Suddenly (40 page)

“She was
allegedly
molested,” Noah corrected. “Nothing’s been proven. The doctor denies he ever touched the girl in anything but a professional manner.”

“Well, he’s lying.

“Do you have proof of that?”

“She’s
pregnant
.”

Noah let the absurdity of the accusation hang on the line for a minute, during which he made sure his temper was in check. Then he said, “That’s no more proof that she was molested by our doctor, than that she was molested by her own father.”

“Clint wouldn’t touch the girl!”

“Peter Grace claims he wouldn’t, either. So who do you believe? The fact is that Julie is a social butterfly. She could have been with any number of boys, either here or at home.”

“Do you have
any
control over what happens there?”

Noah defended himself, not only then, but a short time later when another member of the board called and, a short time after that, another. All told that afternoon, he spoke with five board members and four parents. His secretary had just left for the day when the phone rang again, and he nearly let it ring. But he could calm people down. The more of them he talked with, the more heard the rational argument. So he answered the phone.

It was Jim Kehane, his Santa Fe connection. “Just wondering if you’ve given more thought to coming here next year,” he said. “The offer is open. We’re starting to set up interviews with other candidates. I’d like to set some up for you. As things stand now, you’re our first choice.”

Noah wanted to say, “Wait ‘til you hear what’s been going on here. I may not be your first choice for long.” Instead he said, “I’m interested.” He had to keep his options open. “What would you like me to do?”

“A résumé is all we need now. A letter or two of recommendation wouldn’t hurt, either. The rest will come later. Say, this is good news, Noah. I was worried you’d decide to stay at Mount Court. I take it everything is going well there?”

Noah managed to answer with an ambiguity that didn’t compromise him, but he got off the phone as quickly as possible and left the office soon after. He didn’t need more phone calls. What he needed was to meet with Julie’s dorm parent and faculty adviser.

Paige’s last patient of the day was a three-year-old girl, the first child of a couple from lower Tucker. Her parents rarely saw each other; one worked the day shift and one the night so that Emily was never alone. The father, who had brought her in after she had coughed her way through the day, had her dressed in multiple layers against the December cold. None of the layers matched. She looked like a roly-poly rag doll—in Paige’s view absolutely precious.

Paige handed the father the prescription she had just written out and lifted the child from the examining table. “Give her the medicine four times a day, but make sure she’s eaten something before she takes it. Keep her warm, have her drink as much as she’ll take, and call me if you don’t see improvement in two days.”

As though knowing help was on the way, little Emily was peaceful in Paige’s arms. “Such a sweet-heart,” Paige said with a smile, but the smile grew sad when she thought of how Sami would be at three, and the knot in her stomach reclenched. She was fine when she was working and mentally challenged, but at in-between times like this, brief moments when her mind wandered, she fell back into a melancholy funk.

She hugged Emily and returned her to her father, saw them to the door, and retreated into her office. Peter and Angie joined her there a short time later.

“Any news?” Angie asked Peter.

He shook his head, looking exhausted. Paige suspected he was having as much trouble concentrating as she had.

“Julie’s father isn’t moving to bring charges yet,” he said, “but I don’t know how long we can hold him off. She still insists it was me.”

“Did she say it to your face?” Angie asked.

“No. I tried to get her to. I asked her outright, there in Perrine’s office, but her lawyer cut in and accused me of harassing her. If she continues to point at me, and if no one else comes forward, it’s only a matter of time before they go to the cops. They’ll indict me for rape, her word against mine.” He eyed Paige. “It doesn’t look good.”

Paige, who was sitting with her fists pressed to her mouth, wanted to disagree, but she couldn’t find the words. She was overwhelmed thinking what damage a rape charge would do to Peter, to Mount Court—and to the practice, which was the one single, most solid entity around which the rest of her life revolved. If it fell apart along with everything else, she might just hang in the air for an agonizing minute before shattering on the ground.

“What is Julie doing about the baby?” Angie asked.

“She isn’t about to tell me,” Peter remarked dryly. “Have you heard anything?”

Paige shook her head. “Her father has taken her back to New York. She’ll see an obstetrician there.”

“Do you think she’ll abort it?” Angie asked.

Paige had no idea.

“Whether she does or not,” Peter insisted, “DNA tests will prove that the baby isn’t mine. My lawyer is putting a request into writing that if there is an abortion, the fetal tissue should be tested. If they fail to do it, they’re destroying evidence. I wish there were as conclusive a test for rape.”

“She never complained to anyone,” Angie pointed out. “She never showed up with bruises.”

He grunted. “She couldn’t very well have told Paige that Paige’s own partner raped her.”

“Sure she could have.”

“She’ll say she couldn’t. She’ll stand there in the DA’s office, wearing the most sedate clothes she can buy, playing the part of the innocent.”

“If no one else ever saw bruises—”

“Don’t need bruises. By definition, rape is sex against a woman’s will. Bruises aren’t required.”

“But they would certainly help her prove her case. If she’s without proof of force, and if tests show that the baby isn’t yours, her case becomes skimpy.”

“You underestimate Julie,” he argued. “So did I, until she came out with this charge. She’s a shrewd little bitch. She’ll say that I raped her while she was involved with someone, and that she honestly thought the baby was mine rather than his. Believe me, she’ll let the rape charge stand. She’s that pissed at me for not being attracted to her.” He snorted. “I should be flattered.”

“Peter,” Angie chided.

He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “She’ll never admit that she lied. She’s stubborn and proud. She’s defiant. And she’s terrified of her father.” He faced them. “It doesn’t look good. It’s only a matter of time before word gets out, and once it does, the practice stands to suffer. Maybe I should resign before that happens.”

Paige, who had been listening to the give and take in muted dread, dropped her fists and said, “No.”

Angie said the same.

“Think about it,” Peter invited on a note of self-mockery. “This may be my one most selfless moment in life. You won’t get a better offer.”

“No.”

“No.”

“And if I’m indicted and our patients go elsewhere?”

“Where will they go?” Angie asked. “We’re the best around.”

“Yeah. The only catch to that line of reasoning is that you’ll be hundreds of miles away in New York.”

“That’s not definite at all.”

“But it is definite that Paige will be here. So what do you say, Paige? You’re the one who stands to lose most.”

“And Cynthia,” Angie pointed out. “She’s an innocent in this mess.”

“You’re all innocent. I’m the bad guy here. Paige? What do you say?”

Paige was trying to concentrate, but it was hard when things like sadness, fear, and regret interfered. Even more distracting were persistent images—of a school in the desert, of Noah, of Nonny and Sami, of Angie in New York, of Mara decaying on the hillside overlooking town.

Mara would have known what to tell Peter. This was the kind of situation in which she came to life. When she believed in a cause, she fought. She had the strength for it. And Paige?

To her horror, her eyes filled with tears. She tried to hide them by examining her fingers. “I, uh”—she cleared her throat—”I don’t think it’s fair that this should happen right now. Damn it, it isn’t.” She took a steadying breath and raised her eyes. “You’ve gotten your act together, Peter. It’s like you found yourself after the accident—with Kate Ann and all—and now you’re fighting Jamie Cox like Mara would have done. And you, too, Angie. You don’t deserve this now. You didn’t turn over and die when things at home got tense. You fought.”

“I took a risk of the heart,” Angie said. “They’re necessary sometimes.”

A risk of the heart
. Like Mara’s deep connect.

Paige’s throat started to tighten again. After clearing it, she said, “You won. Things are better at home. Whether or not you move, the choice should be yours. You shouldn’t be forced out because our patients are spooked by a lie.” She looked from one to the other. They had both come a long way since Mara’s death. And she? She was marking time, lacking the courage to act.

“Paige?” Angie queried softly.

Lacking the courage to
make decisions
. But if she waited, she would lose. She would fail. Like Mara.

“I don’t want any resignations,” she said with abrupt force. “No resignations.”

“Would you rather we talk about this later?”

She brushed at the tears in the corners of her eyes and shook her head. “I have to go home to see Sami.” Her eyes, damp but steady, met Peter’s. “No resignation. We fight.”

Angie arrived home to an empty house, which didn’t make sense, given the hour. Ben was usually home by then. Especially lately.

Along with their agreement to talk things out, they had agreed to try to coordinate their schedules. Angie would tell him when she would be home from work, and he would make an effort to be there when she arrived. It wasn’t quite the spontaneity that they had thrived on in their twenties, but they weren’t in their twenties anymore. They were in their forties. Spontaneity was harder to come by—which didn’t mean that they couldn’t do exciting things, simply that they had to plan more for them.

Ben hadn’t told her of any plans that would keep him away from home this late in the day. She was on the verge of worry when she heard his car in the drive. She was at the back door in time to welcome not only Ben, but Dougie.

“What a treat!” She gave both of them hugs, then studied Dougie, who looked vaguely down at the mouth. “Is everything all right?”

“He heard about Peter,” Ben explained. “I wanted to get him home for a little while so that we could talk about it.”

Angie gave his arm a grateful squeeze. It was the kind of thing she would have done herself, had Ben not accused her of smothering the boy.

She led Dougie to the table and sat him down. “The grapevine works with the speed of light. What is it saying about poor Peter?”

“That he raped Julie. But I don’t believe it, Mom. I know Peter. He isn’t that kind of guy.”

She slipped onto the seat beside him. “Are the kids believing it?”

“Big time. Some of them are getting hyper, and it’s not only the girls. They’re saying he’s a pervert. That he likes kids. That they don’t want him getting near them again. I’ve been telling them that they’re nuts, but they won’t listen. It’s like they love the excitement of this.”

Angie shot a look across the table, to where Ben lounged on a chair. “He’s very perceptive.”

“And disillusioned?” Ben asked.

Angie shared that worry. To Dougie she said, “Don’t be too hard on them. They don’t know Peter like you do. They’re simply reacting against everything that’s in the news these days. But you’re right to argue in Peter’s behalf. He says he’s innocent, and I believe him.”

“But if none of the kids will let him near them, that means he’s out of a job at Mount Court. That’s not fair.”

“No. It’s not. But things may change. All we need is someone coming forward to tell who Julie was really with.”

“Someone fathered the baby she’s carrying,” Ben said. “We need to know who.”

Dougie glanced from one to the other. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know who the guy is. I don’t know Julie Engel at all. I’m just telling you what the kids are saying.”

“Are they only talking about Peter?” Angie asked. “Aren’t they saying anything at all about Julie?”

“My friends don’t know her, either, Mom. She’s a
senior
.”

“Your mother knows that,” Ben said. “She’s thinking that if you heard gossip about Peter, you might have heard gossip about Julie.”

“No. Just about Peter. I
hate
it when they call him a pervert. He’s a friend of ours, and he’s your partner. It doesn’t say much about you if you’re practicing with a pervert.”

“Peter is no pervert,” Angie vowed. She thought of the letters Paige had found and the tales they told, and felt that Mara wouldn’t mind at all if she shared one. “He and Mara were in love. Did you know that?”

Dougie’s eyes went wide. “Were they really?”

Angie nodded.

“Then why didn’t they get married?”

“They weren’t ready to share their feelings with other people, I guess. Maybe they would have in time, if she had lived.”

“She would be
furious
if she heard the stories the kids at school are spreading!”

“You’re right,” Angie admitted.

“She would be right up there defending him,” Ben put in. “That’s why it’s good that you’re there. You can do it for her.”

“I can’t do much,” Dougie muttered. “I defend him, but everyone jumps all over me.”

“Are you feeling uncomfortable there?”

“All the time? No way. Just when people get going on this.”

Angie was suddenly struck by his voice. It was lower than it had been. She couldn’t see signs of a beard, but that would come. He was growing up. “You really do like boarding, don’t you,” she said.

“It’s neat.”

“What if,” she began, shot a look at Ben, then went on, “What if we didn’t live so close? Would you be as comfortable?”

Dougie grew guarded. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

But Angie regretted having mentioned it. She should have waited until she and Ben had talked it out. She should have let Ben take the lead rather than doing it herself. She had barged in out of habit, assuming that what weighed heavily on her mind weighed as heavily on Ben’s. She was orchestrating again.