place.
âMe? Nothing. Stephanie said that Dr. McIvey plans to take over running the clinic. Believe me, if that happens, this place will clear out like the plague swept through.â
âWhy? Whatâs wrong with him?â
Bernie looked past Erica and smiled. âHi, Shawn. Howâs it going?â
A tall youth had entered with a woman, his mother probably, Erica thought. The boy was wearing a neck brace and had his arm in a sling.
âOkay,â he said.
Bernie buzzed Tony Kranz and the boy started to walk toward the therapy rooms while his mother went to the waiting room. Tony met the boy halfway down the hall and they walked on together. Tony didnât look very much older than his patient. He was one of the interns who had come for his clinical practice, and to work under the direction of DarrenHalvord. The interns, Erica had learned, worked for peanuts, but they would have paid for the chance to work under Darren for a year or two. After this apprenticeship, they were considered to be prizes by other institutions.
Bernie did not have a chance to answer Ericaâs question. A couple of patients were arriving for their four-thirty appointments, and others were leaving, some of them stopping by the desk to arrange appointment times or just to chat a moment.
Erica picked up her purse and the book she was reading, The Canterville Ghost, and wandered off to the lounge. She had started coming every weekday to read and knew there would be other chances to quiz Bernie, or one of the kitchen aides, a nurse, someone. She had not met Dr. McIvey, had not even caught a glimpse of him, but every time she heard the name David McIvey, or most often, Dr. McIvey, it was with that same tone of dislike, distrust, whatever it was. Yet, Annie had married him, and apparently planned to stay with him. Curious, she thought. It was very curious.
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A week later Thomas Kelso advised David that the bylaws of the corporation required a reorganization of the governing board of directors. They met in the directorsâ office at the clinic immediately after David left his surgical office.
The directorsâ office was a pleasant room with a leather-covered sofa, good upholstered chairs, a round table with straight chairs and windows thatlooked out on the garden. In the past, the four directors had sat in the easy chairs, or on the sofa, not at the table, but that day Thomas had left his briefcase, a legal pad, pencils, water glasses and a tape recorder on the table as if to signify that this was not the companionable get-together of old friends who seldom disagreed. He was already at the table, scanning notes he had made over the past day or two when David entered.
After their greeting, which Thomas likened to a meaningless tribal ritual, he got straight to the point. âSince we have no secretary present, Iâll tape our meeting. We are required to keep a record of all meetings, you see.â He turned on the tape recorder. âNow, our bylaws demand that we have four directorsâ positions filled at all times. After your fatherâs death, Joyce assumed his function as vice president, along with her own duties as secretary, of course. Those two positions now have to be filled.â
David watched him with narrowed eyes. He was tired. He had been in surgery for six hours that day, and he had seen patients in the office as well as in the hospital. He shook his head. âI donât know what Mother did exactly, but whatever it was, it ran her ragged. I donât have that kind of time, as you well know. Iâm a working doctor. Hire someone to do whatever she was responsible for.â
âIâm afraid we canât do that,â Thomas said. âHave you read the bylaws, David?â When he shook his head again, Thomas said, âWell, you should. But Iâll tell you now whatâs in them. We set this up as a nonprofit clinic, of course, and we agreed that the directors would