by Becky McGraw
Brock got out of the bed and padded naked to the bedroom door. Melanie couldn’t help but watch the flex of his tight ass until he disappeared into the hallway to go to the bathroom. When he reappeared in the doorway he held his cell phone in one hand texting with his thumb and the lotion in the other.
His dark frown sent her concern off the charts.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up in the bed. “Is Brady okay?”
Melanie knew who he was texting without asking. Lucy, who now knew, or suspected she was staying here with Brock. The woman had been texting and calling nonstop since they’d dropped Brady off on Sunday evening. Mel wanted to stay at the ranch while he dropped him off, but both Brock and Brady insisted she ride with them. She imagined the hug the boy gave her before he got out of the SUV didn’t go over well with his mother. If Lucy’s scowl as she watched from the sidewalk was any indication, that was definitely true.
Since then, Brock had been over at her apartment every night because Brady was sick again and asking for him. Melanie couldn’t begrudge him going over there when his son was sick, and Lucy probably knew that. She wondered if Lucy did this shit to Brock when she wasn’t around and it wasn’t related jealousy. If so, that was definitely a red flag the size of Georgia that waved toward MBP.
After seeing the distinct difference in Brady away from Lucy, away from whatever she was doing to him, Melanie knew without a doubt something fishy was going on.
Three envelopes of records all from general practitioners or pediatricians. After two or three visits, the doctors referred him to various specialists: endocrinologists, immunologists, gastroenterologists and finally an allergist so they didn’t contain much information. The records from those specialists, their notes and test results are what she wanted to see.
Every one of the general physicians noted they felt like Lucy wasn’t telling them everything, though, because the symptoms were so systemic and inconsistent. A kid was either sick or he wasn’t, unless something chronic was going on.
The acute onset of his symptoms pointed to something environmental, which is probably why the third doctor sent him to the allergist. The only normal, explainable childhood illness she’d seen documented in any of the files was his last visit to Dr. Carter for a common cold, which his grandmother had brought him into the office for.
All the other notes were visits for unexplained stomach aches, headaches, failure to thrive because he wasn’t eating and was underweight, nosebleeds and various injuries because he’d fallen or bumped into something.
You like gummy bears? No, but Brady eats the hell out of them.
Why in the hell was she so convinced this whole problem was somehow tied to that candy? She paid extra for the lab in Atlanta to rush the results from the bag she’d sent off to be analyzed on Friday. The bag of fifteen or so pieces of candy she’d confiscated from Brady’s backpack when she repacked for him and Brock.
Two more days and she would know for certain what was going on.
By then she should have more of the medical records they’d requested in too. Melanie knew what she’d be doing this coming weekend, and it wouldn’t be camping. Maybe she’d suggest that Brady and Brock go back though. At least that would keep him safely away from his mother, and give Melanie peace to focus on those records.
“Lucy is taking Brady to a pediatric ophthalmologist across the state line in South Carolina. The school called her to come and pick him up because he was complaining everything was blurry.”
Another symptom that pointed toward diabetes. Some of his other symptoms did too, but not all of them. Was she wrong about Munchausen’s? Was Brady just a product of a recessive gene in the family gene pool and she was targeting Lucy because she couldn’t stand her?
It was possible, because Melanie had definitely lost her professional distance in this situation. She was in way too deep with Brock, was beginning to care and worry about Brady like his mother should be doing, and she detested Lucy way too much to be objective.
Brock’s dire tone, the worry in his eyes, ripped Melanie’s heart out because she couldn’t help him at all. Couldn’t tell him things would be okay, because she didn’t know herself, and because she wasn’t state licensed yet she couldn’t order the tests herself to find out. New results would probably come in quicker than waiting on all of the medical records.
Melanie had no idea what labs had been ordered by the other doctors anyway, so more testing might be necessary. She knew what tests she would order, and would as soon as her temporary emergency license was approved. If it was approved. The permanent license could take a month according to the woman at the state board she’d spoken with on Monday after she submitted her applications.
“Do you want to go with her?” she asked.
That would buy her some time to call the licensing board again privately, since she hadn’t told Brock what she’d done yet. It would also give her time to go through Doc Carter’s office to finish the list of what would be needed to reopen.
“She asked me to, but I look like I have leprosy right now,” he replied with a dark laugh, as he shoved a hand with flaky red skin and blisters on the back through his hair. “Her mother is going with her.”
“I need to go to Doc Carter’s office today,” Melanie said. And while I’m there, I’m going to look again for those damned lab reports I know are there somewhere.
She and Dr. Carter thought alike, so she knew he would’ve suspected diabetes too and would’ve ordered a fasting blood sugar. Considering his massive patient file on Brady, she was very surprised the report wasn’t in there. But not so much, since she knew he was always behind on his filing. Before she let Lucy off of the hook, Melanie wanted to see those labs or order her own.
“Again?” Brock groaned, plopping down on the edge of the bed, looking a little put out.
She knew he wanted to spend the last days of his vacation before he went back to work on Monday having sex like they’d been doing non-stop since Saturday night, and she’d be on board with that if she wasn’t covered in blisters—and running out of time.
This was week three that she’d been back in Sunny Glen, and her mother went back to the orthopedist next week to get a walking cast put on, even though she was already walking against his advice. Aunt June was threatening to soak her cast off, and Melanie told her it didn’t work like that with fiberglass casts and she’d be very sorry if she got it wet. Those two were a handful and would probably be the same in twenty-five years when they were eighty.
If the doctor put her in a walking cast, or even a rehab brace, there would be no need for Melanie to hang around. There wasn’t really a need now.
“Yeah, I have some things to do, and someone is meeting me there.” The technician from the electric company and the water man to turn on the utilities. Then she had two phone interviews with residents who might be interested in the practice.
“That’s every day this week. You better watch out or the residents of Sunny Glen might think you’re setting up shop.”
Melanie’s eyes flew to his, because it almost sounded like his statement contained a question, hope of some kind, and his eyes and smile confirmed it.
She couldn’t laugh it off, that would be dishonest. “I am in a way,” she replied, and his face flashed surprise. “Sunny Glen needs a doctor so I’m getting Dr. Carter’s office in shape, and I sent out feelers to UCLA to see if I can find a new doctor to set up a practice.”
He twisted and his hands shot out to grip her shoulders. “Why don’t you take it over?” he said, as if that wasn’t something that ever crossed her mind. “Stay in Sunny Glen, Melanie, the town needs you—the people know you.”
But you haven’t said you need me.
Whether the people of Sunny Glen needed her or not, without that kind of sign from him, she couldn’t stay here. Seeing him and Brady every day would be a living hell, and putting up with Lucy who would always be between them because of Brady would make it worse.
Melanie wasn’t about to set herself up for that fall. She’d already fallen far enough in love with this man and his son that it was going to be very painful to leave them. It would be even more painful to stay without being in his life, or worse being only his undercover lover. The sex with Brock was off the charts good, but not worth her dignity or self-respect.
No things were getting too complicated in this town, and like Brock, she wanted to keep her life uncomplicated.
“I can’t do that, Brock. I have a contract with the hospital and it doesn’t expire for another year, but I promise I’ll find someone good before I leave.”
The light left his eyes, and he sighed as his hands fell from her shoulders. “I think you’re making a mistake, but I understand.”
And there it was. When he got up and walked out of the bedroom without another word, she had confirmation she’d made the right decision.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Melanie stood and stopped to swipe the back of her hand over her forehead to think. When she worked for Dr. Carter he’d always kept his unfiled lab reports in the credenza behind his desk, but they weren’t there. The bookshelves on either side were empty, so his medical books must be packed up and in the storage room which she hadn’t tackled yet. But she hadn’t checked the cabinets underneath to see if they were empty too.
With a huffed breath, she knelt in front of the glass-fronted bookcase to the left of the desk and grabbed the knobs to open the cabinet door. Something on the floor in the narrow space between the credenza and bookcase caught her attention so she released the knobs. She couldn’t fit her hand between the two pieces of furniture, so she crawled to the front of the credenza and peeped underneath, fighting back a cough from the musty odor of the carpet.
Near the back wall, lay Dr. Carter’s dictation recorder. She knew that’s what it was because when she worked here she’d transcribed many of those tapes since he didn’t use a computer or know how to type. That’s where half of her medical knowledge came from.
She flattened her body and stretched her arm under the credenza, but her arm was about three inches too short to reach it. Sitting back up, she looked around for something to use to sweep it out. Sweep—the broom was in the outer office in the closet and would work she thought, pushing up to her feet.
When Melanie walked into the front office a chill swept through her all the way to her toes, raising the hair on her neck. Suddenly, she felt like she was being watched, and the hair on her arms raised too. Electricity or not, maybe working alone here so late at night wasn’t a good idea after all, she thought, as she walked swiftly toward the broom closet, opened it and reached for the broom. Her eyes fell on the dustpan on the floor, but what really got her interest was the heaping box of yellow-part report copies that sat beside it. Bingo, baby.
Excitement shot through her as she opened the door wider and grabbed the edge of the heavy box to pull it from the closet. She might be on a wild goose chase that would keep her here all night looking through these reports for nothing, but it was a chance she’d take. She tugged the box backwards in forceful jerks toward Dr. Carter’s office, and just as she cleared the doorway, she heard the front door creak open and froze.
Adrenaline and more than a little fear shot through her as she thought about what she could use to defend herself here. Nothing—there was nothing here to protect herself. She needed to buy her mother a shotgun like she told her she would before she left, so Melanie put that on her to-do list for tomorrow. But that didn’t help her tonight with whomever had just come into the office at nearly midnight. Letting go of the box, she flattened her back against the wall beside the door, her heart pounding.
“Melanie?” Brock called from the outer office, and her breath came out on a rush as she pushed off the wall and stepped into the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, putting a hand to her pounding heart.
“I saw the lights on and figured you were still here.” He held the Styrofoam box in his hand out to her. “I picked up some dinner for you at the diner earlier, and it’s probably cold but I thought I’d drop it off.”
“At midnight?” she asked, as she walked toward him to take the box. She hadn’t eaten, but this was too strange.
He huffed a breath and his shoulders slumped. “I had to go over to Lucy’s tonight. Brady had a bad day at school. I guess the kids are picking on him about his new glasses.”
“Had to?” Melanie asked, setting the box on the only table in the outer room.
“She called, so I went,” Brock replied with a shrug.
“She calls and you always go,” Melanie replied trying to keep her tone even as she crossed her arms over her chest. “That could be part of the problem. Have you ever thought that this might be a ploy for her to get your attention?” And so might your son’s illness if I’m right. “Did you happen to get any mail for me today at the ranch?” The results from the lab in Atlanta were supposed to come in, but she’d been so busy she hadn’t had time to call Brock or drive out to the ranch to check.
“I did and more medical records came in too. That’s another reason I stopped by,” he replied as he reached behind him, pulled a white envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. “I’ll go get the records. Be right back,” he said and turned toward the door.
Of course that would be the only reason he’d stopped by to see her since Sunday. He’d dropped off records he’d received on Tuesday to her mother’s house, but hadn’t even said hello. He handed them to Merry on the front porch to give to her then drove away.
Melanie ripped off the end of the envelope and slid the papers out then unfolded them and read the top sheet. She scanned the ingredients for toxic substances and her heart dropped when she reached the bottom of the list and found none. But then she scanned the summary below the ingredients and her heart stopped, and her mind whirled as she ticked off Brady’s recurring symptoms. Nausea, vomiting and stomach pain, vision problems and clumsiness, muscle weakness, bleeding problems, skin flushing, listlessness.
“What’s wrong,” Brock demanded as he walked back in with a stack of manila envelopes then leaned over her shoulder to look at the papers.
“You know those gummy bears Brady is always eating?” she asked.
“Yeah, I think he’s cutting back on them. We had a talk when we went camping and I told him all that candy wasn’t good for him.”
“Those aren’t candy, Brock,” she said, her heart in her throat.
“They’re not? What are they then?” he asked as he walked across the room to set the envelopes down beside the Styrofoam box.
“I sent them to a lab in Atlanta to be analyzed and they are multi-vitamins. The reason Brady is so sick is he has hypervitaminosis.”
“What the fuck is that?” Brock growled, as he spun around strode back to her and snatched the papers from her fingers to look them over himself.
“It’s vitamin poisoning, Brock. Lucy is poisoning Brady by giving them to him like candy. Thank God they weren’t the ones with iron or his liver could be toast! He could still have lasting effects from it for years—nerve damage and all kinds of other things. She could’ve killed him—eventually would have!”
Brock’s body jerked and his eyes snapped to hers. “Are you accusing her of intentionally making him sick?!?” he shouted, and Melanie flinched.
Melanie had wanted solid proof of that before she broached this with him. All she had proof of from these test results was that was what was making Brady sick. She really had nothing that said Lucy was doing it intentionally or that this was a case of MBP.
Melanie dragged her eyes away to look at the wall across the room. “I’m just saying Brady is sick from ingesting megadoses—overdoses of vitamins on a daily basis and since she’s been giving them to him, I’d suggest you find out why.” While I look for more proof that she’s doing it on purpose.
Brock grabbed her shoulders. “Look at me, Melanie. You think she’s doing this to make him sick don’t yo
u?” he demanded. “Why do you think that?”
“Have you ever heard of Munchausen’s by Proxy Syndrome?” she asked meeting his eyes, and Brock’s frown deepened.
“No, I’ve never heard of it. Is that something else he has?” he asked, swallowing hard.
“No, it’s something Lucy has most likely. It’s a mental illness, a behavioral disorder, where mothers or caregivers either make up fake illnesses, or cause real sickness in their children to get attention. It’s a form of child abuse. I think she’s doing it to get your attention.”
“You think? You have no proof of that,” Brock said defensively as he started to pace. “That’s a heavy accusation to throw around without proof.”
“I know it is, and that’s why I haven’t told you my suspicions before. I wanted to get that proof before I brought it up. I didn’t intend on you being here when I got those test results,” Melanie replied calmly, and he stopped pacing to face her, his face angry.
“Lucy is a good mother—she cares about Brady and is as worried as I am about him being sick, why else would she take him to every doctor under the sun to try and help him? I don’t believe you!” he grated, then scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Those calls you get every night from her, all the doctors she’s taking him to, the fact that she’s giving him those vitamins like candy—those are all signs, Brock—big red flags. That’s attention-seeking behavior and it points to Munchausen’s. She’s getting your full attention, and the doctors’ too and you’re giving her exactly what she wants.”
He strode to her, grabbed her shoulders and his fingers dug in. “I can buy the vitamin overdose diagnosis—it makes sense and I will make damned sure he never takes another one. It’s a relief to finally know what’s wrong with him. But without proof of any kind, you just automatically leap to the conclusion that Lucy is doing it on purpose—that it’s abuse?”
“I’ve seen it in case studies a million times, and vitamins are a common device with the disorder when a child is involved. I’m not leaping, Brock, I’m stepping toward that conclusion and you should consider it.” But you won’t, because your eyes are fixed on a tree so you can’t see the forest. Melanie kept her eyes fixed on the wall as he released her shoulders and stepped back.