Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 21

computer again. “First name?”
    “Hattie.”
    “Yes, she came in about two hours ago and is being seen by a doctor.”
    “May I see her?”
    “Not until she’s admitted,” the woman replied.
    “Will she be admitted? Will she have to stay overnight?”
    “I won’t know that until the doctor who is seeing her makes his report on her condition.”
    “May I visit her before she’s admitted?”
    “You’ll have to wait until I get her chart back and see if there’s an admitting order. Have a seat, and I’ll call you. What’s your name?”
    “Peter,” he said.
    “Last name?”
    “Just Peter.” He went and found an empty seat, one that allowed him to look down a hallway. He had been there for five minutes when a large double door opened, and two ambulance drivers wheeled in a patient on a gurney, pushing it down the hallway and taking a right turn.
    Peter got up and followed the gurney. He found himself looking through a window in a pair of double doors at a row of treatment tables, some of them occupied by patients. Behind the treatment tables was a row of cubicles, most with patients on tables, some with curtains drawn. As he watched, a man on an examining table sat up, and an orderly brought over a wheelchair. The patient got into the chair, and the orderly took his chart from the foot of the table and put it in the man’s lap. Peter stood back to let them pass through the double doors. Apparently, the man was being discharged.
    He pushed open the door and walked briskly into the room, wanting to appear as if he knew where he was going. He walked along the row of cubicles and, four or five down, found Hattie, lying on a table, half sitting up. She looked relieved when she saw him.
    He went and stood next to her. “Are you all right?”
    “Yes, I’m fine. I was bleeding, but it stopped over an hour ago.
    The doctor said he would discharge me in a few minutes, and that was half an hour ago.”
    Peter pulled up a chair. “I was scared,” he said. “I came back from the movie, and they said you were in the emergency room.”
    “I wanted to call you, but they took my bag away when they put me in the ambulance, and when I got here they wouldn’t let me use my cell phone.”
    A very young man in scrubs and a white coat walked into the cubicle. “How are you feeling?” he asked Hattie.
    “Just fine, thank you. I’d like to go home.”
    He picked up her chart, made some notations, and signed it. “I’ll find an orderly and have you wheeled out.”
    “I can do that,” Peter said.
    “Okay.” He left and came back with a wheelchair. Hattie got into it, and the doctor handed Peter her chart. “Stop at the discharge window and check out with them, then take her all the way to the street in the chair. You can leave it there. You, young lady, are to go home and rest. If there’s any recurrence of the bleeding, you’re to call an ambulance and return here. Is that clear?”
    “Yes, Doctor.”
    “You should be okay to go to school tomorrow,” he said. “Good night.”
    Peter pushed the chair into the waiting room and got her checked out. Hattie wrote a check for her bill. “I didn’t want to use my parents’ insurance card,” she said, as Peter pushed her toward the exit.
    The rain had let up a lot. “I’ll get us a cab,” Peter said.
    “I don’t want to go home yet,” Hattie said. “I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes, I’m sure,” she said, standing up and taking his hand. “And I’m not pregnant anymore.”

60
    D avid Rutledge looked at the first copy of his magazine’s new issue and thought the Virginia shoot had turned out very well. As he scanned the piece he felt a pang of conscience. He had not done the right thing, and he regretted it. What had he been thinking?
    He picked up the phone and dialed 411. A minute or so later he was talking to the sheriff of Albemarle County.
    “What can I do for you, Mr. Rutledge? Are you related to Tim Rutledge?”
    “Yes, I am,” David replied. “He’s my cousin.”
    “Is there anything you can tell me about his whereabouts?”
    “Yes. He’s in New York.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “He called me from a bar near my home in the city, and I met him for a drink.”
    “And when was this?”
    “The night before last.”
    “And why didn’t you call me immediately?”
    “I don’t think I was seeing the situation clearly; I reacted as a family member, and not as a citizen. I’m