Рита Браун - Outfoxed

By the time Sorrel returned with her environmental trio, high spirits had been restored.

CHAPTER 23

The long corridor between both halves of the new wing of Central Virginia Hospital, lined with large square windows, let in the light. The old part of the hospital, built in the thirties out of brick, although renovated, was dark and depressing by contrast.

Having been in the operating room since seven that morning, Walter was glad to see natural light. He loved his work although at times the sheer intensity of operating drained him. He started med school thinking he would become a surgeon but discovered neurosurgery fascinated him. The hardwiring of the human body, an astonishing edifice, amazed him and not the least because nerves could regenerate. Without his being fully aware of it at the time, regeneration was a necessity in his own life.

Dr. Thesalonia Zacks, young and pretty, called Tandy by her friends, met Walter and they walked to the small cafeteria on that side of the hospital.

One black coffee and a turkey sandwich later, Walter was feeling better.

“Don’t know why, but all the research indicates people addicted to drugs, alcohol, even cigarettes”—Tandy emphasized “even”—“don’t feel pleasure to the level of most of us. The substance enhances pleasure for them, whether it’s nicotine or whiskey or even sugar. The old saw is it passes in families and it does but we still can’t explain why, say, child A of an addicted parent does not become an addict whereas child B does. The truth is we are on first base with research and that’s because for decades, for centuries, medicine viewed alcoholism or drug addiction as a personal failing.”

“No one puts a gun to anyone’s head and says, ‘You will smoke a cigarette today.’ There is an element of choice.”

“Yes, but there again—to what level—we don’t know. Walter, I have had patients tell me they had their first drink at age twelve and knew they had to have more. Often they didn’t even like the taste.”

“How did you become interested in this?”

“My mother. Alcoholic.”

“My father.”

Their eyes met, a sense of understanding between them. “Is he still alive?”

“No. He killed himself when I was fifteen. He’d lost everything in a bad business deal. He drank more and more until he disappeared down that bottle. Death may have been the easy part for Dad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What about your mother?” he asked.

“She’s still alive. My father left her. My two brothers refuse to have anything to do with her. She’s a binge drinker. She can stay dry for six months, eight months, and then she’ll buy six bottles of vodka, lock herself in the house, and drink until she’s wiped them out.” She held up her cup for more coffee. “Of course, this stuff is addictive, too. I read somewhere that Voltaire drank sixty cups of coffee a day.”

“If it would make me as intelligent as he was, I might try it.” Walter accepted a refill, too. “The Franklin girls are being released today. Right?”

“Right.”

“How do you think they’ll do?”

“They have as good a chance as any. The parents are supportive. The mother more so than the father. He’s not hostile but he still doesn’t get it. Betty said she’d spoken to you.”

“Yes, at Fontaine Buruss’s party. She asked me to check in. I’m glad I did. Your program is impressive.”

“It is and it isn’t.” She leaned back in her seat to stretch out her long legs. “I don’t like treating drugs with drugs. In some cases it’s the only treatment we have. Especially heroin users. My personal feeling is we substitute one dependency for another but if we don’t use what little we have available to us they often backslide. You know the story.” She appraised Walter. He was more handsome than she remembered from passing him in the halls. “Fortunately, that’s not the problem for Cody and Jennifer. Cody has a longer history of abuse, obviously. She’s burned more bridges behind her and has more messes to clean up. Jennifer’s rebelling and the drugs are mixed in with that so-o attractive stage of life. How does anyone survive adolescence? I didn’t smile from age eight to twenty because of my braces.”

“Good orthodontist.”

She laughed. “Thank you. Do you know Cody and Jennifer well?”

“No. I know Betty and Bobby somewhat. I grew up near here. Kids don’t pay much attention to older people. I’ve started foxhunting and that’s how I’ve come into contact with the Franklins again.”

“The girls are very beautiful.”

“Pretty is as pretty does.”

“Men don’t usually say that.”

“Then you’re talking to the wrong men.”

“Not now.”

He laughed. “Keep talking.”

“Really. My experience with men is that they are completely undone by looks. That’s why Cody has gotten away with her addiction as long as she has. There’s always a man to rescue her. Only makes it worse, of course.”

“I’d rather look at a pretty woman than not, but maybe I’ve seen enough in my life to know that if there isn’t more, it’s never going to work. You know?” He leaned forward. “One of the most fascinating and beautiful women I know is seventy years old. She walks into a room and you can’t look at anyone else. She’s electrifying and on a horse she truly is the goddess of the hunt.”

“Jane Arnold.” Tandy smiled. “Yes, Cody and Jennifer have mentioned her. She scares them half to death. I’d like to see her.”

“Opening hunt is the first Saturday in November. Ten o’clock at Sister Jane’s place, Roughneck Farm. If you’d like to come, I’ll call Sister Jane.”

“I can’t ride.”

“Don’t have to. Come and enjoy the spectacle and then eat all that good food.”

“Thank you. I don’t have my Filofax with me but if I’m free I’ll call you. I’d like to see a hunt.”

“Before I forget. Do you know where the girls get their drugs?”

“If I did, I’d tell the sheriff. Even in rehab people protect their sources. Talk about misplaced loyalty but . . . There’s something more going on. Cody’s not protecting a dealer boyfriend. I don’t know what it is. I just know there’s something more.”

CHAPTER 24

“You people make me sick.” Alice Ramy shook her finger in Sister Jane’s face. “You think you can do whatever you please. A bunch of rich idiots!”

“Alice, show me the hound.”

Without a reply the disgruntled Alice, as wide as she was tall, waddled out to her chicken coop. The plump bodies of chickens lay about inside and outside the coop.

Rooster, Peter’s harrier, rested amid the carnage.

“I locked the gate. I’m not touching him. You take that damn hound out of here and you pay me for my chickens!”

Sister opened the gate. “Hey, Rooster.”

The harrier pricked his ears. “I’ve been framed!”

Sister quietly approached and petted him. “It’s Peter Wheeler’s hound. He’s bred to run rabbits, small game.”

Alice grumbled. “I’ll call the animal control officer.”

“Don’t do that. I’ll take him to Peter.”

“Thank you. I didn’t kill these chickens but I’d like to eat one. I’m afraid of that harpy, though.”

“He ought to be shot!”

“Alice, if this hound had killed these chickens, he’d have eaten at least one. Have you counted your dead?”

Alice quickly counted the two roosters and seven hens.

A cluck from under the henhouse gave hope to all.

Sister knelt down. “The rest are here.”

Alice couldn’t kneel down. “How many?”

“One, two, three, uh, some are hiding behind the others but I’d say you have eight. No roosters, though.” Sister stood up, brushing off her knees and her hands. “Let me take this big Rooster home.”