Confucius Jane (34 page)

With new eyes, she took in the dark, polished wood of his desk, the high-backed leather chair behind it, the sculpture of a caduceus, carved in jade, that sat across from his computer. In addition to his diplomas, photographs adorned the wall—framed snapshots of his political career. They showed him hobnobbing with presidents, vice presidents, even some foreign dignitaries—highlighting the range of his influence. An influence he had abused for years now.

Sutton tried to imagine what they had felt, those women he had fooled. They had come to him frightened and in pain, betrayed by their bodies and minds, seeking answers. They had sat in that low, plush chair before his desk and stared up at him with almost religious adoration as he charmed and reassured them, making them feel safe for the first time since diagnosis. After he had outlined their treatment, they had trusted him with their lives. Would it have felt like a small matter, then, to offer him their bodies? How could he have taken advantage of them that way? Not to mention the betrayal of his wife!

As soon as he closed the door, she rounded on him. “Dad—”

“Wait.” He crossed the space between them in just a few long paces and enfolded her into an embrace. Sutton remained stiff, taking only shallow breaths in an effort not to fill her nose with the cloying scent of his aftershave. After a moment, he stepped back and grasped her shoulders, holding her at arm's length.

“I've been a terrible father to you.”

Sutton blinked, nonplussed. She had expected denial or excuses, not frankness and candor. In the next moment, anger returned to burn away the initial flash of surprise. But when she opened her mouth, he shook his head.

“Please. Let me finish. I've been a terrible father to you, and a terrible husband to your mother. I allowed my success to go to my head, and I've been so selfish. But all of that ends now. I am going to give your mother the best possible care. She'll have everything she needs.”

He was saying all the right things, and that made Sutton even angrier. “You hurt her so badly.” She forced the words out before he could keep talking. “Do you have any idea what it was like, to see that? To watch her start to seize? To know exactly what was happening to her, and why?”

He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “I'm sorry, Sutton. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. That I wasn't there, where I should have been.”

“It's not about you not being there! It's about what you did! And what that did to her!”

His eyes closed, then opened. “I will never betray her, or you, again.”

Sutton felt herself start to tremble. She hoped he knew it was from rage, not fear or exhaustion. “How can I believe anything you say? Now, or ever?”

“This is a healing process. It's going to take time. All I ask is that you be open to the possibility of reconciliation.”

Sutton crossed her arms beneath her breasts and held his stare, biting her lip against the retort that wanted to escape her mouth. This much, she could control. She wouldn't malign him anymore, but she wasn't about to lie or issue platitudes.

Finally, his hands fell away from her. “I know that it's going to take a long time to rebuild the trust between us. That's why I'm hoping you'll reconsider your next steps and decide to take the residency at Columbia.”

“Excuse me?” A renewed surge of fury sliced through her. Was he actually trying to bully her in this moment? Under the guise of an apology?

“Stay in New York, with your family. Help me mend what I've broken.”

His tone was almost beseeching, and it gave her pause. If her parents didn't reconcile, her mother would need to be cared for. Even if they did, it would be a precarious situation for a while. More than once, the thought had crossed her mind that it would be nothing but selfish to go to Sweden in the midst of a family crisis. Maybe her first impulse had been wrong. Maybe his plea was an honest one. Or maybe he was fooling her as he had so many other women.

“How do you intend to do that?”

He sat down behind his desk and rested his folded hands atop the polished surface. “I've lost my way. It began when I lost sight of my priorities. You and your mother should always be first in my mind. That hasn't always been the case, but it will be now.” The implication was clear. If family was most important to him, then it should be to her as well. “Some of the choices I've made have hurt you deeply, but I have the power to change my behavior going forward. We all do.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you think it's been easy for your mother to watch you drift away from us? To watch you choose the kind of lifestyle that's antithetical to how we raised you?”

Sutton's vision went red. “Excuse me? Are you referring to the
fact
that I am a lesbian? It's not a lifestyle, Dad—it's who I am!”

“We can all change who we are, Sutton. To say otherwise is to imply that we are predestined, predetermined, trapped by our genetics.”

“Dad, there is nothing wrong with me. Nothing. I'm not the one who lied, cheated, and abused my professional status.
You
are.” Even as Sutton debated his logic, a separate part of her brain couldn't believe that they were having this argument right now. How had she become the focus of this conversation?

“I'm not excusing my actions. But try to look at this from my perspective.” He leaned forward in his chair. “How do you think it felt to watch your mother growing more and more sick as she fretted over you?”

Sutton was so stunned that she actually took a step backward. “Are you blaming me for Mom's illness? Because that is the most nonsensical, ridicul—”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “But you are well aware of how multiple sclerosis works. Your mother is extremely sensitive to stress. We have both caused her too much anxiety. Going forward, we both must do our best to help her remain happy and at peace. Whatever it takes, Sutton. No matter the sacrifice.”

For the first time since she had walked through his door, doubt prickled her skin. It was true, of course—stress did trigger relapses. But how could he lay even part of the blame for Priscilla's illness at her feet? Was she supposed to suppress her true self, just because of her mother's diagnosis? His unfaithfulness was morally and ethically wrong. He might try to say the same about her sexual orientation, but they were in entirely different categories.

As she was taking a deep breath to respond, the phone rang. He reached for it quickly, issuing a clipped “St. James” into the receiver and then listening for several seconds. “One moment.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned back to her. “I'm afraid I need to take this.”

“I can wait.”

He shook his head. “Go to your mother, Sutton. She should be in her room by now. I'll join you shortly.”

For a moment, she thought about arguing. How did he expect her to trust him when he wouldn't even take a phone call in front of her? Then again, if the call related to a patient, he was obligated by law to see that the information remained confidential. Physicians were, she reflected as she made her way toward the door, secret-keepers by necessity.

As it closed behind her, she felt herself begin to crash, exhaustion rushing in to fill the spaces abandoned by adrenaline. Ignoring Diane's syrupy farewell, she left the suite and walked slowly back down the corridor. Her legs and arms seemed heavy and wooden, and she could feel herself beginning to dissociate in response to the stress. What a pathetic sight she must be—trudging down the hall after being summarily dismissed by her father. Had he meant anything he'd said about changing his ways? Or had every word been merely lip service? His passive-aggressive comments made her want to board the first flight to Stockholm. But was her anger making her overreact? Was she supposed to give him a second chance? Did he deserve an opportunity to prove himself?

Two weeks ago, everything had seemed so clear. Now, her life was spiraling out of control. She could feel her psyche mimicking the body's response to shock—curl up, turn inward, protect the heart. Reaching any kind of decision in this state of mind would be a mistake. But it might be one she was forced into making.

 

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

A
S SOON AS SUTTON
boarded the downtown train, she slid into a corner seat, wrapped her arms around her messenger bag, and closed her eyes. She had never felt so tired in her life—not even during one of the many all-nighters she had pulled while trying to juggle her clinical rotations and her research. This fatigue was more than physical—she felt it in the sluggishness of her mind and the unrelenting tightness in her chest. It was barely past six o'clock, but she wanted to go home, fall into bed, and sleep for years. Or at least until her alarm went off in the predawn, summoning her to rounds. The idea of having to play catch-up at the hospital made her honestly want to cry. She hadn't shed a tear throughout this whole debacle, and now her body wanted to break down?

Thankfully, after a little while, the rhythmic cadence of the car rattling on the tracks coaxed her off the mental ledge, and she even managed a shallow doze until the train pulled up at Spring Street. But instead of turning toward her apartment, she found herself walking in the direction of Noodle Treasure. Mei's soup and dumplings would be the perfect antidote to having barely eaten all day. Once she had fortified herself, maybe she could find Jane. To talk, Sutton reminded herself sternly, not to fall into bed together.

As she turned the corner and the cheery façade came into view, an odd sense of reluctance overcame her. How much did Mei and Benny know? And the regulars? Had they followed her father's scandal in the news, or had Jane needed to explain her absence to them? Steeling herself, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, breathing deeply of the warm, fragrant air.

“Dr. Sutton!” Mei's eager cry spread that warmth throughout her body, and she smiled in surprise as Mei hurried over to embrace her. “How are you? How is your mother? We have all been so worried.”

“Thank you. That means so much. I just returned to the city a few hours ago. She's been moved to a hospital here. Her prognosis is still uncertain, but she'll have the best care.”

Mei nodded gravely. “I'm glad you are back.”

“Me, too. I've missed you and Benny. And your soup and dumplings.” But as she spoke, Sutton realized the restaurant, usually bustling, was entirely empty except for one Caucasian couple in the back booth. “I was hoping to get caught up on the news here. Where is everyone?”

Mei's face fell. “They are still at Sue's. Cleaning up. Benny took some food to them a short while ago.”

“Cleaning up?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Of course you haven't heard. There was a break-in late last night at Sue's shop. So much damage.”

As Mei shook her head, Sutton's heart lurched. Late last night, Mei had said. Surely Jane and Sue and Min had been asleep. Still, the panic clawed at her insides. “But no one was hurt?”

“No, no. Everyone is fine. No one was in the store. But Sue lost so much. Money, and inventory, and—”

“Do you think they're still cleaning up now?”

“Oh, yes. They've been there all day.”

“In that case, may I have my order to go?”

“Of course.” Mei smiled. “They will all be very happy to see you. Like I said, we have been worried.”

As she hurried back into the kitchen, Sutton sat in one of the chairs near the register. Seconds later, she got to her feet and began to pace. Who would break into the apothecary? And why? She couldn't even imagine how Sue was feeling right now. She had built her business so painstakingly over the course of many years, only to have criminals invade and vandalize her life's work in a matter of minutes. Anger pierced the dense fog of her fatigue, but despair was close behind. Was everything falling to pieces?

Mei returned carrying two brown paper bags. “Here is your supper,” she said, handing Sutton the smaller of the two. “And these are some roasted pork buns. I forgot to send them with Benny. If you are going to Sue's, would you mind dropping them off?”

“Not at all.” Sutton felt relieved to be able to do something. “I'll go right away.”

She hurried out into the night, her steps automatically retracing the familiar route. But as she turned the corner to approach the apothecary, she froze. The scene before her was awash with light and motion. People swarmed busily around the outside of the store, and probably inside as well. A large piece of plywood crisscrossed with crime scene tape extended across the gap where the large window had once boasted artfully arranged displays of books and teas designed to attract curious passersby. One curb was piled high with a wall of trash bags, and as she watched, someone came out of the shop carrying two more. When he crossed into a pool of street lamp light, she recognized his face.

“Giancarlo.”

He peered at her in confusion until she grew closer. “Dr. Sutton! I didn't know you were back in New York.” He heaved the bag to the top of the pile, then brushed off his hands. “Forgive me for not greeting you properly. I'm filthy.”

“I just heard what happened from Mei,” Sutton said. “I'm so sorry. How is Sue holding up?”

“She is devastated.” Giancarlo shook his head. “If someone ever did that to my restaurant, I would be inconsolable.” He glanced back toward the shop. “But she is strong. And it has been so good for her, I think, to see the community respond like this.”

Sutton fleetingly wondered whether a similar catastrophe in her neighborhood would lead to the same swell of support. “I'm glad there are so many people here. Do they have any idea who did it?”

“The police have not said anything yet. But I have a friend with a brother on Vice, and he told me earlier that they suspect it's drug-or gang-related.” His voice grew rougher in frustration. “Apparently there is some rumor that Sue's shop was a front for a drug cartel? Ridiculous! These idiot gangbangers will believe anything!”