Part 17 (1/2)
”Do you want to call him?” Tara bluffed, hoping he wouldn't take her up on it. She had no idea how Bill would react if he knew she was there.
”I want a written release, Ms. Limey, or a written request from another doctor for a transfer of medical records. I'll accept either one. Let's put it this way*when you're discussing crazy people it doesn't hurt to be very, very careful.”
”Okay. Okay.” The woman in plaid was bearing down now. Tara was out of time.
”Look,” came the rumble of a voice. Tara's head snapped up. He was giving in*sort of.
”I have no doubt you're who you say you are, but I don't want to be on the wrong end of Bill Hamilton. I don't want to know about him or why he needs a lawyer. When he terminated me, I washed my hands of him gladly.”
Tara was mute, afraid to scare him off by asking another question. Stanford looked over his shoulder, made a motion, and the woman in plaid held back. She sank to her knees in front of a statue painted blue and white. Tara had him for a moment longer.
”I'll tell you this. p.u.b.erty often creates a crisis for certain types of patients. Where medication may have worked before, it may not after that particular change in life. You think you're making progress, then boom, you're back to square one or even lower. Stuff happens. I guess sometimes I think more of my skills than I should. The one saving grace is that certain people”*he put the emphasis on the right word and Tara listened up-”certain people are truly distressed when their actions cause injury. I would worry if that ever stopped. Hopefully, if we were to talk about a mutual acquaintance, someone is monitoring that emotional meter. The fact that honest anguish follows or precedes violence is important here. Certain people need medication and I hope someone makes sure that they get it.”
Dr. Carrol started to sidestep out of the pew.
While Mrs. Rey knelt in front of the statue with her hands folded, her eyes were on her doctor.
Tara followed him.
”Could you order medication for me if I needed it?” He stopped and spoke quietly, remorsefully.
”Lovely thought, but no. I can't do anything without that person's consent, and that will never happen. It seems in this case, an infomercial has more credibility than I.”
”Is there anything I can do?” Tara asked. Stanford Carrol looked heavenward, then back at her.
”Pray?” Tara's disappointment was so evident that he clucked an expression of commiseration.
”Sorry. Best I can do is suggest you get him to see someone. If he trusts you, and I'm a.s.suming he does, then he'll follow your advice.”
”I have no idea whether or not he trusts me, Doctor.” Tara looked at the floor, wis.h.i.+ng she had found answers here instead of another door closed in her face.
”He may hate me. He may admire me. I'm not sure who he is, or what he is. Sometimes I think he's jerking my chain, sometimes I think he's as scared as I am. I've never had a client like him. I wish there was something I could do.”
”Just take care of business best you can,” Stan said.
”That's about it. In all the years I saw him, I'm not sure I accomplished anything. It can be disconcerting.”
”It can be downright scary.”
”It can be dangerous,” he said seriously, then added, ”though I wouldn't really know about that.”
Tara could almost see the small print of that statement: This doctor has made a statement that can be construed neither as the truth nor as a judgment on his former patient Bill Hamilton.
”One last question,” Tara said, her eyes darting to the impatient Mrs.
Rey.
”If you had a hypothetical patient whose violent tendencies were controlled with Prozac and lithium, and that hypothetical patient quit taking these medications after an extended period of time, how long would it take for the patient to revert and the violence to take hold again?”
”Difficult to say. Everyone is different.”
”Three months?”
”Three months would be reasonable.”
”Would reasonable apply here, Dr. Carrol?”
”I doubt it, Ms. Limey.”
They parted. He went off to deal with the mystical Mrs. Rey; she left to find the only earthly person who could work a miracle: Woodrow Weber.
Ten.
”h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo!” Out of breath, Tara fell on the phone. The receiver slipped, she juggled it, and it dropped to the floor with a thud. It was back in her hands in a flash.
”Sorry. h.e.l.lo? Who is this?”
”Tara, you okay?”
”Woodrow! Woodrow, this is great.” Relief actually did come in waves and she was drowning in them. Tara tossed her purse on the nearest chair, checked the yard, saw that no one was about, flopped onto the window seat, and put her feet up.
She felt exhausted from her drive when she walked through the door, but Woodrow's voice had rejuvenated her.
”I've been so worried. You haven't returned any of my calls. I expected to hear from you yesterday at the latest I was about to come find you.”
”This isn't the only thing I have to do, you know.” Woodrow was testy. Tara took two deep breaths, calmed her beating heart, and gave herself a mental whack on the head.
”I'm sorry. I really am. I just a.s.sumed you wouldn't have any trouble getting George to show you the file. I never wanted to put you out. I know how busy you are.”
Come on, come on. You have no idea what kind of person this is. Help me, Woodrow.
”Hey, I didn't mean to snap either. I'm sorry.
One thing led to another, Tara, and I had to do some checking on things. I had to think.” Woo- drow sounded dred.
”Did you see the paper this morning?”
”Yes. This whole thing with Strober is getting out of hand.” Tara closed her eyes and let her head rest against the wall. Home felt good. Gossiping with Woodrow felt good. Her life was almost normal for a moment and she gave in to the pleasure.
”That's so, but I checked the file. It was arbitrated to the people's satisfaction. I didn't see a d.a.m.n thing about that in the write-up. Or anything about the fines they paid. Or the fact that permits were pulled until everything was fixed. Oh,” he went on, sounding as close to outright anger as she'd ever heard him, ”I loved the quote from Chris.”
”I don't remember,” Tara said, having done nothing more that morning than skimmed the headlines.
”The governor is appalled that I would even consider running for his prestigious seat when I can't be trusted with the public safety. It's bad, Tara. Charlotte knows it. I know it The voters take this kind of thing and latch on to it.” Tara remained silent, waiting for him to play out so she could get to business.
”I've had to do some major disaster control over here, so I just can't sit up and take notice when you demand things and ask favors.