Scott Turow - The Burden of Proof

Maybe I should have involved you, too. But I was trying to keep her faith."

"Nate," said Stern softly, "I was overwrought during our last conversation. There will be no lawsuit concerning your care of Clara."

"No?" Nate took a moment to adjust to the thought. "That's a hell of a relief."

The two men looked at each other. Nate, chilled by the house's air conditioning, rubbed his arms.

"She spoke to you of this impulse, I take it?" asked Stern.

"Ending her life?"

"She did," said Nate. "She had a way of talking about it."

Nate posed, studying the air so he could recall. "She said she wanted to put out the noise. Something like that. You know, she didn't always go on that way, but over seven years, when things got bad, I'd hear it once in a while.

And I canit pretend I didn't take her seriously."

Nothing, For an instant: no sound; no time, "Seven years," the man had said. Looking down, Stern realized he'd taken a chair;

"Seven years, Nate?"

"God-I'd assumed-" Natestopped. "Well, how would you know?" he asked himself. "Sandy, this wasn't a new condition. It was a recurrence."

"A recurrence?."

"You understand: she wasn't newly infected. This disease in some people returns. A6out two-thirds of all cases.

Usually, it goes on for a couple of years. It gets better and better and finally peters out. But sometimes, pretty rarely, you can have bad episodes a number of years apart.

That's what happened to Clara. I treated her originally about seven years ago. I really thought that what happened now was going to happen then. The only thing that kept her from giving up was the fact that you weren't around.?"

"I was not?" asked Stern. "Where could I have been?"

"Kansas City,. as I recall," said Nate. "Some trial?"

"Ayayay." Oh, it was terrible. It was the most shameful moment of his life, but he sat there, in his wicker chair, with his eyes closed, thanking God. Seven years ago. That at least neared the periphery of comprehension. Then, eventually, he was taken by a new thought: "My Lord, Nate, after all that time, what was there to hide?"

"Sandy, I think in her eyes it was worse. Beeduse she had said nothing for so long. In some ways, she seemed to feel it was kind of an added deception. And being further from it, she was less accepting of her own behavior. Whatever she'd been thinking back then, she couldn't understand it now. It was this old, awful mistake that she couldn't get away from. And I didn't even know what to tell her anymore, ' ' "You mean medically, Nate? There were no answers?"

"You have to understand the whole history." Nate looked into his glass.

"She'd been treated for years with acyclovir. It saved her life originally. I mean it. I got things under control, just like that. She took it preventively for six months. But the drug's toxic enough that they warn against taking it longer. Eventually, she had recm'mnces. Two tiny ones, about two, three years apart. But with the drug-" Nate snapped his fingers. "We'd put her back on, and then five days from onset, good as new. I mean, it was always a trouble and a worry as far as she was concerned. The faintest sign, and she was in my office. I must have cultured her three times a year. But, you know, it was under control. All in all. I thought it was." Nate, who had raised both hands, made a face and let them fall.

"About six weeks before she died, it flared up again. She took her pills and they didn't help. She had a full, florid course. We see that all the time with other viruses or bacteria-some kind of auto-mutation, so you end up with a resistant strain. She had a bad couple of weeks.

And then it came back again. I consulted everybody I knew, but it was so damn unusual, and the virus is unpredictable to begin with. And by then she was talking pretty seriously about doing what she did. I could see her giving up. One time, just kind of like thinking out loud, I said something about talking to you, one of us, and I thought she'd jump right out the window. No way." He repeat:l that and, as many times before in this talk, shook his head.

"Anyway, I'd thought I'd talked herinto trying one more course of medication. Double dosage for five days. That was what was recommended to me. But I had that conference in Montreal. And, to make a long story short, I went. That's where I get really critical of myselL" Nate was bent again, almost doubled over, studying his soiled hands. Behind him, out the large windows, the sky was pinking over, and the sun, dying in ember radiance, was masked in thin clouds. "I knew she was in crisis. I talked to her about my going. I gave her the chance to tell. me not to, but Clara would never say something like that. You know, she promised me nothing would happen, I gave her all the pills she'd need while I was gone-she said she'd just hide them. And I," said Nate, "I had consulted with another doctor who was aware of the situation, and I hoped he could just kind of watch things for me. But it was my responsibility. If wanted to play confessor, then I had to know what I was doing/"

"Nate," said Stern, "I meant what I said to you in your office. There is blame enough to go around. You need not punish yourself. It was a professional judgment."

"No, it wasn't." Nate drained his glass and looked at Stern. "I took G/eta with me. On the sneak. We made our plans. I," said Nate with considerable weight, "was looking forward to that." Greta, Stern realized,. was Nate's nurse, the toothsome bland beauty from the videotape.

"Still sure you don't want to sue?

"Yes," said Stern. "Oh, hell," said Nate. "There I am in Montreal, lying with this girl, when the phone rings and it's Fiona, bawling her eyes out. I thought she was soused for a change, and then suddenly I realize she's talking about Clara. God, what went through my mind. I just figured, if it ever came out -how I left this patient in distress so I could go speak college French and screw my mistress…" Nate looked at Stern. "I didn't ever want to have to tell you'that."

"Now you have," said Stern. "I SUre have."

The two men hung in the silence.

"And what was the outcome with Fiona?" asked Stern. "Can't put that genie back in the bottle. We each went and got a lawyer. We're gonna sell the house. Both live there for the time being and not talk to one another. That whole mess.

"I am truly sorry, Nate."

"Ye, well, I'd say we died a natural death. I think I'm in love with this girl, Sandy. 'Course, I've wanted to be in love with all of them.

I'm like the leila in.the song.

Lookin' in all the wrong places. But I think it's true now.

So I'll try it again from the top. Can't do any worse."

"How did Fiona react?"

"Well, she's gonna beat me into the ground financially. She always told me she would, and Fiona'll keep her word, I'm sorry to say. She's got the evidence, all right. I appreciate the warning." He glanced up at Stern. "Pretty goddamn embarrassing," he said. "Lawyer said to me if I really wanted out so bad, I could have saved myself a lot of money by just writing a note."

Stern, in response, could manage only one of his Latin shrugs. He felt for Nate, though, at the thought of him watching that tape and witnessing all the harm he had done.

That truly was not in Nate's character, the inflicting of pain. Oddly, Stern felt a bond to him, joined by the embarrassments which they'd unwittingly shared. He knew Nate's shame, and Nate, of course, had known his for years.

"All in all, I'd say Fiona was actually kind of spunky. You want to know What she said? This'll tickle you. She said men still find her very attractive. She's certain that as soon as we're divorced there'll be all kinds of fellas in hot pursuit. She actually mentioned your name. After tellin' me how she'd been making up stories. Can you beat that?" Nate laughed, but something in Stern's look made him cut himself off. "You can do what you want, you know."