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“I hate to disappoint you, Marilyn, but none of them have Monarchs tickets.”
Marilyn blinked. “Then why are they pressuring you to convince me to return?”
“Any number of reasons.” Arthur responded impatiently. “Your patients want you to return. Several of them have been quite vocal.” He hesitated. “One of them is the neighbor of one of the board members. And several doctors, led by Dr. Mane, presented the board with their support for your reinstatement.”
“Em?” Marilyn’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. Why would Emma champion her?
Marilyn paced back to the corner table. “This is a big decision, Arthur. I’m not going to rush into it.”
“Then what am I supposed to tell the board?”
“Tell them the truth. I’m considering their offer. I’ll call you once I’ve made my decision.” Marilyn recradled the receiver.
The board wanted her back. They valued her for what she brought to the hospital. To them, she wasn’t the Devrys’ daughter or Mrs. Warrick Evans. She was Dr. Marilyn Devry-Evans. There was a rush of relief, but it was subdued by other concerns. What about Arthur’s resentment toward her? And what was behind Emma’s support?
The phone rang again as she turned away from the table. Was Arthur calling her back so quickly? She wouldn’t allow him to harass her into an answer just so he could look good to the board.
Marilyn smothered an impatient sigh. “Hello.”
A hesitant voice responded. “Is this Doctor Marilyn Devry-Evans?”
Marilyn didn’t recognize the voice. “Who is this?”
“My name is Betty Waller. Faye Ryland gave me your phone number.”
Really? “Why would she do that?”
“Because I explained to her that I had information that would help you with your problem.”
Marilyn stiffened. She didn’t even know this woman. How could they have anything in common? “What are you talking about? What problem?”
“My daughter, Jordan Hyatt. She’s willing to admit she’s been lying.”
23
Warrick joined his teammates in Julian Guinn’s living room. The curtains were open. Corner lamps boosted the waning light from the early evening sun. Through the window, Warrick glimpsed the other turn of the century brownstones in his coach’s neighborhood.
The men stood around the room exchanging curious looks. Julian stepped forward to stand with DeMarcus on his left, and Jaclyn and Althea to his right.
“All right.” Julian rubbed his hands together. “Marc asked me to devise a teaching lesson that would help Jamal with the Monarchs’ playbook.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m a dummy.” Jamal’s eyes were defensive as he looked at his teammates.
Julian raised his hands. “No one said you were. People learn differently.” He lowered his arms. “One person can remember all the plays after reading them once. Someone else might need to read the playbook a couple of times. Jamal, I think you’re a visual learner.”
Jamal frowned. “What’s that mean?”
Julian clasped his hands behind his back. “You need something to
visually associate with a play to help you remember it.”
Anthony crossed his arms over his chest. “Isn’t that what practice is for? So that he could see what the plays look like?”
Julian shook his head. “Think of practice as a midterm you take in school to see how well you’ve studied. The games are your final exams. Jamal needs to study in a different way to prepare for those tests.”
“But that doesn’t mean that I’m stupid.” Jamal’s expression was aggressive.
“Exactly.” Julian gave him a firm nod.
