The Fixer by T E Woods Page A

things being things, he just may be correct.”
    Mort reached for his glass and drained his scotch in one swallow. “Correct doesn’t make it right.”
     
     

Chapter Thirteen
    Lydia Corriger got to work early the day before Thanksgiving. She defied the rainy gloom by clicking on two table lamps and settling behind her desk with her coffee and newspaper. The front page led with the city council’s debate regarding earthquake standards for homes. A photo of local food pantry volunteers filling charity bags reminded readers there was still time to donate. Lydia made a mental note to take the game hen she purchased for her own Thursday dinner out of the freezer.
    The national section had an article on the latest finger-pointing in Congress. Lydia shook her head at a silly photograph of the president pardoning a turkey and moved on to an article about a significant donation to the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. An anonymous donor had given half a million dollars to the organization. No strings attached, according to the beaming chief executive.
    She finished the paper and checked her schedule. She was booked every hour, straight through to Savannah Samuels at six. She unlocked her office at 7:55 and her first patient walked through the door three minutes later.
    Mary Sullivan was 54 years old. Overweight. Greasy hair. Baggy sweat pants and a dirty red down vest. Mary’s employer had contacted Lydia. Despite her talent with children, parents were complaining and Mary was in danger of losing her job as a pre-school teacher.
    Mary didn’t bathe.
    She didn’t shower. She didn’t brush her teeth. She didn’t shampoo and she didn’t wash her clothes.
    Mary stank.
    Lydia ushered her into the office. Mary chose the sofa and Lydia was glad it was leather. She watched Mary pull folders out of a large canvas bag and set them on the coffee table.
    “I made copies for you,” Mary said. “Here’s my chart from Dr. Roth. He’s my prescribing doctor. I’ve been seeing him for nine years. There’s an updated list of my medications on the inside flap.” Mary pulled a three-ring binder out of her bag. “This is a copy of my chart from Dr. Reschke. He was my talking doctor. I only saw him for three years.” Mary looked up at Lydia with rheumy brown eyes. “I wore him out. He didn’t know what to do with me.”
    Lydia took her seat across from the malodorous woman. She counted seven files and binders on the table. And Mary’s bag wasn’t yet empty.
    “I’ll begin with an overview of my mother.” Mary pulled out an expandable legal folder. “All the doctors agree she’s the root of my problem.” She snapped the elastic band open. “Now, my earliest memory is..”
    “Stop.” Lydia held her hand up. “Just stop.”
    Mary froze mid-movement.
    “Put the folders down, Mary.” Lydia kept her voice quiet and firm.
    “I want to tell you about my mother,” Mary said.
    “And I want to hear it. But not today. Today we’re going to talk about why you’re here.”
    Mary blinked several times. “But you’ll need to understand about my mother.”
    Lydia leaned back. “How did you get here today, Mary? Not why, but how.”
    Mary balked. “I drove. I don’t see the importance of…”
    “A car?” Lydia interrupted. “You drove yourself here in a car?”
    “Of course.” Mary set the folder aside. “Where are you going with this?”
    “Mary, do you understand the physics behind an internal combustion engine?” Lydia feigned amazement. “I mean, think about it. There’s a fire going on inside your car’s engine. Doesn’t that freak you out? A fire… inside your engine.”
    Mary’s eyebrows shot up.
    Lydia leaned forward. “I’ll bet you don’t understand internal combustion. I know I don’t. And yet you were able to manage your car sufficiently to get here, is that right?”
    “I…I don’t know what you want me to say.”
    Lydia smiled. “I don’t want you to say anything, Mary.” She