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

already feeling better about her. New staffing situations rarely went smoothly, and inevitably a few obstacles would surface that required attention. The key was quickly identifying the problems and taking steps to address them.

Madison felt that in scheduling their meeting, they were already working toward ironing out any wrinkles in the fabric of their relationship. In addition, he found himself looking forward to finding out what Harding had identified in Donna’s work that was lacking. Maybe she had indeed found something that could be improved upon. After all, Donna wasn’t perfect. According to Murph, Harding had the basic skills; it was just a matter of tapping her potential.

Perhaps he was right.

It was seven o’clock on Thursday morning, and the sun was already oven-hot. Rippling waves of heat rose from the asphalt, and Madison figured it would hit a hundred today for sure…possibly even 105. Madison loaded the car with a couple of suitcases and he, Leeza, and the kids set off for the airport.

“You have your phone with you?”

“Yes, Phil. You’ve asked me that twice already.”

“I know. Just want to make sure that you didn’t forget it. I want you to have it with you at all times—”

“In case of an emergency, I know. I’ve got it.”

“Batteries charged?”

“Don’t worry about us, okay? It’s only Los Angeles.”

“That’s why I’m worried.”

“Very funny.”

They arrived at the airport and the skycap checked in the baggage. Madison handed him ten dollars and kissed everyone good-bye.

As he reentered the freeway, he mentally reviewed his tasks for the day. He was scheduled to see patients beginning at nine, then do rounds at the hospital at four. He would stay extra late tonight, as he did not need to be home for any particular reason other than to tend to Scalpel.

Upon arriving home a little after 9 P.M., Scalpel ran over to greet Madison and slid to a stop on the wood floor inches from his shoes. He played with the dog for a few minutes, then fed him and changed into a pair of hospital scrubs for the rest of the evening.

As he sat down to eat the leftovers that he had just removed from the microwave, the doorbell chimed its scale of music. He sighed, pushed back from the table, and summoned his remaining energy to lumber down the long hallway toward the front door. He looked through the peephole. Brittany Harding was standing on his porch.

“Brittany,” he said. “You said you couldn’t meet tonight—”

“I know, I’m not here on CCMR business.” She was holding her stomach and bending forward slightly. “I’m in a lot of pain. I went to that Quick Care doc-in-the-box in Fair Oaks, but the doctor was busy and they had me see some useless nurse.” She stood farther forward and took a step to catch her balance.

“Here, here, come in,” Madison said, helping her into the entryway. “Lie down on the couch.” He guided her across the room and she lay on her back. Her satiny hair glistened against the deep blue of the crushed velvet sofa.

The dog came over and sniffed, curious as to what was going on and who this visitor was.

“Scalpel,” Madison said, “go lay down.” The dog complied, settling himself down across the room, in a strategic position to keep an eye on their guest. Madison stuffed a couple of small pillows under Harding’s knees. “Bending your legs should ease the pain a little.” He repositioned them, then asked, “Better?”

Harding shook her head no. She started to open her belt but had difficulty with the buckle. Madison was able to unlatch it.

“Where exactly does it hurt?” he asked, kneeling down in front of the couch.

“Here,” she said, taking his left hand. She placed it over the region of her belly button and then moved it down across the lower abdomen. “The whole area.”

He felt uncomfortable allowing his hand to slide down so low on her stomach. He was a physician, but he was unaccustomed to performing lower abdominal examinations—especially on his couch, with his wife 400 miles away, no one else at home, and no nurse in the room.

Her eyes, an intense brown and gold, caught the light from the overhead spotlights and sparkled. They had a brilliance he’d never seen before. Despite the pain she was in, her face had a pristine look to it.

“Gastrointestinal disorders aren’t my specialty,” he said after gently palpating the area she had indicated.

“It just hurts so much. Can’t you do anything for it? Ease the cramping, maybe?”

“When did it start?”

“Early this evening, around six, after dinner.”

“What did you eat?”

“I had some Mexican food.”

“Ever have this type of pain before?”

“A few times, but nothing this severe.”

He felt around her abdomen again for a moment. “Relax your stomach muscles.” He groped around a bit more. “No rebound tenderness,” he said. “No pain over McBurney’s point, no organomegaly, no palpable aneurysms—”

“What does all that mean?”

“Again, this is not my specialty. But I don’t see anything major.”

“Something’s not right. The pain’s really sharp.”

“Have you been constipated, or have you had any diarrhea lately?”

“Constipation. Why?”

“You could have irritable bowel syndrome. A lot of women in your age group have it. And you’ve had some unusual stress lately, starting a new job, taking on a lot of responsibility.”

“Is it serious?”

Madison laughed. “Irritable bowel syndrome? No, not at all. But it can be painful, and very annoying. Just watch what you eat. Eat lots of fiber and stay away from sweets and caffeine. Increase your fruits, potatoes, cereals, grains.”

“That’s it?”

“You should have a thorough workup tomorrow. Who’s your primary physician?”

She belched. “Excuse me,” she said, covering her mouth. “Dr. Vincente.”

“I’ve heard he’s a good man. Make sure you see him tomorrow.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Is it easing a bit?” He could tell by her face that the sharp pains had subsided.

“I think I can sit up now.” She arose, slowly, grabbing his arm and steadying herself.

“Just a little dizzy.”

“Probably from lying down. You have low blood pressure?”

She nodded. “Mind if I use your phone to make a