Sophie's Path Page 7

  Tanya shuffled papers and peered at phone memos. She dug her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and glanced at it, acting as if Sophie were an intrusion in her extraordinarily busy day.

  “Right.” She checked her messages again. Then rolled her eyes. “When I was in Chicago I had two assistants and they had secretaries.” She shook her head. “There aren’t enough hours in the day—or enough of me.” She flipped her hand in the air, turning her fingers around like she was whipping cream. “So what is it?”

  Clearly, the woman was overwhelmed. Sophie dove in. “I’m here to talk about the hospital’s drug addiction program.”

  “I feel a criticism coming on here,” Tanya replied with a bit of a nervous squeak to her voice.

  “Well, given the problems Indian Lake is having with drugs and now gangs moving in, I feel there is more we can do.”

  “More? The hospital offers seven-day drying-out periods. That’s almost double the four days the law gives addicts when they’re arrested.”

  “The cops think an addict can go straight after four days? Who are they kidding?”

  “That’s the law. We do better.”

  Sophie could tell she was going to need to take a different tack. “That might be true, but in the ER we see an overdose nearly every weekend. The numbers are rising and our programs don’t touch the surface. Is there any way that we can hire suitable, licensed professionals to help us?”

  Tanya shook her head vigorously. “Our budget is set for the year. We’re tightening our belts more every day.”

  “But there’s a need...” Sophie placed her hands on the edge of Tanya’s desk, imploring. Sophie had wanted to be convincing and she was losing the battle before she’d drawn a single sword.

  Sophie had researched as much as she could about the disease. She remembered a colleague from Butterworth Hospital in Grand Rapids, Phillip Jessup, who now worked at Renewal Rehabilitation Center in Chicago and called him up. Not only had they spent several hours discussing the Indian Lake Hospital’s approach to drug addiction, but Phillip had also sent her research papers, surveys and the materials they used in his program at Renewal. Educating the parents, family, close friends and concerned associates of an addict was key to their recovery. Renewal conducted a “family week” several times a year for the families of the addiction patients. The interaction between counselors, doctors and patients’ families was crucial.

  “My hands are tied,” Tanya said.

  “But I want to do something,” Sophie said, hating the whine she heard in her voice.

  “I think you should know, Sophie, that this hospital has a very strict policy that its staff members participate in only those programs that the hospital supports.”

  “What if the hospital conducts a seminar for the families of addicts?” she tried. “I could put it together. On my free time.”

  “No,” Tanya rebutted before Sophie could go on. “In the end, I would have to staff up, find funds. Just thinking of the kind of organization it would take gives me a headache. And the hours of work—oy!”

  The woman was shutting her down. Sophie pressed harder. “But the family programs are working at other facilities,” Sophie countered.

  “I’d have to study their reports. Meet with the organizers. That would require months of trips to Chicago and wherever else, phone calls...”

  Sophie was getting nowhere with Tanya. The woman folded her arms across her chest and glared at Sophie. “We provide psychiatric evaluations and from those we recommend rehabilitation stays.”

  “Those evaluations are superficial, Tanya, and you know it. I’ve seen three of the hospital’s addiction patients as an overdose in the ER in the last two months. If someone hadn’t called 9-1-1 they’d all be dead.”

  Tanya shrugged. “When it comes to drug addiction, even the best rehabilitation centers have low success rates. We’re a hospital. We treat overdoses and severely addicted patients when they come in with acute problems, or the cops bring them in after an arrest. This is as good as we get.”

  Molten anger shot through her veins. The hospital was quitting without giving her a chance to try something new. “There are other established organizations with updated, well-researched approaches that work with the families and schools. Drug testing the kids in elementary school has proven massively effective in Phoenix.”

  “It’s not going to happen, Sophie. And let me say this—if you were to try to bring something like this Phoenix organization to town, your support would invalidate our expertise. Our standing in the community would be jeopardized. Your loyalty to us is paramount. Not to mention the liability aspect. Say a client under your care suffered an injury or worse. The hospital would be liable. Lawsuits must be avoided, Sophie,” Tanya finished, with a condescending parting of her lips that was meant to be a smile. It was anything but.

  Just then, Tanya’s phone rang. “Sorry. I have to take this.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “We’ll talk about this another time.”

  Sophie rose from her chair and just as she was about to walk out, Tanya shoved a white folder toward her. “Here’s our employee information about our programs. I’d suggest reading it over.” Tanya went back to her call.

  Sophie closed the door quietly behind her and bit back her anger.

  * * *

  EARLY MORNING FOG swirled across the placid lake and drifted over the beach and running trail like diaphanous angels’ skirts. It was barely five thirty, but for Sophie, who was used to running in the evening, this was part of her personal makeover. She was ready for new routines. Anything that would shake her out of the cocoon she’d woven in the past.

  Sophie wondered why it had taken her so long to discover running. It was the perfect prescription for de-stressing after hours in surgery or a long weekend in the ER. It was the one place she could find euphoria these days, which was a sad accounting of her life in general, but if an endorphin-induced runner’s high was the only joy she could get right now, she’d take it.

  Feeling her gel-cushioned running shoes against the asphalt as she gobbled up yards and then miles of track, she felt a sense of accomplishment. Most days, she ran with her earbuds in place, listening to positive mantras or inspirational quotes that kept her mind focused and off her guilt over Aleah’s death. The podcasts helped motivate her to do something about the problem of drug addiction in Indian Lake. If Aleah, Owen and Jack had not been hit by a drug addict, they would not have found their way into her ER that night. Aleah would be alive and Jack wouldn’t blame Sophie for anything, nor would Sophie be doubting her own judgment and action.

  Changing the past was impossible, but what Sophie could do was find a way to help prevent another tragedy like this one.

  Sophie didn’t have many hours left in her days after her shifts in surgery or the ER, but she also didn’t have many social demands. Though she could only commit a few hours a week, she wanted to use those hours to help the city fight the drug problem.

  Clearly, her meeting with Tanya had been a bust. She’d have to think of something else.

  Sophie slammed her feet against the pavement as she rounded the north side of the lake. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t paid attention to how far she’d run and realized Jack Carter’s condo was in view. Perched high on the hill above her and surrounded on both sides by tall trees and evergreens, it was no wonder she hadn’t seen the place from the trail before. Even now, she had to slow down and crane her neck, squinting through the foliage to see it.

  Jack.

  She wondered what he was doing at this time in the morning. Probably stuffing some carrots and turnips into his fancy juicer.

  She had to give him credit for watching his nutrition. She could probably benefit from a healthier diet. She was trying. Organic spinach salad had replaced burgers and fries. The lack of ice cream made life pretty boring, but she�
�d lost another pound this week. Amazing, considering how depressed she’d been.

  Sophie was convinced that the only way for her to get out of this funk was to take action. She’d tried to do that with Tanya and bombed out. Well, she’d have to go around the woman and find another way to bring some of Phillip’s successful programs to Indian Lake.

  She ticked off the names of doctors and administrators who might help her. Nate Barzonni. Dr. Caldwell. Even President Emory Wills might listen to her. Of course, if she went to the president, his first question would be where she was going to get the money. They would need an endowment.

  Sophie hadn’t even paid her car off yet. She had little money in savings and her parents certainly didn’t have any extra money lying around to donate to a new rehabilitation program.

  With sweat pouring off her face, Sophie rounded the turn that headed east and into the rising, already hot summer sun. She spotted a runner coming toward her. He was dressed in tight summer running shorts and a sleeveless black T-shirt that was plastered to his muscular chest and rippling abs. He wore a Cubs baseball cap pulled down low so that she could only glimpse the blue, reflective sunglasses he wore. He was unshaven and his dark hair poked out from beneath the cap.

  He pounded the asphalt trail with a vengeance, yet he moved with a fluidity that told her he’d been running for years. The man knew what he was doing. No earbuds. No iPod. She guessed he was the kind of guy whose own thoughts filled his head.

  He probably didn’t need an inspirational speaker to give him a positive boost for the day. He probably did that kind of thing for others.

  His legs moved in such perfect motion that she imagined his feet never actually touched the ground. Weren’t all those gods from Greek lore like that? Living just above the earth and not part of the human condition?

  His hands were balled into fists as he pumped his arms back and forth. Sophie wondered how many decades it would take her to achieve the same mastery. Maybe he was a physical trainer. Gym rat. If she’d been in Chicago, she would have assumed he was a model or an actor, but in Indian Lake, he probably worked construction.

  As he came closer, she moved over to the right. He looked like a bullet train and she didn’t want to get in his way. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, there was nothing about his stern expression that suggested he’d even seen her. Whatever his thoughts were, they were intense and all consuming.

  He drew nearer and she saw sweat slaking down his temples to his cheeks. Rivulets ran down his cut and chiseled arms. Not that she was taking notes. She didn’t do that anymore, she reminded herself.

  Still, the guy moved with the grace of a panther. He was the kind she couldn’t help being attracted to. Her nerve endings sizzled as if touched with electrodes. She couldn’t stop the pounding of blood through her veins that didn’t come from exercise. It was automatic. She was being Sophie.

  The old Sophie.

  It took every ounce of self-control for her not to flash him one of her come-hither smiles. The kind that used to drop men to their knees.

  But she didn’t.

  He raced past her so fast that he created a rush of wind that ruffled her hair.

  Sophie continued running a few more feet before she slowed down. She blinked and then turned quickly on her toes.

  “It can’t be.”

  Just as the man passed her, Sophie realized it was Jack.

  Her eyes fell to his ankle. “No sprain anymore.” She took two steps to follow after him and then stopped.

  What am I doing?

  Jack hadn’t acknowledged her with even a glimmer of a smile. He’d whipped by her as if she didn’t exist.

  Maybe Jack wishes I didn’t exist.

  Sophie jogged back the way she’d come and watched as Jack continued his run and then raced up the hill where she now knew he lived. He disappeared into the greens and shadows.

  Beating back a good measure of anger, she turned around and took up her run once again. “Fine thing. I save the guy’s life and he pretends he didn’t see me.”

  Making her way around to the end of the trail where she’d parked her car at Cove Beach, Sophie went to a bench to do her stretches.

  She ignored her pedometer and stopwatch. She didn’t need to know that her time was off today. She’d been interrupted by Jack. Or maybe she’d interrupted his run. This was the first time she’d gone out in the morning. She’d only seen two other people running so early, not counting Jack. As she walked to her car to get her water, several cars pulled into the lot. Six o’clock runs must be more popular, she surmised.

  After opening the car and taking out her water bottle, she turned and shielded her eyes and looked toward Jack’s condo.

  But you run before six. Is that so you’ll be undisturbed? Because you can’t sleep? Because you like to be alone?

  Sophie tipped her bottle to her mouth and drank deeply.

  Did you really just not recognize me today, Jack? Or are you still angry?

  She tossed the bottle onto the floor of the passenger’s side of the car.

  “Well, join the club because I’m mad, too,” she muttered, slamming the door and going around to the driver’s side. “The difference between you and me, Jack, is that I intend to do something about it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SOPHIE PARKED HER black Chrysler Sebring near the carriage house at the back of Mrs. Beabots’s drive and turned off the engine. Gathering up her purse, water bottle and tote bag, she double-checked the interior. Satisfied that it was, as always, immaculately clean, she got out and locked the car.

  At the back of the house were two doors. One led into Mrs. Beabots’s kitchen, and the other opened onto a staircase that soared to her upstairs apartment.

  Sophie had just unlocked her door when she heard a massive crash from Mrs. Beabots’s kitchen. Fearing that the octogenarian had fallen, or worse, Sophie pounded her fist on her landlady’s door.

  “Mrs. Beabots! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  In seconds, the door flew open and Mrs. Beabots stood on the threshold, her makeup in place, her silver hair precision-cut and styled in a bob. She wore a summer print dress, a crisp white apron and gold Chanel earrings. She gestured with both arms as if she was swimming. “Come in, Sophie! Heavens. I was afraid I’d wake the dead, but I see you’ve already been out.” Mrs. Beabots cast a critical eye to the ring of sweat around Sophie’s forehead and face. “I see you could use some cold lemonade. Or iced tea, perhaps?”

  “Thanks. That sounds great.”

  Mrs. Beabots stepped aside for Sophie to enter.

  This was the first time Sophie had seen Mrs. Beabots’s kitchen. In fact, all she’d ever seen of the house, besides her apartment, was the front parlor, when she’d given Mrs. Beabots the deposit for the apartment the week before Katia moved out.

  The ceilings were twelve, if not fourteen feet high and lining the expansive room were the original white cabinets with glass doors. The countertops were white marble, and in the center of the kitchen was an island that at the moment was covered with dozens of pie pans, tart pans, muffin tins and sugar, huge sacks of flour, dozens of eggs and several boxes of butter.

  “Are you getting ready for a party?” Sophie asked. “I haven’t seen this much baking since my grandmother’s ninetieth birthday.” She inhaled the alluring scent of baking sugar and butter and her mouth watered. It was all she could do to repeat her mantras, reminding her to stay on her diet.

  Mrs. Beabots circled around the island to the refrigerator and pulled out an antique, etched-glass pitcher filled with lemonade, complete with slices of fresh lemon.

  “That’s too pretty to disrupt,” Sophie said. “I can just get some water from the tap.”

  “Nonsense. I make lemonade every day for the kids.”

  “Kids?”
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  “Annie and Timmy next door. They like to come over and sit with me while I work in the kitchen. I’m teaching Annie how to make my sugar pie.”

  “So, that’s what this is? A culinary lesson?”

  Mrs. Beabots laughed. “Not today. This is for a friend, dear. I’m making sugar pie tarts. You’re welcome to stay and learn or help—” Mrs. Beabots stopped midsentence. “Oh, how silly of me. You’re probably on your way to the hospital, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, not today. I have the day off since I worked all weekend in the ER. We had a light surgery day, so I’m taking it easy.”

  Mrs. Beabots’s blue eyes traveled up and down Sophie’s length. “It doesn’t look like that to me. I’d say you’ve been working yourself pretty hard.”

  Sophie couldn’t hold back her grin. “Sorry. I can’t help but laugh. This is the new me. I run to de-stress and knock off a few more pounds.”

  “Hmm. There’s nothing wrong with your figure, dear. If you ask me, I’ve always thought people run to outrun their demons.”

  Reflexively, Sophie shook her head. “I don’t have any demons.”

  “Really? Then that would make you an anomaly. I have dozens of them myself. Now,” she said with a smile as she wiped her hands on her apron and picked up a green milk glass mixing bowl and a French whisk, “how would you like to learn the secret to my sugar pie?”

  “I would be honored, especially since Katia told me you don’t share recipes.”

  “Ordinarily, I don’t. But I’ve been coming to some realizations of my own lately,” she explained as she opened a carton of eggs and began cracking them into the bowl.

  “And that would be?” Sophie set her purse and tote down on a chair and went to the sink to wash her hands.

  “That I’m not going to live forever.”

  Sophie chuckled under her breath. “None of us do.”

  “I know what you’re thinking—that I’m in my eighties and this should have been a consideration before now.”

  Sophie dried her hands and turned around. “I confess, I was. Sorry.”