Private Practices by Linda Wolfe Page A

murmured, feeling shunted aside once again. The heat from the fireplace began to oppress him and he pushed himself slightly back from the table, his eyelids drooping.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Alithorn asked. “You dizzy?”
    â€œNo,” Mulenberg said. He straightened up in his chair and opened his eyes wide. But he had dropped the little carved tiger. It wasn’t in his hand or even in his lap and Alithorn had to bend and retrieve it from under the table.
    On Friday Ben hurried most of his patients. He had told Naomi he would finish up as early as he could, and would call her and pick her up at her office in sufficient time to avoid the rush hour traffic. But he was delayed by Claudia, his last patient for the day, who telephoned to say she would be a bit late for her two-thirty appointment. Waiting for her, Ben impatiently browsed for a second time through the file on her which Cora had set on his desk.
    It had come from Sidney’s file cabinet. Sidney had met Claudia in his professional capacity. She had first come to see him some six years ago at a time when Harry Mulenberg, her gynecologist, was out of town, and ever since then she had been in Sidney’s care. Even after they married. It was unorthodox, but Sidney always said he saw no reason why so many doctors eschewed looking after their own wives and children. Who else would give them the most concerned care?
    Of course, Sidney had also said that if Claudia got pregnant or ill, he would pass her on to someone else; it was medical tradition. What puzzled Ben, had puzzled him ever since the night he had learned of her pregnancy, was why he’d decided to pass Claudia on to him. He was sure that Sidney didn’t think particularly highly of his professional capabilities. Yet he’d chosen him over Stearns, over Alithorn. Why?
    Curious, he studied Claudia’s file, hoping to find a clue. But he came across nothing—nothing that aided him. Claudia had first visited Sidney because of a mild case of vaginitis, he read. She had regular and painless menstrual cycles. She was in excellent health and had no drug allergies. She did have cystic breasts, and a retracted nipple, and as a result Sidney had recommended she use an IUD, rather than pills, for birth control. She’d had no trouble with the IUD. She had no trouble with anything, he thought. Her gynecological history was as exemplary as her social behavior.
    He was still reading Sidney’s scrawl when Cora opened the door and let Claudia in. “Mrs. Doctor Sidney Zauber,” Cora said. The two women were fond of each other and Cora loved to make Claudia laugh by embroidering her name with Sidney’s title.
    Claudia smiled at Cora until she had closed the door and left. But as soon as they were alone he saw that she was upset. Her white skin seemed paler than usual. Her smile didn’t fade. It vanished. “Is something wrong?” he asked her.
    â€œIt’s Mulenberg,” she said, her voice subdued. “Marilyn just called me. That’s why I’m so late. He’s had another stroke, he’s in the hospital again.”
    He leaned forward, concerned. “I’m so sorry. Is it serious?”
    â€œIt was on the left side of the brain. He can’t speak. It’ll take months before he’s better. If he gets better.”
    â€œI’m sure he will. He’ll be getting the best of care.”
    â€œI hope you’re right.” She shifted in her chair and then stood up, squaring her shoulders, commanding herself to stop brooding. Her arms, in beige cashmere, were long, the palms turned forward, like a dancer’s.
    â€œShall we get started?” he asked.
    â€œYes. Yes, sure.” But when he walked toward the examining room she didn’t follow him. Instead, she dawdled, digging into her pocketbook for a handkerchief, blowing her nose, putting away the handkerchief and taking out a pocket mirror, with which she