by Sandra Brown
Obviously distraught, she was shredding the soggy tissue. Lara clasped her hands to keep them still. “Helen.” She spoke gently but with authority. Her primary objective was to calm the patient. “Before we can proceed, I must get some information from you.”
She reached for a chart and a pen and asked Helen for her full name. The paperwork could have been postponed, but doing it now forced the girl to compose herself. Working her way down the standard form, Lara learned that Helen was a local girl who lived in a rural area. She was eighteen years old and had graduated from high school the previous May. Her father worked for the telephone company. Her mother was a homemaker. She had two younger sisters, one brother. There was no history of serious illness in the family.
“Now,” Lara said, setting the chart aside, “why did Mr. Tackett bring you to see me?”
“I asked him to. I had to.” Her face crumpled and her lower lip fell victim to more brutalizing. Tears streamed down her plump cheeks.
Lara, believing she knew the cause of Helen’s distress, cut to the heart of the problem. “Do you think you’re pregnant?”
“Oh, jeez. I’m so stupid!” With that, Helen flung herself onto the examination table, drew her knees to her chest, and began sobbing uncontrollably.
Lara moved swiftly to her side and took her hand again. “Helen, calm down. We don’t know anything for certain yet. You might be crying over nothing. A false alarm.”
She kept her voice calm and soothing, but she wanted to grind her teeth. She wished she had a double-barreled shotgun, loaded and aimed at Key Tackett’s testicles. Bedding wayward housewives like Darcy Winston was one thing; seducing high school girls was quite another.
Lara smoothed back strands of Helen’s hair. “When was your last period?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“So you’ve only missed one? That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re pregnant.”
Helen bobbed her head emphatically. “Yes it does. I’m never late.”
Perhaps, Lara thought, but there were myriad reasons for delayed menses, only one of which was pregnancy. Still, she had learned that patients were often the best authorities on their own bodies. She couldn’t blithely dismiss Helen’s conclusion. “Have you had sexual intercourse?”
“Yes.”
“Without using any contraception?”
Helen’s head wobbled up and down in answer.
Lara was dismayed that high school students were still negligent in their use of condoms, which were the simplest and least expensive, yet reliable, protection against unwanted pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases. In a community like Eden Pass, open discussion about these safeguards was certain to generate opposition from conservative parents and religious groups. Nevertheless, it was vital—indeed a life or death matter—to acquaint teenagers with the risks they were taking if they were sexually active and didn’t take precautions.
“Any breast tenderness?”
“Some. No more than usual. But anyway, I did one of those home pregnancy tests.”
“It was positive?”
“No question.”
“They’re fairly reliable, but there’s always a margin for error in any test.” Lara gave her a hand up. “Go into the bathroom and get a urine specimen. I can do a preliminary test tonight.”
“Okay. But I know I’m pregnant.”
“Have you ever been pregnant before?”
“No. But I know. If I am, he’ll kill me.”
She retreated into the adjoining toilet. Thinking of Key Tackett sitting complacently in her waiting room made Lara want to confront him immediately and convey her disgust. But her patient came first.
“I left it on the lid of the tank,” Helen said when she emerged.
“Fine. Lie down on the table and try to relax.”
In a few minutes, Helen’s worst fear was once again confirmed. “I knew it,” she wailed when Lara told her that the indications were positive. She began to cry again. Lara placed her arms around her and held her until the sobs became dry, racking hiccups.
“Until your pregnancy is confirmed beyond any doubt, I’d rather not give you a sedative. Would you like something to drink?”
“A Coke? Please.”
Lara left her alone only long enough to fetch the soft drink. When she returned, Helen was weeping quietly but was more composed. She took several greedy sips of the cola.
“Helen, is marrying the child’s father out of the question?”
“Yes,” she mumbled. “A baby is the last thing he wants or needs.”
Angry heat spread throughout Lara’s body. “I see. What about your parents? How supportive will they be?”
“They love me,” she said as more tears filled her eyes. “They won’t kick me out. But Daddy’s a deacon in our church. Mom’s… Oh, God, they’ll just die of shame.”
“Do you intend to have the baby?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could always make it available for adoption.”
She shook her head morosely. “I don’t think he’d let me. Besides, if I had it, I could never give it away.”
“Have you considered abortion?”
“That’s probably what I’ll have to do.” She sobbed and blotted her nose. “Except… except I love him, you know? I don’t want to kill his baby.”
“You don’t have to make that decision tonight,” Lara said softly as she stroked the girl’s hand.
“If that’s what I decided, would you do it so nobody would know?”
“I’m sorry, Helen, no. I don’t perform D and Cs to terminate pregnancy.”
“How come?”
Having watched her own child die, aborting living tissue was something Lara simply couldn’t do unless the mother’s life was at risk. “That’s just my policy,” she told the girl. “However, if you are pregnant and that’s the alternative you choose, I’ll make the arrangements for you.”
Helen nodded, but Lara doubted that she was retaining much of this conversation. Dismay had numbed her. Lara patted her hand and told her she would come for her in a few minutes. “Lie quietly and finish your drink.”
Stepping into the hallway, she bolstered herself for the coming encounter. As she entered the waiting room, she flipped on the light switch and flooded the area with a cold, unforgiving, fluorescent glare. Key was slouched on one of the short sofas. Blinking to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness, he slowly came to his feet.
“Why did you bring her to me?” Lara demanded angrily.
“I figured you needed the business.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” she said caustically, “but I would rather not have been drawn into another of your intrigues.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “From your tone of voice, I gather Helen was right. She’s pregnant?”
“It appears so.”
His head dropped forward, and he swore elaborately.
“I take it you don’t welcome this news.”
His head snapped up. “Damn right, Doc. It sucks.”
“You should have thought of that before sleeping with an unsophisticated girl like Helen. And why didn’t you take precautions? Surely a man of the world like you keeps a handy cache of condoms. Or does using one hamper your macho image?”
“Now just a frigging minute. You—”
“Clark told me all about your satyric reputation. I thought he was exaggerating, but apparently he wasn’t. ‘Key Tackett’s women.’ Around here, it’s like a club, isn’t it? The only requirement for membership is to have gone to bed with you.” She looked at him contemptuously.
“Maybe they should change the name to Key Tackett’s girls,” she said with a sneer. “What’s the matter with you? Are you losing your boyish charm? Has aging bruised your ego? Are you so insecure over your fading youth that you’ve resorted to bedding high school girls?”
“What difference does it make to you?” With his eyes half-closed, he added softly, “Jealous?”
; Lara drew herself up, angry for having stooped to his level. By doing so, she’d left herself open to counterattack. In a cool, professional voice she said, “Helen is seriously considering abortion. Until she reaches a firm decision, I’ll be happy to give her prenatal care, provided she comes here alone, without you.”
“She won’t be coming here at all. All we wanted from you tonight was a yea or nay.” Angrily, he reached into the hip pocket of his tight, worn jeans and fingered out his money clip. “How much do I owe you?”
“This one’s on me, but I want something in exchange.”
“Like what? No, let me guess. Let’s see… a free flight to Timbuktu?”
She had wondered if he would make reference to their last conversation and wasn’t surprised that his remark was sarcastic. She didn’t take the bait. “What I want is your promise—”
“I don’t make promises to women. While Clark was filling your ear about my sex life, did he fail to mention that?”
She strove to keep her voice even. “I don’t want you dumping any more of your garbage at my back door. This is the second time I’ve had to clean up one of your messes. Leave me out of them, please. I want no part of your juvenile, romantic escapades.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
Menacingly, he came nearer, until he was standing so close that their clothing was touching. She could feel his body heat, feel his breath on her uplifted face. His rage, too, was palpable. Only sheer determination kept her from backing down.
“That’s funny, Doc,” he whispered huskily. “I’d’ve thought this kind of romantic escapade was right up your alley.”
She held her ground and his blue stare for as long as she could stand them, then backed up a few steps and turned away. “I’ve tried to make Helen reasonably calm, but she’s still upset,” she said over her shoulder. “If you have a smidgen of decency you’ll be gentle with her tonight. No blame. No recriminations. Until she decides how to resolve this crisis, she’s going to need patience and understanding.”
“Well that’s just fine, because I fairly ooze the milk of human kindness.”
Lara shot him a fulminating look, then gave him her back and walked down the hall. She tapped on the examination room door before going inside. Helen was lying on her back on the padded table, staring at the acoustical tiles in the ceiling. Lara was relieved to see that she was no longer crying.
She plastered on a smile she hoped didn’t look too false. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Good. Key’s waiting for you.”
She assisted Helen off the table and they moved into the hallway. He was waiting at the back door, as though ready to make a quick getaway. To say he had the morals of an alley cat would be doing alley cats a disservice. It was a pity that his character didn’t match his good looks.
The open collar of his shirt provided only a glimpse of what Lara knew was a broad chest. His jeans fit his sex, narrow hips, and long thighs like a second skin. Clark had rarely worn casual clothes, never Levi’s. She’d never seen either him or Randall in cowboy boots. Key’s were well-worn victims of the elements.
Key Tackett’s women, she thought scornfully.
Being so physically attractive, his success with women wasn’t surprising. Within weeks, he had slept with Darcy Winston and this eighteen-year-old. How many others were there? His affair with Darcy wasn’t as shocking as his dalliance with this girl so much younger and more innocent than he. For some vague and disturbing reason, she was disappointed in him.
To his credit, he opened his arms to Helen, who rushed into his embrace. He held her tightly against him for several moments, his head bent low over hers, whispering so softly into her ear that Lara couldn’t distinguish the words. Between sobs, Helen nodded her head against his chest.
Then, setting her away, he said, “Wait for me in the car, sweetheart. I’ll be right out.”
On her way through the door, she gave Lara a hasty thank-you. Key said nothing until Helen was out of earshot. “I’ll see that she gets proper prenatal care, but it won’t be from you.”
Lara lamented losing a patient, but reasoned that was the price she would pay for giving him a lecture on philandering. In lieu of saying anything she might later regret, she gave him a curt nod. At this point she was willing to leave well enough alone.
Not Key. He got in another parting shot. “On my way over here, I heard something on the radio that might interest you. Late this afternoon, Letty Leonard died.”
Key wasn’t the only one who had heard of the child’s death. Jody had.
Eden Pass was situated midway between the Dallas/Fort Worth metropolitan area and Shreveport, Louisiana. Its location provided it with a large selection of television stations. All three networks had affiliates in those cities, which were carried by the local cable company, along with CNN and other major cable stations.
When it came to regional news, however, Jody relied on the station that broadcast from Tyler. She personally knew the owners and was familiar with the on-air talent. Watching their newscasts was like having a member of her family visit every night to deliver the news.
She was inordinately tired this evening. Her angry exchange with Key had sapped her energy. That, coupled with their conversation about Clark Junior, had taxed her mentally, emotionally, and physically. Even though he’d been dead more than two decades, thinking about her late husband always left her feeling resentful and depressed.
Immediately following her huffy departure from the dining room, she’d retired to her room to watch television and had barely managed to remain awake for the ten o’clock news. In fact she was in bed, propped against the pillows, dozing, when the story about Letty Leonard awakened her.
Instantly alert, she used the remote control to increase the volume on the set. It wasn’t a lengthy story. The only visual was a snapshot of the child and a floppy-eared dog sitting in front of a Christmas tree surrounded by heaps of unwrapped presents.
The anchorman solemnly reminded his viewing audience of the tragic accident that had recently occurred in Eden Pass and of the highly specialized surgery that had temporarily saved Letty’s life. Her sudden death had been caused by an embolism that had dislodged and moved to her lung. It had come as a shock to the attending physicians, as well as to her family, who had believed she was on her way to a full recovery. The story consumed no more than twenty seconds of air time.
Jody muted the sound, threw off the covers, and got out of bed. Then she lit a cigarette, and as she drew the smoke deeply into her lungs and exhaled slowly she began to pace.
The news story hadn’t mentioned Dr. Lara Mallory or Key. As far as the general public was concerned, their joint involvement was inconsequential. But it was like a pebble in Jody’s shoe, an aggravation she was unable to live with.
Dammit, she’d told Key to keep his distance from that woman. Not only had he disobeyed, he’d helped the doctor rescue a dying child. Jody couldn’t sit by and let Lara Porter become a local heroine.
But would she be considered a heroine now that the child had died? Exactly what was an embolism? What might have caused it? What could have prevented it? She didn’t know, but she would damn sure find out if Lara Mallory Porter was in any way responsible for the girl’s death.
She was still mulling over her strategy when Janellen came in to say good night. She didn’t return Janellen’s embrace. She’d never been comfortable with outward displays of affection, even token ones, and considered sentiment a waste of time.
It was foolish to cling to memories like the six dozen yellow roses Clark Junior had brought her the day Clark the Third was born. Her memory of them should have withered and died just as the petals had. Why didn’t she forget them? What good had they done her?
“Good night, Mama. Try to get some rest. Don’t get up again and don’t smoke any more tonight. It’s not good for you.”
As soon as she was alone, Jody lit another cigare
tte. Having one in her hand enabled her to think better. She often lay awake for hours, smoking in the darkness. What Janellen didn’t know, she couldn’t hound her about.
Janellen. What was going on with her daughter? she wondered. She seemed to be distracted these days, often staring into space for long stretches of time, a goosey expression on her face. At other times, she became upset over the least little thing. Small hazards that wouldn’t have ruffled her before now sent her into conniptions. She wasn’t acting like herself at all. It was probably something hormonal.
But Jody couldn’t waste worries on her daughter when fretting over Key was her full-time preoccupation. He was impossible and had been since birth, even before birth if you counted the twenty-six hours of difficult labor he’d put her through. Twenty-six long, agonizing hours that she’d endured alone because Clark Junior couldn’t be located.
Key was born the moment his father, reeking of another woman’s perfume, arrived at the hospital. That’s when her difficulties with Key had begun. She was mad at him before he had drawn his first breath, and even as a newborn he had sensed it. Their dislike for each other had intensified during his childhood when it seemed that he was incapable of staying out of mischief.
She had wanted him to be a replica of Clark the Third, but two boys couldn’t have been more dissimilar. Everything Clark did was motivated by an anxious desire to please her. Her approval was essential to his peace of mind. He was disconsolate if he thought he’d fallen out of favor.
Just as fervently as his brother tried to please, Key tried to provoke. Whatever Jody wanted or expected of him, he was bound and determined to do the opposite. He delighted in her disfavor; he nurtured it. She’d wondered many times if he had driven his car into that tree out of spite, just so he couldn’t fulfill her dream of having him play professional football. He was hardheaded enough to risk his life rather than bow to her wishes.
She was secretly proud of his success, but acknowledging it would be tantamount to conceding that he’d made a better life for himself than she could have made for him.
One of the reasons he loved his work so much was because it kept him away from home. Although they’d denied it, she knew Janellen had called him home to watch her die. She resented that. If he didn’t give a damn, he didn’t give a damn. Never had, never would. It was that simple. Why pretend their relationship was something it wasn’t? He and Janellen thought her death was imminent. She could see it in their eyes. They had another think coming!
