Going to a private school, the twins had friends all over Tampa, and for their seventeenth birthday, Laura had swallowed hard and bought them a four-year-old, green Chevy Impala. A joint gift. With Mike and Kevin at college, the girls having a car took a lot of pressure off her and Marcy, but she now wondered if the car—all that freedom—had triggered whatever was going on with them.
“Natalie, can you stay downstairs for a bit. I have to talk to your sister.”
“No, Mom, I have to go up to our room. All my stuff is up there, and I have to get organized.”
It looked to Laura that all Natalie’s stuff was dumped on the table. Laura hesitated before replying.
“If you’d let one of us move into Mike and Kevin’s room,” Natalie continued, “we wouldn’t have this problem. Why keep their room for them? They’re never going to live here again. And Nicole and I are so crowded. Our room is even smaller than theirs, and Patrick has his own room. Not fair, Mom.”
“They’ll be home next weekend for Thanksgiving,” was all Laura could think of to say. So unlike Natalie, this attitude. “And if you have to work in your room—go ahead.” She would find another time to talk to Nicole about last Saturday night.
Her daughters had been out with friends. They got in at midnight, their weekend curfew, and everything seemed okay. That is, until Nicole tripped on the landing, dropping her purse, spilling the contents. The plastic cover of a dial pack of Ortho birth control pills cracked when it hit the polished oak floor.
Had Laura overreacted? “What are these for?” she’d demanded, grabbing Nicole by the shoulders, shaking her, barely managing not to slap her. “Why do you need these? Are you having sexual intercourse?” she’d demanded.
A stunned stare from both girls, a long silence.
“Answer me, Nicole.”
“Mom, calm down.” Natalie jumped between them, pulling her away from Nicole. “Give her a chance to answer you. Get your hands off of her.”
When Laura thought about it, this was the first time her sweet, respectful Natalie ever had spoken to her like that. Nicole? Another story.
“Okay, Nicole, you tell me,” Laura stared at them both. She was angry beyond words, yet confused and overwhelmed by a feeling of hopelessness. How could she have prevented this? “What are these for if you’re not having sex?”
“I’m not having sex,” Nicole shouted. “Think what you want. So what if you don’t trust me. I don’t care. You’re a control freak.”
“Where did you get these?” Laura grabbed Nicole again.
“They’re not mine,” Nicole said. “Listen to me, Mother. I am not taking birth control pills. Guess why not? Because I’m not having sex. I don’t even have a boyfriend I give a shit about. If you even knew me, you’d know that.”
“Nicole, I asked you a question!” Laura couldn’t help yelling.
Natalie had picked up the dial pack, and Laura grabbed it out of her hands. A prescription product. There should be a patient’s name on it. There wasn’t. The label had been ripped off.
“Lots of girls have these. Take them every day. Pass them around. I do not know how they got in my purse.” Nicole stood, hands on hips, staring at Laura. “Would you rather have me lie to you? Make something up? Would that make you happy?”
“Nicole’s telling the truth,” Natalie said. “I’ve never lied to you, Mom. I’d know if she was taking those pills, and she’s not. I swear.”
“Okay. Let’s go into the kitchen. Make some tea like we always do when we have a problem. I guess you understand why I’m so upset, don’t you?” Laura was facing Nicole.
“How am I supposed to feel? As usual, you believe Natalie and not me.”
Laura put her arm around Nicole and led her into the kitchen. “Let’s calm down, give us time to get over the shock of this—of what I just saw.” She brushed her fingers over Nicole’s cheek. “We’ll have to talk more about this, Nicole. I just don’t know what to think right now.”
Sunday night, she’d been called out to see the AIDS patient and tonight she’d let Natalie preempt the time. She needed to clear the air with Nicole—but she also needed a feasible reason why Nicole had birth control pills in her purse. She needed to trust each of her daughters. If she couldn’t, obviously, she was failing as a mother.
CHAPTER TEN
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 26
Nicole didn’t say much the next morning, but she did show up in time for breakfast, in her uniform, looking like she’d spent plenty of time fixing her hair into an up-do with tendrils falling in an artsy pattern. Natalie, in the same uniform, looked demure, her skirt two inches longer than her sister’s, hair shining, but with a simple side part. On the right. Since the girls were toddlers, Laura had chosen to part Natalie’s hair on the right and Nicole’s on the left. Over the years, the identical twins had tried to switch to confuse friends and relatives, but their hair was so trained that Laura, at least, could not be fooled.
All the Nelsons left together, Laura in her Oldsmobile station wagon and Nicole driving the Impala with Natalie in the passenger seat and Patrick in the backseat. They’d drop him off at Jesuit High on their way to Holy Names.
Laura decided to stop at Tampa City Hospital since it was on the way to her research labs about a half-hour drive from Davis Island into Tampa. Before starting her research day at the university, she’d page Michelle and check out her critical patients. Being chief resident meant that Michelle would be there before the crack of dawn.
Michelle met her outside Matthew Mercer’s isolation room. They donned protective coverings and Michelle briefed Laura on Mercer’s status. “Making some effort to breathe on his own, and his electrolytes have improved. Still pumping him full of antibiotics. We should have culture and sensitivity results later this morning. He’s on hourly blood gases and chemistries. So far kidney function is in the normal range.”
“Not much more we can do,” Laura said, as they pushed through the door. “Either he’s going to rally, or he’s not.” Now how profound was that pronouncement, from the chief of surgery.
Their patient had a visitor, a man, probably in his late forties or early fifties, sat in the lone bedside chair. Auburn curls slipped out from under the paper cap that covered his head. Above the mask, cobalt-blue eyes rimmed in red betrayed exhaustion. When Laura and Michelle approached, he reached out his right hand, but let it fall when Laura put up her hands to signal no contact.
“I’m Dr. Nelson and this is Dr. Wallace,” she said. “Are you Mr. Mercer’s father?” She wondered again how much information she should give the man. He was an expert in infectious disease, had been rather pompous on the phone, and she had to leave for her research labs. He could debate antibiotic details with the medical docs if he wanted.
Before the visitor could respond, Laura turned and spoke directly to Michelle, “The medical service said something about trying to get that experimental drug, AZT. Did they?”
“Not in the chart, Dr. Nelson. But Infectious Disease did start acyclovir. Works in herpes, but probably not—this.”
“Yes, I am Dr. Victor Worth,” the visitor confirmed, “Matthew Mercer’s father.” Aggressive-sounding tone. “I spoke to you on the phone yesterday, Dr. Nelson.”
“Yes. I’m sorry that didn’t work out,” Laura said. “The drug had side-effect issues.” She still wondered why father and son had different last names.
“That drug was deliberately sabotaged,” Worth said. When he started to shake his fist, Laura was glad that she’d decided not to share Mercer’s medical details. He seemed emotionally unstable, and she had no time to deal with the cause of his angst.
“We’re doing everything we can for Mr. Mercer,” Laura said. “Now we have to get back to our rounds.” She turned abruptly to leave the room.
Michelle followed her and hesitated before taking off her protective gown. “Do you want me to go back and talk to the father?” she asked.
“No,” Laura said. “As long as his incision is clea
n, there’s nothing more we can do. Remember, we’re just consultants. It’s up to the medical service to handle the infectious disease pathology and they have him on a potent cocktail of antibiotics.”
Dr. Worth followed the surgeons, but only as far as the door. Laura heard Worth mumble something, but his remark was not loud enough for her to hear.
She turned to face him through the doorway, saw the frustration and helplessness so common to the faces of loved ones. “I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. She and her chief resident removed their gloves, gowns, caps, and booties.
Michelle reported that Laura’s other patients were stable, giving Laura a few extra minutes before starting the drive to her labs. So Laura made her way to the administrative suite of offices of the hospital. Not bothering to knock, she went in to see her best friend, Roxanne Ruiz, director of nursing.
Roxanne was on the phone to Human Resources. “We’re down thirty nurses, so yes, we will have to bring in contract personnel to get us through the winter months.”
“Isn’t admin fun?” Laura said when Roxanne had concluded her call. “Remember when we just operated on patients? No bureaucratic headaches.” Roxanne had been Laura’s scrub nurse back before they’d each moved on to loftier positions.
Roxanne grinned. “The price of success. But what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the university today?”
“I’m on my way. I wanted to drop by to brief you on that patient in the surgical ICU. The one we think has AIDS. Tricky diagnosis. We can document the Kaposi sarcoma and the pneumocystis, both hallmarks, but without a definitive test for HIV—”
“Just what we need on a holiday weekend.” Roxanne sighed deeply. “My staffing problems are bad enough, now with the isolation protocol and the panic that’ll hit when the inevitable rumors spread, get ready for a nightmare.”
“That, and we have confidentiality of the diagnosis to worry about. You’re right, Roxie, a nightmare. But not a surgical nightmare. One that comes under Duncan Kellerman’s purview. Doesn’t he tell anyone who will listen that he’s God’s gift to infectious disease.”
“We both know that Kellerman is in over his head.”
“That’s why I called my friend Stacy Jones at the CDC. I told him to call her if he wants to get up to speed. If not—”
“Laura, Kellerman passed your friend’s contact information on to me. My infectious disease nurse has already been in touch with Dr. Jones. And she’s already been helpful. She’s contacted the Director of the Hillsborough County Health Department so we all have the most up-to-date information on the HIV virus. God knows so many frightening rumors are flying around. Anyway, I know you’re busy, but thanks for stopping by this morning, and a huge thanks for getting us access to the resources at the CDC.”
Roxanne checked her watch, but Laura did not leave. “Roxie, there’s something else.”
“Uh-oh, I know that look. A cup of tea is in order, with a slice of my mother’s homemade almond coffee cake. Let’s take ten minutes.”
Roxanne got up and went to the electric teakettle she kept on her file cabinet. Pouring a cup of tea for each of them and slicing a generous piece of cake, she returned. Laura sat across from her. They’d done this countless times over the past twelve years, in one or the other’s offices.
“I’ve always had such a great relationship with all my kids,” Laura said, “but something’s changed. Not with the boys, they’re okay, but with the girls. Even Natalie, but to a lesser degree than Nicole.”
“Like what?” Roxanne asked.
Laura told her about the birth control pills. “She must be lying to me,” she concluded.
“What if she’s not?” Roxanne asked.
Laura had to admit that she hadn’t given that option any credibility.
“Maybe Nicole’s been a handful from time to time, but she’s never lied to you, has she?”
“How would I know? I can’t trust my judgment. That’s what scares me.”
“Why don’t you give her the benefit of the doubt? Tell her you trust her. Then keep a good watch on the girls. Nicole doesn’t even have a steady boyfriend, does she?”
“No.”
“So probably she’s not sleeping with anybody.”
“When you put it that way, I guess I overreacted. Sometimes I just feel so overwhelmed. Three teenagers in the house. At least I don’t worry about the two in college.”
Roxanne grinned. “What you don’t know—”
“Thanks, Roxie. Why do I always feel better just talking to you? I’ll follow your advice—let this all blow over. With Thanksgiving coming up, there’ll be lots of distractions.”
“When are the others coming in?” Roxanne was referring to Laura’s sister, who with her husband and seven-year-old son, was flying in from their Paris home, and to Laura’s brother, Ted, a Jesuit, stationed at the General Curia in Rome.
“Janet tomorrow, Ted on Thursday. In time for dinner, if my mother’s prayers are answered. Mike and Kevin will be home tomorrow night. Then we’ll head to Mom and Dad’s for the long weekend. I rented a condo on Anna Maria Island, so we’ll probably all hang out on the beach.”
“Your life always has been complicated, Laura. Louis and I just have my mom and the boys.”
“Hey, give my best to Louis—I’ve got to get going. And say hi to Stacy if you talk to her before I do. If anyone can give us advice about our AIDS case, she can.” Laura was up and out.
“Guess what,” Roxanne called out, “I bet I know something that you don’t.”
“Well, speak up!” Laura turned as Roxanne cracked a smile.
“Breaking news from the CDC. Stacy got promoted to Section Chief or some big title like that. How about that for your mentee kid?”
“Fantastic. That girl is going to make a difference in so many lives.”
But Laura’s pride was mixed with shame. Stacy Jones would never know what had happened to Johnny. Stacy would never know that her friend and mentor had killed her brother eighteen years ago.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 26
Victor held Matthew’s hand in his gloved one. Then he moved his chair closer so he could caress Matthew’s forehead and cheeks, letting his fingers run over the purplish blemishes of Kaposi sarcoma. Matthew had been worried about his disfigured face. He’d tried using different types of concealer makeup, but that had only made the blotches more ghastly.
So far Victor had not broached the subject of AIDS with Matthew. Had Matthew, a science teacher, suspected that those purple lesions were a sign of Kaposi sarcoma? Not really “sarcoma” meaning cancer, but tumor cells that cluster in nodules and darkly colored papular blotches.
An infectious disease expert, Victor knew that the antibiotics dripping into Matthew’s intravenous line were appropriate for Pneumocystis carinii, the bane of AIDS, and staph, and almost every other combination of bad bacteria. But nobody in this mediocre hospital would share Matthew’s medical details. What organisms were growing? What did the antibiotic sensitivity panel show? Doctors in a D.C. hospital would handle HIV without all this fumbling. Nevertheless, Matthew’s cheeks were a little pinker and his skin no longer so clammy. And he’d even started opening his eyes if only for a few seconds.
Victor never should have left Matthew alone in Florida. What had possessed him to go chasing off to Keystone Pharma? When he got the call that Dr. Nelson wanted to operate, Victor should have headed directly to Tampa, chartered a plane that night, and taken Matthew home.
Matthew, alone and surely terrified, giving consent to surgery with no one by his side. Well, that would never happen again. Matthew, I’m here and I will never abandon you.
Victor had always been accused of being defensive, guarded, overly suspicious. Maybe that was true, but now, for the first time, Victor had found a relationship based on total trust. He was all Matthew had. And he vowed not to let him down.
When a nurse showed up to suction Matthew’s nasotracheal tube, Victo
r stood, leaned over Matthew close enough to confirm the stability of his vital signs on the monitor, and told the nurse he was going to the cafeteria for breakfast. He’d spent most of the night in the chair next to Matthew, except for the hour or so he’d dozed off on the sofa in the ICU waiting room. He’d brushed his teeth and tried to shave in the men’s room, but he still wore the same clothes he’d traveled in, not wanting to leave Matthew’s side long enough to book a hotel room.
Victor paid for his oatmeal, orange juice, and hot tea and found a table in the far corner, away from all those people in scrubs and white coats. A woman sat alone in the back, wearing a designer-looking outfit. As he approached, she stood and called out, “Victor Worth—is that you?” She looked to be in her sixties, trim, with highlighted hair.
“Naomi Kantor,” he said, pausing. He remembered the pretentious woman whom he’d always disdained. His former boss’s wife.
“What are you doing in Tampa? Come. Sit with me.”
Victor carried his tray to the small square table and sat down opposite her bowl of fruit, English muffin, and carafe of coffee.
“Norman’s here in the ICU,” Naomi began. “He fell out of his sailboat, can you believe that? I’m so worried. He fractured his hip, and they did surgery, then he got blood clots. Well, you can imagine, I’ve been beside myself. Our twins both wanted to come down, but they’re so busy with their jobs. Kyle’s a dentist in Richmond and has two girls. Kara is a CPA in Philadelphia and she has two boys. Four grandchildren, total.”
Right, Victor thought: Two and two. And, I have one son, he wanted to say. And your bastard husband has all but murdered him. But he kept silent.
“I feel so alone down here,” she continued. Typical Naomi. The woman could not shut up. “You can’t believe how glad I am to see you.” She reached across the table to squeeze Victor’s arm.
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