As Rory held out her arm, a thin young black man stretched the rubber tubing around her upper arm. “Ouch,” she said as he tightened it securely, squeezing her arm. She wasn’t worried about the pain, just the bruise it would leave.
“Make a fist,” the technician said with a reassuring smile. “I’m good, so it’s not going to hurt.”
“Okay,” she said trying, unsuccessfully, to return the smile.
Rory thought about her days in the hospital. Where she’d met Chan on the pediatric floor of Jefferson when he was a resident. They’d often laughed at how prophetic it was—now that they have eight kids. Maybe someday she would go back.
“Done.” She hardly felt the prick as the needle went in. With a swift move, the tech released the tourniquet. When the tubes were filled, he slipped out the needle and slapped on a gauze pad. “Your job is to hold this on that hole I made.”
Then he stared at her forearm. Looking up, he seemed to pause before speaking. “Mrs. Stevens, you see these red marks?” He pointed to the bright red spots, the size of a pinprick, scattered all over the surface of her forearm. “Make sure you check on your lab results right away. Your doctor ordered them STAT.”
“I will,” Rory said. So the young tech had noticed. Dr. March had not. These were petechiae, signs of easy bleeding. Rory had noticed them on various parts of her body over the past few weeks. She had reddish hair and fair skin with freckles, but she’d never had spots like this before, and they seemed to appear after any kind of pressure. She felt that something was really wrong, and was grateful that she’d hidden the marks from Chan with long sleeves and full-length nightgowns.
Rory spent the rest of the afternoon and the next morning with the Tallys. Anything to keep distracted, to stave off her fears. She tried to concentrate on the details the couple reviewed about the 16,000-square-foot house, the ancillary buildings and the two and one-half acres of lush greenery. She was sure the Tallys thought her a dimwit.
But she immediately liked Ann Tally. She reminded Rory of Sara Waring in Manhattan. Both exuded energy. Ann took voluminous notes, as she pressed for details on the personal likes and dislikes of each family member. Rory did her best on the Parnell family rundown: Frank and Meredith and how demanding they could be; Dan, not a participant in family affairs, but his former wife lived in Fort Myers, only two hours away; Carla, inferring that her lifestyle and friends might be problematic; Ashley, how sweet she was and in a new relationship; and Monica, the megacelebrity. The Tallys, like the caretakers of the other Parnell properties, knew that their jobs depended on airtight confidentiality. So they were privy to Monica’s Parnell relationship, which was still undetected by the media.
Ann seemed genuinely excited about Rory’s eight kids, a rare reaction. Lots of people considered her and Chan politically incorrect. But when the housekeeper asked about each of the kids, Rory found that she could not go on. She choked back tears and announced that she was going to walk the beach, even though it was raining.
The day after seeing Dr. March, Rory ate lunch on the terrace trying to savor the cloudless blue sky. It was much warmer than the day before and she decided to walk again on the beach. The heat of the sand felt so good between her toes. She planned to call Dr. March’s office at three thirty to get her test results, but as she stood at the edge of the lapping waves, she felt sweaty, short of breath, and her heart pounded. She had always had so much energy and now just walking a few steps made her legs feel like clubs. Making her way to a nearby beach chair, she sat rehearsing the worst-case scenario. If her premonition was right, what about Chan? That’s why she’d had to do this by herself. If everything turned out okay, she would not have upset him unnecessarily. And what about the children? The three adopted ones were just starting to feel secure in their boisterous household.
She had not been sitting long when Leo Tally approached. “Mrs. Stevens, I’m so glad I found you out here,” he said, a deep frown signaling concern. “There’s a doctor’s office in Sarasota that called twice. They want you to come in right away. Any time, they said. They’d take you any time. Just come on in.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tally,” Rory said, no longer doubting her suspicions. “Could you drive me there now?”
“Becky,” Rory tried not to choke on tears when her second oldest daughter answered the phone. “Is Dad there?”
She had waited until she was sure Chan would be home and the younger children in bed.
“Yeah, he’s here, Mom, helping Emily with her algebra. But I got to talk to you. Dad said it’s up to you. There’s this party at Samantha’s. The first part is at the ice skating rink, the one in Warrington. I can never remember the name. Boys and girls. Then an overnight at her house. Only girls. Please, Mom, say yes. Dad thinks that Samantha is too into boys, but they’re not coming to her house. Just to the ice skating.”
How many decisions like this would Chan have to face? “Whatever Dad says.”
“But he said whatever you said,” Becky pleaded.
“Let me talk to him, honey,” Rory said. “Shouldn’t you be off to bed?”
“I’m thirteen. It’s only ten o’clock!”
“Run along now. And good night, Becky. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Mom.” Then, “Dad!” Rory heard her yell.
“Chan,” she didn’t know how she would find the words.
“Hi, honey, I was wondering when you’d call. I would have called you, but I’m stumped. I used to get all As in math, but I can’t figure out Emily’s algebra.”
“Chan, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m ill.” Rory stopped. There was a long silence. “Chan, I have leukemia.”
“Come on, Rory. What’s this all about?” Rory’s heart broke as she heard terror shatter his voice.
“I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to scare you. But I’m quite certain. Not positive without a bone marrow, but—”
“Bone marrow?” Chan echoed. “Just who’s the doctor here? What’s this about bone marrow?”
“I didn’t want to bother you. We’ve had so much going on. So I made an appointment with a doctor down here. Nobody we know. Just someone from the phone book. I just wanted to get some blood tests without you getting distressed and all of Doylestown knowing. His name is Dr. March. He’s here in Sarasota. I told him I was unusually tired, and he thought I was depressed, so I asked him to do a CBC. Today he called me in. My white count is very high with lots of blasts. Platelets low and hemoglobin eight point four.”
“Honey, please let this all be wrong. This cannot be true.”
“He’d already scheduled me for admission at Sarasota Memorial. Wants to do a bone marrow, and start me on chemotherapy. Chan, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to put you through this.”
“Rory. Stay there,” Chan said, a peculiar shakiness in his voice. “I’m flying down tonight. We’ll have you back here by tomorrow morning and straight to the University of Pennsylvania.”
“The children, Chan,” Rory tried to hold back the tears, but failed miserably.
“Rory, everything will be okay. First, we don’t know what we’re dealing with. If, and I say, if, you do have leukemia, that’s a curable condition. And I want you started on therapy by this time tomorrow night.”
“Okay,” she sobbed. “Please hurry. I am so very scared.”
“I’ll be there. Try to stay calm—get some rest. Tomorrow will be very demanding. And give me the number of that doctor. Honey, I promise, everything will be okay.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rory groped for Dr. March’s phone number. “I don’t want to be a burden on you and the kids.”
“I love you, Rory. You’re all I care about. Goddamn it, how did I miss this? So anemic. Those bruises. How could I have missed the signs? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MAY 2001
The late May sun was bright, the sky clear, the air warm, and the mood jubilant as the University of Pennsylvania Medical School Cl
ass of 2001 marched up to receive their diplomas. But once they’d returned to the tent to turn in their black gowns, the bittersweet reality of leaving behind so many friends and so many memories cast a melancholic spell. Under that spell were two graduates—one with pale skin, honey-brown eyes, and hair the color of cinnamon, the other with skin as dark as mahogany, glossy black hair, and deep brown eyes. Best friends for four years, Ashley Parnell from Main Line Philadelphia and Ruth Campbell from inner-city Baltimore had much in common as women, despite the vast difference in their socioeconomic backgrounds.
“I am so sorry, Ruthie,” Ashley was saying. “My brother, Frank, arranged a graduation party at the house. For the family only. I had hoped that Conrad and I and you and your mother could have an early dinner before you headed back to Baltimore.”
“Hey, no worries,” Ruthie said. “Now that I’m out of my apartment, I’m anxious to get back home. I only have two weeks before I go to Albuquerque. But I will miss you, girl.”
They hugged for a long time before Ashley heard a cough behind her. She didn’t have to turn. She knew it was Conrad. He wouldn’t approach her directly because they’d had to keep their relationship a secret at the med school. But not for any longer. Anyway, Ruthie, Ashley’s only confidante, knew all about Conrad. She didn’t approve of him. Neither had Conrad approved of Ruthie. Ashley realized now the sad truth that the girls hadn’t spent any free time together for over two months.
“And I’m even more sorry,” Ashley said, “that we’ll not be able to take that break in Anguilla this year. We had such fun last year, didn’t we?”
“That we did, but hey, I’d better go find my mom, and you’d better get back to Conrad. He’s lurking over there. Not too patiently.” Ruthie leaned in closer. “Now you remember what I said about him. Don’t let him pressure you to into anything you do not want. I told you before, Ashley, that man’s a chameleon. Charismatic, yes. But I’ve seen him go from hostile belligerence to disarming neediness right in front of my eyes.”
Ashley said nothing, but her heart began to race. She should defend Conrad, but she couldn’t.
“You hear me?”
“Yes, Doctor Ruth, I hear you.” Ashley tried for a smile.
“I’m serious. There’s something wrong here. You’ve changed, Ashley. I want you to be happy, for sure, but, well, we’ve been over this before. Take care, girl, and keep in touch.”
The women embraced and parted. Immediately, Ashley felt as if a lifeline had been cut. When Conrad tried to lead her away, she stood her ground until Ruthie disappeared from sight.
True, Conrad had not approved of Ruthie. It wasn’t so much the color of her skin, but that she bought her clothes at Wal-Mart. Conrad loved the trappings of wealth: the clothes, cars, the house, the staff, the airplane. For Ashley, none of that mattered, maybe because she had been born with everything that money could buy. But at what cost? When she met someone, what did they see? Did they see her as a person? Or as a recipient of her family’s money? As a result, Ashley had few friends, and losing Ruthie left her feeling desolate.
Before she’d met Conrad, she’d hoped that Ruthie would take a local residency and they could live together in the Devon house. But Ruthie had taken a pediatric residency at the University of New Mexico, and Ashley would do cardiology in Philadelphia at Jefferson Hospital. Watching Ruthie walk away made Ashley want to run after her, but Conrad kept a firm hold on her arm.
“Let her go,” he told her. “Today’s the beginning of the next phase of our life together, my love.”
“Dad, let’s go.” Elise tugged at Frank’s suit jacket. Med school graduates milled about with families and guests, but Frank needed to press the flesh with the president of the University of Pennsylvania and other Penn dignitaries as he waited for Meredith, a trustee of Penn, to return from the procession of dignitaries. A simple rule: every vote counts. Elise would have to wait.
“In a minute,” Frank snapped, straightening his tie and glancing down to check his daughter. She looked like a little angel in her white pinafore fringed in ribbons of lavender, and white patent leather shoes. He wanted her with him, hand in hand. The proud, doting father of a fairy princess, a magnet for the media.
After the disastrous meeting with Carl Schiller, Frank and Meredith resolved to paint a perfect picture. Frank made amends with Schiller, telling the old lawyer that he understood, accepted, etcetera, etcetera, everything he wanted to hear. To expedite the process of model son, Frank put his aide Matt Cleveland in charge, reminding him to do whatever it took to make sure Frank passed his father’s “test” with flying colors. Matt understood how critical this money would be to Frank’s political future and, by association, Matt’s.
Two years earlier, Frank had agreed to interview Matt as a courtesy to his powerful Philadelphia Republican family. The kid had just graduated from the University of Pennsylvania with a Ph.D. in clinical psychology. Little did Frank know that a psych major would come in handy, but it turned out that Matt had an uncanny insight into the minefield of politics. It also didn’t hurt that he was attractive, impeccably dressed, and articulate. And despite his polished demeanor, Matt had a down-to-earth personality that clicked across the wide social spectrum of his constituents. Matt had become Frank and Meredith’s closest confidant, their right-hand man.
In the meantime, Frank had solidified his position in the Senate with appointments on the Judicial Committee as well as Armed Services and Intelligence. With the presidential election going to George W. Bush, he had powerful allies in the administration. Paul Parnell and George, Senior, had been buddies, and Frank had cut his political teeth rubbing elbows with George W. and Jeb. And now with Cheney getting that defibrillator implanted in his chest, George W. might be looking for a running mate in 2004.
On the occasion of Ashley’s graduation, Matt had organized a family celebration. Assuming that the inheritance test would require some sort of audit, he wanted to chalk up family events like points on the scoreboard. So Matt set it up at the house in Devon, where all the Parnell kids had grown up, and which now belonged to the trust even though Ashley still lived there.
“Come on. We gotta get to Aunt Ashley’s,” Elise continued to nag as Frank shook the proper hands.
“Dad talked to a million people,” Elise complained when Meredith joined them.
“You know what it’s like when your dad’s a senator. Remember the election? How hard we had to work for Daddy to get this job?”
Elise smiled as they were escorted to the waiting limo. “Yeah, that was fun. I got to stay up late at the parties.”
“So, Frank, you’re finally going to meet Doctor Welton,” Meredith said as the car moved onto the ramp leading to the Schuylkill Expressway.
“‘Doctor Impressed With Himself’ according to your description.”
“You have to admit that I’m a pretty good judge of character. That’s why the less talented attorneys take me to court for voir dire. You wait and see, this guy’s a classic narcissistic personality.”
“What does that mean?” Elise never let a big word go. She was a champ at interrupting.
“Narcissistic.” Meredith catered to the child’s every question. “It means that you think you’re such a big deal. Have to be the center of attention.”
“Who’s like that?”
“That man Aunt Ashley’s been seeing. But don’t go repeating it. Remember what I told you about keeping confidences?”
“I remember,” said Elise, picking up Harry Potter.
“More than seeing,” Frank said. “More like living with.”
“Did Matt uncover anything on that background check?” Meredith asked hastily, glancing at Elise.
“The guy’s acting chairman of psychiatry at Penn. Does a lot of consulting. Specialty is hypnosis. Owns a condo on Locust.”
“Pricey address. Good credentials.”
“For crying out loud, Meredith, he’s fifty years old.”
“Hmm. Twice her age. Well,
Ashley’s always been on the mature side,” Meredith considered. “A father complex, perhaps? Never had a serious boyfriend, and all of a sudden—sound Freudian?”
Frank reached into his valise and pulled out a thin folder. “Here, read the bio Matt pulled off the Internet. University of Cincinnati Medical School. Staff shrink at the Menninger Clinic in Kansas City.”
“Hypnosis,” Meredith remarked. “Don’t you find that a bit spooky?”
“Hypnosis is used a lot in medicine. Nothing spooky about it. Look at the bright side. Between the demands of medical training and being preoccupied with romance, Ashley will be too busy to worry about other things.”
“Still, Ashley’s Little Miss Perfect. She’s certainly guaranteed a nice piece of the pie.”
As they drove up the long, circular drive lined by massive trees, Frank thought that the stately Georgian mansion looked the same as it had thirty-five years ago, except that the gardens were now even more splendid. Rhododendrons, roses with fancy names, riotous blooms of flowers he could not identify flourished. Gardening was Mr. Mendoza’s passion and Dad had given him carte blanche. He still remembered the day the three of them moved in. He’d been five, Dan seven. He and Dan learned every nook and cranny. Frank’s memory flashed back to one of the few arguments between his father and his new wife, Vivian. Vivian had wanted to build a house in one of the Bucks County suburbs. Frank cheered when Dad put his foot down. “No, Vivian,” he’d said, “this is where Dan and Frank grew up. We’re staying. You can redecorate all you want, but we’re not moving.”
Ashley greeted them at the door with a tepid hug as a couple of kids flew out, shouting something to Elise. Frank felt a stab of pride at how picture-perfect Elise looked, compared to the Stevens hooligans. Why the hell Rory and Chan had adopted those three extra kids was beyond him. And Ashley looked stunning in a black sheath that clung to her slender form. Her auburn hair hung in waves to her shoulders, a style that made her look much more attractive than that old-fashioned bun she usually wore at the nape of her neck.
The Test Page 10