Jassy Melson
07-05-2011, 05:41 PM
A few days after an operation to remove a cancerous tumor from my lung, I began feeling weak, tired and dizzy. The doctors checked me out and decided that I had fluid on my lungs. So a tube was slid down my throat. I don't think I've spent a more uncomfortable two days in my life. The tube irritated me in a half dozen ways, and made sleep impossible. Finally, the tube was removed and I felt pretty good.
I was the lone occupant of my room for the time being. But I knew it wouldn't last. There were new patients coming in every day. I was in the Memphis Freedom Veterans Hospital, and all the patients were veterans.
I looked down at the foot of my bed, and I saw Judy Latcher. She was dressed in the blue lumpy pants and pull-over shirt that all nurses wore on the floor of the hospital I was in. She had a smile on her face. Her ebony wavy hair came down past her shoulders and her dark eyes sparkled. She was fair-skinned and in her mid-twenties. She held a blood pressure belt in her hand.
“Well, I bet you feel one hundred percent better with that thing out of your throat,” she said.
I smiled back and said “Yeah—I felt like I was in the movie Alien when they pulled that thing out.”
She laughed a throaty laugh and said “Well, I think you deserve a hug for that.”
She moved up to me and lowered her head to mine. She caressed my cheek with hers as she stroked my arms.
To say I was in seventh heaven would be an understatement. I hadn't as much as been close to a woman in quite a while.
She stood up, still smiling. “Let's take your pressure.”
She strapped the Velcro belt around my arm and pumped it up. She smiled at me again, and said “You'll probably be staying here for a few days for observation. I go on vacation Saturday. You'll probably be out by then. You should join me. I'm going to Myrtle Beach.”
“Believe me, I would, if I could manage it.”
“I'll find out exactly when you're going to be released,” she said. “If it's Friday, we just might be able to work it out.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She, nice-looking, in her mid-twenties, was inviting me to go on a vacation with her. Me—in my sixties, just had a cancer operation, and looked like an inmate from some survivor camp.
She asked me if there was anything I needed, if I was comfortable—all the questions that every nurse asks of every patient (they must be required to ask them), and then she left the room with a cheery farewell.
I lay there, just enjoying the aftermath of her hug and caress, and feeling awfully good about her invitation. Some questions arose: What does she see in me? Why would she invite me to go a vacation with her? Is she actually attracted to me? How could she be? But those questions were quickly suppressed by the feeling I still had about her caress.
About mid-morning, Thomas Sharp came rolling in in his wheelchair for his daily visit. Thomas was in his late sixties and had diabetes. His leg had been amputated up to his knee. I do believe he was the most cynical person I'd ever known. I think some people are born cynics. When they're babies they have already become cynical. They have a look on their face that says “Hey, why haven't you changed my diaper yet? Don't give me that stuff about being too busy.”
And although Thomas was cynical, he didn't feel any self-pity about losing his leg. He never made any references to it. If someone mentioned it, he would speak about it, but self-pity never entered in.
Besides being a total cynic, Thomas claimed to have been married six times. I had no reason to doubt him, because as far as I knew, he was truthful and straightforward. I myself had never married, so I knew nothing about marriage or divorce—or making up stories about them.
I suddenly had an urge to tell him about Judy Latcher—and about the hug and caress. But I didn't want to tell him directly, so I used a round-about way.
“Tell me, Thomas, what do you think about a nurse who hugs you and caresses your cheek?”
“I'd say she's one of three things,” he replied. “She's naturally affectionate, she's just downright horny, or she's after what you've got.”
“After what you've got? What do you mean?”
“I mean, she's after your assets—if you've got any.” He studied me for a moment, and then said “Is this a hypothetical scenario, or is this something that's actually happened?”
“Something that's actually happened.”
“Who's the nurse involved?”
“Judy Latcher.”
“Judy Latcher,” he said. “Hmm, I don't know. I'm bad with names. What does she look like?”
“She's in her mid-twenties, long black hair, dark eyes, fair-skinned.”
“Oh, okay, I got her. Yeah. Nurse Latcher. Did you see her doing this, I mean, hugging a patient and stroking his cheek?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Let me guess, that person was you.”
I hesitated for a moment. I wasn't into gossip, and I felt in a way that I was indulging in that very thing. But I had come this far in telling about it, so I decided to continue.
“Yeah, it was me.”
“That figures,” he replied.
“What do you mean, that figures?”
“She tried the same thing with me. Since she's assigned to you and me and Vern, it only figures that she would go after you too.”
“Go after me? I don't understand.”
“She hugged me too,” he said. “Caressed me, stroked my cheek with hers.”
“What happened?”
“I responded right back at her. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a good full kiss—which surprised her. She kind of broke away, but she kept that little seductive smile of hers on her face.”
“What happened then? I mean, afterward. Did you all continue with this, or what?”
“No, we didn't continue with it. Mainly because I found out what she was after. Eventually, she tried to find out what I was worth, what my assets were, how I was set up financially, what my family situation was. I knew then what she was after.”
For some reason, I just couldn't picture Nurse Latcher as being a gold digger, as someone who preys on people, interested only in what they were worth, and one whose main purpose was perhaps obtaining what she could of that worth. Call me naïve, but I just couldn't picture her as being like that. If anything, I pictured her as the term Thomas had used: naturally affectionate. Silly as it was, I felt a tinge of jealousy at the fact that she had done the same thing with Thomas that she had done with me. And I also felt a sense of disillusionment. In short, I had discovered that I was not the only one.
Thomas suddenly asked me a question that caught me off guard. “You're not infatuated with her, are you?”
“No, I just think that she's...”
“What?” Thomas asked.
“I don't know. I just think she's a caring person, who is as you put it naturally affectionate.”
Thomas gave out a short barking laugh. “Buddy, I think you're naïve, and I think you've got the hots for her.”
“Maybe I am naïve, but I don't have the hots for her. I just think she's a caring person.”
He chuckled and said “You've got a lot to learn. You may be in your mid-sixties, but I think you're still naïve when it comes to certain people. All I'll say is watch it, and watch her. The next time you see her, watch and see if her actions don't change. Watch and see if she doesn't try to worm it out of you how much you're worth. Hey, let's go pay Vern a visit,” he suddenly said. “Rile up the old man.”
Thomas was referring to Vern Mally, the occupant of the room next to mine. He was in his mid-seventies, and suffering from leukemia.
I got out of bed and we strolled to the next room.
Vern was watching TV but he lowered the volume when we entered.
“How you doing, old man?” Thomas asked.
“Doing okay, I guess,” Vern replied.
Vern was what I would refer to as a romantic—I can't think of a better term to describe him. He was awfully frail and gaunt, and from what I understood his leukemia had not been caught in time. He was in the latter stages of it. He was all hooked up with an I.V. and wires leading to instruments. He had that smooth transparent look that all people suffering from leukemia have. His sunken eyes glittered, but it was kind of an unnatural sparkling. I supposed he was very sick, but he never complained. Except for Thomas and me, he never had visitors. I had discovered he was a widower, and had outlived his children. As far as relatives went, he didn't seem to have any; at least any who visited him.
“What are you watching on the idiot box?” Thomas asked.
“The History Channel,” Vern replied. “Episode about the Battle of the Bulge.”
“That's what you need,” Thomas said. “A bulge. You need to gain some weight.”
“It's not my fault,” Vern said. “No matter how much they put in my veins, I keep losing weight.” He gave out a dry raspy chuckle. “If I stay here much longer, all that'll be left is an imprint on the bed.”
Thomas laughed outright. “I can see Willie and me coming in here and talking to an invisible man. Hey, Vern, you're looking so good, I can't see you.”
Vern tried to laugh but you could see that it hurt him physically. I guess for the first time I actually realized that Vern wasn't going to last much longer. The thought depressed me.
There is an obvious bond among veterans. It doesn't matter what age the veteran is or when or where he or she served in the military; there is that bond. I don't think I need to explain of what that bond consists. Vern, Thomas and I had not developed a friendship—we had not been together long enough for that to happen; but we were developing one. I respected and admired them because they were warriors—they had no intention of giving up. Vern had to know he didn't have much longer, and Thomas had to know that the chances of his coming demise were high. And yet, they wouldn't give up—they wanted to live as long as possible. I expected that Vern would go first, but the way it turned out, Thomas was the first to go—and it wasn't because of diabetes....
Thomas turned to me and said “We'll come in here one day and we'll see the bed clothes move, but Vern will be invisible. He'll scare the crap out of us.” This evoked another round of laughter—or attempted laughter. Just at this time, Nurse Quinter came bustling into the room carrying a tray with various instruments on it.
Nurse Quinter was a tall skinny woman in her mid-forties. She was one of those no-nonsense nurses who look down on all patients as children, and treat all of them in a condescending way.
“How are we doing this morning?” she chirped to Vern.
“Feel okay,” Vern said. You could tell he didn't, but that was his standard answer to the question.
Nurse Quinter gave out a closed-lip smile. She then looked at Thomas and me and said “You two should be in your rooms. I need to check Mr. Mally's signs.”
“Can't we watch?” Thomas said, a mischievous look in his eyes. “I've decided to become a nurse, and it would really help me if I could observe.”
Nurse Quinter looked at him in incomprehension. She couldn't tell if he was serious or not. Being uncertain, she decided to assert her authority. “It would be better if you two would go to your rooms while I do this.”
“So be it,” Thomas replied. “I suppose I'll just have to learn how to be a nurse on my own.” He turned to Vern. “We'll see you later, old man, and we'll discuss the state of the world situation.”
“See you all later,” Vern said.
We left his room and Thomas said to me at my door “Have you ever noticed that there are only two types of nurses. There's the Nurse Quinter type, and there's the friendly type.”
“I hadn't really noticed,” I answered.
“Well, it's true,” he said. “Fortunately, the Nurse Quinter types are in a minority in this hospital.”
He left me and I went back to bed. Not to sleep; that was a lost cause—it was mid-morning, and the lights and noise from the hospital around me made sleep impossible. I lay in bed and did what I usually did: think and reflect. Not about anything specifically; just things that popped into my head.
After lunch (which by the way was delicious; whoever was responsible for the food and the preparation of it in the hospital was a master) Judy Latcher paid me a visit.
Before I knew what was happening, she had sat down on the bed, kissed my cheek, and said “Hi sweetie, how do you feel?”
I was almost speechless, but I managed to say “I'm okay.”
“Are you in any pain?” she asked.
“Some, but not that much,” I replied. That was a fib because I was hurting. But I was the kind of person who had the silly notion that admitting I was in pain somehow showed that I was a weak person.
“If you are, I can get you a pain pill,” she said.
“Okay,” I answered.
“I'll be right back,” she said and left the room. I still felt the imprint of her lips on my cheek.
She came back a minute later and gave me a pill. She sat back down on the bed next to my head.
“I saw on your info sheet that you've never been married,” she suddenly said. Then she smiled. “I know, I know, I'm nosy—I mean about reading your info sheet. I can't help it. I'm just curious about you.” Again she gave me a dazzling smile, and something tingled inside of me.
“I don't mind,” I replied. “Yeah, I've never been married.”
“You worked as a journalist and newspaper reporter and writer mainly,” she said. “I bet you've lived in a lot of places.”
“Yeah, I have. I've lived and worked in California, Arizona, New Orleans, Florida, Atlanta, Nashville. I probably worked at seven or eight different newspapers in my time.”
Here I need to insert something about myself to the reader:
I've always been a reticent and laconic person who doesn't talk much, and especially I don't initiate talking much about myself. But if someone I know begins asking me questions, I will answer them, and before I know it, I am talking up a storm about myself. Usually the person who asked me questions will lose interest before I do.
So when Judy began asking me questions about myself, it didn't surprise me or make me suspicious. I just figured she was as she put it curious about me.
“So now you're retired and settled here in Memphis?” she asked.
“Yeah, I'm settled down here. This is where I'm from. How about you. Are you from Memphis here?”
“Yes—well, actually I'm from right outside of Memphis—in Germantown.”
“Have you ever thought of traveling?” I asked.
“Not really. I'm happy here.” She paused for a moment, and she gave me another of those dazzling smiles, and silly as it might sound, I felt myself falling for her.
But she suddenly asked me a question out of the blue that immediately gave me a warning buzz and made me recall something that Thomas had said about her: “The next time you see her, see if she doesn't try to worm it out of you how much you're worth.”
The question she asked me was: “You're not married; do you live alone?”
That question changed everything. It changed how I thought about her, and how I viewed her. I can't explain why or how it changed everything in my mind about her. I just know that it did. For the first time I began viewing her with suspicious eyes.
“I live with my mother,” I replied. “I'm her primary care provider, I guess you could say.”
“How old is she?”
“She's ninety.”
“Wow. And you alone take care of her?”
“Yeah.”
“Full-time job, isn't it.”
“Just about.”
“Is she a widow?”
“Yeah. Dad passed away five years ago.”
The more personal questions she asked me, the more suspicious I grew of her. But there was still a spark that remained. A spark of hope that she wasn't what Thomas had said she was.
“What did your dad do for a living?” she asked.
“He was a mechanic.”
“It must be tough for you two—I mean financially. I hope you all have enough insurance and money to cover all you need.”
I felt the spark go out.
“She's pretty well-covered by Medicare, and she gets a small pension. Me—I get a small social security check—I took an early retirement, and I get a moderate disability check. It is tough, but we make it.”
She patted me on my arm, gave me a little smile, and got off the bed. I suddenly felt a coolness from her. Much as I hated to admit it to myself, I realized that things had changed between us, and that Thomas had been right. For from then on, there was that coolness and distance emitted by her toward me.
The rest of the day wore on as it usually did in most hospitals. I mainly occupied my time by reading. Occasionally there would be breaks by nurses coming in and taking my blood pressure and temperature, giving me pills and a shot. The only real complaint I had was that it was impossible to get a good night's sleep. There were too many lights on in the hospital, too much noise, and nurses would come in in the middle of the night to perform their duties on me.
But the next morning something happened to totally disrupt the routine. No, that's too mild a word. It literally shook the routine.
In the mid-morning Thomas came rolling in for his morning visit, and I ended up telling him what had occurred with Nurse Latcher. “You were right, Thomas.”
“Well, in my time,” he replied, “I've been wrong about a lot of things. But I'm not wrong about Nurse Latcher.”
We went to Vern's room for our morning visit. When we reached the doorway and looked in, I literally halted in amazement. Shock is too strong a word to describe how I felt at what I saw, but it came close to it. Nurse Latcher was sitting on the bed next to Vern who was lying there hooked up with all kinds of wires and tubes. She was softly rubbing her cheek on his and had her hand on his shoulder caressing it.
I was speechless, but Thomas wasn't. He strode into the room and said in a loud voice “Good morning, Vern. How you feeling?”
Nurse Latcher drew away from Vern and got off the bed.
“Well, well, it looks like Nurse Latcher is taking good care of you,” Thomas said. Her face was red and she fumbled with her hands.
For a moment Thomas was silent as he shot a piercing glance at Judy. Then suddenly he said “I can see right through you. I know what you're trying to do.”
“What are you talking about?” Judy replied.
“Oh, come on, Nurse, don't try that innocent stuff on me. It won't work. I understand perfectly what your motive is and what you're attempting to do.”
“And what is that, Thomas?” she asked. “What am I trying to do, and what is my motive?”
“You tried the same thing with me, and it didn't work when you found out what I was worth. Then you tried the same with Willie. Same result. So, now, you've started on Vern. You're trying to find out what his assets are, how much he's worth. Your motive is plain to see. You're trying to find a sugar daddy, get him infatuated with you, and end up with all that he's worth, all he has.”
Judy gave out a smile, but it was a halfhearted attempt. It looked more like a grimace than a smile.
“Thomas, I don't know where you came up with such an idea, but it's simply not true.” She paused for a moment, looking at both of us. “Willie, do you believe this too? Do you believe that I'm such a coldhearted gold-digging person as Thomas has tried to make me out to be?”
Before I could answer, Thomas cut in. “Willie knows the truth about you. And I'm telling you right now that it's not going to stay just between us. I'm going to do everything in my power to let everyone in this hospital know about you, and what you're doing, and what your motive is.”
Judy wagged her head. “I don't know what to say, except you're wrong. It may be that I'm affectionate with patients. But that's the way I am. I'm a nurse, and I care for my patients. Even you, Thomas. Even after you've made this accusation. Some may think that I'm wrong in caring so much for patients and showing affection. But I don't think I am. I want you to think for a minute. If you do what you said you would: let everyone know what you think about me, and what you think I'm trying to do, it's going to hurt me, Thomas—in more ways than one, and it will end up hurting you.”
“How is it going to end up hurting me?”
“For one thing, no one's going to really believe you. But it will end up, because of protocol, in both of us being under the eyes of people in this hospital.”
“That doesn't matter to me,” Thomas said. “What matters is letting everyone know what you're doing. I don't care what the result of that will be for me. I just want the truth to come out about you. And make no mistake about it, it's going to come out. I'm going to make sure it does.”
Nurse Latcher looked steadily at him, and an unfriendly smile played on her lips. “Well,” she finally said, “I think this conversation has reached its end. I have other patients to look after.” With that, she strode out of the room.
“May I say something, since this hullabaloo is all about me?” Vern said.
We looked in surprise at Vern. We had forgotten about him in the preceding verbal fracas.
“Thomas, I don't want you to tell anyone about what happened. It's no big deal. Nurse Latcher may very well be out to get what she can. But here's the thing: I don't care if she is or not. The fact is, she's making me feel good.” Vern paused and looked steadily at us. “Do you think I don't understand what's happening? I don't have that much longer. I'm in the final stages. What's wrong with Nurse Latcher making me feel good? I know some would say that her motive is to try to get all she can out of me. Maybe by me including her in my will. Well, the fact is I'm going to include her in my will.”
“What!” Thomas exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Vern replied. “Why not? I don't have any close relatives. I don't have anyone to leave what I've got. Why not leave it to Nurse Latcher? At least she's making me feel good in my last days. That's more than most are doing.”
“I think you need to think this over,” Thomas said.
“What's to think over?” Vern asked. “I've already made up my mind, and nothing anyone can say will make me change it.”
I heard a sigh come from Thomas. “I'm not going to argue with you about it. In the end you'll do what you want to do regardless. But I just hate to see it happen.”
We visited with Vern for a bit longer and then left his room.
“Well, I guess Nurse Latcher is going to get what she wants,” I said.
“Not if I can help it,” Thomas replied. “I don't care what Vern does—if he puts her in his will or not; I'm going to make sure that as many people as possible in this hospital know what's going on.”
Thomas was a true as his word.
That very day he went around the hospital talking to nurses, doctors, to total strangers. He even made an appointment to see the hospital administrator. I asked him about that and he told me that she was a nice lady who had really listened to what he had to say. If she would act upon it was another question.
Thomas didn't let up. He went at it for the next couple of days. I could tell he generally made a nuisance out of himself with the nurses, but one thing about it: he got the word out, and he started the gossip and rumor mill running in the hospital. To anyone unfamiliar with hospitals, I can tell you that if you get a rumor started it assumes a life of its own. The nurses are the worst offenders in that respect. Now don't get me wrong. I have the highest respect and admiration for nurses. They are tremendously overworked and underpaid, and they care—they really do. They are caring persons—totally unselfish, compassionate and other-directed. But they are terrible gossips. That is the only fault I find with them.
As far as Nurse Latcher went, Thomas's actions hadn't seemed to have affected her. It's true that there was now a coolness in her manner toward me, and certainly toward Thomas, but that had occurred before Thomas had started the rumor mill flowing. One thing about it, I missed her caresses.
I had a feeling that things couldn't go on as they were, and I was right. It came to a boil. Judy and Thomas had a showdown of sorts, and it happened in our room.
I had known that I wouldn't have a room of my own for very long. Sure enough I got a room-mate and it turned out to be Thomas.
In the mid-morning Judy appeared carrying a tray with the usual instruments on it. She had a wooden look on her face—really expressionless—almost cold-looking.
“Well, if it ain't Nurse Latch-on,” Thomas started it. “Come to perform her Nightingale routine. Tell me, Nursie, you gonna give me the needle this morning?”
Judy ignored Thomas's remarks and proceeded to her tasks.
But Thomas wouldn't let up. He kept needling her till she had had enough, I reckon. She blurted out: “Look, I'm your assigned nurse. That doesn't mean I have to be jocular with you, or even cordial. It just means I'm to perform certain functions, and that's it. So you can stop with the lame jokes. I let them slide right off my back.”
“Oh ho, we've got a temper this morning, don't we,” Thomas said with a cynical grin. “I just might have to report your behavior.”
Judy's whole body tightened up like a coiled spring. I saw the muscles clenching on her neck and in her face. It was clear to see that she was on the verge of snapping back at Thomas. Then it was as if some inner voice spoke to her and you could see her relax. A cold smile came over her face. Then it changed. She now had an almost sad expression. Her shoulders slumped.
“Have it your own way,” she said in a low voice. “Do what you think you need to do. Don't worry about the consequences. Don't worry that I may lose my job. Don't worry about that. Just do what you think you need to do.”
I thought that even Thomas was a little touched by her remarks, for he drew the needle back and closed his mouth. I was wrong about that, as usual.
As Judy performed her various functions of taking our blood pressure, temperature, and all the other little duties nurses are assigned, Thomas didn't say a word. He just kept his eyes on her. Judy refused to look at him.
As she left the room, Thomas gave her a parting shot: “You're a damn good actress, I have to say that.”
She halted in mid-stride, and I could see her back hunch up as if a shock had bolted through her body. She stood still for a second, and then she turned her head slowly and looked at Thomas. It was the coldest look I'd ever seen on a face.
“You don't know the half of it,” she clipped out. “You think you know what's going on, but you have no idea. You haven't got a clue—what's going to happen. I'll just say one thing before I leave you gentlemen. I've tried my best. That's all I'm guilty of. It will probably make you happy that I've been called to meet with the administrator. But if you think for one minute that I'm going to give up without a fight, then you're sadly--” She halted in mid-sentence as if she thought she had said too much. She stood up straight and erect. She nodded her head in quick little jerks. “I see now that you're not going to give it up,” she spoke in an expressionless voice. “You're going to keep on with it. You're going to keep pushing. Just keep this in mind: You don't know what's going to happen. You have no idea.” She halted for a few seconds, and then she said in a cryptic tone: “But I know now what's going to have to be done.” She then turned and strode out of the room.
“Damn, but she's good,” Thomas said after a moment. “She could make it on the stage.”
Thomas continued with his campaign against Nurse Latcher for the next couple of days; and then something happened that broke my heart and my mind.
Lights were usually out in the ward we were in at ten p.m. We were given sleep medication about nine, and I had settled myself down to try to get some shut-eye (anyone who has been in a hospital for any length of time knows what a lost cause that is). But I had managed to go off in a doze. Something woke me up in the night—some noise. I opened my eyes, and in the darkened room I saw a shadowy figure bending over Thomas. I could tell the figure was a woman nurse and she looked to be giving Thomas a shot in his arm. I then saw that the nurse was Judy Latcher.
But I wasn't surprised or alarmed. It was a regular routine for nurses to come into the room in the middle of the night to check our blood pressure or take our temperature—or even to give us shots. So it wasn't that that caused me alarm. It was the furtive manner of Judy that caused me to feel that something wasn't right about the situation. She kept looking around, and her movements were jumpy and jerky as if she were afraid of being caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing.
Through all this, Thomas hadn't stirred. I could hear his light snoring. He was usually a light sleeper, but he was now in a deep sleep. A thought crossed my mind. It had been Judy who had given us our sleep medication. I wondered for a moment if she had perhaps given Thomas a double dose. But I quickly suppressed that thought. I guess I'm naïve about some people and about life in general, for the way things turned out broke my faith in both people and the world—of what some people might be capable.
Something told me to not move, not to let Judy know that I was awake and witnessing what she was doing. I lay still and looked at the scene through half-lidded eyes. One time Judy looked over at me, and I got the feeling she was checking me out, trying to see if I was asleep. I must have fooled her because she went on with her operation.
She finished and I heard a sigh come from her, but it was a sigh of satisfaction, of having completed a task she felt was fraught with danger. She hurriedly gathered the various implements she had used and strode out of the room.
Needless to say, I didn't go back to sleep that night. I lay there trying to make sense of it all. I finally got the feeling that it was all over my head. I came to the conclusion that the truth would come out and everything would be explained. I was wrong, as usual.
The next morning was a nightmare.
Thomas was usually awake by seven. When he hadn't made a move by the time the nurse came in with breakfast, I knew something was wrong. The nurse checked him out and then she made a run out of the room. That's when it all started. There must have been a half-dozen nurses and doctors who came into the room and checked Thomas out. There was even a man in civilian clothes who came in and took notes. It seemed as if the hurly-burly lasted for hours.
The truth finally came out: Thomas was dead. The explanation given was that he had died of heart failure, had had a heart attack sometime during the night. I had other ideas, but I kept them to myself for the time being.
I was in a quandary. Should I report what I had witnessed the night before? Should I report my suspicions? It could well turn out that Nurse Latcher was just doing her job. I believed she had killed Thomas to put it bluntly, but looking at it rationally and reasonably, what grounds or proof did I have? In short, I just didn't know what to do. I finally figured that I needed to talk with someone. I went to Vern's room.
He was reading but he put the book down when I entered.
“Glad you came in,” he said. “I was wanting to find a good excuse to quit reading anyway.”
“What are you reading?”
“Churchill's Memoirs. He was awful long-winded—alive and dead.”
“I suppose you've heard about Thomas,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied, taking off his glasses. “Oh well, to use an old cliché, we've all got to go sometime.”
“I miss him already,” I said.
“Yeah, so do I. You know what, he's probably laughing at us right now, wagging his head, grinning that cynical grin of his, and saying I told you so.”
We both chuckled, and then we were silent thinking about Thomas.
Vern broke the silence: “Well, in Thomas's case, it was probably inevitable anyway. You do know he was scheduled for surgery in a few days, don't you? They were going to remove the rest of his leg.”
“I didn't know that,” I replied.
“Yeah, and when that happens, it's usually just a matter of time. He would have probably gone anyway in a few months. I may be wrong, but I believe if the diabetes spreads so that they have to amputate your whole leg, it's pretty much a death sentence. I think Thomas's reply to all the doctors would have been: Go ahead and cut my damn body off—just leave me my mouth and stomach, my a s s, and my dick.”
We both broke into laughter, and I felt much better, and I believe that Vern, with all his pain, did too.
After we had caught our breath, Vern suddenly asked out of the blue if I had seen Nurse Latcher. I told him no, but that she would probably show up soon because it was time to check on all the patients and dispense medication.
“I need to see her,” he said. “I'm going to make a big announcement to her, as they say. I'm going to tell her that I'm going to include her in my will.”
“You're going to do it after all, are you?”
“Yeah, I've thought it all over, given it a good deal of thought. And I'm going to give it all to her. All my property and assets.”
He looked steadily at me for a moment.
“Aren't you going to argue with me?” he asked.
“No. Your mind's made up, as you told Thomas and me. So I don't see any use in arguing with you about it.”
“I'm going to give it all to her,” he repeated. “All my property, all the assets, all my money. The way I figure it is she's not well-off. On the contrary, she's what would be called disadvantaged. I don't have to tell you what an uncertified nurse's salary is. Giving it all to her, I know is a good thing. I know I'll be giving it to someone who needs it.”
I decided this was as good a time as any to bring in the events of the night before. I didn't want to cause Vern any pain, but I felt it incumbent upon me to tell him what had happened.
After I had told him, he didn't say anything for a moment, just gazed at the ceiling. Finally he looked at me and said “Doesn't change anything—about Judy. I find it impossible to imagine her capable of killing someone—for whatever reason. I've come to know her over the past two weeks, and I can tell you, she's incapable of murder. It's simply unbelievable.”
“But what about what I saw?” I asked. “Last night.”
“Well, you yourself said it was pretty shadowy, half dark. To be honest, I think you thought you saw her all jerky and jumpy and nervous. Didn't you say you had just woke up when this happened?”
“Yeah, but I was awake. Believe me, I was awake. I didn't dream it.”
“I didn't say you dreamed it. I said you had just woke up. Believe me, our eyes play tricks on us when it's half dark and we have just awakened.”
I thought about what he had said, and I had to admit it made sense. Or maybe I should say some of it made sense. I knew what I saw, that's all I knew. And the next morning Thomas was dead of heart failure. To say I was at odds with myself and confused would be an understatement.
We talked for a little longer, and then I said bye to Vern and went back to my room and waited for the nurse to bring me my medication and to do her thing she did every morning—and noon and night.
When Nurse Quinter entered my room I asked her about Nurse Latcher, and she told me that it was her day off.
Nurse Quinter was her usual cheerful upbeat self. She didn't even take the time to give me a half-lipped smile.
After she left my room, I lay there there and mulled over things, specifically what I had seen the night before and what Vern had told me. I was conflicted to say the least. I felt that I needed to talk with others, to get their viewpoint, but how could I do it without outright accusing Nurse Latcher of murder? I finally just couldn't take it anymore. I knew that what I had seen had happened. I hadn't been half awake, and the light in the room was enough for me to see. My conscience took over, leaving all doubt behind. Much as I hated to admit it, I thought I knew in my heart and mind that Nurse Latcher had killed Thomas. As I discovered later, doubt would return.
I went to the nurses' station and talked with one of the nurses. I asked her to check and see if Nurse Latcher had actually been assigned to care for Thomas the night before. She checked and told me that yes, Nurse Latcher had been assigned, and also that she had given Thomas his regular medications and checked his signs. I asked her if Nurse Latcher had been assigned to give Thomas a shot. That she didn't know, but she assumed that if Thomas had been receiving shots regularly at night, then Nurse Latcher had probably given him a shot.
By this time Thomas had of course been removed and his bed stripped. It was as if he hadn't occupied the bed at all. I really missed him. Funny as it may sound, I missed his cynicism.
Even though the information the nurse had given to me seemed to somewhat confirm Nurse Latcher's innocence, there was a little voice inside of me that kept nagging me. It wouldn't go away. It went something like this: “You know what you saw.” I couldn't escape that fact.
I lay back down on the bed and tried to catch a nap, but that was a lost cause. I tried reading. That didn't work either. I tried for what seemed the half-dozenth time to mull over the events of the night before and what Vern had told me, and the information the nurse had provided. It didn't change anything. And it didn't still that little voice inside of me. You know what you saw.
Finally, after struggling with all this, I decided I had to talk with the hospital administrator. My conscience simply wouldn't allow me to keep quiet any longer.
The administrator was a woman in her mid-fifties with an open accessible face who actually believed in the old adage My door is always open.
She greeted me and offered me a seat beside her at her desk. We chatted for a moment, and then she asked me what she could do for me.
I proceeded to tell her the whole story about Nurse Latcher, myself, Vern and Thomas, from beginning to end—including what I had seen the night before, what Vern and the nurse had told me, and what I thought about the whole situation.
She listened thoughtfully, and when I had finished she said “I'm going to look into this. This is not the first report I've had concerning Nurse Latcher. If what you say is true, I don't think I have to tell you the consequences. But I promise you this: I am going to personally look into this.”
I thanked her and left her office, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. I felt in my heart, and I knew in my mind, that I had done the right thing by speaking with the administrator.
That night I slept a sounder sleep than I had in nights, maybe weeks. With Nurse Latcher being off and out of the hospital, and my having spoken to the administrator and having that weight lifted off me, I slept a full eight hours without awakening. The nurse coming in to check my vital signs and give me a shot didn't even wake me.
The next morning I felt better that I had in months.
And then I looked down at the foot of my bed and on to the doorway. Nurse Latcher stood there holding a tray with the usual implements on it.
She stood there in silence for a moment, a stony look on her face, then she half-smiled and walked to the bed and put the tray down on a table.
“Judy, I--” I began but she cut me off.
“You don't have to say anything, Willie. Don't worry about it. You did what you thought needed to be done. I mean, going to the administrator and talking with the nurses about me.”
She plopped a thermometer in my mouth, and continued talking. “Don't be concerned that I've been summoned to the administrator's office, or that I'm being investigated, or that I may lose my job, or that I'm being gossiped about by all the other nurses. Don't let it concern you, for, after all, you just did what you felt needed to be done. You know, sometimes, I wish I could go back in time—just for the week back—so that I could change some things. Wishful thinking on my part. I'm sorry, Willie, that things turned out the way they did. I wish with all my heart that things could have been different. I liked Thomas—I really did. How could you even entertain the thought that I could do what you think I did? What did I do that would make you think such a thing? I'm sorry, Willie—I'm just sorry that things turned out the way they did.”
There was a point in her speech where I started thinking of something Thomas had said about her: She's a good actress; she could make it on the stage.
There was something about the delivery of the lines she had spoken that made me think they were rehearsed; and that her whole demeanor was an act.
She took the thermometer out of my mouth, checked it, and then strapped the Velcro belt around my arm and pumped it up.
“Listen, Judy, I don't--” Again she cut me off.
“You don't have to say anything, Willie. You just did what you felt needed to be done. That's the bottom line. It's all right. Even if I get investigated, or even fired, I won't hate you. I like you too much to ever hate you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. And that's when I knew for sure she was putting on an act. (Or maybe I was just belatedly catching some of Thomas's cynicism.)
“Of course, this cancels you joining me on vacation,” she managed a half-smile. “I don't think I could handle that.”
“Me either,” I replied.
“I want to ask you a question directly, Willie. Do you think I murdered Thomas?”
“To be honest, Judy, I simply don't know. I'm torn up about it. In a way, I think you're incapable of it, but in another way...I just don't know...”
She actually gave me a bright smile. “Spoken like the true Willie I've come to know. You never give a direct answer. That's because you're an indecisive person.”
She gathered the implements and placed them back on the tray and made to leave, but then she halted and said with her back turned toward me: “I wish things could have turned out differently. But we can't change what's been done, or going to be done for that matter.”
Then she walked out.
She had certainly given me some food for thought.
The day wore on as it usually does in hospitals. The days are long and the nights are short and constantly interrupted.
I tried going to sleep early that evening, and miracles of miracles—I actually achieved it. I was actually able to go to sleep.
I don't know what time it was when something woke me up. I opened my eyes and saw a darkened form leaning over me. Then I realized it was Nurse Latcher—and she had a hypodermic in her hand.
I don't know if I screamed. I remember shouting and half jumping half rolling out of bed. I stood in a corner, the bed between us, trembling with fear.
“Willie, what is wrong with you?” Nurse Latcher said oh so quietly and calmly. “I'm just going to give you a shot. You get one every night. What's the problem now?”
I didn't answer her. I just started yelling for help. A nurse came running into the room. “What in the world!” she exclaimed.
“She's trying to kill me, just like she did Thomas,” I spoke nervously and loudly. “Get help—and keep her away from me.”
“Willie,” Nurse Latcher said in that same calm quiet irritating tone. Then she spoke to the nurse. “Go get the nearest duty nurse. I think it's Nurse Quinter who's on duty tonight. Tell her she needs to come to room 112—with a sedative.”
“Yeah, get Nurse Quinter, but I don't need a sedative,” I spoke too loudly and gratingly to sound calm and in control.
The nurse hurriedly left the room and a minute later returned with Nurse Quinter striding into the room. Nurse Quinter was her usual no-nonsense self. She took one look at the situation and sized everything up with one disapproving glance.
I noticed two things at the same time: Nurse Quinter held a hypodermic in her hand, and Nurse Latcher had unobtrusively slipped hers into her pocket.
“Check the hypodermic,” I said. “The one she just slipped into her pocket. Check the contents of it, and see if I need a sedative. She's trying to kill me—just like she did Thomas.”
The three nurses moved toward me, and I suddenly felt trapped—which I actually was. I suddenly realized that some things are inevitable and there's no use in resisting them. I gave up and let them have their way. I was injected with what I assumed was a sedative. By this time I was in such a state that I couldn't even be sure of that.
Gradually everything went red, and then black.
I awoke in an unfamiliar setting: I was in a ward with other patients. There were maybe twenty beds in the train station-like room. Most of them were occupied.
I lay there disoriented for quite awhile till a nurse came by and I asked her where I was, and she told me that I had been transported to the intensive ward of the hospital. That wasn't wholly true. I learned later that the hall-like room I was in was the disturbed section of the hospital.
I stayed in the ward for a week. I was interviewed numerous times by doctors. I supposed they were trying to determine if I was in my right mind and was a threat to anyone.
I was finally released from the hospital. As I left the huge complex of buildings, I breathed in the outside air deeply and gratefully. For the first time in weeks I felt free.
I returned to the hospital a month later for a check-up and blood-work. I learned from the nurses that Vern had been released. I supposed the hospital and the doctors had come to the conclusion that there was really no need to keep him there, as he was terminal. When I returned a month after that, I learned that Nurse Latcher had suddenly quit her job as a nurse.
In the next months, my curiosity continued to grow. I wondered more and more what had happened with Nurse Latcher and with Vern. It grew so bad that I felt the urge to find out at all costs what had happened. I ended hiring a private investigator—even though I could ill afford it, and it put a real financial strain on me to do it. But I simply had to know.
The investigator did his job, and he reported to me that Nurse Latcher and Vern had ended getting married; Vern had died a few months past—not from leukemia but from heart failure, and Nurse Latcher had inherited all his assets. I suppose she had finally gotten what she had wanted, what she had been after. The investigator discovered that a few months after Vern's death, Nurse Latcher had applied for employment at the Nashville Veterans Hospital—and had been hired. I suppose Vern's assets hadn't been enough. Or maybe she really wanted to be a nurse, and she missed the job.
Did Nurse Latcher murder Thomas? Did she try to kill me? Did she murder Vern? Questions which at first glimpse might appear easy to answer. But can I be one hundred percent sure? Oftentimes I lie awake at night and wonder what the answer is. I suppose I'll never know for sure.
I was the lone occupant of my room for the time being. But I knew it wouldn't last. There were new patients coming in every day. I was in the Memphis Freedom Veterans Hospital, and all the patients were veterans.
I looked down at the foot of my bed, and I saw Judy Latcher. She was dressed in the blue lumpy pants and pull-over shirt that all nurses wore on the floor of the hospital I was in. She had a smile on her face. Her ebony wavy hair came down past her shoulders and her dark eyes sparkled. She was fair-skinned and in her mid-twenties. She held a blood pressure belt in her hand.
“Well, I bet you feel one hundred percent better with that thing out of your throat,” she said.
I smiled back and said “Yeah—I felt like I was in the movie Alien when they pulled that thing out.”
She laughed a throaty laugh and said “Well, I think you deserve a hug for that.”
She moved up to me and lowered her head to mine. She caressed my cheek with hers as she stroked my arms.
To say I was in seventh heaven would be an understatement. I hadn't as much as been close to a woman in quite a while.
She stood up, still smiling. “Let's take your pressure.”
She strapped the Velcro belt around my arm and pumped it up. She smiled at me again, and said “You'll probably be staying here for a few days for observation. I go on vacation Saturday. You'll probably be out by then. You should join me. I'm going to Myrtle Beach.”
“Believe me, I would, if I could manage it.”
“I'll find out exactly when you're going to be released,” she said. “If it's Friday, we just might be able to work it out.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She, nice-looking, in her mid-twenties, was inviting me to go on a vacation with her. Me—in my sixties, just had a cancer operation, and looked like an inmate from some survivor camp.
She asked me if there was anything I needed, if I was comfortable—all the questions that every nurse asks of every patient (they must be required to ask them), and then she left the room with a cheery farewell.
I lay there, just enjoying the aftermath of her hug and caress, and feeling awfully good about her invitation. Some questions arose: What does she see in me? Why would she invite me to go a vacation with her? Is she actually attracted to me? How could she be? But those questions were quickly suppressed by the feeling I still had about her caress.
About mid-morning, Thomas Sharp came rolling in in his wheelchair for his daily visit. Thomas was in his late sixties and had diabetes. His leg had been amputated up to his knee. I do believe he was the most cynical person I'd ever known. I think some people are born cynics. When they're babies they have already become cynical. They have a look on their face that says “Hey, why haven't you changed my diaper yet? Don't give me that stuff about being too busy.”
And although Thomas was cynical, he didn't feel any self-pity about losing his leg. He never made any references to it. If someone mentioned it, he would speak about it, but self-pity never entered in.
Besides being a total cynic, Thomas claimed to have been married six times. I had no reason to doubt him, because as far as I knew, he was truthful and straightforward. I myself had never married, so I knew nothing about marriage or divorce—or making up stories about them.
I suddenly had an urge to tell him about Judy Latcher—and about the hug and caress. But I didn't want to tell him directly, so I used a round-about way.
“Tell me, Thomas, what do you think about a nurse who hugs you and caresses your cheek?”
“I'd say she's one of three things,” he replied. “She's naturally affectionate, she's just downright horny, or she's after what you've got.”
“After what you've got? What do you mean?”
“I mean, she's after your assets—if you've got any.” He studied me for a moment, and then said “Is this a hypothetical scenario, or is this something that's actually happened?”
“Something that's actually happened.”
“Who's the nurse involved?”
“Judy Latcher.”
“Judy Latcher,” he said. “Hmm, I don't know. I'm bad with names. What does she look like?”
“She's in her mid-twenties, long black hair, dark eyes, fair-skinned.”
“Oh, okay, I got her. Yeah. Nurse Latcher. Did you see her doing this, I mean, hugging a patient and stroking his cheek?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Let me guess, that person was you.”
I hesitated for a moment. I wasn't into gossip, and I felt in a way that I was indulging in that very thing. But I had come this far in telling about it, so I decided to continue.
“Yeah, it was me.”
“That figures,” he replied.
“What do you mean, that figures?”
“She tried the same thing with me. Since she's assigned to you and me and Vern, it only figures that she would go after you too.”
“Go after me? I don't understand.”
“She hugged me too,” he said. “Caressed me, stroked my cheek with hers.”
“What happened?”
“I responded right back at her. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a good full kiss—which surprised her. She kind of broke away, but she kept that little seductive smile of hers on her face.”
“What happened then? I mean, afterward. Did you all continue with this, or what?”
“No, we didn't continue with it. Mainly because I found out what she was after. Eventually, she tried to find out what I was worth, what my assets were, how I was set up financially, what my family situation was. I knew then what she was after.”
For some reason, I just couldn't picture Nurse Latcher as being a gold digger, as someone who preys on people, interested only in what they were worth, and one whose main purpose was perhaps obtaining what she could of that worth. Call me naïve, but I just couldn't picture her as being like that. If anything, I pictured her as the term Thomas had used: naturally affectionate. Silly as it was, I felt a tinge of jealousy at the fact that she had done the same thing with Thomas that she had done with me. And I also felt a sense of disillusionment. In short, I had discovered that I was not the only one.
Thomas suddenly asked me a question that caught me off guard. “You're not infatuated with her, are you?”
“No, I just think that she's...”
“What?” Thomas asked.
“I don't know. I just think she's a caring person, who is as you put it naturally affectionate.”
Thomas gave out a short barking laugh. “Buddy, I think you're naïve, and I think you've got the hots for her.”
“Maybe I am naïve, but I don't have the hots for her. I just think she's a caring person.”
He chuckled and said “You've got a lot to learn. You may be in your mid-sixties, but I think you're still naïve when it comes to certain people. All I'll say is watch it, and watch her. The next time you see her, watch and see if her actions don't change. Watch and see if she doesn't try to worm it out of you how much you're worth. Hey, let's go pay Vern a visit,” he suddenly said. “Rile up the old man.”
Thomas was referring to Vern Mally, the occupant of the room next to mine. He was in his mid-seventies, and suffering from leukemia.
I got out of bed and we strolled to the next room.
Vern was watching TV but he lowered the volume when we entered.
“How you doing, old man?” Thomas asked.
“Doing okay, I guess,” Vern replied.
Vern was what I would refer to as a romantic—I can't think of a better term to describe him. He was awfully frail and gaunt, and from what I understood his leukemia had not been caught in time. He was in the latter stages of it. He was all hooked up with an I.V. and wires leading to instruments. He had that smooth transparent look that all people suffering from leukemia have. His sunken eyes glittered, but it was kind of an unnatural sparkling. I supposed he was very sick, but he never complained. Except for Thomas and me, he never had visitors. I had discovered he was a widower, and had outlived his children. As far as relatives went, he didn't seem to have any; at least any who visited him.
“What are you watching on the idiot box?” Thomas asked.
“The History Channel,” Vern replied. “Episode about the Battle of the Bulge.”
“That's what you need,” Thomas said. “A bulge. You need to gain some weight.”
“It's not my fault,” Vern said. “No matter how much they put in my veins, I keep losing weight.” He gave out a dry raspy chuckle. “If I stay here much longer, all that'll be left is an imprint on the bed.”
Thomas laughed outright. “I can see Willie and me coming in here and talking to an invisible man. Hey, Vern, you're looking so good, I can't see you.”
Vern tried to laugh but you could see that it hurt him physically. I guess for the first time I actually realized that Vern wasn't going to last much longer. The thought depressed me.
There is an obvious bond among veterans. It doesn't matter what age the veteran is or when or where he or she served in the military; there is that bond. I don't think I need to explain of what that bond consists. Vern, Thomas and I had not developed a friendship—we had not been together long enough for that to happen; but we were developing one. I respected and admired them because they were warriors—they had no intention of giving up. Vern had to know he didn't have much longer, and Thomas had to know that the chances of his coming demise were high. And yet, they wouldn't give up—they wanted to live as long as possible. I expected that Vern would go first, but the way it turned out, Thomas was the first to go—and it wasn't because of diabetes....
Thomas turned to me and said “We'll come in here one day and we'll see the bed clothes move, but Vern will be invisible. He'll scare the crap out of us.” This evoked another round of laughter—or attempted laughter. Just at this time, Nurse Quinter came bustling into the room carrying a tray with various instruments on it.
Nurse Quinter was a tall skinny woman in her mid-forties. She was one of those no-nonsense nurses who look down on all patients as children, and treat all of them in a condescending way.
“How are we doing this morning?” she chirped to Vern.
“Feel okay,” Vern said. You could tell he didn't, but that was his standard answer to the question.
Nurse Quinter gave out a closed-lip smile. She then looked at Thomas and me and said “You two should be in your rooms. I need to check Mr. Mally's signs.”
“Can't we watch?” Thomas said, a mischievous look in his eyes. “I've decided to become a nurse, and it would really help me if I could observe.”
Nurse Quinter looked at him in incomprehension. She couldn't tell if he was serious or not. Being uncertain, she decided to assert her authority. “It would be better if you two would go to your rooms while I do this.”
“So be it,” Thomas replied. “I suppose I'll just have to learn how to be a nurse on my own.” He turned to Vern. “We'll see you later, old man, and we'll discuss the state of the world situation.”
“See you all later,” Vern said.
We left his room and Thomas said to me at my door “Have you ever noticed that there are only two types of nurses. There's the Nurse Quinter type, and there's the friendly type.”
“I hadn't really noticed,” I answered.
“Well, it's true,” he said. “Fortunately, the Nurse Quinter types are in a minority in this hospital.”
He left me and I went back to bed. Not to sleep; that was a lost cause—it was mid-morning, and the lights and noise from the hospital around me made sleep impossible. I lay in bed and did what I usually did: think and reflect. Not about anything specifically; just things that popped into my head.
After lunch (which by the way was delicious; whoever was responsible for the food and the preparation of it in the hospital was a master) Judy Latcher paid me a visit.
Before I knew what was happening, she had sat down on the bed, kissed my cheek, and said “Hi sweetie, how do you feel?”
I was almost speechless, but I managed to say “I'm okay.”
“Are you in any pain?” she asked.
“Some, but not that much,” I replied. That was a fib because I was hurting. But I was the kind of person who had the silly notion that admitting I was in pain somehow showed that I was a weak person.
“If you are, I can get you a pain pill,” she said.
“Okay,” I answered.
“I'll be right back,” she said and left the room. I still felt the imprint of her lips on my cheek.
She came back a minute later and gave me a pill. She sat back down on the bed next to my head.
“I saw on your info sheet that you've never been married,” she suddenly said. Then she smiled. “I know, I know, I'm nosy—I mean about reading your info sheet. I can't help it. I'm just curious about you.” Again she gave me a dazzling smile, and something tingled inside of me.
“I don't mind,” I replied. “Yeah, I've never been married.”
“You worked as a journalist and newspaper reporter and writer mainly,” she said. “I bet you've lived in a lot of places.”
“Yeah, I have. I've lived and worked in California, Arizona, New Orleans, Florida, Atlanta, Nashville. I probably worked at seven or eight different newspapers in my time.”
Here I need to insert something about myself to the reader:
I've always been a reticent and laconic person who doesn't talk much, and especially I don't initiate talking much about myself. But if someone I know begins asking me questions, I will answer them, and before I know it, I am talking up a storm about myself. Usually the person who asked me questions will lose interest before I do.
So when Judy began asking me questions about myself, it didn't surprise me or make me suspicious. I just figured she was as she put it curious about me.
“So now you're retired and settled here in Memphis?” she asked.
“Yeah, I'm settled down here. This is where I'm from. How about you. Are you from Memphis here?”
“Yes—well, actually I'm from right outside of Memphis—in Germantown.”
“Have you ever thought of traveling?” I asked.
“Not really. I'm happy here.” She paused for a moment, and she gave me another of those dazzling smiles, and silly as it might sound, I felt myself falling for her.
But she suddenly asked me a question out of the blue that immediately gave me a warning buzz and made me recall something that Thomas had said about her: “The next time you see her, see if she doesn't try to worm it out of you how much you're worth.”
The question she asked me was: “You're not married; do you live alone?”
That question changed everything. It changed how I thought about her, and how I viewed her. I can't explain why or how it changed everything in my mind about her. I just know that it did. For the first time I began viewing her with suspicious eyes.
“I live with my mother,” I replied. “I'm her primary care provider, I guess you could say.”
“How old is she?”
“She's ninety.”
“Wow. And you alone take care of her?”
“Yeah.”
“Full-time job, isn't it.”
“Just about.”
“Is she a widow?”
“Yeah. Dad passed away five years ago.”
The more personal questions she asked me, the more suspicious I grew of her. But there was still a spark that remained. A spark of hope that she wasn't what Thomas had said she was.
“What did your dad do for a living?” she asked.
“He was a mechanic.”
“It must be tough for you two—I mean financially. I hope you all have enough insurance and money to cover all you need.”
I felt the spark go out.
“She's pretty well-covered by Medicare, and she gets a small pension. Me—I get a small social security check—I took an early retirement, and I get a moderate disability check. It is tough, but we make it.”
She patted me on my arm, gave me a little smile, and got off the bed. I suddenly felt a coolness from her. Much as I hated to admit it to myself, I realized that things had changed between us, and that Thomas had been right. For from then on, there was that coolness and distance emitted by her toward me.
The rest of the day wore on as it usually did in most hospitals. I mainly occupied my time by reading. Occasionally there would be breaks by nurses coming in and taking my blood pressure and temperature, giving me pills and a shot. The only real complaint I had was that it was impossible to get a good night's sleep. There were too many lights on in the hospital, too much noise, and nurses would come in in the middle of the night to perform their duties on me.
But the next morning something happened to totally disrupt the routine. No, that's too mild a word. It literally shook the routine.
In the mid-morning Thomas came rolling in for his morning visit, and I ended up telling him what had occurred with Nurse Latcher. “You were right, Thomas.”
“Well, in my time,” he replied, “I've been wrong about a lot of things. But I'm not wrong about Nurse Latcher.”
We went to Vern's room for our morning visit. When we reached the doorway and looked in, I literally halted in amazement. Shock is too strong a word to describe how I felt at what I saw, but it came close to it. Nurse Latcher was sitting on the bed next to Vern who was lying there hooked up with all kinds of wires and tubes. She was softly rubbing her cheek on his and had her hand on his shoulder caressing it.
I was speechless, but Thomas wasn't. He strode into the room and said in a loud voice “Good morning, Vern. How you feeling?”
Nurse Latcher drew away from Vern and got off the bed.
“Well, well, it looks like Nurse Latcher is taking good care of you,” Thomas said. Her face was red and she fumbled with her hands.
For a moment Thomas was silent as he shot a piercing glance at Judy. Then suddenly he said “I can see right through you. I know what you're trying to do.”
“What are you talking about?” Judy replied.
“Oh, come on, Nurse, don't try that innocent stuff on me. It won't work. I understand perfectly what your motive is and what you're attempting to do.”
“And what is that, Thomas?” she asked. “What am I trying to do, and what is my motive?”
“You tried the same thing with me, and it didn't work when you found out what I was worth. Then you tried the same with Willie. Same result. So, now, you've started on Vern. You're trying to find out what his assets are, how much he's worth. Your motive is plain to see. You're trying to find a sugar daddy, get him infatuated with you, and end up with all that he's worth, all he has.”
Judy gave out a smile, but it was a halfhearted attempt. It looked more like a grimace than a smile.
“Thomas, I don't know where you came up with such an idea, but it's simply not true.” She paused for a moment, looking at both of us. “Willie, do you believe this too? Do you believe that I'm such a coldhearted gold-digging person as Thomas has tried to make me out to be?”
Before I could answer, Thomas cut in. “Willie knows the truth about you. And I'm telling you right now that it's not going to stay just between us. I'm going to do everything in my power to let everyone in this hospital know about you, and what you're doing, and what your motive is.”
Judy wagged her head. “I don't know what to say, except you're wrong. It may be that I'm affectionate with patients. But that's the way I am. I'm a nurse, and I care for my patients. Even you, Thomas. Even after you've made this accusation. Some may think that I'm wrong in caring so much for patients and showing affection. But I don't think I am. I want you to think for a minute. If you do what you said you would: let everyone know what you think about me, and what you think I'm trying to do, it's going to hurt me, Thomas—in more ways than one, and it will end up hurting you.”
“How is it going to end up hurting me?”
“For one thing, no one's going to really believe you. But it will end up, because of protocol, in both of us being under the eyes of people in this hospital.”
“That doesn't matter to me,” Thomas said. “What matters is letting everyone know what you're doing. I don't care what the result of that will be for me. I just want the truth to come out about you. And make no mistake about it, it's going to come out. I'm going to make sure it does.”
Nurse Latcher looked steadily at him, and an unfriendly smile played on her lips. “Well,” she finally said, “I think this conversation has reached its end. I have other patients to look after.” With that, she strode out of the room.
“May I say something, since this hullabaloo is all about me?” Vern said.
We looked in surprise at Vern. We had forgotten about him in the preceding verbal fracas.
“Thomas, I don't want you to tell anyone about what happened. It's no big deal. Nurse Latcher may very well be out to get what she can. But here's the thing: I don't care if she is or not. The fact is, she's making me feel good.” Vern paused and looked steadily at us. “Do you think I don't understand what's happening? I don't have that much longer. I'm in the final stages. What's wrong with Nurse Latcher making me feel good? I know some would say that her motive is to try to get all she can out of me. Maybe by me including her in my will. Well, the fact is I'm going to include her in my will.”
“What!” Thomas exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Vern replied. “Why not? I don't have any close relatives. I don't have anyone to leave what I've got. Why not leave it to Nurse Latcher? At least she's making me feel good in my last days. That's more than most are doing.”
“I think you need to think this over,” Thomas said.
“What's to think over?” Vern asked. “I've already made up my mind, and nothing anyone can say will make me change it.”
I heard a sigh come from Thomas. “I'm not going to argue with you about it. In the end you'll do what you want to do regardless. But I just hate to see it happen.”
We visited with Vern for a bit longer and then left his room.
“Well, I guess Nurse Latcher is going to get what she wants,” I said.
“Not if I can help it,” Thomas replied. “I don't care what Vern does—if he puts her in his will or not; I'm going to make sure that as many people as possible in this hospital know what's going on.”
Thomas was a true as his word.
That very day he went around the hospital talking to nurses, doctors, to total strangers. He even made an appointment to see the hospital administrator. I asked him about that and he told me that she was a nice lady who had really listened to what he had to say. If she would act upon it was another question.
Thomas didn't let up. He went at it for the next couple of days. I could tell he generally made a nuisance out of himself with the nurses, but one thing about it: he got the word out, and he started the gossip and rumor mill running in the hospital. To anyone unfamiliar with hospitals, I can tell you that if you get a rumor started it assumes a life of its own. The nurses are the worst offenders in that respect. Now don't get me wrong. I have the highest respect and admiration for nurses. They are tremendously overworked and underpaid, and they care—they really do. They are caring persons—totally unselfish, compassionate and other-directed. But they are terrible gossips. That is the only fault I find with them.
As far as Nurse Latcher went, Thomas's actions hadn't seemed to have affected her. It's true that there was now a coolness in her manner toward me, and certainly toward Thomas, but that had occurred before Thomas had started the rumor mill flowing. One thing about it, I missed her caresses.
I had a feeling that things couldn't go on as they were, and I was right. It came to a boil. Judy and Thomas had a showdown of sorts, and it happened in our room.
I had known that I wouldn't have a room of my own for very long. Sure enough I got a room-mate and it turned out to be Thomas.
In the mid-morning Judy appeared carrying a tray with the usual instruments on it. She had a wooden look on her face—really expressionless—almost cold-looking.
“Well, if it ain't Nurse Latch-on,” Thomas started it. “Come to perform her Nightingale routine. Tell me, Nursie, you gonna give me the needle this morning?”
Judy ignored Thomas's remarks and proceeded to her tasks.
But Thomas wouldn't let up. He kept needling her till she had had enough, I reckon. She blurted out: “Look, I'm your assigned nurse. That doesn't mean I have to be jocular with you, or even cordial. It just means I'm to perform certain functions, and that's it. So you can stop with the lame jokes. I let them slide right off my back.”
“Oh ho, we've got a temper this morning, don't we,” Thomas said with a cynical grin. “I just might have to report your behavior.”
Judy's whole body tightened up like a coiled spring. I saw the muscles clenching on her neck and in her face. It was clear to see that she was on the verge of snapping back at Thomas. Then it was as if some inner voice spoke to her and you could see her relax. A cold smile came over her face. Then it changed. She now had an almost sad expression. Her shoulders slumped.
“Have it your own way,” she said in a low voice. “Do what you think you need to do. Don't worry about the consequences. Don't worry that I may lose my job. Don't worry about that. Just do what you think you need to do.”
I thought that even Thomas was a little touched by her remarks, for he drew the needle back and closed his mouth. I was wrong about that, as usual.
As Judy performed her various functions of taking our blood pressure, temperature, and all the other little duties nurses are assigned, Thomas didn't say a word. He just kept his eyes on her. Judy refused to look at him.
As she left the room, Thomas gave her a parting shot: “You're a damn good actress, I have to say that.”
She halted in mid-stride, and I could see her back hunch up as if a shock had bolted through her body. She stood still for a second, and then she turned her head slowly and looked at Thomas. It was the coldest look I'd ever seen on a face.
“You don't know the half of it,” she clipped out. “You think you know what's going on, but you have no idea. You haven't got a clue—what's going to happen. I'll just say one thing before I leave you gentlemen. I've tried my best. That's all I'm guilty of. It will probably make you happy that I've been called to meet with the administrator. But if you think for one minute that I'm going to give up without a fight, then you're sadly--” She halted in mid-sentence as if she thought she had said too much. She stood up straight and erect. She nodded her head in quick little jerks. “I see now that you're not going to give it up,” she spoke in an expressionless voice. “You're going to keep on with it. You're going to keep pushing. Just keep this in mind: You don't know what's going to happen. You have no idea.” She halted for a few seconds, and then she said in a cryptic tone: “But I know now what's going to have to be done.” She then turned and strode out of the room.
“Damn, but she's good,” Thomas said after a moment. “She could make it on the stage.”
Thomas continued with his campaign against Nurse Latcher for the next couple of days; and then something happened that broke my heart and my mind.
Lights were usually out in the ward we were in at ten p.m. We were given sleep medication about nine, and I had settled myself down to try to get some shut-eye (anyone who has been in a hospital for any length of time knows what a lost cause that is). But I had managed to go off in a doze. Something woke me up in the night—some noise. I opened my eyes, and in the darkened room I saw a shadowy figure bending over Thomas. I could tell the figure was a woman nurse and she looked to be giving Thomas a shot in his arm. I then saw that the nurse was Judy Latcher.
But I wasn't surprised or alarmed. It was a regular routine for nurses to come into the room in the middle of the night to check our blood pressure or take our temperature—or even to give us shots. So it wasn't that that caused me alarm. It was the furtive manner of Judy that caused me to feel that something wasn't right about the situation. She kept looking around, and her movements were jumpy and jerky as if she were afraid of being caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing.
Through all this, Thomas hadn't stirred. I could hear his light snoring. He was usually a light sleeper, but he was now in a deep sleep. A thought crossed my mind. It had been Judy who had given us our sleep medication. I wondered for a moment if she had perhaps given Thomas a double dose. But I quickly suppressed that thought. I guess I'm naïve about some people and about life in general, for the way things turned out broke my faith in both people and the world—of what some people might be capable.
Something told me to not move, not to let Judy know that I was awake and witnessing what she was doing. I lay still and looked at the scene through half-lidded eyes. One time Judy looked over at me, and I got the feeling she was checking me out, trying to see if I was asleep. I must have fooled her because she went on with her operation.
She finished and I heard a sigh come from her, but it was a sigh of satisfaction, of having completed a task she felt was fraught with danger. She hurriedly gathered the various implements she had used and strode out of the room.
Needless to say, I didn't go back to sleep that night. I lay there trying to make sense of it all. I finally got the feeling that it was all over my head. I came to the conclusion that the truth would come out and everything would be explained. I was wrong, as usual.
The next morning was a nightmare.
Thomas was usually awake by seven. When he hadn't made a move by the time the nurse came in with breakfast, I knew something was wrong. The nurse checked him out and then she made a run out of the room. That's when it all started. There must have been a half-dozen nurses and doctors who came into the room and checked Thomas out. There was even a man in civilian clothes who came in and took notes. It seemed as if the hurly-burly lasted for hours.
The truth finally came out: Thomas was dead. The explanation given was that he had died of heart failure, had had a heart attack sometime during the night. I had other ideas, but I kept them to myself for the time being.
I was in a quandary. Should I report what I had witnessed the night before? Should I report my suspicions? It could well turn out that Nurse Latcher was just doing her job. I believed she had killed Thomas to put it bluntly, but looking at it rationally and reasonably, what grounds or proof did I have? In short, I just didn't know what to do. I finally figured that I needed to talk with someone. I went to Vern's room.
He was reading but he put the book down when I entered.
“Glad you came in,” he said. “I was wanting to find a good excuse to quit reading anyway.”
“What are you reading?”
“Churchill's Memoirs. He was awful long-winded—alive and dead.”
“I suppose you've heard about Thomas,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied, taking off his glasses. “Oh well, to use an old cliché, we've all got to go sometime.”
“I miss him already,” I said.
“Yeah, so do I. You know what, he's probably laughing at us right now, wagging his head, grinning that cynical grin of his, and saying I told you so.”
We both chuckled, and then we were silent thinking about Thomas.
Vern broke the silence: “Well, in Thomas's case, it was probably inevitable anyway. You do know he was scheduled for surgery in a few days, don't you? They were going to remove the rest of his leg.”
“I didn't know that,” I replied.
“Yeah, and when that happens, it's usually just a matter of time. He would have probably gone anyway in a few months. I may be wrong, but I believe if the diabetes spreads so that they have to amputate your whole leg, it's pretty much a death sentence. I think Thomas's reply to all the doctors would have been: Go ahead and cut my damn body off—just leave me my mouth and stomach, my a s s, and my dick.”
We both broke into laughter, and I felt much better, and I believe that Vern, with all his pain, did too.
After we had caught our breath, Vern suddenly asked out of the blue if I had seen Nurse Latcher. I told him no, but that she would probably show up soon because it was time to check on all the patients and dispense medication.
“I need to see her,” he said. “I'm going to make a big announcement to her, as they say. I'm going to tell her that I'm going to include her in my will.”
“You're going to do it after all, are you?”
“Yeah, I've thought it all over, given it a good deal of thought. And I'm going to give it all to her. All my property and assets.”
He looked steadily at me for a moment.
“Aren't you going to argue with me?” he asked.
“No. Your mind's made up, as you told Thomas and me. So I don't see any use in arguing with you about it.”
“I'm going to give it all to her,” he repeated. “All my property, all the assets, all my money. The way I figure it is she's not well-off. On the contrary, she's what would be called disadvantaged. I don't have to tell you what an uncertified nurse's salary is. Giving it all to her, I know is a good thing. I know I'll be giving it to someone who needs it.”
I decided this was as good a time as any to bring in the events of the night before. I didn't want to cause Vern any pain, but I felt it incumbent upon me to tell him what had happened.
After I had told him, he didn't say anything for a moment, just gazed at the ceiling. Finally he looked at me and said “Doesn't change anything—about Judy. I find it impossible to imagine her capable of killing someone—for whatever reason. I've come to know her over the past two weeks, and I can tell you, she's incapable of murder. It's simply unbelievable.”
“But what about what I saw?” I asked. “Last night.”
“Well, you yourself said it was pretty shadowy, half dark. To be honest, I think you thought you saw her all jerky and jumpy and nervous. Didn't you say you had just woke up when this happened?”
“Yeah, but I was awake. Believe me, I was awake. I didn't dream it.”
“I didn't say you dreamed it. I said you had just woke up. Believe me, our eyes play tricks on us when it's half dark and we have just awakened.”
I thought about what he had said, and I had to admit it made sense. Or maybe I should say some of it made sense. I knew what I saw, that's all I knew. And the next morning Thomas was dead of heart failure. To say I was at odds with myself and confused would be an understatement.
We talked for a little longer, and then I said bye to Vern and went back to my room and waited for the nurse to bring me my medication and to do her thing she did every morning—and noon and night.
When Nurse Quinter entered my room I asked her about Nurse Latcher, and she told me that it was her day off.
Nurse Quinter was her usual cheerful upbeat self. She didn't even take the time to give me a half-lipped smile.
After she left my room, I lay there there and mulled over things, specifically what I had seen the night before and what Vern had told me. I was conflicted to say the least. I felt that I needed to talk with others, to get their viewpoint, but how could I do it without outright accusing Nurse Latcher of murder? I finally just couldn't take it anymore. I knew that what I had seen had happened. I hadn't been half awake, and the light in the room was enough for me to see. My conscience took over, leaving all doubt behind. Much as I hated to admit it, I thought I knew in my heart and mind that Nurse Latcher had killed Thomas. As I discovered later, doubt would return.
I went to the nurses' station and talked with one of the nurses. I asked her to check and see if Nurse Latcher had actually been assigned to care for Thomas the night before. She checked and told me that yes, Nurse Latcher had been assigned, and also that she had given Thomas his regular medications and checked his signs. I asked her if Nurse Latcher had been assigned to give Thomas a shot. That she didn't know, but she assumed that if Thomas had been receiving shots regularly at night, then Nurse Latcher had probably given him a shot.
By this time Thomas had of course been removed and his bed stripped. It was as if he hadn't occupied the bed at all. I really missed him. Funny as it may sound, I missed his cynicism.
Even though the information the nurse had given to me seemed to somewhat confirm Nurse Latcher's innocence, there was a little voice inside of me that kept nagging me. It wouldn't go away. It went something like this: “You know what you saw.” I couldn't escape that fact.
I lay back down on the bed and tried to catch a nap, but that was a lost cause. I tried reading. That didn't work either. I tried for what seemed the half-dozenth time to mull over the events of the night before and what Vern had told me, and the information the nurse had provided. It didn't change anything. And it didn't still that little voice inside of me. You know what you saw.
Finally, after struggling with all this, I decided I had to talk with the hospital administrator. My conscience simply wouldn't allow me to keep quiet any longer.
The administrator was a woman in her mid-fifties with an open accessible face who actually believed in the old adage My door is always open.
She greeted me and offered me a seat beside her at her desk. We chatted for a moment, and then she asked me what she could do for me.
I proceeded to tell her the whole story about Nurse Latcher, myself, Vern and Thomas, from beginning to end—including what I had seen the night before, what Vern and the nurse had told me, and what I thought about the whole situation.
She listened thoughtfully, and when I had finished she said “I'm going to look into this. This is not the first report I've had concerning Nurse Latcher. If what you say is true, I don't think I have to tell you the consequences. But I promise you this: I am going to personally look into this.”
I thanked her and left her office, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders. I felt in my heart, and I knew in my mind, that I had done the right thing by speaking with the administrator.
That night I slept a sounder sleep than I had in nights, maybe weeks. With Nurse Latcher being off and out of the hospital, and my having spoken to the administrator and having that weight lifted off me, I slept a full eight hours without awakening. The nurse coming in to check my vital signs and give me a shot didn't even wake me.
The next morning I felt better that I had in months.
And then I looked down at the foot of my bed and on to the doorway. Nurse Latcher stood there holding a tray with the usual implements on it.
She stood there in silence for a moment, a stony look on her face, then she half-smiled and walked to the bed and put the tray down on a table.
“Judy, I--” I began but she cut me off.
“You don't have to say anything, Willie. Don't worry about it. You did what you thought needed to be done. I mean, going to the administrator and talking with the nurses about me.”
She plopped a thermometer in my mouth, and continued talking. “Don't be concerned that I've been summoned to the administrator's office, or that I'm being investigated, or that I may lose my job, or that I'm being gossiped about by all the other nurses. Don't let it concern you, for, after all, you just did what you felt needed to be done. You know, sometimes, I wish I could go back in time—just for the week back—so that I could change some things. Wishful thinking on my part. I'm sorry, Willie, that things turned out the way they did. I wish with all my heart that things could have been different. I liked Thomas—I really did. How could you even entertain the thought that I could do what you think I did? What did I do that would make you think such a thing? I'm sorry, Willie—I'm just sorry that things turned out the way they did.”
There was a point in her speech where I started thinking of something Thomas had said about her: She's a good actress; she could make it on the stage.
There was something about the delivery of the lines she had spoken that made me think they were rehearsed; and that her whole demeanor was an act.
She took the thermometer out of my mouth, checked it, and then strapped the Velcro belt around my arm and pumped it up.
“Listen, Judy, I don't--” Again she cut me off.
“You don't have to say anything, Willie. You just did what you felt needed to be done. That's the bottom line. It's all right. Even if I get investigated, or even fired, I won't hate you. I like you too much to ever hate you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. And that's when I knew for sure she was putting on an act. (Or maybe I was just belatedly catching some of Thomas's cynicism.)
“Of course, this cancels you joining me on vacation,” she managed a half-smile. “I don't think I could handle that.”
“Me either,” I replied.
“I want to ask you a question directly, Willie. Do you think I murdered Thomas?”
“To be honest, Judy, I simply don't know. I'm torn up about it. In a way, I think you're incapable of it, but in another way...I just don't know...”
She actually gave me a bright smile. “Spoken like the true Willie I've come to know. You never give a direct answer. That's because you're an indecisive person.”
She gathered the implements and placed them back on the tray and made to leave, but then she halted and said with her back turned toward me: “I wish things could have turned out differently. But we can't change what's been done, or going to be done for that matter.”
Then she walked out.
She had certainly given me some food for thought.
The day wore on as it usually does in hospitals. The days are long and the nights are short and constantly interrupted.
I tried going to sleep early that evening, and miracles of miracles—I actually achieved it. I was actually able to go to sleep.
I don't know what time it was when something woke me up. I opened my eyes and saw a darkened form leaning over me. Then I realized it was Nurse Latcher—and she had a hypodermic in her hand.
I don't know if I screamed. I remember shouting and half jumping half rolling out of bed. I stood in a corner, the bed between us, trembling with fear.
“Willie, what is wrong with you?” Nurse Latcher said oh so quietly and calmly. “I'm just going to give you a shot. You get one every night. What's the problem now?”
I didn't answer her. I just started yelling for help. A nurse came running into the room. “What in the world!” she exclaimed.
“She's trying to kill me, just like she did Thomas,” I spoke nervously and loudly. “Get help—and keep her away from me.”
“Willie,” Nurse Latcher said in that same calm quiet irritating tone. Then she spoke to the nurse. “Go get the nearest duty nurse. I think it's Nurse Quinter who's on duty tonight. Tell her she needs to come to room 112—with a sedative.”
“Yeah, get Nurse Quinter, but I don't need a sedative,” I spoke too loudly and gratingly to sound calm and in control.
The nurse hurriedly left the room and a minute later returned with Nurse Quinter striding into the room. Nurse Quinter was her usual no-nonsense self. She took one look at the situation and sized everything up with one disapproving glance.
I noticed two things at the same time: Nurse Quinter held a hypodermic in her hand, and Nurse Latcher had unobtrusively slipped hers into her pocket.
“Check the hypodermic,” I said. “The one she just slipped into her pocket. Check the contents of it, and see if I need a sedative. She's trying to kill me—just like she did Thomas.”
The three nurses moved toward me, and I suddenly felt trapped—which I actually was. I suddenly realized that some things are inevitable and there's no use in resisting them. I gave up and let them have their way. I was injected with what I assumed was a sedative. By this time I was in such a state that I couldn't even be sure of that.
Gradually everything went red, and then black.
I awoke in an unfamiliar setting: I was in a ward with other patients. There were maybe twenty beds in the train station-like room. Most of them were occupied.
I lay there disoriented for quite awhile till a nurse came by and I asked her where I was, and she told me that I had been transported to the intensive ward of the hospital. That wasn't wholly true. I learned later that the hall-like room I was in was the disturbed section of the hospital.
I stayed in the ward for a week. I was interviewed numerous times by doctors. I supposed they were trying to determine if I was in my right mind and was a threat to anyone.
I was finally released from the hospital. As I left the huge complex of buildings, I breathed in the outside air deeply and gratefully. For the first time in weeks I felt free.
I returned to the hospital a month later for a check-up and blood-work. I learned from the nurses that Vern had been released. I supposed the hospital and the doctors had come to the conclusion that there was really no need to keep him there, as he was terminal. When I returned a month after that, I learned that Nurse Latcher had suddenly quit her job as a nurse.
In the next months, my curiosity continued to grow. I wondered more and more what had happened with Nurse Latcher and with Vern. It grew so bad that I felt the urge to find out at all costs what had happened. I ended hiring a private investigator—even though I could ill afford it, and it put a real financial strain on me to do it. But I simply had to know.
The investigator did his job, and he reported to me that Nurse Latcher and Vern had ended getting married; Vern had died a few months past—not from leukemia but from heart failure, and Nurse Latcher had inherited all his assets. I suppose she had finally gotten what she had wanted, what she had been after. The investigator discovered that a few months after Vern's death, Nurse Latcher had applied for employment at the Nashville Veterans Hospital—and had been hired. I suppose Vern's assets hadn't been enough. Or maybe she really wanted to be a nurse, and she missed the job.
Did Nurse Latcher murder Thomas? Did she try to kill me? Did she murder Vern? Questions which at first glimpse might appear easy to answer. But can I be one hundred percent sure? Oftentimes I lie awake at night and wonder what the answer is. I suppose I'll never know for sure.