Free The Society by Michael Palmer Page B

all the paperwork and delayed payments and grumpy patients.”
    “I may do that.”
    “Excuse me, Dr. Grant?”
    A trim, attractive Asian woman approached him from one of the seats to his right. Her ebony hair, cut in a pageboy, was very appealing.
    “Yes?”
    “Dr. Grant, there’s no reason you should remember me, but there’s no reason I would ever forget you.”
    “I’m embarrassed I don’t re—”
    “Please don’t be. My name is Grace Davis. That’s my husband, Mark, over there.”
    Will glanced over at an athletic-looking man in his early forties—business or perhaps law was his guess. He also caught sight of the ornate grandfather clock that Jim Katz had lent the practice. In forty-eight minutes he had to be on the road.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m still not able to—”
    “My maiden name was Peng. Grace Peng. For more than a year I was a regular at the—”
    “Oh my God! Grace! I don’t believe this.”
    Excitedly, Will held her by the arms and studied her face. It was most definitely Grace Peng, but it wasn’t. The Grace Peng he knew was a woeful, down-and-out alcoholic who was a regular patron of the Open Hearth a decade ago. She was a woman of intelligence and potential, whom he and everybody else around the Hearth was drawn to and wanted to help. But sooner or later, her anger and virulent drinking drove them all away. More than one of the volunteers and staff—perhaps Will included—predicted a premature and possibly violent death for the woman.
    “Gosh, but you look wonderful. How long has it been?”
    “More than ten years since I saw you and also since I had my last drink.”
    Inadvertently, Will glanced at the clock again. Forty minutes.
    “It sure looks as if you have a tale to tell,” he said.
    “I’m so sorry. You’re in a rush. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
    “No! Well, I mean yes. I have a speech to give tonight in Boston. I’m a little nervous about it.”
    The transformation in the woman was absolutely astounding. She was always filthy and disheveled—more so even than most of the Open Hearth patrons. To the best of Will’s memory, Grace had gone off to yet another treatment center and had never been heard from at the Hearth again. If, as she said, it had been more than ten years ago, the twins were about to arrive and he was hustling about trying to hook up with a practice. His involvement with the place he had helped found fell off for a couple of years.
    “I had no idea you were working here,” she said.
    “Well, who are you here to see?”
    “Dr. Hollister.”
    “For?”
    “I was referred to her by the clinic where I had my mammogram. They’re suspicious of cancer.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. Well, I certainly hope that’s not the case.”
    “I’m afraid it is. My husband has my mammograms. It’s not that big, but even I can see it.”
    Thirty-five minutes.
    “Dr. Hollister is one of my partners. You’ll really like her.”
    “Now I don’t want her to be my doctor.”
    “Why? You said you haven’t even met her.”
    “I want you, Dr. Grant. If I had known you were here, I would have insisted they refer me to you.”
    “But—”
    “I’m sorry. I know you’re in a hurry. I’ll just cancel this appointment and reschedule with you. We can talk then.”
    “Grace, we make it a point in our practice not to switch patients.”
    “I’m sure Dr. Hollister will understand when I tell her that I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”
    Thirty minutes.
    Will sighed inwardly. “Why don’t you and your husband come into my office,” he said.
    “There is so much about me and my upbringing and my life that I would never let you or anyone else at the soup kitchen know,” Grace said as Will held her mammograms up to the window. As she predicted, the cancer was quite easily discernible—a marble-size density in the upper outer quadrant of her left breast. If the adjacent lymph nodes were cancer free, the lumpectomy to remove it