Chapter 2 - The File With Her Name On It
The following morning, Leah asked Nathan about his father.
He went completely still.
“What about him?”
“You told me he died in a car accident.”
“He did.”
“When you were twelve?”
“Yes.”
Leah watched his face.
“Then what incident was your mother talking about?”
Nathan stopped buttoning his shirt.
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard her talking to Dr. Rusk last night.”
Nathan’s expression hardened.
“You were listening to their conversation?”
“They were standing outside my hospital room.”
“Mom probably meant something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Nathan grabbed his jacket.
“And I’m not doing this before work.”
Leah felt anger rise.
“Your wife is hospitalized and you’re going to work?”
“I have meetings.”
“You said you would stay.”
“I said I would be available.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
Nathan shoved his phone into his pocket.
“Call me if something changes.”
Then he left.
Simone waited until the door closed.
“He knows.”
Leah looked over.
“Knows what?”
“Whatever they’re doing.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
Simone rested both hands on her stomach.
“But I know what a man looks like when he’s afraid his wife is getting close to something.”
Leah wanted to dismiss her.
She couldn’t.
At eleven, Nurse Mae Rowland entered.
Mae was in her early fifties, with silver beginning to streak through her dark hair.
She spoke little.
But unlike Dr. Rusk, she looked directly at Leah when she asked questions.
“Pain?”
“Three out of ten.”
“Bleeding?”
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
“No.”
“Feeling unsafe?”
Leah paused.
Mae’s eyes remained on hers.
“Why would you ask that?”
“It’s part of my assessment.”
Leah glanced toward Simone.
Simone was watching.
“No.”
Mae nodded.
Then she slipped a blood pressure cuff around Leah’s arm.
While the machine inflated, Mae leaned closer.
“Who signed the authorization allowing Doreen Carver access to your medical information?”
Leah’s heart jumped.
“No one.”
Mae’s hands stopped.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Mae removed the cuff.
She said nothing else.
But twenty minutes later, she returned carrying a clipboard.
“There’s a form in your chart.”
She placed it on Leah’s tray.
Leah looked down.
It appeared to authorize Doreen to receive updates about Leah’s condition.
At the bottom was Leah’s signature.
Except Leah had never signed it.
“That isn’t mine.”
Mae nodded slowly.
“I thought you might say that.”
Leah looked up.
“Who put this in my chart?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you remove it?”
“I already flagged it.”
Mae lowered her voice.
“But you need to understand something.”
“What?”
“Someone didn’t just write your name.”
Mae pointed to the form.
“They entered it electronically through your patient portal.”
Leah felt cold.
Only two people knew her password.
May you like
Leah.
And Nathan.
