by Sandra Brown
Ignoring the uncouth pair, he took Emory’s arm and guided her toward the bedroom where he’d left Lisa earlier. Her mother was standing in the open doorway of the room, twisting the hem of the soiled apron tied around her waist.
Pauline Floyd was skinny to the point that her shoulder bones poked up like drawer pulls against her faded dress. Her hair was so thin that scalp showed through the frizzy gray tuft on top. Her face said that she’d seen plenty of hard times, and that this was another of them.
“Pauline,” he said, “this is Dr. Smith. Dr. Smith, Mrs. Floyd.”
Emory murmured an acknowledgment to the introduction.
Pauline addressed her anxiously, “Can you help my girl? She’s carrying on something awful. Says her belly hurts, and she’s bleedin’.”
Emory looked into the room toward the bed, where the small mound beneath the frayed bedspread lay perfectly still. “I hope to help her. Where can I wash my hands?”
The old woman tilted her head quizzically. “The bathroom, I guess.” She hitched her thumb.
Emory excused herself and followed the direction Pauline had indicated.
The old woman watched her until she disappeared through a doorway, then came back around to her neighbor. “How long you been living down the road from us?”
“A while.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She glanced toward the bathroom. “She a real doctor?”
“She’s an excellent doctor.”
“I don’t know of any lady doctors ’round here. Where’d you get her at?”
“In town,” he said, hoping that would be all the explanation required.
Emory emerged from the bathroom looking pale but full of resolve. She walked past him and Pauline into the bedroom. They followed her over to the bed. Lisa lay on her side, knees to chest.
Emory took a box of latex gloves from the trash can liner she’d carried in with her, pulled on a pair, then touched the girl’s shoulder. “Lisa? I’m Dr. Char—Smith.” She applied gentle but insistent pressure until the girl rolled onto her back.
She was very pretty, with delicate features and silky blond hair. By contrast, her eyes were so dark, the irises were indistinguishable from the pupils. Looking beyond Emory toward him, she smiled shyly. “You came back?”
“I promised you I would. I brought the doctor.”
She shifted her gaze to Emory. “It hurts.”
Emory patted the girl’s slender hand. “I hope to relieve that soon, but first I’ll have to examine you. All right?”
Lisa glanced at her mother, then tentatively nodded.
Emory straightened and turned. “We’ll need privacy.”
He said, “I’ll be right outside the door.” But when he motioned for Pauline to go ahead of him, she protested.
“She’s my daughter. I’ve saw everything.”
“Dr. Smith will call us as soon as she’s completed her examination. Right, Dr. Smith?”
“Certainly,” Emory replied.
Silently she telegraphed to him the urgency of the situation. No longer giving Pauline a choice, he took her arm and propelled her toward the door. When he looked back, Emory was bending over the bed, talking softly to her patient.
He closed the door and put his back to it. Pauline told him that she would be in the kitchen and headed in that direction. She walked with the skittishness of a mouse, keeping close to the wall as though afraid of being seen and raising ire. She disappeared through an open doorway.
Will hadn’t moved from his place on the sofa. On the TV, two women wrestlers were throwing each other against the ropes, but the volume had been lowered. Norman sat in an upholstered chair that at one time had matched the sofa, but it was now haphazardly striped with silver duct tape that held together rips in the stained fabric.
He had their undivided attention.
Norman said, “Sit down and take a load off.”
“I’d rather stand, thanks.”
“What’s your name, anyhow?”
“What difference does it make?”
Norman copped some attitude. “You’re messing in our business, that’s what difference it makes.”
“All I’m doing is getting medical treatment for a sick girl.”
“Sick my ass.” Will rolled off his spine, picked up a can of beer from the scratched and rickety coffee table, and took a swig. “She should’ve known better than to get herself knocked up.”
Earlier, when he’d first seen her in the wrecked truck, he’d noticed that Lisa’s lips were white with pain, but when he’d asked her the nature of her ailment, she hadn’t been forthcoming with an answer.
Since her brothers had seemed indifferent to her condition, he’d consented to drive them home. He’d helped Lisa into the house and, after making a hasty explanation to Pauline as to why he was there, he and the old woman got Lisa into the bedroom.
Sensing the girl’s reluctance to discuss her problem with members of her family, he sent Pauline out of the room to get Lisa a glass of water. Only then had she told him in confidence that she had miscarried. Shamed, she begged him not to tell her mother.
“You shouldn’t go through this alone. Have you told anyone?” he’d asked.
“My aunt and uncle—I live with them in Drakeland—or did. They kicked me out of the house when I told them what was happening. I had to tell my brothers so they would come get me. But I don’t want my mama to know.”
She had started to cry and had been so distraught, he’d given her his word that he wouldn’t tell her mother, but he had impressed on her that if she was in that much pain, she should be seen by a doctor. Either he would drive her or she could call nine-one-one. “The EMTs will keep it confidential. They have to. They’re professionals.”
She wouldn’t hear of it. That’s when he’d offered to bring medical help to her. Knowing what the frightened girl had suffered—and continued to—physically as well as emotionally, her brother Will’s “knocked up” remark infuriated him. He curbed the impulse to yank the younger Floyd off the sofa by his stringy hair and throw him through the window.
He asked, “How old is Lisa?”
Will shrugged and looked over at Norman. “How old is she? Fourteen?”
“Fifteen.”
Will turned back to him. “Fifteen.”
“She and your mother seem to have a close relationship.”
“You know women,” Norman said with a snort. “They stick together.”
“Then why is Lisa living with relatives in Drakeland?”
“None of your friggin’ business,” Will said.
Norman replied more civilly. “Better schools down there.”
“Lisa’s in high school?”
“’Course,” Norman said. “What do you think, she’s a retard or something?”
“I was just wondering if the father of the baby she lost is as young as she is.”
“She works at a Subway on weekends,” Will said. “Who knows who all she’s fucked.” He took another slurp of beer, eyeing him over the top of the can as though hoping he would take umbrage.
He did, but he kept his expression impassive and addressed his next question to Norman. “Have you lived here all your lives?”
“Yep. Well, ’cept for a time a few years ago. Me and Will heard about work up in Virginia. Went up there for a spell.”
“How’d that go?”
Norman scratched his armpit. “Not so good. No sooner got there than the economy went to shit. We both got laid off.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Not really. Mama wanted us back home, and anyway Virginia ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“What kind of work did you do up there?”
Norman’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you? In fact, what’s with all the questions about our family?”
“Just making friendly conversation.”
“Well, make it about something else.”
Will said, “
What we need is a change of subject.” He snapped his fingers. “I know. Let’s talk about you.”
The feral gleam in the younger Floyd’s eye put him on guard, but he kept his tone neutral. “What about me?”
“How come you keep so to yourself?”
“I like my privacy.”
“You like your privacy,” Will repeated, as though pondering the reply. “You a homo?”
Norman snickered then laughed behind his fist. Will gave his brother a self-congratulatory wink.
He let their levity run its course, then said, “No, Will, I’m straight. Sorry. I hate to disappoint you.”
It took a few seconds for Will to process the implication. When he did, he lunged off the sofa and came lumbering toward him. Norman stuck out his booted foot and planted it directly in his brother’s path. Will tripped over it and fell face first onto the filthy rug. He came up hurling curses. Norman physically restrained him.
“Calm down, Will. He’s just egging you on. And you asked for it, after all.”
Will’s stream of profanity continued as he tried to wrestle free of his more level-headed brother. Pauline came in to see what the commotion was about, but after taking in what must be a familiar scene, she slunk back into the kitchen unnoticed.
While Norman was still trying to talk Will out of ripping his fucking head off, the door behind him opened. Emory glanced toward the wrangling brothers, but another problem superseded them. Low but insistently, she said, “I need to talk to you.”
Keeping his eye on the Floyds, he backed into the bedroom and shut the door, then dragged a straight chair over to it and secured it beneath the doorknob. He didn’t need to ask about Lisa. Emory’s demeanor spoke volumes.
She said, “This isn’t a miscarriage.”
He glanced toward the bed, where Lisa lay, crying softly. Emory had stripped the surgical gloves from her hands. She was holding them inside out, but he saw that the fingers of them were stained dark. “Then what’s the matter with her?”
“She’s in labor.”
Chapter 15
Jeff read the name of the caller on his cell phone and considered not answering. Speaking to Alice directly wasn’t the best of ideas. But then, everyone knew her to be a friend to him and Emory as a couple. Naturally she would be worried and calling him for information and to offer every means of support.
He clicked on. “Hi.”
“Jeff, what the hell is going on?”
“Emory is missing.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. It’s already gone viral on social media.”
“Shit. The clinic staff?”
“The clinic per se hasn’t issued a statement. But individual staff members have been telegraphing it. Some of Emory’s friends, too, who say you began yesterday calling around looking for her.”
He swore under his breath. “I knew that sooner or later there would be a social media blitz, but naively I hoped to have more time before the onslaught.”
“I’ve been out of my mind with worry. Talk to me.”
He spent the next ten minutes detailing the situation without any interruption from her beyond spontaneous exclamations of dismay and empathy. He wound down and finished with, “First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going with Knight and Grange to the place in the mountains where they found her car.”
“This is unbelievable.”
“I know. It’s like she was beamed up by aliens, and that’s the least horrible thing I can think of. The ghastly alternatives—”
“Don’t. Don’t do that to yourself. You could drive yourself crazy with speculation.”
“I’m halfway there already. Crazy, I mean. The two detectives urged me to remain positive, but let’s be realistic, Alice. It’s been too long since she was seen or heard from. No matter how angry she was when she left, if she were able to contact me, she would have by now. This can’t be good.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.”
She was too practical a woman for lying either to him or to herself.
“It will be on TV tomorrow,” he told her. “Probably as early as the morning newscasts. News outfits get most of their leads from social media now. Once the sheriff’s office confirms that she’s officially missing, reporters and camera crews will flock up here.”
“Emory is so well known and has such a high public profile.”
She said it without jealousy or rancor. One thing about Alice that he appreciated most was that she was well aware of Emory’s many accomplishments but wasn’t threatened by or resentful of them. Emory had a competitive nature. Not so Alice, who was unlike her in every regard and quite comfortable with paling in comparison to his wife’s stellar brilliance.
Which was precisely why he was with Alice.
He said, “Because of Emory’s notoriety, Knight told me to brace myself. He warned that this might be my last night of peace until she’s found. Once the word is out, I’m likely to be besieged by media.
“In Knight’s opinion, that won’t be all bad,” he went on. “He says it’s usually a good idea for a family member to make a public appeal, to go on camera and ask for help or information. You’ve seen them on TV, sobbing parents, distraught spouses, begging for the safe return of the missing loved one. I never thought I’d be one of those poor slobs.”
“Will you be comfortable doing that?”
“It won’t be easy, but I’ll do whatever is expected or required of me.”
“You sound exhausted.”
“It’s been a shitty twenty-four hours.”
“What prompted you to drive up there yesterday?”
Leave my bed and drive up there. She didn’t say that, but it was implied.
“As you kept pointing out to me, it was unlike Emory to go so long without calling, out of courtesy if for no other reason. I still didn’t believe anything catastrophic had happened, more like she was punishing me for our argument.
“I drove up here expecting to find her sulking in her motel room. I planned for us to make up, or at least to call a truce until we could get home and sort things out. Who in hell could have foreseen this?”
She made soothing sounds. He imagined her hugging his head to her pillowy breasts, running her fingers through his hair, and stroking his cheek. He’d never required or particularly enjoyed cuddling, but it was essential to Alice. Her body, lushly proportioned, seemed to demand that she make good use of what it had been designed for.
As though following the track of his thoughts, she said, “I wish I were with you.”
“Wouldn’t do.”
“I know. That doesn’t stop me from wanting it. Where are you now?”
“Some crappy motel. I don’t even know the name of it.”
She suggested that he find better accommodations. As he explained how he’d come to be in these particular lodgings, he went over to the window and peeped through the split in the tacky drape, halfway expecting to see Grange and Knight sitting in their SUV with the darkly tinted windows, keeping vigil on his room through night vision binoculars.
“Putting me here and covering the bill is their subtle way of telling me that I’m not free to come and go, like they’ve got to keep an eye on me.”
“That’s not so surprising, is it? Naturally they’re worried about you, your state of mind. And if there’s a sudden development, they need to know where to find you in a hurry.”
“Maybe.”
“Jeff? What?”
She’d picked up on his vexation, and he welcomed the opportunity to unload. “It’s almost like they think I had something to do with Emory’s disappearance.”
“They can’t possibly think that!”
“Oh, they can. It’s always the husband, isn’t it?” He didn’t say “cheating husband,” but Alice was smart enough to infer the adjective.
In a small voice, she asked, “Have you told them about us?”
“God no. Hell no. I owned up to the fight Emory and I had on Thursday night, but… I don’t know. May
be I’m just being paranoid, but it seemed to me that they read more into it than it actually was. Knight even had the gall to ask if our fight had turned physical.”
“It’s their job to be suspicious.”
“Grange certainly is. He pounced when I mentioned packing a bag before leaving Atlanta, asked if I had counted on staying a while.”
“Did you explain how fastidious and persnickety you are about your wardrobe?”
He took that as a rhetorical question. “The two of them also have this good cop/bad cop routine that’s so transparent it’s almost funny.”
“Except that it’s not funny, Jeff. None of it. Your wife, my friend, is missing.”
“Yes, she’s missing. She’s missing because she went to a place where she—or any woman—should never have gone alone. I should have kept my mouth shut about it. Trying to talk her out of this trip only made her more determined. You know how strong willed she is. Now we’re all suffering the consequences for her bad choices.”
“Jeff,” she chided softly.
“I’m sorry. That sounded terrible. I’m not myself.”
She was quiet for a time, then, “These two detectives said there was no indication that she’d been accosted.”
“Not where her car was parked, anyway.”
“Which doesn’t rule out something dreadful happening to her while she was running, either foul play or an accident that impaired her.”
“That’s what I keep harping on to them, but…” He hesitated, debating whether or not to bring this up, then said, “They posed another explanation for her disappearance.”
“What?”
“It’s absurd, but they suggested that Emory met someone up here, a man, and that she’s on a lover’s getaway. Knight asked me outright if she was unfaithful.”
“Do you have reason to suspect that?”
That wasn’t the reaction he had anticipated, and it caused him to sputter a laugh. “Jesus, Alice. Not you too? What’s good for the goose?”
Apparently she was thinking precisely that. The extended silence at the other end was weighty with implication. Finally she said, “Knowing Emory—”
“It’s out of the question.”
“I was about to say that it seems highly unlikely.”