At 8:00 Thursday morning, I put two things on Dr. Hale's desk.
The first was a single page.
My last day will be Thursday, October 16. Before then I will file the Keystone recredentialing.
The second was Form CR-3.
It was Keystone's packet, and I'd filled in every page the night before.
A yellow flag stuck out at the signature block.
Russell Hale, DDS
He read the letter with his glasses pushed up on his forehead.
"Two weeks," he said.
"That's fine."
"That's professional."
"Sign at the flag," I said.
"It's due a week from tomorrow."
He picked up the packet, weighed it in his hand and set it down.
Then he slid it back across the desk to me.
He hadn't signed it.
"Brent will sign it."
"Brent isn't on the contract."
"Brent's a partner now, Maureen."
"He'll learn."
"You can't learn this in eight days."
He smiled.
"You did."
I took the packet.
I left it on Brent's desk with the flag showing and a note on top.
Sign here. Then give it back to me.
By noon it was under a Wawa bag.
At 3:20, Brianna leaned across the front counter.
"He was on the phone with that Warren guy," she said quietly.
"Door shut."
"Twenty minutes."
"Okay," I said.
"Then he called Brent in."
At 3:30, he called me in.
Brent stood by the window with his arms folded, like a bouncer for a dentist.
"I've been thinking about your letter," Dr. Hale said.
"Two weeks is a long time to keep someone halfway out the door."
"So let's make it effective immediately."
"What about the Keystone packet?" I said.
"Brent has it."
"Has he read it?"
Brent unfolded his arms.
"I already did the insurance thing."
"Which thing?"
"The insurance thing, Maureen."
Dr. Hale stood up, which meant we were done.
"You were a great help, Maureen."
"Help is replaceable."
He came around the desk and held the door open for me.
"It's all documented anyway."
After thirty years, I got the door held for me.
I knew what Brent made, because I keep the payroll files.
His offer letter said $92,000.
Mine said $61,400.
Mine stopped today.
"I'll need a receipt," I said.
"For what?" Brent asked.
"For everything I'm giving you."
At 4:55, we sat down at the breakroom table.
The cake was gone.
I tore a sheet off a yellow legal pad and wrote the list myself.
Master key ring — 14 keys
Binder — 212 pages
Alarm code card
Building fob
I unclipped the carabiner from my belt loop and laid it on the pad.
The keys clinked like loose change.
I set the binder beside them.
The alarm card went on top of the binder, and the fob went on top of the card.
"Sign here," I said.
"Put the time, too."
Brent rolled his eyes and signed.
Brent Hale 4:55 PM
"Brianna," I said.
She'd been pretending to wipe out the microwave.
She came over and signed under his name.
Witness: Brianna Ott
Her hand shook a little on the B.
I took a picture of the sheet with my phone.
Then I gave Brent the original.
"Keep that somewhere safe," I said.
"Sure."
He folded it into quarters and stuck it in his back pocket.
He scooped up the ring and the binder in both arms.
"Any tips?" he asked.
He was grinning.
In the doorway, Dr. Hale was grinning too.
"Page one," I said.
"Read page one."
"Got it," Brent said.
He didn't open the binder.
He carried everything to his new desk and dropped it in the bottom drawer.
The drawer stuck, so he kicked it shut.
Dr. Hale walked me to the back door.
He didn't have to.
He wanted to watch it lock behind me.
"No hard feelings, Maureen."
"Okay," I said.
Through the operatory window, Gloria watched me go with her mask still on.
At home, I made toast and didn't eat it.
The Keystone packet was due in eight days.
The one person who knew how to file it had just been locked out.
At 6:14, my phone lit up on the counter.
Keystone Provider Portal: your verification code is 448213.
Someone was trying to log in.
The code had come to me anyway.
I didn't touch it.
The screen went dark.
At 6:31, it lit up again.
This time the code was from the claims clearinghouse.
I didn't touch that one either.
They had the keys and the binder.
They had the fob, the alarm card, the receipt and my desk.
I gave it all back.
Everything but the knowing how.