Terminal Therapy by Daniel Reinharth

Author:Daniel Reinharth [Reinharth, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781796782165
Published: 2019-02-28T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

“We've already spoken to Lieutenant Hansen,” I told my parents.

“So now you can turn it over to him,” my mother repeated. “It's his job to take risks.”

Not your job, she meant. I was happy that she'd relieved me of the delicate task of asking Paula that question. Paula looked at me, but I don't think that our telepathy is as advanced as my parents'.

“We appreciate your concern,” Paula said, turning to them. “But we know how to be careful.” Was she kidding? “We can't stop investigating now,” she said. “We owe it to Dr. Singer, and to the Singer Institute. They may not realize it, but until this crime is solved there's a cloud hanging over all of them. One of them is probably guilty. How can they work together if they can't trust each other?”

Paula turned back to me. “Right, David?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied quickly.

“You're absolutely right,” my father said, quashing my last exit strategy

“What can we do to help?” my mother asked, abandoning her previous doubts.

“Thank you,” Paula said. “Nothing right now. But we'll let you know.” At full strength my parents are formidable allies.

When we were all finished eating Paula and I gathered and stacked our dishes, my mother's half-empty plate on the top.

“I'm just glad I got out of that place in time for tonight's meeting,” my father said. He looked at me. “You haven't forgotten your promise to come, have you?”

“No, Dad. But please remind me. Why are you in favor of the wind turbines?”

“How many times do I have to explain the same things?” he asked.

“Moshe,” my mother said.

“It’s true, though,” he grumbled.

“The Cape is a place of great beauty,” I said, trying to ignore my father's sarcasm and condescension. “Wouldn't it be better to put the wind turbines somewhere else?”

“Eh, tu, David? The NIMBY argument? Not in my backyard? Every location trots that one out.”

“Trots that one out?” That didn't sound like my father. It must have come from one of his fellow Green Panthers in a preparatory meeting. “Well,” I said, “I will come to the meeting. And my bias is to support you--and Mom, of course. But I'm curious to hear the other side's arguments.”

“Typical,” my father said.

“That's OK with us,” said my mother the diplomat.

I couldn't read Paula's expression. Maybe her mind had drifted to the psych presentation she had to prepare. Or maybe she suspected that I was having second thoughts about investigating, and was considering her response.

Rachel broke the uncomfortable silence by standing up. She may have been bored, having finished eating her ice cream. Or she had better social instincts than any of us except Griselda gave her credit for.

I stood up and kissed Rachel. “You're a born leader,” I said. Turning to my father, “I'm so glad you're out of jail.”

My father cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said, then looked at my mother. See, he was telling her, I can be polite, too.

We walked out to the parking lot, where my parents wished Paula well on tomorrow’s talk.

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