Do No Harm

by Christina McDonald

  “I said we should put up the Christmas decorations.”

  She groaned and let her head fall back against the couch. “I know. I’m just so tired.”

  She stared at the ceiling, not speaking, for a long time. It was hard to read her face. Nate couldn’t help feeling like she wasn’t really here with him. Her body was, but her mind was somewhere else.

  He wondered if he was being paranoid or if it was just the stress of having a sick child. The cop in him said there was no evidence that Emma was cheating. But the husband in him wasn’t convinced.

  Now was his chance. He should ask her what was going on. But he couldn’t seem to get the words out. Maybe a part of him didn’t want to know. His son might die; he couldn’t lose his wife too.

  Bigger than that, though, Nate knew that if Emma was having an affair, he wouldn’t be able to stay. And Josh needed both of his parents right now. Nate wouldn’t jeopardize his son’s health for his own paranoia and pride.

  The space between him and Emma felt immense and insurmountable. He wondered what the hell was going on in her head. Sometimes he wondered if she ever thought about what was going on in his.

  “Did you see the GoFundMe page?” he asked with a cheerfulness he didn’t feel.

  Emma shook her head.

  “Someone donated five thousand dollars. It’ll pay down some of the treatment costs.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  She fumbled on the side table for her phone and checked the website for Josh’s GoFundMe page. “Oh, thank God.” She clenched the phone to her chest and closed her eyes, looking more relieved than surprised.

  “The community’s really pulling for us.”

  Emma glanced at him. Her face betrayed no emotion. She’d retreated behind a mask.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “Maybe Moira’s church?”

  Nate frowned. “The donation was anonymous. I’m not sure why they’d do it anonymously.”

  “Honestly, I don’t care who did it, I’m just glad Josh can get his treatment.”

  “I wish we could at least thank them,” Nate said.

  “Yes—oh God!” Emma shut her eyes. “But this will only help with one bill! What about the next one, and the one after that, and all our deductibles and—”

  “Hey.” Nate squeezed her leg. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She clamped her lips together. “Of course. You’re right.”

  Nate changed the subject. “Hey, um, have you seen your brother lately?”

  She looked at him, confused. “Ben? No. Why?”

  “Well, you know, in case Josh needs a bone marrow transplant or a kidney or something.”

  “That isn’t how this treatment works. They take Josh’s own blood cells and reprogram them.”

  “I know, I was just thinking for the future.…”

  Emma shifted in her seat. “I haven’t seen Ben in years. Since, God, I guess it was when I first started medical school.”

  Nate shrugged and looked down. He tugged Emma’s socks off and started rubbing her feet.

  Emma made a little sound of pleasure at the back of her throat. “That feels nice.”

  Nate winced as pain shot through his fingertips. He adjusted his hands and instead rolled his knuckles over the arches of Emma’s feet.

  Emma noticed the wince and scooped his hand into hers. “Oh my God! Are you all right?” She examined the dried crusts of blood along the cuticles, the bruises that had appeared under the nails.

  Nate flushed and forced a wry laugh. “Kia slammed my fingers in the car door today. Hurt like hell.”

  How many times had he made excuses for his bloody nails? Emma pressed her lips to his fingers, but he gently eased them away. He had the sense that she could see right through him, but when he looked up she was already distant and distracted.

  The silence stretched for a long minute.

  “Do you have a patient named Violeta Williams?” he asked.

  Emma frowned. “The name sounds familiar, I think. Why?”

  “We found a body today. Violeta Williams. She had a business card from your clinic in her back pocket.”

  “That’s horrible! What happened to her?”

  “We’re still investigating.”

  “Care to elaborate?” she asked.

  Nate’s hands stilled on her feet. “I think she may have been murdered.”

  Emma sucked in a breath. “You think a business card will help you find out what happened to her?”

  “Maybe. I’ll call the clinic and find out if she was a patient. There might be a connection.”

  Emma gently shifted Josh off her lap and stood, reaching her hands to the ceiling as she stretched. “Well, I wouldn’t hold your breath,” she said. “All the doctors’ business cards are out at reception. Anybody could grab any of them.”

  CHAPTER 21

  I DROVE INTO THE parking lot of the Crescent Lake Costco, my whole body tense. My eyes swept the lot as I looked for the best place to park. I was a little early. Gabe had said to be here at one p.m., but I didn’t see any sign of him or Ben yet. I pulled into an empty space located on a slight incline at the side of the lot. It offered the best view of the parking lot.

  A pale, watery sun hovered apathetically in the sky, barely managing to warm the day. This morning the ground had been glazed in silver frost. We could see snow any day now. I could feel winter descending, its talons reaching out from the jagged mountains in the distance, sinking into the ground around me. Snow had already fallen on the highest peaks, looking like cream-dipped cones jutting into the cold, turquoise sky.

  I sipped my Starbucks coffee and unwrapped the ham sandwich I’d bought to go with it. Yesterday had been my first day working mornings at the clinic. The hours away from Josh were interminable, my mind constantly drifting away from my patients to how he was feeling, if he was okay. For the first time ever, I wished I didn’t have to go to work. But we needed the money, the health insurance.

  I’d told Moira this morning that I would be a little late coming home because I’d be filling out paperwork for human resources. A dangerous lie: if anybody checked, they’d know I wasn’t at the hospital right now. But it was a risk I had to take.

  I checked the canvas bag with the prescription pads. Everything was there, ready. This had to work. Now that Violeta was gone, Ben needed a partner for his oxy ring, and I could be that partner.

  We just had to make sure Ben never found out what we’d done to Violeta.

  I stared at the ham sandwich in my hand. The pink meat glistened in the thin sunlight. I pressed a fist to my mouth, fighting a wave of nausea. The sound of Violeta’s body hitting the river crashed through my memory. I set the sandwich on the passenger’s seat, unable to eat any more.

  Get ahold of yourself, Emma.

  I flashed back to Nate telling me he’d found a business card from the clinic on Violeta’s body, and the fear swelled again. Gabe must’ve handed her my card when Violeta was snorting what she thought was cocaine. For a moment, I wanted to kill him. Now Nate would get a warrant to find out if Violeta Williams was a patient at my clinic.

  At ten past, Gabe pulled into the parking lot on a motorcycle. He’d arranged to meet Ben here, telling him he’d give him the prescriptions I’d signed. But Ben didn’t know I would be here too.

  Gabe parked in the middle of the lot, where he would blend into the midday Costco shoppers the most. A few minutes later a boxy white van with deeply tinted windows pulled up next to him.

  Gabe got off his motorcycle and approached the driver’s side window. He leaned against the van, chatting casually before handing Ben a stack of papers—the prescriptions?

  Over the course of the next few minutes, six different women walked to the van one at a time, slid the back passenger door open, and got in. Throughout it all, Gabe leaned against the driver’s door, still talking to Ben.

  The problem was, Ben didn’t get out.

  I sat in my car, uncertain what to do.
The back of my shirt was damp against my skin. I wrapped my arms tightly around my chest, shivering with nerves.

  What were they waiting for?

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I texted Gabe.

  Is Ben in the van?

  I watched as Gabe pulled his phone out of his back pocket and read my message. He said a few words to Ben before moving away from the truck and texting me back.

  Yes. Waiting for one more girl.

  I pushed my car door open, but just as I stepped out, a shiny black truck with chrome wheels skidded to a stop next to them. I gasped. It was the same truck that had been parked outside my house on Monday.

  I slid back into my car and hunched behind the steering wheel, heart thudding. Two men got out of the truck and approached Gabe where he was now standing next to his motorcycle flicking through his phone.

  Both were meaty-looking, with angry eyes and swarthy skin covered in tattoos. One had oily black hair tied into a ponytail. The other was mostly bald, with a thin mustache and a tattoo of something on one side of his face. A dragon? A lizard? It was hard to tell.

  Ponytail said something to Gabe, who replied angrily and moved a step closer, but Ponytail unzipped his coat and flipped it open, revealing something strapped to his waist.

  My heart stopped. Gun.

  He had a gun.

  I fumbled for my phone, about to call the police. A sharp rap on my window made me jump.

  I peered out the window, sweat pooling at the base of my spine. It took me a second to recognize the woman grinning at me. Jessica something-or-other, one of the moms from Josh’s school. She blinked gold-flecked brown eyes at me. When she motioned for me to roll down my window, her glossy hair, streaked with honey highlights, swung around her shoulders.

  God, I really hated living in a small town.

  “Hi, Emma, how are you?” she exclaimed, her voice loud and high-pitched. Jessica was the president of the PTA, with the overly enthusiastic, imperious attitude to match, always pretending to be so busy, so important. “Do you want to do our shopping together?”

  “Uhh…” I peered past her at Gabe. The guy with the gun was now laughing, although Gabe looked pissed off. “I’m actually getting caught up on a bit of work on my lunch break.”

  Just over her shoulder, I saw Ben get out of the truck.

  Prison had clearly agreed with him. On first glance, he was no longer pale and gaunt, with hollow cheeks and glassy eyes. He’d filled out, the sharp angles of his face and body softer. He had a cigarette clenched between his lips, thin tendrils of smoke curling above his head.

  He was sober.

  Relief punched me in the solar plexus, but then he turned and I saw him full-on. His coffee-colored hair was unkempt, his jaw unshaven, clothes disheveled. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with dark, as if he hadn’t slept in a few nights. Guilt surged in me, and I had the absurd urge to throw myself out of the car and confess everything.

  I closed my eyes, trying to ground myself by thinking about Josh this morning. He’d run into our room before the sun rose and thrown himself into bed between Nate and me, his breath coming fast. He’d dreamed he was being chased down a tunnel and just as he was about to reach the light at the other side, the tunnel had caved in, crushing him.

  Nate and I had held him, and after a few minutes he’d said, “If I die, will God let me see myself when I growed up?”

  He was only five. He shouldn’t be thinking about death.

  The memory steadied me now as I watched my brother. His pale eyes darted, here, there, everywhere, like a twitchy mouse. His fingertips constantly moved, drumming a beat against each other.

  “Emma? Emma!” Jessica’s shrill voice dragged me back to the present. “I said, you’re a doctor, right?”

  “Yes, I am,” I replied, trying not to sound impatient. Why wouldn’t she just leave?

  Her brow smoothed in sudden understanding. “Oh, you must be calling a patient. I love it when my doctor calls me. It’s so personal, you know? Not all doctors go the extra mile like that.…”

  I murmured an agreement, still watching Ben. He said something to the guys that made them take a step back. They knew him, or respected him at any rate. Ponytail turned and spoke to Gabe, a sheepish look on his face. We were just messing.

  Gabe wiped his hands down his pants, looking seriously rattled. Costco shoppers bustled by, barely paying any attention to what was going on right in front of them. It was amazing the things that could happen in broad daylight.

  Jessica was still prattling on about doctors and how she’d just gone to see hers about a urinary tract infection, and did I know the difference between a urinary tract infection and a bladder infection?

  I gaped at her. Did she think I wasn’t a real doctor or something?

  “Well, I’d best get back to work. I need to call my patient now.” I waved my phone in the air, hoping she’d take the hint. But of course she didn’t. She just kept right on talking, so I slowly, ever so slowly, reached for the button to roll up my window, and pushed it.

  The window rolled up, cutting off Jessica’s words. She looked surprised, but I smiled and pressed my phone to my ear, speaking into it as if I were really on the phone to someone.

  After a moment, she walked away.

  Meanwhile, Ben was plucking at his eyebrows as he listened to Ponytail speak. After a minute, he threw down his cigarette and crushed it with his boot. He turned, rapped on the van door. It opened and one of the girls got out. She was small, dark-haired, with pocked skin and terrified eyes. She was shivering, her threadbare jacket too thin in the cold morning air.

  Tattoo Face grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward the truck, shoved her inside. He looked at Gabe and Ben, and there was something in his gaze. It was too watchful, his eyes too black. Tattoo Face and Ponytail climbed in the truck and drove away.

  Ben moved toward the van. I didn’t hesitate this time.

  I threw myself out of my car and jogged in his direction.

  CHAPTER 22

  “BEN!”

  The icicle air stabbed at my skin. A sharp wind whipped my hair into a frenzy around my face, stinging as it lashed my eyes. I wanted to throw myself into my brother’s arms, to have him scoop me up and twirl me around the way he used to when we were kids. But his hands stayed motionless at his sides, the only sign he recognized me the twitchy blink of his eyes.

  Up close, I could see that his eyebrows were thin and uneven. His nose was crooked, likely broken a time or two. A jagged scar cut down his right temple.

  What had happened to him in the years since I’d last seen him?

  The last time I’d seen my brother, he’d been disheveled and unshaven in an alley near Pioneer Square. He’d just shot up. His eyes were glassy, his stare dull. It was impossible to tell if he even recognized me. I took him to the nearest rehab center and checked him in, maxed out my credit card to pay for treatment.

  Everybody blamed Ben’s addiction on our parents’ deaths, but it started before that. He fell into drugs the way a lot of people do: he experimented with his friends in high school. The more he did, the more he wanted to do.

  He was always a little wild—breaking into abandoned buildings, joyrides in stolen cars, sneaking out in the middle of the night to drink with friends down at the beach. He was pretty feral for someone who lived in such a loving home. I never could tell why he was so angry. What makes people go to war with themselves? Is it self-loathing? Resentment? I still haven’t found the answer.

  Once he came home in the middle of the night high and giggling. He begged me not to tell, and I was so desperate for his love and approval that I didn’t. I wished now that I had. Maybe he wouldn’t have become an addict.

  Maybe I wouldn’t have lost him.

  Once Ben had sobered up that time in Seattle, he immediately checked himself out of rehab. He sent me a furious text telling me to stay out of his life. I hadn’t heard from him since.

  “What are you doing here, Emma?” Blink. Bl
ink. Twitch. Blink.

  As if we didn’t share DNA. Hadn’t lost the same parents. Hadn’t suffered the same pain.

  I don’t know what I expected Ben to say. I knew he wouldn’t feel like this was some reunion, but the child who used to creep into her big brother’s room when she woke shivering from a nightmare still felt her heart break in two.

  I searched his face, my ready smile sliding away.

  “Violeta told me to meet her here,” I said.

  Ben tilted his head, a flash of emotion crossing his face. “When did you see her?”

  “Last Thursday. I thought you knew…? She said she was going to tell you about our deal.”

  Ben pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his back pocket and tapped one out. He folded it between clenched lips and lit it with a silver lighter.

  “You made a deal with Violeta?”

  A young mother marched up to us then, her baby slung over one hip. She was blond and precisely made-up, her overly processed hair teased into a carefully messy ponytail. She was dressed entirely in brand-name gym clothes, despite the chill in the air.

  “Excuse me,” she called, her voice high-pitched, nasally. “Are you using that cart?”

  Ben gave her such a fierce glare she immediately backtracked and turned away from us.

  “Rude,” I heard her mutter as she walked away.

  “Yes, we made a deal. I gave her a bunch of signed prescriptions. She’s supposed to meet me here with the money.”

  Ben plucked at his eyebrows, smoke curling up from the cigarette between his fingers, twisting like a snake in the icy air.

  Finally he spoke. “Violeta’s dead.”

  I gasped, my gaze darting to Gabe. He looked stunned too.

  “What happened?”

  “The police came to our place last night.” Ben rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired and haggard. “I was out, but Vi’s mother was there, babysitting our son.”

  “You have a son?” I exclaimed.

  Violeta had told me she had a son, but in the chaos after she’d died, I’d failed to connect the dots to Ben.

  I had a nephew.

  Ben blinked at me, tugging on his eyebrows, but didn’t reply.