Chapter 7: Golf Ended Early
Douglas was standing in the front hallway when we came through the door.
He wasn't doing anything — no phone, no coffee, no pretense of having been elsewhere.
He was simply standing there, watching the door open.
"Good morning," I said.
"Where did you go?" His voice was pleasant.
His eyes were not.
"I took Garrett for a drive.
Dr.
Ellison mentioned that fresh air and light movement—"
"Dr.
Ellison would have told me."
"He mentioned it at the last visit.
I have it in my notes if you'd like to see them."
Douglas looked past me at Garrett.
"You could have told me you wanted to go out," he said.
"I would have taken you."
"Rebecca offered," Garrett said.
"I didn't want to interrupt your morning."
"It's no interruption." Douglas smiled.
"You're my brother.
Nothing you need is an interruption."
He said it warmly.
He said it looking directly at Garrett with the full weight of a man who wanted to be believed.
Garrett said nothing.
I moved to take the wheelchair toward the hallway and Douglas stepped aside — just barely, just enough, in a way that made me turn sideways to pass.
That afternoon, Gertrude came to my room.
She knocked twice and opened the door before I answered.
She stood in the frame with her arms crossed, looking at the room as if she were taking inventory.
"I want to talk to you about Garrett's routine," she said.
"Of course."
"He needs consistency.
Disruptions to his schedule affect his recovery." She looked at me directly.
"Unplanned outings are a disruption."
"I understand.
I'll clear any future outings with you in advance."
"With Douglas," she said.
"Clear them with Douglas."
"Of course."
She looked at me for a moment longer.
Then she looked at the desk, where my medication log was sitting closed.
"May I?" she said, already reaching for it.
I kept my voice even.
"That's Garrett's private medical record.
I'd need his permission to share it."
Her hand stopped.
"I'm his family," she said.
"And I'm his caregiver.
His records are his." I met her eyes.
"I'm sure you understand."
The silence stretched.
"You're very confident for someone who's been here less than two weeks," she said.
"I'm very clear about my professional responsibilities," I said.
"I don't think that's the same thing."
She left without another word.
That night, I heard them through the wall — Douglas and Gertrude, their voices low and fast, the kind of conversation that stops when a door opens.
I couldn't make out words.
I didn't need to.
I texted Patricia Howe from my personal phone: *They know something is different.
How quickly can the forensic review move?*
Her reply came eleven minutes later: *Analyst confirmed for Wednesday.
Keep your head down until then.*
I set my phone face-down on the nightstand.
In the morning, Garrett's breakfast tray came from the kitchen already prepared — something Gertrude had never done before.
She brought it up herself, set it on his table, and smiled at him.
"I thought I'd give Rebecca a rest," she said.
"You don't mind, do you?"
Garrett looked at the tray.
Then at her.
"That's kind of you," he said.
After she left, he looked at me.
I was already looking at the tray.
"Don't touch it," I said quietly.
"I'll get you something from the kitchen myself."
He nodded once.
No argument.
May you like
No questions.
He already knew.
