Aftershocks

by Catherine Coulter

  "Do you have that fantasy, George?" he asked her.

  Her eyes crinkled in laughter. "Why, of course, doctor. Weren't you just marvelously violent and nasty tome?"

  "Hell," he said. "George, are you laughing at me? You little—"

  "I'm sorry, Elliot. Please don't tickle me. I'm too weak from ail your exertions."

  "I am too." He sighed. "I much prefer being lovable and thoroughly boring all the time."

  "Never that," she said sleepily. "Never that."

  He kissed the back of her neck, smoothing away her long hair. "Do you know that you have little sexy female curls on the nape of your neck?''

  "Little sexy curls? Oh mercy!"

  "Don't forget female."

  Elliot hugged her more closely to him, and closed his eyes. In the next moment, he was asleep.

  George felt sore, confused and happy. He cared about her, she thought drowsily, else he wouldn't have been so angry with her. It didn't occur to her that the house would soon be filled with people. She snuggled closer to him and fell asleep.

  "Oh my God!"

  George raised her head, blinking away sleep.

  "It's dark!" Elliot looked frantically at the clock on the bedside table. Eight-thirty. He felt utterly mortified. He had made love to her without a thought to her family and proceeded to compound his idiocy by falling asleep like a damned fool.

  "I'm sure Mom has left us some dinner," George said.

  He cursed.

  George giggled, "I think everyone will know what we've been doing."

  He cursed again.

  "Elliot," she said reasonably, "we're not teenagers. And you did cart me off in front of my parents like a caveman. If they had been the least bit concerned, they would have come to rescue me."

  "They probably should have," he said. He sighed, turned on the lamp beside the bed and gazed about at their scattered clothing. "Nothing for it, I guess, but to face the music."

  The first strain of music was from five-year-old Derek, Jr. "Aunt George, you slept through dinner! We had chicken again. It was baked this time."

  "I think your Aunt George is in need of a steak," Tod observed blandly. "Elliot too. Rare."

  "Tod," Mariana said, her eyes narrowing.

  "Chicken will be just fine," George said.

  "It's all in the oven, dear," Dorothy said.

  Elliot had hoped they would eat their belated dinner in private. He soon discovered what a forlorn hope it was. All the brothers and their women gathered at the table.

  "The children are in bed," Jason said to no one in particular.

  George arched a brow at him, "What does that mean? You can be outrageous?"

  "Well," Tod drawled, "you'll notice that Mom and Dad aren't here either."

  George groaned and waved a chicken bone in Tod's face. "I'll thank you, Tod, not to embarrass Elliot."

  "Elliot?" Derek said. "He's a man, kiddo. It's you, my little virgin sister, who should be embarrassed."

  Tammy poked her husband in the ribs. "Cut it out, Der. George is not a child. Lord knows your accountant doesn't think so!"

  George suddenly realized that Tod was still wearing is ski outfit. She wondered if he had come into the bedroom he was sharing with Elliot. At least he hadn't stayed to change his clothes. She blushed.

  "Ah, George," Tod said, his eyes twinkling wickedly, "I do wonder what you are thinking."

  "You probably wouldn't understand," Mariana said. "You are the most insensitive clod I've ever met."

  "Not clod," George said. "Dumb jock."

  "It comes to the same thing," Mariana said. "If it weren't for his family, I would have thrown him over ages ago."

  Elliot drew a brief, relieved sigh. At least the cannion fire was aimed at someone else now. He wondered if he should say anything. Say what, you fool? he thought, laughing at himself.

  "Mariana," Tod said, "if you don't control your mouth I won't marry you."

  "You, marry?" George gasped.

  "The Playboy of the Bay Area? I don't believe it!" Derek said.

  Tammy eyed her brother-in-law thoughtfully. "Mariana is much too smart to hook up with you, Tod. I suggest you try for a bit of humility if you cherish any hopes in that direction."

  Mariana was smiling crookedly, her fingers on Tod's sleeve. "I'll never forget his come-on line," she said to the group at large. "He invited me to his apartment, not to see his etchings, mind you, but to see photos of his fastball."

  "That's probably the only area where he has any control at all," Derek said over the laughter.

  "I think," Tod muttered, "that's enough."

  "Poor baby," George mocked him. "Are we besmirching your reputation?"

  "Give him a dictionary, George!" Jason hooted.

  "All right, circuit brain," Tod threatened. "You might still be able to beat up George, but I—"

  "Tod," George said to Elliot, "always uses threats of brawn when a little wit would carry him through."

  "At least my clothes weren't strewed all over the bedroom floor!" Tod roared.

  Mariana reached over and patted Tod's arm. "Now, now," she said sweetly, "you mustn't show your jealousy quite so blatantly."

  "Well," Tod grumbled, a reluctant smile turning up the corners of his mouth, "I am getting tired of necking on that damned sofa."

  There was a throat-clearing hum from the doorway. "Excuse me, children," Dorothy Hathaway said. "Keep it down or you'll wake the little children."

  "Hey, Mom," Derek said, "will we still be children when we're sixty?"

  "Some of you will be, undoubtedly," Dorothy said. She shook her head a moment, a faraway smile light-ing her eyes. "I suppose you're all over twenty-one now. And that damned sofa was the favorite piece of furniture for all the boys in the cabin. Tammy, do you remember when Derek wrenched his back on the sofa from all his.. .exertions?"

  "Oh, I remember all right. The baby! I've had to kiss it and make it well for thirteen years now,"

  "At least I let you make an honest man of me!"

  Derek said. He rose from his chair and smiled wickedly at George and Elliot. "Since Tammy and I are legal, unlike you, I think I'll cart her off now. Eat your hearts out, guys!"

  Some fifteen minutes later, Elliot found himself alone with Jason Hathaway, George having dashed upstairs to have her turn in the shower.

  "The first time George pulled that stunt," Jason said, fiddling with his coffee cup, "Mom and Dad nearly had a cardiac arrest. She was nine years old." Elliot smiled ruefully. "She scared the hell out of me."

  "One of us should have warned you, I guess." He grinned. "You should have seen the look on your face."

  "No thanks," Elliot said dryly, Jason was silent a moment, then said slowly, "As know, Irene and I live near Philadelphia. When George turned up on tv, you wouldn't believe the razzing I got from people at work. A couple of guys took turns showing up at my office door on their hands and knees, panting and begging for her address. I have to admit I've wondered how you handle it."

  "In what way?" Elliot asked, quirking a dark brow.

  "Like when she's asked for her autograph. Has that happened yet?"

  "Yes, it has. I see what you mean now. It was a bit disconcerting the first couple of times, but now—" He shrugged his shoulders.

  "No," Jason said thoughtfully, "I didn't think you'd be intimidated. You know, being the escort for my gorgeous sister.''

  "Tattered ego? No, I don't think so. George makes so little of it, you see.''

  Jason smiled and rose. "I didn't mean to pry," he said. "I'm going to watch some TV. Want to join me?"

  "All right." Elliot grinned. "Maybe we'll see George kissing a bottle of perfume."

  Chapter 14

  "I've got a surprise for you, Elliot."

  Elliot turned in his plane seat and smiled whimsically at George. "Not again?"

  "Oh no," she assured him. "I figure if you get a perfect ten at thirty-five-thousand feet, there's only Doe direction to go. Now, I'll give you twenty gue
sses, but you'll never get it."

  "You bought me a gift certificate to the Mustang Ranch."

  "Elliot!"

  He stoked his fingertip over her jaw. "Blushing, George? It is a legal brothel, you know." He sighed deeply. "I guess that's not it, huh?"

  "No, you lecher!"

  "Well, since we get free booze in first class, let me will a while to invigorate my brain."

  Elliot exhausted his twentieth guess by the time the plane was Bearing the San Francisco airport. "All right. I give up. I've fastened my seatbelt. Lay it on me."

  "Tomorrow morning, my dear, you and I are going to get out of bed at 4:30 A.M."

  "You're crazy."

  "No, no, seriously! And I'm going to make a phone call," she added in a mysterious voice.

  "To whom? My mother?"

  "No, to Napa. And if the weather is okay, you and I are then going to drive to Napa and at 6:00 a.m. we're going to pile into a hot-air balloon."

  His eyes lit up. "How did you know I wanted to do that? I swear I've never said anything about it to you. Great surprise, George!" He leaned over and gave her a smacking kiss on her lips. "Mind you, I wouldn't consider doing anything else at 4:30 A.M."

  "It's awful iffy this time of year, but we'll keep our fingers crossed. And if it's raining or the winds are too strong, we can always go back to.. .sleep."

  "We'll just have to see," he said softly.

  It was over an hour's drive from San Francisco to Napa, and it was still dark. George snuggled close to Elliot and chattered the entire way. It was just first light when they pulled into the parking lot where the balloons lifted off.

  There were five other passengers, all of them tourists from out of state, and all of them excited. The captain was David Martinez, a young man who could pass for a pirate, Elliot thought, with his thick black mustache. And a pillager, he amended to himself when Martinez spotted George.

  They drank coffee while the crew unrolled the huge, colorful balloon, set a powerful fan into its mouth and tamed on a roaring flame to finish the job of inflat-ing it.

  "Propane?" he asked Martinez. "Yep. That's why it's called a hot-air balloon. I'll be turning on the heat in the air and you'll feel it on the top of your head."

  When the red, white and blue striped balloon was rising above them, some eighty feet into the air, they climbed into the basket.

  "Hang on, Millie," George shouted to a polyester pantsuited older woman from Nebraska. "Put your foot in the opening there, and give me your hand." The early morning air was clear and the wind slight. Elliot had wondered about turbulence, but the balloon lifted off the ground and rose so smoothly he was scarcely aware of any movement at all. They reached two thousand feet within ten minutes. It was utterly silent save for the times Martinez flipped on the propane. Napa Valley with its beautiful vineyards stretched out like a quilted spread below them. Whenever Martinez turned on the valve, flames shot upward into the balloon and hot air singed the tops of their heads. The normal air time was an hour. An hour, that is, when George wasn't along. George and David Martinez became fast friends. He let her talk to the ground crew, called Zulu Chaser, on the radio, to tell them their likely course and altitude. They were following the balloon and would pull it safely down when it reached thirty feet or so above ground. He even let George put on his gloves and turn the valves on the propane tanks. Elliot had no doubt that Martinez would have given up a week's vacation to have brought more fuel along. As it was, they didn't have enough to cross the mountains toward the Pacific.

  "It's so still," George breathed, leaning against Elliot after she'd had particularly lively conversation with the ground crew. "Not a sound."

  "The birds are still asleep," Elliot said.

  "How do you like your surprise?"

  "You done good, kiddo, real good."

  "Is this is your honeymoon?" Millie asked, eyeing them benevolently.

  "Not yet," George said. "I've got to talk him into it first."

  "If anybody can, it'd be you," an older man said, winking at Elliot.

  They came down in the parking lot of a winery. To George's delight, the balloon was tangled in a tree for a while until the ground crew managed to pull it free.

  "Happens all the time," Martinez said, unruffled as a branch poked into the basket. "Once we came down in a swimming pool. The owner wasn't too happy as I recall."

  "I can't imagine that the winery owners would be pleased if you came down in the vines." Elliot said.

  "I've got at least fifty stories about that," Martinez said with a reminiscent grin.

  After their landing, the passengers were treated to champagne, French bread and cheese at one of the local inns in Napa.

  "Just look, Elliot, my very own plaque," George aid, holding up her framed Certificate of Aerostation. "Come on, hold yours up, and Drew will take our picture."

  The balloon company had a photographer on hand to take pictures of the takeoff, landing, and plaque-holding.

  "I need a shave," Elliot murmured out of the side of his mouth as the photographer snapped them.

  "You look marvelously ferocious. Drew will send us the photos in about three weeks. Of course you'll want to frame them."

  " Of course," he said.

  "In your study at home or in your office?"

  "We'll see."

  Dr. David Thornton knocked lightly on the hospital door and stuck his head into the private room. 'I've got someone for you to meet, George. Norman, here's your patient, Georgina Hathaway."

  George straightened in bed and smiled at the slender man with thinning brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He seemed to be in his midforties, she thought, and looked terribly diffident, for a doctor. "Dr. Greenberg, a pleasure," she said, thrusting out her hand.

  Norman Greenberg gulped and accepted the slender hand. He sent a wounded look toward David, who had intimated that his patient was somewhere near fifty.

  "Surprised?" Elliot asked, grinning at his discomfiture.

  Norman Greenberg frowned at the tall man who was standing beside his patient.

  David grinned. "Norman, this is Dr. Mallory."

  Norman nodded. He tried out his professional voice, but it cracked a bit. "Miss Hathaway, there's little reason to worry. I've seen your films and the whole thing should take about thirty minutes."

  "How many times, Norman, have I heard your spiel?" David interrupted him with a grin.

  "Now, David," George said, feeling slightly sorry for Dr. Greenberg, "I haven't heard it, and Lord knows I need lots of reassurance! Dr. Greenberg, David tells me that you have years of practice, so I have no worries about coming out of this alive. If the gentlemen will hold their tongues, you can continue."

  Norman did, but it didn't sound as polished as it usually did. "How old are you?" he asked abruptly.

  "Twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four," George added, with a sideways glance at Elliot,

  "Ah," Norman said, investing the small word with mysterious importance.

  He cleared his throat again, a habit that George found amusing, and a habit that made Elliot think contemptuously that he was a wimp. "If I could speak to my patient," he said, "alone."

  "We've been given our walking papers, Elliot," David said. "We'll be back. Just don't let him con you, George."

  George was thoughtfully silent when she and Elliot were finally alone. It was ten o'clock Sunday evening, and the hospital was eerily quiet.

  "This here, sweetheart, will make you sleep."

  George frowned at the white pill. "You know how I feel about drugs, Elliot."

  "It'll beat you lying here awake and stewing until 3:00 a.m. Take it." He watched her swallow the pill. "You'll be out of it in about ten minutes. Then I'm going home to take my own pill."

  "We get started at eight o'clock," George said.

  "And you'll be eating a light lunch with me at noon."

  "I won't be sick?"

  "Nope, at least you haven't been lying to me about your superior genes."


  She gave him a wan smile. "Well, maybe it was just a little lie."

  "Then I'll give you just a little lunch. We'll be playing a game of chess tomorrow night, George, I promise."

  He leaned over and gathered her into his arms. "You'll be just fine, sweetheart." He held her quietly for several minutes, then kissed her lightly on her mouth.

  "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning," he said softly, and laid her back.

  "Okay," she murmured. He waited a few more minutes until he heard her breathing even into sleep, and let himself quietly out of her room,

  George opened her eyes and stared straight ahead. She felt the pull of the sleeping pill, but fought it. I should be allowed to feel my fear, she told herself, at least for a while. She slid her hand under the covers to her belly. She would have her first scar. Dr. Greenberg had assured her it would scarcely be visible, and tried a weak joke about bikinis. She hadn't told Elliot that she had wanted to go up in the balloon yesterday because it was something she had always wanted to do before she died. Her last thought before she fell asleep was a hope that Dr. Greenberg wasn't as diffident in the operating room as he was trying to talk to her.

  She would have been pleased to know that Elliot lay awake until 3:00 A.M.

  George was dizzy and disoriented the next morning when a nurse woke her up to give her a tranquilizer. Elliot watched as they lifted her from her bed onto a gurney and wheeled her to the operating room. He met Maggie in the scrub room.

  "You look like hell," she observed, eyeing him up and down.

  "Thanks," he said dryly. "Where is our blade?"

  Maggie gave him a wicked grin. "He's talking to the anesthesiologist. He's quite a ditherer, but good, Elliot, very good. So not to worry, okay? Are you going to observe?"

  "I was, but I don't think so now. I'll be in my office, Maggie. Let me know the minute it's over."

  "All right. It's just as well. George's friend, Dr. Hansen, asked to observe. I didn't have the heart to tell him no."