To catch up, go here for chapter summaries.
At the end of Chapter Eight, Blainey finds a message on her home answering machine from Mark, telling her he needs to talk to her about Rachel Roper, who had called him.
CHAPTER NINE
I took a deep breath and knocked. There had been the sense of something breaking when I’d left Mark’s office Tuesday, and now I stood in front of his door as if I were a stranger.
“C’mon in,” Mark called out, and I practically tiptoed across the hallway to stand in front of his desk like he was the principal and I’d been caught smoking out behind the bleachers.
On the way over, I’d practiced my speech, an actual apology acknowledging full responsibility for my breach of boundaries and judgment, coupled with a promise to deal with my own shit and keep it apart from Omega Investigations.
I began, “Mark, I just want to say again how deeply sorry…” but he interrupted.
“Never mind,” he said, and waved a hand at me. “Sit. I want to talk about Rachel Roper.”
Not what I’d expected, but, okay. I sat, then said, “First, I have a question. Did Rachel say how she got your number?”
Mark narrowed his eyes, looked confused. “I thought you gave it to her.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t,” I said.
“Maybe she looked me up, then?”
“I was pretty careful to avoid mentioning your name or Omega. I mean, I already felt like I was treading on fairly questionable ground.”
“Huh,” said Mark and leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers the way he does when he’s fixing to concentrate.
“What was your conversation with her like?” I asked.
“She called, I answered, she said you had referred her and it was about helping to track down her adopted daughter. Pretty much a condensed version of what you shared.”
“She told you I referred her?” I was starting to feel a bit jerked around by Rachel Roper, and I didn’t like it at all.
Mark nodded. “She did.”
“I swear to you, all I said was, I knew someone who might be able to help.” I let my voice rise a little, that button getting pushed of somebody spooning bullshit onto my plate and expecting me to swallow it. “I have no idea how she made the connection from me to you.”
“Well, you can ask her yourself. She scheduled an appointment for this afternoon.”
“Oh.” That stopped me. “What time?”
“Three o’clock,” Mark said. “Can you make it?”
“Sure can.” I had a flex half-day and would have plenty of time to check in with the Malones and set my eyes on Jenny as well as pick up any messages. I’d squeeze in some errands, too. My refrigerator was woefully empty of healthy food.
I stood to go and hovered for a minute. Mark looked up at me. “Anything else?”
“So, yeah, I have to ask. That whole thing with me and Paolo. You’re just going to let it go?”
He shrugged. “You’re good at this and I need you. Also, another time ask me about Burton Shauk.” He rolled his eyes. “Not one of my best days.”
“I’ll file that away,” I said. In the moment of camaraderie I was tempted to ask about the woman I’d seen leaving the other day, but then I remembered to keep my yap shut, for once.
“I have some phone calls to return, so I’ll see you back here at three o’clock,” Mark said, and reached for the receiver.
And with that I was dismissed.
Jenny had not wakened yet. She lay quite still, the rhythmic thump-whoosh of the ventilator filling the room as it breathed for her. Nora and David sat on either side of the bed, David thumbing through a magazine and Nora holding one of Jenny’s hands. Nora gave me a quick wave and David stepped out into the hallway with me.
“Everything’s looking good so far,” he said, keeping his voice low. “They said they’d start weaning her off the vent later this afternoon. She should start waking up in the next several hours or so.” He promised to keep me updated, and I gave him a brief hug, catching the crumpled whiff of a worried father who hadn’t slept or showered for too many days.
As soon as I stepped into the Pastoral Care office, Mavis barked at me. “Well, it’s about time. Fred’s in his office. He said he wants to see you as soon as you get in.”
I gave an involuntary start, already rattled by all the weirdness with Rachel and on top of that, guilty as heck about my secret other life.
“Oh, I thought he wasn’t due back until tomorrow,” I said, trying to sound casual. “It’ll be good to see him and catch up.”
“I’ll buzz him and let him know you’re finally here,” she said as she picked up her phone. Mavis resented flex-time, even though it was written into the chaplains’ employee manual and part of each of our contracts.
I went back to my office to leave my stuff, a tote bag and light sweater, since the air conditioning in the hospital was cranking extra special, and to collect my thoughts. Fred Moseley was by no means an ogre and I didn’t think I was in trouble. He probably just needed to touch base on a few issues and get an update on how things had gone in his absence. Still, my conscience pricked pretty hard. In Fred’s position, I’d want to know if one of my staff was engaged in an outside endeavor that could become a serious conflict of interest.
Mavis’s voice came through the intercom. “He’ll see you now.”
She cleared her throat as I walked by her desk. “Thanks, Mavis,” I said without looking in her direction. I gave a quick rap on Fred’s door, walked in, and closed it behind me.
Fred sat behind a large oak desk, papers strewn over the top. A shock of gray hair fell across his tanned forehead. The shoulders beneath his starched white shirt sagged, and his face was drawn. He looked at me with pale blue eyes and in a tight voice said, “Come in, Blainey. Have a seat.”
I sat across from him, buzzing with anxiety. Maybe Rachel Roper had filed a complaint? Or had he found out some other way about my work with Omega? I mentally kicked myself for not having come clean earlier.
There was an uncomfortable silence while Fred stared at his hands, fidgeting with his pen, then he took a deep breath and looked up at me. “Blainey, I’m going to have to take some time off.”
I waited a moment before speaking. “Is everything all right?”
“No, it’s not. Not at all.” His voice caught and his eyes brimmed with tears. “Maxine’s cancer has returned,” he said, “and with a vengeance. Liver, lungs, brain.”
He paused and then continued. “I’m trying to clear my calendar — it seems she may not have much time.”
“Oh, Fred, I’m so sorry.” My words sounded hollow, and I was filled with an ache for my colleague’s pain. I’d met Maxine Moseley twice. She was a silver-haired ball of sparkly fire, with twice the energy of most women her age and a delicious biting sense of humor. Her seemingly miraculous ability to rise above the breast cancer she’d been battling for eight years somehow made the news all the more devastating.
“Please let me know if there is anything I can do.”
“I just need to know I can count on you to be here,” he said. “I know you are with us temporarily, but I’ve appreciated the way you’ve jumped in with both feet.”
“Of course,” I said. “You can count on me.”
“There may be some duties from time to time that I will need to off-load,” he said. “Hospital and grant reports and funding updates.”
“Whatever you need,” I replied, thinking now should be the time. I’d just say it. Like right now. Just go on and say it.
“Fred, there’s something you need to know.”
“It’ll have to wait, Blainey. I’m already late for another meeting.”
“Of course,” I said and stood.
“Thanks. We can sort out all the specifics later.”
As I walked toward the door, I heard the scurrying of little Mavis-feet, and as I opened it, she picked up her phone, saying “Pastoral Care, may I help you?” Except none of the phone line buttons were lighted. I raised my eyebrows at her as I passed by, and she swiveled her chair so her back was to me. I admit I was relieved not to have had to explain myself to Fred, but now I was doubly glad, because that conversation would have gone right through the door and into Mavis’s cupped ear, and that would have been a disaster.
I checked my watch. If I left right then I’d have time to hit a grocery store and drop off the items at home. I raced to my office, checked my messages, grabbed my stuff, and ran to the elevator.
Forty-five minutes later, at ten till three, I pulled up in front of Mark’s office and ran inside.
Three o’clock came and went with no Rachel. To be honest, I wasn’t all that surprised.
At three-fifteen Mark called her number — as it turned out, one digit different from the one I’d written down. Or that she’d given me. After twelve rings, the call was picked up by an answering machine.
“This is Weston Roper.” A man’s voice, silky smooth. “I’m not here to take your call. You’re welcome to try me another time.” Click.
Mark looked at me and shook his head.
“That’s her brother. Allegedly,” I said. “Listen, I’m sorry I brought you into this. What a crazy mess.”
“We move on,” he said, and I nodded.
“Yep. So much for Rachel Roper.”
Later, I would wonder if just I’d handled things a little differently, maybe there could have been another outcome. But then I reminded myself, by the time I came onto the scene, everything having to do with Rachel Roper was already more snarled and tangled than any of us could have known. In the end, Rachel and everything that happened next was added to the list of things that will probably haunt me forever.
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