Her doctor.I run the rest of the way to my car and the briefcase Lucas has entrusted to me. I’ve seen doctor bills in there.
I lock the door, look around, feeling as if someone is watching me. But no, that’s guilt manifesting itself as fear. There’s no one anywhere around, only late-model automobiles, the kind indigenous to this community. My own white Toyota, less than neat, just barely fits. My jacket hangs like a shapeless black drape on the back of the seat, hiding Lucas’s briefcase, which I didn’t dare leave in a motel room. I’m late in returning it to him. I wonder if that will be the final straw in this tenuous allegiance of ours.
My suitcase on the passenger seat, now a base for my laptop, makes me realize how far away I am from the life I have come to think of as normal. How long will it be before I can do something as simple as bathe in my own tub and sleep in my own bed?
Since Lisa’s death, my nomadic existence has isolated me in this car, always moving. I realize how much I want it to be over, how ready I am to go back, regardless of what I must face when I do.
I touch the smooth black surface of the suitcase, my only connection with what I’ve left, and get out my cell phone.
I take out the packet and begin sorting. Yes, Dr. Wayne Bledsoe, The Bledsoe Clinic.
I can find no mention of what the bills are for. Under the column for procedure, only numbers are listed.
Then I look at the clinic bill. This was major surgery. I feel as if I’ve just drunk a gallon of coffee. I grab my cell phone and call the number on the bill.
“Bledsoe Clinic. How may I help you?”
“I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Bledsoe.”
“Are you a new patient?” The receptionist at The Bledsoe Clinic is friendlier than the office manager I encountered inside.
“I’ve been referred by my family doctor.”
“I’ll need to get your insurance information,” she says. “What’s the nature of your visit?”
“The surgery.”
I hold my breath in the moment of silence.
Then she says, “Gastric bypass? Has your physician already consulted with Dr. Bledsoe about it?”
“Yes. That’s Dr. Bledsoe’s specialty, isn’t it?” A wild guess, fueled by what Tania Marie told me and what I have come to first suspect and now believe.
“The clinic handles more gastric bypass surgeries than any other clinic in the state. Dr. Bledsoe can answer any questions for you. I’ll need to get your name and insurance information. Let’s start with your name, last one first.”
I clench the phone in my sweaty fist. Why am I shaking now? This was what I guessed, the reason for Julie’s disappearance. Tania Marie was right. She’d seen Julie at the clinic, thebeforein a before-and-after nightmare. What isafter,and where is Julie now?
“I’ll need to call you back,” I say, and I press the button to disconnect the call. Then I make another one.
“Dennis Hamilton.” His voice sounds far away.
“Den, it’s Rikki. I know what happened to Julie Larimore.”
“What happened? Where is she?”
“I don’t know where, but I know why. She had gastric bypass surgery.”
“Holy shit. Are you sure?”
The Interview
And how do you feel about that?
About what? That everyone is looking for me? I’m too tired, too weak, to answer. Instead, I think of forgiveness. I forgave my family, my father. Bought him this house so that we could all be together, so that we could be a family again. I forgave. Will I be forgiven, as well, for my sins?
My energy bleeds from me like water right now. But your question is almost as important as the answer.
How do I feel about that?
