26

Claustrophobia gripped Benita Wylde. Not the suffocating kind, where a person becomes terrified in an elevator, but the soft claustrophobia of staying in the house. She needed to get out and do something.

She’d been to the office only once since Will was shot, and that seemed like it had been years ago during the day, seconds ago during the night. Time confused her. Somehow it seemed absurd, marking time. Everything seemed absurd and empty without Will, but she forced herself to not lose those threads that bind a life. Bills will come in and must be paid. Keep on keeping on.

Margaret Westlake sat at the front desk area, which had a sliding-glass window. She looked up from a schedule book, where she had written the names of doctors filling in for Will until a permanent solution could be found.

Surprised to see his widow, she jumped out of her chair and gave Benita a big hug.

“I came by to see how you girls are doing; you’ve all been so good to come by the house every day.”

Hearing Benita’s voice, Sophie Denham came out of an examining room, and Kylie Kraft came up the hallway, folders in hand.

After exchanging kisses and some tears, Benita said to the three women, “I thought perhaps I could help with outstanding accounts. I know all of Will’s patients were devoted to him, but his passing might encourage a few to delay their payment. So I thought I’d go over those accounts if you have them separated out. If not, I can separate them out. I have a rough idea of the system.”

Margaret replied, “You and I are on the same wavelength. I’ve been working on it.”

Benita looked at Kylie and said, “Since there is more time, you might go over the codes. I know the insurance companies send updated discs, if I remember what Will said. Used to make him mad every time they’d jack up a procedural cost…well, anyway.” She paused because she didn’t want to cry again. “Things can get confusing. You might just check from the last updated disc forward to make sure nothing has been misbilled. Is that a real word?”

“Is now.” Sophie, glad she was a nurse, had no patience for the bookkeeping aspect of medicine.

Kylie replied, “I’m not the coder. I’m trying to learn it, though.”

“Ah, well, you do what you’re doing, then,” Benita replied. Margaret punched buttons on the computer, then handed Benita the two sheets that printed out.

“Mmm.” Benita was surprised at some of the names. “Carla Paulson.” She shook her head. “Two hundred one dollars and twenty-nine cents. Margaret, I think best not to bill second notice. I have some idea of what Jurgen is going through.”

“That marriage wasn’t quite what yours was, Benita.”

“I’d heard that.” Benita noted that Carla’s bill was a simple checkup as well as a mammogram. “Why is the mammogram on our bill?” She touched her forehead. “Forgot. That machine cost more than our house, but it’s about paid for itself, hasn’t it?”

“People don’t want to go to the hospital or even hospital adjuncts. Here they’re with their personal physician, trusting him and Sophie. It’s faster, more pleasant. He can read the mammogram right in front of them. If something needs to be done, it can be scheduled right then and there. You know Dr. Wylde never dallied if he thought there was any possibility of—how did he always put it—‘ugly cells.’” Margaret felt a knot in her voice. “He knew just how to put things so a woman felt confident no matter what.”

“He was a sensitive man.” Benita put her hand over Margaret’s. “We’ll get through this. And I will make a decision about this office within a month. You all don’t have to worry about anything.”

“I know.” Margaret cast her eyes down, then up, and looked out the glass partition. “If we stay here, if another doctor buys the practice, we’ll work with him, but it will never be the same. Dr. Wylde kept us laughing the whole day. He was the only doctor I know who could tell a woman she had breast cancer or cervical cancer and make her laugh. Very few women left here in tears, and you know how adamant he was about counseling if a woman was going to get a termination.”

“Yes, I do.”

Will did not discuss his patients’ illnesses with his wife, as he was scrupulous about all things pertaining to confidentiality, but they talked about everything else.

Laughter had drawn her to Will in the first place. Both of them came from working-class families, very good families; both were working their way through college with the help of scholarships. Will wasn’t the handsomest man, but he was the funniest, kindest man she had ever met. Benita, being beautiful, had college boys running out of every frat house on campus when she’d walk by. But Will won her.

After they completed undergraduate school, she worked to put him through med school. He never once cheated on her, even if he was inclined, because he remembered the sacrifices, her staying up with him when he needed coffee or extra help to study. This struggle brought them so close to each other. It also made Harvey Tillach’s accusation all the more unpalatable. They accepted each other’s foibles—her blind passion for golf, his irritating habit of thinking he could fix either of the cars if something went wrong. Mostly, they laughed. When the children came, all four of them would be laughing.

She tried to remember the laughter.

“Do you want me to send out a second notice?” Margaret returned to the list.

“Yes. These two patients are way past a second notice.”

“Money troubles.” Margaret had seen and heard it all.

“Perhaps they could pay over time.” Benita’s eyebrows lifted a little.

“Worth a try. This one”—she pointed to Star Gurdrun—“is seventeen, and her parents—who agreed, mind you—are punishing us.”

“Well, give it a try. You know, with a name like Star, that kid doesn’t have a chance.”

“I know.” Margaret grinned.

Kylie came back in. “What is this? Found it on an examining table.”

Margaret slipped on her glasses, which hung from a chain around her neck. “Banamine.”

A voice called from the back. “Mine. Left it on the table when I heard Benita’s voice.”

“Since when are you taking Banamine, Sophie?”

“Since I grew four legs and ate hay.” She appeared and snatched the bottle from Kylie, but with humor. “Duke is a little ouchy. He’s getting on, you know.”

“I know the feeling.” Benita smiled. “I haven’t seen Duke in forever.”

Sophie reached into her smock pocket, withdrawing a photo of a sleek chestnut Thoroughbred. “My baby. You know, Dr. Haristeen said he is the youngest sixteen-year-old he has ever examined.”

Benita eyed the large bottle. “I might try some of that myself.”

She stayed another hour at the office, going over items with Margaret, who, as her job demanded, was on top of every little detail.

Before leaving, Benita asked, “Margaret, do you and the girls know who has had procedures and who has not?”

Margaret answered, “We do. We don’t tell tales out of school. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know.”

“Fear?”

Margaret shook her head vigorously. “No. The nuts will go after the doctors, not us, until we get organized enough to go after them.” Anger filled her voice, but then she quelled it. “When I see someone come in for their third termination, it makes my blood boil. Termination is not birth control. It’s a last resort. There are women out there who are so flagrantly irresponsible I want to slap their faces. Like to slap their boyfriends and husbands, too.”

“It’s an imperfect world, Margaret, filled with imperfect people. I’m one of them, although my imperfections aren’t centered around sexual irresponsibility.”

Margaret changed the subject. “Isn’t it just awful about Tazio?”

“Rather incomprehensible. She’s such a nice girl.”

“Nice girls can do terrible things.”