As the evening goes on, I make myself a sandwich and do his laundry and the dishes. I need to do something to distract myself. Laundry and dishes are about all I can handle.
I hear a text message. I rush to my phone.
Pearls: You’re not home. Where r u
Me: Peters
Two minutes later, as expected, Pearls walks in. No knock just walks in.
Pearls ask, “You’re not answering your phone?”
Smugly, I reply, “Not for Beth or Cara. This is their fault.”
Pearls want to say something.
I stop her by saying in a tearful voice, “Remember when Peter started? That’s what he looked like today as he handed me his ID badge.”
Pearls screams, “He what?”
I show it to her. I won’t let go.
Pearls ask, “Who’s doing ….”
I finish her sentence, “They shut down the OR. All surgeries will have to be shipped out.”
I’m crying as Pearls is texting. Right now, I don’t care who she’s texting. She lives with Cara, that’s my guess. Sure enough, a few minutes later and Cara walks through the door. She looks around as if we would lie to her.
I won’t talk to Cara, so Pearls does it for me, “Peter gave her his badge, said he had to go, and someone saw him walking to the parking lot. He has no clothes, shaving kit, toothbrush, nothing. He left a roast on the counter with laundry and dishes to do. They’re done already. Tala’s been here, and he hasn’t returned.”
I see Cara dialing her phone, it’s only three digits long, and two are the same.
I hear Cara say, “I would like to report a missing person. He’s depressed and acting irrationally. His name is Peter Chapman.”
Typically, you get the run-around; they can’t do anything for forty-eight hours. Now when Peter is involved. He’s been a windfall for the town, their golden goose. Both the sheriff and deputy are here to interview us.
The sheriff steps into the kitchen and makes a call, “Hey Tim, Sheriff Fred here from Ness City. We have a missing golden goose that should be coming your way on 70 or 96. Could you do me a favor and put up a drunk driver test point. I’m looking for a Doctor Peter Chapman, he’s a surgeon.
“No drugs, abuse, or weapons, just a depressed guy that might be a threat to himself. They say he’s the best in the state if you ever need his type of work. Yeah. OK. Un-huh. Thanks, I owe you one.”
Tim says, “He’s probably going home. They will catch him in the sobriety line when they run his plates. I’ll let you know when they find him. There’s nothing else to do. How about you all go home, and we lock the place up.” None of us moved. “Ladies. I wasn’t asking.”
I can take a hint.
There was lots of good planning and intentions. However, Peter traveled north to interstate 80 in Nebraska and then traveled east to Omaha, where he stopped to see his friend Tim and his wife. Tim knew in their conversations that Peter was on the verge of a meltdown and invited him to stop by. Jim had done his homework on Peter. He knew that it was the one-year anniversary of his wife and child’s death in two days.
Tim will see the pain in Peter’s face as he will walk into his house. Every day he has thanked his lucky stars for Peter. Otherwise, he would be in the same condition as this poor man. Tim also knew that Peter being with him will leave the hospital short a surgeon. Tim hires a surgeon to help out the hospital.
At that moment, Terry, a hotshot surgeon from Chicago, is passing a drunk driver police stop coming from the west. Most drunks comes from the east. This struck him as odd as he’s just passed through Topeka on his way to some no-name town called Ness City.
He didn’t care. One surgery a day for big money, he would have plenty of time to chase nurses. Life is good. Only three more hours of driving. He stops for gas and dinner in a terrible truck stop. Terry is starting to question this idea; there won’t be any of the great Chicago restaurants. The best they have will probably be KFC. Ugh. He was never told how long he would be here. Oh well.