“What is it Casey?” Flora’s words were laced with concern.
As if she were coming out of a trance Casey looked at Flora as though seeing her for the first time. “I remember the day you took me to Doc Hunter’soffice. I was so . . . I guess I was trying to act tough.”
“Of course you were. What else would you expect? Certainly not the little girl that you shoulda been. That son of a bitch stole your innocence like a thief in the night!”
“Doc Hunter wanted me to tell my mother what happened. He wanted me to say who it was that touched me.”
“And did you?”
“No. I was afraid. He always told me I’d die if I told. Sometimes I threatened him. I’d say ‘I’m gonna tell Flora.’ And he’d lock me in the closet!” The words flowed fast as memories were hurled her way. She could barely keep up with them.
“Dear Lord!”
“I’d stopped believing in everything. Fairy tales, happy endings and . . . peanut butter cookies.” Casey shook her head to clear her scattered thoughts.
“They were your favorite,” Flora added.
“I know. I thought I didn’t deserve anything. Especially the cookies you always made for me. They were warm and so good. I remember thinking when I had those cookies I always felt a part of something. Isn’t that crazy?”
“No, not one bit. Those were the times you must’ve felt safe and secure. See that memory of yours ain’t so defective after all.”
Casey gave a wry laugh. “It still doesn’t explain Marc. Why would Mother tell me he was responsible when there’s always been the chance I’d remember who really molested me?”
“You mean to say you know who’s responsible for soilin’ you all those years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Well, good grief Missy, who?” Flora leaned forward in her chair, her eyes as wide as the moon.
“It makes sense now. Or most of it anyway.” An ocean of tears, built up over the years, now flowed freely as Casey recounted the tragic event that ruined her young life.
“What I can’t understand is why!” She sobbed.
Flora walked to her side of the table and placed her hands on her shoulders. “You’ve got to tell me, Casey. Who was responsible for this?”
Doubt plagued her. “Oh, Flora, I’m afraid I’ll open Pandora’s box. What if my memory isn’t accurate? What if I name this person and later discover it isn’t true?”
The little woman continued with her soothing massage. “That’s the chance you’ll have to take. Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as what happened to you.”
Casey debated for a moment. Flora was right. There’d been too many secrets in her life and in this wicked town far too long.
“The boy in the picture I found in the closet, Flora. How old was he then?”
“The picture of Ronnie?”
“Yes.”
“I’d guess around fifteen or sixteen. What’s that got to do with anything?” Flora seemed dazed, her voice sluggish.
“Everything Flora. Everything, because that’s when it started.”
“Girl, you’re confusin’ me. What started?”
“The molesting. That’s about the age he would’ve been when he started coming to my room at night.”
“Ronnie!” Flora repeated.
“Yes, Flora, Ronnie,” Casey replied.
“Merciful, God. Did you tell Blake?”
“No! I can’t. Not yet, I’m so ashamed!” Casey cried.
“I jus’ can’t believe this! It’s too crazy!”
“Well, believe it, Flora. I might not be able to recall what color my shoes were back then, but I remember Ronnie. And he raped me. Repeatedly. But I’m still not going to tell Blake until I remember more about that night.”
When Blake left Swan House he swore he wouldn’t eat another bite until breakfast, but the slab of apple pie Adam carried on his tray looked too good to pass up. He grabbed the last piece from the pie stand, then refilled his coffee cup.
The patients down for the night, the staff members were busy filling meds and tucking in those who couldn’t sleep. Blake always liked that time of night. It was what he remembered about his internship. The nights when he actually had a few moments to reflect on his day.
Tonight his reflections weren’t of past good times. When Adam told him they needed to talk, he knew it wouldn’t be about the good old days.
Adam took the last bite of his pie before speaking. “I asked to talk with you because I think there’s something going on you need to know.”
“Going on? As in your life or mine?”
“Neither, but it involves us both, indirectly. I took a trip to Atlanta today.”
“You live and work there, Adam,” Blake said.
“No kidding. Look I’m serious. I wish you’d be serious, too, just this once.”
Blake held his palms up. “Okay, okay. Sorry. What’s this all about?”
“A former patient of mine invited me to lunch. At Bone’s. In Buckhead.” Adam watched him for a response.
“And?” He prompted.
“Dad has a condo in Buckhead. On Piedmont. Remember way back when I told you Terrence, our accountant, asked me to talk to Dad about his ‘lavish spending’?”
“Yes. But that was several years ago.”
“I know, but he still has the condo. Eve uses it for her overnight trips.”
“Well, Adam, it’s hers to use, too.”
“Let me finish. Helen, my patient, and I were coming out of the restaurant when she ran to the curb. I thought she was going to run out into the oncoming traffic, but she stopped.”
“She tried to kill herself?”
“Hell no. Just listen. She saw the guy she’d rented her office space from. It didn’t mean anything to me. I saw the guy’s back and thought he looked familiar. When Helen made a comment about the woman with him I looked. Good thing, too. I saw Eve and Robert Bentley walking arm in arm to the underground garage at the condo.”
Blake let out the breath he’d been unaware of holding. “Whoa. What do you think this means?”
“I think it means a lot of different things. I think it means that what I knew about years ago is still going on.” Adam looked older than his thirty-four years then. Blake knew his friend’s concern was for his father.
“I’m sure you’re right. The question is, what to do about it.” Blake arranged the crumbs on the paper plate with his thumb.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. In Dad’s condition this is the last thing he needs to hear. This could send him over the edge into an early grave. I bet those two would love that.” Adam sounded bitter.
Justifiably so, Blake thought.
“Until you’re sure, I wouldn’t say anything. To anyone.”
“My thoughts, too. I talked with Dr. Foo; he says Dad’s condition is improving by the minute, but warned me not to upset him. He told Eve not to visit anymore until his condition stabilized.”
“You mean she hasn’t been here? She told Casey and Flora she hasn’t left his side except to attend a board meeting in Brunswick.”
“Not since Foo asked her to leave. Dad said she calls him from the Worthington apartment daily.”
“I know there’s more. Tell me,” Blake coaxed.
“I don’t want to do this, but right now I think I know what’s best for Dad, and staying here isn’t.” Adam laced his hands together and rested his chin on top of them.
Blake felt bile rise to his throat. “Do you mean his staying here at Memorial?”
“Yes. I’ve contacted a colleague of mine. He’s director of the Carriage House in Marietta. He’s agreed to let Dad come on short notice.”
“The Carriage House, Adam? That’s a retirement hospital. What in the hell do you mean? John’s as able as the rest of us to care for himself, or he will be soon. You just said Dr. Foo’s prognosis was anything but grim. How could you do this to your father?” He raised his voice, not caring if anyone heard. There were limits to his fri
endship. And right now he would not allow Adam to dispose of his father.
“I knew you’d react this way.”
“You’re right on that, old buddy. John’s been a second father to me. What the fuck did you expect?” Blake stood up and shoved his chair beneath the table. The loud bang elicited a few unwanted stares from a group of nurses seated nearby. He didn’t give a damn what they thought.
“Calm down, dammit! You’re too emotional. Let me finish.”
Blake watched Adam and could see this wasn’t a decision he’d made without thought. Yet, why? John is on the mend. I’ll give Adam one more minute, then that will be it. If I have to petition the court on behalf of the man who treated me like a second son, I’ll do it. I won’t allow Adam to do this to his father. I can’t.
Blake looked at his watch. “You’ve got exactly thirty seconds before I start kicking your ass.”
Adam smiled.
The bastard actually thought this was funny?
“Blake, I think Dad’s life is in danger if he remains here. I want him where no one can find him.”
“What?” Blake’s adrenaline rush left him like a deflated balloon.
“You heard me. If you’d stop acting like an asshole long enough to hear me out, you might understand and actually agree with me.”
“God, Adam, I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing for starters. Don’t interrupt me. You know how for years I’ve known about Eve screwing around on Dad. Hell, I think he’s suspected it himself but hasn’t said anything. When I saw her with Bentley this morning I knew it was still going on.
“Did Casey mention anything about an argument she overheard?” Adam asked.
“No, should she have?”
“That’s what I thought. No, she shouldn’t have, and she did the right thing. I owe her one. When you brought me here day before yesterday, Dad and I argued about his will. I’ve never kept a secret of wanting nothing to do with Worthington Enterprises. I just want to practice medicine. I told Dad this years ago. He understood but still wanted some of his holdings left in my care. I agreed to this. I think I said something to the effect I could hire people to manage his fortune. This stroke made him think. He believes he’ll die any second. Someone, and I’m sure we both know who, convinced him to change his will.”
“Damn, Adam, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Blake slid back into the chair, all thoughts of protecting John from Adam gone.
“I know. I would’ve done the same thing. I know how you feel about Dad. God, I can’t bear the thought of seeing the old guy in a home, but until I figure out just exactly what’s going on, I don’t have any choice.”
“Have you told him yet?”
“Yes. He didn’t seem too happy, but Blake, he didn’t fight me like I thought he would. That concerns me, too.”
“Why?” Blake asked.
“First of all, it makes me wonder if he’s simply giving up on life and doesn’t care where he spends his last days. Or, and this is the part that really frightens me, what if he believes his life is in danger, too?”
“We’ve definitely got a problem.”
“I’m going to talk to Sheriff Parker when I leave here. Do you want to come along?”
“Sure, but why Parker, what can he do?” Blake didn’t have to tell Adam what he thought of the sheriff’s reputation. Or lack of one. He knew Adam knew it, too. They’d discussed it often enough.
“I don’t know. I need someone to know what we’re doing and why. If, God forbid, something were to happen to Dad, I’d like to think I’m doing everything I can to prevent it. I guess this is just that.” Adam smiled weakly, all the professional fire snuffed out. In its place, a man simply concerned for his father.
“You didn’t say. Who’d he name as beneficiary?”
“Want ten guesses?” Adam said, as they both tossed the remains of their snack in the garbage.
“Nope, don’t need them. I just wonder how she managed to convince your dad.”
Adam shrugged, “The usual way women get to men, Blake. Right between the legs.”
Chapter 21
Roland Parker was about to leave the office for the night when he received a call from Adam Worthington. He couldn’t imagine what the psychiatrist wanted with him at this late hour, but he sure as hell didn’t have anything better to do.
Ten-thirty. He should have been home with a wife and maybe a couple of kids. At ten-thirty he could’ve been quite comfortable, all snuggled in bed next to a warm body. But, he reminded himself, ten years ago, when he’d listened to that bastard, he’d given up his right to marry. Who would want to live with him after what he’d done? He had no courage, backbone, guts, whatever you called it. He wouldn’t ask anyone to share his life. And even if he did, who’d want to live with a spineless bastard? He really had a hate on for himself.
Roland heard voices in the front office just as he got up from his desk. Blake and Adam didn’t waste time. That had to mean it was serious.
He stuffed his wrinkled brown shirt into his trousers and adjusted his belt before entering the reception area.
“Blake, Adam,” he said, holding a hand out to them both.
Adam spoke first. “Sorry about the late hour, but I don’t think this can wait.”
“Evidently. Now, what can I do for you?” Parker seated himself and pointed to the two chairs across from him. Adam and Blake sat down, both looking grim.
“I need to have your word before I tell you what I’m about to tell you. I want your promise that it will never leave this office.”
“Of course, Adam, whatever you say.” Something must be awfully important to bring both doctors out on such a nasty night. The rain had worsened. Hurricane George’s gusting winds were reaching them faster than the forecasters had predicted.
“I’m sure you know Dad is in the hospital; he suffered a stroke a few days ago.”
“Yes, I heard. I’m sorry. Give him my best when you see him.”
“I will. Actually he’s part of the reason why we’re here.” Adam nodded in Blake’s direction.
Parker’s curiosity peaked. He waited for one of the doctors to enlighten him.
“I think his life could be in danger,” Adam said.
Roland felt the blood rush to his head, roaring between his ears. Sure he hadn’t heard correctly, he asked Adam to repeat himself.
“I’m afraid someone might want him dead and might not wait for Mother Nature.”
“Yes, yes. Okay.” He needed to think. This might be his one chance to salvage his reputation, heal his wounded pride. He didn’t want to screw it up.
“Tell me”—he looked them both square in the eye—“do you have any idea who might want him dead?” He asked.
Adam and Blake both spoke at the same time.
“Bentley,” said Adam.
“Robert Bentley,” Blake mimicked, only choosing to use his full name.
Parker felt as if a giant hand had swooped down and put a chokehold on him. He found it difficult to breathe. He reached down and loosened his belt, then unbuttoned the top three buttons on his shirt. Propriety be damned! He drew in a shaky breath. He’d been right. This chance was meant to be. The door to the past had opened, and while he hadn’t planned on it, he sure as hell wasn’t about to slam it in their faces.
“It’s funny you should mention him. There’s something I should have told you a long time ago.” Parker settled himself into a comfortable position. This could be a long night.
Trying to immerse herself in the adventures of an eighteenth-century heroine and unable to, Casey tossed the paperback novel on the nightstand and turned the light off.
She’d waited till midnight for Blake to call. When he didn’t, she assumed he’d been delayed at the hospital. He probably thought she’d be asleep by then and hadn’t wanted to wake her.
She plumped the pillows and rolled to her side.
I used to sleep on the left side of the bed.
Casey flicked the light on
and sat upright in bed. Earlier that afternoon, when she’d tried to recall how she slept as a young girl, she hadn’t been able to remember. And now, it being the furthest thing from her mind, she’d remembered. Dr. Macklin was right again.
Why had Parker wanted to know? When she remembered the book bag the sheriff had handed her right before they’d left the house on Back Bay, she shoved the comforter aside and raced to her closet.
Earlier, when she and Blake arrived for dinner, Casey had come upstairs to change and shoved the bag in the back of the closet, temporarily forgetting about it.
She found the bag and pulled it out from the corner.
Casey plopped the satchel on the night table and stared at it. Something had been stuffed inside.
Her hand trembled as she reached inside. Seated in the center of her bed, she dumped the contents into a pile, closing her eyes and praying she wouldn’t find another picture of him. She opened her eyes one at a time and felt her heartbeat slow to normal when all she saw were . . . clothes?
Hesitantly, Casey touched the pile of garments, mildewed beyond recognition. She picked up what might’ve been a T-shirt, held it in front of her, and sneezed as dust particles danced in the dim light. Not wanting to get dirt on her sheets, Casey took the pile of tattered clothing and set them on the floor next to her bed.
She went through them piece by piece. When she unrolled a pair of faded Levi’s, she felt her eyes fill with tears.
These are my clothes! I wore them as a young girl.
Casey stretched the faded denim out in front of her and smoothed the filthy material flat. That’s when she felt it. Suddenly, as if her life depended on it, she crammed her fingers in the right front pocket and removed a faded card.
Intrigued, she leaned back so she could see better when she held the card beneath the lamp.
The bold lettering had faded over the years, making it difficult to read, but the words on the card were still legible.
When it came, the memory was as sharp and clear as if it happened only yesterday.
She was going to do it, no matter what anyone thought. God would forgive her. Flora always told her God would forgive any sin if you let Christ into your heart and asked him to be your personal Savior. He’d been the only Savior she’d had for the past nine years, she thought as she hurriedly stuffed clothes inside her book bag.
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