Return to Sender

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Return to Sender Page 25

by Fern Michaels

“Because it’s going to take me that long to tell you my story.”

  “Bring it on. I’m all ears.”

  Two hours and one box of tissues later, Lin finished her story.

  Jason spoke for the first time. She’d made him promise not to interrupt her.

  “And you’re falling for the damn doc!”

  Lin’s mouth dropped open like a cartoon character’s. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “I knew there was a reason for you to be so hell-bent on revenge. I’m just surprised you waited all these years. What made you decide to drag Pemberton through the dirt now? You didn’t tell that part of the story.”

  “When I saw him at Will’s freshman banquet, he looked so…rich, so pampered. I’d sent him all those letters and not once had he bothered to read them. I felt like I’d been tossed aside like a day old paper. And Will, too. God, what kind of man could deny his very own flesh and blood?”

  Jason held up his hand as the female voice of the GPS told them they would be arriving at their destination in fifteen minutes. “I love that thing.” He paused. “Lin, did it ever occur to you that Nick never received your letters? Maybe he never had the chance to ac knowledge Will because he didn’t know he existed.”

  “Oh, please, Jason. You men, you all stick together, don’t you?”

  “Hey, remember I don’t like the guy myself. But if his old man killed his wife, the mother of his son, sending back a bunch of his son’s love letters would be mild in comparison, don’t ya think?”

  Lord, she’d never thought of it that way. Of course, she hadn’t known the Pemberton’s family history then. Could it be possible?

  No! She wouldn’t go there, because if she did…She could not go there.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind the man’s a true son of a bitch, but do you really think in a family as powerful and well off as the Pembertons, Nicholas Sr. would run home to catch the daily mail?”

  Jason said.

  “When you put it that way, no, it doesn’t make sense,” Lin said.

  “Look, we’re here.” Jason said, pointing to a sign that read TARA WOODS.

  “Sounds like a country club,” Lin said.

  “Yeah, but we’re about to find out that it’s anything but. Dr. Steffani keeps rooms there, or so I was told. I can’t imagine being in some nuthouse, let alone living in one.”

  “You know what they say, a psychiatrist is as wacky as his patients,” Lin said.

  “We’re about to find out firsthand.” Jason removed a small black duffel from the backseat. “Camcorder,” he indicated, slinging it over his shoulder.

  Tara Woods looked like its namesake. A beautiful old mansion sat smack-dab in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by hundreds of sweet-smelling pine trees. Lin took a deep breath as they walked up the long path to the visitors’ area.

  “This fresh air is a treat after the city.”

  “Yeah, it is, but after spending most of my life in the city, you miss it when you’re away.”

  “Jason, we’ve been gone only half a day.”

  “I know that. I’m talking about weeks. It’s like it’s a drug, something you crave. But we’re not here to discuss the pros and cons of living in New York City, are we?”

  “No, we aren’t.”

  Jason stopped at the entrance, waiting for her to catch up. She’d lagged behind, but knowing the doctor was dying forced her to hurry.

  “Once I begin questioning him, you just stay put. Don’t say one word, okay? They might throw us out,” Jason said.

  “I wouldn’t do that, Jason. Since we’re talking about my son’s biological grandfather, I do have a stake in this. I won’t say one word, I promise.” Lin smiled her first real smile of the day.

  Once inside, they were led down several dim hallways, where doors were kept shut and most of the patients were sedated.

  “This way,” the administrator said. A woman in her early forties, she was attractive in a professional way. Perfectly styled brown hair. Formfitting navy suit. Shoes that were quiet as she led them to Dr. Steffani’s rooms. “If you need anything, there’s an intercom by the bed. Just press the button, and someone will come.” She turned and left before either of them could reply.

  Dark-skinned, with a shrunken-type head, Dr. Steffani looked like a shriveled-up potato. Somewhere under all the layers of overlapping skin were a nose, a mouth, and two eyes. Maybe. Lin saw large areas where his skin was missing, sores that oozed pus. She gagged and turned away. As long as he could speak, Lin shouldn’t care what he looked like.

  A hospital bed was set up in the large room, which, Lin guessed, had served as a ward at one time. A kitchen area faced one wall. A dining table and living-room furniture were on the opposite wall. How sad to be dying with only that to look at.

  “Dr. Steffani, I’m Jason Vinery. We spoke on the phone.”

  Lin stayed behind Jason; she didn’t want the old man giving her the evil eye. The place gave her the creeps. When she thought about Nick’s poor mother being forced to stay there after she’d lost her baby girl, she wanted to cry.

  “Yes, please sit down,” said Dr. Steffani. Though he looked like a creature, whatever was killing him didn’t affect his voice. He spoke with the confidence of a doctor. “I know you’ve come a long way. I don’t have a lot of time left. Skin cancer, of all things. My actions all those years ago have tormented me. Sometimes I think God is punishing me with this wicked disease, because every time I see myself, I think of it as a reminder. I had Louise take down all the mirrors.”

  Jason set up his camcorder on a tripod, the lens directed on the doctor’s monstrous face.

  “There is no way to tell this other than the way it happened. If you have any questions, I would very much appreciate if you would ask them when I finish. This isn’t something I’ve been looking forward to.”

  “Whatever you’re comfortable doing, Doctor. I’m ready when you are.” Jason clicked the record button on the camcorder, and its soft buzz filled the cavernous room.

  “Look, Steffani, I’ve given you hundreds and thousands of dollars for that…that nuthouse you run. The least you can do is listen to me!” Nicholas Pemberton Sr. wasn’t used to having anyone questioning his wishes.

  “I’m happy to listen, Nicholas. Stop screaming and calm down. You sound like one of my patients. Now, tell me, what seems to be the problem?”

  “It’s Naomi. I think she’s losing her mind.”

  In a calm, pleasant voice Dr. Steffani asked, “And what has Mrs. Pemberton done to make you think so?”

  “She hides in her room all day. She won’t let Nick Jr. out of her sight. I’m afraid if something isn’t done, she might hurt my son.”

  “Nicholas, just because a mother seems to be a bit…over-protective of her son doesn’t mean she’s out to cause him harm. Has she hurt him?”

  “No! Er, not that I’ve seen, anyway. She’s become nothing more than a thorn in my side since she lost that damned baby!”

  “What did you just say?” Dr. Steffani asked.

  “You heard exactly what I said. She was pregnant. She carried the kid around for nine months, and it was dead.”

  “Stillborn is what we say.”

  “Dead is dead, Dr. Steffani. She’s not right in the head. Imagine what my business associates would think if they knew my wife never left her room. She hasn’t been out of the house once since the kid died.”

  “I’m curious, Nicholas. Did Naomi see an obstetrician throughout her term?”

  “What do you think I am? One of those backwoods idiots you seem to be so fond of? Of course she saw a doctor!”

  “And was there any indication of trouble? The child was active throughout the pregnancy?”

  “How the hell would I know? She was disgusting to look at. She was so fat! I wasn’t about to touch that…thing causing her stomach to protrude.”

  “And you felt this way when she was pregnant with Nick Jr., too?”

  “What does the way I felt
about my wife looking like the Blob have to do with her mental status? She’s not normal. For all the money I’ve passed your way, I would think you’d jump at the chance to care for her.”

  “Nicholas, calm down. You’re going to suffer a stroke. Relax. Take a deep breath.”

  “Cut the psychobabble!”

  “If you want me to help your wife, there are certain things I need to know. If you’d rather consult another doctor, I can recommend someone.”

  “What is it you want to know?”

  “That went on for weeks before he actually brought her to the center, as I called it back then. We talked daily on the phone. He would threaten my career. I would try to calm him down. Finally, it got to the point where I refused his calls. That was before he brought her to the center. I thought he would strike me when he brought Naomi in that sad day. She was so thin. Her eyes were sunken and hollow. I’m sure she barely weighed a hundred pounds. What struck me the most, though, were the bruises all over her body. There were dozens, some yellowed, some purple, and the others, well, they were fresh. When I asked Nicholas if he beat his wife, he raised his hand to me.”

  “I’ll make sure you never practice medicine again if word of this gets out, do you understand? She’s crazy! Hitting her is the only way I get a response out of her! She makes me do this, Dr. Steffani. Do you understand, she makes me do this to her!”

  “Leave her. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe some time away from the city, here in the country with the pure air, maybe she will come around in time.”

  “I don’t trust you, Dr. Steffani! When I leave here today, the next time I return, it will be to arrange for Naomi’s body to be shipped, do you understand, shipped back to the city? Do you get my drift?”

  “I shook with rage! I’d spent my entire life working to build Tara Woods into a fine institution. Now that I had achieved my goal, I would not allow a man’s anger over his wife to ruin my future! Never, no matter what I had to do. Sometimes in medicine, there are casualties. Three months later Nicholas returned to retrieve Naomi’s body. And the rest, you know.”

  Lin wiped the tears oozing from her eyes. A man had killed just to keep his…business thriving! Astounded at the story, and at Nick Sr.’s violent behavior, Lin didn’t know if she would ever be able to tell Will. Maybe when he was older and had children of his own.

  “Is there anything you would like to ask me?” asked Dr. Steffani.

  Lin watched Jason as he pulled the tripod apart, placing it back inside the duffel. He looked angry.

  “I just wonder how you lived with yourself. You took an innocent woman away from her son, a son who might’ve turned into a de cent human being had his mother been around to raise him. You’re nothing but a pathetic excuse for a man. You’re not even a man.

  You’re a fucking monster! I hope you rot in hell, you son of a bitch!

  I hope the devil himself makes you his personal fuck boy! A red-hot rod up your ass is too good for you!” Jason was shouting so loud, a nurse ran into the room.

  “We’re leaving. He gets excited when he…hears a good story,”

  Lin said to the woman.

  “Jason, let’s go.” Lin took his arm and led him out the way they had come in. When they were outside, she flew into him. “What in the world was that for? I can’t believe you lost it like that. And the devil’s personal fuck boy? Where in the world did that come from?”

  Jason wiped perspiration off his forehead with the back of his hand. “I doubt that old guy lost one minute of sleep over what he did. He’s no better than Junior, if you ask me. Both wanted some thing, and both got what they wanted, and neither cared how they achieved it. Let’s get the hell out of here before I decide to go back inside and squeeze the pus from his face.”

  Lin couldn’t help but laugh. “Jason, you amaze me. Beneath that comic-book skin beats a real live heart.”

  “Whatever. Let’s get out of here.”

  Afraid to go home, because she was sure to be confronted by Nick’s spies, Chelsea had spent the past two nights at the St. Regis.

  She’d watched Fox News Channel day and night, just waiting for a photo of her to be flashed across every living room in America. So far so good.

  She thought of calling Rosa to see if she’d heard anything on Nick’s condition, but she’d call Nick the minute she hung up the phone. Where were all of her so-called friends when she needed them? They were in their luxury apartments, thinking of new ways to ask Chelsea for money for their stupid charities, is where they were. She wished she had kept the money for herself, instead of giving it away just to get her picture in the paper.

  She had to find out what, if anything, Nick remembered about that night he was taken to the hospital. It was apparent he hadn’t died, or it would have made the headlines. The donor drive was still taking place, because the news reported on it constantly. Each time some stupid kid got swabbed or had blood taken, they reported it, so she was positive that if her dear hubby had died, it would be the story of the hour.

  Admitting her mistake would get her nowhere. Simply put, she should have given Nick the entire bottle. One thing she was sure of: there was no way in hell she could spend another night in the hotel.

  What would happen if she did go to the penthouse? It wasn’t like Herbert or Nora knew what had happened Monday night. Nick didn’t advertise his personal affairs to the staff. He had class, more than she did, though she would never admit that to anyone. Nick was born into class. It was a way of life for him. He knew nothing else. She, on the other hand, was born and raised in the Bronx. You had to be tough and street-smart just to get by. Add to that the fact that her mother was a drunkard, and she had no clue about her father. Class, no, but she’d had enough ambition to get her out of there.

  Now, because she was Mrs. Nicholas Pemberton, she had some class, and she considered herself to be street-smart. Fuck Nick. He hadn’t reported her, or she would have heard it by now. She was going home to her penthouse. Nick be damned. She should’ve had more patience, let the disease kill him. He wasn’t going to live much longer, of that she was sure. For the moment, she would just have to bide her time.

  She’d leave behind the cheap outfits she’d bought at the Gap. Dior and Chanel, here I come, she thought as she dialed down to the front desk to request a limo. Damned if she’d ride in one of those stinking New York taxis.

  An hour later Chelsea was at home, soaking in her Jacuzzi tub. Nora and Herbert were nowhere to be found. She couldn’t be happier. All she had to do was convince dear old Nick not to press charges against her, if he even remembered his last night with her. Then she’d simply wait. When he died, she would have his money, the penthouse, all their numerous vacation homes, and she would have the most important possession of all, Pemberton Transport.

  And she would auction it off to the highest bidder.

  Lin looked at herself in the mirror one last time, thinking this could be her last moment of a normal, peaceful relationship with her son. But she’d vowed to tell him about her past, and she would.

  They were meeting at Starbucks on campus. Lin took a taxi over, needing the time alone to gather her thoughts, to try and put into words the error of her ways. It was her hope that when she finished with her story, Will wouldn’t look at her with disgust or, even worse, pity. She didn’t know if she could bear that from her son.

  When the taxi let her off in front of Starbucks twenty minutes later, her hands were shaking as she paid the fare.

  Please, dear God, let me find the right words to say to my son, she prayed silently. She spied Will before he saw her. He looked so much like his father, it was downright scary. She allowed herself a few moments to feast her eyes on him just the way he was.

  “Hey, Mom! Over here,” Will called when he saw her watching him from the door.

  She waved. “I’m going to get a latte. Want anything?”

  He shook his head.

  After giving the barista her order, Lin moved to the side of the line. Whe
n her drink was ready, she walked over to Will. He’d gotten a table with a view of the campus. She’d wanted something with more privacy, but it didn’t matter at that point. She was there to speak to her son.

  “Mom, you look like you’re about to ride one of the roller coasters at Six Flags. What’s wrong?”

  Lin sat down across from her son. She took a sip of her latte. “Nothing is wrong. Just feeling a little queasy. Nothing a good jolt of caffeine won’t cure. I’ve become addicted to these silly things lately. I don’t think we have a Starbucks in Dalton. Do we?”

  “Yeah, there’s one in Barnes & Noble in the mall, remember?”

  “Oh sure. I’ll have to send Kelly Ann out for them to satisfy my cravings.”

  “Mom, I know you didn’t fly to New York to talk to me about your newfound love for Starbucks lattes. Seriously, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  Will had opened the door for her. All she had to do was step inside. Here goes, she thought as she jumped headlong into the matter that would change so many lives.

  “Do you remember when you were twelve and I told you about your father?” Lin’s voice was low, almost a whisper.

  “Sure. You said he died in some kind of accident. How did he die?”

  “There was no accident, Will.”

  He looked curious but not angry. “Oh, then how did he die?”

  Here goes. “He didn’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t get it,” Will said, an anxious look settling over his handsome features. For a minute Lin was back at that apartment in Atlanta. She blinked to clear her vision of the past.

  “Your father didn’t die, like I said he did.”

  Silence.

  And more silence.

  Lin picked at the cardboard wrapping around her cup. “Will, please say something.”

  He nodded. “I’m thinking. I’m wondering…Never mind. Go on. Finish the story.”

  “Will, I’m telling you I’m sorry now. I know I shouldn’t have lied to you, but the circumstances weren’t…ideal.”

  “I’m not getting this, Mom. You’re saying my dad is alive, has been alive and well for the past eighteen years, and you’re just now telling me about it? Don’t you think it’s a little too late? I’m a legal adult now. Why now? Why not when I needed a father to escort me to all those Little League games, or all the times I watched my friends playing with their fathers? Why does it matter now!”

 

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