by Elaine Fox
Mrs. Danvers, that’s who she reminded Delaney of. Mrs. Danvers from that movie, Rebecca. Stern, sour-faced, malcontented. She suppressed a shiver and opened the chart in her hands.
Jack Shepard.
Delaney’s heart skipped a beat. The name at the top of the chart leapt out at her and she dropped the folder as if it were poker-hot. For a long moment she couldn’t breathe, then she gasped for air, realizing immediately that she was hyperventilating.
She moved to the edge of the examining table and sat, the paper cover crinkling beneath her. She put her head between her knees and breathed into her shirt.
Oh my God, she thought. Oh my God oh my God oh my God. Sweat broke out across her skin, and she found herself swallowing so many times her mouth went dry.
From the corner of her eye she saw the folder lying bent against the floor, the orange label unreadable from this distance. Surely she’d read it wrong. It must have said something else. Joan Shepard, for example. It was just that she’d been thinking about Jack, and so she’d seen his name.
She pushed herself off the table and gingerly picked up the folder, peeling back the cover as if a confetti snake might pop out.
Jack Shepard. Male. 34 years old. Allergic to penicillin.
Delaney placed the chart on the counter and laid her palm flat against it, holding it facedown against the Formica.
Oh my God, she thought again, and with that, the door behind her opened.
Delaney spun and saw a short, blond girl with some kind of metal head in her arms enter the room. The man next to her held a bloody bandage to his forehead, but Delaney could not look at him. Instead, she focused on Nurse Knecht, behind them, as she shut the door.
Delaney’s eyes rose to the man’s face at the same moment his descended to hers. For a moment, silence gripped the world.
For Delaney, the ground seemed to dip beneath her feet as she looked into the long-lashed hazel eyes she’d had so many dreams about, waking and sleeping. She didn’t waver—no she still had that hand palm down on Jack Shepard’s chart—but even though the dizziness had passed, she was unable to move.
He was not, as she’d grown to tell herself, an average guy who had simply caught her at a delirious moment. He was every bit as handsome as she’d remembered. And she found herself staring at him in stupefied silence while the little blonde rattled off an introduction of herself and the problem at hand.
“Hi! I’m Lisa Jacobson,” she burbled. “You probably know the name because Dr. Jacobson, your boss, is my father.”
For his part, Jack stood staring at Delaney, too, his mouth agape, bloody gauze at his head apparently forgotten.
“I brought this with me,” Lisa continued, depositing the head on the examining table, “because my father always said the doctor needs to know what caused the cut, ’cause you can get diseases and stuff from them. So here it is, Doctor…what’s your name?”
Delaney blinked slowly and shifted her gaze to the blonde, swallowing hard. “Yes, my name is—”
“Delaney.”
The word from his lips shocked her anew and nearly made her shiver with…what? She wasn’t sure. She remembered his voice so clearly from that night. Low and intimate…telling her how beautiful she was while his hands explored every inch of her naked flesh.
But at the same time ten thousand terrified thoughts careened through her mind. Emily’s father. A man with a claim. A resident of Harp Cove. A scandal waiting to explode. An unknown influence on her tiny daughter’s life. An unknown threat to her defenseless daughter’s future. The sperm donor suddenly come back to haunt her.
“You know her?” The little blonde’s face screwed up as she looked at Jack.
Delaney cleared her throat. “Dr. Poole,” she said, holding an icy hand out to Lisa Jacobson.
Lisa turned back to her, scowling, and took her hand. “Yeah, nice to meet you. So here’s the head—he can keep it when you’re done. I don’t care.”
Delaney shifted her hand toward Jack like a robot while the girl talked. He moved the bloody bandage to his left hand, looked at his messy right hand, and took the gauze back into it. Then he reached out with his left hand, and took hers as if he were about to lead her from the room. And he gave her that dazzling smile.
“Delaney Poole,” he repeated, his expression at once delighted and amazed. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wondered what your last name was. Or where you were and what you were doing.”
Delaney nearly laughed—hysterically—at the statement. Oh if you only knew, she thought.
“When did you guys meet?” Lisa asked.
“So, are you visiting again from Cape Cod?” Delaney shifted her eyes to his chart, now somehow in her hands, and hoped her voice did not sound too hopeful.
“Visiting? No, I live here.” He paused. “Oh. No, I was just visiting Cape Cod last year. Not visiting from there. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
Delaney’s eyes shot up to his. Then why the hell don’t you have a phone? Not that she’d really wanted to reach him. And now it was too late…wasn’t it? She didn’t need to tell him now. She couldn’t tell him now. Looking at him here, in the flesh, he suddenly seemed quite large. She had no idea what he was really like.
She cleared her throat again. “So, what seems to be the trouble?” she asked in her most clinical voice.
“Well, I seem to be bleeding.” She could hear the smile in his voice.
“Yeah, and it’s his own fault,” Lisa added, her voice so caustic Delaney turned to her. “Well, his and this thing’s.” She laid a hand on the top of the head, disrupting its balance, and sent it crashing to the floor.
It hit with a loud, dull clang, and bounced toward Delaney’s foot. She jumped, feeling like a raw nerve, and realized as the thing rolled to a stop against the cabinets that it was a bust of Wonder Woman. And her left cheek was a good bit flatter now than when she’d come in.
“Oh, sorry.” Lisa bent to pick up the head, drawing Delaney’s attention to her short skirt and young, athletic legs. “Listen, like I said, I’m not sure how it happened, but Jack hit himself in the head with this sculpture.”
Jack gave Delaney a dry look. “I don’t know what possessed me.”
“I was trying to give it to him,” Lisa continued, pushing the head back onto the examining table, “for his boat, but he didn’t want it. Just like he doesn’t want me. So I’m thinking he got what he deserved. In any case, it was this part here that caught him.” Lisa touched the point of a dented breast with one pink-nailed finger.
“In some cultures it’s probably a rite of passage,” Jack said with a crooked smile, “to have a scar from the breast of Wonder Woman.”
Delaney recognized that she should laugh at his comment, but she was frozen inside. Literally paralyzed with shock.
“You see, Jack was trying to tell me he’s not the right man for me. Just like he’s not the right man for any woman, not after a couple weeks anyway.”
Delaney’s eyes drifted back to Lisa’s face. This was her daughter’s father’s girlfriend? This was the kind of woman Emily would be exposed to if somehow it came down to sharing custody?
“Lisa, I think you’ve helped about enough,” Jack said, turning around and opening the door. “Thanks for bringing me over. I can get home on my own.”
“Fine.” Lisa shrugged and shot him a chilling look as she sauntered out the door. “Suit yourself. But don’t bother calling when you get lonely ’cause I don’t want nothing more to do with you.”
“All right, thanks,” Jack said amiably, closing the door behind her as if she’d just dropped off a plate of cookies. He turned back to Delaney.
The room was deathly quiet, the only sound the ticking of the plastic clock on the wall over the door.
“So,” he said, “here we are.”
Delaney’s insides were quaking so hard she wasn’t sure she’d be able to move without tipping over, so she leaned against the counter, his chart against her chest under cro
ssed arms.
She cleared her throat once again. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Me neither. You, that is.”
Another moment of silence passed.
His brow wrinkled. “I thought you were a vet.”
“Ah, no.” Delaney glanced at the floor. “Since I didn’t know you very well, I decided not to clear up that little, um, misunderstanding.”
Jack’s expression, that had been so open and happy to see her, was transforming inch by inch to one of confusion.
She nodded. “Listen—”
But he spoke at the same time. “It’s just—”
They both stopped.
He grinned. “Go ahead.”
“No, you.” She wasn’t sure exactly what she was going to say anyway.
He smiled and looked down. She noticed his cheeks flushing and for a moment felt a spasm of empathy for him.
“I just…I mean, I know we left on strange terms, last time we met. But I don’t think we need to feel so…so awkward around each other.” He looked up at her, his eyes crinkled into a dangerously appealing smile. “I mean, I’m really happy to see you again.”
“I’m married,” Delaney blurted, then felt as shocked as he looked.
The clock ticked even louder.
Jack’s face went slack. “What?”
“My…I have a husband. Yes.” She nodded, unable, it seemed, to stop.
“Oh.” This time he cleared his throat. “Congratulations. Newlyweds?” He pulled the bandage from his forehead and looked at it.
Delaney noted the cut and shook herself into action. “God, here, sit down. I’m sorry.” She motioned for him to sit next to Wonder Woman.
This was good, she thought, nervously reviewing her hasty lie. This was better. This way she could just look at the cut, irrigate it, stitch it, and not have to look him in the eye again.
She turned back to the counter and snapped on a pair of gloves. Then she took the bottle of sterile solution and a wad of gauze and turned back to him. His eyes flicked away as she turned.
“So, are you newlyweds?” he asked again.
So much for hoping he’d forget the direction of the conversation.
“Uh, no. Over a year, actually. Nearly two, in fact.”
“Two years?” he repeated.
Story details ran in and out of Delaney’s mind as she rapidly revised the story she thought she’d be giving people. Okay, instead of divorced I’m still married. Instead of my husband having no contact with Emily, he’s a big part of her life. He’s a devoted father, she thought frantically. And why wouldn’t he be? Emily is his own daughter, his own flesh and blood, the product of their marriage, their decision to have children, their love.
So where the hell was he?
“Yeah, ah…”
He sucked in his breath as she moved a flap of skin.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” she said again, manipulating the laceration so he would feel just enough pain to keep from being able to concentrate on her. “I was married when we met, but my husband and I had been going through a bad time. We were, uh, talking about separating.” Yes, she thought, perfect. Someday when she wanted to be rid of this husband, she could then say she divorced him. “But we worked it out, and now we’re fine.”
“You were married?” His brows rose, and he tried to turn to look at her, but she pushed the gauze onto the cut and held his head in place. “That night,” he persisted, “you were married?”
Delaney’s cheeks flamed as she worked. An unfamiliar shame for cheating on this new husband engulfed her.
“Separated,” she said defensively. “But now we’re okay.”
“So he’s here now, too.”
Damn. Delaney’s mind scrambled. “Actually, not yet. He, ah, hasn’t found a job here yet.”
A knock sounded on the door. Delaney breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Come in.”
She expected to see Nurse Knecht, but instead it was Cora carrying a happy, gurgling Emily. Delaney’s stomach hit the floor.
“Here she is,” Cora cooed. Emily beamed at Delaney. “Sorry, Dr. Poole. I wouldn’t’ve interrupted except that I have to be home in ten minutes. Want I should give her to the nurse?”
“Yes, that would be fine,” Delaney said, hoping Nurse Knecht didn’t turn out to be some kind of cannibal. “I’ll be with her in just a few minutes.”
Cora left, and Delaney could not meet Jack’s eyes. Did he know? she wondered. Had he sensed he was in the presence of his own daughter? Had the world actually stopped, as she’d felt it had, when the whole family was there in the same room? No, he must have thought it was just another patient.
“And that would be your baby,” Jack said softly.
Delaney started. “What did you say?”
“Your baby. The one who needed the extra room fixed up at the house.”
Delaney gaped at him as his eyes met hers. They were very close, and her hand rested on his forehead. For a second she imagined leaning into him, feeling his arms come around her to hold her up and steady the quaking his astonishing presence had induced in her.
“How did you know that?” Her voice was nearly a whisper.
He gave her a one-shouldered shrug and looked at her with eyes that looked sad.
Then his mouth crooked up into an obviously forced smile, and he said, “I’m your landlord.”
Chapter 4
The moment Jack left, Delaney sank onto the rolling stool and covered her face with her hands. She had to get out of that lease. She couldn’t possibly live so close to Jack Shepard. God, she’d even given the landlord permission to enter her house at will. At will. That meant anytime. When she wasn’t there. When she was. Unexpectedly. Undesirably.
It also meant that in addition to fixing the roof, renovating the kitchen, and replacing the drywall, he could riffle through her things, find evidence that her husband was nonexistent, and discover the pertinent, damaging details about Emily.
Or rather, Emily’s father.
Not that there was much of that lying around, but still. She couldn’t give Jack Shepard that much opportunity to be around Emily. Because if he were around Emily, he would begin to think. To wonder. To suspect.
She had to get out of that lease. She balled her hands into fists and placed them on her knees. She could do it, she could get out of it. She hadn’t even moved in yet. She had to do it.
But what excuse could she give? If it weren’t completely believable, that could be the thing to cause him to speculate. It was a small town, after all. He would see her and Emily regardless. Would it be more dangerous, more suspicious to extricate herself from the lease than it would be to stay?
She exhaled and rubbed her temples with her fingers.
Where else could she go? It was the middle of summer, and Harp Cove, small as it was, was a resort town. The nicest houses were booked months in advance all the way through Columbus Day. That was why she’d contacted the Realtor back in March, and why she’d felt so lucky to find the “lovely stone carriage house by the sea” Mr. Knecht had so enthused about.
Lucky, she thought. Hah. Lucky to find herself right smack in the middle of the spider’s web. Of all the places, she thought, rolling the heels of her hands along her temples. Of all the gin joints in all the cities in all the world…
She grimaced. Suddenly Casablanca didn’t seem so romantic. Maybe Ilsa was horrified to find herself back in such close proximity to Rick. Maybe the whole affair with him had been a lie, and it was a grave inconvenience for her to have to deal with this skeleton from her closet on top of the war and the letters of transit and everything else she and her husband were going through. Suddenly it was clear the movie’s writers were masters of ironic satire. Casablanca wasn’t a romance—it was a parody.
A sharp knock sounded on the door. Delaney jerked upright. “Yes?”
Nurse Knecht opened the door. “I’m leaving now. Emily’s asleep in her car seat in your office, and Ma
ggie’s here to clean up.”
“That’s fine. Thank you, Nurse Knecht,” Delaney said, sitting stiff as a poker on the short chrome stool, like a disobedient child in the corner.
The nurse’s hawk eyes surveyed her for a moment. “You leaving yet, or should I tell Maggie to leave your office for last?”
“I’ll be leaving soon, thank you. I’ll tell Maggie.” Just leave, Delaney’s mind shouted. Leave so I can wallow in my shock and consternation.
The nurse nodded once and left, somehow managing to close the door with disapproval. Or perhaps that was just Delaney’s guilty conscience. Because despite what was undoubtedly an unhinged expression on Delaney’s face, even Nurse Knecht would never suspect her of harboring the illegitimate child of a hometown boy.
Not that it mattered. Nurse Knecht was but one person in this town. If the truth about Emily were to come out, how many others would treat her with disapproval? Most of them, Delaney was sure. For this town was nothing if not conservative. And the unwed mother of a child conceived during a one-night stand would hardly be embraced as a valuable member of the community, let alone be considered a trusted and respected physician.
Which was the whole reason she’d concocted the ex-husband to begin with. Was it really so much more complicated to have an absent husband? No, she was just panicking because she hadn’t expected to run into Emily’s real father at all.
She should have planned for this, she told herself. After all, she’d met him here last year: why hadn’t she considered that she might meet him again? Well, she had, sort of. She just hadn’t considered that he’d be living here instead of visiting. That he’d be able to find out about her child by looking out his own damn window. That he’d turn out to be her landlord, for pity’s sake. In her imagined scenario their meeting was brief, cool, and information-free.
Now that she’d told him she was married, however, the words could not be taken back. So she was stuck with a new lie—a much grander, more complicated, less malleable lie—and she had to make the best of it.