Richard Mabry - Lethal Remedy

Maybe there'd be something on that would help her relax. Sara munched on a cracker and wondered why she'd dreamed about being in bed with Jack. After the baby died, she'd gone out of her way to avoid him, even made an effort to exclude him from her dreams. Why had she let him back in now? Was it because of what he'd said? "I think we had something really good… Maybe we can get it back." Then again, Jack seemed different today, more interested in what she said. He actually remembered the name of their mutual patient, asked how Chelsea was doing. Could he have changed? Was it even possible for Jack Ingersoll to change? And was she willing to take that chance? As she pondered the question, Sara flashed on the end of her meeting with Jack. What was it he said? He was depressed over "the death of our son." Our son! He had a name, Jack. Actually, he had your name: Jack Jr. But you just called him "our son." What was it the Bible said?

"Can the leopard change his spots?" No, and apparently neither could Jack Ingersoll.

Dr. John Ramsey looked for what seemed like the hundredth time at the file folder on his kitchen table. The label read "Malpractice Insurance." A few days ago, he'd rescued it from one of the boxes of files he'd brought home from his office and shoved into a corner of his garage. He'd blown the dust offit and put it on the table, but today he decided it was time to open the folder and face what was inside. He took one last sip of cold coffee, picked up the phone, and dialed the number he'd printed with a Sharpie on the cover of the folder. "Insurance office." "This is Dr. John Ramsey. I need to speak with Mr. Alexander about my malpractice insurance." "Is this about a claim?" The woman's voice was flat, almost bored. She must have these conversations every day, but to John this was a new, and rather scary, situation. "It's about a possible claim. I need some information.

That's why I need to speak with Mr. Alexander." "May I have your policy number?" John figured he might as well talk to a wall. "I've canceled my original policy, but I have tail coverage. And I need to ask Mr. Alexander a question about that policy." Nothing seemed to faze this woman. "And what is that policy number?" After giving her the number of his policy and waiting through a series of clicks, followed by three minutes of what passed for soft rock music on hold, John heard a familiar voice. "Dr. Ramsey, I hope you're enjoying retirement." "Not as much as I was before I began talking with your secretary." John reined in his desire to vent. No benefit there. "I have sort of an unusual question." Alexander listened without comment as John explained his visit to the clinic at the medical center and the part he'd played in the scenario that followed. "Now I'm hearing that her family may file suit against everyone involved. And I guess my question is whether I'm covered." The silence on the other end of the line made John wince. What he was hoping for was a quick, "Of course." Instead, he heard only the rattling of paper. "Are you there?" John asked. "Yes, I'm looking through your contract. Of course, you canceled your original malpractice insurance when you retired, so that wasn't in force when this incident occurred. However, you bought tail coverage to insure you against claims brought after that original policy ended. But this is a new incident, so in that case… Hmmm. Tell you what. I don't want to say anything until I run all this by one of our attorneys. Can I get back to you?" John gave Alexander his phone number and hung up with a deep sense of foreboding. If the agent had to do that much research, there was a good chance that his position in malpractice litigation arising from the incident at the medical center was going to be pretty much what his patients always complained about when they had to wear a hospital gown: uncovered and vulnerable.

Sara entered the hospital room and her heart leaped when she saw Chelsea sitting in a chair smiling back at her. Gone were the IV's.

The hiss of oxygen was wonderfully absent. The only reminders of Chelsea's stay in the ICU were several potted plants that hadn't yet been loaded in the Fergusons' car. "Ready to go home, Chelsea?" Sara had a hard time believing this was the same teenager who'd seemed at death's door not so long ago. "Doctor, we can't thank you enough,"

Mrs. Ferguson said. "Dr. Pearson was by earlier this morning. He said because Chelsea was in the study for that new drug-Jana somethingor-other-he'd need to see her in a couple of weeks to draw some blood for follow-up studies. Frankly, if that Dr. Ingersoll had said that, I'd tell him to forget it. But Chelsea says she has no problem coming back if you or Dr. Pearson say she should." "Is that right, Chelsea?" Sara said. "Will you come back?" Chelsea nodded. Even after she was out of the ICU and well on her way to recovery, Sara couldn't recall hearing the girl speak more than a dozen words. "I think it would be a good idea to do that," Sara said. "If you'll call my nurse, she can set up an appointment to see me in the clinic.

Either Dr. Pearson or I can draw the blood samples while you're there, so you don't have to spend a lot of time waiting in the lab." Sara did one last exam of her patient and pronounced her fit to go. "I'll just sign the order, and a nurse's aide will put you in a wheelchair and take you downstairs. Chelsea, are you okay here by yourself while your mom brings the car around?" "Sure." When she finally spoke, Chelsea's voice was soft, her speech hesitant. Well, a near-death experience would probably do that to you. Sara was halfway to the nurses' station when Mrs. Ferguson hurried up behind her. "Doctor, I want to thank you again. I'm sure you and Dr. Pearson saved Chelsea's life. If there's ever anything I can do-" "No need to thank me. The fact that Chelsea is able to go home will be reward enough." "And when we come back, I want to find out how to lodge a complaint against that terrible Dr.

Ingersoll." Sara hesitated. "We'll talk about that later. After all, it was the medication that Dr. Ingersoll helped develop that saved Chelsea's life. And maybe he was having a bad day when he first saw her." As she pulled the chart from the rack and began to write discharge orders, Sara wondered why she'd defended a man she'd hated for so long.

Dr. Lillian Goodman passed a steaming paper cup to Verna Wells.

"Have you seen Dr. Ramsey this morning?" Verna took a sip and nodded approvingly. "You always get it right. Thanks, Dr. Goodman." She moved aside a stack of files and set the cup carefully on the desk at the nurses' station. "Dr. Ramsey won't be here today. The schedule Gloria gave me shows him working three days a week." "Oh. Well, I just wanted to see how he was doing. I know it can be intimidating, getting used to a new practice location." Verna eased herself out of her chair and followed Lillian down the hall. "I know he'll appreciate your help. He seems to be getting the hang of things just fine, but I'm really glad to see you two becoming friends." Lillian drained her own cup and tossed it in a wastebasket. "We're just colleagues, Verna. I'd do the same for any new doctor, male or female." "Dr. Goodman, it's time you thought of getting a life outside these four walls. Dr. Ramsey's a nice man. There's nothing wrong with noticing that… or even doing something about it." Lillian was shaking her head before Verna finished talking. "John Ramsey is trying to recover from the death of his wife. He's vulnerable." "But you two seem-" Lillian held up her hand. "I know what John feels right now. I've been down that road. He needs someone to talk with. He needs someone to care about what he's going through. He needs an occasional hug, a human touch. He needs..

. Well, what he needs is a good friend, and that's what I intend to be. But I'm not going to let it get more serious." I can't. Not right now.