She popped a prenatal vitamin into her mouth and swallowed it with a few sips of milk. “And how are your units today?” she asked.
“Not bad, actually. How about yours?”
Her pager buzzed as he asked the question, and she looked down to see the E.R.’s number on the display.
“Speak of the devil,” she said.
“E.R.?” he asked as she got to her feet.
She nodded. “Be right back.”
She walked over to the wall phone near the cafeteria exit and dialed the number for the E.R.
It was Liam who picked up on the other end. “Are you in the cafeteria, Jo?” he asked.
“Yes. What’s up?”
“I’m sorry to drag you away from lunch, but I could really use your help down here. I have a couple of accident victims I’m tied up with, and a woman just came in who looks pretty beaten up, but says she just fell. Any chance you could see her?”
“Sure. I’ll be right there.”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
She hung up the phone and returned to the table, but didn’t take her seat again.
“Just leave this here for me in case this doesn’t take too long, okay?” she asked Paul, pointing to her tray.
“I’m almost done, Joelle,” he said. “Want me to take the E.R. case for you?”
“That’s all right,” she said. “It’s a possible battered woman, so it’s probably better if I do it. But thanks for offering.” She gave him a quick wave of her hand. “Have a good afternoon.”
From the hallway of the E.R., she could see into the waiting room, and Paul had been right. It looked like a weekend night in there. Mothers bounced irritable babies on their knees, a couple of kids held ice packs to their legs, and several men slouched in their chairs, looking in the direction of the reception desk, waiting for their names to be called.
A nurse spotted Joelle and walked toward her, handing her a chart.
“She’s in four,” she said. “Bart stitched her up and set her broken arm and tried to get her to admit what happened, but she insists she fell down the stairs.” The nurse shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she did. But we didn’t want to let her go until one of you guys had a chance to assess her. She wants to get out of here, though. I’m not sure how much longer we can keep her.”
Joelle nodded, glancing quickly through the thin chart. Twenty-four-year-old Caucasian woman. Katarina Parsons. She didn’t bother trying to read Bart’s nearly illegible notes. She’d get the story soon enough.
She pushed open the door of the treatment room to find the young woman sitting on the edge of the examining table, arms folded across her chest, a look of boredom on her bruised face. The blasé expression masked fear, Joelle was almost certain. She’d seen the act before.
She held out her hand to the woman. “Hi, Katarina,” she said. “I’m Joelle D’Angelo, one of the social workers in the hospital.”
The woman shook her hand limply. “Why are they making me see you?” she asked.
“Well—” Joelle leaned against the counter “—when someone comes in looking as though there’s a possibility that she might have been beaten up, we want to make sure she’ll be safe when she leaves the E.R.,” she said.
“I told that doctor I wasn’t beat up,” Katarina said. “I fell down some cement stairs.” She pronounced cement “seement.”
Joelle smiled at her. “I like your accent,” she said. “Where are you from?”
“Virginia.”
“Oh.” Joelle took a seat on the wheeled stool. “Near Washington?”
“No. Southwest Virginia. Right near North Carolina.”
“I bet it’s pretty there,” Joelle said. “What brought you out here?”
“My boyfriend.”
“Oh. Did he live here, or…?”
“No, he lived in Virginia,” Katarina said. “But his brother was in Monterey, and he wanted to come out here, too. He thought he could find a job, but he hasn’t yet.” She shifted her slender weight on the examining table.
“Do you want to sit in that chair?” Joelle pointed toward the one chair in the room. “I know how uncomfortable it is sitting on those examining tables. I’ve been doing a lot of that myself lately.” She patted her belly with a smile.
“I don’t want to sit anywhere in here,” Katarina said. “I just want to leave.”
Joelle nodded toward the chair. “Just take a seat there,” she said. “It won’t be so hard on your back.”
Muttering under her breath, Katarina slipped off the examining table and sat down in the chair, arms folded protectively across her chest once more.
She was so easy, Joelle thought. So malleable and so scared. Joelle was confident she’d be able to get the truth out of her in no time.
“Where did you get hurt?” she asked.
“I told you, on the cement stairs at his brother’s apartment.”
“No, I mean, where on your body. I see you have some stitches on your cheek, and your other cheek is pretty swollen. Your arm was broken, right?”
“I been through all of this with that doctor,” Katarina said.
Joelle leaned toward her. “Katarina, it may be that you did fall down the stairs,” she said. “But if that’s not what happened, there’s help for you. There’s a place you can go where you’ll be safe. You just moved here—I know you probably don’t know many people, but you don’t have to feel alone in this.”
The tears welling up in Katarina’s eyes told her she was on the right track.
“You’re not the only woman this has happened to,” Joelle said. “You have a lot of company, unfortunately, but the good thing about that is that we have resources in place to—”
Katarina’s head suddenly jerked to attention, her eyes on the door to the treatment room. Joelle heard the voices outside the room, one calm and female, the other loud, angry and male.
“That’s Jess,” Katarina said in a whisper.
“Your boyfriend?”
She nodded, her gaze still on the small window of the door. “He’ll kill me for coming here, but I knew my arm was broke.”
Joelle stood up and reached for the phone on the wall. “I’ll call security,” she said, keeping her voice calm as she dialed the number, despite the fact that the man’s shouts were growing louder, more enraged. “Probably someone already has,” she said, waiting for the number to ring. “You don’t need to wor—”
The door flew open and a large man stormed into the treatment room, knocking the phone out of Joelle’s hand as he passed her. Her hands moved instinctively to protect her belly.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” the man asked Katarina, who literally cowered on the chair in the corner of the room. The man’s blond hair jutted out from his head in no discernable style, and his eyes had a wild look that made Joelle think he was on something.
“I told them I fell down the stairs,” Katarina said.
“Jess,” Joelle said as calmly as she was able to, “Katarina and I are nearly finished talking. Please wait outside and we’ll be out in a few—”
“What are you, a social worker?” Jess turned to face her. “Jesus, Kat, what have you been telling them? She’s clumsy, that’s all,” he said to Joelle. “Clumsy bitch.” He started toward Katarina again, his hands reaching for the small woman’s shoulders.
Before she had time to think, Joelle moved forward and grabbed his arm.
“Stay away from her,” she said.
He jerked free of her grasp, as though her hands were nothing more than a fly on his arm, and headed for Katarina again.
There were more voices outside the treatment-room door, and Joelle hoped that security had arrived, but it was Liam who came into the room. He opened the door wide as he entered, and Joelle saw Katarina’s chance to escape.
“Katarina, get out!” she said, hoping the young woman could use Liam’s intrusion to slip from the room.
“You don’t go nowhere!” Jess bellowed at the terrified wo
man. He turned to face Joelle, and she was suddenly looking into the piercing green eyes of a madman.
“And you shut up, you fucking bitch!” Lifting his foot high, he pressed the sole of his boot against Joelle’s belly and plowed her into the wall.
Pain shot through her middle, as though everything inside her, everything that was there to hold her baby in place, was being torn apart. She felt her body slide down the wall until she was crumpled on the floor. She doubled over from the pain, and the world in the treatment room instantly became blurred and surreal. She watched as Liam grabbed Jess by the shoulder, drew back his own arm and punched the wild man in the face, not once, but again and again, until it was hard to know which man was truly out of control. Blood squirted from Jess’s nose and seeped into the spaces between his teeth as Liam—gentle Liam—pounded the man with his fists. Joelle leaned back against the wall and shut her eyes, afraid she was going to be sick. When she looked up again, two security guards were in the room, and Liam was bending over her, crouching down, his arms a wall of protection around her.
She grabbed the fabric of his shirt in her hand.
“The baby,” she said hoarsely.
She felt him reach between them, his hand slipping beneath her shirt to rest, warm and soothing, on the rounded panel of her maternity slacks, and she let her forehead fall against his shoulder.
“You’ll be all right,” he said into her ear. “You’ve got to be all right.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
San Francisco, 1967
She could hear voices. At first they were little more than a low hum, as if she were listening to a conversation taking place on the other side of a flimsy wall. But gradually, she recognized them. Alan’s voice. And Gabriel’s.
She tried to open her eyes, but the effort seemed too great. She was able, though, to make a sound. Half hum, half grunt. The sound reverberated in her own ears. And the voices stopped.
“Did you hear that?” That was Gabe’s voice. She tried to smile, to reach out for him, but she knew she was succeeding at neither.
“Lisbeth?” Alan’s voice was little more than a whisper.
“Mmm,” she said again.
“Oh, thank God,” Gabriel said, and she felt him—yes, it was definitely him—take her hand. “Lizzie,” he said.
“Shh!” Alan’s voice was sharp.
“We’d better make sure no one comes in,” Gabriel said.
“I’ll stand by the door,” Alan said. She felt something brush her cheek, then Alan’s lips against her forehead. “Welcome back, Lisbeth,” he whispered.
“Gabe?”
“I’m right here, baby.”
His hand touched the side of her face, and she could smell his aftershave.
“I’m…” She felt herself frowning. Where was she? Not in her bed at home. Thoughts swam through her head, but she couldn’t pin any of them down. “Head hurts,” she said.
“Yes. You had a very bad concussion.”
“I don’t remember.” She tried to open her eyes again, managing to lift one of the lids a bit, but closing it quickly against the light in the room.
“Turn out the light, Alan,” Gabriel said, and he let go of her hand for a moment. She heard him at the window, lowering the blinds, perhaps. Then he was back, holding her hand once more. “Try it again,” he said. “Open your eyes. It’s darker in here now.”
She did. First her left eye, which popped open as if on a spring, then the right. The room was dim, but she could see Gabriel’s face close to hers. She reached up to touch his cheek. It was wet.
“Liz, I’m so glad to see you,” he said, turning his face to kiss her palm. “You had us really scared.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“You were in a car accident,” he said.
“I don’t remember.” Her mind felt thick with confusion. “When? Where was I going?”
“It happened nearly a month ago,” he said.
What? “A month…?”
“Yes. You and Carlynn were in your car. You were in Big Sur, do you remember?” His words were slow and measured, as though he had practiced saying them many times.
She had the flimsiest, dreamlike sort of memory of being in the car with Carlynn, driving in the fog. “Not a month ago,” she said.
“Yes, hon,” he said. “You’ve been unconscious all this time. I’m so relieved to see you finally waking up.”
Her head was pounding, and she raised her hand to her temple, where her fingers touched some sort of material—fabric or gauze—instead of her hair. “What’s on my head?” she asked.
“You suffered several different injuries,” he said. “You had the concussion, as I mentioned. Your leg was broken in a few places. And you had some internal bleeding. They did a couple of surgeries on you. You lost a lot of blood, and they gave you transfusions. But your body is healing. And every day, the physical therapist comes in and moves your arms and your legs to keep your muscles toned.”
“Shanti Joy.” The name came back to her suddenly.
“What?” Gabriel asked.
“The baby at the commune.” Alan’s voice came from across the room. “What about it?”
“Carlynn wanted to go back to the commune to see Penny and the baby one last time,” Lisbeth said. “And there was fog. Oh! Car coming at us.” She felt her body flinch, and she drew her hand away from Gabriel’s.
“That’s right, but you’re not there now, Liz.” Gabe took her hand again. “You’re safe. Here with me. You and Carlynn were driving in the fog on those narrow roads at Big Sur. A car was coming toward you, in the wrong lane, and Carlynn swerved to avoid it and went over the side of the cliff. You were unbelievably lucky to get out of there in as good shape as you did.”
Where, she thought suddenly, was Carlynn? Alan was here in this room with her. And Gabe. But she hadn’t seen Carlynn or heard her voice. She felt her heartbeat quicken in her chest.
“What about Carlynn?” she asked. “Is she all right?”
Gabriel hesitated a moment before shaking his head. “Baby, I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes watching her carefully. “She didn’t make it.”
“What do you mean?” She felt panicky. “You don’t mean she…”
Gabriel nodded. “She was killed in the accident,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Liz.”
“No!” Lisbeth let go of his hand to pound his chest with both fists. “Please, please, please! Gabriel!” She tried to turn her head to see Alan where he was standing by the door, but pain shot from her neck to her temple, and she could not see him. “Alan!” she screamed.
“Shh!” Alan moved toward her quickly. He took her fists and held them, coiled and knotted, in his own hands.
“She can’t be dead,” Lisbeth said. “She can’t be. Please tell me she’s okay, Alan. Please.”
“She died very, very quickly,” Alan said, and she knew, more from the tears in his eyes than from his words, that her sister was gone. “She was…” He stumbled, glancing at Gabriel, looking for the words. “She was pressed between the steering wheel and the seat. The police said she never knew what hit her. She didn’t suf—”
There were voices outside her room, and Alan quickly turned his head toward the door. He looked at Gabriel.
“I think the nurse is coming,” he said.
“Head her off,” Gabe said, and Alan dropped Lisbeth’s hands and strode to the door. She heard it open and fall shut with a soft thud.
“Lisbeth,” Gabriel said, “if the nurse should come in, Alan and I will be calling you Carlynn.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain, but just so you know. Please. It’s important. Pretend to be Carlynn.”
“No!” She tried hard to sit up, but her head was too heavy to lift from the pillow. “Why?” she asked.
“Shh,” Gabriel said. “Settle down. Please don’t talk so loud. I’ll try to explain. I know this is too much for you to handle right now. To absorb. But just listen, please, baby. Just liste
n to me.”
“I want my sister,” she said, still unable to grasp the realization that she would never be able to see Carlynn again. “Oh, Gabe, what will I do without her?”
“I know you want her back,” Gabriel said. “We all do. But will you listen to me? Please?” He glanced toward the door to her room. She knew her thinking was murky, but she was certain Gabriel was more anxious than she’d ever seen him before.
“I’m listening,” she said.
“You and Carlynn were in your bug, but Carlynn was driving, right?”
She shut her eyes, thinking. “I was, but then we switched,” she said. “It was foggy and I…my legs were shaking…it was so hard to see. She thought she could drive better in the fog than I could.”
“Right. So when you went over the cliff, and the rescuers got to you, they found your purse, with your ID, and none for Carlynn, and so they figured it was you in the driver’s seat. They told us you had died and that it was Carlynn who had been badly injured.”
She frowned again, trying to follow him. “Didn’t you…couldn’t you and Alan tell the difference when you saw me?”
“No, we couldn’t. We never saw Carlynn…after the accident. And you were so bandaged up, your face was cut and bruised—”
She lifted her hands to her face, touching the skin gingerly with her fingertips. “Do I look different?” she asked.
“No, honey. Your face is very nearly healed, and you look like yourself. And, of course, you also look like Carlynn.”
She realized suddenly what he was telling her. “You thought I had died?” she asked.
He nodded. “The worst day of my life, Liz.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “And the day we realized it was you lying here and not Carlynn was the worst day for Alan.”
“Oh my God.” She was still having difficulty absorbing it all. “How long did everyone think I was Carlynn?” she asked.
“Two weeks,” Gabriel said. “We…I don’t know if I should tell you all of this.”
“Tell me.”
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