Robin Cook - Godplayer

“Yes,” said Patricia finally.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” began Cassi. She let her sentence trail off.

“You’re not bothering me,” said Patricia.

“Could I come in?” asked Cassi.

“I suppose,” said Patricia, starting up the stairs. “Be sure and close the door.”

Cassi was glad to close the door on the cold, damp morning. Then she climbed after Patricia and found herself in a small apartment sumptuously furnished in Victorian red velvet and white lace.

“This room is beautiful,” said Cassi.

“Thank you,” said Patricia. “Thomas’s favorite color is red.”

“Oh?” said Cassi, who had always thought Thomas partial to blue.

“I spend a lot of time here,” said Patricia. “I wanted it comfortable and warm.”

“It is that,” admitted Cassi, seeing for the first time a rocking horse, a kiddy car, and other toys.

Patricia, as if following Cassi’s glance, explained: “Those are some of Thomas’s old toys. I think they’re rather decorative, don’t you?”

“I do,” said Cassi. She thought the toys did have a certain appeal but looked a little out of place in the lavish setting.

“How about some tea?” suggested Patricia.

Suddenly Cassi realized that Patricia was as uncomfortable as she was.

“Tea would be very nice,” said Cassi, feeling more at ease herself.

Patricia’s kitchen was utilitarian, with white metal cabinets, an old refrigerator, and a small gas stove. Patricia put on the kettle and got out her china. From the top of the refrigerator she produced a wooden tray.

“Milk or lemon?” asked Patricia.

“Milk,” said Cassi.

Watching her mother-in-law search for a creamer, Cassi realized how few visitors the older woman saw. With a touch of guilt Cassi wondered why they hadn’t become better friends. She tried to bring up Thomas’s problem, but the rift that had always existed between them silenced her. It wasn’t until they’d seated themselves in the living room with full teacups that Cassi finally got the courage to begin. “The reason I came over here this morning was to talk to you about Thomas.”

“That’s what you said,” replied Patricia pleasantly. The old woman had warmed considerably and seemed to be enjoying the visit.

Cassi sighed and put her teacup down on the coffee table. “I’m concerned about Thomas. I think he is pushing himself too hard and…”

“He’s been that way since he was a toddler,” interrupted Patricia. “That boy was a hyperactive high achiever from the day he was born. And I tell you it was a twenty-four-hour-a-day job keeping him in line. Even before he could walk he was his own boss, and I had a devil of a time disciplining him. In fact from the day I brought him home from the hospital…”

Listening to Patricia’s stories, Cassi realized exactly how central Thomas still was to the older woman’s world. It finally made sense to her why Patricia insisted on living where she did, even though it was so isolated. Watching her mother-in-law pause to sip her tea, Cassi noted how strongly Thomas resembled Patricia. Her face was thinner and more delicate, but there was the same aristocratic angularity.

Cassi smiled. When Patricia put her cup back down, Cassi said, “Sounds like Thomas hasn’t changed much.”

“I don’t think he’s changed at all,” said Patricia. Then with a laugh she added, “He’s been the same boy all his life. He’s needed a lot of attention.”

“What I was hoping,” said Cassi, “is that you might help Thomas now.”

“Oh?” said Patricia.

Cassi could see the newly gained intimacy rapidly revert to the old suspiciousness. But she forged on. “Thomas listens to you and…”

“Of course he listens to me. I’m his mother. What exactly are you leading up to, Cassandra?”

“I have reason to suspect that Thomas may be taking drugs,” said Cassi. It was a relief to finally get it out. “I’ve suspected it for a few months but hoped the problem would just go away.”

Patricia’s blue eyes became cold. “Thomas has never taken drugs,” she said.

“Patricia, please understand me. I’m not just criticizing. I’m worried, and I think you might be able to help. He does what you tell him to do.”

“If Thomas needs my help, then he should come and ask for it himself. After all, he chose you over me.” Patricia stood up. As far as she was concerned, the little tête-à-tête was over.

So that was it. Patricia was still jealous that her little boy had grown up enough to take a wife.

“Thomas didn’t choose me over you, Patricia,” said Cassi evenly. “He was looking for a different relationship.”

“If it is such a different relationship, where are the children?”

Cassi could feel her strength of will drain away. The whole issue of children was a sensitive and emotional one for her, since juvenile diabetics were cautioned against the risk of pregnancy. She looked down at her tea, realizing she never should have tried speaking to her mother-in-law.

“There won’t be any children,” said Patricia, answering her own question. “And I know why not. Because of your illness. You know it’s a tragedy for Thomas to be childless. And he tells me you’ve been sleeping apart lately.”

Cassi lifted her head, shocked that he would reveal such intimate matters. “I know Thomas and I have our problems,” she said. “But that’s not the issue. I’m afraid he is taking a drug called Dexedrine and that he has probably been taking it for some time. Even though he does it just to work harder, it can be dangerous both to him and his patients.”

“Are you accusing my son of being an addict?” snapped Patricia.

“No,” said Cassi, unable to explain further.

“Well, I should hope not,” said Patricia. “Lots of people take a pill now and then. And for Thomas it is understandable. After all, he’s been driven from his own bed. I think your relationship is the real problem.”

Cassi didn’t have the strength to fight back. She sat silently wondering if Patricia was right.

“Furthermore I think you should go,” said Patricia, reaching across and taking Cassi’s cup.

Without another word Cassi got up, descended the stairs, and let herself out.

Patricia collected the teacups and carried them into the kitchen. She had tried to tell Thomas that marrying that girl was a mistake. If only he had listened.

Back in the living room Patricia sat down at the telephone and called Thomas’s exchange. She left a message for him to call his mother as soon as possible.

Thomas’s patients were inconveniently sprinkled on all three surgical floors. After Grand Rounds he’d taken the elevator to the eighteenth to work his way down. Normally on Saturdays, he liked to make rounds before the conference and before visiting hours. But today he’d arrived at the hospital late and consequently lost a lot of time reassuring nervous families. They would follow him out of the room and stand asking questions in the hall until in desperation he cut them off to examine his next patient only to be further delayed by that person’s relatives.

It was a relief to reach the ICU where visitors were rarely allowed. As he pushed through the door he allowed himself to think about the regrettable episode with George Sherman. As understandable as his reaction was, Thomas was surprised and disappointed in himself.

In the ICU, Thomas checked on the three patients he’d operated on the day before. All were fine. They’d been extubated and had taken something by mouth. EKGs, blood pressures, and all other vital signs were stable and normal. Mr. Campbell had had a few brief episodes of an irregular cardiac rhythm but that had been controlled when an astute resident found some unrelieved gastric dilation. Thomas got the fellow’s name. He wanted to compliment him next time he had the opportunity.