Retribution (20 page)

"If your… investment… doesn't pan out this time, I don't think I need to tell you what our recourse will be."

Valdor hung up.
No, they didn't
He opened the collar of his shirt and peered down the hillside terraces again.

In that bungalow, relatively unguarded, relatively accessible, were two or three Saunders painting which would be worth a fortune to him. The Peppermill Gallery had more paintings, but it was highly secured, and he could not risk it. Here, he had only the girl and the dog to worry about.

And if the paintings he was certain were there had gone somewhere else, then there was the girl herself. Quentin Saunders would see that no harm came to her… would pay to ensure her life.

There was only the dog to stop him.

Valdor lowered his binoculars again.

One way or another, the dog would have to go.

Wade walked into the inner lobby where he held his patient consultations. A sort of neutral ground between the outer waiting room, the inner office holding the receptionist and the nurses' work areas and the insurance clerks, the exam rooms and his own office, the rippling light from the wall stand aquarium seemed to diffuse the flowery wallpaper against which it hung. Charlie, pressed against the aquarium glass, looked up as he reached for the back of the chair he generally used, and he was struck by the faint dark lines under her eyes and the shadow of worry. He had watched her cross the threshold of puberty into young womanhood, but it always surprised him a little to see her; she seemed forever fixed in his mind as that child prodigy, that painter who made a physical effort to take both her talent and the furor accompanying it in a grown-up's stride.

Her mother looked much the same as always, a little heavier than she should be, a little simpler than her moneyed status, a little older than it was necessary for a woman her age to look. Her reflection in the highly polished conference table flattered her even less. Mary Saunders did not seem to notice his eyes on her as she reached out and took her daughter's hand, squeezing it lightly.

The golden retriever sprawled at Charlie's feet looked at him alertly, giving a wave of his feathery tail, before dropping his chin to his paws. Wade assessed him for a moment before sitting down, placing the file on the table in front of him, and looking at Charlie, who would not meet his eyes. He smiled warmly in spite of the atmosphere of anxiety, a smile he neither practiced nor felt, but simply wore.

"Charlie. It's been a while. Dr. Katsume saw you last time… and I would have seen you for your last scheduled appointment, but our records show you called and canceled it. So it's been, what, more than a year?" He would normally have asked how she had been, but under the circumstances, it did not seem appropriate. She looked at him, and then away again. Mary Saunders shifted as if to say something in her daughter's stead, then pressed her lips together, and remained quiet.

Wade looked kindly at Charlie. "I am not going to tell you that if you'd made that appointment, this would never have happened."

Charlie took a deep breath. It brought some measure of color to her face, still plain, but with an underlying prettiness that he supposed came from her own basic nature, the corner of her mouth drooping just slightly. It gave her expression a slight intrigue. "Would it have?"

"We might have detected it earlier, but the truth is, we could not have prevented it." Wade folded his hands and leaned forward slightly, resting on the folder. "We have a new lesion in that quadrant, and it appears to be significant in size and pressure from the tests run on you. I would like to have you schedule some appointments for additional tests here, at our clinic, so I can make a determination as to the best course of treatment."

"Operable? " 'Charlie's blue eyes fixed on him.

"I don't know yet. But techniques are changing every day. The gamma knife makes things possible I could not have done ten years ago."

Mary Sunders blurted out, "It was benign last time! How could it be back?"

"If I could answer that, I could prevent tumors, and none of my patients would ever suffer from one." He stated the obvious. Wade unfolded his hands, reached over and patted hers in a gesture meant to be comforting. "And it is probably benign this time as well. It is the growth and pressure which makes it deadly."

Charlie seemed to flinch. "How soon do you need me?"

"As soon as we can get you in. There won't be anything new, Charlie, you've been through these before."

"I know."

He patted her shoulder. "I'll have Kris set you up as soon as she can get you in. If there are openings today, are you prepared to stay here?"

Mary answered, "Of course we are."

Charlie traced her fingers on the conference table-top. "Suppose I refuse?"

"Charlie! You can't be serious!"

Charlie looked at Wade, ignoring her mother. "I have that option, don't I?"

"Everyone has options, Charlie, but refusing medical attention is not a wise one in your case. You will be creating additional problems, serious ones, which are totally unnecessary and avoidable. We have the advantage now to sidetrack complications. We're here to help you, not hurt you."

Charlie shifted in her chair, putting her right leg out, wearing an aluminum support brace over her tailored trouser leg, and looked at it as the dog moved slightly to avoid being hit or jostling her. "That's what you said last time."

"There is some risk in every operation, no matter how routine. And," Wade cleared his throat slightly. "What I do is scarcely routine." He opened the folder to the black-and-white printout of the MRI done when she had been hospitalized. He tapped his finger on the swirls of black, gray, and white. "I want you to take a look at this. I'm going out to find Kris and have her begin making arrangements. Talk about it. Tell me what you want to do."

He pushed away from the table and knew that Charlie would not utter a word till he'd shut the door behind him, although he could hear Mary Saunders begin to stutter in bewilderment as the lobby door clicked shut.

Kris, a tall, willowy young woman with dark hair and beautiful skin that set off her hazel eyes, began efficiently tracking down schedules and making calls as soon as he asked her. She could not arrange anything sooner than forty-eight hours, however, which, he reflected, was probably just as well. He would make a private call to Quentin Saunders to apprise him of the situation. Quentin would see that things got done.

Mary Saunders looked suspiciously bright-eyed as he stepped back into the lobby, carrying the schedule Kris had entered into the office computer and printed out for him.

"Here're the appointments we've had set up for you, as well as any prepping instructions you need to know. She managed to get them all into a day and a half, so we can get through this as quickly as possible with as little inconvenience as possible. The sooner I have readings on my desk, the sooner I can tell what it is we're going to have to do."

"Is it… is it in the same area?"

He looked at Charlie. "Close."

"And what will you cut away this time?" Her lip trembled. "What of me will you take away forever? How much of me will be left? Will I need a cane or a wheelchair?"

Wade put his hand on Mary's wrist as she took in a breath sharply, to forestall anything she might say, and answered levelly, "As little of you as I have to. You have to trust me, Charlie. Trust in my skill and my training and my desire to see you healthy." He took a breath. "To not do this, to think that by ignoring it, the tumor will go away will leave us fewer and fewer options. It seems to be growing quickly since it reestablished itself. Time and hesitation and fear is
not
on our side."

"And what is?"

"My skill. Your youth. Your earlier medical history. The hope that this, once again, will be benign. And ever-growing technology. The gamma knife, new laser technology, the whole gamut means that I might be able to handle this much less intrusively."

Charlie caught her lower lip between her teeth, as if to stop its trembling. She stood, the golden retriever immediately scrambling up as well. "Thank you, Dr. Clarkson. I'll let you know." She took the printout.

"Charlie!" her mother blurted, then shot Wade a look of apology and got to her feet to hurry after her daughter, who was already out the lobby door and disappearing into the outer waiting room.

Wade watched them go, Charlie's lithe body swaying with the tiniest of limps, her hand secured about the dog's service harness, watched her thoughtfully, before gathering up his file and returning to his office.

* * *

Her mother scarcely said two words to her as they settled into the backseat of the car. Jagger sprawled on the floor between their feet, seemingly unaware of the hump in the floorboards or dismayed by it, his chin on the toe of her shoe. Mary continued to look out the passenger window as though the rushing freeway and traffic beyond it carried some sign of salvation. Finally, she said tightly, "You can't be serious."

Charlie sighed. "I was never more serious."

"Charlotte! You have your whole life ahead of you. You're talking about throwing it away."

"What kind of life is it if I end up a vegetable?"

"He said nothing about that— That's not foreseeable."

"He said nothing about this last time either, did he?" Charlie looked at her leg brace. "He took away my painting… my leg, my arm, my hand. What is he going to excise this time?" She put her hand on her mother's shoulder and shook her. "What if I forget you? Forget myself? What am I then? An amusing turnip who used to be a person?"

"Oh, Charlie!" Her mother turned from the car window and leaned over, and took her in her arms, and held her tightly. "That won't happen this time."

Her voice muffled, Charlie said bitterly, "You can't promise that. He can't."

Her mother said hoarsely into her ear, "I can't promise you that we won't die in a car accident before we get home, either.
It happens, honey, and God only knows why it happens.
But he will do his best for you, and he is one of the best, and that's all we can ask."

"I can let it go."

"You know you can't. The tumor could blind you, paralyze you, suffocate your functions one by one with seizures." Her mother rubbed her shoulders, gently, her hand palm down, soothingly, as she held her. "Jagger can't save you from those, sweetheart."

Charlie found a strength in her mother's embrace. She took a deep breath, and did not try to move away. She would endure the clinic again, she knew she would, but she did not know what she would do beyond that. Fear seemed to have crept into her and settled deep into her bones, replacing marrow with icy crystals of dread and hesitation. It was as though she were permanently on the threshold of Midnight, caught between being truly alive and slowly dying. One or the other would be preferable to where she found herself now.

* * *

She signaled Pedro to let her off at the foot of the hill, on Pacific Coast Highway itself, rather than going up to her street. Her mother stroked her face before tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "You should let us take you all the way up."

"No, really. Jagger needs the walk, and I want to buy some juice and vegetables."

"Get something for lunch, too."

The small family grocery store behind her was famous for the sandwiches from its meat counter. Charlie smiled faintly. "I will. Do you want me to run in and get something for you and Dad, too?"

Her mother shook her head. "No. I imagine he ate at the club, and I have some leftover shrimp calling my name." Mary Saunders hesitated, then caught Charlie's hand. "Call me later."

"I will if I have time." Charlie saw the dismay sparked in her mother's face. "Mom! It's not like I didn't just see you."

"I worry."

Charlie laughed softly. "You'd worry even if I did call you."

"You know what I mean."

Charlie gently took her hand out of her mother's. "And you know what I mean. I need to go home, do some design work, and relax. That's what you have to do, go home and relax."

"I have a charity fashion show to set up."

"Then do that." Charlie backed out of the door frame. "We're stopping traffic. Go home, Mom, I'll be fine."

Mary Saunders closed the car door reluctantly. "Call!" she shouted as the car began to pull away from the curb, easing back into traffic.

Charlie nodded and waved, and waited until the tide had carried them off before turning into the small store.

May, the Korean-American woman who owned and operated the store with her family, smiled pleasantly, her moon-shaped face and dark eyes lighting as Jagger pulled Charlie in. The floor sloped unevenly, buckled slightly from the great earthquake of 1933 which, from Long Beach south into Orange County, had shaken foundations everywhere. The little store had been a family-owned store then, as it was now, although the families had changed, and the building, coast, and neighborhoods around it had changed, too.

"Good morning, Miss Charlie," May giggled slightly. "Almost afternoon, nearly. Did you want to order a sandwich? The counter is empty, my husband is in the back."

"I'll wait. Do you have chicken salad today?"

"Sure do."

"Good." Charlie moved to the cold case, where vegetable and juice drinks sat in icy rows, waiting. She picked out a carrot-and-wheat grass drink, and then an orange raspberry juice as well. As she passed the checkout counter, May leaned over and pressed a small dog bone into her hand, smiling. Charlie bent over and offered the treat to Jagger, telling him, "This is from May."

He took it and she waited while he chomped it down and then wagged his tail happily. May smiled largely before returning to her textbook, opened discreetly behind the electronic register. She was always studying something. Charlie went down the gondolas, picked up some free-range eggs, went to the fresh, organic vegetable and fruit bins and picked up some arugula and radiccio, an avocado which looked temptingly ripe, some butter lettuce and swiss chard, all of which looked incredibly crisp and tender.