Eric set his phone aside, drove home on autopilot, and turned onto his street without even realizing how he’d gotten there. A line of parked cars, news vans, and reporters thronged in front of his house, but he cruised past, turned into the driveway, cut the ignition and got out of the car, tuning out their shouted questions as he jogged down the driveway to his office entrance.
He shut the door, finally exhaling and looking around at the books and papers scattered all over the rug and the empty space on his desk, where his computer used to be.
He walked through the office, entered the house, and went almost reflexively to the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator door and got out a beer. He reached into the silverware drawer, left open by the police, rummaged around for the church key, popped the top off the bottle, and took a cold slug. The beer was chilly and delicious, and his gaze traveled over the open drawers, pots and pans on the butcher-block countertops, and the weird black smudges of fingerprint dust.
Eric wanted to put it all behind him, and there was no time like the present. He took another tug of beer, set the bottle down, and started putting things away, returning the colander, pots, and frying pans to the base cabinets, closing the silverware and utensils drawers. He shut the freezer door and took another sip of beer, then crossed to the sink, wet a sponge under the faucet, and tried to scrub off the fingerprint dust. He found himself getting a second wind, somehow feeling that if he could clean up his house, he could put the pieces of his life back together.
The reporters out front kept up a constant noise level, but he screened them out, fetching the dishwashing liquid and squirting a green squiggle onto the fingerprint dust, then scrubbing and rinsing until he got the first patch of clean. He was about to start on the second, when he heard some knocking coming from the door to his home office. He threw down the sponge, cranky that the reporters were getting aggressive, and he stalked back down the hallway and into his home office to confront them.
“You guys have a lot of nerve,” Eric said, opening the door, and there on the step stood Caitlin, with Hannah.
“Daddy!” Hannah cried, raising her arms.
“Honey!” Eric shouted with happiness, scooping her up and burying his head in her warm neck.
And suddenly, his world felt complete.
Chapter Sixty-four
“I’d offer you something to drink, but you see how it is. Want some water?” Eric gestured self-consciously at the kitchen, unable to hide his surprise at Caitlin’s being here with Hannah.
“That’s okay, no worries.” Caitlin forced a smile, eyeing the debris. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”
“How did you know I’d be home?”
“I heard they were finished questioning you.”
“Oh. Well, good to see you.” Eric felt so awkward, standing near Caitlin in a kitchen that wasn’t theirs, turned upside down. It didn’t help that she looked great, in a white T-shirt, cutoffs, and pink sneakers, with her hair in a ponytail. She even had her glasses on, a look he particularly liked, an older version of Hannah. They were even dressed the same.
Hannah bopped into the living room. “Daddy, your house is so messy! You need to clean up!”
“I know, you’re right,” Eric said lightly, without elaborating. “That’s what I was doing when you guys came here. What a nice surprise, and on a school night.”
Caitlin motioned vaguely, at nothing. “We saw the news, and I thought it would be a good thing for Hannah to see you face-to-face, not just talk on the phone. She was worried about you.”
“Wow, thank you,” Eric said, touched. “Sorry about the reporters.”
“Par for the course. So you’re okay, that’s all that matters. It must be some story, but I’ll have to hear it another time.”
“Right, yeah.”
“Weird about Sam. I’m sorry, though. I know you liked him.”
“Thanks.” Eric felt at a sudden loss for words, glancing over at Hannah, who was gathering books that had been tossed onto the floor and shelving them. “Hannah, you’re cleaning up for me over there? Thank you very much!”
“Daddy, it’s like you had an earthquake!”
“I know!” Eric called back, managing a smile as he turned to Caitlin. “It’s late, you guys must be so tired.”
“I figured she could go in late tomorrow, if she wants. Maybe sleep in.”
“Right, great idea.” Eric hid his surprise, since it was so unlike Caitlin to bend any rules.
“Anyway, I knew that, uh, your place might be a mess, so I figured that if you wanted to, you could come stay at the house tonight.” Caitlin shot him a look. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m going to stay at Brian’s.”
“The wrong idea? Perish the thought.” Eric forced a smile. He had gotten the wrong idea, but a part of him wasn’t so sure it was the right idea anymore, and in any event, it wasn’t her idea.
“You and Hannah can have breakfast together, then you can take her to school.” Caitlin reached in her back pocket and took out her key ring, a silver disk with the scales of justice, which he’d given her a few years ago. She unclipped the ring, slid out the key, and handed it to him. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Eric accepted the key. “When I’m finished with it, I’ll put it under the coffee can in the garage.”
“Keep the key. You don’t have to return it.” Caitlin glanced in the living room, where Hannah was busy shelving books like a future librarian.
“No, that’s okay,” Eric said, touched. “It’s your house. I’m clear on that now.”
“No, not anymore.” Caitlin lowered her voice and met his eye, directly, if a little sadly. “I blew off the deal with the German buyer.”
“What?” Eric didn’t understand.
“Let’s make a new deal. I’ll sell the house to you for the appraised value, if that’s what you want. I don’t want to live there, but you can. Then maybe, going forward, we can share Hannah’s time, fifty-fifty. A week with you, then one with me. The transitions won’t be too hard for her if one of the houses is hers. What do you say?”
Eric’s throat caught. His heart felt full at the prospect of living with Hannah again, under the same roof, especially in his own home. He could mow his own lawn and weed-whack his butt off. It was the perfect solution. He asked, “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” Caitlin nodded, her eyes filming, but she held off tears.
“Why are you doing this?” Eric couldn’t help but ask.
“You going to make me say nice things about you?” Caitlin shrugged, swallowing hard. “I thought about what happened at the hospital, after the mall. You’re dedicated and committed. You’re a good guy. I changed my mind. You changed my mind.”
“Thanks.” Eric smiled. He felt a bittersweet knot in his chest that he knew would be there forever.
Caitlin smiled back. “And you’re a great father.”
“Thank you. You’re a great mother.” Eric saw Caitlin’s eyes brimming again, because he knew she didn’t believe that about herself. “You are a great mother.”
“Well, anyway.” Caitlin cleared her throat, moving past the emotional moment. “As I was saying, I decided that the best thing we can do for Hannah, as her mom and dad, is to work together. We have to be able to talk to each other, too. We can do better than this, I know we can.”
“I know we can, too.” Eric felt his spirits soar. “So, no more lawyers?”
“No more lawyers. Present company excluded.” Caitlin smiled crookedly. “Do we have a deal?”
“Did you ask her?” Eric whispered, nodding toward Hannah, still shelving books.
“I SAID YES!” Hannah called back.
Caitlin laughed, and so did Eric, throwing his head back, happy and finally free.
“Then we have a deal, Caitlin.”
Chapter Sixty-five
The next morning dawned sunny, and Eric got to work at the regular time since Hannah hadn’t wanted to miss any school. He crossed the parking lot with a sl
ew of other employees, aware that heads were turning in his direction. Hospital employees were nodding to him, smiling at him, or trying to catch his eye, and Eric smiled back, though he was looking forward to the day when his every fart wasn’t cause for celebration.
He hit the breezeway at the same time as Sharon McGregor from the Pharmacy Review Board, elegant in some kind of gold tweed suit. She waved him down, fell into step beside him, and patted him on the back. “Eric, my goodness! I can’t believe what I’m hearing about you! What a nightmare that must have been. Is it finally over?”
“Hell, no.” Eric looked over, with a smile. “It’ll continue at the next Pharmacy Review Board meeting.”
“Ha!” Sharon laughed, and so did Eric, but only he knew he wasn’t kidding. They parted ways in the lobby, when he went to the elevator bank that led to Wright and hit the up button in front of an adoring audience. He climbed into the crowded elevator, accepting congratulations, answering questions, and generally feeling the love, though he suddenly realized that he didn’t have his red employee lanyard, with the red W for Wacko. He made a mental note to get a new ID, though he didn’t know how the rest of the hospital would view the psych unit, from here on out. The horror of what Sam had done would never be forgotten, and Eric could only hope that his deeds had redeemed the unit. Either way, he was proud of his team and he couldn’t wait to get upstairs, pick up the pieces, and get back to taking care of his patients.
He got off the elevator on his floor and didn’t have to look far to see the damage from yesterday’s fire. The air still smelled burned, and there was the slightest haze. Water had damaged the floor tiles, causing some buckling at the edges, and rolling water buckets with mops were lined up against the wall, next to two folded yellow signs that read, Caution—Slipping Hazard.
Eric crossed to the unit, mentally gearing up. He’d gotten emails from three different hospital departments about cleaning up the water and fire damage, which would require a major effort. Fortunately, the HGH sprinkler system was zoned and the sprinklers on the north side of the unit hadn’t been turned on, so most of the patient rooms had gone undamaged. It was the south side—the TV lounge, dining hall, and the nurses’ station at the front—that were water-damaged.
He unlocked the first door to the unit, entered the airlock, then unlocked the interior door and entered the unit to find his staff milling around in confusion, amid the water puddling on the tile floor, smelly and slightly hazy air, and the waterlogged nurses’ station with defunct computers, monitors, and telephones.
“Hey, everybody!” Eric called to them, and they turned their heads, Amaka, Jack, David, Tina, the other nurses, nurse’s aides, psych techs, caseworkers, and a crew of janitors in blue jumpsuits.
“Eric!” “You made it!” “You’re back!” everybody called out at once, surging toward him like a crowd of reporters, but in a good way. “Are you staying?” “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m back.” Eric threw open his arms, gave Amaka a big hug when she came forward, then waved for order. “Thank you for holding the fort in my absence. You’ve done an amazing job.”
“We’re number two, we’re number two!” Jack called out, but Eric didn’t burst his bubble, just yet.
“Okay, everybody, please settle down. I have something I want to say.” Eric centered himself for a moment. “Consider where we find ourselves. We have been through hell this past week. We’ve seen the suffering of our patients. We’ve been betrayed by someone we held dear, yet we grieve his loss in many ways. The loss of who we thought he was. The loss of his presence and his contribution to our patient care, before he took his terrible turn.” Eric could see faces falling around him, his staff struggling with conflicted feelings over Sam, their anger, bewilderment, and grief. “We’ve seen gruesome violence and death. There has been fire, and a deluge. It has simply been an impossibly difficult and traumatic time, for all of us.”
Amaka clucked in agreement, heads nodded, and eyes filmed all around, including Eric’s.
“Normally, we focus on the care of our patients, but we can’t overlook or neglect our own care, not after what we’ve been through. It will take us awhile to process the events of this week, and we will discuss it, and overthink it, and analyze it every which way from Sunday. Our specialty is talk therapy, and we will talk until we’re blue in the face.”
Amaka broke into a smile, and the nurses laughed.
“Going forward, we will heal this unit. We’re trained to deal with trauma. In fact, we’re the only service in this entire hospital trained to heal emotional trauma. So, as a matter of fact, it couldn’t have happened to a better group of people. We didn’t choose this test, it chose us. And we will get through it together, with flying colors. Are you with me?”
“Yes!” everybody cried.
“Thank you!” Eric said, feeling himself smile from the very depth of his soul. “Okay. The first thing we’re going to do is have a quick morning meeting in the conference room, as usual. I want the same bad coffee and the even worse décor. I want Amaka to tell us how every patient spent last night, because they are our first priority. And then, we’re going to roll up our sleeves, clean up this unit, and get it back in business. Ready, set, go!”
Chapter Sixty-six
After a long day of putting the unit back together, Eric parked in the visitor space in front of Laurie’s garden apartment, walked up the front walk, and knocked on her door. He’d bought a bouquet of daises from the grocery store. He’d showered and changed. He’d put on aftershave he’d found in the bottom of his Dopp kit. He was about to have his first real date in over a decade, which was harder than breaching an armed police barricade at the King of Prussia Mall.
“Hey, hi.” Laurie opened the door and smiled. “Flowers, how nice!”
“I’m here.” Eric realized it sounded idiotic the moment he said it, though he saw that she had showered and changed too, into a soft blue work shirt and denim shorts, with her dark hair finally worn down, making thick rich curls around her chin. She was barefoot, which he thought was cute.
“Come in, thanks!” Laurie accepted the flowers, then kissed him on the cheek lightly, and Eric tried to relax as he stepped into the apartment, which smelled like something delicious was cooking, with cheese and tomatoes. The table was already set with another loaf of artisanal bread, a block of butter, and a wooden bowl full of arugula, avocados, cherry tomatoes, and onions. He remembered that Caitlin would never even kiss him if he’d had onions. At the end of their marriage, he found himself choosing the onions.
“What’s for dinner? It smells great.”
“My specialty, eggplant parm. It’s hearty and comforting, which is just what the doctor ordered.” Laurie went into the kitchen with the bouquet, opened the cabinet, and retrieved a glass vase.
“Can I help?” Eric followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. He stopped short of kissing her on the cheek. He was trying to slow his roll, now that he’d learned the expression. He watched Laurie put the bouquet in the sink, get a scissors from the drawer, and cut the twine around the wrapping.
“The eggplant’s already in the oven, but you can make us both a drink.” Laurie nodded toward a bottle of Tanqueray, one of tonic, and two tumblers, next to a juicy lime on a small plate, which had been cut into perfect eighths. On the chopping board was a sliced mound of parsley and fresh green basil.
“Will do. How do you like your drink, light or heavy?”
“Light. So how was work?”
“Tough, you can imagine.” Eric crossed to the refrigerator with the tumblers, used them to scoop some ice out of the bin, and returned to the counter. “Lots of hugs and tears from the staff. Lots of nerves and worry from the patients. The logistics were a mess, trying to use humidifiers to get rid of the water, then we had to go begging for computers, phones, and new chairs. We tried to salvage what we could. My phone rang constantly, everybody had a million questions.”
“I bet. How was Perino?”
“I spent some time with him, talking to him and his wife. It will take him some time to come to terms with this.” Eric untwisted the cap off the gin and poured them both a light drink.
“The poor guy. It’s traumatic.”
“I also looked through his file. Perino was on risperidone and fluoxetine, and I suspect Sam was dosing him with Ritalin, too. Sam had an expertise in ADHD and Ritalin, Vyvance, and that family of drugs. They would’ve wound Perino up and made him aggressive, and it would explain why he wasn’t responding to treatment.”
Laurie groaned. “Why would he do that?”
“I think he used people, as pawns. My sense is that he would use Perino as another kind of weapon against me, or maybe even to set Perino up to attack me. I learned today that Perino has a lot of delusional beliefs about me and I’m betting that Sam filled his head with them.” Eric cracked the cap off the tonic bottle with a satisfying hiss and filled the glasses.
“That’s horrible.”
“I know.” Eric squeezed in some lime juice, relaxing as he realized that it was completely possible to go from being friends to maybe being lovers. The two of them always talked shop when they ran, and this was like that, only stationary. He felt natural around Laurie, and he liked the whole scene: the aromas of the food, her easy way with him, how nurturing she was. Eric had always heard the expression that you didn’t know what you had until it was gone, but he suddenly had a different insight—that you didn’t know what you were missing until you had it. It looked like he was going to have it, and he felt good inside.
“Everybody’s saying the wife is going to sue. That’s all anybody ever worries about in administration.”
“I know, right?” Eric handed Laurie her drink. “Here we go. Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Laurie raised her glass, then took a sip. “Perfect.”
“Really?” Eric sipped his drink, which tasted tart and great. “Not bad.”
“No, it’s perfect.” Laurie smiled, more warmly. “Everything’s perfect, really.”