talk?” he asked, looking around.
“What’s this about? We’re busy here.”
Ruby was staring, and Serena lingered at the counter pretending to read a chart.
He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Just a few questions about a patient. It will only take a moment.” His soft gray eyes crinkled into a disarming smile. One front tooth, slightly crooked, marred its perfection. “I know you’ve got a lot more important things to do.”
I led him into the conference room where I knew a meeting was scheduled to begin shortly. An empty cup and a wadded paper napkin sat among crumbs littering the table. I motioned Mr. Silverman into a chair as I scooped up the trash and grabbed a paper towel to wipe the table.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, joining him at the table.
“I’m here on behalf of the family of Antonio Guardino,” he said.
I groaned inwardly. “What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t a problem. They know he was dying. It’s just that Joe—that’s the younger son—he’s so upset that they asked me to check into it.”
“Even so, I can’t say anything, especially now with the HIPPA regs.”
The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act was the federal privacy act that restricted access to patient information far more stringently than earlier regulations.
“You’ll have to talk to administration,” I said.
“I have power of attorney. I’m executor of his estate,” he said, placing his briefcase on the table and fishing out a document apparently signed by Mr. Guardino.
I handed it back. “I still can’t talk to you.”
“I’m not here officially,” he added, his smile revealing a dimple on one cheek. He closed the briefcase. “You know how upset his sons were.”
I nodded, absently rubbing my head.
“I just need to be able to tell them that I followed up and that everything possible was done for their father. Can’t you tell me that? Just to reassure them.” His eyes lingered on mine, and I felt a warm flush spread up my neck.
Serena popped her head in the door. “Mr. Swenson’s pulled his catheter out again,” she said.
“You’d better get Tim to put it back in, and also call Dr. Lord. See if he wants to order some kind of restraint for him.”
“And Ruby says,” she went on, “that Mrs. B’s chart’s missing.”
“Check her room. I saw it on the bedside table.” I turned back to Mr. Silverman, trying to remember what it was he’d asked me.
“I just want to reassure the family that everything was done for Mr. Guardino. And I’m sure it was.”
I studied his hands resting on the table, square-trimmed nails, lightly buffed, cuticles trimmed. “Everything’s down in records now,” I said at last. “We don’t have anything up here.”
“I’ll get the official records—” he began as the door opened again.
“I need a cup of coffee,” Ruby said pointedly.
I scooted my chair back. “You need to see administration and our legal counsel even if you’re here unofficially.”
Ruby had her back to us as she dumped sugar into her coffee.
“I don’t know anything,” I told Mr. Silverman. “I wasn’t here.”
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Everhardt,” he said, standing. We shook hands and he held mine a fraction too long.
I pulled away.
He walked out, leaving a trail of expensive cologne in his wake.
Stirring her coffee, Ruby said, “Uh-huh.”
“What?” I picked up his card and shoved it in my lab coat pocket.
“Why you so flustered, him looking at you like that? You know, you’re a good-looking woman.” She looked me up and down. “For a skinny, white girl.”
SIX
Thursday, 09 August, 1435 Hours
I WALKED IN ON AN ARGUMENT.
“He’s got a wife. She’s the one who should be able to see him,” Jessie said firmly. “Not some girlfriend. It’s not right.”
“He’s dying,” Serena offered. “I think we should let him see anybody he wants. Don’t you, Monika?” she asked as I settled in a
“What’s this about? We’re busy here.”
Ruby was staring, and Serena lingered at the counter pretending to read a chart.
He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Just a few questions about a patient. It will only take a moment.” His soft gray eyes crinkled into a disarming smile. One front tooth, slightly crooked, marred its perfection. “I know you’ve got a lot more important things to do.”
I led him into the conference room where I knew a meeting was scheduled to begin shortly. An empty cup and a wadded paper napkin sat among crumbs littering the table. I motioned Mr. Silverman into a chair as I scooped up the trash and grabbed a paper towel to wipe the table.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, joining him at the table.
“I’m here on behalf of the family of Antonio Guardino,” he said.
I groaned inwardly. “What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t a problem. They know he was dying. It’s just that Joe—that’s the younger son—he’s so upset that they asked me to check into it.”
“Even so, I can’t say anything, especially now with the HIPPA regs.”
The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act was the federal privacy act that restricted access to patient information far more stringently than earlier regulations.
“You’ll have to talk to administration,” I said.
“I have power of attorney. I’m executor of his estate,” he said, placing his briefcase on the table and fishing out a document apparently signed by Mr. Guardino.
I handed it back. “I still can’t talk to you.”
“I’m not here officially,” he added, his smile revealing a dimple on one cheek. He closed the briefcase. “You know how upset his sons were.”
I nodded, absently rubbing my head.
“I just need to be able to tell them that I followed up and that everything possible was done for their father. Can’t you tell me that? Just to reassure them.” His eyes lingered on mine, and I felt a warm flush spread up my neck.
Serena popped her head in the door. “Mr. Swenson’s pulled his catheter out again,” she said.
“You’d better get Tim to put it back in, and also call Dr. Lord. See if he wants to order some kind of restraint for him.”
“And Ruby says,” she went on, “that Mrs. B’s chart’s missing.”
“Check her room. I saw it on the bedside table.” I turned back to Mr. Silverman, trying to remember what it was he’d asked me.
“I just want to reassure the family that everything was done for Mr. Guardino. And I’m sure it was.”
I studied his hands resting on the table, square-trimmed nails, lightly buffed, cuticles trimmed. “Everything’s down in records now,” I said at last. “We don’t have anything up here.”
“I’ll get the official records—” he began as the door opened again.
“I need a cup of coffee,” Ruby said pointedly.
I scooted my chair back. “You need to see administration and our legal counsel even if you’re here unofficially.”
Ruby had her back to us as she dumped sugar into her coffee.
“I don’t know anything,” I told Mr. Silverman. “I wasn’t here.”
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Everhardt,” he said, standing. We shook hands and he held mine a fraction too long.
I pulled away.
He walked out, leaving a trail of expensive cologne in his wake.
Stirring her coffee, Ruby said, “Uh-huh.”
“What?” I picked up his card and shoved it in my lab coat pocket.
“Why you so flustered, him looking at you like that? You know, you’re a good-looking woman.” She looked me up and down. “For a skinny, white girl.”
SIX
Thursday, 09 August, 1435 Hours
I WALKED IN ON AN ARGUMENT.
“He’s got a wife. She’s the one who should be able to see him,” Jessie said firmly. “Not some girlfriend. It’s not right.”
“He’s dying,” Serena offered. “I think we should let him see anybody he wants. Don’t you, Monika?” she asked as I settled in a