False Accusations by Jacobson, Alan (great novels of all time .txt) 📕

and down the musical scale. The door opened and revealed Phillip Madison, dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and no socks.

“Ryan!” he said, smiling widely and extending a hand. “How’ve you been?”

“Not too bad, Phil, not too bad at all. I’ve had an eventful life since we last spoke.”

“Come on in,” Madison said, stepping aside and motioning Chandler into the entryway. As Madison led the way into the living room, he said, “So, you said things have been ‘eventful.’ That mean good things?”

“Some good, some very bad. Let’s just say it’s been an adventure.”

“An adventure?”

“I got married again.”

“Is that the good part or the bad part?”

Chandler smiled. “The good. And I have a four-year-old son. He’s quite a handful.”

“Just like his father, I bet.”

“He’s got a little bit of both of us in him.”

“Jesus, a four-year-old...how long has it been?”

“About seven years, I think.”

Madison sat down on the couch and gestured Chandler to an embroidered, carved-wood hardbacked chair. “Seven years. Yeah, I guess that’s about right. I have two kids myself. Elliott just turned five and Jonah’s three.”

“Leeza okay?”

“Fine, fine.” He pointed to Chandler’s back. “How’s it doing?”

“It hurts. There are things I can’t do. I’ve learned to live with it.”

“I wish I could’ve done more for you.”

“Despite what others may think, you’re only human, Phil.”

They both laughed. “Yeah, well, some people may not even afford me that distinction anymore. My reputation isn’t what it used to be. The last few months have been very...turbulent.”

“Your attorney mentioned something about that.”

“That’s why I had him call you.”

Chandler let his eyes roam about the ornate room. “He said it was urgent. What the hell’s going on?”

“Urgent’s a good word. Would you like something to drink?”

“Coke, if you’ve got it. Need the caffeine.”

“Be right back.” Madison was gone for a moment, then returned with a Vitamin Water for himself and a Coke for Chandler. “Brought you a glass in case you want it.”

Chandler popped open the top. “Can’s fine.”

Madison sunk back into the couch and sighed. “Where to start...I guess it all began about three months ago. God, there’s so much to tell you.”

“I’ve got nowhere to go,” Chandler said, taking a sip and leaning back in his chair.

CHAPTER 7

Three Months Earlier

Saturday, August 30

THE NOISE LEVEL was threatening to break records. Out of desperation, Madison finally put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The dog turned and looked at him, Elliott was shocked into attention, and Jonah stopped screaming.

Leeza came running down the steps of the three-story home, her wavy brown hair bouncing wildly above her shoulders. Dressed in a pearl-colored silk shorts outfit, she walked into the kitchen with a look of concern on her face. “What’s going on down here?”

“Scalpel saw a cat in the yard and began barking,” Madison said. “Elliott wanted to go to the zoo and Jonah wanted to watch Wall-E.I said no, and they both threw a fit simultaneously.”

“In other words, a normal morning in the Madison household,” she said with a smile.

“Exactly.” He leaned over, gave her a kiss, and then tickled her ear with his lips. “You look very hot,” he whispered. “I love that outfit on you.”

Just then, his cell phone vibrated. Madison glanced at the number and sighed. “It’s the hospital.”

“What a surprise,” Leeza said.

He sat at the kitchen table, dialed in and identified himself, then listened to the explanation while trying to avoid Leeza’s angry stare.

“How much was he given?...And he’s still in pain?...Have them run another EMG—they did? What were the results?” Madison ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn.” He listened for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t agree with Dr. Rinaldo. If we wait, he may never regain feeling in his leg, and his drop foot won’t resolve. He’d have a permanent motor deficit.” Madison closed his eyes. “Call Dr. Oliver and prep the patient. I’ll be right over.”

Madison hung up the phone and looked at Elliott and Leeza. Leeza’s arms were crossed over her chest; Elliott was resting his head on his hands. Even Jonah understood. “Zoo, I want the zoo,” the three-year-old said, his large brown eyes focused on his dad’s face.

Madison sighed. He moved over a seat next to Elliott, looked at his son’s delicate, nearly perfect features—a dead ringer for Leeza—and brushed back the boy’s thick black hair with his fingers. “I know I said I’d take you guys today, but there’s a patient—”

“A patient,” Leeza said. “There’s always a patient. When do we count? When do you drop everything for us?”

“Leeza, please—”

“That’s what I keep saying. Please make time for us. Please cut back. We need you. Your kids need their father. I need a husband, a husband who’s home some of the time.”

“What am I supposed to do, turn my back on my patients?”

“Why can’t somebody else do this surgery? I thought there’s a doctor on call...John Ingersoll. It’s his weekend, isn’t it?”

“Leeza, this is a highly specialized procedure. The surgeon on call can’t do it—”

“They’re all special procedures.”

“Yes, they are. That’s why I am who I am. That’s why we live in the house that we do, the neighborhood that we do. Live the lifestyle that we live. There are only a few surgeons in northern California who can do what I do. When I get a case like this, there’s no one else who can take over for me.”

“And who takes over for you with your family? Am I supposed to?”

“I haven’t figured that one out yet. I’m working on it. I’m trying to schedule things differently. I thought this guy could make it till Monday, but he’s already had more morphine than he should’ve had, and his EMG’s degraded—he’s going to have permanent nerve damage if we don’t operate soon. We can go to the zoo another time. But for this patient, delaying his surgery another couple of days will have long-term effects on his life.”

“How long will this surgery take?”

“Probably twelve hours. It’s a bad one.”

“Twelve hours,” she said. “There goes