The Cure

by JG Faherty

  “Sure thing.” Angie hustled off.

  “So what’s good here?” Leah flipped open her menu. The variety of choices stunned her; the pasta list alone took up a full page. And then there were the veal, chicken, beef and seafood selections.

  “I can’t believe you’ve lived in town all your life and you’ve never eaten here,” John said. “The place is practically an institution.”

  Leah shrugged. “I don’t get out much. I’m too busy during the day, and by the time work is over I’m usually too exhausted to do more than go home, water the plants and collapse on the couch with a glass of wine, a medical journal and a warm blanket. Some nights I don’t even make it to bed; I just fall asleep on the couch.”

  John put down his menu and looked at her. His dark eyes met her gaze and she found she couldn’t turn away. “What about weekends? Don’t you have any hobbies or friends to go out with?”

  She recognized the subtle undertones of the question: Are you seeing anyone?

  “No.” She forced herself to look back down at her menu. His penetrating stare made her uncomfortable, as if he could see right through her happy façade to the lonely, sad person beneath the shell. “I don’t have time. My only day off is Sunday, and even then I’m on emergency call. I just started my practice a few years ago, and trying to run it by myself has turned out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

  “So why not get a partner?”

  Leah shook her head. “I can’t take the chance of someone finding out what I can do.”

  “Hmm. I can see that.” He paused while the waitress set down the plate of bruschetta and poured the wine.

  “Are you ready to order?” Angie asked.

  John glanced at Leah. She still had no idea what to get. Hell, she didn’t even know what half the items on the menu were.

  “Umm…”

  “Tell you what. Do you trust me to order for both of us?”

  She jumped at the offer. “Sure. Just don’t get anything with mushrooms.”

  He nodded and then looked up at the waitress. “We’ll start with two orders of pasta fagioli. She’ll have the eggplant Bolognese over linguini, and I’ll have the veal saltimbocca with a side of ziti.”

  “Comin’ right up.” The girl took their menus and hurried away.

  Leah leaned close so the patrons at the other tables wouldn’t hear her. “Okay, so what did you order for me? The only thing I recognized was eggplant.”

  He smiled and patted her hand. “Nothing too exotic. Macaroni and bean soup, followed by diced eggplant in a red meat sauce over pasta.”

  She returned his smile. “I can handle that.”

  John raised his wineglass to her. The ruby-colored liquid seemed exotic in the flickering candlelight. “A toast.” He waited until she picked up her glass, before continuing. “To a relaxing, enjoyable evening.”

  “Oh, I’ll drink to that,” she said and then took a healthy sip of her wine. The Chianti flowed over her tongue, breaking apart into different bursts of flavor. Essences of grape, cherry and strawberry filled her mouth, with just a hint of spice and alcohol burn.

  “Oh, that’s good. I don’t usually drink red wines. I’m more of a white Zinfandel person.”

  “If you’re going to have a hearty sauce, you need a stronger wine to compete with it.”

  “So you’re a wine connoisseur too?” she asked, hoping to hide her returning embarrassment behind playful banter. She was suddenly having second thoughts about agreeing to the date. She knew she wasn’t knowledgeable about a lot of things. Fine food and wine had never interested her while she’d been in college or vet school, and her vacations had usually been spent either with her family or volunteering at local veterinary offices.

  But she’d never realized until now how uninformed she was. Being with John made her feel like she’d just stepped off the bus from Buttmunch, Idaho, for her first trip to the big city.

  “A connoisseur? Hardly.” He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I just know what I like. Plus I have a friend who owns a liquor store, and he has monthly wine-tasting parties. I’ll bring you to the next one; they’re a lot of fun.”

  “I don’t know.” She put down her glass, deciding it was better to be honest right away. “I feel like I just crawled out from under a rock. I don’t know what to order, I’ve probably only been to three restaurants in the last five years, and I’ll be lucky if I use the right fork for my salad.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about that. This isn’t school. There’s no test later.”

  He leaned toward her, his face radiating sincerity. “Your problem is you need to get out more. At the risk of ruining the mood, I have to ask. Have you ever had a steady relationship?”

  The question cut too close to the truth, and she found herself overreacting. “Of course! I haven’t lived in a bubble, you know.”

  John held his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t get upset. I didn’t think you’d never dated, but didn’t any of your boyfriends ever take you anyplace nice?”

  Damn him! “Is that something they teach you at the academy?”

  “What?”

  “How to figure out just the right question to ask. How to get past a person’s defenses.”

  “I think it’s just more of a talent of mine,” he answered with a sheepish grin.

  Angie arrived just then with two steaming cups of soup.

  “Everything okay?”

  John nodded and she left them alone again. Leah took another sip of wine to calm herself before answering his question. “To be honest, I’ve only had one serious relationship. I met him my senior year in veterinary school, and I thought my whole life was falling into place. A man who seemed to love me, my career getting ready to start, what more could a girl want?”

  “What happened?”

  She looked down at her plate, not wanting to see his expression when she told him. “He died two years after we started dating. We were talking about getting engaged.”

  “I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, but still she refused to look at him. It was always the same when it came time to tell the story, the expressions of sorrow followed by supposed understanding.

  “It was a brain aneurysm,” she went on. “He was supposed to come over to my apartment, but he said he had a headache and wanted to go to bed instead. I figured I’d just get some extra studying done and see him the next day. In the morning, he didn’t answer his phone so I went over there. I found him… I called 9-1-1 but it was too late. The doctor at the hospital said there was nothing anyone could have done.”

  She stopped there, waiting for the response she always heard.

  This time it didn’t come.

  “But you could’ve, if you’d known.” John’s voice was matter-of-fact. No recrimination, but no hiding from the truth, either.

  She looked up and saw that he was staring back at her, complete understanding in his eyes.

  For the first time, she was able to get the rest of the story, her feelings, out.

  “Yes! It would have been so easy. But he said it was just a headache. If…if I’d been there, I would have known something was wrong. I can see where the sickness is, but only after it gets serious. That’s why I didn’t notice it before.”

  “You never told him what you can do?”

  “No.” She finished her wine and he poured another glass for both of them. “I didn’t think he’d understand. Hank was a great guy, but not exactly educated. He’d gone to work as a plumber right after high school. His idea of a big night out was TGI Fridays.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  The coldness in his voice caught her by surprise.

  “Do what?”

  “Blame this on him. He wouldn’t have needed a college degree to understand what you can do. The truth is, you never told him because you were afraid.
Afraid he’d think you were a freak. Afraid he’d leave you.”

  Leah wanted to shout at him, throw her wine in his face, storm out of the restaurant. His words twisted her insides, filling her with pain and guilt.

  Because he was right.

  She felt a tear run down her cheek and quickly dabbed her eyes with her napkin before her makeup could smudge. John reached across and took her hands in his warm, rough ones.

  “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe in time you would have trusted him. Maybe not. Maybe you were right not to tell him because he would have left you or spilled your secret to the world. But there’s one thing you should know.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, sniffing back more tears.

  “You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

  “That’s sweet. But you don’t know what it’s like, knowing you could’ve saved someone but you didn’t.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I know exactly what it’s like. Every cop does.”

  “What?”

  “Sure. Take what happened in McDonald’s the other day. What if that guy had shot his hostage, or you? It would have been my fault for not handling the situation right. That’s a reality we face every time we respond to a call, that someone will get hurt or killed because of something we do, or don’t do. But the fact is, sometimes you simply can’t control what happens. And it’s nobody’s fault, except maybe Fate’s.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” she said. The few times the possibility had crossed her mind, her guilt had immediately reacted, telling her she was wrong, she should have done something. This whole time, maybe all I needed was someone else to absolve me. Something shifted inside her, as if the two-ton weight of her guilt had lifted just a little bit off her soul.

  “You should.” He let go of her hands and picked up his spoon. “Now eat your soup before it gets cold. And for the rest of dinner, I propose a rule: No talking about powers, death or guilt. Deal?”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Deal.”

  Leah tasted her soup, but even though the thick, tomato-based broth was delicious, she couldn’t properly enjoy it.

  She was too busy thinking how nice John’s hands had felt wrapped around hers.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I had a great time tonight,” Leah said, leaning against her front door. She had too, which was something of a surprise to her.

  The rest of the evening had been filled with pleasant, ordinary conversation. She’d told John about her childhood growing up in Rocky Point, and he’d told her stories about growing up in Queens. He’d also casually provided information on his past loves, nothing too detailed, just enough to let her know he’d had some relationships that didn’t work out, but he wasn’t bitter over them.

  Most incredibly, they’d laughed a lot, something she rarely got to do anymore.

  “I did too,” he said, his smile wide and white in the light of the tiny porch bulb.

  She should have expected it, but when he leaned in and kissed her, it took her completely off guard. At first she didn’t respond; the act of kissing was almost unfamiliar to her. Then her body took over and she felt herself melting into him, pressing tight against his muscular body as she wrapped her arms around his back.

  By the time he ended the kiss and stepped away, her face was unusually warm and she was short of breath.

  “Wow.” It was all she could think of.

  John laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should.”

  “Does that mean we can do this again?”

  She smiled. “You mean kiss? I hope so.”

  “Actually, I meant go out, but if you want to skip the date and get right to the kissing, that’s okay by me.”

  Leah reached out and touched his cheek. “Tell you what. We’ll compromise. Wednesday is a short day for me, no evening hours. I’ll cook dinner, you bring the wine.”

  One of his eyebrows went up, an expression she was beginning to realize was almost a habit with him. “I thought you only made frozen dinners. I’m not sure I know what wine goes with tater tots.”

  She punched him on the arm. “Very funny. I can cook. I just don’t, normally. In fact, I might even make something that doesn’t require the microwave.”

  “It’s a date,” he said, leaning down and kissing her cheek. “Call me during the week and let me know what time.”

  He turned and walked back to his car, waving once as he got in. Leah stayed on the small porch until his taillights were well down the street. Then she unlocked the door and went inside.

  The voice spoke to her before she had a chance to turn on the living-room lights.

  “Hello, Doctor DeGarmo. Please don’t be alarmed. I’m not here to hurt you in any way.”

  Leah gasped and dropped her keys. She fumbled for the light switch. The sudden brightness of the track lights revealed a tall, heavyset black man sitting on her love seat. His shoulders seemed as wide as the couch, and even in his expensive-looking pinstripe suit, he looked mean and dangerous.

  “Please don’t be afraid.” The stranger held his hands out to the sides, indicating he had no weapons.

  At least none that he’s showing. Oh my God, what does he want? Her heart felt like it would jump out of her chest, and she had to squeeze her legs together to keep from peeing herself.

  “I’m here to deliver an invitation,” he told her. He leaned forward and tapped a finger on an envelope sitting on the cocktail table. “I apologize for entering without your permission, but I wanted to make sure you got this, and I found your back door unlocked. You really should be more careful about that.”

  “I will,” she said, finally finding her voice. “Who are you?”

  He shook his head and gave her a friendly smile, but his eyes betrayed him. They had the same look as some of the cats her clients brought in, the ones that waited patiently until you unlocked their cages, and then they sprang at you, claws out and fangs ready to draw blood.

  “It would be kind of silly to tell you that, after I just admitted to entering your house illegally. But if you accept the invitation…” he tapped the envelope again, “…I’ll not only tell you my name, but I’ll be handing you a very large check as I say it. Very, very large.”

  He stood up, and for a moment she thought his head would keep rising until it hit the ceiling. He definitely topped six and a half feet.

  “I’ll let myself out the same way I came in.” He started toward the kitchen, then stopped. “We’ll be expecting your response by tomorrow. Have a good night.” He nodded his head and exited out the back door.

  For a moment Leah stood motionless, terrified he might return, that his polite exit was just a ploy. Then her legs gave out and she fell to her knees, collapsed into a fetal position.

  She screamed, and it was as if the sound opened a dam of emotions. All at once she was crying and sobbing and holding herself, images of being raped or beaten or murdered flashing through her head like the morbid opening scenes of a police drama on television.

  After a few moments she started to get control of her fear, and she pulled herself up onto the couch.

  Got to call the police. Even without a name, they’ll find him. His fingerprints were all over.

  As she was reaching for the phone, she caught a glimpse of the writing on the invitation.

  Fancy, calligraphy-style script spelled out Marsh Enterprises.

  What the hell? Why would one of the largest companies in the world send a criminal to deliver an invitation to a small-town veterinarian? One that involved a lot of money?

  Oh no. There was only one thing she could think of.

  There’s no way. How could they have found out? She knew the last thing she should be doing was touching the envelope, but she had to see what was inside. Holding it between her fingernails to avoid s
mudging any fingerprints that might be on the paper, she carefully tore the embossed seal keeping the flap closed.

  She slid the folded piece of paper out and read the handwritten note.

  Dear Doctor DeGarmo:

  It has come to my attention that you may be able to help me with a special problem that has come up. I would be willing to pay you most handsomely for your one-time services. I’d like to have the opportunity to discuss this business venture with you in person. Please contact me at any time of the day or night with your answer.

  At the risk of being melodramatic, this is a matter of life and death, and there is very little time to spare.

  Kindest regards,

  Leonard Marsh

  Beneath Marsh’s signature was a telephone number.

  Shit! She crumpled the note and threw it onto the table. He’d found out somehow. That meant other people knew as well, the ones who’d told him. And the ones he’d told.

  How many people knew about her now?

  For a brief instant John’s face appeared, but she dismissed him as Marsh’s source. He didn’t seem the type to break a promise.

  That meant someone else had seen her use her Power, either at the clinic or during the robbery at McDonald’s.

  She thought about calling John, but what could he do? He couldn’t investigate on his own, and if she got the police involved, sooner or later her secret would be revealed and she’d have a lot more to worry about than Leonard Marsh.

  What do I do?

  She went into the kitchen and poured a glass of wine, downed it in three gulps. The sweet-sour flavor of the white Zinfandel made her mouth pucker, and it immediately started a war in her stomach with the mellow Chianti, hearty sauce and rich tiramisu she’d had at dinner.

  Thoughts of dinner led to John Carrera again. He was a cop. Surely he’d have some advice.

  Yeah. He’ll tell me to call the police. Or a lawyer. The very things I can’t do.

  She slammed the glass down on the counter and went back into the living room. Unfolding the note, she read it again.

  Calling him would be stupid. But then, not calling might be just as bad. The man owns several newspapers. He could expose me to the world. On the other hand, just because he wants something doesn’t mean I have to say yes. If I don’t want to get involved, I can always call John afterwards.