Page 14 of The Drowned Woman
Leah gave him a small nod and stood. “Let me help.”
Risa nodded. “Thank you, yes. Jack, Leah is a medical doctor. This way you can get to the office. If you’re okay to stay a few minutes, Leah?”
Jack frowned. “No. I can—”
Risa patted his arm. “I’ll be fine. Imagine. A doctor who still makes house calls.” Her tone sounded strong, despite the fact that her entire body was shaking with chills. Jack frowned and half-carried her into the bedroom, Leah following.
Luka stood alone in the suddenly empty living room. How had such a simple case become so complicated, so quickly? He only hoped Leah remembered that Risa was a witness, not a patient.
He made his way to the door, but stopped to glance back. It wasn’t Leah’s fault that she was a healer first. Although it was damned inconvenient. Because he had a niggling feeling that there was more going on here than a simple accidental death.
Nine
After Luka left, Leah watched as Jack helped Risa into her bed. Despite his handsome looks and engaging manner, there definitely was a mother-hen side to him, she noted with bemused appreciation. Ian was like that on the rare occasions when she or Emily were sick, donning a metaphorical apron, taking pleasure in cooking their favorite comfort foods, tucking them into bed, wrapping them in quilts and robes and his love.
She smiled as Jack used a remote to adjust the bed just so, elevating both Risa’s head and feet, arranging her pillows, bringing her a glass of an electrolyte solution, and then making certain her walker, phone and medications were close to hand. All the while hovering between Risa and Leah protectively, as if uncertain if he trusted Leah.
“Jack, you’re being silly,” Risa protested. She pulled him down for a quick kiss. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. Go to work.”
He sat on the edge of her bed, caressing her hand—especially her empty ring finger. Leah turned away, edging toward the door, but Risa called her back. “No. Please, stay. I’d like your help if you have the time.”
Leah nodded and pretended to study the framed photos lining the top of the bureau: Risa and Jack covered in mud at an oil field as rain poured around them; rafting the New River, both raising their oars triumphantly; a portrait of Jack stoking a campfire, the flames casting his face in relief, his expression contemplative. Caught in a moment of stillness, he looked a little older.
“We’re in this together,” she heard him whisper to Risa. “I’m not giving up. Not on you, not on us.”
“Neither am I. Which is why you need to go, so I can talk with Dr. Wright.”
Leah turned at the sound of her name. Jack’s shoulders slumped but he nodded, gave Risa one last kiss, then rose. He gestured for Leah to follow him out to the living room, now empty since Luka had left. “I hadn’t realized Risa found another doctor. I’m not sure who you are or how long you’ll be around, but her medication schedule and medical records are on here.” He handed her a thumb drive. “Please don’t interfere with anything until you’ve read them all. Risa likes to be involved in her medical decision-making—”
“Of course, but—” Leah protested, trying to insert a quick explanation as to why she was actually there, but Jack didn’t give her a chance.
“We usually discuss any new treatments together. But,” his voice lowered as his gaze targeted the bedroom door, “if you really think you can help her—I mean, just please, don’t give her any false hope. She’s been through so much.” He nodded to the thumb drive in Leah’s hands. “Read it. You’ll see.”
One last longing glance toward the bedroom and he left. At the sound of the door closing, Risa called out, “Lock it, please.”
Leah went through the living room and down the short hallway to the front door. Risa had an assortment of locks, from old-fashioned deadbolts to a large, heavy gauge steel brace that swung down from the doorknob and inserted into a cradle bolted into the wood floor. It was very different from her neighbors the Orlys. Leah had noticed that they only had a single, ancient deadbolt. What was Risa so afraid of? Leah secured all the locks, then returned to the living room to find Risa slowly making her way out of the bedroom with the help of her walker.
“I thought you needed to lie down—”
“I’m fine.” Risa collapsed into her chair, shoving the walker aside. “Sometimes it’s easier for Jack to leave if he thinks I’m resting.” She frowned at her own words. “He’s just… overprotective. It’s hard to constantly fight both my illness and him when all I want to do is live my life. Does that make any sense?”
Leah knew all too well what Risa meant—since Ian’s death, she’d faced similar attitudes. Family, friends, and strangers all seemed to want her to fit their image of a grieving widow—and yet they also simultaneously wanted her to act “normal” again, get on with her life.
“Why all the locks? Aren’t they a fire hazard? Take so long to open, especially—” Leah nodded at the walker.
“It’s not fire I’m worried about.”
“What are you worried about?”
Risa opened her mouth, then closed it. She nodded to the thumb drive Leah still held. “Jack gave you my medical records.”
“He thought I was here for a medical consultation.” Leah tried to hand the thumb drive back to Risa.
Risa waved a hand in dismissal, too busy pulling her computer desk into position. “Keep it. If you’re interested, you have my permission to review anything on there. Jack makes a dozen copies anytime we start a new protocol. That way we’re ready for the next round of consults once it fails.” She opened her laptop, her forehead creasing. “And they all fail.”
Leah hesitated, searching for words to clarify her position. “I can’t really give you medical advice, Risa. Not while I’m here to interview you for the police.” She set the thumb drive on the computer stand and stepped away.
“So I’m one of your ‘fragile’ witnesses?” Risa chuckled. “You’ve got it backwards. I didn’t ask you here for a medical opinion, although I’d respect an objective evaluation, of course. But I’ve been to Johns Hopkins, NYU, ColumbiaandCornell, plus the NIH, their division of rare diseases. Seen all the biggest names. Infectious disease guys thought it was a parasite or something I picked up while traveling. Immunology and rheumatology thought the same but that the reason there was no sign of infection was because it wasn’t the bug or parasite or virus causing my symptoms, but my immune response to it. Neurology thought a toxic exposure, probably from my time doing that article on the burn pits our military used in Iraq and Afghanistan—”
