Page 40 of Don’t Tell Me How to Die

THIRTY-EIGHT

two years before the funeral

“I was adopted,” Alex informed me one evening at dinner.

“I believe you may have mentioned that the first time we slept together,” I said. “The Dillon’s basket, the fire station on North Plum Street, the note from your birth mother—riveting story, although my fascination may have waned after hearing it a few hundred times.”

“Ah yes, but I’ve been adopted again . Dr. Theobald took me to lunch today.”

“Oh my God, that’s incredible.” Alex was a surgical resident at Heartstone Medical. Theobald was a world-renowned surgeon. Every few years he would take some young doc under his wing, and their career would take off. “So does that mean you have a mentor?”

“Not just any mentor. Justin is one of the most respected?—”

“ Justin ?”

“I know... it sounds weird. The man is a rock star, but I kept calling him Dr. Theobald at lunch, and he finally said, ‘For Pete’s sake, man, call me Justin.’”

“He actually said, ‘For Pete’s sake’?”

“He and his wife, Lydia, are devout churchgoers. I think Pete’s sake is about as blasphemous as they get.”

“Well, Jesus H. Christ, man,” I said. “This is great goddam news. I can’t wait to meet those fuckers.”

Alex’s face lit up in a smile, and he leaned across the table and kissed me. “This is why I love you, Maggie McCormick-Dunn.”

“And would you like to know why I love you?” I said, kissing him back. “Because nothing makes me happier than someone who gets me. And you, Alex Dillon Dunn, really, really, really get me.”

Alex flourished under Justin Theobald’s tutelage, and as the years went by, the older man went from teacher to father figure to trusted friend.

And then one night, Alex, who had never been much of a drinker, came home reeking of alcohol. I didn’t have to ask him why. The words tumbled out of him in a flurry of sobs.

“Justin is giving up surgery. He’s been diagnosed with Parkinson’s. He’s only fifty-two years old, Maggie. Everything he’s worked for—a brilliant career—over.”

“Over?” I said, trying to make sense of the news. “But his whole world revolves around his work. What will he do?”

Alex shook his head. “You know Justin—he’s a man of faith. He’s decided that his affliction is a sign from God that he was meant to be doing something else with his life. Something with a purpose. Something for the greater good.”

“Like what?”

“I have no idea.”

But the board members at Heartstone Medical had an idea. They’d been looking for a new CEO, and as soon as they heard Dr. Theobald was available, they decided that their search was over. It was a wise decision. Justin was not only a natural-born leader; he was a visionary. Six months after he took the reins, we were having Sunday dinner with him and Lydia when he decided to share his dream with us.

“I want to build a Level I trauma center at Heartstone,” he said.

We were stunned.

Lydia smiled. “The two of you look like you need another glass of wine.”

“Or a defibrillator,” Alex said. “Keep talking, Justin.”

“Look, I know it’s a bold plan for a hospital our size, but I’ve done some feasibility studies. We already have the perfect location—the acreage on the south side of the campus. It’s a beautiful spot overlooking the pond.

“We’ll need to secure a two-hundred-million-dollar revenue bond to finance construction, but I believe we can do it. And if we do, we can offer our patients a higher level of care and better clinical outcomes, attract more of the best and brightest doctors, and turn Heartstone Medical into one of the premiere health organizations in the state of New York. What do you think, Alex?”

“Without trying to sound like a suck-up, I’d say it’s brilliant.”

“I should have known better than to ask my favorite suck-up,” Theobald said. “Maggie, what do you think? You never pull any punches.”

“Since brilliant is off the table, I’m going with inspired.” I paused. “However...”

“Aha! You smell a problem. Don’t hold back,” Justin said, egging me on. “Poke a hole in it now so I can find a fix before I present it to the board.”

“The Crocker Street Development Group,” I said. “They’re planning to build an eighty-eight-unit townhouse complex across the road from our campus, and guess what their big selling point is.”

Lydia held up her hand. “A spectacular view of Magic Pond,” she said. “One of their investors is a member at our club. They haven’t even broken ground, and she’s already offered me ‘ charter member ground floor pricing ’ starting at one point three million. She must have said the words ‘spectacular view of Magic Pond’ five times in two minutes. Tacky, to say the least.”

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Minna Schultz. Do you know her?”

If the Theobalds were a little less genteel, I might have said, “She’s the heartless bitch who destroyed Arnold Sinclair’s business and ultimately drove him to murder his wife and son, then take his own life. You’re damn right I know her. I’d like to rip her black heart out and shove it up her ass. The only problem is, I’ll have to fight off my best friend, Misty, to see who gets first crack.”

But some things are best left unsaid.

“I’ve heard of her,” I said. Then I turned to Justin. “Please don’t shoot the messenger. You asked me to poke holes. Minna Schultz will not stand idly by and let the hospital block her view.”

“Well then, it will be my job to inform her that it’s not her view. It’s ours.”