Sam scans the room, noticing the details. Bright-blue walls, crowded with large abstract paintings. A soft white rug. Floral couches. Admittedly not the design aesthetic Sam expected. What’s Statler doing? Teddy from Freddy whispers. He’s got five minutes to save his life, and he’s sitting there thinking about paint colors. Sam keeps going, through a series of rooms—a formal dining room with mauve walls and a large chandelier. Another sitting room, two plush chairs in front of a fireplace. Along the far wall he sees a set of pocket doors, and makes his way over to open them. It’s a library. Quite a magnificent one at that. Floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves, a ladder on a rail. It smells like a real library, one of his favorite places that his mom took him to as a kid, and he moves slowly toward the shelves and pulls out a book. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, first edition.
He puts the book back, searching for a sign of a telephone, and spots a row of framed photographs on a nearby shelf. They’re all of the same woman. She has bright red hair and a wide smile; this must be VeeVee, the mother Albert has mentioned. Behind the frames sits a row of cheap purple binders, he notices, out of place among the fine books.
Don’t do it, his father warns him. Sam can feel the weight of the crowd’s eyes on him, urging him to ignore the binders and keep going, but his curiosity wins out. He moves the photographs aside for a better look. The name Henry Rockford is written on the spine of the first binder, and Sam pulls it out. There are pages of photographs in plastic sleeves—two men, one older and one younger, standing side by side, and it takes Sam a second to realize that the younger man is Albert, who looks to be in his twenties in the photographs. Sam flips ahead, finding pages of notes. Medical conditions. A family tree.
Sam closes the binder and pulls out another. Lorraine Whittenger. She’s got white hair and is confined to a wheelchair, and in these photographs Albert is wearing the same blue apron embroidered with the Home Health Angels logo that he wears when he comes into Sam’s room. Angelo Monticelli, Edith Voranger—Sam keeps going, putting it together. All of these people were his patients.
Linda Pennypiece Sam sees the name toward the end of the row. Linda Pennypiece? Albert’s “friend” from Albany?
He grabs the binder.
Facts about Linda: A list
She loves the Olive Garden
Mary Tyler Moore and Frasier reruns to calm her before bed
She turns ninety in March; organize a party!
Linda was a client.
He turns the pages—notes about her stroke, “Linda’s Famous Salisbury Steak Recipe”—arriving at a paper with the seal of Albany County, New York, on the top. “Temporary order for protection against stalking, aggravated stalking, or harassment. Linda Pennypiece vs. Albert Bitterman Jr.
“You, Albert Bitterman, the adverse party, are hereby notified that any intentional violation of this order is a criminal violation and can result in your immediate arrest.”
A restraining order.
Sam flips the page. “Home Health Angels, Inc. Termination of employment. This letter confirms that your employment is terminated with immediate effect. Any further contact with any clients or staff of Home Health Angels will be reported to law enforcement.”
I am not liking where this is going. Teddy from Freddy lowers his voice. And if I were Sam Statler, I would definitely not look to see whose name is on that last binder— DR. SAM STATLER.
Sam’s hands tremble as he pulls it off the shelf and opens it to the first page. “Twenty Questions with Sam Statler.” He turns the page and sees a copy of the flyer Sam had found under his windshield that day.
OFFICE SPACE FOR RENT IN HISTORIC HOME, PERFECT FOR A QUIET PROFESSIONAL.
WILLING TO RENOVATE TO SUIT. CONTACT ALBERT BITTERMAN.
Sam pages forward, through dozens of photographs of himself. The day he moved in downstairs. Arriving for work. Getting into his car at the end of the day. He keeps flipping, through scribbled lists （“Things I’ve Lied to Sam About”; “Reasons to Remain Happy, Despite Sam’s Bad Mood”）， the bills he had hidden downstairs in his desk, an Excel spreadsheet Albert made, keeping track of Sam’s debt:
Visa: $36,588
Chase Sapphire Select: $73,211
Mortgage: $655,000
Next are pages of notes and observations about people with odd names:
Skinny Jeans
The Mumble Twins
Numb Nancy
Sam scans them quickly. “Numb Nancy has been married for sixteen years. She is the director of development at Meadow Hills.” That’s Nancy Neumann. His client. These are all his clients. Sam feels the rise of a giggle as it dawns on him—not only was Albert up here listening, he was taking copious notes—and he worries he’s going to start laughing and never stop, but then he turns the page.