The Test

by Patricia Gussin

  Conrad checked his watch—2:45. Ashley was supposed to be home by three. He’d told her it was important, a surprise. Of course she’d given him the “I just can’t leave during rounds” speech. But he’d prevailed and she’d promised. Now he fingered the papers in his hands. His birth certificate. His marriage certificate. A stamped copy of the divorce. And for good measure, Crissy Moore Welton’s death certificate. He knew that Ashley kept her birth certificate in the safe in the library. A minute or two for her to retrieve it and they’d be off to the Chester County Courthouse.

  The day was bright and sunny and Conrad had instructed the Mendozas to pick copious bouquets of flowers from around the property to fill the house. Personally, he hated the smell of flowers, but this was Ashley’s special day. Then he told the couple to take the afternoon off. Another glance at his Rolex before he heard the purr of the Mercedes engine coming up the driveway.

  When Ashley came through the door, she looked so disheveled that Welton spoke harshly.

  “Go fix your hair and put on some lipstick,” he said, arms on hips, a look of disapproval on his face.

  She bolted in through the door, a panicky look in her eyes.

  “I’m not late,” she stated, groping in her bag for her comb and lipstick.

  “No, you’re not.” Welton knew she’d show up on time.

  “I had to lie, to tell them that I was sick. I feel so bad, but it was the only way I could g-get out since I’m in the ICU this w-week.” How he hated that disgusting stutter. “So what’s so important?”

  “Come in here, my love.” Welton led her through the flower-laden foyer to the library, waiting for her to appreciate the bouquets of flowers arranged along the path.

  “Why is the safe open?” She stepped back, a quizzical look on her face.

  “Reach in, my love,” he said.

  “Okay.” When Ashley’s hand landed on a document, she picked up and inspected it.

  “My birth certificate?”

  “Yes, my dear, and mine.” Welton took the paper out of her hand and matched it up with his. “We’re going to the courthouse this afternoon. Now you know why you had to get home early. It closes at five.”

  “Courthouse?”

  Cut the echo machine, he wanted to say. Instead, he took her hand and fondled the gold ring with the ruby she wore on her ring finger, left hand, as he’d instructed. “My love, you didn’t even notice the flowers I had set up in here to celebrate our marriage license day.”

  “Oh, Conrad, I don’t think I’m ready yet. No, I’m not.” She paused as she looked around, showing no appreciation of his efforts. Then, “I need to finish out this year at the hospital. Not yet, please, can’t we wait?”

  “My love, we’ve waited so long. This is a very special day. There is something I want to tell you today; we can do that in the car on the way.”

  Ashley stood mute.

  The stench of the flowers made Welton nauseous. He had sacrificed his own comfort to make this special day beautiful for her, and she had ignored it. Spoiled, overprivileged, little rich girl. “Come, Ashley,” he said, patiently. “Pick up your purse, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Welton wasn’t sure why he’d waited so long to tell Ashley that he’d been married already. Now about to mount the courthouse steps, he couldn’t put if off any longer. In Pennsylvania, for a marriage license, one must show evidence of any previous marriage and the outcome. In Welton’s case, it had been both divorce and subsequent death.

  He placed the documents in a leather portfolio and led Ashley outside to his waiting Porsche. The top was down, the day sunny and bright, and Ashley’s hair already a wreck. Perhaps the noises of the outside world would dampen the story he’d have to tell her.

  “Are you happy, my love, one step closer to our perfect life?”

  Ashley buckled her seat belt and leaned back into the leather. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?” she asked. “So soon after Carla’s death?”

  “Why wait? And don’t you want to have a child?”

  “Naturally, some day, but not yet. I’m too overwhelmed right now. My residency, trying to be there for you.”

  “Let me tell you something, Ashley, life is too short to wait. I was married once, and I’m sorry I waited until now to tell you.”

  As Welton had predicted, Ashley’s jaw fell and she stared at him wide-eyed. “You were—you never told me. I mean, I didn’t know. I mean, why didn’t you—?”

  “My love, it’s a very sad story. Still so painful that it hurts to talk about it. She was very young, and, as I came to learn, very mentally unstable. I guess I thought I could help her, as a psychiatrist, but I was wrong. Then one day she ran away.”

  He pulled the sports car off the road into a small park so he could face Ashley, gauge her reaction.

  “Ran away—Like—”

  “I’ll explain everything, my love.” Welton adjusted his voice an octave lower.

  “Did you get a divorce?” Ashley interrupted. Her eyes were focused on her lap, avoiding his face. She started to twist the ring, tugging it off her knuckle.

  “Yes,” Welton said, drawing out the drama as he reached to still her hands. “I didn’t want to, but I thought it best . . .” He hesitated and his voice broke.

  “What, Conrad?” Ashley had turned to face him, a trusting look in her eyes.

  “She died.” He cast his eyes downward. “I thought that I’d never fall in love again. And then after all those years, by some miracle last January you walked into my office. Ashley, because of you, my life has meaning again.”

  Ashley turned toward Conrad in her bucket seat and reached for his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t know you’d been through such hurt.”

  “So now you know why I’m so anxious to marry you. I’ve lived too much of my life without you. You are everything to me, my love. Will you marry me? Very soon?”

  “Yes,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. Ashley could demonstrate empathy without resorting to either chemical or hypnotic suggestion.

  “We’re on our way to get our license now, my love.” Conrad extricated his hands and put the car in gear. “Let’s get there before the courthouse closes. Afterwards we’ll go home and change, and then I’m taking you to Le Bec Fin for a romantic dinner. We can set our plans amidst candlelight. I hope we’ll be married by this time next week.”

  Welton received a glowing smile. His disclosure had gone down better than he’d dared to hope. But he could not become complacent. The Parnell family would start digging into his background. And with that digging would come a distortion of the facts.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SEPTEMBER 2001

  Three days later Ashley and Meredith sat in the backseat of Meredith’s Town Car. They were on the New Jersey Turnpike, heading to the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in Manhattan. En route, Ashley hadn’t said much, and Meredith finally stopped trying to make conversation. She’d reached into her attaché case, pulled out a brief, and started to mark it up. Riding in silence, Ashley had already chewed one thumbnail down to the quick and was starting on the second. Her stomach felt queasy, and she wished she’d taken the time to nibble the dry toast that Mrs. Menendez had set out for her. There’d been a scene the night before, Ashley knew that, but she had to squeeze her eyes shut to remember.

  She and Conrad had been so happy Friday night as they’d made plans to marry on Saturday morning, September 15. Just the two of them and a judge at City Hall in Philadelphia. They’d notify family and friends after the brief civil ceremony. Cardinal Sean would be outraged, but Conrad said that they could have a church wedding later if her family insisted. She’d consented. That was not the focus of last night’s horrible disagreement. Conrad’s rage was focused on the Parnell Foundation, the board meeting in Manhattan, where she was now heading. The argument was coming back in fragments.

  Conrad saying, “You cannot go into Manhattan with that woman. I forbid it. She refused my offer to join the foundation b
oard of directors. An offer I made in good faith, wanting to do the right thing, wanting to give back to society. And she outright refused.”

  “Maybe after we’re married.” Ashley’s conciliatory attempt had not tempered his anger.

  “If they don’t accept me, I don’t want you catering to them. Face the facts, you’re family is arrogant. They don’t care about you. They just drag you out when it fits their needs.”

  “It’s for Dad. He wanted me to play a role in his foundation,” Ashley had countered.

  “You will not go into New York for that Parnell Foundation board meeting. They have humiliated me. You don’t need your family. They don’t need you. I am your family now.”

  Ashley had nodded a silent assent.

  “I have to go out of town early, my love. You call Meredith and make any excuse you want, but tell her you’re not going.”

  “Yes, Conrad,” she’d said. He’d taken her in his arms, but what happened next she simply could not remember.

  And that’s what concerned Ashley the most. She had these complete blackouts. Always after she and Conrad had sex and sometimes for no reason she could figure out. What could be wrong with her? Why was her mind blanking out? Each time she woke up in Conrad’s arms, she felt special and loved and cherished. And he, too, seemed satisfied. And because he did, she’d never mentioned her memory gaps, not wanting to upset him.

  Another concern, she was quite sure that Conrad suffered from Peyronie’s disease, a medical condition caused by plaques or scar tissue on the penis. With an erection, his penis was bent, and the first time she’d tried to touch it, he’d flinched and gently removed her hand. She’d never discussed that with him either. And because her memory was such a blank, she couldn’t say whether sex for Conrad was painful as it often is with Peyronie’s. Now that they were to be married, shouldn’t they be discussing this?

  Suddenly, the chauffeur jerked to a stop at the Verrazano Bridge toll-booth to avoid an aggressive lane changer. “Sorry ladies,” he said, sliding the partition just a crack.

  “How are we doing for time?” Meredith looked up from her paperwork. “Ashley, are you okay?”

  No, I think I’m crazy. Ashley opened her eyes, letting the image of penises fade.

  “Traffic’s congested.” The chauffer slipped the Plexiglas barrier open to make this announcement.

  Meredith checked her diamond-studded Piaget. Ashley recalled that the Christmas before her mother died, her parents had given the identical watch to her and Carla too. Ashley kept hers in a safe, since everyday scrubbing at the hospital and expensive watches did not mix. She wondered what had happened to Carla’s.

  “We can’t be late.” Meredith glared at Ashley as if it were her fault.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t ready,” Ashley said sheepishly. “I had to wait until Conrad left.”

  “Now why’s that?” Meredith asked, resuming her edits.

  Ashley merely shrugged.

  Because I defied him, she wanted to say, but didn’t. Here she was in the car with Meredith, deliberately disobeying her future husband’s explicit order.

  By the time Ashley awoke that morning, Conrad had already left for the airport for an early flight. He’d left the airline confirmation on her bedside table. Round trip, first class to Cincinnati, returning the same day, arriving at ten fifty p.m. Why Cincinnati? she’d wondered. At Conrad’s insistence, she’d taken the week off her residency program. A request that did not sit well with her chief resident. To get ready for the wedding, Conrad said. But what was there to do besides chose a dress? Then the call from Meredith, insisting that she accompany her to Manhattan for a special meeting of the Parnell Foundation Board. Meredith reminded her that it had been her father’s dream that all his children participate on the board. How could she deny her father who had given them all so much? With Conrad out of town until late that night, plenty of time to shop for a dress later in the week, and yet another reason she needed to go to New York City, she’d made her decision. With any luck she’d be home before Conrad that evening.

  Meredith and Ashley did arrive at the Waldorf on time. Frank greeted them at the registration desk and immediately pulled Meredith close.

  “Today’s the big day,” he said, nodding toward Ashley. “I’m glad you got her here.”

  “Family solidarity,” Meredith said. “The whole team’s here except Rory.”

  Frank kept his arm around Meredith’s slim waist. “Do I tell you enough about how much I appreciate you? How I could never live a day without you?”

  Ashley watched with a twinge of envy as Meredith placed a light kiss on Frank’s lips. Funny how controlling she’d always thought Frank, but compared to Conrad, he now seemed so spontaneous. She moved closer to Meredith and Frank, listening halfheartedly as Frank briefed his wife on congressional issues, specifically, the Mexican illegal immigrant situation. Vincente Fox was pushing Bush hard for resolution.

  How could they be chatting about world affairs when in half an hour, they’d both be facing the cameras of a big press conference, Ashley thought. Thank God she didn’t have to say anything. She just had to sit through the press conference before the board meeting. But afterward, Ashley had an agenda. She’d needed this excuse to get to New York City, but she had to be back home by eleven p.m.

  Meredith, as chair of the Parnell Foundation, had called the press conference to announce the new members of the board of trustees, of which Ashley was one. Conrad had lobbied to take her place, but Meredith had refused. Conrad was irate. Understandably so, Ashley thought. But unknown to the media attendees, the real story to be unveiled today was the acknowledgment of Monica Monroe as a Parnell. And Monica’s and Patrick’s secret wedding. How romantic, Ashley thought, I wonder if my marriage to Conrad will attract publicity. She hoped not.

  Despite Matt Cleveland’s hard work, Frank knew that the day could well turn into a disaster. The truth about the relationship between Paul Parnell and Monica Monroe, both household names, would leak soon enough. The tabloids were already making outrageous speculations. Could Monica have been Frank’s mistress? Had Monica been the late Carla’s lesbian lover? Pure sleaze, but the only way to counter it was to come out with the truth. The Parnell-Monroe spin on the truth: Paul Parnell’s long-ago sexual indiscretion paled compared with his determination to protect his daughter’s life and ensure that she was raised in a loving family and later brought into the Parnell family.

  Matt had had to negotiate every nuance of the media talking points with Monica’s aggressive manager. Matt’s goal was to position Frank as the son of an American hero. Not a saint, but still a hero. The story of Monica’s idyllic life should play well with the antiabortion crowd without overtly alienating the right-to-choosers whom Frank had tried so hard to dance around.

  And thank God for small—or not so small—blessings. In Vegas the past week, undetected by the paparazzi, Monica and Patrick had been married. On that alone, the media would have a feast. Outing a Parnell family secret and a celebrity marriage in one swoop. The media didn’t know yet that today’s boring press conference would turn so juicy. As for his political future, with Monica representing hip, young swingers and Patrick’s popularity with jocks around the country, Frank could feel his political base broaden. So today might be a smashing success. Or not.

  “Ready, darling?” Frank checked his Patek Phillipe and straightened his tie. “Showtime.”

  Meredith nodded and they strode out onto the Waldorf ballroom’s platform hand in hand, parting in the center for their assigned podium. Meredith as the chairperson of the Parnell Foundation would open with introductions. Frank would follow, then Monica, and finally, Patrick Nelson. All had prepared statements. Afterward, they’d take questions at Matt’s discretion.

  In the foundation meeting to follow, Ashley, Terry, at Dan’s request, and Monica, as well as Rory in absentia would be elected to the board of the Parnell Foundation. That would fulfill Paul Parnell’s wish. If all of them stayed out of Mer
edith’s hair, the plan could work out.

  Frank stole a look at Ashley in the front row. He hadn’t seen her since Carla’s funeral, two months earlier. That morning when Meredith had called to set a time to pick her up, she’d said she was too ill to go into New York. But Meredith did not take no for an answer and when she arrived at the Devon house, Ashley was almost dressed and ready to go. Meredith did not tolerate insults to her meticulous schedule without major unpleasantness, but today she seemed sympathetic, surmising that Ashley might actually be ill.

  Meredith now took her place at the podium, looking glamorous but professional in a canary yellow suit and matching heels that drew attention to her shapely legs. She exuded self-confidence as she pushed her blunt bangs off her forehead and began to introduce the board of directors. The list read like a Who’s Who of the mid-Atlantic, and included the former governor of Pennsylvania, the former CEO of Keystone Pharma, Philadelphia’s favorite entertainment star, a New York City author-rabbi, and Cardinal Sean.

  “But we’re here today to announce an extension of this dedicated board,” Meredith’s voice rang out.

  Watching boredom replace curiosity on the reporters’ faces, Frank could read their minds: why are we wasting our time on a self-serving tribute to the Parnells?

  “My father-in-law created this foundation with a dream, and today that dream has come to closure. Paul’s dream was to make the Parnell Foundation the core of the family’s philanthropy.”

  Frank suppressed a smirk when a middle-aged female reporter stifled a yawn, gathered her notebook and left. She’d be sorry.

  Meredith was loving her role in the limelight. She’d often said to Frank that maybe someday she’d do the Hillary Clinton thing and go for the Senate. “As you know, I am privileged to represent the Frank Parnell branch of the family, and have served as chairperson since Carl Schiller stepped down. We are all so thankful for the leadership Carl has brought to the foundation, and we are grateful that he has agreed to remain as a trustee.”