Read Dr. Death for Free Online Page B

preschool, the works. Went through it twice, had kids the same years. My Allison and her Eric, then Becky and Stacy. Becky and Stacy used to hang out. Sweet kid, she always seemed . . . grounded. So maybe she won't need long-term therapy, just a few sessions of grief work. You used to do that, right? Working on the cancer wards at Western Pediatrics?"
     
    "Years ago," I said. "What I did there was mostly the reverse. Trying to help parents who'd lost kids. But sure, I've worked with all kinds of bereavement."
     
    "Good," she said. "I just felt it was my duty because I know the family and Stacy seems to be a little depressed— how couldn't she be? I know you'll like her. And I do think you'll find the family interesting."
     
    "Interesting," I said. "Scariest word in the English language."
     
    She laughed. "Like someone trying to fix you up with an ugly blind date. 'Is he cute?' 'Well, he's interesting. ' That's not what I meant, Alex. The Dosses are smart, just about the brightest bunch I've ever met. Individuals, each of them— one thing I promise you, you won't be bored. Joanne earned two PhDs. First in English from Stanford, she'd already gotten an appointment as a lecturer at the U. when they moved to L.A. She switched gears suddenly, enrolled as a student , took science courses when she was pregnant with Eric. She ended up getting a doctorate in microbiology, was hired by the U. to do research. Before she got sick, she ran her own lab. Richard's a self-made millionaire. Stanford undergrad and MBA. He and Bob were in the same fraternity. He buys distressed properties, fixes them up, develops. Bob says he's amassed a fortune. Eric's one of those extreme geniuses, won awards in everything— academics, sports, you name it, a fireball. Stacy never seemed to have his confidence. More . . . internal. So it makes sense she'd be the one hit hardest by Joanne's death. Being a daughter, too. Mothers and daughters have something special."
     
    She paused. "I've gone on a bit, haven't I? I guess it's because I really like the family. Also, to be honest, I've put myself in a spot. Because Richard was resistant to the idea of therapy. I had to work on him a bit to get him to agree. It was Bob who finally got through. He and Richard play tennis at the Cliffside; last week Richard mentioned to Bob that Stacy's grades had slipped, she seemed more tired than usual, did he have a recommendation for vitamins. Bob told him he was being a damn fool, Stacy didn't need vitamins, she needed counseling, he'd better get his own act in gear."
     
    "Tough love," I said. "Must have been some tennis game."
     
    "I'm sure it was testosterone at its finest. I love my guy, but he's not a master of subtlety. Anyway, it worked. Richard agreed. So, if you could see Stacy, it would help me not look like a complete idiot."
     
    "Sure, Judy."
     
    "Thank you, Alex. There'll certainly be no problem paying the bills. Richard's doing great financially."
     
    "What about emotionally?"
     
    "To tell the truth, he seems fine there, too. Not that he'd ever show it. He did have time to adjust, because Joanne was sick for over a year. . . . Alex, I've never seen such a negative transformation. She gave up her career, withdrew, stopped taking care of herself. Gained weight— I'm talking a tremendous amount, really huge, maybe seventy, a hundred pounds. She became this . . . inert lump. Stayed in bed, eating and sleeping, complaining of pain. Her skin broke out in rashes— it was a horror."
     
    "And there was never any diagnosis?"
     
    "None. Several doctors saw her, including Bob. He wasn't her internist— Bob likes to stay away from people he knows socially, but he worked up Joanne as a favor to Richard. Found nothing, referred her to an immunologist who did his thing and sent her to someone else. And so on and so on."
     
    "Whose decision was it to go to Mate?"
     
    "Definitely Joanne's— not Richard's, Joanne never told him, just disappeared one night and