In Confidence

by Karen Young

  “How are you feeling now, Ashley?”

  A glance down at knotted fingers in her lap. “I’m okay.”

  “Do you think you’ve picked up a stomach virus?”

  “Probably.” Gaze still fixed on her hands.

  “Then we should call your mom to pick you up. These things are contagious, you know. They spread like wildfire among the other students.”

  “No!” Ashley’s head jerked up. “I mean…ah, it’s okay. I don’t think I have a virus. I’m feeling better now.”

  “Did you have any breakfast this morning, Ashley?” Rachel opened a drawer in her desk and offered a blueberry muffin she’d picked up in the cafeteria.

  The girl’s face went from pearl white to pea green. She put both hands to her mouth and closed her eyes, breathing deep. Rachel stood up and quickly brought her waste can within reach just in time to catch another spate of vomiting. However, this time, there was little left in her stomach for the girl to throw up. Rachel waited with a handful of tissues until the retching stopped, then poured a small amount of ice water from a Thermos carafe on her desk and urged her to take it. “Don’t drink much, honey. Just a taste.”

  “Thank you,” Ashley whispered, then after using the tissues, she took a tiny sip or two, grimacing.

  “Here, I think you’ll feel better lying down.” Rachel helped her to her feet, then led her over to an oversize sofa—one she’d purchased herself—and gently urged her down on the big cushions. She took an afghan and spread it over the girl, then watched her dab at tears, now trickling from the corners of her eyes. She looked absolutely miserable.

  Rachel spoke with quiet understanding. “Are you pregnant, Ashley?”

  The girl didn’t respond for a moment or two, then closing her eyes, she nodded.

  “Have you told anyone?”

  One bleak negative move of her head.

  “Do you have any idea how far along you are?”

  “Four months, I think.”

  Rachel winced at the reply. Ashley wore an oversize sweater and jeans that she was probably having difficulty zipping all the way, but only a practiced eye would spot the signs. She was a bit overweight to begin with and apparently concealing her condition had not presented a problem. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to conceal the bouts of nausea that sometimes accompanied pregnancy.

  “Have you been to a clinic, seen a doctor?”

  “No.”

  “Have you told your boyfriend?” Ashley and Mike Reynolds, a star football jock, had been dating steadily since they were in eighth grade. Things, apparently, had progressed naturally when two healthy, sexually active kids had been unable to resist going all the way. Without protection.

  “Mike knows.” Her face was turned away now. “He said I should get an abortion.”

  “And you disagree?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And since you haven’t told your parents, I’m assuming you don’t need to hear what they might think about such a decision.”

  “They’ll hate me.”

  Rachel sighed, pulled the chair over that Ashley had just vacated, sat down and took the girl’s hand. “They won’t hate you, Ashley. Just because you’ve made a mistake in judgment doesn’t mean your parents are going to stop loving you. And you need them now. You shouldn’t have to handle such a momentous decision on your own.”

  “I know all that, Ms. Forrester,” she said, beginning to cry again. “But they’re gonna be so disappointed in me. I—I was supposed to g-go to college and now I’ve ruined everything. Besides, I think I’ve waited almost too late, as it is. Last night—” she gulped, wiping hard at her eyes with the tissue “—last night, I felt the baby move.”

  “Then the sooner you talk with your parents, the better.” Rachel reached over and, with a gentle touch, brought the girl’s chin around to look into her eyes. “I will be happy to call your mother or both your parents—whatever makes you more comfortable—and help you tell them. Would you want to do that?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Is your mother at home today?”

  “No, she’s in Dallas shopping with my aunt. But maybe she could come in Monday.”

  Rachel stood up. “Tell you what. I’ll phone her now and leave a message. Then, when she calls, we’ll arrange to meet at a time we both agree on, okay? I’ll let her know that it’s urgent.”

  “Okay.” Ashley was sitting up now. Her color was better. She brushed her mane of straight blond hair away from her face with both hands. Her blue eyes were red and slightly puffed, but she got to her feet easily, then stood with both hands cradling her tummy. Cautiously, she took a step toward the door.

  “You’re welcome to stay and rest awhile until you feel able to take on the day,” Rachel said.

  Now at the door, Ashley turned back. “No, that’s the funny thing. When this happens—the nausea, I mean—I just feel horrible, like I want to die. But then when it’s over, it’s completely over and I feel just fine.”

  Rachel smiled, knowing the feeling after giving birth twice herself. “Pregnancy’s like that, Ashley.”

  “I hate it.”

  “Which is all the more reason to have this discussion with your parents and try to work something out.”

  She nodded. “Thanks, Ms. Forrester.”

  “You’re welcome, Ashley.”

  After the door closed, Rachel sank back in her chair with a sigh and put her head in her hands. Sixteen years old and four months pregnant. She’d put a positive spin on it for Ashley’s sake, but the teenager’s life was drastically changed, no matter what her decision about the abortion might be. The only bright spot was that she’d been able to talk the girl into confiding in her parents.

  A quick knock at her door brought her head up.

  “Got a minute, Rachel?” Preston Ramsey, the school principal, pushed the door open and waited for her to wave him inside. She did, pointing to a chair, which he refused. “No time to sit. I’ve got a killer schedule today and that’s why I’m here. Is there anything of vital importance on yours? I need someone to go to Dallas.”

  Rose Hill was located southeast of Dallas, about an hour-and-a-half drive. Rachel enjoyed an occasional trip into the city. She glanced at her watch. “If I stay in my office, something will come up, as you know. If you want me to go, I should leave before that happens. What’s the problem?”

  “One of Coach Monk’s kids was picked up in Dallas last night on a DUI. It’s Jason Pate. Parents are divorced, lives with his mom, who’s single with three more kids, all younger than Jason. Anyway, Monk made some calls and arranged for Jason’s release if a representative of the school will vouch for him. Monk’s got a conflict today, a conference call with a college that wants to sign Pete Freidman.”

  “The quarterback who performed so well this season,” Rachel murmured. “Monk’s doing the deal today?”

  “Apparently.”

  “And his record for signing his athletes to major universities is impressive.”

  “He takes a personal interest in these kids, Rachel.” He was instantly on the defensive. It was well known to Preston that Rachel and Monk Tyson had had fierce disagreements several times over his blind ambition. To Tyson, performance at sports—whether football, basketball, baseball or track—took precedence over his athletes’ academic performance. Preston had had to step in more than once to mediate when neither Rachel nor Tyson would give an inch.

  “Anyway,” he said now, “if you could go to juvenile detention—I’ve got the address here—and pick up Jason, it would help us out of a jam.”

  “Not a problem,” Rachel said, getting to her feet. “When are they willing to release him?”

  Preston glanced at the note in his hand. “The paperwork will take a while to process, but according to Coach Monk, he’ll be ready to leave around ten.”

  “Then I’d better get going,” Rachel said, taking her purse out of her desk drawer. “I wish they’d release him later as Ted’s in Dallas tod
ay, and if I could find him, I’d let him buy my lunch.”

  “Oh, too bad.”

  “It’s okay. It’s a long shot, anyway.”

  “I owe you one for this, Rachel,” her boss said, handing over the note with the address.

  “No, Monk owes me.” She snapped off the light in her office and smiled at him. “File that for the next time we lock horns and you’re dragged into the fray.”

  When dealing with bureaucrats, Rachel thought as she turned into the parking lot of a trendy restaurant in Dallas’s Turtle Creek area, nothing goes according to plan. She’d negotiated the city’s freeway, then fought a tangle of traffic to get to a maze of municipal buildings, finally found a place to park, only to be told that there was a glitch in the getalong with Jason’s paperwork, but they’d have it worked out by 2:00 p.m. She’d wished for a later departure time, so the glitch wasn’t a total lost cause. She called the practice, found out where Ted had reservations for lunch and decided to take a chance that she’d be able to join him and the interviewee they were considering. Rachel didn’t feel she’d be intruding. She’d been Ted’s office manager when the practice was just getting started and had left after several years in the practice only when her responsibilities there began to encroach on her responsibilities at home. She’d replaced herself with a hot-shot MBA type and then looked around for another venue for her skills and found it as the guidance counselor at Rose Hill High. There she had the same hours and holidays as her children. That had been eight years ago, and she truly enjoyed her job now. In spite of the fact that her “clients” were teenagers and their hormones were raging, she loved the challenge. Sadly, as happened with Ashley today, too many of the kids she saw were dealing with stress beyond their ability or experience to cope.

  Ted, she was told by the receptionist at the practice, was having lunch at the Mansion in Turtle Creek. She was familiar with the area and easily found the restaurant. As she got out of the car, she glanced down at her denim skirt and Birkenstocks and thought, belatedly, that she was a bit too casually dressed for such a posh place, but a chance to have lunch with Ted was too rare to pass up.

  “Do you have a reservation?” asked the elegantly clad hostess, a stunning blonde with flawless skin.

  “No, but my husband is here somewhere,” Rachel said, looking beyond the woman to the crowded dining area. “I thought I’d surprise him.”

  “Of course,” the hostess murmured. Leaving Rachel to do just that, she turned her attention to the party of four waiting to be seated.

  Rachel moved just inside the dining room, scanned the crowd and was on the verge of leaving, thinking Ted must have changed his plans, when she spotted him at a table in the rear of the restaurant. His back was to the door, which explained why she’d almost missed him. Moving forward with a smile, she was almost upon him when she realized his lunch partner wasn’t the prospective internist for the practice, but a woman, one whom she recognized instantly. It was Francine, wife of Ted’s partner in the practice, Walter Dalton. What on earth…

  Neither had yet seen Rachel and her pace slowed, almost to a full stop. In a heartbeat, her pleasure in surprising Ted vanished. She watched in disbelief as he reached for Francine’s hand, closing his fingers around hers in a way that could only be described as intimate. Ted had not touched her that way for a long time. She saw Francine’s face go soft and flush with arousal when Ted brought her hand up for what Rachel could tell was a slow, sensual kiss on her palm.

  Rachel had stopped now, rooted in place with sheer surprise. She put her hand to her chest, felt her heart beating so hard that her head was filled with it, her ears rang with it. She could not see her husband’s face, but the look on Francine’s was unmistakable. Still, Rachel resisted what she was seeing. It could not be what it appeared.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” A waiter burdened with a large tray paused, needing to thread the narrow space between the tables. With a murmured sound, Rachel shifted and let him pass. Then, drawing a deep, painful breath, she moved directly to Ted’s table and stopped. It was a beat or two before he became aware of her. His eyes went wide with shock and he flushed a ruddy crimson.

  “Surprise,” she said, and gripped the back of one of the unoccupied chairs before her knees gave way.

  “Rachel—” Dropping Francine’s hand, he made to rise clumsily, then had to grab at his wineglass to keep it from tipping over.

  “Is this a private party, or is there room for one more?” she said in a voice that wobbled a little.

  “It isn’t what you think,” Ted said.

  “Really.” She glanced from him to Francine and back again. “Then what is it, Ted?”

  Francine stood up, laid her napkin on the table and groped for a small Chanel handbag on the seat of the chair. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she said to Ted, and walked away without once looking at Rachel.

  “This is not the time or place, Rachel,” Ted said, with a warning look toward the other diners. A few nearby had picked up on the unfolding drama and were openly curious. Some watched with amusement, enjoying the show.

  “What is it if it isn’t what I think?” Rachel demanded in a low but fierce tone.

  Ted had his wallet in his hands now, pulling out cash. He dropped a number of twenties on the table and reached for her arm, intending to guide her out of the restaurant. “Rachel—”

  Rachel jerked away. “Don’t…touch me.” Lifting her chin, she turned on her heel and strode through the tables, mortified beyond anything that strangers had witnessed her humiliation. Her color high, she looked neither right nor left until she cleared the room. Now at the entrance, she pushed blindly at the double doors before Ted could assist her, desperate to breathe fresh air. She was aware that he said something to her before addressing the attendant who’d valet-parked his car, but she was intent only on escape. Almost running now, she sought the refuge of her car and dashed across the circular drive into the parking area. In her shocked state, however, she forgot where she had parked.

  She reversed direction suddenly and almost ran into Ted, who’d caught up with her. “What are you doing here?” he asked tersely.

  “Looking for my car.” Rooting through her handbag, she found her car keys and, in a panic, pushed the remote. Somewhere to her left, she heard the chirp of her vehicle.

  “I mean, what are you doing at this restaurant? How did you—”

  “Find you?” Heading for her car, she simply shook her head. “What does it matter, Ted?”

  “Were you following me?”

  She stopped then and looked at him. “I didn’t think until ten minutes ago that I had any reason to follow you, Ted.”

  He gave a sigh and, bending his head, began to rub a place between his eyes. Ted was prone to migraines and she suspected he’d be in real pain by nightfall. Come to think of it, his migraines had come more frequently in the past few months. She thought back rapidly—six months? Longer? “How long have you been seeing her?”

  “This is not the time, Rachel.”

  “How…long?” she repeated deliberately.

  “Awhile.”

  She felt a pain in her chest that was as sharp as if he’d actually struck her. He wasn’t denying it. Had she been thinking there was any other explanation for finding him in so compromising a situation?

  “We were planning to tell you soon,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

  “Tell me what? That you’re having an affair with the wife of your partner and friend in your practice? That you’ve decided to ignore the fact that you’re a married man? Were you going to tell me that you’ve broken the vows you took to be faithful?”

  It was midday and sunny. Overhead, the vast Texas sky was a surreal blue with stunning formations of soft white clouds. Ted’s brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he squinted upward. “I know it looks bad,” he said. “Francine and I—well, we didn’t plan for this to happen. We tried to fight it. We—”

  “You tried to fight it.” She gave him a look
of disgust. “I didn’t see any sign of struggle when you swiped her palm with your tongue a few minutes ago. I haven’t noticed any battles with your conscience when you’ve made excuses to miss Nick’s ball games or Kendall’s recitals. And I’ll bet you haven’t fought the urge to hop into bed with her, either, right? So just what do you mean, you’ve tried to fight it, Ted?”

  “Would you keep your voice down, for God’s sake? We’re in a parking lot, Rachel. I know we’re going to have to talk about this, but not here, okay?” He drove his fingers through his expensively styled hair. She suddenly recalled finding the two-hundred-dollar charge on their American Express card at one of Dallas’s premier hair stylists. She’d teased him about it, as his hair was obviously thinning and she’d assumed it was simply male ego. Well, it was ego and a lot more, she knew now.

  She felt tears well up and she looked away quickly, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt. Through a haze, she saw Francine standing beneath the canopy at the entrance of the restaurant. She noted the trim black suit, the sleek, long legs made even more stunning by shoes with three-inch heels that had cost at least two hundred dollars. Rachel could afford to pay hundreds of dollars for a pair of shoes, too, but she felt there was something intrinsically…vulgar in such self-indulgence. Obviously, Francine felt no such reluctance.

  “Is there an internist from Baylor interested in joining the practice,” she asked quietly, “or was that a lie, too?”

  “He was interviewed last night.”

  She nodded, her gaze still fixed on Francine now being helped into Ted’s car by a valet. They were so comfortable in their illicit affair that they didn’t even bother coming in separate vehicles. Where did they meet in Rose Hill? she wondered. Had Ted found time when she was at school to screw Francine in their bed at home?

  She turned back and looked her husband in the eye. “Why, Ted?”

  “He’s qualified. He’s young. He’ll build up a nice patient base in no time flat.”

  “I’m not talking about the internist. I’m talking about us. Why? How did this happen?”