Chapter 23

23

Steve Farber wondered sarcastically if perhaps there was something in the water. Or maybe it was the phase of the moon. Two men had come to him for counseling today, and the crux of both visits was either infatuation or love for the same widowed doctor in his congregation. They certainly didn’t talk about this in seminary.

“Do you think you’ve always had feelings for Sarah?” he asked Kyle Andrews.

“I’ve tried to sort it out, and I’m not sure,” Kyle said. “If I did while Harry was alive, I must have buried them pretty deeply. After all, they were happily married.”

“So what you’re experiencing now came on after Harry Gordon’s death.”

“It’s been gradual, I think. When someone tried to set her house on fire, I’m the one she called. When that same person took a shot at her, she phoned me—although, come to think of it, she also called Detective Larson.”

“And did that make you jealous?” Farber asked.

“I . . . well . . . maybe a little, I guess.”

“Why were you jealous? A crime had been committed. Larson’s job is to investigate.”

Kyle didn’t have an answer for that. He shook his head.

“Do you think competing with Larson affected your feelings toward Sarah Gordon?” Farber asked.

Kyle frowned and was quiet. The pastor didn’t break the silence. Let him think. He’s intelligent. He’ll see it in a moment.

Kyle sighed. “I guess it intensified the attraction I felt. And I haven’t mentioned this to you yet, but I think she’s seeing someone else now.”

“And if she starts dating anyone at this point, it should be you. I mean, after all you’ve done, it’s only fair. Is that what you think?”

After a prolonged silence, Kyle melted like a schoolboy who’s just had his theories smashed by a patient but authoritative teacher. “I see what you’re saying,” he said.

“And what do you plan to do with your newfound insight?” Farber asked.

“I really don’t know.”

“Let’s talk about it some more,” the pastor asked. “And then maybe we should pray about it.”

* * *

“So I’m suspended?” Sarah worked to keep her voice down, but it was all she could do to maintain a halfway civil tone. “Care to tell me why?”

“Doctor, I wanted to avoid an outburst like this, which is why I asked you to come to my office. Unfortunately, you had to hear the news over the phone, and I’m sorry about that.” The hospital administrator pointed to the chairs across from his desk. “But now that you’re here, please sit down and give me a chance to explain. When I’m through, I believe you’ll understand.”

Sarah dropped her backpack on the floor beside her, grabbed both wooden arms of one of the chairs opposite Archer, and slowly lowered herself into a sitting position. Her actions throughout were deliberate, but when she looked down she saw that her knuckles were white as her hands gripped the chair. What she really wanted to do, she thought, was vault over the desk, grab the lapels of the administrator’s gray pinstripe suit jacket, and shake him.

Archer leaned back in his executive swivel chair, tented his fingertips, and said, “First, let me say that I and all of us here in administration understand the stress you’re under, not just with the deaths of your husband and daughter, but the events that have taken place in the past week or more.”

Sarah bit down so hard she felt her jaw pop. Obviously, the hospital’s gossip network was working well, even though she’d tried to keep the knowledge of what she was going through confined to a few people. And what does it matter if he knows? Don’t look for another fight to pick. You have enough to worry about, Sarah.

“I’ve heard from the ER personnel about the way you handled the man who pulled a gun down there on Sunday. It was very brave of you to face him, then to distract him until the security guard and a policeman could subdue him. You’re to be congratulated.”

“Thanks, I guess. But I didn’t ask for a medal. Matter of fact, I had thoughts for just a moment of pulling a gun and trying to shoot the man instead of reasoning with him.”

“I realize that,” Archer said. “You had a revolver in your backpack, and for a brief moment you had it in your hand. Unfortunately, that was the cause of the problem we now have.”

Sarah shook her head as though trying to drive away a bothersome fly. “What? I don’t know what you mean.”

“As you may know, we have signs at every hospital entrance saying that it’s against the law to bring guns onto the property. This, of course, doesn’t apply to sworn law officers and our security people, but—”

“But the man with the gun broke the law. I realize that. I imagine he’ll pay a fine or get some jail time.”

“He will, but you also broke the law. And, unfortunately, an older couple was in the ER awaiting treatment of the husband. They saw you with your pistol and reported it to the police and to this office. The police were willing to ignore your possession of the gun, given the outcome of the incident. I met with the people who made the complaint and finally convinced them to drop the matter, providing I counseled you and suspended you for two days.”

“That’s—”

“I discussed this with Dr. Crenshaw, your supervisor in the ER, and he’s arranged for someone else to cover your shifts. You’ll be off for two days, but they’ll be treated as additional vacation, so you’ll still be paid. I look forward to seeing you back here . . . ” He looked at the calendar on his desk. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Please check in with this office before you go on duty.”

Sarah wasn’t sure how to react, but as they both rose and Archer extended his hand to her, his parting words effectively silenced any further arguments she might have. “Oh, and although I didn’t mention this to the couple who complained, I suggest you continue with the application process for your carry permit. But don’t bring the pistol to work, even when it’s legal for you to have it with you.”

* * *

Sarah was in her car, almost home, when her cell phone rang. Had something come up in the ER that made them put out an “all hands on deck” call? Did Chuck Crenshaw want to talk with her about her suspension? Could he be calling to tell her not to bother coming back? Stop imagining things, Sarah, and answer the call.

“Dr. Gordon.”

“Sarah, this is Brad Selleck. I couldn’t remember what time your tour of duty started. Can you talk?”

“Sure.” Actually, I have lots of time. “Is something wrong with Prince?”

“Not at all. As I told you earlier today, he’s healing quite well.”

“When will you want to take out the stitches?” Sarah asked.

“You didn’t notice because of the dressing covering the wound, but I used subcuticular sutures to close the incision I made when I explored the wound. There’s nothing on the surface for him to scratch and no sutures to remove. I was calling to see if you’d like to bring him home tomorrow.”

“As it happens, I’m off tomorrow. Why don’t I come over sometime around mid-morning? We can visit a bit, and then I’ll take Prince home.” Home to where he came from—home to Hunter Gordon—because I don’t know if I can take care of him anymore.

When Sarah ended the call, she thought back to her first encounter with Brad Selleck. Certainly she’d felt gratitude for the work he’d done to treat Prince, but there was more to it than that. Brad caused her to have feelings, feelings she hadn’t experienced since Harry’s death. She struggled to put her finger on exactly what was causing those feelings . . . and what they represented.

When she was with him, Sarah felt comfortable. That was the simplest way to put it. Sure, there was some physical attraction as well. She couldn’t deny it. But the way she felt around Brad was the key. Could it be . . . ? No. She wasn’t ready to name this feeling, to call it by the “L” word. But she definitely was ready to explore it further.

Maybe her survivor guilt was lessening. Perhaps the dark night that had engulfed Sarah since her husband and daughter were killed was lifting. Or maybe this was the message she’d been seeking, one that said, “It’s okay to live again. Harry would want you to. And, by the way, do you see the person I’ve prepared to step into your life?”

* * *

Kyle Andrews leaned back in his chair and resisted the temptation to ease his belt out a notch. Dinner with Steve Farber had been relaxing, as well as delicious. Now, as he sat at the pastor’s dining room table with a cup of coffee and the crumbs from a piece of homemade pie in front of him, Kyle wondered if they were going to take up their conversation where they’d left it.

“Thinking about what we were talking about earlier?” Farber asked.

“You certainly know how to make a person examine his motives,” Kyle said. “Surely they don’t teach counseling like this in seminary.”

“They teach some, but not like this,” the pastor said. “I have to confess that I’ve learned more about counseling by observing and talking with my congregation than I did from books and lectures in the seminary. It’s strange. Once you look at it closely, the human condition never really changes much. For instance, your feelings toward Sarah Gordon aren’t much different than those described in the book of Second Samuel. Like King David, you saw a beautiful woman who appeared to be in love with someone else, so your own feelings toward her increased.”

“You’re talking about the story of David and Bathsheba,” Kyle said. “Well, I hope I don’t let my yearnings make me go as far as he did.”

Farber emptied his coffee cup before he spoke. Then he very deliberately put it down on the saucer, pushed away the dishes, and said, “I hope so, too.”

* * *

It was dark, although not late enough for Dr. Gordon to be home. Nevertheless, his route took him by the house and, as was his habit, he slowed so he could look at it. A light shone through the front window as usual. She undoubtedly had the lamp on a timer, something homeowners often did to give the appearance someone was home.

There was no car at the curb, nor was one visible in the driveway. When Dr. Gordon came home, she used the garage now. That, among other things, was a change he’d noticed since he began what he liked to think of as his campaign of terror.

He was about to speed up when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Had someone or something moved past the living room window? He thought he knew her schedule, and right now Sarah Gordon should be on duty in the hospital emergency room. Was she ill? Had there been some change?

At first, he thought about driving on by. Before, he’d always thought out his moves well in advance. He didn’t like the idea of doing something spontaneously. That was one of the things that could easily compromise an otherwise well-thought-out plan. On the other hand, perhaps fate was handing him an opportunity he should seize. His hand patted the Beretta in his waistband. Maybe this would be the day.

No harm in checking. He parked a block farther down the street, made certain the pistol was securely under his belt and his shirt tail covered it, then walked casually back toward Gordon’s house like a man out for an after-dinner stroll. When he was almost past her home, he quickly looked around, then darted down beside the house and flattened himself against it. He was near one of the windows in the living room, and he could hear her voice coming clearly from inside.

She was on the phone with someone named Connie.

“Yes, Connie. I’m going to be okay, but I appreciate your call. Are things going smoothly in the ER?”

She was silent as she listened, then she said, “Well, I’ll only be off tonight and tomorrow night. I’ll see you again on Thursday.”

She’ll be home again tomorrow night. That would give him time to fine-tune his plan. He crept away from the house before anyone could see him. “Enjoy tonight,” he muttered. “I wanted you to suffer like we all suffered. But now I think it’s time to end it. Tomorrow night, you die.”