Close to Home

by Jenna Bennett

  I said, “I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”

  Rafe’s mouth curved in amusement, but he didn’t speak.

  “No doubt,” Grimaldi said dryly and went to pay the bill.

  “When do you have to go back?” I asked when we were in the car, with him behind the wheel once more, and me in the passenger seat. I’d waited long enough for him to volunteer the information, and he hadn’t, so I thought I might as well ask. At this point, I was beyond worrying about his figuring out that I liked him. I was pretty sure he already knew that.

  His mouth curved. “Something you wanted to do, darlin’?”

  I nodded. “There’s a hospital in Brentwood I’d like to visit.”

  This obviously wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. “Hospital?”

  “It’s where David was born. It’s listed on his birth certificate. And I think it may have been where Sheila went the day she died.”

  “You think it has something to do with what happened to her?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, “but it’s interesting.”

  “Did Sheila know anything about David?”

  “Not that I know. Dix might have mentioned something to her, although it’s not like she’d be particularly interested if he did. She didn’t know you or Elspeth.”

  He nodded. “What’re you gonna tell’em when we get there?”

  “I’ll come up with a story,” I said.

  “No offense, darlin’, but you’re not a good liar.”

  “Maybe I’ll surprise you. I’ve been practicing.”

  “Yeah? What’s it you been lying about?”

  “You,” I said. “Mostly.”

  He glanced at me. “Me?”

  “Everyone thinks you’re dead. My family, my friends. And I can’t tell them you’re not.”

  “Been talking about me a lot, have you?”

  You have no idea, I thought, but I didn’t say it. “It was hard to avoid. For a while, everyone in Sweetwater was talking about what happened.”

  He nodded. “Satterfield propose again?”

  “Only a few times.” Four or five. Maybe six.

  “You say yes yet?”

  I shook my head.

  “Why not?”

  It would have been the perfect time to say, “Because I’m pregnant, and it’s your baby.”

  I didn’t. “Not ready,” I said instead.

  He grinned. “Having too much fun playing the field?”

  Hardly. “I just don’t know if I want to marry Todd. I know I should, but...”

  “But?”

  “But I can’t. At least not yet.”

  He nodded.

  “So what about you? Have you been playing the field in Atlanta?”

  “I’ve been working,” Rafe said. “Ain’t many opportunities to meet women when you’re dealing with the dregs of humanity.”

  “No hookers with hearts of gold?”

  “Plenty of hookers. No hearts of gold. These people’d kill their grandmother for the gold in her teeth.” He shook his head. “No, darlin’. No hookers. Nobody else, neither. I’ve been good.”

  “Right,” I said. I’d believe that when I saw it, and not a moment before.

  St. Jerome’s Hospital turned out to be just a few miles from Sara Beth’s Café, tucked away amongst two or three upscale motels on the quiet back side of a little hill. It looked like a friendly enough place: a big brick building, three stories, that reminded me a little of St. Bernard Academy. Perhaps a lot of these religious buildings had the same architect way back when.

  The lobby was sunny and bright, and the freckled redhead behind the information desk greeted us with a friendly smile when we walked in. “Can I help you folks?”

  “Please.” I put a hand on my stomach. “I’m looking for a doctor. A certain doctor. My sister-in-law recommended him—” three quarters of the staff at St. Jerome’s were male, so chances were good that whoever Sheila had come to see, if she’d come to see anyone at all, was a man, “—but I can’t remember the name. Someone who specializes in difficult pregnancies?”

  The nurse, whose nametag identified her as Molly Murphy, looked sympathetic. “How far along are you, sweetie?”

  “Just over two months,” I said, truthfully. “I lost a baby around two months once before, and I’m a little worried.”

  “Any pain?”

  “Oh, no. No, everything’s perfectly normal. And I’d like to keep it that way. I just wanted to see if I could set up an appointment. For later. In a few days or a week, maybe. Whenever the doctor has time in his schedule.”

  Molly nodded. “But you can’t remember the doctor’s name? Can you ask your sister-in-law again?”

  “I thought maybe you could look it up. You know, if you have a log. Or an automated system. Here.” I dug in my purse and pulled out the photograph of Dix and his family. “This is her. Sheila Martin.”

  I handed it over the counter. Molly took it and turned it over—the inscription read, To Savannah, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Sheila, Dix, Abigail and Hannah.

  “You’re Savannah?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Savannah Martin. That’s my brother.” I pointed. Just like last time, my resemblance to Dix seemed to do the job.

  “I remember her,” Molly said. “She was here just a few days ago, wasn’t she?”

  “She might have been.”

  “She had an appointment with Dr. Rushing. I think it was Friday. And you’re right; Dr. Rushing does specialize in difficult pregnancies. In fact—” she looked up as the doors from the outside opened again, with a hiss, “here he is now.”

  I swung on my heel. Next to me, Rafe did the same. So far he hadn’t said a word; I guess maybe my suddenly amazing facility for lying had completely bowled him over. Little did he know I hadn’t said anything yet that wasn’t a hundred percent true.

  Through the door came a scrawny scarecrow of a man: as tall as Rafe, about fifty pounds lighter, and thirty years older. He had a ring of white hair around the back of his head and none at all on top, where the bright lights reflected off his pate like sunlight off a pond. A shiny suit hung from his shoulders as if suspended from a hanger, and a pair of scuffed shoes, perforated brown, stuck out below.

  “That’s Dr. Rushing?”

  Molly Murphy beamed. “That’s him. Dr. Rushing!”

  The doctor blinked myopically in our direction. “Good morning. Need help?”

  “New patient for you, Dr. Rushing!” Molly sang. “This is Savannah Martin and her husband...?” She turned to Rafe, expectantly.

  He shook his head. “We ain’t married.”

  Molly looked disapproving. There was a fat gold band on her left hand, as well as a pretty little crucifix on a chain around her neck. “But you are the father of the baby?”

  Rafe glanced at me. “Of course,” I said.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Martin.” Dr. Rushing clasped my hand in his. “Come along, dear. Back to my office. We’ll have a chat.” He towed me past the counter and through the lobby, down a hallway toward the back of the building. I glanced over my shoulder at Rafe, who arched his brows at me from where he followed along behind, hands in his pockets.

  Dr. Rushing’s office was on the right, a friendly little room with yellow walls and light pine furniture. A big cork-board on one wall was covered with photographs of happy parents with beautiful children, inscribed with thanks and good wishes from people Dr. Rushing had helped. Rafe wandered over to it.

  I had something more immediate on my mind. I looked around for an examining table, and I was happy to see there wasn’t one in the room. It would have been awkward if the doctor had insisted on examining me, and had announced that I was pregnant. It would have cemented my bona fides in his eyes, certainly, but it might have shocked Rafe, and this definitely wasn’t the way I wanted him to hear the news.

  “Have a seat.” Dr. Rushing gestured to two chairs in front of the desk. “You too, young man.” He waved Rafe o
ver.

  It was like being back in school, and being brought to the principal’s office. Not that that had ever happened to me. It had happened to Rafe plenty, which may be why he looked so comfortable with ignoring the request.

  “So you’re pregnant,” Dr. Rushing said as he seated himself behind the desk. I nodded. “How far along?”

  I told him weeks and days. “I had a miscarriage once before. When I was married to my ex-husband.”

  “You’re divorced?”

  I nodded.

  “And this is not your husband?” He glanced at Rafe.

  “No,” I said.

  “In that case I’m afraid we won’t be able to help you, young lady. I’m sorry, but this facility has very strict rules about morality.”

  Rafe opened his mouth, and I made sure to get in before him. “Always?”

  “Excuse me?” Dr. Rushing said.

  “I had a girlfriend who got pregnant while she was still in high school. Obviously she wasn’t married. And I think she had her baby here. Elspeth Caulfield?”

  Dr. Rushing blinked. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m afraid I don’t know your friend.”

  “I understand. It’s a long time ago, after all. Almost twelve years.” I smiled sweetly. “How about the Flannerys? Virginia and Sam? Their son David was born here.”

  Dr. Rushing shook his head. “I’m afraid not. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave. My next appointment will be arriving in a few minutes.”

  “Of course.” I got to my feet. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Doctor. I’m sure I can find someone who specializes in difficult pregnancies somewhere else. I’ll just have to tell Dr. Seaver it didn’t work out.”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Denise Seaver. In Columbia? She recommends you highly. In fact, I’m pretty sure she was the one who sent Elspeth here twelve years ago. Although if you don’t remember her, she probably saw someone else.” I flashed another sweet smile. “Have a nice day, Doctor. Thank you for you time.”

  I headed for the door. Rafe followed, with a polite nod. We closed the office door gently behind us and headed for the outside.

  Chapter 14

  “Not bad,” Rafe said appreciatively when we were back in the car and on our way to East Nashville.

  “Excuse me?”

  He grinned. “I woulda believed every word of that.”

  “Oh.” It was another perfect opportunity to say, “That’s because I wasn’t lying.” I thought about saying it. I even got as far as to open my mouth. But I didn’t want to give him the news in the car, I wanted him somewhere where I could actually see his face when I told him I was expecting his baby, and anyway, before I could speak, he’d continued.

  “He had a picture of David on his wall.”

  “He did?”

  “From a couple years ago,” Rafe confirmed. “With his folks. Looked like he was seven or eight, maybe.”

  The doctor must be on the Flannerys’ Christmas card list. And he’d definitely lied about knowing them. Or if he hadn’t precisely lied, he’d been evasive.

  I pulled out my phone.

  “Who’re you calling?” Rafe asked with a sideways glance.

  “A woman in Sweetwater. Dr. Denise Seaver. She was Elspeth’s gynecologist back when Elspeth was pregnant. Mine too, for that matter.” I waited for her voice. “Dr. Seaver? It’s Savannah Martin.”

  “Hello, Savannah,” the doctor said. “What can I do for you? Have you made a decision?”

  “Actually, I have. But that’s not what I’m calling about.” Not with Rafe next to me in the car.

  “No?”

  “I just visited Dr. Rushing. At St. Jerome’s?”

  “I see,” Dr. Seaver said, her voice wary.

  “That’s where Sheila was on Friday afternoon. Before she died.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The desk nurse confirmed it. Did your recommend she go there?”

  “I might have mentioned the option,” Dr. Seaver said. “Emil Rushing is the best doctor in Nashville for difficult pregnancies.”

  “Did Elspeth Caulfield have a difficult pregnancy, too? You sent Elspeth there to have her baby, didn’t you? Her parents were religious, and they didn’t want anyone to know she was pregnant, that’s why they took her out of school when she started showing. They probably home-schooled her for a year. And they took her to St. Jerome’s to have the baby...”

  Dr. Seaver didn’t confirm it. But she didn’t deny it either, which gave me impetus to go on.

  “Dr. Rushing has a picture of David Flannery on his wall. David’s birth certificate says he was born at St. Jerome’s. But Ginny Flannery didn’t give birth to him. I think Elspeth did, and then Dr. Rushing must have given him to the Flannerys. The hospital took care of the birth certificate. Ginny said so. The records probably show that Elspeth’s baby was stillborn, just as they told you. And then they made it look like Ginny gave birth to David herself.”

  “This is all very interesting,” Dr. Seaver said politely, “but if you’re going to accuse a great man like Dr. Rushing of unbusinesslike conduct, I think you’ll need a little more than this, Savannah. Elspeth was underage when she gave birth. Her parents must have signed the adoption papers. There is nothing illegal about it.”

  “Rafe was eighteen,” I said. “And he didn’t sign anything.”

  “Rafe Collier is dead, Savannah,” Dr. Seaver reminded me. I shot a glance to my left, where Rafe, very much alive, was maneuvering the car up along I-65 toward home. “There’s no one left who cares what happened twelve years ago. If you think about it, telling Elspeth that her baby was stillborn was a kindness. And David is better off now than he would have been with either of his biological parents.”

  She hung up without saying goodbye.

  It galled me to know that she was right. Rafe hadn’t been in a position to take care of David, and where Elspeth might have been slightly less kooky had she been able to keep her baby, she had already been weirdly obsessed with Rafe by the time David was born. She probably wouldn’t have been the most nurturing mother in the world, either. But Ginny and Sam loved David to pieces, and had given him the kind of life he wouldn’t have had with either of his natural parents.

  “I think I upset her,” I said, looking at the phone.

  “She hang up on you?”

  I nodded. “She told me that because you and Elspeth are both dead—supposedly—there’s no one left who cares what happened twelve years ago. And I still don’t really understand why Sheila would. She’s never seen David, so it isn’t like she’d recognize his picture, and she didn’t know you or Elspeth, right?”

  Rafe didn’t answer, and for a second, an unworthy, slightly crazy thought invaded my mind. I nudged him. “Rafe. Right?”

  “What?”

  “She didn’t know you, right? You’re not saying that she slept with someone other than Dix because she slept with you, and the job you took was to come to Nashville and kill her?”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” Rafe said.

  “It makes perfect sense.” In fact, it explained everything.

  “Only to someone who ain’t thinking straight,” Rafe said. “No, darlin’. I’ve never even spoken to your sister-in-law, much less touched her. Why’d I want her when I can have you?”

  I had no idea, but it was obviously the right thing to say, because I could feel myself melt down to a puddle of goo.

  “You didn’t answer my question earlier,” I said.

  “What question’s that?”

  “When you have to go back. You left in the middle of an investigation, right? How long before Wendell comes beating down my door to drag you back to Atlanta to finish the job?”

  “Something you wanna do, darlin’?”

  “Earlier, you said when I was feeling better, you’d make it up to me.”

  “You feeling better now?”

  “Much better,” I said demurely.

  “Then
I’ve got all the time you want.” He shot me a hot grin that made my toes curl, and stepped on the gas. “No sense in wasting any of it, though.”

  No sense at all, I thought.

  We managed to park the car and get up the stairs and through the door to my apartment without scandalizing the neighbors, but no sooner had the door shut behind us, than I had my back against the wall and Rafe against my front, with his lips on mine and my hands buried in his hair holding him in place. He locked the door with one hand while the other was already busy working its way under my jacket and sweater.

  “Kitchen?” he murmured against my throat a little later.

  “What?”

  “I promised you next time we’d do it on the kitchen counter.”

  I puffed out a breath of laughter. He had, too. Two months ago, in Mrs. Jenkins’s house. The first time we made love it had almost happened on the kitchen table, and then it had almost happened in the hallway on our way upstairs. We’d made it up to bed, but he’d warned me that next time we’d just use the kitchen counter to avoid the wait.

  The kitchen counter where my abortion pill lay.

  “The bed’s more comfortable. And not far away.” I tugged him in the direction of the bedroom.

  “You sure?” He glanced into the small kitchen alcove on our way past.

  “Positive. There’s not much room in there. Come on.”

  We were into the living room now, and I pushed the leather jacket off his shoulders and tossed it on the sofa on our way past. The green Henley was soft and warm under my hands, but neither as soft nor as warm as the skin underneath. When I skimmed my hands up over the muscles in his stomach and chest, I could feel him tense under my hands. For a few seconds, it sounded like he stopped breathing.

  The Henley ended up on the floor of the bedroom, before the backs of my knees hit the foot of the bed. I fell over backwards, and Rafe leaned over me, hands braced on either side of my ribs. “You sure about this, darlin’?”