Aftershocks

by Catherine Coulter

  "There are several reasons," he said in a clipped voice. "I think the most important reason is the most obvious. You are twenty-three—"

  "Almost twenty-four," she interrupted him.

  "And I will be thirty-nine at the end of the year. There are fifteen years separating us, George. That's a lot of years, too many. You are not of my generation, or I am not of yours, however you want to look at it. If you have any memories at all of the sixties, they're doubtless of playing sports with your brothers."

  "I grew up in the sixties."

  "No, you were a child in the sixties, not an adult. Don't you understand that I was in high school when you were born? I could have baby-sat for you."

  George fought back the cold dread his words brought her. She had an odd feeling, as if a prison door was closing on her. She smiled at him and said calmly, with a hint of humor, "Elliot, you act as though I'm an unthinking child, like I don't know what I want, like I'm not mature enough to make decisions about my life. The fifteen years mean nothing to me. I have never noticed that you were hesitant to talk to me about anything. I always thought that was a very important part of marriage: two people enjoying each other's company, sharing ideas and, well, playing together. Have I been deluding myself? Don't you enjoy my company?"

  "Yes, I enjoy your company, but we've only known each other for six months, George."

  "So you think I'm going to turn boring on you because I don't remember John Kennedy? What does that have to do with us?"

  "It's more the difference in our experiences." He heard the growing tension in his voice. What had he expected, anyway? For George to fold up her tent and leave him without any discussion? "George, most of my friends are my age or older. Take David and Doris. They could be your parents, for God's sake."

  "I doubt they'd like to hear you say that."

  "Probably not, yet it's nearly true. But the facts remain the facts, George."

  "I assure you that if I were thirty-eight and you were twenty-three, I would feel the same."

  He was forced to smile, but shook his head at the same time. "Perhaps, back in Victorian times, it would have been all right for a husband to be much older than his wife. But not today, George. You don't want to spend your life with a man who will be fifty when you're thirty-five. Thirty-five, I might add, is still younger than I am now."

  "So," she said slowly, here eyes locking with his, "you're making the decision for me, and I really haven't any say in the matter?"

  He drew a deep breath. "Yes," he said.

  "It means so little to you that I love you? That I want to spend my life with you?"

  She saw a muscle jerk in his jaw. "George," he said quietly, "I took advantage of your youth, your inexperience. No, don't interrupt me. Admittedly, it was you who picked me, and as you said, you picked me because I was older and you trusted me to introduce you to sex. I knew what would happen, George. You didn't. You became infatuated with me. First love and all that."

  George sprang up from the sofa. "Infatuated with you? That is the most conceited, ridiculous thing I've ever heard you say! Damn you, Elliot Mallory, I am not stupid. Give me some credit for knowing the difference between infatuation and love."

  He chose to ignore her words. "Listen to me," he said sharply. "It is natural, if the man isn't a total clod, for a woman who is sexually innocent to become enamored with him if sex between them is satisfying. George, I'm the only man you've ever slept with. I, on the other hand, have slept with many women."

  She gasped, and tears stung her eyes. She flung out her hands, silently begging him to stop. "So you just think of me as a satisfactory lay? Until someone bet ter comes along?"

  "Now you are being stupid. Just as I experimented when I was your age, it's natural for you to experiment now. You no longer have any need of me. It's time for you to discover men much closer to your own age. And when you finally find a man you want to marry, you will do it with proper experience—"

  "Now you're sounding like a bloody computer!"

  "George, I have enjoyed our six months together. You can't believe that knowing you has meant nothing to me. But I will not take any more advantage of you than I already have. Not only are you very young, you have an unbelievable future in front of you." He sighed and ran his hand distractedly through his hair. "That's probably the most important reason. You will doubtless be a celebrity within a short time. You have a new and exciting life ahead of you. I cannot be a part of that, nor will I trap you into a marriage that you would likely find stifling within a year."

  "You have thought this all through quite completely, haven't you?" she asked slowly. "Yes."

  She tried for sarcasm, but fell short. "How shocked you must have been when I asked you to marry me! I imagine that sort of crass behavior on the part of a woman didn't happen in your generation?"

  "Probably not."

  "You're a big boy, doctor, and I'm sure you got over the shock quickly enough. Why didn't you tell me you wouldn't marry me when I asked you two weeks ago?"

  He couldn't meet her eyes.

  "Oh, my God! How stupid can you get?" She laughed, a raw, hoarse sound that made him wince. "You put me off because you were afraid I wouldn't have the operation! You believed I was so infantile, so uncaring about myself, that I would be devastated by your rejection and kill myself. Well, damn you, answer me!"

  "Yes," he said, "I was concerned about your surgery."

  "I don't believe you, I really don't. What a fool you must think I am. And here I've had the nerve to interrupt your precious, prepared speech! Well, are you through with your speech? Can I now say something without you ignoring me?"

  "I heard your comments, George."

  "But they weren't important enough to respond to?"

  "I've responded as best as I can."

  "You self-righteous bastard!" she yelled at him. "Aren't you worried that I won't have my stitches taken out? I wonder why you didn't wait to give me my walking papers until tomorrow."

  "Stop it, George!" he roared back at her. "I am doing what I believe best for both of us. If I've gone about it unwisely, then I am sorry. But, George, you must believe me. Infatuation doesn't last. Lord knows the first girls I made love with I swore I wanted to spend my life with. It's simply not true. It doesn't last."

  Her legs felt suddenly wobbly, and she sank down onto the sofa. "There is something I must know."

  "Yes?"

  "Do you love me?"

  He glanced away, his lips tightening. She wanted to scream at him, yell at him, but all she said was, "No, don't say it. I guess I can stand to hear most things, but not that." No, she thought, he couldn't love her, at least not as she did him.

  What are you going to say now, you clod? "I care very much about you, George," he said very calmly, "but that really has no bearing on anything. It's time for you to enjoy your success, without me hanging about your neck. And perhaps soon you'll be ready to go out with other men, younger men who are in your business. You will find the right man for you, George, a man of your own generation, and I, well, I will find myself more at ease with women closer to my age,"

  "Like Eileen Raeburn?"

  "Yes, like Eileen."

  "I suppose there's nothing more to say, is there?"

  He could hear the tears in her voice, and the pain. I am doing the right thing, he told himself yet again.

  "No. I packed up all your things."

  She broke into wild laughter. "I wondered why you laid out my clothes! Everything else was sitting next to the front door!"

  "I will take you home now."

  "I wouldn't go to the corner with you," she said. She walked swiftly toward the front door, and flung over her shoulder, "Thank you for the educational experience, Dr. Mallory. I'm certain with you style, you'll have another woman in your bed quite soon to keep you warm."

  "George, I'm driving you home."

  "Go to hell," she said quite clamly, wrapping her pride around her, and slammed the front door behind her.

>   Elliot stood very quiet for several moments. Then he walked to the entrance hall, picked up her two suitcases and strode to his car. He drove slowly, watching for her. He finally pulled up across from her house, carried her suitcases to her front porch, then returned to his car and waited. Fifteen minutes later, he saw her walking to her front door. Her shoulders were slumped forward, and her head was bowed. He watched her pause at the sight of her luggage, then unlock the door. She kicked the suitcases inside, and without a backward glance, walked inside and closed the door behind her. He drove slowly home, feeling like an old man.

  Chapter 16

  Dr. David Thornton gazed thoughtfully down at the people six stories below his office. He saw Dr. Margaret Smith stop Elliot. They were likely talking about the weather, David imagined. Elliot would allow nothing more. And it had been six months. He shook his head and returned to his desk. Ten minutes later, Maggie knocked lightly on his door and stepped into his office.

  "How are you, Maggie?" He waved her to a chair.

  "I'll survive, which is better than I can say for one of my friends."

  "I saw you talking to Elliot," he remarked, twirling a pencil between his fingers.

  "Yes, briefly. He'd just come back from his daily swim. I'm beginning to wonder if he is even a friend anymore."

  "It's been six months," David said. He sat down in his swivel chair, leaned his head back against the soft leather, and closed his eyes. "You know, I remember distinctly being furious with George for dumping him. After all, she is the beautiful young thing rushing headlong into fame, meeting exciting people and getting rid of excess baggage. I believe at the time I was tempted to put a contract out on her for treating Elliot like that. Then one of the radiology residents, a friend of hers, let it slip that it was Elliot who had done the dumping." He sighed deeply. "I couldn't believe it."

  "You and everyone else! Incidentally, the resident's name is Randy Hansen, and he told me that, too."

  David opened his eyes long enough to send her an admiring glance. "Good for you, Maggie. I was too much of a chicken to check it out for myself."

  "Elliot must be crazy."

  "Well, if he wasn't crazy when he tossed her over, he is now. He's lost weight, he's as mean as any dictator and he's refused every invitation Doris has sent him."

  "And there's not a thing we can do about it," Maggie moaned. "I tried to talk to him once, a couple of months ago. Boy, did I regret it. He didn't yell at me or anything like that, he just froze up. I felt like I was next to an ice float in the Antarctic."

  "Well, he treats me like a well-meaning lad who doesn't know better. I haven't seen any new commercials lately on TV. I wonder what George is up to?"

  It was a purely rhetorical remark, and Maggie only shrugged. "If you come up with a bright idea, count me in. How much longer will he continue the way he is?"

  "Lord knows. I don't. I guess we might as well discuss something we can do something about. What about the Winthrop woman? What did the scan show?"

  They were still involved in discussing Mrs. Winthrop when David's secretary, Mary Carson, stuck her head in his office. "Your wife is here to see you, Dr. Thornton. She says it's urgent."

  David was out of his chair in an instant. Doris never came uninvited to the hospital unless something catastrophic had happened.

  "David!" Doris stopped short until she recognized Maggie. She turned and closed the office door.

  "What's the matter? Are the kids all right?" "The kids are great," Doris said. "And soon Elliot Mallory will be too. Maggie, how are you? Come here, you two," she continued without a pause. "Take a look at this!"

  "A fashion magazine?" David said, bewildered.

  Doris flipped through the pages. "Wait a minute," she said, a smug smile on her face. Maggie gasped. "Dear Lord!"

  David scratched his head. "I believe," he said slowly, a look of unholy glee on his face, "that Elliot Mallory's day is not going to end the way it began."

  "He'd have to be dead!"

  Ten minutes later, David entered Elliot's office on the third floor, the fashion magazine tucked under his arm. "Hi, Lisa. Is your boss busy?"

  Lisa Dickerson rolled her eyes heavenward. "He's working on a lecture now. He demolished two residents this morning and bawled me out when he got back from swimming. Are you sure you want to see him?"

  "You bet your life I want to see him!" He headed toward Elliot's office. He turned and smiled smugly. "Just hang around a few minutes, Lisa. I'll bet you one hundred dollars you're going to see a vast change in your boss."

  "Sure, and Tom Selleck is going to walk into my life!"

  "Just you wait," David said, tapped on the closed door and opened it.

  Lisa heard Elliot snap, "What is it you want, David?"

  I think, Dr. Thornton, she thought sadly, you're going to lose your hundred dollars.

  "Good afternoon, Elliot. Fine day, isn't it? No fog, unusual for July."

  Elliot ran his hand through his hair. "What is it, David? I'm busy."

  "You're going to be even busier shortly."

  "Look, David. I am busy, and I don't have time for your cryptic wit."

  "I brought you something. Here, take a look." David handed Elliot the fashion magazine, opening it up to a double-page color spread.

  Elliot shot David an impatient glance, and looked down at the pages.

  "Oh my God!"

  "Yes," David agreed pleasantly. "I thought something along those same lines, I think."

  Elliot stared down at George, smiling in at least a dozen different poses, modeling a different outfit in each. She looked utterly beautiful. And very preg-nant. His hands shook. The pictures showed her in all stages of her pregnancy.

  He swallowed painfully. "Where did you get this?"

  "Doris brought it in a few minutes ago."

  "How—far along is she, David?"

  David studied the photos. "About six months I'd say."

  A look of intense pain crossed Elliot's face. "I didn't know. She didn't tell me." "Obviously. But now you do know." David observed a blazing transformation in the next few seconds. Elliot's eyes gleamed purposefully, and he straightened to his full height, a grim smile on his face. "I owe you one, David," he said abruptly. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

  He grabbed his suit jacket and headed toward the door.

  "Good luck," David called after him. "Well," Lisa said when David joined her in her office, "I'm glad I didn't accept your bet! What happened? He told me he'd likely be taking off the rest of the week."

  David grinned, handed Lisa the magazine and strode whistling to the door.

  "Glory be!"

  He was still grinning when he reached his office.

  Elliot rang the doorbell, then pounded on the door.

  He heard George's voice, and felt a rush of excitement. "Who is it?"

  What if she refused to let him in? He gritted his teeth. He'd kick the damned door down. "It's Elliot. Open the door, George."

  He heard the chain fall and the lock click open. The door opened slowly, and Elliot quickly pushed it further open and stepped inside.

  He stared at her for a long moment, a slow smile spreading over his face. "Hello, George," he said. "You're looking.. .somewhat different."

  Actually, he thought, she looked dreadful, if such a thing was possible for George. She was wearing a floor-length pink robe that molded around her protruding stomach. Her hair looked lank and dull and was pulled back in a ratty ponytail. She wasn't wearing any makeup, and her face was pale, her eyes puffy. He wanted more than anything to pull her into his arms, but he stood quietly, watching her. He didn't know what to expect, but her sugar-sweet voice took him aback.

  "Elliot Mallory, as I live and breathe. Do come in, doctor. Don't tell me the establishment is reduced to making house calls?"

  She didn't await his response, but turned on her heel and headed slowly into the living room. She looked like a small ship whose sails weren't quite keeping her balanced. He thrust o
ut his hand when she listed sharply to the left, and dropped it back to his side when she righted.

  "No," he said agreeably, following her, "I've come to see you."

  "How very pleasant," she murmured, carefully easing herself down into an easy chair. She hefted herself up again. "How rude of me. Would you care for something to drink, doctor?"

  "It' s too early," Elliot said.

  She gave him a faint, mocking smile and disappeared into the kitchen. He stayed on her heels. The kitchen was spotless, save for empty wine bottles sticking out of a garbage bag in front of the sink cabinets. He watched, astonished and dismayed, as George opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine. She raised it to him in a salute. "Are you certain you won't join me?"

  He shook his head.

  She poured a glassful of white wine. A water glass, he thought, a frown deepening on his forehead. She raised it to her lips and drank a full third of the glass. She clutched the bottle in one hand, the glass in the other, and walked past him back into the living room. She eased down into an easy chair. To his further astonishment, she lit a cigarette, drew on it deeply and blew out a vague smoke ring.

  He noticed an overflowing ashtray on the table beside her.

  "Do sit down, doctor," she said, waving toward the couch. "Perhaps you'll be kind enough to tell me why you're here. It is a weekday, you know, and such an important person as yourself has so many demands on his time."

  "George," he said softly, "why didn't you tell me?"

  "I take it you saw the layout in the magazine?"

  He nodded. "Why didn't you tell me?" he repeated.

  George tossed down another long drink of wine. She lowered her glass and smiled at him very sweetly. "Why ever should I have told you about my... condition?"

  "I think that would be obvious!"

  "Oh," she said, as if in surprise. "You think this is your child? An understandable mistake, I suppose," she continued, nodding patiently at him. "But you needn't worry, doctor. This one isn't yours."

  "Stop this, George! You know you should have told me immediately."

  "Now, now," she said in a mock-soothing voice, "don't start feeling guilty. I'm not going to sue you for paternity." She paused a moment, frowning thoughtfully. "In fact, even if I wanted to sue some man, I wouldn't know who it should be."