Mindbend

“Are you all right?” asked Marlene, suddenly appearing in front of Jennifer.

“I think so,” said Jennifer. Her voice was flat, like Dr.

Stephenson’s. “What’s wrong with Cheryl?”

“I don’t think anybody knows yet,” said Marlene.

“She’ll be all right,” said Jennifer, more as a statement than a question.

“Dr. Stephenson is one of the very best,” said Marlene.

“Why don’t you come to the lounge across from the nurses’

station. I don’t want you sitting by yourself.”

“My bag is in Cheryl’s room,” said Jennifer.

“You wait here. I’ll get it,” said Marlene.

After retrieving it, Marlene took Jennifer to the lounge and offered her something to drink, but Jennifer assured her that she was fine.

“Do you know what they’re going to do?” asked Jennifer, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.

“That’s up to the doctors,” said Marlene. “They’ll certainly take out the fetus. Other than that, I don’t know.”

“Is the baby causing this bleeding?”

“Most likely. Both the bleeding and the shock. That’s why they have to get it out.”

Making Jennifer promise to call if she needed anything, Marlene went back to work. Every few minutes, though, she would wave to Jennifer and Jennifer would wave back.

Jennifer had never liked hospitals, and this present experience confirmed her long-standing aversion. She checked her watch. It was three-twenty.

Almost an hour passed before Dr. Stephenson reappeared.

His hair was matted across his forehead, his face drawn.

Jennifer’s heart skipped a beat.

“We did the best we could,” he said, sitting opposite her.

“Is she . . .” began Jennifer, feeling as if she were watching a soap opera.

Dr. Stephenson nodded. “She’s dead. We couldn’t save her.

She had DIC, or diffuse intravascular coagulation. It’s a condition that we don’t really understand too well, but it is occasionally associated with abortions. We’ve only had one other case here at the Julian, and fortunately the patient did well. With Cheryl, however, the situation was complicated by uncontrollable hemorrhaging. Even if we had been able to resuscitate her, I’m afraid she would have lost her kidney function.”

Jennifer nodded, but she didn’t understand in the slightest. It was all too unbelievable.

“Do you know the family?” asked Dr. Stephenson.

“No,” said Jennifer.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “Cheryl was not willing to give their address or phone number. It’s going to make it difficult to track them down.”

Marlene and Gale appeared in front of Jennifer. Both had been crying. Jennifer was astounded. She’d never heard of nurses crying.

“We’re all very upset about this,” said Dr. Stephenson.

“That’s the trouble with practicing medicine. You do your best, but sometimes it is just not enough. Losing a young, vibrant girl like Cheryl is a tragedy. Here at the Julian Clinic we take this kind of failure very personally.”

Fifteen minutes later Jennifer left the clinic by the same door she’d entered with Cheryl only hours before. She could not quite grasp the fact that her friend was dead. She turned and looked up at the mirrored façade of the Julian Clinic.

Depite what had happened, she still had a good feeling about the hospital. It was a place where people counted.

• • •

Following McGuire off the elevator on the nineteenth floor after lunch, Adam paused. He was again both impressed and appalled by the costly furnishings. The appointments were so lavish they made McGuire’s floor seem utilitarian by comparison.

Quickening his step, Adam caught up with McGuire just as he was entering the most spectacular office Adam had ever seen. One entire wall was glass, and beyond it the Jersey countryside unrolled in winter majesty.

“You like the view?” asked a voice. Adam turned. “I’m Bill Shelly,” the man said, walking around his desk. “Glad you could come out and see us.”

“My pleasure,” said Adam, surprised at Mr. Shelly’s youthfulness. Adam had expected someone at least fifty years of age as a senior executive. Mr. Shelly did not appear to be more than thirty. He was Adam’s height with closely cut blond hair combed with a razor-sharp part. His eyes were a startlingly bright blue. He was dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, pink tie, and tan slacks.

Mr. Shelly gestured out the window. “Those buildings in the distance are Newark. Even Newark looks good from a distance.” Behind Adam, McGuire chuckled.

Looking out the window, Adam realized he could also see the lower part of Manhattan. There were lots of clouds, and shafts of sunlight slanted down, illuminating some of the New York skyscrapers while leaving others in blue shadow.

“How about some refreshment,” said Mr. Shelly, moving over to a coffee table that supported a silver service. “We’ve got coffee, tea, and just about anything else.”

The three men sat down. McGuire and Adam asked for coffee.

Bill Shelly poured himself a cup of tea.

“McGuire has told me a little about you,” said Shelly, sizing up Adam as he talked.