Secrets and Lies

by N. C. Anderson

  "Let go of her, Brian,” Karlene ordered. “None of us have any idea where Patrick is, and her son may be injured."

  "What the hell are you doing here, Karley?” Brian asked, still hanging onto Selena, who desperately worked to peel his fingers from her arm. “This is hardly the place I'd expect to find you."

  "Selena,” Della said worriedly. “Gregg's still not moving."

  "Let go of me, Doctor,” Selena yelled. “I have to go to my son."

  "First, and most importantly, I want to know where mine is."

  Selena jerked away, poised to run as the crowd hushed, concentrating on the coaches leaning over Gregg.

  Della's voice lashed out. “How could you talk that way about your own—” The horror of her near faux pas encompassed her face as she looked at Selena. “You're supposed to be a doctor for heavens sakes,” she finished weakly.

  Karlene plopped back on the metal seat, staring at Della.

  "Mother, try to stay calm,” Selena said in a warning tone as she stretched up on her toes, trying to watch everything happening on the field over the heads of people standing in front of her. She climbed onto the metal seat for a clearer view. One of the two coaches kneeling beside Gregg shook his head, and the other one signaled to someone on the sidelines. Selena didn't wait any longer and stepped off the seat. She hugged her huge purse to her, flew down the metal stadium steps, and across the football field just as one of the players raced toward the ambulance parked near the refreshment stand.

  Selena dropped to her knees beside Gregg, ripped open her bag, and withdrew a stethoscope and blood pressure kit. She'd decided she could watch Gregg play full-contact football, and be comfortable with it, if she came with emergency equipment stashed in her over-sized bag. It hadn't really occurred to her she would ever have to use them.

  After making certain Gregg was breathing and his heart beating, she wrapped the black pressure cuff around his arm and pumped it up. She listened with her stethoscope as she released the pressure.

  "What do you think you're doing? Doctor Brian demanded. To Selena's amazement, he knelt on the other side of Gregg, grinding the knees of his expensive suite into the dirt.

  "Besides being his mother, I'm a registered nurse,” Selena said as she noticed blood trickling near Gregg's left temple. Gently, she pushed back his sweat-soaked hair to discover the cause. “What are you doing here?"

  He ignored her question. “Then, Nurse, what are his vital signs?” Brian pulled a penlight from his vest pocket and flashed it in Gregg's unconscious eyes. Then he realized that the boy's facial features, hair color, and physical build were very familiar. So familiar that he studied them twice, thinking that surly he imagined what he saw. He stared at Selena as her hands moved over her son. The shell around his heart and soul, the shell which had guarded him so efficiently for thirty years, splintered as if it were a pane of glass hit by a boulder.

  Good, God. I've tried to destroy my grandson's mother. If she'd listened, if she'd left town, I would have never realized that he existed. He wanted to groan aloud as remorseful pain pierced deeply into his exposed heart. If the boy were to die, he would never have a chance to know him. Patrick looked like this when he was fifteen. Brian suddenly realized exactly how much of his son's life he'd missed, and why. A grandson.

  Just as quickly, and as he had learned assiduously long ago, Brian tuned out all personal thoughts and continued his examination.

  "Respirations, 26, shallow; pulse, 110, thready; BP 90 over 60; his skin is cold and,” Selena swallowed, hard, “he's bleeding from a gash near his left temple.” Selena's hands shook as she fought the urge to cradle Gregg's head in her arms. He could have hurt his spine, and she didn't dare move him.

  "Pack him for possible spinal injury,” Brian barked at the ambulance paramedics as they placed a stretcher on the ground. “He has a slight concussion, but I detect no obvious broken bones."

  Selena vaguely heard Brian order an IV with medication, and was still kneeling on the ground when they finally shifted Gregg to the stretcher. A hand appeared in front of her, and she grasped it, allowing Brian to help her to her feet.

  "Well, are you going to ride with your son to the hospital?"

  The unexpected softening of his tone startled her. Was it concern she heard, or had she imagined it?

  Nothing would keep her from being with Gregg, even if she had to cling to the bumper. She shoved her equipment into her bag as she nodded her head. “Are you?"

  Brian clasped her elbow and led her to the rear of the ambulance. “Yes."

  With his abrupt unmasking of a hidden compassion, and with her struggling to believe it was the same Doctor Brian Logan who seemingly loved causing her mental suffering, she had to ask, “Why?"

  "That seems a rather foolish question, Nurse,” he said, his tone still considerate. “I don't see any other doctors in the crowd. Now, get in there. I might need you on the way."

  Selena knew better. The medics hired to ride the town's ambulance were the ones with hundreds of hours of emergency experience.

  Before she could speak, Della and Karlene were standing in front of her. “We'll follow you,” Della said, clutching her purse against her chest with one hand, while the other crushed a floral handkerchief.

  Karlene stood, motionless, staring at Gregg as they slid the stretcher into the ambulance, her face pale, and her eyes wide. “And I'll try to reach Patrick,” Karlene added slowly, her voice shaky. Mrs. Logan knew about Gregg. Selena didn't know how Karlene had figured it out, but she could see it in her eyes.

  "Please don't tell Patrick anything, Mrs. Logan,” Selena said softly, moving closer to her. “Please understand, it's always been Gregg's decision, and we can't interfere."

  Selena climbed into the ambulance, turned and looked at her mother, hoping she would gag Karlene Logan if that's what it took. “Drive carefully, Mom. One devastation a night is all I can take."

  What a lie. She wasn't taking this well at all. It seemed likely she could, at any moment, shatter into a million tiny pieces.

  * * * *

  Blind—that was what he was.

  Logan didn't imagine he could ever feel more the shortsighted fool than he did now. He wheeled his Hudson onto Rosewood Avenue, a shortcut, leading directly to the High School. An emergency appendectomy had kept him from the game, then he'd made an enlightening phone call, which delayed him longer.

  Flynn's daughter Markie had talked candidly about Selena and her father's life together. Shock waves, first of disbelief, then of torment, had hit him as he'd listened to Markie's every word—every word a hint for him to wake up and look around.

  Now, he would locate Selena and make her explain each detail. If nothing else, she owed him that much.

  When he guided his car into the parking lot at the football field, an ambulance siren switched on, and the vehicle whipped past him, headed in the opposite direction. Logan stopped his car alongside the sheriff's car and rolled down his window.

  "What was that all about, Sheriff?"

  "One of the boys on the Cove's team took quite a blow on the head,” the sheriff answered as he started the car. “I can't parley with you now, Doc. I have to travel with the ambulance."

  An anxious chill ran the length of Logan's spine. “Which boy was hurt?” Firstly, he worried about all the boys, secondly—

  "The Flynn kid,” the sheriff answered, making Logan's second dread a reality. He shifted gears and tore out of the parking lot.

  Logan had to circle the parking lot to follow him. He had to see Gregg, and make certain he would be all right. This night seems jam-packed with surprises, Logan thought as he spotted his mother's blue BMW parked adjacent to Della's Cadillac . Then he saw both women hurrying towards him. After pulling up behind his mother's vehicle, Logan jerked the gear shift to neutral, idling the engine, and vaulted out of his car.

  "Mom, Della, what happened? Where's Selena?"

  "We don't have time for a discussion, Patrick,” Karlene sai
d. “Why don't you follow us to the hospital? Or maybe we should follow you."

  Della maneuvered past him to open the door on her car. “We don't know how badly Gregg's hurt, Patrick. And Selena is riding in the ambulance with him."

  "And with your father,” Karlene added as she climbed into the Cadillac and slammed the door.

  Della started her car, and Logan sprinted back to his. His brain seemed to vibrate with uneasiness. His father hated ambulances, considered them too small, too dangerous. The thought of the two of them locked up together in the confined area persuaded Logan to hustle. As Logan sped out of the parking lot, Della's car was tailgating him down Rosewood Avenue.

  * * * *

  "Selena, you'd better sit over here with me and rest before your nerves give out,” Della said, fanning herself with a magazine.

  It seemed to Selena they'd exchanged places. Della no longer clutched her handkerchief. She appeared calm, while on the other hand, Selena felt herself come unglued a little more with each hour-long second.

  The stuffy room smelled of antiseptic, old wood—old everything. “I can't, Mom,” Selena said as she paced the small emergency waiting room. “If they don't let me in soon, I'll go in uninvited.” She hesitated in front of her mother then continued her parade. “This is all my fault. I never should have let him play. I never should have let him get addicted to the game in the first place.” An uncommon panic goaded bile into her throat.

  Della dropped the magazine. “Don't talk nonsense, Selena. Gregg more than loves playing football, and you can't protect him from everything."

  Selena understood what her mother said to be true, but she did—she did want to protect him from everything.

  "Why didn't you ever tell us, Selena?” Karlene burst out suddenly.

  "Now, Karlene, I don't think this is the time or the place for such a special conversation,” Della said.

  Logan seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Della's right, Mom."

  He stopped in front of Selena. “Where is Gregg?"

  How could Logan fathom if her mother was right or not? It didn't matter. She wanted to see Gregg, to know he was all right. “They had him in room four when we first arrived,” she told him. “But they won't let me in.” Her voice sounded frantic. For that matter, she was frantic.

  He touched her cheek, and Selena fought the urge to throw herself in his arms. “I'll go see what I can find out."

  "Thank you,” she whispered and watched him take long strides out the door and disappear down the hall. And with him, went the rugged strength he'd brought into the room.

  * * * *

  Logan found his father leaning over an unconscious Gregg. Two nurses were in the room assisting him. “What's the diagnosis?” he asked as he stopped on the opposite side of the exam table.

  Brian straightened and stared at Logan for a moment. “The X rays show no serious damage. He has a slight concussion, a laceration, and multiple bruises. The black eyes are from hitting his nose. Luckily, he didn't break it."

  Logan studied Gregg's relaxed features and, for the first time, saw the resemblance he'd been too bitter to notice before. Markie Flynn's hints were unerring; he had a son. He battered away the excitement flooding him, priming himself to face his father.

  "He looks like you, Patrick,” Brian said, his tone rough, willing his son to see what he could see.

  Startled, Logan glanced at his father. “Yes, he does. Is that why you're here? Because you think Gregg is your grandson?” The idea made sense to Logan—especially after all his father had devised in his attempt to make Selena look like the greedy, tainted woman.

  Brian shook his head as he glanced at Gregg. “I never gave it any thought,” he answered quietly. “Until I saw him lying on the ground. That's the first time I've ever seen him."

  Gregg's bruised, puffy eyes flickered opened, and Logan stepped back and out of Gregg's range of sight. “You're Doctor Patrick's father, aren't you?” Gregg mumbled, his words slurred.

  "Yes,” Brian answered. He gestured for the two nurses to leave the room. Even Gregg's voice reminded him of a young Patrick.

  "Why are you here? You hate my mother, me....” Gregg's voice faded as he closed his eyes. He groaned and touched the bandage on his head.

  Brian took Gregg's hand away from his face and placed it beside him on the padded exam table. “You have ten stitches under your bandage, Gregg. And I don't hate your mother, or you."

  "You could have fooled me,” Gregg countered, opening his eyes to slits. “I know about you, Doctor Logan."

  "What do you know?"

  "That you don't want my mother and Doctor Patrick to see each other."

  Brian sighed, deeply. “That's the way it's been. You've got it perfectly."

  Gregg pushed up on one elbow. “Why? My mother is a great person. She never harmed anyone."

  Brian moved closer. “Lie down if you want your headache to go away,” he said sagaciously. “If you'll lie still, I'll try to explain."

  Gregg eased back onto his pillow. “Deal,” he responded, his tone indicating he felt less groggy, and relief lifted Logan's spirits as he waited for his father's explanation.

  "I don't want my son to suffer through the same mistakes I made. My wife comes from a similar background as your mother. Most of my family and friends finally accepted her because she graduated from college at the top of her class, but not all of them. Regardless, the members of her family never stopped looking for a handout. And, her background always seemed an embarrassment to both of us.” Until tonight. Until he understood what he would really feel if something happened to Karley, and he hadn't had the chance to tell her how much he loved her.

  "Doctor Patrick isn't ashamed of his mother—is he?” Gregg asked, frowning as if Brian had lost him.

  Brian avoided looking at Logan. “No, there's nothing that seems to humiliate Patrick.” There was so much to explain, and now wasn't the time.

  "Then I don't understand. If your parents are poor, it doesn't mean they did it on purpose for free handouts."

  "You might be right about a few,” Brian said. “However, I believe for most of them it's true. There is hard evidence filling hospital beds each day.” Brian shrugged, loosening the tight muscles in his shoulders. “My wife's relatives are evidence,” he muttered. It wouldn't be easy to believe differently—but he intended to try.

  Gregg stared at Brian. “Well, I don't believe it. I don't think people are poor on purpose. Lots of people start out with money and end up with none. My mother says everything worthwhile in life is a gamble, from getting out of bed in the morning to having children. It doesn't matter how much money you have or where you live. She says the important thing is to weigh the merits of the risk before doing anything.” He closed his eyes. “I'm glad I'm not you, Doctor Logan."

  "Oh, and why is that?"

  "You're afraid to just be a regular guy and have some fun. I'd never want that to happen to me,” he added sleepily.

  Brian chuckled, surprising Logan; it had been a long time since he heard his father's laughter sound real.

  "You get some sleep, Gregg. Maybe later you can tell me what it means to be a ‘regular guy.’”

  Gregg didn't open his swollen eyes again as he mumbled, “Maybe, if you promise to leave my mother alone."

  Brian lifted his gaze to Logan. “I'll leave her alone."

  Yes, Logan thought, returning his scrutiny. That is a promise you'll keep.

  A satisfied smile quivered at the corners of Gregg's mouth, and he gave Brian a thumbs-up sign.

  Brian gestured toward the door, and Logan followed him into the hall.

  "You'll have to do right by that boy, Patrick. He's carrying the wrong name."

  "I can't justify any such thing, Dad. Selena married Flynn. She has never indicated Gregg was anything but Flynn's son.” Logan couldn't help enjoying the apparent frustration, fluttering across his father's face.

  "You can recognize by looking at him whose son he is.” Patrick
couldn't be that blind.

  "She's husband hunting, remember? You brought me the photographs as proof.” Logan shook his head as he pivoted, intending to walk down the hall. “I'm not getting entangled with a woman who sells herself to the highest bidder. You said yourself, she took ten thousand dollars from you."

  Brian understood what Logan was getting at, and grabbed his arm. “All right, so I hired Telly to take a few incriminating pictures. But I think you know the details already. Telly's ready to leave town after his confrontation with you."

  "You're implying to me you lied about Selena. She didn't have any interest in Marco or Van Teal, right? And she didn't take any money from you sixteen years ago."

  "I wouldn't be telling you something new, now would I, son? I didn't want to risk her investing in your clinic. I, also, believed you would be making life hard on yourself by being involved with a woman of her background—I acted accordingly. Now, there's the boy to consider."

  Logan studied his father's reddened features, and savored his deserved discomfort. “I don't want to discuss Selena and Gregg with you. I want to hear about George Rainee, Bordan Kellogg, Sharon Boggs—and why Selena's name is on that file."

  "You can stop with the list,” Brian interrupted, feeling his entire life rotate in a full circle. “Telly told me you snatched the file from his car.” He rammed a hand into his pants pocket. “I told him a hundred times not to carry those documents in his car."

  "I'm waiting,” Logan said as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. “You've lied to me. When will I recognize you've told me the truth?"

  "I've lied to you twice, son, in regard to Selena's integrity, and my encounter with her on Friday.” Brian shrugged. “I warned you when you came up with the clinic idea that I would do my utmost to persuade you to join the practice. I didn't lie to you about that. I had visions of Selena pouring money into that clinic, especially when it became evident that she believes the town can't survive without it."

  "You call buying off my investors, persuasion?” Logan said angrily. “Don't you understand it doesn't matter? Clinic or no clinic, your specialty isn't mine, and I can't join your practice.” He paused, studying the bewilderment on his father's craggy features. “No, you don't understand. Why can't we agree to disagree on our views regarding the medical profession? You stop interfering in mine, and I won't interfere in yours."