Part 7
Vivian reached the elevator before her hands began shaking.
She tucked them against the rims and watched the doors draw together.
A hand interrupted them.
Bell stepped inside.
For a moment, neither spoke. The elevator began its slow descent, and he watched the floor numbers above the door.
“You presented yourself well,” he said.
Vivian waited.
“Forty-three patients depend on the same staff,” he said. “I have to decide who gets that time. This wasn’t personal.”
“Then explain the plateau in my record,” Vivian said. “There isn’t one in Linda’s measurements.”
Bell looked down at his folder.
The elevator stopped.
“Will you have the response tomorrow?” she asked.
He looked at her for the first time since getting in.
“I doubt it.”
“All right.”
The doors started closing before she moved. She held them, turned her chair, and rolled out.
Bell remained inside.
Neil looked up from reception.
“Look who’s here.”
“You’re going to have to get new material, Neil.”
“That good a meeting?”
“Better than the last one.”
Owen stood when he saw her. Flint was already on his feet.
“Still five days?” Owen asked.
“Unless Bell produces something new by tomorrow. He just told me he probably won’t.”
Owen nodded.
“The ninety-day review stays,” she added. “And Bell still works here.”
“You’ve got Rusk’s report now. Linda’s record. Your own statement in the meeting notes.”
“I know.”
Flint pushed his nose beneath her hand. She scratched the short fur between his ears.
“How was Rusk?” Owen asked.
“Good. Very good. She thinks the return is more promising than the scans alone would suggest.”
“She said that?”
“Carefully. She didn’t promise anything.”
“Sounds like you liked her.”
“She wants to consult every month. Follow the case herself.”
Owen sat back down, considering that.
“Then we keep the schedule.”
Vivian looked at him when he said we. He was watching Flint, not claiming her attention. She let the word pass.
“How’s your shoulder?” she asked.
“Doing its job.”
“You use that answer for the dog, too.”
He rubbed his jaw.
“Sixty percent. Sixty-five on a good day.”
“What’s the expectation?”
“Surgeon thinks seventy-five to eighty with enough work. Six months to a year. That may be the limit.”
“And the field?”
Owen looked toward the doors.
“That’s the question.”
“Does it scare you?”
“Yes.”
He said it without trying to improve the answer.
Flint stood between them, one ear angled toward the elevator.
“His retirement’s official in six weeks,” Owen said. “After that, he doesn’t belong to the program anymore. I’m trying to figure out what comes after that.”
“For both of you.”
“For both of us.”
Vivian ran her thumb along the dog’s ear.
“Can I ask about the knife?”
Owen’s face grew still.
“You can tell me no,” she added.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“We’d cleared two rooms. I went into the third first. Flint was behind me. I checked right and started moving. He went left before I gave him anything.”
The lobby printer started up behind reception.
“I turned. There was a man in the corner. Silent. I hadn’t seen him.” Owen looked at the old shoulder scar beneath the harness. “By then, Flint was between us. The knife hit him. He stopped the man before I could get there.”
Vivian left her hand on the dog.
“He kept me alive,” Owen said.
“And you got him home.”
Owen said nothing.
Flint shifted until one side of his body touched Owen’s boot and the other rested against Vivian’s chair.
“He doesn’t seem to separate those things,” she said.
“What things?”
“Being saved. Keeping somebody safe.”
Owen looked down at him for a long time. Then he rested his hand beside hers on the dog’s back.
Linda called before eight the next morning.
“Bell’s told Keene he won’t be submitting anything further,” she said. “She’s confirming the full schedule today.”
Vivian was dressed, with her coffee cooling on the table.
“Okay.”
“Rusk called, too. Monthly consultations through the rest of this first outpatient year, then reassessment.”
Vivian gripped the cup.
“You there?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll keep being careful about what the changes mean.”
“I know. No promises.”
“No promises,” Linda agreed. “But plenty to work with.”
Vivian finished her coffee after they hung up. Before leaving the table, she placed her right foot squarely on the floor and attempted the movement Linda had recorded.
A small response came.
She waited, tried once more, then put her coat on.
Outside, Warren had the van idling. He steadied the lift while she positioned herself.
“Cold out,” he said.
“It is November.”
“Just checking you’d noticed.”
She smiled as the platform rose.
On the drive, her phone buzzed.
Owen had sent a message: Flint’s on door duty. He says you’re behind schedule.
She checked the dashboard clock.
Eight-thirty-eight.
Tell him I haven’t missed an appointment yet.
The reply came while Warren turned onto Depot Street.
He’s requesting an earlier appointment.
She put the phone away.
Flint was outside when the van reached the clinic, sitting on the concrete apron at the top of the ramp. Owen stood just inside the glass doors, coffee in hand, watching him.
Warren lowered the lift.
“Somebody’s expecting you.”
“I see.”
“Not everybody gets that kind of reception.”
Flint came down the salted ramp as soon as her wheels touched pavement. He touched her hand, turned, and accompanied her back up, adjusting his pace to hers.
Inside, Vivian looked at Owen.
“He’s taken over the entrance?”
“He worked out the lever handle. I was right here.”
“You planning to discourage that?”
“Still considering my options.”
Flint sat beside her with no apparent concern for the investigation.
Linda came through the corridor carrying her own coffee.
“Rusk’s here at eleven. Keene wants a short update at two.”
Vivian nodded.
“And Bell submitted a memo.”
Her hand stopped on the wheel.
“What memo?”
“He asked to leave your case. Patient load and scheduling, according to the request. Keene approved it…”
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