The nurse led Kim back to an exam room, where she got on the uncomfortable OB table. She despised the evil-looking metal stirrups, clearly designed by a man, and the stupid crinkly white paper. The nurse took her blood pressure and pulse, jotted the readings down, and asked, “Any problems?” She said it as if she was in a hurry and would really prefer if there weren’t any problems at the moment.
“No,” Kim said.
“Great,” the nurse said, sounding a bit relieved. “Dr. Seidle will be in shortly,” she added, already heading for the door.
Kim smiled to herself at the word “shortly.” In the medical realm, that word roughly translated into anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour. She fetched the newspaper out of her purse and refocused on the Sudoku. Now that she was away from the screaming baby, maybe she could get somewhere. She began to run through several substitution algorithms in her head. Thinking about the Sudoku and her surroundings triggered a moment of déjà vu and she thought back to the square puzzle she had given Luke this past spring. She recalled those numbers easily: 25 63 24 25 49 19 61 19 64 00 !!
It had taken Luke several days to solve it, but eventually he did. The puzzle was a basic alpha-numeric substitution affair based on the square of the letter’s numerical value in the alphabet. The only tricky part was knowing how to split up the sequence to give all perfect squares. Thus, the correct bracketing was: {256} {324} {25} {49} {196} {1} {196} {400}
And the solution was:
256 = (16)^2 = P
324 = (18)^2 = R
25 = (5)^2 = E
49 = (7)^2 = G
196 = (14)^2 = N
1 = (1)^2 = A
196 = (14)^2 = N
400 = (20)^2 = T
She giggled when she recalled Luke’s initial frustration and then his overjoyed reaction. He had been incredibly thrilled—he had hugged her tightly, danced around the apartment with her, and told her over and over how much he loved her.
Twenty minutes later, the door opened and in strode Dr. Seidle with the harried OB nurse. “Hello, Mrs. Daulton.” He extended his hand.
“Hi, Dr. Seidle.” Kim took his hand and shook it briefly. “Nice to meet you. Call me Kim, please.”
“Okay, Kim.” He paused for the briefest of moments, giving her the once-over before glancing back at her chart and mumbling to himself, “Breech presentation.” Then he looked up at her. “So, I see your C-section is scheduled a week from today with Dr. Gentry.”
“Right.”
“Any contractions yet?”
“Maybe just a few minor ones.”
“Good.” Seidle scribbled something in the chart, then closed it. “I don’t mind telling you, Kim—that husband of yours saved my bacon the other day. Did he tell you about it?”
“Yes, he did,” Kim said evenly. She didn’t add that Luke had also told her that he thought Seidle had kind of panicked and that if Rob Gentry hadn’t come to the rescue, the patient might’ve died.
“He can give anesthesia for my sections anytime.” Seidle smiled broadly. “Oh, I see you like Sudoku, too.”
“Yes, I do.” Kim felt oddly embarrassed that he might see the strange numbers, so she quickly stuffed the newspaper back in her purse. “Just something to pass the time.”
“I love them. Now, I’ll just need to examine your cervix today.” All of a sudden his beeper went off loudly, making Kim jump. “Damn thing,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute.”
He turned to the nurse. “Get her ready for an exam, and I’ll be right back.”
Dr. Seidle reappeared ten minutes later and snapped on a pair of exam gloves like he meant business. He sat down on a little padded stool and squeakily wheeled it into position. “Now, Kim,” he said, “just relax and spread those legs.”
Kim did as she was told, although the notion of relaxation in the face of cold steel and KY jelly was ridiculous. She hated the thought of yet another man examining her, but what choice did she have? She tried hard to zone out and imagine what Abi’s face would look like.
“Hmm,” Dr. Seidle murmured from between her legs. “Your cervix is beginning to dilate. I hope you make it to next week.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 5:00 P.M.
Senator Russ Pierce’s limo pulled up in front of the white brick-and-mortar façade of the Hotel Hershey. The fortress-like structure was situated on top of a large knoll and surrounded by an army of mature oak, poplar, and sugar maple trees, effectively insulating it from the hustle and bustle of upscale suburbia that was the town of Hershey. The view from higher up must be spectacular, he thought, studying the twin turrets flanking the building, their triangular red flags flapping crisply in the November breeze.
Exiting his limo, Pierce and his entourage entered the turn-of-the-century charm and Moroccan architecture of the hotel. Stone archways gave way to high-ceilinged rooms, their walls lined with tapestries and wrought-iron fixtures. The place had a certain denseness to it that modern buildings just couldn’t duplicate—even the air felt a bit heavy. The effect was otherworldly and out of time as well, and he felt a bit like royalty.
Fifteen minutes later, Senator Pierce gazed out the window of the presidential suite at overcast skies. He had just showered and was wearing his favorite cashmere robe with the United States Senatorial insignia embroidered on the lapel, and a pair of plush slippers that made walking a little tricky on the carpet’s thick pile. The nice stretch of warm weather was finally giving way to cooler, more seasonal temps as a cold front marched across the state, bringing showers with it. Daylight was fading fast and wind whipped the tree branches about. It was downright gloomy out, Russ decided, though he didn’t let it put a damper on his mood. He felt on top of the world right now.
Just several weeks ago, he had endured a brush with death. When the intense, stabbing pains had hit, he thought for sure he was having a massive heart attack, no doubt fatal, that would’ve derailed his dreams for good. While lying there on the marble floor of his campaign headquarters, with frantic staffers scampering around him and Wolf Blitzer buzzing in his earpiece, he’d had a weird, out-of-body experience—a vision, or an epiphany. God was speaking directly to him and what he said was really freaky. He said he was finally punishing Russ for all of his misdeeds.
Pierce smiled now and shook his head to dispel these thoughts. Wow, what a scare that had been. No fatal heart attack—in fact, the doctors said he had the heart of a thirty-year-old. No cancer gnawing away at his insides. Just a run-of-the-mill, rotten gallbladder. But the best part was, the spiritual revelation, or whatever the hell it was, had all been a bad dream or hallucination; there was no divine retribution. Amazing, the thoughts and fantasies the stressed-out human brain is capable of.
In fact, his pollsters said this gallbladder attack followed by successful surgery would probably boost his approval ratings. The conventional wisdom ran something like this: common medical issues, so long as they weren’t life threatening or immoral, like drugs, alcohol, or sexually transmitted diseases, tended to humanize politicians and gave people a way to relate to them. So the surgery was folded into a new PR campaign—the only concession was that they had scheduled the surgery late at night so the Secret Service would have an easier job protecting him.
Pierce sipped a glass of wine and checked his watch. The wine made the waiting easier. He was to have nothing to eat before surgery, but he was allowed clear liquids up to three hours before, and surely wine was a clear liquid. And a few nibbles of cheese probably didn’t count as eating. Besides, rules were meant for the masses, they didn’t apply to him.
He began pacing, wine glass in hand, still gazing out the window. No rain yet, but he believed he could just make out the peculiar smeared cloud formations over the mountains that signaled distant rain. Again he broke out a wide grin. He hadn’t been this happy for a while. He felt on top of his game and in control of his destiny. This little gallbladder nuisance certainly wasn’t going to stand in his way. He had
waited a long time for his green ship to come in and had too much to live for yet. A simple hour of laparoscopic surgery and he’d be cured. Let’s get-r-done!
Pierce checked his watch again. It was five o’clock—six hours to go before he had to show up at the hospital. The anticipation was becoming hard to bear. He smiled again—the Viagra was in full force and the jingle “Viva Viagra” played crazily through his brain.
A knock on the ornate wooden double door of the presidential suite made him turn. “Who is it?”
“Jensen,” came the clipped military voice of his most trusted Secret Service agent, standing guard at the door. “Kiersten Page to see you, sir. Official business.”
Pierce opened the door just far enough to let the young aide enter. She brushed by him and he got a whiff of some exotic scent and almost swooned. He pulled himself together and turned to Jensen. Jensen was a big man, six-three or -four, with an athletic build. Pierce had to look up to meet his eyes. “We’ll be going over my post-op recovery speech. We’ll need about an hour. Uninterrupted.” He fixed Jensen with a stare just to make sure he understood.
“Very good, sir.” Jensen patted his shoulder holster. “No one gets through this door.” He smiled and added, “Take all the time you need.”
Pierce closed the door. He liked Jensen and had come to rely on him heavily in these delicate situations. After all, trust was what this country was founded on, right? And favors—Christmas was just around the corner and he made a mental note to make sure the Jensen family would have a particularly merry one. This would fall into the money-well-spent category.
Pierce turned to feast his eyes on Kiersten—or Perky, to him—the young staffer who had shown such promise during the campaign. She had on a thick white terry robe with Hershey Spa emblazoned on it. The large robe seemed to swallow up her tiny body with those nice boobs. She gave him a big smile. “Have I kept you waiting long?” she asked.
“No, not at all,” he lied. He was impatient, but didn’t want to appear lewd. “Can I pour you a drink?”
“No thanks,” she said sweetly.
He set his wine glass on the nightstand. “How was your massage?”
“Very relaxing.” She untied the sash to her robe and started to loosen it, slowly, methodically.
This got his full attention and he decided to drop the refined approach and openly stare. God, her every move was fascinating. “You didn’t wash the oil off, did you?” he asked, his voice beginning to tremble.
“No, of course not. It’s a special Cuban nocha azula blend.”
“Cuban? I like Cuban,” he mumbled. He stood there, transfixed by her movements. His breathing grew heavier.
“Can you smell the jasmine?” she asked, working one shoulder free. The robe was now halfway off, providing him tantalizing glimpses of her full breasts.
“Yes, jasmine,” he said weakly. He was mesmerized by her, but still managed to let out a little gasp when the robe finally flowed to the floor, revealing the tanned, hard body that only a twenty-something can have.
“You told me you like it that way,” she said huskily and practically leapt into his arms, knocking him backward onto the king-sized bed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 10:45 P.M.
There it was again—no mistaking it this time. A nasty little spasm, or ache, deep down in her belly that grabbed her attention. And then it was gone, leaving just as quickly as it had come. Maybe it was nothing. Kim shuffled around on the sofa, wondering if a shift in position might improve things. She snuggled closer to Luke. She didn’t need to look at him to know he was asleep—his rhythmic breathing gave it away. Such a lightweight, she thought, and smiled. It was almost eleven and they were watching King of Queens reruns. Well, she was, anyway—Luke rarely made it past ten-thirty.
Her mind drifted back to earlier times. She had been comfortable with him from the beginning. She wasn’t sure she believed in love at first sight, but it had been close, at least for her. Luke, on the other hand, had been a different story. It had taken a while to get through to him.
She was initially drawn to him because of his gentle nature and desire to help people. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had also been attracted to his beautiful brown eyes, so expressive and kind, and his gorgeous smile. Overall she found him very attractive, even if he had seemed standoffish at first.
She quickly noticed that he was different. Luke had a gift, like she had a gift. She had seen this in action one day in the anesthesia basic research lab, shortly after she had met him.
Kim had walked up to the lab doorway and stopped to retrieve the latest PET scan data from a manila folder. Luke was sitting across the room at his desk. Immersed in his notebooks, he didn’t look up. Before Kim could say anything, a lab tech, carrying a tray loaded with glassware, crossed the lab right in front of Luke. The girl seemed to be in a hurry. As she turned sharply to head for the sink, one of the beakers slid on the tray. In an effort to save the beaker, she quickly tilted the tray but overcorrected and the entire contents went off the other side, countless specimen beakers and flasks crashing to the floor. She cursed several times and stared at the mess on the floor, the empty tray hanging from one hand.
A look of horror and frustration flashed across Luke’s face. Kim knew how driven he was to nail this research and she expected him to rant and rave like most med students would have. The tech had stopped to pick up the broken glassware. Kim watched with fascination as Luke went over to her and knelt down. “Don’t use your bare hands, Janine,” he said. “You’ll cut yourself.”
“A whole week’s worth of experiments,” Janine said, and began to cry.
Luke put his hand on her shoulder and fixed her with his brown eyes. “Don’t worry—it’s not so bad. We can repeat them.”
“I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so clumsy.”
“It’s okay. I’ll get the broom.”
Luke’s gift was to put hurting people at ease, and he reminded Kim of her father in this regard. What she had initially misinterpreted as standoffishness, she quickly realized, was his inner drive—he was obsessed with doing well in school. However, even though he was overworked in med school, trying to get good grades, he sometimes volunteered on weekends in the free clinic in Philadelphia. He had a strong desire to help people; she thought this was an unusual characteristic in a med student—scratch that—in a guy. Kim, too, was drawn to help people and volunteered at her church.
Once she finally got his attention, though, Luke’s aloofness vanished. The chemistry between them was undeniable and the two came together naturally and vigorously. They shared everything together and talked endlessly. They especially enjoyed playing board games. Luke even said he liked losing to a girl, which was good because Kim proved to be the better gamer. Luke turned out to be more romantic than she would’ve thought possible, and their love blossomed rapidly.
That evening in May, when we went to the Accomac Inn to celebrate our one-year anniversary… She smiled, conjuring in her mind the historic colonial inn nestled between flowering dogwoods and azaleas alongside the swiftly flowing Susquehanna River.
“What are you going to have?” Luke asked that night, looking over his menu. His eyes sparkled and Kim could tell he was excited.
“Probably the chicken marsala or maybe the…” Kim hesitated.
“What?”
“Maybe the lobster,” she said, grinning.
“Go ahead, get whatever you want. Tonight’s a special evening.”
“How about you?”
“Probably the roast duck. Yep, the duck.” Luke closed the menu and groped around in his coat pocket. Out came his portable backgammon set, which he handed to her.
“What? You want to play now?” she asked.
“Sure, why not?” Luke picked up the wine list. “These fancy dinners can take forever.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Afraid you might lose?” He chuckled, but seemed a bit nervous. “Do you
mind setting up the board while I pick out some wine?”
“Wine? Since when do you drink wine?”
“Since tonight. It’s our anniversary, remember?”
“Okay, whatever you say.” Kim opened the leather case. Mixed in with the brown and black backgammon pieces was a sparkling diamond ring. Kim gasped and almost spilled the whole set on the floor. “W-what’s this?” she said, tears coming to her eyes.
Luke, who was now kneeling at her side, took her hand. “Will you marry me?”
Kim remembered something else from that evening almost five years ago—she’d surprised herself by saying yes. She had once thought that Luke’s agnosticism was a deal breaker. Sure, he was a lovely guy and she thoroughly enjoyed his company, but she had never seen herself getting married and raising kids with a guy who didn’t have any real spiritual commitment. What Kim hadn’t counted on was how deeply and quickly she had fallen in love with Luke; she simply couldn’t imagine spending her life without him. So she had said yes, hugged him tightly around the neck, and kissed him. Love conquers all, as they say. She then proceeded to spank him at backgammon.
Besides, deep down, she always thought Luke’s personality didn’t really fit with his lack of spirituality. He was too caring and concerned about other people—it just didn’t add up. Most successful people she knew were pretty wrapped up in themselves. She had gotten hints that the answer might be somehow tied to Luke’s past and his father. But on this subject, he was uncharacteristically quiet. She felt as if she didn’t have all the pieces to the puzzle. But she vowed to solve this puzzle one day and bring her man to faith.
A stabbing pain wrenched her out of this pleasant daydream and back to her living room. Shit, that was pretty bad. I can’t be in labor yet. She had just seen Dr. Seidle, and he said everything was fine—although he had mentioned that her cervix was beginning to dilate. Nevertheless, she figured these must be those pre-labor, Braxton Hicks contractions they talked about in prenatal classes. They should just subside.
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