Chapter Nine
It took a serious pep talk to summon the courage to drop by Dr. Dorfman’s house out of the blue on a Saturday afternoon. As they snaked past mansion after mansion in Scenic Valley, past circular driveways and graceful weeping willows, deep turquoise in-ground swimming pools peeking from behind wrought-iron fences, and signs warning of private security, they had to remind one another again why they were disturbing a retired physician’s afternoon, brandishing lurid allegations.
“He took her baby,” Beth said, clutching the wheel as Mary Kay read off the house numbers. “This man yanked Julia out of Lynne’s outstretched arms and then gave her a shot to knock her out so she couldn’t fight.”
“Steamrolled, is what he did,” Mary Kay said. “It’s the next house, hon.”
“And might even have profited from the adoption, which would have been completely illegal. Though, from the look of these houses, quite lucrative.” Carol let out a snort of disgust as they slowed to the Dorfman mansion, where a black stretch limousine idled in the driveway.
“Maybe we should call first,” Mary Kay said.
“Or contact his lawyer,” Carol added.
“Nope, we have to do this now. For Lynne.” Beth opened the door and got out. Mary Kay and Carol followed as Beth took charge and stormed up the walk.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into our Beth,” Mary Kay said.
Carol said, “I’d say her best friend died.”
Beth waited for the others to catch up at the door before ringing the bell. Carol positioned herself by a planter overflowing with red mums as she assessed the manicured lawn and the golf course on the opposite side of the road. The peaceful stateliness of this grand old neighborhood reminded her of her house back in Marshfield and she wondered if Beth and Mary Kay had been right, that selling it was really her decision.
It’d be a delightful place to retire and enjoy the lake and the gardens without the disruption of work. She and Jeff had been too busy to fully appreciate their location when the children were smaller and Jeff was preoccupied with establishing his practice, when they were building the future that Carol managed to destroy in one hellish night.
After what seemed like an eternity, an elegant older woman opened the front door. She was regal in a pewter chiffon gown with a lace bolero jacket, diamonds at the throat and ears, a silver clutch purse in her hand. She took a step and stopped, startled, as if she hadn’t even seen them there.
“Hello?” she questioned.
Beth stuck out her hand and introduced them by full names each. “We’re here to see Dr. Dorfman.”
The woman batted her eyes rapidly. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. We’re on our way to a wedding in Philadelphia and already we’re late.”
Which would explain the idling limo.
“We’re asking only for a few minutes of his time,” Beth said boldly. “We’ve come from Connecticut.”
Insinuating herself, Carol said, “Mrs. Dorfman, we’re here about a friend of ours who died last week. She was a patient of your husband’s long, long ago. This concerns her last will and testament and it’s a matter of rather grave importance.”
Mrs. Dorfman set her square jaw. “I’m sorry you ladies have come all this way, but you should have called first. Or at least waited until Monday.”
“Who is it, Marta?” A beefy hand clutched the door, opening it wider. Dr. Dorfman—or so they assumed—was rather dashing in a full tuxedo, complete with a pewter silk cummerbund to match his wife’s dress. He brushed back a wisp of hair and regarded them with a gentle, if paternalistic, gaze. Mary Kay noticed his nails were filed and buffed to a shine.
Nervously, Marta introduced them as “Women from Connecticut. They claim they’re here to speak with you about a former patient.”
“Lynne Flannery,” Beth said. “Though you would have known her as Lynne Swann. She was a teenage mother who gave birth in December 1980. I know, that’s a ridiculously long time ago, but if you can remember anything about that birth, we’d be eternally grateful.”
“I told them we were off to a wedding in Philadelphia, but. . .”
Dr. Dorfman gave her a look, indicating he would handle the situation. “Come in,” he said with a stern wave toward a formal slate entry. He closed the door and folded his arms. “Marta, tell the driver I’ll be there in a few minutes. This won’t take long.”
Marta shook her head in disapproval but obeyed, scurrying down a hall. When they heard a door slam, he said more kindly than they would have expected, “So this is about Lynne Swann, is it?”
The color rose to Beth’s cheeks. “You remember her?”
“I don’t remember all my patients, I’m afraid. But Lynne was a special case. Please, have a seat.”
Beth sat on a chintz-covered chair while Carol and Mary Kay perched on the blue carpeted stairs, unable to believe their amazing luck. Dr. Dorfman sat on a bench made for slipping on shoes, elbows resting on his knees. A brass pendulum swung in a grandfather clock next to a marble-topped table decorated with a Chinese vase. The house smelled of perfume and furniture oil.
“She wanted to be an artist, right? Always had a sketch pad and those pastels,” he said, eyes crinkling.
Mary Kay couldn’t help but be impressed with his ability to recall in such vivid detail. “That’s commendable. I’ve been a nurse for two decades and I have trouble remembering who was in my care last Tuesday.”
“I try not to forget my patients, especially the young and frightened ones. Lynne was in a rough situation, not much money, few relatives to support her, and living in an unfamiliar town. That aunt of hers was no piece of cake and her mother lived clear across the state, somewhere outside Pittsburgh . . .” His voice trailed off. “Anyway, how can I help?”
Beth said, “She died of cancer last week. . ..”
“That’s a shame. I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said sympathetically.
“Thank you,” Beth said, although she wasn’t sure his quick response was truly genuine. “Anyway, in her last letter, she left us with an assignment to find the daughter she gave up for adoption thirty years ago, the baby you delivered.”
He pushed back his French cuffs and checked his watch, registering not so much as an inkling of shock. “Unfortunately, there’s not much I can tell you. Even if I had the records, which I don’t after retiring and cleaning out my office; that was a private adoption. They’re sealed.”
Beth had the feeling they’d be hearing that line a lot. “We understand. We were hoping you could . . .” What were they hoping? Without records, without a full memory, what could Dr. Dorfman do for them?
Carol came to her rescue. “We’re hoping you knew the name of the lawyer who contacted you from Pittsburgh and arranged the adoption.” She handed him her white business card. “I’m an attorney with this firm in New York and my specialty happens to be reproductive law and family matters. I might know him, if adoptions were something he did routinely.”
Dorfman examined the card. “Reproductive law. That took off after I retired.”
“Yes.” Carol smiled thinly. “I know you’re in a rush, Dr. Dorfman, and we don’t want to keep you. So, if you could think of the name . . .”
Sticking the card in his breast pocket, he scrunched up his nose and looked upward. “It’s not on the tip of my tongue. Larry. Gary. Shoot, can’t recall.”
Carol said, “Not a clue?”
“Well, it’s a good bet, if he was from as far away as Pittsburgh, that we connected through our network.”
“Network?” Beth asked. It sounded nefarious.
“Nothing official. More like a grapevine of physicians and lawyers supporting the same agenda.”
Mary Kay cut to the chase. “In other words, pro-life.”
“I’ve never made any secret of my feelings on abortion. It was common knowledge among local churches and charities dealing with unwed pregnant girls that I was willing to reduce my fees or eliminate them altogether, as I did
in Lynne’s case, in order to save a life.”
“You mean, if she gave the baby up for adoption,” Carol clarified.
“That was the whole idea. Motherhood is a natural, beautiful state. Nothing to be feared. But young girls who find themselves in trouble are often too hysterical to think straight. That’s why abortion is a dangerous thing, you see.”
“Not exactly. Do enlighten us,” Mary Kay said dimly.
“They panic, act before thinking, and then live with regrets for the rest of their lives. Whereas if they’re given support and assured their baby will be placed in a loving family—and believe me, there are hundreds of deserving couples waiting for children—they slowly adjust to the situation. It’s embarrassing for the girl, of course.”
Beth said, “Of course.”
“But I believe if we had a little more shame in this society and less permissiveness, there’d be fewer unwanted pregnancies and sexually transmitted diseases.”
“Hard to argue with that,” Carol agreed.
It was true, what could she say? She’d been horrified by the stories Amanda brought home from as early as middle school, what boys were forcing girls to do at parties and in the stairwells. What girls were offering to do. Talk about long-term effects. It was denigrating and dangerous to their self-esteem and health and, yes, the concept of shame would go a long way, she felt, toward putting an end to it.
“Anyway, my solution has a happy ending. The baby is born, adopted, and the girl goes on with the rest of her life, no harm done. It’s a win-win for everyone. I simply can’t understand why people can’t see that.”
Mary Kay crossed her legs and bit back her own, quite contrary, opinions.
“It’s the only way, Mrs. . ..” He pulled out the card and checked the name. “Goodworthy. You know, my wife is going to come for my head if I don’t get a move on, but I promise I’ll try to tap the old noggin.” He got up and opened the heavy front door. “Meanwhile, I’m afraid I’ve got to go.”
With clearly no room for further questions, they filed outside to where the limo was idling, Marta presumably in the back, annoyed by her husband’s willingness to speak with three housewives from Connecticut.
“It was so very kind of you to take time to talk with us,” Carol said. “I do hope you’ll remember the lawyer’s name.”
Dorfman said, “I’ll do my best.” Then he shut the door. And dead-bolted it.
The women got into the car, allowed the limousine to pass them, and did a U-turn following the Dorfmans out of the gated community.
Carol turned to check on Mary Kay, who was sitting in the rear seat, eyes closed, head back as if suffering from a pounding migraine. Laughing slightly, she cooed, “You did a good job in there, MK. Lynne would have been very proud of your restraint.”
“Yes,” Beth said, eyeing Mary Kay in the rearview. “You were the epitome of self-control. I was watching and your fingers didn’t once flex into a stranglehold.”
Mary Kay moaned. “That line about a win-win for everyone. It made me sick to my stomach, literally. No kidding, I feel like I might throw up.”
“There, there.” Carol patted her knee. “Put it out of your mind, dear. It’s all done and you’ll never have to see him again. Try to think of something pleasant.”
“Like martinis,” Beth suggested. “I think we all deserve one, or two. How about we have one as soon as we check in.”
“Nice try.” Carol pointed to the darkening horizon. “But look. Lo sets the sun. Which means you have to go running.”
“About that. I just realized I have to go shopping for tonight’s dinner.”
“I’ll go shopping,” Mary Kay said. “It’ll give me something to do while you two run.”
Carol walked her fingers up Beth’s arm. “Remember. You promised.”
“I did not!” Beth made a face. Running. It was the worst!
“You sure you don’t want to come with us, MK?” Carol checked again.
“Like I said, I have to do the shopping.” And lie down. She didn’t know how Carol and Beth handled these visits so well while she felt as though she’d been put through the wringer.
They drove toward the hotel, silent in their own thoughts, processing the day, the forlorn Aunt Therese, the rather patriarchal Dr. Dorfman who probably knew far more than he was letting on, his philosophy on abortion.
Finally, Mary Kay sat up and said, “Is it a bad sign that I thought some of what he said made sense? That part about there being a little more shame in society and everyone having a happy ending? That kind of struck a nerve.”
“You know, I was thinking the same thing. We wouldn’t be in this car, the three of us together again, if Lynne had aborted her baby,” Beth observed.
Mary Kay let out another groan. “Don’t you hate it when everything you believe and what you thought was right turns out to be wrong?”
Carol said, “I think that’s called getting older and wiser.”
Carol insisted on stopping by a mall and outfitting Beth to the max with lightweight cushioned running shoes and even slimming leggings that released “caffeine-infused microcapsules” that supposedly burned off fat around the thighs.
“ ‘Clinically shown to reduce thigh size by at least an inch.’ ” Carol read the label Beth had tossed into the wastepaper basket.
“Oh, come on! Are you serious?”
Carol pointed to the wording as proof. “Not only caffeine, but shea butter. All you need is a piece of toast and you’ve got breakfast.”
Honestly, the lengths women will go to lose weight without diet and exercise, Beth thought, yanking on the leggings and wincing as the waistband cut into her doughy middle. Then again, who was she to criticize?
It wasn’t as if she didn’t try to lose weight. She’d taken the advice of women’s magazines to park at the far end of the parking lot and drink enough water to turn her into a human sprinkler. She dipped her fork in dressing instead of pouring it on her salad, had paid her dues on the elliptical trainer and forsworn ice cream. Nevertheless, the scale didn’t budge.
Obviously, this week didn’t count, what with Lynne’s death and then all that cooking for the reception. That macaroni and cheese she made for dinner Tuesday night, the real kind with cheddar and Gruyère and buttered bread crumbs? Medicine. Just like the hot chocolate and cookies she took to bed for dessert. Some women popped Xanax, she popped Pepperidge Farm.
Her sister would have been appalled. According to Maddy, carbs were the big evil out in L.A., where Beth got the distinct impression all anyone ate was broiled lean chicken breast and steamed broccoli spritzed with lemon. “Nothing bigger than the size of a fist and then cut off the thumb,” Maddy advised, and Maddy should know since she was a size 2. If she was a size anything.
Beth ran her hands over her thighs, packed tight and smooth like a roll of refrigerator cookies. “If these work, these are the only things I’m wearing. Like, for the rest of my life.”
Carol said, “They’re seventy-five bucks and last twenty washes.”
“Or I could just rub Folgers on my ass and get the same effect.”
“Thatta girl.”
While Carol and Beth went for a run, Mary Kay spruced up their two-bedroom suite by throwing around pillows she brought from home and opening the blinds. She’d tried taking a nap, but it was too noisy with guests arriving and slamming doors so she bucked up and went out to buy groceries, Beth’s shopping list in hand.
Deciphering Beth’s scrawl required the skill of World War II code breakers. Was that “tomatoes” or “tonic”? The word “artichokes” resembled the drawing of an ocean cruiser. And was that “wind of pimiento” or “wedge of Parmesan”?
She searched for the cheese aisle, confused. There was something about out-of-state grocery stores that made her feel off-kilter, a foreigner in a strange land. At home, she was so used to the Stop & Shop that she could have shopped blindfolded. Here, people eyed her like she was up to no good.
Right when she f
ound the cheese case, her cell rang. Drake.
“How’s my future wife?” He lowered his voice for fun. “Miss me yet?”
“Don’t you know it.” She scanned the names of cheeses that Lynne used to say reminded her of characters from a fantasy novel. Airag. Edam. Sirene. Though Stinking Bishop was straight from Monty Python. “I’m shopping for cheese.”
“Shopping for cheese in Pennsylvania on a Saturday night. You do know how to live the high life. And why is it again that I want to marry you?”
She found the Parmesan and compared prices with a fancier, Italian brand. “Because I’m the last single woman in Marshfield and you’re stuck with me.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. How’s the trip to Mecca going?”
“Well, let me tell you, Mahoken, Pennsylvania, is no Mecca.” She tossed the more expensive brand in her cart, which was next to another cart where a baby sat, snug and secure in a blue cotton seat kicking his fat baby legs and showing off his two bottom teeth proudly.
She waved her fingers at the baby and he grinned even wider, sending a thin line of drool to show his pleasure.
“Did you hear me?” Drake asked.
“Sorry, hang on just a second,” she said distractedly as the baby reached for the phone, but she held it out of his reach and made cooing faces that sent him into a spasm of giggles.
“Mary Kay? What’s going on over there?”
“There’s the cutest baby here. You should see him, Drake. He’s got two little teeth and big chubby cheeks. What a charmer.”
His mother returned to the cart carrying a tub of feta. She beamed at the baby and then, as new mothers often do, quickly assessed if Mary Kay were friend or foe.
Covering the phone, Mary Kay said, “He’s adorable. Eight and a half months?”
Kindred Spirits Page 11