Along Came Zoe

“But not after-hours?”

“We’ve suspended twenty-four-hour coverage.” Phillip repeated the statement he’d given to every press query received since he and his partner had made the decision. Repetition didn’t make it any easier. Tonight, if there was a head-on crash in or around Seacliff, he didn’t say, or the gun and knife contingent went on a rampage, head or spinal injuries needing neurosurgery services would be airlifted to a center to the north, a potentially deadly delay. Worse, they’d be taken to the nearest E.R. where the chances of being misdiagnosed or undertreated by a sleep-deprived second-year resident…he stopped the thought.

“Any chance you’ll be starting up again?”

“Not until we find a third partner,” Phillip said. The green hold light had gone out; Molly had hung up. He finished with the reporter and redialed her number. It rang four times before she answered.

“Sorry, Moll.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Molly…”

“Well, it’s not like I’m used to having your undivided attention. Like I’m suddenly thinking, ‘Whoa what’s with Dad? Omigod, his mind doesn’t seem to be on what I’m saying. I wonder what’s wrong—’”

“Knock it off, Molly. Let’s talk about you running up your mother’s American Express card.”

She sighed noisily. “I needed stuff, Dad. That’s why Mom said I could use the card in the first place.”

“Fifteen hundred dollars buys a lot of stuff. What stuff did you need?”

“Fine, forget it. I won’t use the damn card again. I don’t want to go through some stupid inquisition.”

“This isn’t an inquisition, Molly. I’m just asking you to account for the fifteen hundred dollars you charged this month.”

“I’m buying drugs.”

“Drugs?”

“You know, cocaine, heroin. Whatever I can get my hands on.”

“Very funny.” It was a joke, right? He might reject the psychiatrist’s diagnosis, but Molly frequently baffled him: her mercurial moods, the sudden and inexplicable obsessions—was it last month that she’d gone on, endlessly it seemed, about wheat grass? And before that, fasting as the cure to any medical problem. That one had driven him nuts. But, as Deanna had pointed out, whacky ideas were part of being seventeen. Drugs, though, hadn’t really occurred to him as a serious possibility. Molly wasn’t losing weight, she had no needle marks, and her eyes didn’t show any signs of drug use.

Denial? The psychiatrist smirked. Phillip pushed away the image.

“Anyway, fifteen hundred dollars,” Molly was saying now. “Big deal. Mom spends that on her facials.”

“We’re talking about you.”

“I needed clothes, Dad.”

“For yourself?”

“Of course for myself. What d’you think?”

“Your mother said something about a boy.”

“What boy?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

Silence on the line.

“Moll?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Dad.”

“Is there a time you would feel like talking about it?”

More silence. “We could get something to eat at Swaami’s.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, like in an hour.”

“I’ll be in surgery in an hour, Molly.”

“Whatever,” she said.

The line went dead. In the outer office, he heard a phone ringing, then Eileen’s voice. “Next Thursday? Mmm…let me take a quick look at his schedule, but Thursdays are really booked tight.” He heard the tap of computer keys and then Eileen laughed. “True, Dr. Barry’s one busy man.”

“Dr. Barry.” Eileen’s voice now came through on the intercom. “Mrs. Barry on line two.”

He picked up the phone. “Yes, Deanna?”

“Tell Deanna she can wait,” said a voice from the doorway.

“Hold on,” Phillip told his ex-wife. The woman who’d just spoken was now walking into his office. He stared, slightly stunned, as she seated herself in the chair opposite his desk, watching him with a faint smile as though perhaps she knew him. He was quite sure he didn’t know her. He wasn’t in the habit of thinking in artistic or literary terms, but the term Rubenesque came to mind. Needs to lose a few pounds, Deanna would have sniffed. Voluptuous, he thought. High color, a great deal of fair hair and…breasts. Full and white, they seemed in imminent danger of tumbling from the low neck of the yellow blouse she wore. Not perky, twenty-year-old breasts, but full, lush, sensuous breasts. He mentally shook his head.

She crossed her legs. She wore sandals with thin leather straps that tied around the ankles. The hem of her long yellow-and-red skirt brushed the top of her left ankle. Beads and bracelets circling both arms created a constant small symphony of sound.

In his peripheral vision, he could see Eileen frowning in the doorway.

“I couldn’t stop her,” she explained.

“Phillip,” his ex-wife said. “I don’t have all day.”

“Just a second.” He addressed the woman. “What’s the problem?”

“Hi.” She gave him a long look. “How are you?”

He waved a hand, dismissing the formalities. “Do we have an appointment?”

“No.” She looked mildly amused, as if she knew something that he didn’t. “I guess that’s the acceptable way to gain access to your inner sanctum, huh? An appointment. Kind of weeds out the crazies. Sorry, I’ve never been very good at that kind of formality.

“Dr. Barry.” Eileen motioned from the doorway, and pantomimed dialing a phone. Security? she inquired, silently mouthing the word.

Phillip shook his head. As soon as he learned what she thought she was doing here, he’d send her on her way.