The Test

by Patricia Gussin

  “Congratulations, doctor.” Meredith’s smile looked genuine. “We’re all so proud.”

  “Aunt Ashley,” Elise joined in. “I’m gonna be a doctor too!”

  “Hey, that’s great, honey,” Ashley said, bending down to kiss her cheek.

  Elise ran off and Frank looked up to face a man who so resembled his father ten, maybe twenty years ago, that he blinked. What had Meredith said about an Oedipal complex?

  “Conrad,” Ashley stepped aside, “this is my brother, Frank. Of course, you remember Meredith.”

  Frank tried not to stare as he shook the guy’s hand. Politics forces handshakes, and Frank mentally classified this type of greeting on a scale of one to five. Very limp, this one, barely a score of one.

  “Welcome,” Conrad said, with a smile. “Happy to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Frank said, offering his Bobby Kennedy toothy grin as if this were a smiling contest.

  Right away, Frank knew he was not going to like this guy. Limp handshake. Damp hand. The familiar, protective way he ushered Ashley inside. The audacity of welcoming him into his own house.

  “Chan’s here with the kids,” Ashley said. “I guessed you noticed all the commotion. I’m devastated that Rory’s still in the hospital, and I’d so hoped that Carla would be out of the clinic, but—”

  “Carla’s made good progress.” Welton sounded supercilious, as if he were a member of the Parnell inner sanctum. “But I recommended that they keep her there another couple of weeks.”

  Who in the heck was this guy to be making recommendations about his sister?

  “Conrad and I went up to see her last week,” Ashley said. “She’s really changed, Frank. She wants to use her money to help others. You’ll never guess her new cause?”

  “Money?” Meredith’s eyebrows shot up. “Can’t be much left.”

  “What cause?” Frank had counted on Carla being too impaired to be a contender for the trust. “Starving models?”

  “AIDS,” Ashley said. “She learned a lot in rehab from HIV-positive patients. Anyway, she’s really serious. As serious as I’ve ever seen her. She looked better too. Put on a few pounds. Got her hair fixed. Remember, Meredith, how bad she looked?”

  “I do,” Meredith said.

  “Uncle Frank?” a male voice interrupted.

  Frank turned to face Dan’s kid, Terry.

  “Mind me calling you ‘uncle’?” The kid had a crooked grin. “I’m trying to practice family togetherness, and all that.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d be here.” Frank didn’t care if his tone betrayed annoyance.

  “Dan—I mean, Dad—couldn’t make it, but since I’m now located in D.C., I could. Going for family teamwork. You know? I mean, with so much at stake.”

  “At stake?” Frank echoed.

  “Right.” Terry gestured around the room. “You know, my sister and I grew up not even knowing that we were grandchildren of a billionaire. Imagine that.”

  “Interesting,” said Meredith, glancing at Frank with her practiced smile.

  “Frank,” Ashley said to diffuse the uncomfortable silence, “did you know that Terry is the new assistant manager of government affairs at Keystone Pharma?”

  “Yeah, and I used you as a reference,” Terry said. “Being a senator and all, I figured it couldn’t hurt. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Before Frank could say whether or not he minded, and he had minded, they were interrupted by Mrs. M. announcing lunch.

  The adults, including the two older Stevens girls, settled at the dining room table. Then Frank stood to make the congratulatory toast. “To Doctor Ashley.”

  Champagne glasses clinked. For a moment it looked as if Chan would not raise his glass, but eventually he did and took a small sip. Frank wondered how he could even be here. If Meredith was in the hospital, he could never leave her side.

  “Thanks,” Ashley said, blushing. “It means so much to Conrad and me to have you with us. If only Rory and Carla were here.”

  “And your mother and father. They would be so proud,” Welton said, patting Ashley’s hand.

  Who the hell did this jerk think he was, the family spokesperson? Frank felt himself clutching the edge of the table in frustration.

  Ashley turned to Conrad with a shy smile as Frank watched Dr. Welton rise, champagne glass in hand.

  “Ashley and I have another wonderful reason to celebrate,” he announced.

  Frank had not seen this coming. He glanced at Meredith. She was giving him the look: “I told you so.”

  “Ashley and I are to be married.” Welton had a melodious masculine tone, as if he should be doing voice-over commercials. A voice that politicians, himself included, tried to emulate.

  Shyly, Ashley held out her hand. On her left ring finger was a wide gold band with a single ruby embedded in the center. She twisted the ring proudly. The ring belonged to Conrad’s mother. It’s an heirloom.”

  Chan was the first with congratulations. Then Welton sat back down, pulled Ashley toward him, and kissed her on the lips. She blushed a deeper shade of red, and Frank did have to admit that she looked radiant. A beautiful woman had bloomed beneath that bookish personality. But was she in love with this guy?

  Conrad seemed to manipulate the conversation after that. The people he knew. The text books he’d written. Frank frowned at Meredith. She had been right. This guy had an insatiable need to be admired by others. He didn’t seem to give a darn about anybody else at the table, including his fiancée. Frank considered himself a master of dinner talk, but this guy was putting him to shame.

  As lobster cocktails were served in martini glasses, Conrad explained that he and Ashley wanted to marry soon. Why wait? They’d waited for each other too long.

  “Big wedding?” asked Terry.

  “Aunt Ashley, how many bridesmaids?” asked Emily or Becky, Frank wasn’t sure which.

  “Quiet wedding,” said Ashley. “So soon after Dad’s death, and with me just starting my residency program.”

  As the entrees were served—rack of lamb, asparagus risotto—Conrad steered the conversation dangerously close to family financial matters.

  “Frank, how are things going with your father’s, shall we say, unconventional, plan to distribute the estate?”

  “Conrad knows a lot about finance,” Ashley said, innocently.

  Meredith’s eyebrows almost lifted off her face as she awaited Frank’s response.

  “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that, too,” Terry said, suspending a forkful of risotto.

  “Tonight’s a celebration,” Frank said. “Not a business discussion.” Meredith shot him one of her “good job” looks and he couldn’t help a sheepish grin.

  “One thing we do know is that Monica has renounced her part of the money,” Conrad said, ignoring Frank’s remark.

  “Monica’s a cool number,” said Terry. “But I still can’t believe she doesn’t want the money.”

  Conrad’s inquiry into the money? Terry getting interested? Carla chasing a cause? Frank thought he would be lucky to get one-sixth of the total, following all the rules as he was. How could his dad have created such a crazy scheme?

  Frank was deep in thought when Chan mercifully changed the subject. “Frank, you talk to your buddy, Jeb, lately? Is he going to fix those Florida voting machines?”

  “That idiot? Oh, oh.” Terry dramatically covered his mouth with his hand. “Oops. I forgot. I’m on Republican turf.”

  Through the rest of the meal, Conrad took over the conversation again. Before dessert was served, Meredith and Frank excused themselves. Frank was giving a morning speech at the Washington Press Club, “Protecting our Homeland against Terror,” and he needed to review his notes. But once in the car, Frank vented harshly. What he’d learned at the family get-together had him worried. Had he and Meredith underestimated the competition?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  JULY 2001

  Conrad Welton paced the patio of his new home, the Parnel
l family’s place in Devon. Face twisted in annoyance, his mood sour, he fumed. His sanctuary, overlooking the rose garden, shaded by stately trees, the centerpiece of tranquility, invaded by Ashley’s raucous relatives and their bratty offspring. And to make matters worse, Ashley was late getting home. Her excuse? “Three late-morning admissions, a bone marrow aspiration, a central catheter placement.” On ordinary days her chronic lateness annoyed him, but on this day, it infuriated him. And why such dedication? She’d be dropping out of medicine in January anyway. She didn’t have to knock herself out, pretending to be the perfect medical resident.

  Conrad had feigned graciousness to Frank Parnell and his wife and Parnell’s aide when they’d arrived in Ashley’s absence. A month earlier, Frank’s aide informed Ashley that Frank was throwing a family Fourth of July barbeque. She had blindly acquiesced, but for the last time. Conrad tried to keep his fury under control as Parnells now swarmed all over his new home, splashing in the pool, chasing each other all over the perfect lawn, the thunk-thunk of tennis balls from the court giving him a headache.

  He was about to head inside for a painkiller when he saw Ashley’s car pull up the driveway. He waved to her from the patio and waited while she rushed inside to change.

  Five minutes later, she emerged from the house wearing a red-and-blue sundress that she was too flat chested to fill out properly. The dark circles under her eyes made her look haggard, and her auburn hair was frizzy and unruly.

  “Conrad, who all’s here?” Ashley asked, stepping out to join him.

  “Frank and Meredith, that guy who puppets for Frank, all the Stevens except Rory, Dan and his offspring, and Monica and Patrick. He’s some kind of television personality, not a bad guy. But I can’t tell you how much hell those kids are raising. They were playing kickball in the rhododendrons until—”

  “Poor Rory,” Ashley interrupted. “I talked to her last night. She’s started her third round of chemo, and her platelets and white count are still way too low. I just hope she doesn’t need a bone marrow transplant. But what about Carla?”

  “You know about addicts,” Welton answered. “Your sister is going to relapse. I don’t want you getting your hopes up.”

  “I think you’re wrong, Conrad. Carla’s changed. She was anxious to be here so we could bounce around some ideas she has for HIV. She’s even thinking of going to Africa to see for herself how bad it is. Meantime, she wants me to pick the best research institutes for her to help. Believe me, this is a new agenda for my little sister.”

  “Look, you better get out there and make nice-nice with your family. That’s what today’s all about. Frank is trying to score family points.”

  “Conrad, you shouldn’t talk that way,” Ashley admonished.

  Ashley had told Welton about Frank’s outburst when the will was read. Obviously, he planned to be the one to pass the test and receive the inheritance. Then there was Dan. Everyone said that he lived simply, but now he had an opportunistic son. Rory was ill, but still a big risk. Carla would be no problem. Bunky would take care of her. And Monica had renounced the money, loud and clear. As for Ashley, Welton planned to make sure she was a contender even though she didn’t give a damn about her inheritance.

  Welton took Ashley’s hand and led her out to the party now in full swing on the deck surrounding the infinity pool. The entire property from the guesthouse to the tennis courts was decorated in patriotic red, white, and blue. Big flags. Little flags. The hammocks and tabletops draped in stars and stripes. Balloons everywhere. The day was perfect, with cerulean skies and wispy clouds randomly distributing the warmth of the sun. Ashley took all this wealth for granted, even the weather. Welton thought how similar she was to Crissy, his late wife.

  So far he hadn’t told Ashley about Crissy. She had been nineteen when he’d married her; twenty-two years old when he’d divorced her; twenty-four when she died thirteen years ago. Soon he’d have to tell Ashley, before her family started digging.

  “Imagine that kind of energy,” Ashley said as she led Welton toward chaotic screams in the pool. “Marco”, followed by the chorus of “Polo,” repeated over and over with giggles, screams, and splashes. Welton tried not to cringe. He didn’t like children. Messy, whiny, demanding, he’d seen them suck every iota of attention and energy out of well-meaning parents. No child of his would compel such a sacrifice. They’d hire a nanny and never have to bother. Paul’s note to Ashley had said for her to “be like her mother, to balance a personal and professional life.” Ideally, Ashley should have a baby, too. He realized that if Crissy had gotten pregnant, things may have turned out differently.

  The Marco Polos stopped as Welton and Ashley stopped at the edge of the pool. One of the older girls yelled, “Aunt Ashley, get your bathing suit on.”

  “Later,” Ashley called, waving and smiling.

  Welton nudged Ashley over to join Meredith, who was stretched out on a chaise near the edge of the pool. He’d done a double-take when he’d seen her earlier—the iron lady in a two-piece turquoise bathing suit. Not bad. Her blunt-cut brown hair styled, her nails perfectly manicured. He glanced at Ashley’s nails. After years of nervous chewing, they were ragged, but better now that he was coaching her.

  “Hi, Ashley.” Meredith started to get up.

  “Don’t get up,” Welton said, reaching to touch her shoulder.

  Meredith leaned back, relaxing. “What’s up with our rehab patient?” she asked. “She’ll be here. Right?”

  “Supposed to be,” Ashley said.

  “Hey, slow down!” Meredith held out an arm to catch one of the Stevens kids before the child tripped onto the concrete. Dripping wet, she and her brother ran shrieking toward the house.

  “Ricky’s got my floatie!” the little girl yelled. “Dad got it for me. Ricky has his own.”

  “I’m sure he’ll bring it back,” Meredith said. “Look, Elise is waiting for you over by the slide.”

  “Okay, Aunt Meredith,” said the little girl; then, “Aunt Ashley, when are you comin’ into the pool?”

  “Maybe later, Misty,” Ashley said, patting the child on her wet head.

  “Where’s everybody else?” Ashley asked.

  “Monica and Patrick are on the tennis court with Terry and Carrie,” Meredith reported. “Gina didn’t come. Couldn’t get off work. Can you believe it? Anyway, Frank and Dan and Chan are setting up the volleyball net on the other side of the courts, and I’m the designated pool monitor, a job I would gladly relinquish. One kid’s enough to make me crazy and there are nine in there.”

  Welton put his arm around Ashley’s waist to urge her away from the turmoil in the pool, but Meredith went on, “Oh, and Matt Cleveland, Frank’s aide, has a crush on Carrie.”

  “Carrie?” Welton asked.

  “Carissa, one of Dan’s twins,” Meredith clarified.

  “We’ll be glad to take over with the kids,” Ashley volunteered, “but first I’d better check out the barbeque operation. Oops, looks like I may be too late.”

  “You kids hungry?” yelled Matt as he pushed a cart heaped with hot dogs and hamburgers from the barbeque pit.

  Amid louder squeals of delight, Meredith hopped off her deck chair. Tossing a pile of beach towels over to Ashley and Conrad, she ordered, “Let’s get these kids dried off. I’ll round up the adults. Everybody accounted for but Carla.”

  Welton stood, hands on hips, while Ashley started chasing children with towels.

  “Kids, sit over by the picnic tables,” Meredith shouted. “Adults, take the umbrella tables up on the terrace. Mrs. Mendoza’s orders. She’s laying out a buffet.”

  Frank came jogging toward them and took his place beside his aide at the helm of the barbeque operation. Both donned chef hats and red, white, and blue aprons. From first glance, Welton had disliked Cleveland, a pretty boy, with a distinguished streak of white highlighting his dark hair. Today, he was all smiles, laughing and joking with the kids.

  “Who does he think he is?” he whisper
ed to Ashley, but her answer was obliterated as a brass band appeared on the scene and started up “Yankee Doodle.”

  Frank seemed to have gone all out to make this a festive affair. He even appeared to be getting a kick out of it. His usually serious demeanor gave way to a frivolity that Welton had not expected and did not trust. Meredith also looked different, relaxed, and comfortable with the family.

  Disgruntled, Welton stood by Ashley as she dutifully doled out the towels to one child after another. She called to two older girls. “Cool bathing suits!”

  Both voices rang out, “Aunt Meredith took us shopping.”

  “Watch out, Conrad,” Ashley warned as two children plowed into his legs, almost knocking him into the pool.

  “What the—” he hollered. “Can’t somebody get these kids under control?”

  “They’re just having a good time.” Ashley forced a smile, and Welton had to remind himself not to lose his cool.

  “Almost got you, didn’t they?” As Welton recovered his balance, Monica Monroe strolled to his side and met his gaze with a wide smile. Her body in short shorts almost made him gasp.

  “Ashley,” Monica said, “Meet Patrick Nelson, my fiancé.”

  Welton watched Ashley as she held out her hand to the man by Monica’s side.

  “Honey, this is Ashley. She’s the doctor, the one who lives here.” Monica gestured around the grounds. “It’s was tough preparing him for all of you, when I’m mostly clueless myself.”

  Welton noticed how Ashley stared at the buff guy’s chest, which was marred by a tortuous scar running from the base of his neck to his umbilicus. The guy must have had some major health problem. Hadn’t Patrick Nelson been an athlete before he got into sportscasting?

  “We were just on our way to the buffet table,” Ashley said. “The adult one, over there.” She pointed to the red, white, and blue extravaganza now laden with food. “Want to join us?”