Close to Home

by Jenna Bennett

  So much for that. Still, it wasn’t as if I didn’t have plenty of other things to occupy my time. I dug out the card Dr. Seaver had given me the other day and dialed the doctor’s private number.

  It took a minute, but then her voice answered. “This is Denise.”

  “Dr. Seaver? This is Savannah Martin.”

  There was a beat. When her voice came back, it was warm and friendly. “Savannah! I’m glad you called. Have you made a decision about what you want to do?”

  “Not exactly,” I said apologetically. “It’s a tough decision, you know.”

  “I know.” I heard rustling, as if she were moving around. “Let me just find somewhere to sit down, and we can talk for a while.” I heard the sound of a door close, and then her voice again. “So what’s going on?”

  “It’s kind of a long story,” I hedged, trying to calculate how I might best approach getting the information I was after. I didn’t want to tell her any more about my own situation than I had to, but at the same time I realized that the best way to get her to open up would be to share first. And she was supposed to keep anything I told her in confidence. I didn’t have to worry about her getting on the phone with mother once I hung up.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Dr. Seaver suggested.

  The beginning. That would be my freshman year of high school. Not likely.

  “The father of the baby is someone I met a couple of months ago in Nashville.” True, for the most part.

  “Yes?” Dr. Seaver said.

  “He’s the kind of man my mother always warned me about. You know the type. No culture, no breeding, and no manners.”

  And also no hang-ups about mine. That was precisely what I liked about him. I didn’t have to pretend with Rafe. Didn’t have to worry about being on my best behavior or weigh every word before I spoke, just so I wouldn’t offend him or ruin my image of the perfect Southern Belle. I could say anything, do anything, and know it wouldn’t make him think any less of me. He’d already seen, done, and heard worse. A lot worse.

  “I knew I should stay away from him,” I said, “but things just sort of happened, you know? We kept getting thrown together even when I wasn’t looking for him. And now here I am. Pregnant.”

  “Where is he now?” Dr. Seaver asked.

  “I don’t know. He left town two months ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  To be honest, I felt a little guilty throwing Rafe under the bus. The way I described it, I made him sound like a heartless bastard who’d disappeared without a word, when that wasn’t the case at all. He’d taken the time to say a proper goodbye, in spite of risking his cover by doing so. And I did understand why he couldn’t communicate with me while he was away.

  “Do you know how to get in touch with him?” Dr. Seaver asked. “Does he have family you can contact?”

  “He has a grandmother, but I don’t know where she is.” Long before anyone came up with the plan that forced him to leave town again, while Jorge was still gunning for him, Rafe had arranged for Mrs. Jenkins to go to a safe-house somewhere. I hadn’t asked where and he hadn’t told me, but hopefully it was somewhere where she was happy, because when she isn’t, and when she gets confused, she wanders the streets looking for her house. I made a mental note to ask Detective Grimaldi.

  “So there’s no one who can help you with the baby,” Dr. Seaver said. “What about your family?”

  “Mother would have a fit. Catherine and Dix would most likely be supportive, but they’re here in Sweetwater. I live in Nashville. And with what’s going on with Sheila...”

  “What’s going on with Sheila?” Dr. Seaver said, right on cue.

  “Didn’t you hear? She’s dead.”

  “Dead?” Dr. Seaver repeated blankly.

  “The police called this morning. Apparently it was a robbery gone wrong. Her purse and phone are missing.”

  “Oh, dear,” Dr. Seaver said.

  “The police think it might be drug related. I tried to tell them that my sister-in-law doesn’t use drugs, but I don’t think they believed me. I guess maybe nobody wants to believe that their relatives do anything wrong.”

  When she didn’t speak, I added, “Maybe you can talk to them. You were her doctor, right? You can tell them that she didn’t use drugs.”

  “How do you know that?” Dr. Seaver said.

  I blinked. “That you’re her doctor? I saw her at your office a few days ago, when I was there.”

  “You did?”

  “We met in the lobby. Talked a couple of minutes before I had to leave. You’d know if she was into drugs, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would hope so,” Dr. Seaver said. “But let’s get back to you, Savannah. As I understand your options, you can either become a single mother or you can take the pill I gave you and have an abortion.”

  “That’s about it,” I admitted, reluctant to give up on the discussion about Sheila but recognizing I wasn’t likely to get any information. “And I’m not real thrilled about either alternative.”

  “Have you considered adoption? White newborns are the top choice for most adoptive parents.”

  Operative word there: white.

  “I’m not sure I could carry the baby to term and give birth to it and then give it up. I’m pretty sure I’d get attached along the way.”

  Truth be told, I was a tiny bit attached already. Or at least reluctant to pop the pill she’d handed over so easily.

  “I understand,” Dr. Seaver said. “You’re an adult, and probably capable of providing for a child on your own, even if the father is a non-entity. It’s not as if you’re a teenager anymore.”

  “No...” My mind derailed for a second. “Dr. Seaver? Was Elspeth Caulfield a patient of yours?”

  “Elspeth Caulfield?” Dr. Seaver repeated cautiously.

  “I went to high school with her. She died a couple of months ago. According to her will she had a son.” Our conversation was privileged; I figured I was safe in sharing this piece of equally privileged information from Elspeth’s will. Especially because there was a chance Dr. Seaver might actually know something. She’d been my gynecologist twelve years ago, so it was possible she might have been Elspeth’s as well. “None of us know anything about him, not even Dix, and Martin and McCall are the executors for Elspeth’s estate.”

  “I see,” Dr. Seaver said.

  “Dix has been trying to trace him, but so far he hasn’t had any luck.” It was just as well not to mention the possible lead I’d dug up, since I had no idea whether it would turn into anything. “I don’t suppose she was your patient back then, was she? You were practicing twelve years ago. Would you have any idea whether she had a child and what happened to it?”

  “I’m afraid that’s privileged information,” Dr. Seaver said slowly.

  “Of course. But I’m sure you can understand that it would be helpful for Dix to know whether there actually was a child, or whether Elspeth was just confused. If there wasn’t, he can stop wasting his time looking for it.”

  Dr. Seaver was silent. After a minute, she said, “Elspeth was pregnant. But her child was stillborn. If she said otherwise, she must have been confused. As you said yourself, women get attached during pregnancy, and when something goes wrong they can get mixed up.”

  Delusional. Which Elspeth had certainly been. The boy in the photograph must be someone with just a passing resemblance to Rafe, then. Elspeth had seen him somewhere, on some trip to Nashville sometime, and had fixated on him as her lost baby.

  “If you’ll have your brother get in touch with me,” Dr. Seaver said, “I’ll be happy to tell him everything I know. Within boundaries of doctor-patient confidentiality, of course.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said. Although not right now. Dix had enough on his mind.

  “As far as your situation goes, I can’t tell you what to do, Savannah. It’s a decision you’ll have to make for yourself. Being a single parent can be difficult, and abortion, though it may seem like
the easy choice, always comes with repercussions.”

  I nodded, although I knew she couldn’t see me.

  “Why don’t you think about it some more,” Dr. Seaver suggested, and continued before I had a chance to open my mouth, “and when you make your decision, let me know what it is.”

  She hung up without giving me time to answer.

  Chapter 8

  I often sign up to host an open house on Sunday afternoons. Since I don’t have any listings of my own, it’s always someone else’s. Usually Tim’s, since he’s the big producer in the office.

  This week, it was a townhouse in Green Hills, one of the more affluent parts of town. It happened to be the same neighborhood where I’d spent two years with Bradley before we got divorced. In fact, the townhouse was in the same small enclave as our old home, which I drove past on my way to Tim’s listing.

  I hadn’t contacted my brother to tell him anything about my conversation with Dr. Seaver. There wasn’t a whole lot there I figured he needed to know. I had spoken to Tamara Grimaldi, but she hadn’t had much progress to report. The medical examiner didn’t work weekends, so the autopsy wouldn’t take place until Monday, and aside from that, the case was moving forward at a snail’s pace. All the fingerprints in the car had been matched to Sheila, and there was no evidence that anyone else had been in the car with her. Her purse and phone were still missing, and until the service provider opened for business tomorrow, there was no way to get a record of her calls.

  Tamara Grimaldi sounded frustrated, although she did perk up a little when I told her about my visit to the OB/GYN last week, and how I’d seen Sheila there. The perk went away when I explained that I’d contacted Dr. Seaver yesterday. I had to sit through a lecture on why I shouldn’t meddle in her—Tamara’s—investigations before she let me go with a grudging, “I suppose there’s no harm done. She would have found out what happened anyway. I’ll give her a call and get the details.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  Halfway through the open house, my phone rang, and when I picked it up, it turned out to be Alexandra Puckett. I hadn’t even thought about her since yesterday. “Savannah? We’re back in Nashville. Where are you?”

  “Sitting an open house in Green Hills,” I said, “but...”

  “What’s the address?”

  I gave it to her. “But Alexandra, listen—”

  “Tell me later,” Alexandra said, and hung up. I thought briefly about calling her back, to say that there was no longer any need for me to identify the boy in the picture, but then I decided I may as well just let her and Austin look at the photograph. Even if the boy wasn’t Elspeth’s son, he looked enough like Rafe to be his, so maybe Rafe had knocked up another girl I didn’t know about. The way we kept piling up, it was a miracle he didn’t have offspring littered all over the Southeast.

  They arrived thirty minutes later, in Alexandra’s little red Mazda that Brenda had bought her for her sixteenth birthday. Alexandra had cut her hair since the last time I saw her—where it used to hang halfway down her back, now it barely brushed her shoulders—but she still wore enough makeup to shame a hooker. I suspected she did it at least partly to drive Maybelle crazy; her stepmother-to-be was extremely particular about propriety, rather funny for someone who’d gotten herself engaged to the grieving widower before his wife was even cold.

  Today, Alexandra was dressed in skintight jeans and a sweater that didn’t quite meet the top of her pants. A navel ring glittered in her belly button. Austin’s hair was longer than before, hanging like a curtain on either side of his face, and he peered out furtively, like a shy animal in the underbrush. Like last time I’d seen him, at Brenda’s funeral, he was dressed in oversized clothes that dwarfed his still-boyish frame.

  Alexandra peered around the entrance foyer, hands on her hips, while she blew a big pink bubblegum bubble. “Nice place,” she said when she’d popped it, and sucked the gum back into her mouth.

  I shrugged. It had the exact same setup as my old townhouse, and being here brought back memories. Most of them bad, but some—the early ones—a little nostalgic, as well.

  “So where’s this picture you want Austin to look at?”

  I hadn’t brought it. It was sitting at home, on my dining room table, where I’d put it after Todd’s and my discussion the other night.

  Alexandra rolled her eyes when I said so.

  “I don’t think he’s the boy I’m looking for after all,” I explained. “Although I do have a copy on my phone.” It wasn’t a great copy, but it might be good enough. “Hold on a second.”

  I fished out the phone, manipulated buttons, and handed it to Austin, who bent his head over it, his long dark hair falling to cover his face.

  “That’s David,” he said after a second.

  “Really?”

  He glanced up. “He’s in my year. I see him every day.”

  “Do you know his last name?”

  I received another of those ‘all adults are idiots’ looks. “Flannery.” Anticipating my next question, he added, “He lives in West Meade. I’ve been to his house a couple times.”

  “What are his parents like?”

  He shrugged and handed the phone back. “Nice. His dad has something to do with money. Financial planning or something. His mom works for her church, I think.”

  “Does David have siblings?”

  “Not that I know of,” Austin said and stuck his hands in his pockets.

  “Well, is he nice? Do you get along?”

  “Sure.” Another shrug.

  “Let me see.” Alexandra held out a hand for the phone. She took one look at the photograph and giggled. “Bet I know whose kid this is!”

  Austin turned to his sister. “What?”

  “He looks just like Savannah’s boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said automatically.

  Austin stared at me. “You’re banging David’s dad?!”

  “Of course not! I’ve never even met David’s dad. This is someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “You don’t know him , ” Alexandra said . “I met him just after mom died. He and Savannah were the ones who found her.”

  “Oh, that guy? I saw him on TV.” Austin took the phone back from Alexandra and looked at the picture of David again. “Yeah, I can see that, I guess.”

  “So,” Alexandra said , “ h ow is Rafe, anyway?”

  I swallowed. I’d been dreading this. “Dead.”

  “What?” She looked stricken.

  “He died two months ago. A man named Jorge Pena shot him.”

  “Oh my God.” There were tears in her eyes, and I felt horrible about having to lie to her. She was just a girl, and it was only a few months since she’d lost her mother. And it would probably have been safe to tell her the truth. It was unlikely that Alexandra knew anyone who knew Rafe . Still, I wasn’t willing to bet Rafe’s life on it.

  “I’m sorry,” I said , my voice convincingly sad .

  “Me too.” Alexandra sniffled, and then flung herself around my neck. Austin shuffled his feet awkwardly and looked down. I patted Alexandra on the back and let her cry on my pink cardigan.

  Just when I thought the embarrassment couldn’t get any worse, the front door opened and three women came in. Three young, attractive, well-to-do women, wearing the kinds of clothes I can’t afford anymore; one of whom was my ex-husband’s new wife, Shelby Ferguson.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, Shelby was in the same boat I was . But w here I just looked thick around the middle, like I’d gained a few pounds since Bradley dumped me, Shelby looked like she was expecting. Dressed in designer jeans and a striped sweater that draped becomingly over her baby bump, she glowed with health. Unlike me, she must be over her morning sickness.

  And of course she recognized me as quickly as I recognized her. Her new collagen lips curved in a stiff smile. “Savannah. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Likewise,” I said, while A
lexandra straightened up and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The crying jag had left a black spot on my shoulder where her mascara had bled. “How are you?”

  Shelby smiled, sort of triumphantly. “Wonderful. Expecting, as you can see.” She put a hand on her belly.

  “I can see that,” I nodded, resisting the temptation to say something snide. “And Bradley? Has he made partner yet?” Probably not, if they were still living in the same 1200 square foot townhouse.

  She made a moue, but declined the bait. “Brad’s just like any expectant father. Giddy.”

  “Good for you.” He hadn’t been giddy when I was expecting. Then again, he’d probably realized by then I was the wrong woman. He’d certainly already been working with Shelby, although whether he’d been sleeping with her yet I wasn’t sure.

  And at this point I really couldn’t care less. It was all in the past, and I wouldn’t take Bradley back if he begged. No, the thing that bothered me at the moment wasn’t that my ex-husband had cheated or that he’d left me for someone else, it was that she was pregnant and delighted while I was pregnant and in such a quandary that I didn’t know whether to keep the baby or not.

  I forced a professional smile. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the setup here. Living room, dining room and kitchen on the first floor, two bedrooms and a full bath on the second. Look around as much as you want.” I turned back to Alexandra, who looked raccoon-like with her smudged makeup. “There are tissues in the half bath. Back there.” I pointed. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up.”

  Alexandra nodded and scurried down the hall. Shelby sent her a curious glance but didn’t comment. Followed by her two girlfriends, who were eyeing me with interest, they headed into the kitchen. After a moment, I heard giggles and Shelby’s lowered voice. I thought I heard the word ‘ chunky ,’ but I can’t be entirely sure.

  “Who was that?” Austin wanted to know.

  I turned to him. “My ex-husband’s new wife. We got divorced two years ago.”

  He nodded. “You’re prettier.”