Skin Deep (26 page)

What if he
were
a selkie, working to defeat this Mahtahdou-thing? Did he really plan to leave her and go fight it—him—just when they had found each other? She rested her cheek against the top of his head and remembered their lovemaking last night. He had touched her, held her, loved her like a man who knew it might be his last time.

And if Mahtahdou were real and Alasdair defeated him, then what? Alasdair had mentioned the old stories of human and selkie lovers. In most of them the selkie lovers stayed on land for a while, long enough sometimes to beget families. But in the end they always returned to the sea. Was that how it would be for them? Would she have him for a year or two or ten and then be forced to watch him leave her, just as Derek had? Would that be any better than watching him leave now? Her hand tightened on his convulsively.

Alasdair stirred. Garland cursed herself for waking him and lay still so that he would drift off again. But instead he groaned and lifted his head.

“Garland, I…there’s something wrong.” He seemed to find it difficult to focus on her face. “It hurts, like it did—” With an effort that made him groan again and his face contort, he rolled onto his side.

The sheet below him was soaked with blood.

* * *

Garland tried to take deep, calming breaths while she dialed Rob’s cell phone number.

How had Alasdair’s wounds reopened? They’d been healing well, with fresh, pink scar tissue emerging from under the scabs. Yes, their lovemaking last night had been gloriously bruising, but surely not enough to—

Five rings…six… “Come on, Rob!” she muttered.

But no one picked up the phone, not even voicemail. Fine, then. She’d try him at the office. She punched in the first digits, but Alasdair reached out and touched her hand.

“Do you think it wise to call him?” he asked, speaking as if it were an effort to get the words out.

“Why shouldn’t I? He’s a doctor.”

“He’s also in love with you and sees me as a rival.”

She felt a warm flush rise up her neck. “How did you know?”

Alasdair’s mouth twisted in a faint, crooked smile. “I may not be human, but I am male. I know how he feels about you. Will he want to help me?”

“Of course he will,” she said, hoping she sounded surer than she felt. “Doctors have to help—they take a vow, to ‘ease suffering and to harm none’ or something like that. Personal feelings aren’t allowed to come into it.” She finished tapping the number in and waited.

“Dr. Mowbray’s office. This is Stacy. How can I help you?” Rob’s receptionist’s warm, calm voice had never sounded so welcoming.

“Stacy! Thank God you’re there. It’s Garland Durrell. Is Rob there?”

There was a pause. When Stacy spoke again, the warmth and calm had vanished. “Mrs. Durrell. Oh no, he’s not. It’s so strange—I found a message this morning that he’d been called out of town unexpectedly.”

Garland was glad she was sitting down. “Gone? Are you sure?”

“I tried calling him at home but there was no answer. I have to call all the appointments he had today and reschedule—”

“Did he say when he’d be back?”

“Well, it wasn’t very clear—he left a note stuck in the office door, and it was sort of scrawled, like he was in a hurry—”

He hadn’t even bothered unlocking the door and putting it on Stacy’s desk? What could have driven the usually careful and courteous Rob into such a rush? And what would have dragged him away from his patients?

“—but it looks like it says ‘a while.’ I’m sorry, that isn’t very helpful, is it?” Stacy sounded flustered and apologetic. But under the surface emotions Garland heard something else, too. Was it fear?

“Stacy, are you—are you sure you don’t know where Rob is?” she asked, very gently. “Is there something wrong? Did he tell you not to talk to me? I need him badly—my friend here is hurt agai—”

“Oh, I’ve got another call coming in. Can I put you on hold? Maybe it’ll be him.” Stacy cut her off so abruptly that it took Garland a few seconds to realize what had happened.

“Stacy put me on hold,” she murmured to Alasdair. “She thinks Rob might be on the other line.” She sat with the phone glued to her ear for several minutes, listening to a Mozart string quartet and thinking about when she’d tried calling 911 the day she’d found Alasdair. The similarities were disquieting.

“Always hated Mozart,” she said in explanation as she slammed the phone back into its cradle. “Stacy must’ve forgotten about me.”

Alasdair didn’t reply but the furrows in his brow deepened. “Do you really think the healer is gone?”

“I don’t know.” She was already hitting the redial button. A loud, obnoxious busy signal sounded in her ear. “Damn,” she muttered, hung up, and turned back to him, hoping she looked and sounded more confident than she felt. “I’ll try her again in a few minutes. You rest while I’ll make you some toast. Are you hungry?”

“Hungry for you, but I’ll settle for toast,” he said, with a ghost of his old smile.

“Incorrigible.” She bent to kiss him gently then looked at his torso. Fortunately she still had some of the Teflon pads and bandaging from when he’d first been injured, but she’d have to run out to the pharmacy for more if she didn’t get hold of Rob soon.

While waiting for Alasdair’s toast she tried calling Rob’s office again. The line was still busy. Stacy had said she’d have to make a lot of calls to cancel Rob’s appointments, but the blaring busy signal made her uneasy.

She stared out the window at the beach. Yesterday had been golden and glorious, but overnight the weather had done a complete about-face. Sullen gray clouds hung low in the sky, and tendrils of fog reached and withdrew across the sand like groping hands. The very air felt heavy and foreboding, as if a storm were lurking offshore, waiting to pounce. She turned away with a little shiver, finished buttering Alasdair’s toast, and brought it upstairs.

Alasdair lay as she’d left him, his eyes closed and his mouth tight as if he were holding back a grimace of pain. She set down her tray and dragged up a chair beside him. “Do you want to eat now?” she asked.

He opened his eyes. “Toast. I’d been thinking how much I was going to miss toast when I left.”

“You’re not going anywhere for now, so you might as well enjoy it.” She helped him sit higher in the bed then peered at his side again. The bandaging would need changing by lunchtime if his wound were still oozing at the same rate.

Alasdair managed a slice of toast and some tea but shook his head when she offered more. “Maybe later,” he said, and closed his eyes. “Tired.”

“I’m not surprised. You had a busy night,” she teased.

“I had the best night of my life,” he murmured with a smile, but his eyes stayed closed.

“Sleep, then. I’ll keep trying to get hold of Rob. If I can’t, maybe we ought to bring you to the hospital in Hyannis.”

“I—maybe. Not sure that’s good…idea.” He turned his head slightly, and after a minute she realized he’d drifted off to sleep.

She sat watching him, noticing that his forehead was still creased. Even asleep he was in pain. This shouldn’t be happening. There was no logical reason for it. Yesterday he’d been whole and strong. What could have made his wounds reopen?

The door creaked slightly, and she saw Conn peering around it. She held a finger to her lips and motioned him to come in. He tiptoed over to her and looked down at Alasdair. “Daddy,” he whispered.

“Daddy isn’t feeling well today. Why don’t we let him rest for a bit and I’ll make you breakfast.”

She shepherded him down the stairs, made him pancakes with strawberry jam, and settled him at Derek’s old desk with a box of crayons and a pile of old stationery. “I’m going to check on Daddy. I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” she told him.

He nodded, then looked up at her and held his arms out. She knelt next to his chair and hugged him hard. “Everything will be all right,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure of it, I promise. You and Daddy—you’re important to me. Okay?”

“ ‘Kay,” he whispered back.

Alasdair hadn’t moved. She bent over his face to listen for his breathing, and a loud ring behind her nearly launched her across the bed. She snatched at the phone with shaking hands. “Rob, where have you been? You’ve got to—”

“This is Elizabeth Souza, from the Friends of the Library. Might I speak with Mrs. Durrell, please?”

Garland paused. Elizabeth? It wasn’t supposed to be Elizabeth calling right now. Then she collected herself. “Oh, Elizabeth, it’s me. I’m sorry, I was expecting—”

“I apologize for calling at such an early hour, but we only thought it fair to contact you as soon as the decision had been made. The Board of the Friends of the Library has asked me to inform you that it is withdrawing its commission for a quilt commemorating the library’s anniversary.” Elizabeth’s voice was flat and emotionless.

“What?” Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this.

“The Board of the Friends of the Library has asked me to inform—”

“I think I heard you the first time, Elizabeth.” Garland tried desperately to shift gears. “I’m just trying to understand—is there something wrong? Has the celebration been cancelled?”

“The celebration will go on as scheduled. However, it has been decided to withdraw—”

“Was it the fee? I’m happy to waive that if—”

For the first time, some emotion crept into Elizabeth’s voice. “That is kind of you, Mrs. Durrell, but it will not be necessary. The Board thanks you for your time. Good morning.”

“Elizabeth, wait—”

But she’d already hung up. Garland turned the phone off and stared at it.

What had that been about? Something didn’t feel right about the whole phone call—the message itself as well as Elizabeth’s delivery of it. Why were the Friends changing their mind? Elizabeth had called just last week to remind her about presenting her preliminary design ideas at the Celebration Committee meeting later in the month. And why the chilly manner? Elizabeth had never called her Mrs. Durrell before. Ever. Had she unwittingly offended someone on the board? A chill went up her spine. Rob was on the board, wasn’t he? Could he be behind this as a way to get back at her for the other evening?

A soft groan interrupted her thoughts. Alasdair’s eyes were still shut but he was moving his head from side to side and shifting restlessly. She reached under the blankets and took his hand, just as she had when he was first injured. The furrows in his brow smoothed somewhat but did not entirely go away.

She put the phone back on the bedside table and held Alasdair’s hand in both of hers. Elizabeth’s call had been distressing, but Alasdair was far more important. The Friends of the Library could wait.

* * *

After Alasdair had stopped tossing and slipped more deeply into sleep, Garland took the phone with her into the bathroom while she took a quick shower.

But the phone didn’t ring.

She tried Rob’s office again but the line was still busy. After a moment of wrestling with herself she called Dr. Phelps’ office. Even if he was older than the dinosaurs, surely if she begged him he’d stop by.

His number was busy too.

She spent the next hours dialing each number in turn every five minutes. The busy signals never wavered. Between calls, she stitched the binding to Alasdair’s quilt. It might have seemed like a triviality at a time like this, but snatching a few stitches when she could helped keep her from sobbing uncontrollably as she gazed down at the lines of weakness and pain etched on either side of Alasdair’s beautiful mouth.

At lunch Alasdair refused the toast and tomato soup she made him.

“What happened to my champion toast eater?” she scolded him gently.

“Not hungry,” he said, turning away.

She set the tray on the floor beside the bed and bent to look at him. His eyes were unnaturally bright. She placed her hand lightly on his forehead. “You’re hot. Do you feel feverish?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” He closed his eyes again.

“Let me check your bandages and then you can rest some more, all right?” She forced cheerfulness into her voice that she was miles from feeling.

He nodded without opening his eyes.

She peeled the sheets back so that she could examine the pads on his torso and nearly screamed. His arms and legs were covered with ugly, oozing welts, as if he’d been flogged with barbed wire.

This was impossible. It was one thing for his old wounds to reopen. It was another for new cuts to appear.

She knelt at his side. There was nowhere on his arms or shoulder that she could touch that wasn’t criss-crossed by cuts.

“Alasdair, how did this happen?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“What?” But he didn’t even open his eyes.

“Listen to me. If I can’t get hold of Rob or Dr. Phelps in another few minutes, I’m going to take you into the hospital in Hyannis. Do you understand?”

“No,” he said, looking up at her through the merest slits.

“Why not? There’s something seriously wrong here—an infection or something. We’ve got to get you to where there are doctors and medicine—”