"Hard to picture him being lovey-dovey."
"Well, they can probably work police procedural stuff into their foreplay or something."
"Hand cuffs, up against the wall frisks, and what not-ooooh," Trina winked.
" Hmmm…" Was all I could think of saying. She held my look for a little while and then went back to her botany. I wasn't sure if she looked at me with pity because of Rene or was sending available signals now I was out of the matrimonial game. Frankly, I wasn't confident about any of my thoughts. My voice mail light flashed. When I checked it, it was a call from the Veteran's Administration. Always a little on the anal retentive side, I guessed they were calling to confirm the receipt of Karl's chart. I called the number the male voice left.
"Lieutenant Koniuto," the voiced said by way of telephone greeting.
"Yeah, this is Duffy Dombrowski returning your call. I'm a counselor at Jewish Unified Services."
"One moment please, Duffy." I heard through the phone the sound of him getting up, closing a door, and returning.
"Yes, Duffy, how are you?" He said. He seemed a little too chipper for a military type.
"I'm good."
"Good, good, good. Look I'm calling just to check on Karl Greene's aftercare since he came to you guys."
"Well, Karl…hang on just a second and let me double check I have a release to talk with you."
"That's not necessary. I got one on this end."
"I still have to have one." Even though I didn't follow the rules, it didn't mean I didn't know them. I flipped through the chart to find the release. There wasn't one there. In fact, not surprisingly, Karl hadn't signed any releases.
"Sorry, Lieutenant, I can't talk to you."
"Sure you can, it's no biggie," he said, again a little too cheerfully.
"No, I really can't. I can call you back if-" He hung up. Releases are routine stuff in human services. Everyone knows about them and knows the score. It shouldn't have been any surprise to this military guy.
I could hear Monique humming along with whatever was jamming on her IPod.
"Hey 'Nique," I said just loud enough for her to hear. She didn't answer, but rolled her eyes up as if to say 'what', and pulled out an ear bud.
"Do you know this guy at the VA?" I showed her the 'While you were out memo.'
"Nope," she handed it back to me.
"He just called and asked about Karl and tried to convince me it was okay to talk without a release." Monique pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. She asked to see the note again.
"Duff, why would a Lieutenant, or for that matter, any conventional Army guy call on a social work matter? They have a civilian counseling crew there."
"Yeah, I didn't think of that."
Monique went through her Rolodex.
"What are you looking for?" Monique kept looking without answering. She pulled out a card and looked at it.
"What's up 'Nique?"
"This isn't a VA number."
"Huh?"
"In fact, I'm pretty sure it's a cell phone number."
"Maybe the guy used his cell."
"When was the last time a civil servant used their own dime to call anyone or for that matter, when have you heard about a federal agency giving out cell phones?"
"Never."
"Uh-huh," Monique said.
Before I could get too worked up about the identity my fake VA man, Trina buzzed me and let me know Sparky arrived for his 3:30. I didn't remember him having an appointment today, but I chalked that up to shots to the head.
I went out to greet the Sparkman. He sat with his elbows resting on his thighs, holding both sides of his head.
"Spark?"
He looked up, sniffled, and wiped his eyes.
I motioned him to come back to the counseling room, and he sniffled his way back. I didn't acknowledge his tears or ignore them. Spark was the kind of guy you just didn't do that to.
"She won't even return my calls," Sparky, looking at the wall. "And you know legally she doesn't have to."
"Uh…"
"Meanwhile, my daughter grows up day by day without knowing who I am."
"Don't let it make you drink." I had to say something. Sparky nodded and was polite about my ineffectiveness to give him anything inspirational or helpful. We moved on and filled up the rest of the hour with stuff that wasn't terribly emotional. I felt he needed a break. I also felt like I had to be honest with him about my job.
"Sparky, there's something I have to tell you," I felt my head throb a little bit.
He just raised his eyebrows and looked at me.
"There's a good chance I might not be working here in a week or so."
"Huh?"
"I've got myself in a little trouble that I might not be able to get out of. I don't do real good at paperwork and I might get fired because of it." I didn't see any point in mentioning his ex's role in my problems.
"Paperwork? Who gives a shit about paperwork?"
"It's important, trust me." I hesitated. "I'm going to try to not let it happen, Sparky, but I don't know if I can pull it off." Sparky just looked confused.
"Paperwork seems like a stupid reason to fire a counselor," he said.
"I just didn't want you showing up here and me not be here without any explanation."
"When would this go down?"
"If I don't get this shit done-a week from Monday at the latest." I felt shitty.
He nodded and didn't say anything. It wouldn't be like a guy like Sparky to say something about it.
That just made me feel worse.
26
I pulled up to the Blue, my head throbbing. I felt a little nauseous and jittery, but tried to tell myself not to worry about it because I'd get over it. It didn't make a really convincing argument.
Elvis neared the end of It Hurts Me, the '68 Special version, not the studio one. I stayed to listen to him finish it before getting out of the car. When I opened the door I immediately heard Al making a sick moan. Even though he was inside, it came through loud and clear.
I raced into the trailer. Al stopped his moaning for a second when I came through the door. He sat in front of a slumped Karl, who was in a T-shirt and shorts and soaked in sweat. His head slumped down on his chest and he acted like he had passed out.
"Karl, Karl, Are you all right!" I yelled while grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at me.
"Nestrrr…" Something unintelligible came out of his mouth.
"Karl, say it again."
"Newstr…"
"New what?"
"Newstrr.."
He began to cry, but it was slowed by whatever else he had taken.
"Karl, what did you take?"
"Lotta shit…" he slurred.
"Karl-why did you do this to yourself?"
"Him…"
"Who?"
"News…told me to."
"Newstrom? The guy from the Army?"
Karl nodded and began to cry again. I looked at Al who had furrowed his brow.
"He came here?"
"Phone…"
"Are you in danger?"
Karl nodded, tears streaming down.
I didn't want to take any chances, so I rushed Karl to the emergency room. I knew Karl hated the hospital, but he probably wouldn't like dying much either. They took him someplace as soon as I brought him in. I had to sit in the little waiting room with the vinyl chairs. I found myself praying for the first time in as long as I could remember.
Two hours later a doctor with freckles and shaggy red hair, who looked about 14 years old, called my name from a clipboard. Dr. Picard introduced himself in a hurried way and you could tell he concentrated on being empathic, but really didn't have the energy for it. He told me Karl had taken an overdose of Valium and some anti-depressants and they would make him pretty sick, but they wouldn't cause him any permanent harm. He went on to tell me he would have to stay in the mental health unit and be evaluated before he could be released. At a minimum they would have to wait until the drugs had cleared his system. I got asked to wait until they admitted him to that unit before I could talk to him and then it would only be for a few minutes. I made myself as comfortable as possible on the orange vinyl.