Sophie's Path

“What do you want me to do?”

“Call the clinic. Tell them I’m on my way. I’ll call my wife and tell her where I am. Could you call my mother and tell her I won’t be coming out to the farm for dinner?”

“Absolutely. What else?”

“My cell?” He patted his pockets.

Sophie handed him an iPhone. “You left it on your desk. I also filled up your Hummer.”

“How did you do that?”

“You left your car keys on your desk, too.” She sank her hand into her straw purse and flipped the keys to him. “Good luck.”

The elevator doors opened and Nate jumped in.

Roger Caldwell said his goodbye to Jack, then he excused himself and took the stairs, telling Jack it was part of his cardio routine.

Sophie turned and spied Jack for the first time. “You, er, look good. I mean, well.”

He walked toward her.

“No problem with the ankle, I see.” She smiled slightly, but it slid off her face as her eyes met his.

Jack saw trepidation and question in her face. Rightly so. He still wanted answers, but he knew her explanation wouldn’t have changed from what she’d delivered to him before.

“Ankle is good.” He tapped his head. “So is the noggin’. No more checkups for a couple months, I’m told.”

“Good. So, you’re fine. Well, I gotta go,” she said but didn’t move. Her eyes tracked over to the president’s door.

Jack thought she’d stopped breathing. Her back went rigid and her eyes were wide. “Why are you here, Jack?”

“Business,” he replied icily. “My business.”

Not a muscle on Sophie’s body flinched. It was as if she’d turned to stone. She didn’t blink or breathe. “Business with the president?”

“Yes, and now we’re finished for the day,” he said, moving around her and pressing the elevator button.

He let his eyes slide to Sophie’s sleek, tanned legs. When she pirouetted to face him, her calves flexed just like a ballerina. He wondered if she had taken ballet when she was a little girl. He remembered going to his sister’s recitals and making fun of her pink tutu and feather headdresses. He didn’t think he’d make fun of Sophie.

“Jack,” Sophie said his name just as the elevator arrived and the doors whooshed open.

He got in and shook his head. “Don’t.”

The door closed, leaving a stunned and enticingly beautiful Sophie on the other side.

Jack stared at the ceiling. Though it was the first time he’d been with Sophie since Aleah’s death, he hadn’t thought of his assistant at all.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_c6feed0e-ad82-583d-86c3-72aaa2457aec)

SEEING JACK SHOT Sophie back to the night of Aleah’s death in the ER. Since then, she’d learned from the police report that the driver’s name was Greg Fulton. He was from Chicago. Never married, though he was from a large family of five brothers. He’d lost his job in the steel mills as an engineer a year and a half ago and had fallen headlong into the drug scene.

Knowing only those few facts about Greg amped up Sophie’s empathy.

Sophie believed the hospital should do more to help addicts like Greg. Sophie booked a meeting with Tanya Stewart, the Indian Lake Hospital administrator who headed up four different hospital-related community health projects. Each project had a three-letter acronym and each was impossible to remember without looking at her notes, which exemplified the ineffectiveness of all the hospital’s outreach programs.

“Thanks for seeing me,” Sophie said, standing as Tanya entered the windowless office in a rush of air, her long paisley-print silk jacket trailing behind her. Tanya plopped into her chair, carrot-red hair bouncing around her face like coils.

“What can I do for you, Nurse Ma...”

“Mattuchi. Sophie Mattuchi.”

Tanya shuffled papers and peered at phone memos. She dug her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and glanced at it, acting as if Sophie were an intrusion in her extraordinarily busy day.

“Right.” She checked her messages again. Then rolled her eyes. “When I was in Chicago I had two assistants and they had secretaries.” She shook her head. “There aren’t enough hours in the day—or enough of me.” She flipped her hand in the air, turning her fingers around like she was whipping cream. “So what is it?”

Clearly, the woman was overwhelmed. Sophie dove in. “I’m here to talk about the hospital’s drug addiction program.”

“I feel a criticism coming on here,” Tanya replied with a bit of a nervous squeak to her voice.

“Well, given the problems Indian Lake is having with drugs and now gangs moving in, I feel there is more we can do.”

“More? The hospital offers seven-day drying-out periods. That’s almost double the four days the law gives addicts when they’re arrested.”

“The cops think an addict can go straight after four days? Who are they kidding?”

“That’s the law. We do better.”

Sophie could tell she was going to need to take a different tack. “That might be true, but in the ER we see an overdose nearly every weekend. The numbers are rising and our programs don’t touch the surface. Is there any way that we can hire suitable, licensed professionals to help us?”

Tanya shook her head vigorously. “Our budget is set for the year. We’re tightening our belts more every day.”

“But there’s a need...” Sophie placed her hands on the edge of Tanya’s desk, imploring. Sophie had wanted to be convincing and she was losing the battle before she’d drawn a single sword.

Sophie had researched as much as she could about the disease. She remembered a colleague from Butterworth Hospital in Grand Rapids, Phillip Jessup, who now worked at Renewal Rehabilitation Center in Chicago and called him up. Not only had they spent several hours discussing the Indian Lake Hospital’s approach to drug addiction, but Phillip had also sent her research papers, surveys and the materials they used in his program at Renewal. Educating the parents, family, close friends and concerned associates of an addict was key to their recovery. Renewal conducted a “family week” several times a year for the families of the addiction patients. The interaction between counselors, doctors and patients’ families was crucial.

“My hands are tied,” Tanya said.

“But I want to do something,” Sophie said, hating the whine she heard in her voice.

“I think you should know, Sophie, that this hospital has a very strict policy that its staff members participate in only those programs that the hospital supports.”

“What if the hospital conducts a seminar for the families of addicts?” she tried. “I could put it together. On my free time.”

“No,” Tanya rebutted before Sophie could go on. “In the end, I would have to staff up, find funds. Just thinking of the kind of organization it would take gives me a headache. And the hours of work—oy!”

The woman was shutting her down. Sophie pressed harder. “But the family programs are working at other facilities,” Sophie countered.