Mr. Peter Chapman Pt. 01

I interrupt Peter, "You dog! You aced your own test! You did, didn't you!"

Peter blushes, "Maybe."

I got him to smile, and I pushed more, "Oh, come on. A perfect score? NOBODY gets 100%. Not on 300 questions, and three are trick questions."

Peter looks up at me, "OK, I admit it. Guilty as charged."

Peter continues with fewer tears now, "Anyways, my dad thinks they deserve half the profits since they taught me and gave me the idea." It was hard to not yell out, 'What the hell.' "Dad then says I'm good for nothing, and I need to pay rent, past rest, and the car he gave me for my twenty-first birthday. Mom backed him up. I'm a resident, and now they want all my money. I'm furious with them, so I go to start my shift.

"I say rent because, at the time, my wife, son, and I were living in a house they owned. A student makes nothing, and a Resident barely makes enough to survive. The free rent made our lives possible. Now, they want to take it away. My first check was $300.

"My first surgery was supposed to be a car crash victim, a six-year-old child. It was actually child abuse. She died on my table, and it hit me hard. I call home because I'm distraught, and my dad gets mad, 'I've lost hundreds of patients. You're soft, pathetic, ungrateful. I'm sorry we ever made you. You're no son of mine; I want you out of the house in two days. Click."

He's crying with his head in his hand, elbows on his knees. I want to hug him and kiss him right now.

He continues with a dark and broken voice, "My next patient was in a real car accident. She was a mess; her face was bandaged up, with lacerations and burns covering parts of her body. After the child, I did everything I could to save that woman, and it still wasn't enough. Then I saw the tattoo on her arm that said 'Peter.' It was my wife. She drove out to Columbus to see her family. On the way home, she fell asleep and ran off the road. I then find out my one-year-old son was DOA."

I've never heard a man cry so hard. Everything we have learned says we don't get involved with a patient. I wasn't a psychologist at that moment. I was a compassionate woman that jumped to her feet, pressed my breasts into his arm, and let him cry on my shoulder as I held him in my arms. That took up the rest of our session.

I pull away from him and hold him at arm's length, "This is not negotiable. I am ordering you to leave the hospital. Walk across the street to the diner, and ask for Pearl. Then order yourself a cinnamon roll and a large strawberry malt. Their cinnamon rolls are the most fantastic thing in the world. Their shakes and malts are made with real strawberries. The combination will put a smile on even your face.

"Tell Pearl that I sent you, and she will take care of you. She's my best friend. Don't worry about work, I'll take care of everything. When you can imagine Pearl's naked breasts in your mind and aren't crying anymore, I want you to return to work and take care of your patients. By the way, the patients are asking for you. It seems some little boy had quite the argument with his father last night. The mother got angry with them up until they both burst into laughter. Now GO! I have other work to do."

He left with puffy eyes, but I think talking about it helped.

I yell out as he's heading to the door, "Hey. Peter." He turns to look at me. "Being sad is OK; it shows you care. Your parents ... they can go to hell."

He has a slight smile on his face as he walks out of my office. Mission accomplished. OH MY GOD! No wonder he's quiet. His wife and child alone are devastating. All the other drama, fuck.

I dial Beth's extension, and she immediately picks up, "Hi Cara, what's up? You fix our man?"

With a gruff voice, "I wish. No, he's going to be with me for a while. Life took a shit on him, but good. I'm barely able to hold off tears myself. I did get to the bottom of the test. He's writing nursing textbooks, and the state is using his test. He aced his own test!"

I hear Beth laugh.

I continue, "I sent him across the street. He is seriously fucked up. He's smart, though, and I think passive. He'll never strike a patient, but he might care too much. This is all stuff I can help him with. He was a Resident, a surgeon, it seems. He seems to have a lot of experience. I bet in Kansas City, he did more surgeries in a week than we do in a few months. Keep an eye on him, but I expect he'll be OK. I got to run; my next appointment is outside waiting."

Beth replies, "Thank you so much. Bye."

Chapter 6 -- Pearl

Pearl's point of view:

A man in scrubs walks through the door of the diner. It's unusual to see a doctor or nurse over here during a shift. My oh my, he is one handsome young man. A thin waist, broad shoulders, muscles, shaved, no tattoos, no piercings, deep blue eyes, and black hair. His eyes are so bright; it's like there is a lamp behind them. I got to meet this man.

He's looking around like he's searching for someone.

I reach out and take his hand, "I'm Pearl; you look lost. Can I help you?"

He looks me up and down, blushes, and then speaks, "Um. Yeah. Um. Cara told me to come over..." Oh fuck no. "... and find you. I'm to order a cinnamon roll and a strawberry malt. Private Peter reporting for duty, mam."

He makes me chuckle. If Cara sent him over, his life would be fucked up and bad. He'll get four cinnamon rolls, an oversized malt, and triple the strawberries. I then bill Cara personally. I know the people she sends over; I only bill her my cost. She's a remarkable woman.

He looked me over; that's a good sign; he isn't ready to call it quits. Of course, weighing 125# with thirty pounds of that in breasts, on a thin body; makes me quite popular with the men. I make fantastic tips. My face is cute, but not that many men see it. This one is interesting. He looked, admired the view, and is now looking me in the eyes to see what I'm doing.

What else would I do? I step forward, press my chest into him, watch him smile, and then hug him hard. Oh my, this man is incredible. He holds me like he knows I'm not fragile. Oh, thank you, Cara!

I lead Peter to a table, sit next to him, still holding his hand and ask, "One roll, one strawberry malt, large, anything else? Coffee, juice?"

Peter is soft when he says, "The roll and the malt are all. Thank you."

His eyes are red and puffy. He must have cried about something in his life. God, I want to hold him and make everything better. I stand up and plate the cinnamon rolls. I then put them on the shelf and ring the bell between me and the kitchen. Now, I scoop three balls of ice cream, four scoops of fresh strawberries, two tablespoons of malt, and some milk. I make that noise with the shake machine. I love it so much when the milk and chunked ice cream go in circles until it turns smooth. I pour it into a large shake cup, spray whip cream, and top with a maraschino cherry. I grabbed the rolls that were heated, so they're messy.

As I go back to Peter, I grab a long spoon and long straw and drop it all in front of him. I only have one other customer. I get him some more coffee, check, and take away his dishes.

Again, I sit down with Peter, "I haven't seen you at the apartment building. Pretty sure I would remember you."

He smirks at me, "Yesterday was my first day as a nurse. Saturday, I move in. I'm at the motel right now; it won't take long. There's probably a lot I need to buy."

I say, "I live there with my sister Beth, your boss. I bet you find no end to help shopping if you need or want it. That's pretty impressive acing the nursing exam."

He finally smiles, "I bet when you go home tonight, you find out I aced a test that I developed. So no, it's not that impressive of a task."

I smile at him, "Your wrong. That makes it more impressive. A man your age creating a state exam for nurses, and you weren't a nurse, that's impressive."

He tries to make it seem like no big deal, "I'm a failed surgeon. I knew there was a shortage of good nurses, so I developed a course to make nurses and then the test to ensure they were good enough. If you don't know your stuff, you will fail."

I'm curious now, "Aren't there hundreds of textbooks? Why do they need another?"

He challenges me, "Have you ever read one of those text books? Their awful."

I got him, "Actually, yes, I have. I'm a failed nurse. Not even my sister could save me. How are you different."

Wow, his whole demeanor changed, he is engaged, and all his sorrows are gone, "Well. I think... scratch that. I know the current textbooks are dry and stale. As soon as they're published, they're out of date. I have no book; it's a website. I don't have chapters; I have cases. Each case is an example of what I want to teach. I use real-world dialog, so it's more like a conversation. I use video, pictures, drawings, 3d drawings that can rotate and filter away layers. As content changes, it's updated immediately.

"It takes longer due to the conversations, but my results show the student nurses learn better. It's still in development."

I almost pee my pants because I'm so excited; I immediately ask, "I'm a perfect test subject. Actually, me and Employee #1 would be perfect test subjects."

He asks me with a confused look, "Employee #1?"

I giggle, which causes him to smile, "You know, with a virus, the first person to catch it is patient #1? Well." I giggle. "Kate, the woman at the ER front desk, was the first employee to meet you when you came in. You don't talk much and seem sad. Naturally, with your good looks everyone wants to make you feel better. They're tracking you. Each person that makes contact is numbered."

His mouth is open, and I fill in, "Out here, we don't meet many people from out of town. When a new guy comes in, we get excited. When a guy as good-looking as you come to town, it's like a feeding frenzy. Don't you worry about it one bit. I'll be glad to say you're taken, and they should stop hounding you."

He smiles at me, and I almost faint; damn, he is good-looking.

Peter says softly, "You try to take me, and I suspect your life might be in mortal danger. You seem nice; I would hate to see anything happen to you. Are there any women around here that won't go loopy about me?"

I look up, make it look like I'm thinking, look back at him, smile and say, "They're all dead."

He laughs his ass off as he stands up. The rolls and malt are gone. How the hell did he do that? I never saw him eat. Did I ever look at his face?

Peter says to me, "Thank you for the distraction. I had an emotional hour with Cara, and you've made me feel much better."

He drops two twenties on the table. I pick up the money and stuff it in his shirt pocket. I wanted to place it in his front pockets, but I didn't want to freak him out.

I put my hands around his neck, pull him close, kiss him on the lips softly, release the flustered man, and explain, "Today was on the house. You opened your heart to Cara. I have no idea what it was, but when she sends someone over she's paying. I thank you for an absolutely glorious morning. Enjoy work."

He patted me on the back, smiled, and walked out. I am near tears. I like that man. I can see why they all do. He is irresistible. I sure would like to beat whoever caused him so much pain. I stare at the man as he walks quickly back to work. God, help me; I'm in love along with all the rest of them.

+++++

Beth's point of view:

Damn, it's almost noon, and I haven't seen Peter. I hope he didn't jump off the roof. Cara made it sound a whole lot worse than we ever expected. I'm worried. Lunch will be coming around soon; I better get out there and assist.

The first room I want to see is Billy Smith. That poor boy has been here for a while and doesn't see his parents much. We all try to give him extra time, but there are just too few of us. As I near the room, I can hear an excited Billy explaining what happened last night. Ah-ha, he and his dad were teasing his mother.

I hear Peter talking, "A word of warning, Billy. Mothers and bears have a lot in common. They might be big and fat, but they will tan your backside something fierce if you push them too hard. Tease your dad tonight about his Kansas football team and how your Kansas team is so much better. Your mom will appreciate it a bunch. Before I go, I'm proud of you for trying a vegetable. I know you like French fries, and they are great, but variety makes everything better. I'll check on you later. Take a nap and stop chasing the nurses; they're all mine!"

As he turns around, he's surprised to see me out in the hallway.

Once in the hallways, Peter says, "Sorry I didn't tell you I was back. Sherry needed a hand, grabbed me, and it's been busy ever since. I'm back. Pearl stuffed me with a cinnamon roll and a malt this morning; I'll take the last lunch."

I stand in shock at how normal he seems. His shoulders slump as he understands my look.

Peter looks at the floor, and then in a soft voice, he says, "I would have jumped, but all the windows are locked. These women around here will do anything to keep me around."

I'm in shock that he's joking about suicide. I'm about ready to break out in tears when he quickly steps forward, plants a small kiss on my lips, and says, "Thank you for caring. There isn't much of that in my life. I do appreciate it. I also enjoyed meeting Pearls."

I'm confused, and without thinking, I correct him, "Her name is Pearl."

Peter looks at me, cocks his head, and stuns me when he says, "Funny, I thought I saw two of them," He walks off.

Did he really just say that? Two of them? Duh! Oh my God! Oh, how funny! I get several weird looks as I return to my office, laughing my ass off. Wait until I tell my sister tonight. She is going to roll on the floor laughing her ass off. I hope that means that Cara has made progress.

+++++

Cara's point of view:

The phone answers, "Dr. Ray Watson's office; how may I help you?"

I say, "Hi, my name is Cara. I want to talk to Dr. Watson, please."

The lady laughs, "Sorry. Dr. Watson's a very busy man. He's preparing for tomorrow's surgeries. I can take a message for you. That's the best you're going to get."

How rude.

With an attitude, I reply, "Fine. My name is Dr. Cara Matthews, a Psychologist. I'm calling about his son."

The lady excitedly says, "STOP! Wait a minute, please."

Oh, I mention the son, and suddenly, Lord Watson has a minute for us commoners. How lucky can I be?

A minute later, the phone is transferred and quickly answered, "Hello, Peter?"

I love my job some days.

I answer, "Sorry, this is Cara Matthews, Psychologist. I'm trying to get some background on a patient I have."

I hear the man crying on the other end of the phone.

He finally asks, "How bad is it?"

Fuck him.

I reply, "Sorry, doctor-patient confidentially, I can't tell you anything. I'm trying to get some background information to treat a patient better."

He says, "Wait, you said psychologist, that means that he is, ok?"

I'm not helping him, "I only deal with the mind. He had an extraordinarily bad day. I have no idea how my patient gets out of bed, and I never said the person was your son. I am only asking questions about your son."

I am positive I aged a year when he told me, "Then talk to his God damn wife!"

I am silent as I sit there with tears in my eyes. How do I tell him? Should I tell him? Peter won't. Oh my. School certainly does not prepare you for days like this.

The man asks, "Hello? Cara?"

I blow my nose, then speak again, "Sorry, I was taken back by your comment. I assumed you knew."

His voice is chilly and sad, "Cara, please, what don't I know?"

I hate my job. We see some terrible shit every day. Things that most people only deal with maybe once in their lives. Today has been the worst day of my life.

I build up the courage to explain to the man one of the worst things he will ever hear, "You had an argument with your son. Hurtful things were said. Very hurtful things. That was the highlight of his day." I hear crying on the phone. "His first patient was supposed to be a car crash victim. It was a six-year-old girl that was abused. He couldn't save her. He called you."

The man is crying hard as he says, "Continue, please."

I continue with a monotone voice. I'm afraid I won't be able to finish the story.

I tell him, "His next patient was a car crash victim. There were bandages on the face. Lacerations, burns, the woman was a mess. He fought hard to save her, but in the end, he failed. He notices that she has a tattoo that says, 'Peter.' Your grandson was brought in DOA."

The crying was disturbing. I hear the phone drop, and the call is cut off. I wonder if Peter ever realizes he never told his parents.

That's it, I'm out of here. I can't take this shit. I think I'll pick up some wine on the way home. Beth will be over tonight; none of us will feel like cooking. I'm going to suggest pizza.

+++++

I'm sitting at home, having a glass of wine, and relaxing in my big easy chair. It was a stressful day at work, and I wanted to relax.

My phone rings. 913 area code, that's Kansas City. I think I better take this call.

I answer the phone, "Hello, this is Dr. Matthews."

An emotional woman answers the phone, "Hello, Cara. This is Dr. Winnie Watson, Peter's mother." She sniffles. "Can I talk to my son?"

Fuck her, just as bad as the husband.

I go clinical on her, "Winnie, my patient is extremely fragile emotionally. I don't see any scenario where you being part of his life is a benefit to him right now. I would go so far as to say it would probably hurt him. So no, at this time, I don't want you seeing my patient."

Winnie cries hard.

I feel sorry for her, "My goal is to reunite your family. I believe family helps strengthen each other, and God knows that boy needs a bunch. He's responding to me and a few others. He's reticent and timid."

Winnie adds, "That is partly who Peter is. We were trying some tough love. We wanted him to stand on his own two legs and be the man he was capable of."

I can see where that usually would have been ok if executed differently.

I try to help, "Your husband and son are two different people. He may not be a surgeon. Was he pushed? That's not that uncommon."

Winnie rained on my parade, "Oh no. We wanted him to do something different. It's tough to follow in the footsteps of a parent who is so well recognized in a specialty. The thing is, he was a natural. He had devised new procedures that would eventually get published. He's far better than his father, and some of his cardiology stuff is leeding edge. Skill was NOT my son's problem. He has a perfect memory and wouldn't accept that current procedures could not be improved.

"He even has his own stitch that he claims is better. I have no doubt that it is. He lacks ambition and feels the pain too much. He cares for the patient too much. We both know in our professions, people die. He must learn to deal with it. Certainly, his series of events was too much for anyone, but undoubtedly way more than he could handle. Where is he?"

I pause to think if I should answer.

Winnie offers, "We can trace the call, honey. I just want to know if he's safe."

She's right; with my number, we're easy to find.

I reply, "Ness County Hospital."

Winnie is funny, "What country is that in?"

I suppress my laugh, "We're about five hours west of you. It's about 1,200 people, with us serving four counties of farmers, small towns, and migrant workers. We are the definition of rural Kansas. You set foot in this county, and I'll have you locked up."

Winnie is reasonable, "No, I won't do that to my son. You sound like you care; I trust you. Please tell us when to come. You have both our phone numbers. Money is no object; we will drop everything when you tell us to come. What does he need?"