“Morning. Sorry for the abrupt summons. How’d your meeting with Ms. Sutton go?”
I shrugged. “Fine. It was the first pass. We went through the paperwork, combed the notes, talked about what the family might say if they decide to push the issue.”
“Do they have a case?”
I shook my head. “I don’t see it. Ms. Sutton didn’t look convinced, either.”
He grinned, but it didn’t stick. “Well, we pay her well to be skeptical.”
Webb leaned back, crossed one leg over the other. “Risk and Legal are meeting with the Hart family soon. If it goes beyond the initial review, you’ll know.”
“Goes beyond how?”
“Litigation. Right now it’s just noise. A lot of questions, some complaints. A bit of a temper tantrum, honestly.”
“Am I being named in an action or something?”
“No,” he answered, too quickly to make me feel better. “You’re part of the care team. You’re the face, yes. But that’s it.”
I ran the scenario in my head. Part of the care team. Not responsible, but close enough to catch the heat if it came.
“What do you need from me?”
“Nothing yet. Just be available if they circle back with more questions.” His tone grew lower, quieter, heavier. “Dr. Vaughn, be careful. You know, how you talk about the case. Be careful who you talk to about this case, inside or outside the hospital.”
“Be careful? Meaning?”
“Meaning…” he said, drawing out the word as if I should know what he meant. “The family has retained counsel. Anything you say to anyone, even as a joke, could end up ina deposition. They can use anything. I need you on your best behavior.”
When I left his office, I was more tense than when I’d gone in.
Be careful, don’t say anything to anyonemeant there was a live wire somewhere.
Don’t worrymeant I should pretend not to notice the live wire.
I was behind, so I cut through the admin to the ICU. I needed to clear my head and focus on the job.
* * *
The ICU was a zoo, with several patients recovering from a multi-car accident. Monitors were blaring, nurses zigzagging from bed to bed, families hunched in clusters in the waiting areas, faces pinched with fatigue.
I scanned a patient chart, scribbling notes. The patient was stable, everything was on track. I was on my way out, already halfway down the hall, when I saw her.
Harper sat in a family room, knees squared, her body angled toward a woman who looked like she hadn’t slept for days. The woman’s eyes were rimmed red, hands tearing a tissue into thin strips. Harper didn’t lean in; she kept her posture open, but not soft.
I stopped just outside, where I could watch without being obvious.
“No one’s saying anything! No one will tell me what’s happening,” the woman said. “He’s my father. I have a right to know.”
“I’m going to get those answers for you,” said Harper, “but there may not be a good answer right now.”
“You can’t tell me he’s going to be okay.”
“I can’t make promises about outcomes, and no one should. What I can tell you is that the team is watching him closely, and if his condition changes, you’ll be updated immediately.”
“That’s what they said yesterday.”
“And I’m saying it again because it’s still true.” Harper didn’t blink. “That’s the only honest answer I can give you right now.”
