Teddy
MARCH
“You understand that this committee will take your personal relationship with Dr. Miller into consideration when weighing your statement.”
“Yes,” I answer Dr. Vale.
“And you acknowledge you are quite biased in her favor,” Dr. Minkus says, his tone smug. “Since you are… entangled.”
My eyes meet his, and I straighten to my full height in this chair. Dr. Minkus, who is even shorter than Indie and seems deeply bothered by that fact, tries to compensate by raising his nose in the air, his mouth twisted like he smells something nasty.
He looks ridiculous.
That’s why I give him a smile.
“Yes, I am biased. I love her,” I shrug, glancing toward the note taker at the corner, taking down every word I say.
Good. I want this on the record forever.
“I love Dr. Indie Miller more than anything in this world. I want her protected. I want her cleared. I want her to be able to continue doing what she loves. What she was made for.”
My eyes move back to Dr. Minkus.
“Loving her doesn’t make me a liar.”
Dr. Vale watches me for a moment before nodding.
“What were your grandmother’s feelings toward Dr. Miller when she was under her care?”
“My grandmother raved about her before I had even met her,” I say. “She talked constantly about Dr. Miller. About how she listened to her. How she didn’t treat her like she was weak, or inconvenient, or already gone because she was elderly and sick.”
My eyes move across each doctor at the table, and I watch as they shift in their seats uncomfortably.
A hit dog will holler, Teddy.
Nana’s voice slips through my head so clearly that my mouth curves before I can stop it.
“Indie saw my Nana for who she was,” I continue, my voice roughening slightly with emotion. “A free-spirited, stubborn, sarcastic, strong, and witty woman. She saw her.”
Dr. Halloran leans forward, hands folded on the table.
“Would you describe their bond as genuine?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation.
“Do you believe Dr. Miller encouraged an inappropriate attachment?”
“No. Indie maintained professional boundaries. My grandmother was like the sun, though,” I say, and my throat tightens around the words. “You couldn’t help but gravitate toward her warmth.”
“You sound very certain,” Dr. Minkus says.
“I am.”
“But you understand how a serious cancer diagnosis can change the human psyche,” he says, tone bordering on a sneer.
“Even in patients who appear strong, they are still vulnerable. Especially the elderly. We have seen cases of patients being taken advantage of by young physicians seeking financial gain. Medical school is quite expensive—”
“I understand that sickness can create vulnerability.” I breathe through the flash of anger that burns up my spine.
“Even though I’m just an artist,” I say, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly because Indie would be proud of me for saying it like that, “and I don’t have a fancy medical degree, I won’t pretend I know more than anyone at this table about the effect of illness on a person’s body or mind.
But I know the difference between vulnerability and incompetence. ”
Dr. Minkus shifts in his seat.
“My grandmother was not incompetent, and her opinion of Indie never wavered. Not once. Not even when my mother tried to poison it. Nana was her own person. She knew what she wanted, who she loved, and what she was doing when she made that will.”
Dr. Halloran studies me with sharp eyes, but her voice is soft when she asks, “Why do you believe Eleanor Ambrose left Dr. Miller an inheritance?”
“Because she loved Indie,” I say simply. “Because she saw her as family.”
“How was Dr. Miller’s behavior toward you while she was treating your grandmother?”
“Completely professional. Kind and compassionate, but professional.”
“Did she flirt with you?”
“No.”
“Did she ever discuss your grandmother’s money, assets, or estate?”
“No.”
“Did she ever ask about your family’s financial situation?”
“No.”
“Did she ever suggest that your grandmother should leave her anything?”
“No.”
“When did your relationship with Dr. Miller begin?”
“After Nana was no longer Indie’s patient.”
“And who initiated the relationship?” Dr. Minkus asks, though his expression tells me he thinks he already knows the answer.
“I did.”
“Dr. Miller did not pursue you?”
“I pursued her. I asked her out. She was careful about boundaries because of Nana. More careful than I wanted her to be at the time.”
“And you are not lying to us to cover up for Dr. Miller?” Dr. Minkus asks.
Dr. Vale glances at him, barely covering her irritation.
I look him right in his eyes, and instead of answering his bullshit question the way he wants me to, I tell them who Indie truly is.
“I watched Indie try to save my grandmother.”
Everyone freezes, even the note taker in the corner. The air in the room changes, thickens into something heavy and important.
“I watched Dr. Miller give my grandmother CPR,” I say, my voice rough now. “I watched her break Nana’s ribs trying to bring her back. I watched her fight for my Nana long after anyone else would have understood if she stopped. She had to be pulled off by me because she refused to give up.”
I grit my teeth against the images in my head. Indie, exhausted, sweaty, trying to force Nana’s heart to restart, trying to breathe air into her lungs.
“I’m her grandson, and I was a complete wreck,” I admit. “Barely able to dial 911. Barely able to breathe. But Indie moved. Indie tried everything she could to save her.”
Sniffing, I shove the tears down and meet each of the doctor’s eyes.
“Does that sound like a woman who was eager for my grandmother to die and cash in on an inheritance?”
Dr. Minkus’ gaze drops. Dr. Halloran’s eyes shimmer and go soft. Dr. Vale rests her chin on her hand, watching me closely.
“My grandmother was competent and capable,” I say. “She left Indie money because she loved her. She donated two million dollars to the American Cancer Center in Indie’s name because she knew how much that would mean to her. That wasn’t confusion. That was Nana.”
“Mr. Williams, you have spoken at length about Dr. Miller’s character.
But this committee must also consider the complaint that has been filed.
Is it possible that this…” Minkus' eyes shift, and I barely suppress my eye roll.
“Person genuinely believes that Dr. Miller took advantage of Eleanor Ambrose?”
“My mother didn’t file that complaint because she was worried about Nana,” I say simply. “My mother filed that complaint because Indie was included in the will, and she wasn’t. She filed it because she hates Indie. Because Indie has something she wanted.”
Dr. Halloran’s eyes sharpen. “And that is?”
“Me,” I answer, unashamed now because the shame doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to my mother.
Dr. Meyer said trauma isn’t the thing that happened to you; it’s the pain you bear after the fact. My mother is not my trauma. She is my abuser. I am her victim. And I will heal from this trauma.
Part of that healing is this—standing up for Indie the way I should have from the start.
“Mr. Williams,” Dr. Halloran says, her voice quieter now, “are you suggesting your mother fabricated this complaint as retaliation?”
“I’m not suggesting it,” I say. “I’m telling you she did.”
“Based on what?” Dr. Minkus does sneer this time.
“Based on what she screamed in the hallway less than an hour ago. Based on the documents Dunk gave you. Based on years of watching her punish anyone who threatened her control. This was retaliation. Not concern.”
Silence follows for a long moment, before Dr. Vale places her hand down sharply on the table, the sound like punctuation.
“Mr. Williams, I think we have everything we need. Thank you.”
Standing from the chair, I don’t give them another glance as I walk out of the room.
Lorraine is speaking softly to Indie in the hallway. Indie is pacing in front of her, hands fidgeting, lip caught between her teeth.
She freezes in place when she sees me, but I don’t stop walking toward her.
I raise an eyebrow.
“You keep biting that lip, you’re going to make me do something drastic,” I rumble quietly to Indie once I’m close enough.
Her worried face softens and she storms toward me and then she’s in my arms, hers wrapped around my neck, mine around her waist, pulling her flush against me.
“What happened?”
Pulling back, I keep one arm around her waist, and the other cradles her face, tilting it up so that she can meet my eyes.
“I told the truth.”
“The whole truth?”
I wink. “And nothing but the truth—that you are the love of my life. That Nana adored you. That you are my Indie, the greatest woman I’ve ever known.”
“Biased,” she whispers.
“Maybe,” I shrug. “Still doesn’t make it any less true, baby.”
I press my lips to hers, savoring the softness of her mouth and the scent of her skin. For one brief second, everything disappears, and all I know is Indie.
“Thank you, Teddy.”
“I’d do anything for you, Indie.”
She leans back and looks at me for a long moment.
Then she smiles.
“I believe that.”