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He nods. “Perfect.”
We leave the conference room and the doctor tells the lady who’d greeted me that I’m hired. I fill out a bunch of paperwork on the computer and put in my bank info again for payroll, and then I’m done.
“You’ll start tomorrow, Dr. Turner told me?” she says.
I nod. “Yes, I’d like that.”
“Great. Stop by here first for your ID badge and then you can head up to PT.”
“Thank you.” We shake hands and I leave with a smile on my face.
My next stop is my parole officer’s office. I head downtown and pay to park in a garage because I don’t want to deal with finding a spot on the street. I’m thirty minutes early but I’ll wait.
Thankfully, it’s only about fifteen minutes before she comes out after another guy leaves. “Mr. Andrews, right this way.”
My P.O., Lisa Price, is a tough woman in her fifties. I don’t know her very well, but she seems hard, but fair. I learned early on—just do what’s expected of me and she won’t bust my balls.
“So, how are you doing?” she asks as I sit in a chair that looks like it’s seen better days. Her office is tiny, only a desk and a chair, a laptop sits on top of the desk. A couple of personal photos not facing me are on her desk as well, and her college degree is framed on the beige wall behind her.
“I’m good,” I answer.
She opens the laptop and puts on reading glasses before squinting at it and asks, “So, since you got back from Africa, have you secured employment? Or were you going back to”—she scans the screen”—CU Health?”
“Just had an interview this morning, ma’am. They’re hiring me back and I start tomorrow.”
“Perfect. What’s the pay on that?” she asks. At first, I want to tell her it’s none of her business, but I know why they ask that. When she makes home visits and see my assets, she’ll ask how I can afford things on a certain salary.
I answer her, and then add, “I could make literally double that if the state would let me take the DPT test and give me my doctor’s license back.”
“I understand, but reinstating doctors after a felony is tricky.”
I sigh frustratedly. “My crime wasn’t related to my profession. I did some reading. I understand if I had prescribed something that killed someone, or I was abusing my power by writing prescriptions for narcotics, but I didn’t do any of those things. My crime was an accident”—I stop and clear my throat—“excuse me, amistakethat I paid for and continue to pay for.”
She removes her glasses, closes the laptop, and folds her hands on top of it. “Listen, Eric. I know all of these things. I want to help you get your doctor’s license back, but it’ll take time. I tell you what; I’ll write a letter on your behalf, letting them know you’re walking the line, staying clean, and that you even spent six months of unpaid time volunteering in Africa. Would that help?”
A smile I can’t stop spreads. “I would love that, Ms. Price. I would greatly appreciate that.”
“You email me the state medical board’s information and I’ll get it sent over, okay?”
Knowing I’m risking my luck, but seeing that she seems to be in a fairly good mood, I say, “Can I ask you something?”
She chuckles and opens her laptop again. “You sure can ask.”
“Do you have the resources to tell me how Mr. Stamp died? I mean, I know it was a gunshot, but...”
“Mr. Stamp?”
I nod.
“Oh, the victim’s husband in your case, that’s right.” She looks at me and I think I see a small bit of sympathy there. “I heard about that, but did not investigate further. The police never put out another statement?”
I shake my head. “No, after I went to Africa, my sister told me they came out and said it was a gunshot, but didn’t say if it was a home invasion, a domestic issue, or if was... self-inflicted.”
“That happens sometimes. The family will request or even threaten the media if they keep reporting on it, so they aren’t allowed to say.”
“That sucks. I’d like to know.”
“I’m sorry, there’s no way for me to find out.” I think there is, but I’m not going to push her or my luck.
