Overkill(6)

New today was a pair of eyeglasses with red frames, which she removed and placed on her desk as she said coolly, “Good morning, Mr. Bridger. Thank you for being punctual.”

“Not a problem. I couldn’t wait to get here.”

“Please close the door and have a seat.”

He went in, pushed the door shut with more emphasis than necessary, and sat down in the chair facing her desk. In the process, he loudly bumped his knee on the modesty panel. Embarrassed, but not wanting her to know it, he feigned annoyance and made a big deal of scooting his chair back several inches to accommodate his long legs.

In case she hadn’t guessed by now, he was pissed.

She said, “I would offer you coffee, but the sludge they brew in the snack room is dreadful and—”

“No thanks.”

“Water? I have—”

“No thanks.”

She clasped her hands on the desktop and bowed her head as though praying for patience or counting to ten. When she looked up, she said, “Did you review the document?”

“Yes, ma’am. I found a roll of tape in a junk drawer, pieced it back together. It wasn’t what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Land survey, property plat, topographical chart. Like that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t. We can skip that part. It has no bearing.”

“All right,” she said. “I highlighted specific sections, which—”

“Neon yellow. Couldn’t miss ’em.”

“—I need to discuss with you. Did you reacquaint yourself with them?”

“I already knew what they said.” He reached into the front pocket of his blazer and took out the torn sheets that he’d reattached with tape. He set them on her desk and pushed them toward her in a gesture of dismissal. “I can’t think of a single reason why you’d come to my house and shove this in my face.”

“That’s a copy of an advance directive, Mr. Bridger. Signed by the principal and two witnesses.”

“I don’t care if it’s etched in stone, it’s no longer important.”

“I assure you it is.”

“I assure you it isn’t. It hasn’t been for years. Four to be exact.”

“I wouldn’t have contacted you if it wasn’t still valid and very important. The points of the document—”

“No need to remind me what they are. Doug Pratt already did. He announced the points of the document to everybody in the whole freakin’ universe. It was quite a scene, played out right there in the hospital corridor. A dozen people captured it with their cell phone cameras and sold them to the highest bidder. I’m sure you saw those videos.”

She didn’t respond, but he could tell by her almost guilty expression that she was well aware of his confrontations with Rebecca’s father. All were blistering, but the first was fiery enough.

Doug must have been notified of his arrival at the hospital, because he was waiting on the fourth floor at the elevator. Before the door was fully opened, he launched, wrathful and emphatic, accusatory and argumentative, even before Zach had learned the gruesome particulars of the situation or Rebecca’s condition.

The videos taken by bystanders had been televised and circulated countless times on every platform of media. They continued to live on and could last for-fucking-ever.

Now, rocking slightly in his seat in an effort to curb his anger, he said, “I left Rebecca’s fate with her parents, where to my mind it belonged in the first place. Whatever it is that makes this your business, Ms. Lennon, you need to be taking it up with Pratt.”

She hesitated, then slid the pages of the document back across the desk and placed her hand palm down to anchor them there directly in front of him.

“The original document is in order and the specifications in it remain in effect, Mr. Bridger. It was instated in November—”

“November of nine years ago, going on ten.” Feeling claustrophobic in the cramped space, he pushed his chair back and stood up. “Months—you could almost count it in days—after that…” He pointed down at the sheets. “What did you call it?”

“An advance directive. In this case, a Medical Power of Attorney.”

“Right. Practically before the ink had dried on it, Rebecca and I split. We divorced. We were no longer married. No longer anything.”

“That doesn’t matter, Mr. Bridger. In the state in which it was drawn, your divorce would have automatically revoked this, your will, and all other advance directives unless otherwise specified.” She paused for emphasis.

“Rebecca Pratt Bridger wrote a proviso, as the MPOA allows, stating that she wished you to remain her primary agent even if you should divorce. She didn’t name an alternate agent. She entrusted you, solely, with control over her health care and end-of-life decisions in the event that she became incapable of making those decisions for herself.”

He dismissed that with a sound of disgust. “Don’t be misled. Trust had nothing to do with it. Or sentiment. Or affection. Rebecca didn’t do anything that wasn’t self-serving. By writing that proviso, as you call it, she was seizing control over me, not the other way around.”

He walked a tight circle and wound up facing the wall. He raked his fingers through his hair, then placed his hands on his hips and, head bent low, took several deep, stabilizing breaths.