She knew the rules about relatives and kept out of the team’s way, grateful that they let her stay, watching them remove India’s dressing gown and nightie. Morgan gasped aloud when her mother’s naked body was revealed under the harsh lights.
Except for her protruding belly, India was emaciated. Her arms and legs were skeletal, her once full breasts shrunken and flat against the bony wall of her chest.
Morgan hadn’t seen her mother naked for many years, and shock rippled through every nerve ending as the team checked with meticulous care for further injuries.
“She...she’s so thin,” Morgan blurted out in a horrified tone, but no one heard her. The organized chaos was carefully orchestrated, and ER supervisor Dr. Greg Brulotte was very much in charge. Morgan knew Greg and respected him. He was excellent at his job, competent and caring.
“I want a full workup, blood tests, cardiogram and CT scan,” he was saying as another team member reported, “Left pupil considerably larger than the right. Reflexes better on right side than left.”
Morgan barely heard them. She stared at India, who looked as fragile as old glass, the cords on her neck standing out like ropes against the diminished flesh. It struck her like a physical blow that this withered, frail body had once carried her inside it.
Her mother had always been strong, controlling, invincible. It had never crossed Morgan’s mind that she could get old and sick. Morgan thought of how much she’d resented her coming to stay, how she’d disliked having India living in her home. Over the past weeks she’d wished fervently for her mother’s departure, and tonight, when Tessa had said India was planning on staying, Morgan had been appalled at the thought.
She’d never once suspected that this pitiful skeletal body was hidden beneath India’s elegant clothing and commanding personality.
What illness was she hiding? Morgan knew beyond a doubt that there was something seriously wrong with her mother, something far more than a concussion, and she felt mortified to think that she had lived with India and hadn’t even noticed.
She hadn’t asked about her health, and India hadn’t told her. As much as she was able, she’d avoided conversations with her mother. And she was supposedly a doctor whose great gift was communicating.
She bowed her head and a deep sense of shame overwhelmed her.
Chapter Seventeen
“The CT scan reveals that your mother has a sizable subdural hematoma with considerable internal bleeding,” Dr. Brulotte said to Morgan. “I gave her dexamethasone to reduce the swelling, and she should be waking up any moment now. Her heart rate is causing some concern, so I’ve ordered a chest X ray. She’s experiencing shortness of breath, and her blood pressure’s dropping. Maybe when she regains consciousness she can tell us what the problem is.”
The moment the portable X-ray machine was wheeled away, Morgan moved closer to the gurney where her mother lay. She took India’s hand in hers, careful not to disturb the needle in her vein, and when her mother’s eyelids fluttered open, Morgan smiled at her reassuringly.
“Tell me your name, honey. Do you remember your name?” One of the nurses began the usual questions to determine India’s mental state, and after several seconds, India answered, but her gaze was vacant and panicked. It was several moments before she focused on her daughter’s face.
“Mor-Morgan. Where...am I?” It was obviously difficult for her to speak.
“You’ve had an accident, India You’re in the hospital. We’re taking good care of you.”
“No...accident.” India became agitated, struggling to sit up, and the nurses helped Morgan calm her.
“I...was sleeping, by...the fire,” India explained. “Skippy was hurt. I...went to see. They...hurt Skippy.” Her tone was indignant Morgan swallowed hard, and tried to smile encouragement over the lump in her throat when she thought of the little dog.
Tessa had carried him downstairs. Morgan thought he’d broken either a leg or a hip, but she’d been too busy with India to examine him thoroughly. Morgan had given the dog a shot to ease his pain and told Tessa to call a cab and take him to the animal hospital.
“Two...men. Boys,” India said, every word an effort. “Ran...down the stairs...knocked me...down. What...about... Skippy?’’
Morgan struggled for control, aware that her voice was trembling. “I’m sure he’s gonna be fine. Tess took him to the vet What did these boys look like, Mother?”
India tried to shake her head and moaned.
“Short hair, tall...dark. Oh, I...don’t know. So frightened...poor little dog.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and Morgan wiped them away.
“Mother, can you tell us what’s wrong with you? You’ve got a concussion, but there’s something more the matter, isn’t there? We need to know what it is in order to treat you properly.”
“Cardio...myopathy.” The complicated word sighed off India’s tongue with the ease of long familiarity, although her voice was barely above a whisper. “Had it...three years.”
Morgan looked across at Dr. Brulotte, now studying the X rays that had just been handed to him. She knew her own face reflected the concern on his. He motioned toward the curtain surrounding the cubicle, and Morgan followed him outside.
“Cardiomyopathy.” He shook his head, his frustration and tension evident. “It’s unfortunate we didn’t know sooner,” he said in a low tone. “As you know, Doctor, dexamethasone unfortunately puts an extra strain on the heart, and the X rays show it’s already considerably enlarged. I’ve put in a call for the heart specialist, but it’s taking a while to locate him. Right now I’ll load her up on cardiac meds and we’ll just hope for—”
“Dr. Brulotte.” The urgent note in the nurse’s voice brought both doctors hurrying back into the cubicle, where it was immediately evident that India was in trouble. Her breathing was stertorous and she was losing consciousness again.
“Blood pressure’s dropping, and she’s cyanotic with an oxygen saturation of eighty-two percent.”
“Up the oxygen to six liters and give digoxin, point five milligrams,” Brulotte ordered, and as the nurses hurried to administer the medication that would hopefully stimulate India’s heart, Morgan understood with sudden shocking clarity that her mother’s chances of survival were slim.
“Morgan, there’s a policeman who’d like to speak to you.” Leslie Yates, the triage nurse, touched Morgan’s shoulder.
There was nothing she could do for India. Feeling dazed, Morgan made her way out and over to the tall uniformed policeman waiting by the nursing station.
“Sorry to bother you, Doctor, but I’m Constable Graves,” he began. “My partner and I responded to the 911 call at your residence. You were busy with your mother at the time, so you maybe don’t remember me. How’s your mother doing?”
“Not well.” Morgan tried for a deep breath, but her lungs felt heavy. “She regained consciousness and said that she’d fallen asleep in front of the fireplace. She often does that.”
Rapidly, Morgan related what India had told her. “These men who were in my house, I don’t suppose you’ve caught them?”
He shook his head. “Not yet, but we’d like nothing better. We’ve had a number of similar break-ins in the past few months. This one was a little different, though.”
He gave Morgan a long, appraising look. “There was no sign of forced entry. We talked to your daughter, and she says as far as she can tell the only room that was ransacked was your mother’s. It appears your mother’s jewelry and two fur coats were stolen from her room, as well as the wallet from her handbag. They didn’t bother with the microwave or the television or the VCR. The fact that they went straight upstairs to your mother’s room seems to indicate they knew exactly what they were after. Your bedroom and your daughter’s room weren’t disturbed at all. Do you know if the entrance doors were all locked?”
Morgan thought it over and nodded. “The front door is always locked, and I remember locking the back when Tessa and I left the house. I don’t think m
y mother would have opened them again. The basement door has an iron bar across the inside.”
“Do you hide a key anywhere outside?”
“Under a paving stone in the backyard.” In the summer, she and Tessa had once locked themselves out, and they’d hidden a key there. Morgan frowned. “So, you think this is someone who knows us? Who might know about the key?”
“It would certainly explain how they gained entry. We’ll check on it. Is there anyone you know, or perhaps someone your daughter knows, who you think might be capable of this?”
A cold shudder ran through her as Morgan instantly thought of Dylan. “Did...did you talk to Tessa?”
He nodded. “We did. She insists she doesn’t know anyone who’d break into your home.” He was studying Morgan intently, and she looked away. “I’d appreciate any help you could give us on this matter, Dr. Jacobsen. I understand Tessa is a foster child who hasn’t been with you that long?”
Morgan looked straight into his eyes. “Tessa’s my daughter. I’m afraid I can’t help you, Constable.”
She really had nothing but her suspicions to go on, and she’d be betraying Tessa by not speaking to her first, Morgan assured herself, but she could feel the beginnings of outrage stirring inside her.
She remembered how Dylan had threatened her that day in the pool hall. And he’d struck Tessa and caused her miscarriage. He was capable of this, Morgan was sure of it.
“If anything comes to mind, call this number.” The constable handed her a card, and Morgan stuck it in her pocket without looking at it. She stood frozen as he turned and walked away. When he’d gone through the doors leading out of the ER, Morgan hurried to the small staff lounge.
It was empty, and she was grateful. She wasn’t technically supposed to use a cell phone here, but it was an emergency. She called home and waited as the phone rang. Tessa was obviously still at the animal hospital with Skippy.
Morgan’s own voice came on the line as the answering machine picked up, and she waited impatiently and then, in a harsh tone she barely recognized, said, “Tessa, I’m at St. Joe’s. Call me the moment you get in. I need to talk to you.”
She ended the call and immediately tried to reach Tessa’s cell, but there was no response. She left the same message again, blood pounding in her ears, and had to keep swallowing as she thought of her mother, knocked down like a rag doll, and of Skippy, broken and crying piteously. This wasn’t the time to be accusing or angry, she told herself over and over.
But she couldn’t control the fury that swept through her like a hot dry wind.
Forty minutes later, her pager signaled that Tessa was calling back, and Morgan hurried out of the hospital as she connected the call.
“Tess, how’s Skippy?” Morgan controlled her voice with difficulty.
“His hip is broken. They had to operate on him, but the vet thinks he’ll be okay. They kept him there. The vet says it looks as if somebody with heavy boots might have kick—” Tessa’s voice faltered. “Might have kicked him.”
“And how’re you?”
“Umm, okay, I guess. How’s India?” Tessa sounded scared and miserable, like a little girl, and Morgan squeezed her eyes shut against the rush of conflicting emotions that raced through her. She felt sorry for Tessa, but she also felt compelled to tell the girl her suspicions about Dylan.
“India’s not too good. She’s...” Morgan’s voice faltered. “She has a serious heart condition we didn’t know about.”
A choked sob from Tessa made Morgan realize that the girl was crying. She couldn’t think what to say to comfort her.
“I’m probably going to be here the rest of the night, and I don’t like you being in the house alone.” She tried her best to sound casual. “I talked to the policeman who was at the house earlier. He thinks whoever did this might have used a key to get in, maybe that key we hid in the backyard.”
Morgan could hear Tessa’s sharply indrawn breath, and she knew Tess understood perfectly what she was getting at.
“I’m pretty sure whoever did it won’t come back, but I’d feel better if you weren’t there alone,” Morgan repeated. “Do you want to come down here and be with me?”
There was a long, strained silence.
“I’d rather stay with Sophie. She won’t mind.”
Morgan hesitated, knowing how Luke might feel about that, but she was too emotionally drained to worry about it right now.
“Okay.” She couldn’t find the strength to say any more, to directly bring up the issue of Dylan, even though it was foremost in her mind. She knew she sounded aloof, but she couldn’t help it.
“Do you want me to call Luke and ask if he’ll come and get you?”
“I’ll call right now. And, Morgan?” Tessa’s voice was suddenly choked with sobs. “Oh, Morgan, I’m sorry.”
Morgan simply didn’t have the energy to ask what Tess was sorry for. Part of her was too afraid of what the answer would be, and a tap on her shoulder provided her with an excuse.
It was one of the nurses. “You’re being paged, Morgan.”
“Tess, we’ll talk about this later. I’ve got to go now, they’re paging me.”
Morgan shoved the phone back in its cradle and ran for the door to Emerg.
Luke was in the basement when his cell rang, trying to settle the Alsatian puppy he’d bought late that afternoon as a surprise for Sophie. He glanced at his watch. It was well past midnight. He connected the call, selfishly hoping no one had decided to have a baby tonight.
“Doc Gilbert? Hi, it’s Tessa.”
“Tessa, what is it?” He knew the instant he heard her strained voice that something was seriously wrong, and his fingers tightened around the phone.
Morgan...
“Our house got broken into tonight, and India’s in the hospital.” She told him the details, adding, “Who—whoever did it kicked Skippy, too. They broke his hip.” Tears made her voice ragged, and Luke cursed under his breath, enraged at whoever would do such things.
“Morgan’s at the hospital,” Tess went on. “She said I shouldn’t stay here alone.” Her voice was hesitant. “I know it’s late and every thing, but could I come and spend the rest of the night with Sophie?”
“Absolutely. Stay right where you are, I’m coming to get you. I’m leaving right now.” He took the stairs two at a time, the puppy in his arms. He awakened Sophie gently and put the furry little dog on the bed beside her. “This is William, sweetheart. He’s yours, and I’m afraid you’re going to have to baby-sit him for awhile.” He told her quickly what had happened, asking that she prepare the spare room for Tessa.
He’d pick the girl up and bring her here, but then he was heading down to St. Joe’s. The girls would be fine on their own, but he needed to be with the woman he loved.
She’d never felt more alone. Morgan poured herself a cup of the dubious coffee from the pot in the staff lounge on ICU.
It was after one in the morning. India had stabilized and been transferred up here, and Morgan stayed beside her as the nurses settled her amidst the complex machines that monitored every heartbeat, every breath. Morgan had talked to her mother, a steady stream of encouragement, but she wasn’t sure India had even heard her.
A strong hand on her shoulder startled her, and she jumped and slopped her coffee on the carpet.
“Luke!” All at once she knew that it was him she’d longed for since this nightmare began. Hands shaking, she set the coffee cup on the table and moved into his waiting arms with a sob of relief. “Oh, Luke, thank you for coming. Is Tessa okay?”
“Safe at home with Sophie. They were making hot chocolate when I left. They both said to give you their love.” He held her close, and she could smell cold night air on his jacket.
“How’s India?”
She outlined the situation in a few tense sentences, adding, “They couldn’t sustain her blood pressure. Her heart stopped about twenty minutes ago. They gave her intracardiac epinephrine and used the paddles to start i
t again, but it doesn’t look too good.”
Morgan’s voice quavered, and for a moment she was unable to go on. She leaned into him, his arms a welcome bulwark against all the confusing things that had happened to her this night. She laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes for a moment, aware of the tension, the fierce and frightening emotions that she was suppressing. Aware, too, that the comfort he was offering was temporary.
“She’s stable now?” His voice rumbled in his chest, right against her ear.
Morgan shrugged with weary resignation. “For the moment. She’s very weak. Her heart condition is quite advanced.”
“Why don’t you lie down for a while? I’ll be here, and I’ll wake you if there’s any change.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I feel as if I’ve had too much coffee. Every nerve is doing a tap dance.” The smile she attempted was wobbly.
“Sit, at least.” He propelled her over to the couch, and she sank down beside him, his arm still holding her close against his side. He didn’t ask questions about the break-in. He didn’t mention their last meeting, either, or the things she’d said, and Morgan was thankful. All she could think of right at this moment was India and her own negligence.
Somehow Luke sensed it. “You had no way of knowing about your mother’s heart, Morgan.”
But his quiet reassurance incensed her, and she threw off his arm and sprang to her feet. “That’s garbage and you know it! I saw her every day. I should have noticed. I’m supposed to be a doctor, for crying out loud!” She slammed her palms against her thighs, frustration almost choking her. “I keep asking myself how I could have lived with her all this time and not even noticed what was happening.”
The words spilled from her mouth, and the anger she felt at herself was like a burning sickness in her chest “When they took her clothing off I couldn’t believe how thin she is, Luke, how fragile. Skin and bone. I should have noticed that, at least. I felt like an idiot down in the ER.”
The Baby Doctor Page 17