Bound by Suggestion (12 page)

Was that panic in her eyes?

“I can’t because I don’t know what they are.”

“Let me assure you, they’re significant.”

Krista looked down at her mostly uneaten salad, composed herself, and I wondered what it was she was hiding from me.

“I have to respect patient confidentiality,” she began. “Without it, there’s—

“I know all about trust. I don’t hand it out indiscriminately, either. That’s why—”

“You’re right,” she cut me off. “I’m sorry. I’m primarily concerned with Grace. She’s my patient. It’s just that I consider you better able to handle the emotional burden.”

“Burden? I haven’t got a clue what’s going on.”

She seemed taken aback. “Are you pulling out?”

“I want to know what’s going on.”

Krista took another sip of her by-now cold cappuccino. “I can’t violate my patient-doctor confidentiality without consulting Grace.”

“I respect that. But I can’t be kept in the dark, either.”

“I understand. I’m meeting with her later today. I promise I’ll bring up your concerns. I’m sure we can work this out.” She touched my hand again, and once more I was struck with the reality that I didn’t connect with her like I did with Maggie.

God, I missed my lady.

She glanced beyond me. “Oh Lord, I’ve got a patient in ten minutes. I’ve got to run.” She gathered her purse and stood, then paused to pat my hand. “Will you be at the session on Monday?”

“I’ll be there. But I want to settle this. Or I won’t be back.”

She nodded. “I promise.” Then she was off.

The waitress passed by, left the check face down on the table. I picked it up and winced. Boy did I miss Maggie—who understood my financial difficulties. I’d have to put in more hours at the bar if I continued seeing the lady shrink.

I left a generous tip and headed for the cashier, glad the restaurant took credit cards.

During the
summer I tried to sneak in to Richard’s and Brenda’s house to do my laundry on their golf day. During the winter months, I’d do it when they’d go out to lunch—but even that routine had changed. Lately Brenda was always around. And I thought I knew why.

“That’s the second time this week you’ve washed sheets. You got a problem, Jeffy?” Brenda asked from the basement’s laundry room doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, looking her most maternal.

I didn’t know whether to laugh, blame the cat, or die of embarrassment.

“I’m a nurse,” she said. “Maybe I can help.”

I finished folding pillowcases, didn’t meet her gaze.

“Maybe you should talk to Richard,” she suggested gently.

“Maybe.” I worked to keep my face neutral. I pulled the flat sheet from the dryer, handed her two corners.

“I’ve got good news.” She stepped back to the pull the fabric taut.

I risked a glance in her direction.

“I’m pregnant.”

“I know.” I should’ve shown more enthusiasm, but then this wasn’t a surprise to me and she knew it. She’d have this baby. A little girl, Elizabeth Ruth—Betsy for short—named after Richard’s and my mother, and Brenda’s deceased twin sister.

“That’s all you have to say?” she asked, as we joined corners.

I tried to stifle a smile. “She’ll be gorgeous.”

“Was there a doubt? I suppose you even know her name?”

“As a matter of fact—”

She put a hand over my mouth. “You can tell me after we decide.”

“Deal.” I pulled the fitted sheet from the dryer, gave her another two corners.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said.

“Not really. It’s just that you and Maggie are good friends. I don’t want that to end because we aren’t seeing each other any more.”

“I won’t pretend this situation doesn’t upset me. I love you both. But I made it clear to Maggie that you’re family and that’s where my first loyalty lies.”

I finished folding the sheet, couldn’t look her in the eye. “I appreciate that. I won’t ask you about her—put you in the middle.”

“Thank you.”

I finished folding the last few items. “By the way, did you see me come home yesterday afternoon?”

She shook her head. “No. Why?

I shrugged to cover my anxiety. “I kind of lost track of things. I’ve been trying to piece it together.”

She looked down at the neatly folded sheets in my laundry basket. “Maybe you had a lot on your mind.”

Yeah, like why I’d parked in Richard’s spot in the garage. Now I felt even more uncomfortable.

I hefted the laundry basket under one arm and headed for the stairs. Brenda followed.

Richard stood at the kitchen counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“You’re home early,” I said.

“I’m splitting my time at the clinic. They’ll be shorthanded on Monday. Besides, it gave me a chance to drop my car off at the dealership.”

“The steering?”

“Brenda says it cuts out.”

“It does,” she insisted.

Richard shrugged.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” I said, changing the subject.

He smiled. “It’s about time Brenda told you.”

Brenda brushed past me, heading for the hall. “Why don’t I leave you men alone to talk.” She gave me a knowing look before disappearing.

Richard glanced at me curiously. “Talk about what?”

“Brenda worries too much.”

I set the laundry basket down on the table, got myself a mug from the cupboard and drained the pot.

“Something wrong?” Richard asked.

I got out the milk, tipped some in, stirred it, and then took a sip. Too cold.

“Not wrong. I’ve just been having these . . . dreams.”

As I could’ve predicted, a look of such apprehension came over him that it was almost comical.

“Who died this time?”

“No one.” I stifled a laugh and placed my cup in the microwave, avoiding his gaze. “They started out as really good sex dreams—every stupid, clichéd fantasy. But then they changed . . . .” How could I explain something I couldn’t understand. I set the timer, then hit the start button.

He kept looking at me, an odd expression on his face. Not exactly discomfort; as a doctor he’d probably heard a lot worse than this.

“I’m no—” He forced himself to use the hated term for my benefit. “—shrink, but my guess is it has something to do with your unresolved issues with Maggie.”

“She’s not even in them.”

“She doesn’t have to be. Have you talked to Krista about this?”

“I’m not her patient. Besides, it’s bad enough talking about it to you.”

The microwave beeped and I took out the coffee. Now it was too hot. I blew on it to cool it.

“You said the dreams changed,” Richard reminded me. “How?”

I hesitated. “Bondage . . . stuff I’m not into. But, it’s all sensory. No images. I never dreamed like that before.”

He thought about it. “I’ll ask around. Don’t worry, I won’t divulge your identity.”

“You make me sound like Batman, but . . . thanks.” I cleared my throat. “So, you guys settled on a name for this baby?”

“Brenda’s convinced it’s a girl—”

“She’s right.”

“So we’ve got it narrowed to three or four.”

“If you want to narrow it further, I can tell you what it’ll be.”

“Thanks, but we’ll make this decision on our own.”

“Have it your way.” I grabbed my laundry and headed for the door.

“And bring back the cup,” Richard called after my retreating back.

“Smile,” Richard
whispered, guiding Brenda past the floor-to-ceiling mirrored wall festooned with white twinkle lights. Alexander’s glittered, and so did its clientele.

Dutifully, Brenda manufactured a forced, plastic smile.

“A real one,” Richard said.

The rictus around her mouth faded. She took a breath, pursed her lips, and her next attempt was more genuine.

Richard felt his own lips turn up. “Thank you. We won’t stay long. And we’ll do something you want next weekend. Maybe go to Toronto.”

“No we won’t,” she said. “Saturday’s the Foundation gala, and it’s also Jeffy’s birthday. Which means we’d better do something for him on Sunday. We forgot last year, and I could still kick myself for it.”

They stepped up to the bar and Richard signaled for the bartender. “Scotch on the rocks. You want anything?”

Brenda shook her head.

“Why don’t we just ask him to go with us. I bought an extra pair of tickets. I was going to offer them to him and Maggie anyway.”

“Maggie’s out of the picture,” Brenda reminded him. “You can ask him, but we still need to do something special for him. I think he needs it.”

The bartender placed a napkin and the drink before Richard. He gave her a bill. “Keep the change.” He picked up the glass and pointed toward Mona and a few of the board members. “This way. What do you mean he needs it?”

“Well, when I talked to him earlier today, he was—”

Before Brenda could finish, Wes Timberly strolled over and slapped Richard on the back, slopping his drink.

“Dr. Dick,” he said, face alight with a dazzling smile. “And you are?” he asked, taking in Brenda.

Richard mopped his sleeve with the napkin. “My wife, Brenda Stanley.”

Timberly offered his hand and Brenda took it. His smile didn’t waver, but Richard saw Brenda’s face tighten before she withdrew her hand.

“Children?” Timberly asked.

“October,” Brenda said, flexing her fingers.

“Then congratulations are in order, Dickie-boy.” He slapped Richard on the shoulder again, sloshing the drink once more. “Of course most of us had our kids twenty years ago, but I’m sure yours will be a chip off the old block.”

“It’s a girl,” Brenda said.

Timberly’s eyebrows rose. “Surely it’s too early to tell.”

“We have it on good authority,” Brenda said.

Timberly smirked and looked Richard in the eye. “That’s right. You’ve got that psychic brother.”

Richard felt his face color and sipped his scotch. “Where did you get an idea like that?”

“Heard it through the hospital grapevine. Must come in handy for betting sports.” Timberly winked.

Brenda frowned at the clod in front of her. “Exactly what is your specialty, Dr. Timberly?”

“Gynecology.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Timberly blinked, taken aback by her blunt tone. Richard stifled a smile.

Brenda turned her attention away from the bore. “Richard, you said some of your friends would be here. I’d love to meet them. If you’ll excuse us, Dr. Timberly,” she said and stepped away.

“Excuse us,” Richard echoed, and followed Brenda over to an hors d’oeuvres station.

“Was that really necessary?” he murmured in her ear.

She picked up a napkin and selected a piece of asparagus wrapped in prosciutto. “He was about to pick on Jeffy, and I’m simply won’t stand for that. Besides, he deliberately squeezed my hand—hard.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“My penmanship may be affected for a day or two, but I’m okay.” She popped the asparagus into her mouth. “Mmm. Delicious. Try one.”

Richard shook his head.

“Who’s the guest of honor?” she asked.

Richard pointed out Dr. Zimmer on the far side of the room.

“I think I met him once,” Brenda said. “Shall we go wish him well in his retirement?”

Richard guided her across the room. They had to wait several minutes before gaining an audience with Zimmer. It gave Richard time to think about what Timberly had said. As far as he knew, only two people at the hospital should have been aware of Jeff’s empathic abilities. Krista Marsh, and a staff neurologist—what was his name, Simons? —Jeff had consulted last summer.

Richard sipped his scotch and frowned. The ice had melted. Had Krista mentioned Jeff to Timberly? Or had someone been nosing around in Jeff’s medical records? That was absurd. Who’d even want to know that kind of information? Maybe he’d have a chat with Wally Moses in Records on Monday. If somebody was messing with Jeff’s files, Richard wanted to know about it. And it should be possible to find out that information. There were other sources he could tap, too. Maybe he’d try tomorrow.

“Dr. Alpert?” Zimmer said, thrusting his hand forward. Richard took it. “I’ve just been having the most delightful conversation with your charming wife.”

Brenda blinked rapidly, feigning innocence.

What had he missed?

A smile warmed Richard’s lips. “She’s also sweet, loving, terrifically intelligent, and one helluva nurse.”

“Oh don’t stop there, tell him what you really think of me!” Brenda teased.

Zimmer laughed, and Richard joined him.

The rest of the evening breezed by. Richard applied himself to some serious schmoozing, and figured he’d wrapped up another few thousand in pledged donations. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Timberly and his crack about Jeff, and wondered exactly what kind of trouble it portended.