Part 7 (2/2)
”Look, I just need some time to myself. I haven't been feeling well,” Lindsay said, staring at the table. ”Maybe I'm coming down with what you and Geneva had.”
”Since you're not projectile vomiting out of your ears, I highly doubt it. I just ate my first solid food since Sunday. It was a cracker, and I'm not 100% sure it's agreeing with me. I pulled myself off my deathbed to come over here and talk to you.”
Lindsay raised her eyes to look at his face. His usually tan complexion was a sallow yellow, and his jet black hair hung limply across his forehead. The almond-shaped eyes that usually twinkled with mischief looked dull and l.u.s.terless behind his metal-framed gla.s.ses.
”You do look like death warmed over,” Lindsay agreed. ”Actually, not even warmed. More like microwaved on low for about 30 seconds.”
”Well, by the look and smell of you, I'm not sure you're really in a position to judge. Have you changed your clothes today?”
”Me being a slob isn't exactly breaking news,” Lindsay snapped. ”Did you come over here to play fas.h.i.+on police?”
”No. I came over here to try to stop you from pressing the self-destruct b.u.t.ton again.”
”What do you mean?” Lindsay asked, avoiding his gaze.
”Look at you. Hiding in your dad's house like a refugee. Not returning my phone calls. I heard you've been getting people to cover your s.h.i.+fts this week so you don't have to come in. You used to do this kind of thing all the time, remember? After you didn't get into Yale for divinity school, after Tim broke off your engagement. I thought CPE helped you, and the crisis therapy you had after the thing with Swoopes. You've been doing so well for so long.”
None of Rob's usual impishness was present in his tone. Instead, his words held concern and pity. In addition to being her friend and boss, Rob was also the chaplaincy program's Clinical Pastoral Education supervisor. Through CPE, Lindsay, like all professional chaplains, had been trained to draw insights from her interpersonal experiences and patient interactions to improve her ability to deliver care. And like most chaplains, she'd found the process of exhaustive introspection distinctly uncomfortable. Still, she had to admit that it had helped her to overcome her natural tendency to flee whenever she faced a setback. Prior to becoming a chaplain, any kind of uncertainty, unwelcome responsibility, or potential failure had caused her to run away, sometimes in dramatic fas.h.i.+on. After her former fiance, Tim Farnsworth, had dumped her, for example, she'd quit her degree program and her job, broken her lease, run up a mountain of credit card debt and left the state where they'd been living. She realized now that she'd invented a new kind of escape-escaping within herself.
”What do you want me to do?” she asked peevishly, still not willing to engage in any kind of psychoa.n.a.lysis. ”Just pretend everything's fine?”
”I know everything isn't fine. John and Anna told me about the creepy guy coming to your house. Anyone would be freaked out by that.”
”What if he comes back for me? He's still out there,” Lindsay said, her voice sounding strained. She knew she didn't need to tell Rob she meant Leander Swoopes.
”Have you ever thought about the alternative?” Rob asked.
”What do you mean?”
”Well, you shot him, right? Five bullets from almost point-blank range. But you missed, and he survived the shooting. What if he hadn't? What if you'd blown his face open with bullets? Shredded his body to b.l.o.o.d.y ribbons?”
”Stop it,” Lindsay demanded, shutting her eyes tightly. ”What's wrong with you?”
”No, listen to me,” Rob said, scooting his chair closer to hers. ”What if you'd killed him? It was self-defense, right? n.o.body would've blamed you. But would you feel relieved that he was dead?”
”Yes.” She shook her head. ”Maybe. Look, I don't know.”
”Linds, I do know. I know you. If you'd ended his life, sc.u.mbag though he was, it would've wrecked you. You feel guilty for things that have nothing to do with you. You obsess about things that aren't your fault at all. Did you ever wonder if maybe G.o.d made all those bullets miss their mark for a reason? I know it's hard to live with uncertainty, knowing maybe Swoopes is out there somewhere. I've heard you tell patients all the time that uncertainty can be even harder than knowing a bad outcome. But did you ever stop to think how Swoopes was injured just bad enough so that you and Simmy and your mom could get away? How strange is that? I know this fear you feel is terrible, but maybe G.o.d spared you from something worse. The guilt of taking someone's life could've swallowed you.”
There was a long silence, broken by the sound of Kipper slurping noisily from his water bowl.
At last, Lindsay said, ”When did you get so smart?”
”I've always been this smart,” Rob said. ”You've just been distracted all this time by how s.e.xy I am.”
”That may be the grossest thing you've ever said.”
”Speaking of things that are gross,” Rob said, ”I heard about the thing with your dad and Warren's mom.”
”Who told you about that?” For a moment, Lindsay wondered if perhaps everyone in Mount Moriah had known about the relations.h.i.+p except for her.
”Warren. He called me,” Rob replied.
”You and Warren talked on the phone?” Lindsay's mouth hung open in astonishment. She couldn't remember the two men pa.s.sing a civil word between them, much less having a casual phone call.
”He was worried about you. That's what it's come to. Deputy Dogooder has climbed down off his high horse to talk to me.” Rob smiled at her. ”Please, Linds. I know you're scared, but the Lindsay we know can take on the world. She beats up the bad guys. She gets into car chases, and outsmarts criminals, and kicks them in the gonads. And there's no way that the Old Lindsay would have just forgotten about the whole weird thing with Otis Boughtflower confessing to killing someone.”
Lindsay had been slumped over the table, but at the mention of Boughtflower's name, she perked up. ”He didn't say he killed anyone. Just that he hid a body.” She paused. ”Wait. How do you know that?”
”You put it into your case notes, which I sign off on every week.”
”Oh.” She paused. ”Wait. I thought you've been off work. Didn't you say you came here directly from your deathbed?”
”I've been in a few times to check on things. The work needs to get done because it's important. The work you do is important. You are important.” Rob reached out and took hold of Lindsay's hand. ”Please come back to us, Linds. Your friends need you. Your patients need you. And also, when you're depressed like this, it doesn't feel right to make fun of how weird your hair looks right now.”
”What are you doing here, girl? I thought you were coming down with that stomach thing.” Geneva Williams put her hands on her tiny hips. As usual, she was going through her rounds with her huge, white faux leather handbag slung over her shoulder. With her tight halo of grey curls, round gla.s.ses, and long pleated skirt, she looked very much like the mother of seven and grandmother of fifteen that she, in fact, was. She stood in the middle of the Geriatric Unit hallway, facing Lindsay, who had been scouring the hospital trying to find her.
”It was a false alarm,” Lindsay said, with a sheepishness she hoped Geneva wouldn't detect. ”Thanks for covering my s.h.i.+ft. Since I'm feeling better, I thought I'd come in and see if you wanted to finish up early and go home.”
Rob had sat at the kitchen table with Lindsay for more than an hour, letting her vent about the situation with her father and her upcoming move back into her own house with Simmy. She avoided the subjects of her engagement and the possibility of Leander Swoopes's return entirely. She thought Rob would press her to talk about these more troubling issues, but he allowed her to control the flow of the conversation. Even though she recognized this rapport-building tactic from the chaplaincy playbook, she didn't mind. She was grateful that, for once, Rob had decided to act more like her mentor and less like her annoying little brother. In the end, the conversation had convinced her that she needed to at least try to reengage with the world outside her childhood bedroom.
”Well, I'm not going to say no to that offer,” Geneva replied. ”My stomach still isn't right, truth be told, although you won't hear me moaning up and down the halls like Rob.”
They walked over to the nurses' station together, where Angel stood talking on the phone. ”What are you doing up here, anyway? I thought I was signed up to be covering mainly emergencies and the ICUs today?” Lindsay said.
”Angel paged me. She said one of her ornerier patients requested 'the tiny, curly-headed little chaplain'.” She gestured to Otis Boughtflower's room. ”She thought he meant me.”
Angel, who'd been listening in on their conversation, hung up the phone and said, ”I thought wrong. I didn't realize he was sweet on you, especially after he kicked you out of his room that first time.” She laughed. ”He's been asking about you ever since they brought him back up here from the ICU yesterday.”
”So I guess he's doing better, since they discharged him back to the ward?” Lindsay said.
”Well, no,” Angel said. ”He filled out a DNR so that if he stops breathing again, they won't try to intubate him. Next time he goes down, that's it. There was really no point in keeping him in the ICU if he doesn't want anything done.”
”I'm surprised they didn't try to send him home,” Geneva said.
Angel sighed. ”As long as he wants to stay, and his insurance keeps paying, they'll keep him. But I really think we're looking at a matter of days, if not hours.”
Geneva clicked her tongue. ”Well, I hope he's made his peace with his Maker. You know who he is, right?”
”Otis Boughtflower, the king of socks,” Lindsay replied.
Geneva flattened her lips into a thin line.
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