Informed Consent

by Miller, Melissa F.

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “Your babies are adorable,” the woman remarked as she settled into her seat and tightened her lap belt into place.

  “Thank you.”

  “How old are they?”

  “Ten weeks.”

  “Tiny things. Are you traveling alone with them?” She said in a conversational tone.

  “No, my husband’s around here somewhere. Probably in the cockpit making a nuisance of himself.” She leaned across the aisle. “He’s a retired Air Marshal.”

  “Oh? What does he do now?”

  “He’s a security consultant.” And then, although the woman hadn’t asked, she felt compelled to add, “I’m a lawyer.”

  “My, you must have your hands full. I was a teacher for years, but when I had my twins, I quit to stay home with them.”

  “You have twins, too?”

  The woman smiled at some memory. “Oh, yes. I’m on my way to Maine to visit my Roland, as a matter of fact. He’s an artist. His sister Rebecca is a mechanical engineer.” She smiled at some private memory. “Once they were in high school, I went back to work.”

  “Teaching?”

  “No, journalism, actually. I’d written some articles for parenting magazines over the years. I started out covering the education beat and moved on from there. When I retired, I’d been the crime reporter for almost a decade. Now I write the occasional freelance article when something moves me. My name’s Annabeth Douglas, by the way.” She extended her hand across the aisle. She had a firm, businesslike handshake.

  “Sasha McCandless-Connelly. This is Finn. And this is Fiona,” Sasha said in return, pointing to each twin’s head in turn.

  From there, their conversation flowed naturally, as if they’d known each other for years. At some point, Connelly returned and settled into the window seat. Sasha introduced him to Annabeth and handed off Finn, who was fast asleep before the plane’s wheels retracted.

  Connelly nestled his son into his chest and peered through the window, staring out at the clouds. Annabeth pulled out a book, and Sasha played a quiet game of patty-cake with Fiona.

  Fiona squealed with laughter, and Connelly turned to smile at her.

  “What are you thinking?” Sasha asked when she caught his eye.

  His smile faded. “Hoping this wasn’t a mistake.”

  “Which—meeting this guy or letting us tag along?”

  “All of it.” His lips curved into a smile. “I’m glad you’re here, though.”

  “So am I. And the twins are being awesome.”

  “Don’t jinx it,” he warned. “We’re not there yet. We still have to rent a car, drive for hours, take a water taxi, and then somehow navigate Great Cranberry Island on foot, with the terrific twosome in tow.”

  Sasha dismissed the litany with a wave of her hand, even though thinking of the journey ahead exhausted her.

  Annabeth leaned over. “Did I hear you’re headed to Great Cranberry Island?”

  “That’s right,” Connelly answered.

  “My husband and I spent a week there, ages ago, with friends. There’s not really much to do, but there’s a cute little general store with a cafe. Make sure you get some homemade cookies for energy. You’ll be flagging by the time you get there.” She nodded toward the babies. “That’s quite a haul for the little ones.”

  “It is,” Sasha agreed. “But we didn’t want to send daddy up without us.”

  “So this is a business trip? It’s not really the tourist season up there, now, I’m afraid.”

  “I know. I wouldn’t say it’s necessarily a business trip, but it’s … personal business. Leo’s been trying to find his father. There’s a gentleman on the island who may have some information for him. After they meet, we’re going to spend a few days visiting Acadia, if the weather cooperates.”

  Connelly shot her a dark look, but she ignored it. The fact that he was searching for his father wasn’t classified. She was just making conversation.

  “Oh, how exciting!” Annabeth clapped her hands together. “Are you nervous?” she asked Connelly.

  “No.” He turned back to the window.

  “Sorry,” Sasha mouthed.

  “No apologies necessary. Sometimes I forget I’m not a reporter any more. When I was working, it was my job to pry. Now it’s just nebby.” Annabeth laughed.

  Connelly must have realized his behavior was rude, because he looked back at them with a sheepish expression. “It’s just not a very interesting subject. I’d much rather hear about you. What was the most exciting crime you covered?”

  As Annabeth began to prattle about a story involving a long-ago trial of a New York City gang, Sasha smiled to herself. Connelly had a talent for getting people to talk about themselves. For the first time, she wondered if he’d developed it, not—as she’d always assumed—as part of his secret agent man arsenal, but as a coping mechanism to avoid having to talk about his fatherless childhood.

  * * *

  Sasha hauled Annabeth’s suitcase down from the overhead compartment and handed it to her. “Have a nice visit with your son.”

  “Thanks, dear. Here, take my card.” She pressed a business card into Sasha’s hand. “If nothing else, send me an email some time. I’d love to hear how your trip went and maybe see some pictures of those two little pumpkins in their Halloween costumes.”

  “Oh. Oh, thank you.” She dug around in her wallet for a business card of her own to exchange, but the woman was already halfway down the aisle.

  “She was nice,” Connelly said.

  Sasha nodded her agreement and did a final sweep of their seats to confirm they weren’t leaving a blankie, a board book, or—in Finn’s signature move—one lone baby sock—behind.

  “I think we have everything,” she said, as she shrugged into one of the hiking backpacks they’d decided to use in place of traditional diaper bags on this trip and then strapped Finn into the front carrier slung over her chest.

  Connelly put on the second backpack and then the second baby carrier. He maneuvered Fiona into the carrier and secured the straps. “All set?” he asked.

  “All set.”

  They strode through the spotless, nearly empty airport terminal and followed the signs to the rental car counters. While Connelly acquired the car, Sasha headed for the family restroom. She re-diapered the twins and listened to her voicemails at the same time. A court reporter calling to confirm a deposition, a reminder about a bar committee meeting, and a request for a donation. No calls from courthouse clerks, panicked clients, or irate opposing attorneys. All in all, the best-case scenario.

  Will had almost managed to hide his dismay at the news that his recently-returned-from-maternity-leave law partner was jetting off on an unscheduled trip on short notice. The least she could do to repay him for that kindness was to stay on top of her messages and emails.

  Emails.

  As she repacked the wipes into the backpack, she spotted her phone, its red light blinking to let her know that emails awaited. Her hand hovered over it and she began to pull it from the side pocket, but she knew the emails would far outnumber the voicemails. She didn’t have time to start that little project in the restroom. She stowed the phone and pushed open the bathroom door with her hip.

  Connelly was leaning against the tile wall, dangling the rental car keys from his hand. He reached out and relieved her of half of her baby load. She allowed herself a brief moment’s satisfaction at the well-oiled McCandlesss-Connelly traveling machinery. Later, after the machinery broke down, she’d be grateful she’d kept her thoughts to herself, so Connelly couldn’t accuse her of tempting fate.

  15

  Leo shivered in his thin jacket as the wind swept across the highway. He pawed through the backpack until he found the unopened package of baby wipes; then he closed the rental car’s trunk with a slam and jogged around to the passenger side. Sasha was leaning over the front seat, zipping Finn into a clean sleeper.

  “Found them,” he a
nnounced.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Can you get started on the carseat? But give me a couple first. I’m all out, and I have vomit under my nails.”

  He almost laughed at the incongruity between the image and the words. With her arched back and over-the-shoulder expression and the breeze lifting her long, loose wavy hair, she could have been a model on an exotic shoot. But her request laid bare the reality: she was a traveling mom with a carsick infant.

  He handed her a fistful of wipes, held his breath, and got to work wiping down the carseat. One seat over, on the other side of the back seat, Fiona giggled and gurgled, either oblivious to or amused by her brother’s predicament.

  “There.” He tossed the used wipes into the ziplock bag that held Finn’s soiled outfit and closed it.

  Sasha lifted Finn and traded him for the bag. “Poor little guy. I hope he’s feeling better now.”

  Leo buckled his son into the carseat and kissed his forehead while Sasha popped the trunk and stowed the bag.

  Once they were back in the front seat, Leo checked his mirrors and prepared to merge off the shoulder and back onto the highway.

  “Does the house you rented have a washer and dryer?” he asked, suddenly wondering what they were going to do about Finn’s vomit-coated clothes.

  “Are you new here? Of course it does. Who would plan a long weekend with two-month-old babies and no access to a washer and dryer?” She laughed at the question and then returned to examining her fingernails.

  He nodded and then hit the gas, seamlessly rejoining the flow of traffic streaming north on Interstate 295. They drove in silence for several minutes, then Sasha unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted around to check on their two tiny passengers.

  “How’s everybody doing back there?”

  “Finn’s asleep, and Fiona’s trying to see if she can get her foot into her mouth.” She settled back into her seat, keeping her voice soft so as not to disturb the peace that had fallen over the car.

  He was continually amazed by how quickly the mood could change with babies. Minutes ago, Finn was red-faced and howling. Now he was calmly sleeping. Sometimes one of the twins would go from alert curiosity to drowsy, heavy-lidded quiet in mere seconds.

  “I hope Fiona naps, too. We still have a good two hours’ of driving until we get to Mt. Desert Island.” And then they’d have to get a boat to Great Cranberry Island. They had hours of traveling ahead of them.

  Sasha responded by looking pointedly at her empty takeout coffee cup.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “We’ll stop for a quick lunch. But we really should try to lay down some miles while the twins are cooperating. I really don’t want to get to Great Cranberry Island too late.”

  She shrugged.

  She wasn’t worried. He was worried. They would likely arrive early enough to take one of the three regularly scheduled ferries to the island, but all three ferries stopped running before six p.m. That would leave him very little time to actually meet with Wynn. So he’d called around and arranged for a private water taxi to transport them to the island, wait for them, and then bring them back. The captain had been amenable, but he was loud and clear about his personal belief that making such a trip, after dark, in late October, was foolish. When Leo mentioned the babies, the captain amended his opinion to ‘damned foolish.’ Leo privately agreed.

  He felt her eyes on his face and glanced at her. “What?”

  “I know what you’re thinking, Connelly.”

  “Tell me—what am I thinking?”

  “You’re thinking that you’d really like to drop me and the twins at the rental house and go to the island alone.”

  “That’s a great idea. I’m glad you’ve finally come—”

  “No. Listen to me. You aren’t doing this alone.”

  “Sasha.”

  “They’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

  He shook his head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  She was silent for a long moment. Then she sighed and spread her hands wide in a gesture of appeasement. “We’ll hang out at the cafe that Annabeth told me about, okay? We won’t tag along to Mr. Wynn’s house.”

  He kept his eyes on the road ahead and hoped he was successful in hiding his surprise. He could count on the fingers of no hands the times his wife had suggested a compromise with him. Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but only a bit. She was wildly independent and accustomed to being right—two traits that didn’t lend themselves to easy negotiation.

  “Really?” he asked, almost afraid to believe she meant it.

  “Really.”

  The tension he’d been holding in his neck and shoulders drained away. “That would be a great idea. What made you change your mind?”

  “I wanted to come with you to be a support, Connelly, not a weight. It doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re extra uptight—even for you. You’re not dumping us on the mainland; I want to be close enough to help if you need me. But if you want to go alone to meet your mystery man, we’ll keep our distance.” Her voice turned into a whisper that he had to strain to hear. “Just make sure you take your cell phone. And your gun.”

  “Thank you.” He reached over and covered her hand with his.

  She traced a circle on his thumb with the pad of her pointer finger. “You’re welcome.” Then she eased her hand free and rifled through the backpack at her feet. “Speaking of cell phones,” she said, more to herself than to him, “I need to charge mine so I can tackle my emails after lunch. My battery died right before Finn lost his breakfast.”

  She plugged the device into the charger, leaned her head back against the headrest, and covered a yawn with the palm of her hand.

  “You should take a nap,” he suggested. “That stupid phone isn’t the only thing that needs to recharge, you know.”

  She smiled sleepily and closed her eyes. “Maybe I will. You know what they say—sleep while the babies are sleeping. Or eating their feet.”

  16

  Al Kayser hurried down the hallway and caught his receptionist’s eyes as he passed by the waiting room, half filled with patients. She gave her head a discrete shake, wordlessly answering his unasked question. No calls.

  He frowned. It wasn’t like Sasha to ignore her emails. In fact, he’d emailed her precisely because he thought it would result in a quicker response. But several hours had passed since he’d hit ‘send’ and she hadn’t called. He wanted to get her input before he returned Dr. Allstrom’s call, but he couldn’t wait much longer. He was likely to run into her in person in a few hours when he visited his patients at Golden Village, and he knew she’d use the opportunity to press him for an answer.

  He put the issue out of his mind as he knocked on the exam room door. “Mrs. Baughman? May I come in?” He raised his voice so that she would hear him even if she had once again left her hearing aid at home.

  When he emerged from the exam room twenty-five minutes later, Lucy was loitering near the copy machine.

  “Dr. Kayser, I was about to leave for my lunch break, but I wanted to tell you—”

  “Ms. McCandless-Connelly called?”

  “No. But Dr. Allstrom called again. I transferred her into your voicemail.” She winced slightly as she delivered the bad news. “Sorry.”

  He stifled a sigh. “It’s okay. Thanks, Lucy. Go take your break.”

  He stashed Mrs. Baughman’s chart in the slot designated for completed appointments and slipped into his office. He sat down at his desk and gnawed on his pen cap as he tried to decide what to do next. He hated to be a bother, but it occurred to him that he had no idea if Sasha had gotten his email. She could be in court or in a deposition or doing whatever it was lawyers did all day.

  With that thought, he picked up the receiver on his desk phone and dialed the law firm’s main number.

  “Good afternoon, you’ve reached McCandless and Volmer. How may I direct your call?” Carolina Masters asked in her smooth as silk voice.

/>   “Hi, this is Al Kayser. I sent an email to Sasha this morning, but I haven’t heard back. I was wondering if she’s in today?”

  After the briefest of pauses, the receptionist responded. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that she hasn’t gotten back to you, Dr. Kayser. She’s usually very good about returning emails quickly, but she is traveling today. She may not have seen it yet. Can someone else help you?”

  “Is Naya in?”

  “Yes, she is. I’ll transfer you to her line now, Dr. Kayser.”

  “Thank you.” He settled back in his chair and listened to the hold music.

  Less than a minute later, the music cut off and Naya’s voice was in his ear.

  “Dr. Kayser, Caroline explained you have an email in to Sasha that she hasn’t had a chance to answer,” she said by way of greeting. “I haven’t read your email to Sasha, but could you tell me what it concerns?” Her tone was brisk and business-like.

  He had to imagine with her boss out of the office, the junior associate was hopping busy. “Well, the short version is Greta Allstrom has called me twice today. She wants me to meet with her so she can, and I quote, ‘assuage my concerns about her research.’ I didn’t want to agree to talk to her without getting Sasha’s input.”

  “Assuage your concerns,” Naya echoed.

  He nodded to himself as he answered. “Yes, that’s what she said.”

  He could hear a faint tapping sound as she thought, as if she were rapping her pen against her desk.

  “Hmm … I would ordinarily say there’s no harm in hearing what the other side has to say. But this matter is so unusual, I don’t know if that’s the right course here.”

  “Unusual in what way—if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I know you’re looking into this on behalf of your patients and their families, and Sasha’s convinced that Dr. Allstrom’s behavior is improper, but you have to bear in mind that we don’t actually have a live case yet. By which I mean, nothing’s been filed in court, no official demand’s been made of either the doctor or the university. Part of the reason for that is we don’t actually have a client.”