“That would be great.” Candace infused her voice with enthusiasm. But inside, she wasn't feeling nearly as cheerful. She didn't know why, but she wasn't thrilled with the idea of spending their vacation with the Mullens. It would be their very first family vacation, and she wanted it to be special. Doesn't Heath feel the same way? she thought. Judging from the way he and Skip were joking around, he wasn't aware of her hesitation.
Thankfully, she didn't have to worry about keeping up the cheerful front for very long before they moved into the sanctuary. The service seemed inordinately long to Candace, although a glance at her watch showed her it was running very close to its usual length. Halfway through the sermon, she had to move Howie to the far side of Heath to get him away from Eason. The two little boys were proving to be a combustible combination, egging each other on to sillier actions and louder noises as the service wore on. Skip and Margie, to her consternation, appeared as oblivious as they had earlier when Eason ran into the woman during the social hour. It's frustrating, she thought, having to be the bad guy with no support from the other parents.
After the service, they said farewell to the Mullens and headed home. Candace was biting her tongue in order to avoid saying anything critical about Heath's friend and his family, when from the backseat a voice observed, “Those people sure don't watch their kids very much, do they?”
Brooke's comment broke the silence, and both Candace and Heath began to laugh. “No, I’m sorry to say, they don’t,” Heath answered her.
“Eason's fun.” Howie's voice rang out over the laughter. “He's faster ’n me.”
“Wow,” Candace said. “That's fast.” Privately, she agreed with Howie. Eason made her son look like the tortoise half of the children's story.
Anabelle was consumed with curiosity, as she watched Penny and Patti Risser coming up her front walk on Tuesday. She had received a message from Penny at work today asking if they could meet at the first opportunity. It was urgent, Penny had added, and she had suggested that they meet away from the hospital. Intrigued by the hint of secrecy, Anabelle had invited her over.
“Hello, ladies,” Anabelle said, opening the door.
“Hi,” caroled Patti. “Can I see your f’owers?”
“It's nice to see you.” Anabelle smiled at her. “Of course you may see my flowers.”
“She would enjoy walking around in your yard while we talked.” Penny looked suddenly apprehensive. “Is that all right?”
“Of course.” Anabelle led the way through the house. “You and I can sit on the back deck where we can watch her.”
Anabelle and Penny eased themselves down into the lounge chairs, while Patti charged into the yard to inspect the “f’owers.”
“What's wrong?” Anabelle leaned forward.
Penny's face was pinched with worry. “You’ll never believe this,” she said. She handed Anabelle a file folder. “This is Em Palmer's section of the dossier. Her job, if you recall, was to present information on all the volunteer activities that transpire around the hospital.”
“I remember. Didn't she complete it?”
“Oh yes.” Penny's voice was terse. “She turned in her finished product today. I marked a couple places for you to read.”
Anabelle bent over the paperwork, reading through the sections of Em Palmer's report that Penny had indicated. She was barely into the first one when she noticed an inaccuracy in the Bike Smarts program information. “We didn't give out that many helmets last year,” she protested.
“I know. Keep reading.”
Anabelle quickly skimmed further. “Do the hospital auxiliary volunteers really accumulate that many hours on a weekly basis?” Calculating in her head, she answered her own question. “That's not possible, unless there are two times as many of them as I see around the hospital.” And, after reading further, she said, “There is no way the Hope Haven Hounds make that many visits in a month. Why, Diana and the others would be there morning, noon, and night.” She knew that Diana Zimmer, the coordinator of the Hounds program, wasn't at the hospital nearly that often, and the other program volunteers visited even less frequently.
Anabelle laid down the report, even though Penny had marked additional sections that Anabelle had yet to read. “Just how many of these statistics are inflated?” she demanded.
Penny sighed. “Story Time is wrong, I’m certain.” The Story Time program utilized volunteers to visit hospitalized pediatric patients and read to or play games with them. “And I need you to look at the Breast Cancer Friendship Team numbers.”
Anabelle flipped through the pages to find the section dealing with the wonderful weekly volunteers who contacted breast cancer patients to support and encourage them. “These numbers are off too,” she concluded grimly. “What else?”
Penny reeled off several additional programs. “And I suspect there are some that I didn't catch because I simply don't know enough about them. I marked those for you to review.”
Quickly, Anabelle confirmed that there were indeed problems with the rest of the statistics. The Book Nook was a traveling lending library that was brought to patients’ rooms. But the book cart probably didn't have half as many books on it as were reported. Ambassadors of Hope matched volunteers with cancer patients to help those patients negotiate the maze of available services and appointments; but again, there were far more hours listed than Anabelle knew could possibly be accurate. And Mommy and Me, the free program administered through the Community Health Office for low-income moms to learn how to parent, was so outrageously inflated that half of Bureau County would have to be low-income in order for the report to be accurate.
“What was Em Palmer thinking?” Anabelle shook the report for emphasis. “She can't just make up numbers and hope they aren't checked. What are we going to do?”
Penny shook her head. “I don't know. She's a board member. We can't call her in and tell her we know she made it all up.”
Anabelle sighed. They certainly couldn’t. Em was a wealthy widow who wielded a great deal of social power in Deerford. She was a good friend of both Genna Hamilton and Albert Varner's wife, Anabelle knew. If they angered her by acting hastily, who knew what could happen? “Could we just change it?”
Penny's face fell. “I wouldn't feel right about doing that without talking to her first, Anabelle. But I can't quite figure out how to address it, either.”
It was equally true for Anabelle. Neither of them wanted to take the risk of offending the woman when they all reconvened to review the entire document. “We do have to be careful,” Anabelle agreed. “There must be a reason she inflated all these statistics.”
“It wasn't random. She did it to every single program.” Penny looked at the report again. “You know she gives that annual scholarship to the candy-striper program, right? What if we offend her and she withdraws the scholarship?”
Anabelle winced. “I think it's unlikely, but sometimes people don't react rationally when they are hurt or angry.” A thought occurred to her. “Maybe she just guesstimated. She could have been in a time crunch.”
“That's possible.” Penny brightened a little. “Let's take a little time and think about how we might handle this. The rest of the dossier sections haven't been turned in yet, so we have a bit of a grace period.”
“A very little bit,” Anabelle added gloomily. “We’d better put fresh batteries in our thinking caps.” She realized their cautious attitude might be irrational. But after all the financial problems at the hospital in recent years, everyone was tiptoeing around, fearing another layoff. She and Penny were not immune to paranoia when there was the slightest chance of offending someone who sat on the board of directors.
Chapter Twelve
ON WEDNESDAY EVENING, HEATH AND CANDACE invited Skip and Margie Mullen over to discuss their vacation. Despite the way their plans had been hijacked, Candace was beginning to get excited about their first trip as a family. Neither she, nor her mother, nor Heath had ever been to Grand Haven, so it would be
a new experience for all of them.
As the Mullens’ van pulled into the driveway, Candace called down to her mother, who was in the family room. “The Mullens are here to talk about our vacation, Mom. You coming up?”
A moment later, Janet appeared at the top of the stairs. “Honey, I’ve decided I’m going to pass on vacation. You know sand isn't really my thing, and I think it will be nice for the four of you to make some family memories together.”
“But, Mom, you’re part of our family. You can't just stay home alone. We want you to come along.”
Janet smiled. “I know. But I truly don't mind staying home. In fact, I’m looking forward to having a couple of quiet days to myself. You go with your friends and have a great time.”
Heath appeared behind Candace. “I just put Skip and Margie in the living room. You coming?”
“Yes. But Mom says she's not going to go to Grand Haven with us.”
“Why not, Janet?” He looked sincerely concerned.
As her mother began to explain her thoughts to Heath, Candace hurried into the living room to welcome their guests. Maybe he could talk her mother into joining the party. She smiled to herself. Janet appeared to be just as susceptible to Heath's charm as Candace herself.
But when Heath walked into the room, she could see that he hadn't had any better luck than she had.
Skip interrupted the silent communication when he laid a fistful of brochures out on the coffee table. “Places to stay in Grand Haven,” he announced. “And things to do. This is going to be great.”
Despite her misgivings over her mother's defection, Candace felt a return of the excitement she’d known earlier. Janet was right. It would be good to make some new memories.
“Eason is so excited about having Howie to play with,” Margie confided. “He can be a handful on trips because he gets bored so fast. At least this way, he’ll have someone else to keep him busy.”
Recalling the boys’ behavior in church, that was exactly what Candace was afraid of. And when her eyes met Heath's, the wry amusement there told her he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.
“This place looks nice,” Skip announced, tapping one brochure. “It's a little lodge right on the edge of the state park. We could walk to the beach, and it still would be really close to the boardwalk and the downtown area.”
Candace picked up the brochure. “It looks lovely. There's a Web site where we could get more information.”
“Why don't you leave that part to us fellows?” Skip said.
Heath laughed. “Uh-oh. Do you trust me to make a decision?” he asked Candace.
She smiled. “Implicitly, dear.”
Margie snickered. “That means if it turns out well, we’ll praise you. If it's a bomb, it's all our fault for trusting you in the first place.”
Candace chuckled, as the men laughed. She really did enjoy the Mullens’ company. Even though sometimes they seemed a bit oblivious to the needs of their children, they were a great deal of fun, and they had a lot in common.
“Buela? I want to cook eggs for breakfast tomorrow.”
Isabel was helping Elena set the table for dinner Thursday evening when she made her request.
Elena turned, wondering where that had come from. “You do? What kind of eggs do you want to make?”
“Omelets,” Izzy said with a decisive nod.
“All right. I’ll get you up a little earlier, so you can get dressed and then have time to help me, all right?” She paused. “Is there some special reason you’re so interested in cooking right now?”
Isabel smiled as she carefully folded napkins and laid one at each place. “I want to be able to cook for the daddy someday when I get married.”
It took Elena a moment to figure out what her grandchild meant. “Oh, you mean your husband?”
Izzy nodded, tongue peeking out one side of her mouth, as she concentrated on her task. “That's what I said.”
Elena grinned. “I believe you have plenty of time before you’re ready for marriage. Right now will you go and tell Tito and Daddy that dinner is ready, please?”
Dinner was pleasant as it usually was. Afterward, Elena served suspiros de Almanzor, the traditional Cordoban cake that had become one of her family's best-loved desserts. Made with cinnamon, honey, figs, almonds, and walnuts, the cake was a particular favorite of her husband's.
After dinner, Elena cleared the table and set the cake in front of Cesar. “Here you go,” she said, smiling. “I was in a baking mood when I got home from work today.”
“Yay,” Izzy cheered. “I love suspiros de Almanzor!”
“So do your daddy and Tito. Would you like to get some dessert forks out of the drawer, please? I didn't have enough hands to carry them.”
Izzy giggled. “I’ll be your extra hand, Buela.”
“Just three forks, querida,” Cesar called after her.
Elena looked at him, surprised. “You don't want my cake?”
Cesar shook his head. “None for me. I’m counting calories.”
“But you love it. I made it for you,” she told him.
Rafael rolled his eyes. “I guess I’m chopped liver.”
“I do plenty of special things for you, Rafael. It's your father's turn to be spoiled tonight.”
“Thank you.” Cesar smiled, although he still shook his head. “But I can't eat cake tonight.”
“Too full, Tito?” Izzy had returned to the table.
Cesar shook his head. “No. Just no sweets for me. You can eat my share.” He tapped Izzy's nose gently, and she giggled.
“Silly Tito. I can't have two pieces of cake.”
The moment passed, but as she sliced and served the tasty dessert, Elena stole covert glances at her husband. She had never seen Cesar refuse the opportunity to have a piece of her cake.
Unbidden, the memory of his statement about increasing his exercise stole into her head. Was Cesar concerned about gaining weight? She thought again of his family history, of his father and all his uncles who had passed. Was Cesar worrying about his own heart health?
Then a new fear struck her. Had something happened to make him worry? Surely he would have told her if he had had any kind of heart abnormality.
She opened her mouth to ask him and then checked the impulse. Cesar hated to be questioned about health matters. It usually amused her, but at the moment, concern trumped amusement. And if she jumped all over him with questions, her stubborn spouse was very likely to refuse to discuss it at all. No, she’d have to figure out how to approach it later.
Fortunately, she knew he had that appointment for his physical soon. Maybe she could ask the doctor to do a stress test. Stop borrowing trouble, she told herself firmly. All the man said was that he didn't want cake because he's counting calories.
Relieved by the thought, she shook her head at her own silliness. There's nothing wrong with Cesar, except that he has a wife with an overly vivid imagination.
After work Friday afternoon, Candace met Lewis and Therese Nottington for the ultrasound they had finally scheduled.
“Thank you so much for coming.” Therese clutched at Candace's hand when she walked into the exam room where the procedure would be performed.
“You’re welcome.” Candace returned the pressure, smiling at her patient. “Has the technician been in yet?”
Therese shook her head. “They said any minute now.”
Moments later, the ultrasound tech entered the room and began talking to Therese, showing her the equipment and explaining the painless process. “And when we’re done, you’ll have a nice picture of your baby in utero to take home and share with your family,” the woman said.
Candace took a seat next to Lewis on the far side of the exam table as the tech settled Therese into place. Smearing the clear conducting gel over the woman's distended abdomen, the tech used the instrument to show various views of the baby.
The woman's commentary lost its enthusiasm as the minutes passed. Therese and Lewis did not
appear to notice anything, but Candace had worked with this woman before, and she sensed rising tension in the tech's increasing silences and repeated angles of views she had already observed.
Finally, the woman set down the wand. Her eyes met Candace's. “Would you excuse me for a moment, please?”
And in that instant, Candace was sure. There was something wrong with the Nottingtons’ baby. As the tech disappeared out the door, Therese said, “Is everything all right? Why did she leave?”
Candace tried to smile. “I’m sure she’ll be back in a minute.”
“Is the baby all right?” Lewis asked. Clearly the man had picked up on her concern. “Did she see a problem?”
Candace was grateful she didn't have to lie. “I don't know enough about ultrasound to know what's supposed to show up and what's not.”
Just as she finished speaking, the tech returned. With her was Dr. Carpenter, a short, plump woman with wildly curling black hair and a soft-spoken demeanor. “Hello,” she said to the Nottingtons.
“What's going on?” Therese sounded distressed, and her face registered increasing concern.
“I just want to double-check these ultrasounds. It appears there might be a slight abnormality, but it could be the machinery, so don't be alarmed.”
Too late for that, Candace thought. She was nervous too—her pulse racing. She recognized impending bad news.
Dr. Carpenter turned the monitor around so that the couple and Candace couldn't see it. She quickly looked through the different views the tech provided, as the woman murmured and pointed at various things that neither Candace nor the Nottingtons could see.
As they conferred, the doctor's thick eyebrows drew together in an expression that Candace had seen all too often in the Birthing Unit. Finally, she turned to face the Nottingtons.
“Therese, Lewis. I’m seeing an abnormality here. We need to do an additional test to be certain, but I believe your baby may have Down syndrome.”
Both Nottingtons gasped. Candace herself was conscious of a sense of relief. Down syndrome was so much less frightening than many of the things she had been imagining.
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