“This is not acceptable,” Dean Durning said sternly from behind his desk, confronting John and Walt.
It was the happiest day of his professional life when a few weeks earlier, Walt Bolger told him it was finally—finally!—time to initiate the endgame for Larry Husted. For two years, Durning’s stomach had roiled as he endured the situation on the other side of the B wing wall.
His impulsive gesture to accommodate Walt for what he assumed would be a few weeks grew to mock him as Larry lived on and on. Walt’s way in through the dead hospital had so far provided perfect cover, and when the crafty old fucker started hiring an undocumented nurse to cover more and more of Larry’s treatments, Durning knew he had been conned.
It would take mortality to finally draw this holy mess to a close, and it turned out to be Walt’s. When Walt told Durning about his terminal prognosis and his intent to leave Holt City to tend to what remained of his life, Durning was appropriately regretful but silently elated. He assumed that on his way out of town, Walt would tenderly let Larry go and take it up with God when the time came.
Instead, the administrator protested mightily when Walt insisted on telling John Husted everything first. Durning knew nothing about John Husted, but he was very familiar with his older brother from school. The whole town knew that Mike Husted was in and out of jail for the past twenty-five years and a bum. There was no way he could be trusted with the truth.
“John’s different,” Walt assured him. “I’ve known him since he was a boy. I trust him to help us bring this to the proper end. For all of us.”
Once again, Walt Bolger was backing Durning to the wall and using mad logic to extract his compliance. Telling all to Larry Husted’s son came with incredible risks, but so did the threat of mutually assured destruction that Walt continued to blackmail the administrator with every time he suggested that Larry’s time on the B wing had to end.
Over the past two years it galled Durning to believe so, but every damned decision the old doctor had made on behalf of his friend had been the right one. So he agreed to allow John Husted into the circle, and he prayed that Walt’s gamble would work. He shook John Husted’s hand on that day when Walt first brought John to the hospital to break the news about his father, and he trusted that it would all be over soon.
Which was why he was apoplectic when after only a few days of contemplation, John called a meeting in Durning’s office to announce that he wasn’t going to take action any time soon. Larry was sticking around.
“No!” Durning snapped. “No more!” He turned to Walt for support. “Tell him!”
“John,” Walt said gently, leaning forward for emphasis. “I told you, we’re both prepared to be as patient as we can be as you work your way through this. We understand that we’ve placed you in an extraordinary position.”
John snorted at the understatement.
“But this does have to come to an end. The hospital cannot continue to keep Larry on here. And I am leaving.”
John bore down grimly. He was not a forceful man, but the madness of the situation imbued him with a righteous sense of purpose.
“I will not end my father’s life until I know for certain what I need to do about my mother,” he declared firmly. “I do not know when I will have an answer for that. It’s kind of complicated,” he sneered icily.…
He met their eyes with simmering indignation. “For right now, you don’t need to worry about my brother. I’m not sure he won’t turn this into something we’re all hoping to avoid. But my opinion might change on that because that’s his fucking father lying there, and I’m not sure it’s my place to keep that from him.”
He laid his glare into Walt. “Somehow, in ways I cannot begin to get my mind around, you have kept my father alive and kept him a secret for thirty years. If it takes another month, or another year, that’s the way it’s going to have to be.”
Durning nearly jumped from his chair. “But—!”
“Until that day comes, if anything happens to him, I will destroy the both of you and this hospital,” he said darkly. “My father put this place up, and I will not hesitate to bring it down.”
* * *
John shot from Durning’s office with an agitated head of steam and no place to go. He left the building, headed for his car, but just kept walking.
He found himself at the edge of the hospital’s land, standing against a meager cornfield that still portrayed Holt City’s rural roots. He paced and ran scenarios and wished he had learned to smoke, because all the scenes he saw in movies in which the hero’s brain boiled at some desperate challenge always seemed to require a cigarette.
He wondered if it was too late to start smoking. And then he wondered if this was really what he should be wondering about.
He finally turned and was not surprised to find Walt Bolger, waiting respectfully to continue the conversation.
John did not look away; Walt took this as an invitation to come closer.
“A lot of what I said in there was to throw a scare into that asshole,” John said tersely, nodding toward the hospital before looking the old man square in the eye. “But not all of it.”
“I know,” Walt said.
“I will do whatever I have to do.”
“You’re going to do this your way, John. I knew that when I decided to bring you into this,” Walt said.
“But I want you to remember one thing,” the old man continued. “This town needs this hospital. It helps a lot of people. It’s never been the success your father and I hoped it would be. It’s always struggled.”
The old man swept his arm toward the building.
“One by one, we’ve been shutting down whole patient wings as folks have left town or decided to go to Madison or Milwaukee for what they think is better care. But our neighbors, this is where they want to be.
“If all this with Larry gets out, between the lawsuits and the bad publicity, it couldn’t survive.”
John heard the regret in his voice.
“Your anger is with me, where it should be,” Walt said. “But God’s in the process of taking me beyond your reach. Don’t punish others who had nothing to do with this.”
A breeze blew across the cornfield. An ambulance gave a short, urgent blast of its siren as it rolled up to the hospital’s emergency room.
“You can’t keep this going on your own,” the old man implored plainly.
“I’m not talking about another thirty years,” John pleaded. “I’m talking about the time I need to make this okay. For my family.”
Walt smiled wistfully at John’s determination. “Son,” he said firmly, “you have no idea the commitment your father requires.”
“I’ll learn. And if I get it wrong, if it’s more than I can handle … At least I’ll have tried.”
Walt studied him sadly. “This is why I was afraid to tell you.”
“Well, you did. And now we’re here.”
Walt saw John’s resolve back in Durning’s office, but he was getting in way over his head. John had to see that.
“Meet me back here at three o’clock tomorrow morning,” Walt finally said, encouraged to see the surprised look on John’s face. “Park behind the Taco Bell. Stay away from the streetlights.”