Beach Season (43 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: Beach Season
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“I, uh, hope I’m not disturbing anything,” he said, grinning from one ear to the other, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his cords as he sauntered into the small room.
Shawna hurriedly wiped her cheeks. “Your timing leaves a lot to be desired.”
“So I’ve been told,” he replied, before glancing at Parker. “So, how’s the patient?”
“Grumpy,” Shawna pronounced.
“He didn’t look too grumpy to me.” Jake snatched a shiny red apple from a fruit basket and polished it against his tweed sports jacket.
“You didn’t see him barking at the orderly.”
One side of Jake’s mouth curved cynically as he glanced at Parker. “Not you, not the ‘ice man.’ ” Still grinning, he bit into the apple.
“This place doesn’t exactly bring out the best in me,” Parker said, eyeing the man who had almost become his brother-in-law.
“Obviously,” Shawna replied. “But if everything goes well in physical therapy today and tomorrow, and you don’t get on Dr. Handleman’s bad side again, you’ll be out of here by the end of the week, only doing physical therapy on an outpatient basis.”
“No wonder he’s in a bad mood,” Jake said, taking another huge bite from the apple. “Outpatient physical therapy sounds as bad as the seventh level of hell, if you ask me.”
“No one did,” Shawna reminded him, but smiled at her brother anyway. Jake had a way of helping her find humor in even the most trying times. Even as children, she could count on him and his cockeyed sense of humor to lift her spirits even on her worst days.
Jake tossed his apple core deftly into a trash can. “Two points—or was that three?” he asked. When neither Parker nor Shawna answered, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “Boy, you guys are sure a cheery group.”
“Sorry,” Shawna said. “As I told you, Grumpy isn’t in a great mood.”
Jake glanced from Shawna to Parker. “So, what can we do to get you back on your feet?”
“You’re the psychiatrist,” Parker replied stonily. “You tell me.”
Shawna reached into her purse. “Maybe I can help.” Ignoring her brother’s questioning gaze, she reached into her purse and withdrew a thick packet of photographs. “I thought these might do the trick.”
Her hands were shaking as one by one, she handed him the snapshots of the fair. Her heart stuck in her throat as she saw the pictures of herself, her long blond hair caught in the breeze, her green eyes filled with mischief as she clung to the neck of that white wooden stallion on the carousel and stretched forward, reaching and missing the brass ring with the fluttering ribbons.
Other photos, of Parker trying to catch a peanut in his mouth, of Parker flaunting his prized brass ring, and of the dark-eyed fortune-teller beckoning them inside her ragtag tent, brought back her memories of the fair. Now, in the hospital room, only a little over two weeks later, the old-time fair seemed ages past, and the fortune-teller’s prediction loomed over Shawna like a black cloak.
Parker studied each picture, his eyes narrowed on the images in the still shots. His brow furrowed in concentration.
Shawna held her breath. Couldn’t he see the adoration shining in her eyes as she gazed into the camera? Or the loving way he had captured her on film? And what about the pictures of him, grinning and carefree? Wasn’t it obvious that they had been two people hopelessly head over heels in love?
For a minute, she thought he reacted, that there was a flicker of recognition in his gaze, but as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.
“Nothing?” she asked, bracing herself.
He closed his eyes. “No—not nothing,” he said, his voice dry and distant. “But what we shared—what was there at the fair—it’s ... gone.”
“Just misplaced,” Jake said quickly as if feeling the searing wound deep in Shawna’s soul. “You’ll find it again.”
“I’d like to think so,” Parker admitted but he still seemed vexed, his thick brows knitted, his chin set to one side, as if he were searching for a black hole in the tapestry her pictures had woven.
“Look, I’ve got to run,” Jake said quickly, looking at his sister meaningfully. “Mom and Dad are expecting you for dinner tonight.”
“But I can’t,” she said, unable to leave Parker. She felt that if she were given just a few more minutes, she could cause the breakthrough in Parker’s memory.
“Don’t stay on my account,” Parker cut in, glaring angrily at the pictures spread across his bed.
Shawna saw them then as he did, pictures of a young couple in love, their future bright and untarnished, and she cringed inside, knowing instinctively what he felt—the anger and the resentment, the pain and the blackness of a time he couldn’t remember.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought these,” she said hurriedly, scooping the photographs into the purse.
He snatched one out of her hands, the photo of her with her face flushed, her long hair billowing over the neck of the glossy white carousel horse. “I’ll keep this one,” he said, his features softening a little, “if you don’t mind.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Let’s go.” Jake suggested. “You can come back later. But right now, Mom and Dad are waiting.”
Shawna felt her brother’s hand over her arm, but she twisted her neck, craning to stare at Parker, who didn’t move, just studied the photograph in his hands. Impatiently, Jake half dragged her through the building.
“That was a stupid move!” Jake nearly shouted, once they were outside the hospital. “He’s not ready for pictures of the past, can’t you see that?” Jake’s expression turned dark as he opened the car door for her, then slid behind the wheel and shoved the Porsche into gear.
“You can’t just skip into his room and hand him pictures of a rose-colored future that could have been, you know. It takes time! Think about him, not just yourself! Where’s your professionalism,
Doctor?”
“Back in my medical bag, I guess,” Shawna said, staring blindly out the windows. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not me you have to apologize to.” He let out a long, disgusted breath, then patted her shoulder. “Just hang in there. Try to think of Parker as another patient—not your fiancé, okay?”
“I will, but it’s hard.”
“I know,” he said, “but he needs all your strength now—and your patience.” Jake turned off the main highway and veered down the elm-lined driveway of his parents’ house. “Okay, sis. Show’s on. Stiff upper lip for Mom and Dad,” he teased, reaching across her and pushing open the car door.
As Shawna walked up the flagstone path, she steadfastly shoved all her doubts aside. Tomorrow she’d see Parker again and when she did, she wouldn’t push too hard. She’d be patient and wait until the walls blocking his memory eroded—even if it killed her.
 
Long after Shawna left his room, Parker stared at the small photograph in his hand. Without a doubt, Dr. Shawna McGuire was the most fascinating, beautiful, and stubborn woman he’d ever met.
He knew now why he’d fallen in love with her. Though he was loath to admit it and despite all the problems he now faced, he was falling in love with her again. The depth of his feelings was a surprise. She aroused him sensually as well as intellectually. Doctor McGuire, though she professed her love, was a challenge. Just being near her, smelling her perfume, seeing the glimmer of mystique in her intelligent green eyes, was enough to drive him to distraction and cause an uncomfortable heat to rise in his loins.
Unfortunately, he had to be careful. No longer was he a recent tennis star with a future bright as the sun, acting in commercials and coaching younger, upcoming athletes. Now his future was unsure.
He glanced down and the woman in the photograph smiled up at him. She swore she loved him and he believed her. And, if he let himself, he could easily get caught in her infectious enthusiasm. Several times, when he’d kissed her, he’d seen images in his mind—smelled the salty air of the beach, or fresh raindrops in her hair, heard the tinkle of her laughter, felt the driving beat of her heart. Reality mixed with sights and smells that were as elusive as a winking star—bright one minute, dim and clouded the next.
And now, lying in the hospital bed, with months, perhaps years of physical therapy staring him in the face, what could he offer her?
A big, fat nothing. Because no matter how she deluded herself, Shawna was wrong about one thing: Parker would never be the man he was before the accident. His perception, with his memory, had changed.
Brad Lomax was gone, as was Parker’s ability to coach and play tennis. The man Shawna McGuire had fallen in love with no longer existed and this new man—the one who couldn’t even remember her—was a pale substitute. How long could she love a faded memory? he wondered. When would that love, so freely given, turn to duty?
Glancing again at the woman in the picture, Parker ached inside. Yes, he wanted her, maybe even loved her. But he wouldn’t let her live a lie, sacrifice herself because she believed in a dream that didn’t exist.
Gritting his teeth, Parker took the snapshot of Shawna and crushed it in his fist—then feeling immediately contrite, he tried to press the wrinkles from the photo and laid it, facedown, in a book someone had left by his bed.
“Help me,” he prayed, his voice echoing in the empty room. “Help me be whole again.”
C
HAPTER
6
Shawna snatched a patient’s chart from the rack next to the door of the examination room. She was running late and had to force herself into gear. “Get a move on, Doctor,” she muttered under her breath as she glanced quickly over the patient information file. The patient, Melinda James, was new to the clinic, had an excellent health record, and was eighteen years old.
“Good afternoon,” Shawna said, shoving open the door to find a beautiful black-haired girl with round eyes perched on the edge of the examination table. She looked scared as her fingers clamped nervously over a sheet she’d pulled over her shoulders, and Shawna felt as if the girl wanted to bolt. “I’m Dr. McGuire,” she said calmly. “And you’re Melinda?”
Melinda nodded and chewed nervously on her lip.
“So what can I do for you?”
“I, uh, saw your name in the paper,” Melinda said quickly, glancing away. “You’re the doctor who’s engaged to Parker Harrison, right?”
Shawna’s stomach tightened at the mention of Parker. Was Melinda a reporter, pretending to be a patient just to get an inside story on Parker, or was there something else?
“That’s right, but I really don’t see what that has to do with anything.” She clamped the chart to her chest. “Do you know Parker?”
“He’s got amnesia, doesn’t he?”
Shawna tried to keep her tongue in check. Obviously the girl was nervous—maybe she was just making conversation. “I can’t discuss Parker’s condition. Now—” she glanced down at her chart. “Is there a reason you came to see me? A health reason?”
The girl sighed. “Yes I, uh, I’ve only been in Portland a few months so I don’t have a doctor here. I went to a pediatrician in Cleveland,” Melinda continued, “but I’m too old for a pediatrician now and I’ve got this problem, so I made an appointment with you.”
“Fair enough.” Shawna relaxed a little and took a pen from the pocket of her lab coat. “What was the pediatrician’s name?”
Melinda seemed hesitant.
“I’ll need this information in case we need to contact him for his files,” Shawna explained, offering the girl an encouraging smile.
“Rankin, Harold Rankin,” Melinda said quickly and Shawna scrawled the physician’s name in the appropriate spot on the form. “Thanks.” Pushing her suspicions aside, Shawna set the chart on a cabinet. “You said you had a problem. What kind of problem?”
Melinda twisted the sheet between her fingers. “I’m sick.” Avoiding Shawna’s eyes, she said in a rush, “I can’t keep anything down and I’m not anoretic or whatever it’s called. I don’t understand what’s wrong. I’ve had the flu for over a month and it just won’t go away. I’ve never been sick for this long.”
“The flu?” Shawna said, eyeing the girl’s healthy skin color and clear eyes. “You’re feverish? Your muscles ache?”
“No, not really. It’s just that one minute I’m feeling great; the next I think I might throw up.”
“And do you?”
“Sometimes—especially in the afternoon.” Melinda wrung her hands anxiously together and sweat beaded her forehead. “And sometimes I get horrible cramps.”
“Anything else? Sore throat?”
Shaking her short glossy hair, Melinda sighed. “I kept hoping I would get better, but—” She shrugged and the sheet almost slipped from her fingers.
“Well, let me take a look at you. Lie down.” Shawna spent the next fifteen minutes examining Melinda carefully, as the girl nearly jumped off the examination table each time she was touched.
“When was the date of your last menstrual period?” Shawna finally asked, once the examination was over and Melinda was sitting, sheet draped over her on the table.
“I don’t know. A couple of months ago, I guess.”
“You
guess?”
Shawna repeated.
“I don’t keep track—I’m real irregular.”
“How irregular?”
“Well, not every month. I skip around a little.”
“Could you be pregnant?”
Melinda’s eyes widened and she licked her lips. “I—I don’t get sick in the morning. Never in the morning.”
Shawna smiled, trying to put the girl at ease. “It’s different with everyone. I had a patient who only was sick at night.”
Melinda chewed on her lower lip. “I—uh, it’s possible, I guess,” she whispered.
“Why don’t we run a quick test and see?” Shawna asked.
“When will I know?”
“In a little while. I have a friend in the lab. The pregnancy test is relatively easy; but if there’s something else, we won’t know about it for a couple of days. Now, why don’t you try to remember the date of your last period.”
Melinda closed her eyes as Shawna drew a small vial of blood from her arm and had a nurse take the filled vial to the lab.
“I don’t know. I think it was around the Fourth of July.”
Shawna wasn’t surprised. All of Melinda’s symptoms pointed toward pregnancy. “This is nearly October,” she pointed out.
Melinda’s lower lip protruded defiantly. “I said I was irregular.”
“Okay. No need to worry about it, until we know for sure.” She checked her watch. “It’s still early—the hospital lab can rush the results if I ask.”
“Would you?”
“Sure. You can get dressed and meet me in my office in a few hours—say four o’clock?”
“Fine.” Melinda grudgingly reached for her clothes and Shawna, feeling uneasy, left the room.
By the time Shawna returned to her office after seeing the rest of her patients and finished some paperwork, she was ready to call it a day. It was four o’clock and she was anxious to drive to Mercy Hospital to spend some time with Parker.
But first she had to deal with Melinda James.
“Well?” Melinda asked as she plopped into the chair opposite Shawna’s desk.
Shawna scanned the report from the lab, then glanced at the anxious girl.
“Your test was positive, Melinda. You’re going to have a baby.”
Melinda let out a long sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction and for the first time Shawna wondered if Melinda had been suspicious of her condition all along. “There’s no chance that”—she pointed to the pink report—“is wrong.”
“Afraid not.”
“Great,” Melinda mumbled, blinking back tears.
“I take it this isn’t good news.”
“The worst! My dad’ll kill me!”
“Maybe you’re underestimating your dad,” Shawna suggested.
“No way!”
“What about the father of your child?” Shawna asked.
Tears flooded the girl’s eyes. “The father?” she repeated, swallowing with difficulty and shaking her head.
“He has the right to know.”
“He can’t,” Melinda said, her voice low and final, as if she had no choice in the matter.
“Give him a chance.”
Melinda’s eyes were bright with tears. “I can’t tell him,” she said. “He thinks this is all my responsibility. The last thing he wants is a baby.”
“You don’t know—”
“Oh, yes I do. He said so over and over again.”
Shawna handed her a couple of tissues and Melinda dabbed her eyes but was unable to stem the flow of her tears.
“I—I was careful,” she said, blinking rapidly. “But he’ll blame me, I know he will!”
“Sometimes a man changes his mind when he’s actually faced with the news that he’s going to be a father.”
“But he can’t!” Melinda said harshly, obviously hurting deep inside.
Shawna walked around the desk and placed her arm around the young woman’s shaking shoulders. “I don’t want to pry,” she said evenly. “What’s going on between you and the father isn’t any of my business—”
“If you only knew,” Melinda whispered, glancing at Shawna with red-rimmed eyes, then shifting her gaze. Standing, she pushed away Shawna’s arm. “This is my problem,” she said succinctly. “I—I’ll handle it.”
“Try not to think of the baby as a problem, okay?” Shawna advised, reaching for a card from a small holder on her desk. “Take this card—it has Dr. Chambers’s number. He’s one of the best obstetricians in the city.”
“What I need now is a shrink,” Melinda said, still sniffing.
“My brother’s a psychiatrist,” Shawna said quietly, locating one of Jake’s business cards. “Maybe you should talk with him—”
Melinda snatched the cards from Shawna’s outstretched hand. “I—I’ll think about it. After I talk with the father.”
Shawna offered the girl an encouraging smile. “That’s the first step.”
“Just remember—this was
your
idea!”
“I’ll take full responsibility,” Shawna replied, but read the message in the young woman’s eyes. More clearly than words, Melinda had told her Shawna didn’t know what she was saying. Anger and defiance bright in her eyes, Melinda James walked briskly out the door.
Shawna watched her leave and felt the same nagging doubts she had when she’d first talked to the girl. “You can’t win ’em all,” she told herself thoughtfully as she hung her lab coat in the closet and quickly ran a brush through her hair. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Melinda, despite her vocal doubts, had known she was pregnant all along.
She reached for her purse and slung it over her shoulder, but stopped before slipping her arms through her jacket. Feeling a little guilty, she called directory assistance in Cleveland and asked for the number of Harold Rankin, Melinda’s pediatrician.
“There are several H. Rankins listed,” the operator told her.
“I’m looking for the pediatrician. He must have an office number.” The operator paused. “I’m sorry. There is no Doctor Rankin listed in Cleveland.”
“Unlisted? Look, I’m a doctor myself. I need to consult with him about a patient and I don’t have his number,” Shawna said, new suspicions gnawing at her.
The operator muttered something under her breath. “I really can’t—”
“It’s important!”
“Well, I guess I can tell you this much, there’s no Dr. Harold Rankin listed or unlisted in Cleveland. Just a minute.” For a few seconds all Shawna could hear was clicking noises. “I’m sorry—I checked the suburbs. No Dr. Harold Rankin.”
“Thank you,” Shawna whispered, replacing the receiver. So Melinda had lied—or the doctor had moved. But that was unlikely. Shawna remembered Melinda’s first words.
“I saw your name in the paper... . You’re the doctor who’s engaged to Parker Harrison, aren’t you? ... He’s got amnesia, right?”
Without thinking about what she was doing, Shawna buttoned her jacket and half ran out the door of her office. She waved good-bye to the receptionist, but her mind was filled with Melinda’s conversation and the girl’s dark, grudging glances. No, Melinda James wasn’t a reporter, but she was hiding something. Shawna just couldn’t figure out what it was. As she took the elevator down to the underground parking garage, she was alone, her keys gripped in one hand. What did a pregnant eighteen-year-old girl have to do with Parker? she asked herself, suddenly certain she wouldn’t like the answer.
Parker’s leg throbbed, rebelling against his weight as he attempted to walk the length of the physical therapy room. His hands slipped on the cold metal bars, but he kept himself upright, moving forward by sheer will. Every rigid, sweat-covered muscle in his body screamed with the strain of dragging his damned leg, but he kept working.
“That’s it, just two more steps,” a pert therapist with a cheery smile and upturned nose persuaded, trying to encourage him forward.
Gritting his teeth he tried again, the foot slowly lifting from the floor. Pain ripped through his knee and he bit his lower lip, tasting the salt of his sweat.
Come on, Harrison,
he said to himself, squeezing his eyes shut,
do it for Shawna, that beautiful lady doctor who’s crazy enough to love you.
In the past few weeks, he’d experienced flashes of memory, little teasing bits that had burned in his mind. He could remember being with her on a sailboat—her tanned body, taut and sleek. She’d been leaning against the boom as the boat skimmed across clear green water. Her blond hair had billowed around her head, shimmering gold in the late afternoon sun, and she’d laughed, a clear sound that rippled across the river.

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