Jim and Ann White (not their real names) were two of Ben’s oldest clients and friends . When Ann called Joanne for an appointment, Joanne could tell from her voice that she was under great stress. She set the appointment for ten next morning and called Ben on his cell phone to let him know despite the fact she knew he was sitting in a jon boat on a pond with Sam fly casting for bream.
“I am worried about Ann White. Set an appointment for you to see her tomorrow here at ten. She said not to tell Jim. Wanted you to know so you and Dr. Sam would not schedule something else.” The something else she feared was another pond fishing date. It was March and they were bedding.
Ann arrived fifteen minutes early, driven by Fred Blevins, Mossy Swamp’s butler and all around inside man (bar tender, chauffeur, grocery shopper, guardian of the very old or very young visitors whenever needed—he had been a Pullman Porter in his long ago youth and enjoyed the natural dignity of an ambassador).
Fred was sitting with Joanne in the reception room when Ben arrived from an earlier last-minute appointment with a young lawyer seeking his advice—Ann had been seated by Joanne in the library-conference room with a cup of tea to await Ben’s arrival. After Ben hugged and greeted Fred he grabbed a legal pad and joined and hugged Ann. Then he took a seat and said, “How can I help this morning?”
Ann cut to the chase without preamble.
“I have a problem. But first I must tell you something I hoped and expected never to reveal. Jimmy is not Jim’s child.” She hesitated to let it sink in.
Jimmy was her and Jim’s only child, a man of almost 60 now and an accomplished Atlanta lawyer with a wife and two children, boy and girl, who were the joy of their parent’s and Jim’s and Ann’s lives.
After a brief pause Ann continued.
“Yesterday I got a call from Jim’s brother Frank’s widow (Frank had recently died). She told me an autopsy and certain follow-up genetic tests revealed there was a 50% chance Jim is a carrier of a gene for a fatal debilitating illness that Jim’s offspring could develop in middle age.” Ann did not have to tell Ben the moral dilemma this presented for Ann.
It took Ben a few minutes to process this information and develop a strategy for possibly solving the dilemma.
“Give me a day to think about what you have told me before you say or do anything. Do I have your permission to discuss this in confidence with Sam Nixon?” Ben said. Ann nodded her assent. Then he stood and walked to Ann’s chair and bent and hugged her. She removed a tissue from her purse, dried her tears and rose silently to leave. Ben walked her out and she and Fred walked to the van they had arrived in, often used to transport Mossy Swamp shooting guests and family from and to the airport, usually driven by Fred.
Ben knew Sam was Jim’s physician, but not Ann’s. Jim, Ann, Ben and Sam were each eighty years old. Ben believed Sam had also been Jimmy’s physician when he was a child, but he was not certain. He returned to his inner office and called Sam. “Were you Jimmy White’s doctor when he was a child?” Ben was profoundly relieved when Sam answered “Yes.”
Ben and Sam worked out the solution to Ann’s dilemma that afternoon over drams of The Macallan. It involved serious professional ethical violations by both of them, but at 80 that concerned them little because they knew no harm and much good would result. They would advise Ann to tell Jim what his dead brother’s widow had told Ann, and that Ann had conferred with Sam who was able to tell her from blood test results in Jimmy’s childhood files in Sam’s office that Jimmy did not carry the feared genetic defect. It was all lies of course, but harmless lies and told in the interest of all concerned.
Ben poured himself and Sam a dividend and Ben brought up Google Earth on his iPad and they searched for a pond to fish tomorrow.