What the hell did Cole want with her anyway?
She felt toyed with. Oh, it wasn’t intentional. He didn’t mean to tease her. Estelle had been out of town, and maybe at that moment he sincerely thought he wanted her. But for what? To satisfy some immediate craving, when for her the longing would go on and on.
That he regretted asking her was certain. On the beach after Sunday’s brunch, he’d made it very clear. They’d sat at the water’s edge, on opposite sides of a patch of shells and seaweed, while he begged her to forget it and she promised him she would. But the memory of his face the night he’d asked her, the hunger she’d seen in his eyes, would stay with her for a long time.
When they had finished talking, when they understood each other as well as they could, she impulsively began complaining about Estelle as if she were trying to undo the fragile peace treaty they’d created between them.
“She treats me badly behind your back,” she said.
He looked unimpressed.
“She says cruel things to me.”
“Like what?”
She hesitated. What could she say without humiliating herself? Estelle insulted her body, her hair, the way she talked. She told her that Cole made jokes about the sounds coming from her bedroom when she was with Sandy. She couldn’t tell him she knew about that.
“She once told me that I was only capable of getting a man who would see me on a part-time basis.” She felt as if she were ten years old, tattling on a schoolmate.
“But that’s all you want,” he said.
“That’s not the point, Cole. The point is that she said it, and it was insulting.”
“Estelle’s not famous for her diplomacy, but I thought your skin was a little thicker than that.”
“She says other things. Nastier things. Too embarrassing to repeat.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
She really wasn’t sure. “I just want you to know what she’s like.”
His face went cold. “I think I know her a little better than you do, thank you.” He stood up and walked toward the house.
“Cole!” She stood up herself and he turned around. “Please don’t be angry with me.” Her throat was tight.
“I’m not angry. I’m just sick of people telling me what’s wrong with Estelle. I thought it would be different with you.”
He turned, and this time she let him go.
She didn’t have time now to stew about Cole, though. She got into the shower and turned on a cool spray of water. Her legs still ached from the day before, when she’d run like some kind of animal over the clean white dunes at Island Beach. Sandy had perched himself on the top of a dune, brazenly smoking a joint while he waited for her. She’d felt a little crazed, running in bare feet through the sand and sea grass with the sunbathers as an audience.
When she’d finished, she leaned against Sandy while he told her everything imaginable about beach grass and the shifting sand. He knew the name of every bird, and he pointed out the osprey nests scattered among the tops of the trees. She listened, too exhilarated to talk herself.
That night in bed she cried with the sharp pains in her calves and thighs, and Sandy rubbed them with oil, making long expert strokes with his thumbs. Then he smoothed the oil over the rest of her, telling her in a voice laced with honey that he would take the pain away. And for a while, he did.
There were many more of them than she’d anticipated. They eyed her as they took their seats in the crowded meeting room at the Y, jangling their bracelets and patting beauty parlor hair. Kit kept a frozen smile on her face as she nursed her coffee at the podium. There had to be a hundred women here. At nine in the morning. This was a hot topic.
They’d given her a microphone, and her voice sounded stilted to her ears when she began to speak, but soon the words were flowing easily. She turned her notecards upside down. She knew this so well. The history of fetal surgery. The specifics of how the center at Blair would function. Cole’s reputation. She even mentioned Estelle, how with her help they had access to international developments in the field.
Then she showed the slides Cole had given her. Tasteful shots of children who could have been helped by surgery before they were born. Oohs and aahs went up from her audience. Most of the babies looked healthy, but she described the abnormalities hidden inside that could cripple or kill them. One picture showed a baby with a swollen, fluid-filled head and the women gasped. She was glad that she’d vetoed the slides of the babies who were born dead.
“But this is what it’s all about.” Cole had looked distressed.
“I know, but you’ll have these women throwing up their Danishes,” she’d answered.
When she finished with the last slide, the lights went up and she invited questions. At first they were easy, full of examples of children they knew who suffered from conditions that might have responded to surgery in utero.
But then it got harder.
A tall, graying woman in the middle of the room stood up. “I think there comes a point when the continued development of technology is dangerous.” She paused, a self-serving smile on her lips, and the room was silent. “Dangerous in a moral sense. What gives us the right to tamper with something that is God’s will?”
“You had surgery for your gallstones last winter, Hallie!”
Kit was grateful to that brave soul in the rear of the room, whoever she was.
“That was different,” Hallie continued. “I’m an adult. These are unborn children who God in His divine wisdom has planned for in His own way.”
Kit was glad now that she had the microphone. When she spoke, her voice easily overrode Hallie’s. “It’s certainly true that there are differing schools of thought on the topic of fetal surgery,” she said. “But it’s a fact that the technology exists to help these children live fuller lives and in some cases, to live period. The parents whose children have been helped by these advances are certainly very grateful for them.”
A woman near Hallie stood up. “What about those babies who are spared death through surgery only to be left so severely crippled that they become a drain on the family? I think all of us would agree that sometimes it’s better to die than to live a fraction of a life and burden those around us.”
Did she have to sound so eloquent?
“You raise an important issue,” Kit said. “It’s very difficult to decide who should be treated and who shouldn’t, and many variables need to be considered. At Blair we will have an ethics committee made up of a minister”—she looked at Hallie—“a neonatologist—that is, a medical doctor specializing in newborn infants—and several professionals and parents from the community. Every case that is to be considered for treatment will be discussed by this committee in order to make the best decision possible with the healthiest outcome for the child and his or her family. Yes?”
“I read about twins where one was saved at the expense of the other.”
“I think you’re referring to the recent case in which one twin was diagnosed as having a fatal condition. The parents wanted to abort that fetus but spare the second fetus, which was healthy. The fetal surgeons were able to withdraw blood from the sick fetus while it was in the uterus, and the mother continued her pregnancy and delivered the healthy second twin.”
There were some gasps in the audience as she related the story, and she wondered if there might have been a better way to tell it.
“Those doctors didn’t perform any miracle there,” said Hallie. “They performed murder.”
Several heads bobbed up and down in agreement and Kit’s palms went damp.
“I can see why you might think that,” she said carefully. “However, the surgery was the parents’ choice and their legal right. Different parents make different choices, and what is right for me might not be right for you”—she nodded at Hallie—“or for you.” She nodded at a woman in the front row. “Through fetal surgery we’re increasing the available choices for those parents and their children.”
She wasn’t certain if her last few sentences had made any sense. She just wanted to get out of there.
She set the air conditioner of her car so that it blew right in her face and took long slow breaths of the cool air. This was supposed to have been an easy group. She had to stay in better control of her audience. She’d done okay at first, until the case of those twins sprang out of nowhere. She’d panicked. She couldn’t afford to freeze up like that. Maybe she was the wrong person for this job.
12.
Cole snapped off the ultrasound and turned to the woman lying on the examining table. Her dark eyes were questioning and he wondered if she could tell that his insides were tied in knots.
He lowered the hospital gown over her belly, too swollen for twenty weeks. How much did she already know?
“You understand that Dr. Benfield wanted me to check your baby’s development with the ultrasound, right?”
She nodded.
“Did he tell you what I’d be looking for?”
She shook her head.
Don’t feel too bad, he thought. He didn’t have the courtesy to warn me either. He took a deep breath. “There’s a problem with your baby,” he said. “I can switch on the machine and show you, or we could just talk about it first. Whichever you think would be easiest for you.”
She looked frightened. “I don’t want to see,” she said. Thick tears already lay unshed across her eyes.
“Here, sit up.” He helped her into a sitting position, and the tears spilled over her cheeks. “Your baby is hydrocephalic;” he said. “Do you know what that means?”
She started to shiver. “Something about its head?”
He nodded. “That’s right. Your baby’s head is filling with spinal fluid and is quite a bit larger than it should be by now.” He waited for her reaction, not wanting to give her all the facts before she was ready to hear them. He took a blanket from the shelf above the table and draped it over her shoulders, freeing her long dark hair from under it with his hand.
“Will it be okay?”
“His or her head will continue to fill with fluid, and I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t very good.” He waited. She looked dazed. He handed her a tissue, and she held it in her lap while her tears fell on the blanket. He wished she’d ask him another question. He hated plowing ahead.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Mrs. Carselli?”
“It’ll be retarded?”
He nodded. He explained the situation to her. Her baby would probably not live. If it did, the retardation would be severe.
She pulled the tissue apart with quivering fingers as he spoke. He wished she’d wanted the ultrasound screen left on so that he could focus on something other than the torment in her face.
“Abortion is one option,” he said softly.
Her eyes flashed angrily. “I would never have an abortion!” She sounded as though that was something he should have known.
“Okay,” he said, “but I feel obligated to let you know what your options are, and that’s one of them. There may be one other possibility. Hydrocephalus can sometimes be treated by fetal surgery—surgery on your baby while he or she’s still inside you. It’s not commonly done, and you must understand that it’s still considered experimental.”
She looked excited. “I want to do it. I don’t care if it’s experimental or not. When can you do it? How does it work?”
“Listen to me,” he said, smiling at her enthusiasm. “First of all, not all fetuses with hydrocephalus are treatable. That needs to be determined first. And soon. Unfortunately I can’t do it because only certain medical centers are allowed to perform fetal surgery at this time. The closest is in Boston. I can call them right now and see if we can—”
She shook her head, tears flying off her face. “That won’t work! I can’t travel.”
“Sure you can. It’s only a few hours and—”
“No! I don’t mean I can’t because I’m pregnant. I mean I can’t. I could hardly force myself to come here. I go to Dr. Benfield because his office is just a block from my house. And sometimes I can’t even make myself get there.”
He suddenly felt very tired. “You’re agoraphobic,” he said.
She nodded.
She’d come to the wrong place for sympathy. Corinne and her fears had worn him out long ago. “When you first walked into this room you told me how important this baby is to you,” he said, hoping he sounded more patient than he felt. “What’s a few days’ discomfort now when you compare it to the chance of having a healthy baby?”
She was weeping openly. “You just don’t understand.”
No. He guessed he didn’t.
Her husband came to see him later that week. John Carselli looked about thirty. A gray, hot-looking three-piece suit hung loosely on his slight frame. His hand was clammy in Cole’s grasp.
“I’m very sorry about your baby’s condition,” Cole said, gesturing toward one of the leather chairs.
Carselli swept away the sentiment with a wave of his hand. “I saw an article about you in the paper yesterday,” he said. “It said you can do this . . . fetal surgery. That you’re the best in this area. I . . . my wife and I want you to do it.”
Cole shook his head. “Believe me, I wish I could. We’re trying to get a grant to start a fetal surgery program here, but right now I don’t have the authorization or the equipment I would need to perform the surgery.”
“But you have the expertise! You could get the equipment. My baby’s going to die when you could save him.”
He felt misunderstood. “My hands are tied,” he said. “They limit the number of medical centers in the country that can perform fetal surgery so that all the cases will go to those few centers and a high skill-level can be achieved. If everyone did it, the cases would be too spread out for anyone to develop a—”
“Do you think I care about all that crap?”
No, probably not, Cole thought. “Right now the closest center is in Boston. I’m certain that I can get her seen by someone good there.”
“She can’t go to Boston!”
Cole stood up. “Look, Mr. Carselli There’s nothing I can do. You and your wife can stay here and deliver a hydrocephalic baby who may or may not live, or go to Boston and get the best treatment available. It’s that simple.”
“No, it’s not.” He stood up as well. “You haven’t lived with Peggy for seven years. Seven childless years. She can’t do it. But you—you have the skill to help and you’re withholding it from us.”
By the first week of September he had forgotten about the Carsellis and their baby. He was orienting Kevin Mastrian, his new associate, and the hospital absorbed much of his time.
He would have forgotten about them completely if it hadn’t been for the call from Orrin Chavek. He was about to leave his office for the night when the phone rang. He thought twice about answering, then picked it up.
“Dr. Perelle?” The voice was unfamiliar.
“Yes?”
“This is Orrin Chavek. The attorney for Blair.”
Cole hesitated, hoping that by some miracle this was a social call.
“I’m afraid that the hospital’s received a complaint from one of your patients naming you as a codefendant,” Orrin continued.
“I’m being sued?”
“Yes.”
He sat down behind his desk. “Damn.”
‘It could be serious, I’m not sure. It’s an interesting case they have. According to their complaint, you have the necessary skill to perform surgery on their unborn baby, and the wife is unable—”
“Unable to go to Boston where she could get the treatment she needs. The Carsellis.”
“Right. You remember her?”
“Yes. Damn. What happens now?”
“Well, you and I had better meet.”
“Will this be in the papers?” He saw the funding for his program going down the drain.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Orrin said. “How about ten
tomorrow morning?”
It would throw his schedule off, but this was too important. “All right,” he said.
“The chief-of-staff should be there,” Orrin added. “And the person doing the PR for the Fetal Surgery Program. She’ll need to see what the program is up against.”
Cole had to pass the central reception desk to get to the Fairchild Room the following morning. He could never walk past that desk without remembering the day he’d met Estelle. She’d been standing there talking with someone, he didn’t remember who. Her back was to him. He knew who she was from the lines of her body beneath her wool skirt and green blouse and by the way the red in her hair caught the light from every direction. She had to be the woman everyone was talking about.
When she turned around, he didn’t bother to avert his gaze. She was still talking, but now her eyes were on him and there was something like recognition in them, as though she’d been looking for him for a very long time.
They’d slept together that same night. He hadn’t meant to move that quickly; he’d wanted it to be special this time. But there was a current that passed between them at dinner, a kiss in his car that made his thinking fuzzy. After they made love, they told each other about their childhoods, every word in French. He discovered they’d been born on the same day, just hours apart—he took that as a sign—their fates were inextricably linked. Somehow, talking about his beginnings in the language he’d used as a child tapped the tenderest part of him, and Estelle listened to him as though every word had special meaning for her.
When he was being honest with himself, he knew that they’d stopped listening to each other a long time ago.
Kit was alone in the Fairchild Room. She gave him a weak smile. “You look as if you’d rather be anywhere else,” she said.
He sat next to her. “You’re very perceptive.”
The air-conditioning was set too cold in this room, and the stark white walls, long conference table, and hard chairs did nothing to warm it up. He found himself shivering under his suit jacket.
Stu Davies and Orrin Chavek came in together. Davies held out his hand to Cole. “You’re in the right, Perelle,” he said in the rumbling voice that grew gruffer every year. Cole wondered if some malignancy was eating away at the chief-of-staff’s vocal chords.
Secrets at the Beach House Page 8