âMiss Julia?â
âYes, thank you for taking my call. I am worried sick, Dr. Hargrove. What happened to Sam? Is he going to be all right?â
âWell, right now, I donât know what happened. Thatâs why I called Dr. Allen. It couldâve been nothingâindigestion, as Sam thought, or an early indication that something else is going on.â
âLike what?â
âUlcers are a possibility, but most likely itâs an inflamed gallbladder. Weâll run some tests and have a better idea when the results come in. But he needs to get to the hospital so we can get started.â
âI understand, but I donât know why you didnât keep him there when you had him.â
âWell, you know Sam.â Dr. Hargrove chuckled, which under the circumstances I didnât appreciate. âItâs hard to keep a good man down.â
I didnât see any humor in the situation, nor did I think that platitudes were a bit of help. âThatâs all well and good, but what do you think? Is he going to be all right?â
âItâs like this, Miss Julia: he seemed fine after a little whileâhis blood pressure and heart rate were normal, and he had no fever. But itâs only sensible to do some tests as a precautionary measure. You know, at his age . . .â
There it was again:
at his age,
or as had been said to me so many times,
at your age,
and I was sick and tired of it. Why did oneâs age have to qualify everything? And have you noticed that you canât turn around nowadays without someone asking for your date of birth? It doesnât matter where you areâin a doctorâs office, a lawyerâs office, a bank, or a place of businessâsome little twit a third of your age thinks it her right to demand your birth date. At least, though, theyâve stopped asking how old you are, having discovered that if theyâre rude enough to ask for a specific number theyâre likely to get a nonspecific and ever-changing answer. I finally figured out that theyâre using your birth date to identify you instead of your Social Security number. Which doesnât make a lick of sense because thereâs only one Social Security number to a person, yet there must be hundreds, even thousands, of people who have the same date of birth. Theyâd be better off if they required something like fingerprints that canât be duplicated or stolen, which, come to think of it, will probably be the next step.
Only partially reassured by Dr. Hargrove, I decided to focus on the surgeonâwhen I could catch himâwho would know more than Dr. Hargrove anyway. I took the portable phone to Sam, swinging through the library on my way, to pick up his address book.
âNow,â I said, retaking my seat on the ottoman, âwho do you have to call?â
âI need my calendar,â Sam said, beginning to rise. âItâs in the library.â
âNo, donât get up. Iâll get it.â And back to the library I went for his calendar.
âWell, actually,â Sam said, pulling a folded page from his coat pocket, âIâd better enter these events on the calendar first. Then we can decide who to ask to go in my place.â
âWhy canât you just reschedule them?â
âI donât think I canâthe next few weeks are booked solid. And if somebody doesnât show up for some of these events, why, the partyâs likely to think they have another Frank Sawyer on their hands.â
âMaybe his knees are well enough to take over for you,â Isuggested, wondering if Sam should be doing any campaigning at all. And wondering also if the episode heâd had was a sign that the Lord wanted Sam out of politics. Having Trixie on our hands could be another sign, as well. I was becoming less and less enamored of Sam as a potential senatorânot that Iâd been all that enthusiastic in the first
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley