hour we tried everything possible for your daughter? Is that what you are saying?”

“She was seen here yesterday and the day before,” Brian blurted. “No diagnostics were done. Nothing, and it was probably because the hospital believes I owe hundreds of thousands of dollars. It should have been determined that she possibly had EEE like her mother, who died from it days before right here in this Emergency Department. And if that had happened like it should have, we would have known there was a risk for seizures. But no! Charles Kelley and his profit culture reigns supreme and no testing was done on either occasion.”

“We have no idea of who owes the hospital money,” Dr. Singh said. “I can assure you of that. We take all comers and treat them equivalently. As for a missed diagnosis, that concerns me, and I have already planned to look into it. Meanwhile I have to ask... do you want to view your daughter’s body?”

Brian felt the strength suddenly drain out of his body. The instantaneous rage that had overwhelmed him moments earlier was replaced by a paralyzing sense of loss. There was no way that the daughter who’d become the bedrock of his life and lifeline of his emotions with Emma’s passing could be taken from him, too.

“What do you think?” Jeanne asked softly. “Do you want to see her?”

“I don’t know,” he said weakly. “I don’t know if I can take it, but I suppose I should.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

It took Brian a moment to decide. “Yes,” he said at last. “I would appreciate it. Thank you.”

With Jeanne holding on to his limp arm, they followed the doctor back into the treatment area and finally into the trauma room. A clean white sheet had been draped over the treatment table, covering Juliette’s small body.

Dr. Singh stepped up to the table and grasped the edge of the sheet. He then looked over at Brian and Jeanne. “I want to warn you that by medical examiner rules, we don’t remove various equipment like endotracheal tubes and intravenous devices until the body has been cleared by an authorized medical examiner investigator.”

Neither Brian nor Jeanne responded audibly, but both nodded that they understood.

Respectfully, Dr. Singh slowly pulled down the sheet, progressively exposing Juliette’s pale, fragile body down to the navel. As the doctor had warned, an endotracheal tube distorted her mouth. Intravenous lines ran into both arms, and ECG leads were still attached to her chest. For both Brian and Jeanne, it was a jarring, horrifying sight.

“Did she have EEE like my wife?” Brian asked, averting his eyes.

“The neurology consult believes she did,” Dr. Singh said with regret. “To be sure we’ll have to wait for the blood test to confirm it.”

“Why bother?” he responded bitterly. “Isn’t it a bit too late?”

“Yes, I believe it is too late,” Dr. Singh said as he bowed his head. “I will leave you two. No rush. Stay as long as you would like.” He turned around and walked out into the corridor.

Brian and Jeanne looked at each other, standing alone among all the high-tech equipment of the Trauma 1 room. His eyes brimmed with tears he’d been fighting. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of EEE, either,” he managed between gasps. “I should have.” He picked up the edge of the sheet and pulled it back over Juliette’s body, unable to grasp how he had also been so mentally blind.

With tears running down her own face, Jeanne enveloped Brian with both arms and for several minutes they hugged in silence. “It’s not your fault. You’re not the doctor.”

“I suppose,” he said listlessly.

“You were correct about what you said to the doctor,” Jeanne insisted. “Ultimately it is Charles Kelley’s fault.”

“Charles Kelley and Heather Williams,” Brian added. “I’d be hard put to say who was more responsible.”

Still holding on to each other for mutual support, they headed for the door leading out into the hallway, wondering where they could possibly go from here.