The Secret Between Us (19 page)

Jill found her hand in the dark. “Y’know, sweetie, from everything I’ve heard,
whoever
was driving that car did nothing wrong. Your having had a beer didn’t cause the accident.”

“I had two,” Grace reminded her.

“
That
didn’t cause the
accident.
”

“Okay, but I’m still feeling guilty about it, and I can’t tell Mom.”

“What about your dad?”

“Excuse me? I don’t
talk
to my dad.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Are you kidding? He’ll be worse than Mom. I mean, like, Poppy will be disappointed, but he’s only my grandfather.” She paused. “He drinks too much anyway. So maybe he’d understand.”

“Oh, Gracie, there’s a difference between having a beer with your friends—”

“Any of whom will
kill
me if I tell,” Grace interrupted.

“Can’t discuss that yet,” Jill said. “Stick to my first point. There’s a difference between having two beers at a party and sitting alone every night drinking half a bottle of whiskey. But let’s not talk about Poppy. We were talking about your dad.”

“Okay,” Grace said, tucking her legs under her. “Let’s talk about him. He says he loves us, but he walked out without any warning.”

“Your mother had warning. She may not have recognized it for what it really was, but the issues were there.”

“How can you side with him?”

“I’m not. I’m saying she may have closed her eyes to what was going on in her marriage. I have good instincts about people. I always liked your father.”

“But I don’t trust him. That’s my problem. I don’t know what he’ll do if he learns what really happened the other night. He might call the other parents. He might call the police.”

“He won’t call the police.”

“He could, and it would ruin my life, not that it’s going to be great anyway, because I’m a total pariah in school. I can’t be honest with anyone, because I’ll get someone else in trouble. And Dad? He’ll probably be just as disappointed as Mom, because he expects me to be a star, too. So I have to live with that, and with knowing a man died after the car I was driving hit him. That’s the worst.”

“I know.”

Grace felt better. “No one else does.”

Her aunt moaned in agreement—at least, that was what Grace thought the sound meant, until there was a sudden thrashing of legs. Throwing the sheet back, Jill sat up on the edge of the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Grace asked.

“Be right back.” Pushing herself to her feet, she headed for the bathroom. She was walking more slowly than usual, Grace thought, but it was hard to tell in the dark, and by the time a small sliver of light fell across the carpet, Jill was out of sight. Grace barely had time to get out of bed when Jill called her name.

She was at the bathroom door in a flash. Jill was on the toilet. Her face was ashen. “I’m bleeding.”

“Bleeding?” Grace swallowed hard.

“I need paper towels.”

Grace ran to the kitchen, unwound a bunch, and ran back. “Bleeding a lot?”

“I don’t know,” Jill said and took the paper towels. “I think I need to go to the hospital.”

“Shouldn’t you call your doctor?”

“Uh, yes.” She looked more frightened than Grace had ever seen her. “Get me the phone, sweetie?”

Grace got the phone, then stood there, feeling totally helpless, while Jill struggled to remember the number—which underscored the raw fear in her eyes.

“Is it written down somewhere?” Grace asked.

“I know it, I know it,” Jill breathed and, after a final hesitation, punched in the last two numbers. “I’ll get an answering service,” she said and, peering at the paper towels she’d been pressing against the bleeding, swore softly.

“Much?” Grace asked, heart pounding. Much would be bad.

“Enough. Uh, yes, hello. This is Jill Barr. I’m a patient of Dr. Burkhardt’s. I’m nine weeks pregnant, and I’m bleeding….No. Not massively…. No. I don’t see clots.” She listened, then shot a frustrated glance at the wall. “I really think I don’t want to wait twenty minutes for someone to call me back. I’ve waited too long for this baby. I’m going to the hospital. Would you pass that message on to the doctor on call?” She hung up and, holding the paper towels in place, pulled her panties over them. “I’m sorry to do this to you, sweetie, I know it’s a school night, but we’re going out.” Walking gingerly, she left the bathroom.

Grace followed. “Is this from the pain you felt earlier?”

“I don’t know,” Jill said. Even her voice sounded scared.

“Are you miscarrying?”

“God, I hope not.” She unhooked a sweatsuit from the closet door. “I need you dressed, Gracie.”

Grace pulled on the clothes she had worn that day. Jill was still tying her sneakers. “Can I help?”

“No. I’m okay.”

“It may be nothing,” Grace tried.

Jill didn’t answer.

“There’s always something they can do, isn’t there?”

“Sure, but it may not be what I want.”

Grace knew about D&Cs. Dani told her about a girl who’d had one the year before. At least, the girl called it a D&C. Everyone else called it an abortion. “I mean, aren’t there things they can do to save the baby?”

Jill looked frantically around. “Keys.” She set off for the kitchen.

Grace hurried after her. “I can get them, Aunt Jill. Tell me what to do. That’s why I’m here.”

“You’re here,” Jill said, “to drive me to the hospital.”

Grace faltered. “I can’t do that. I don’t have my license.”

Jill grabbed the keys and made for the back stairs. “I do, and you have a permit. We’re good to go.”

Grace felt faint. Sheer momentum kept her on her aunt’s tail. “I can’t drive.”

“I can’t either. I don’t want to hemorrhage.”

“Call Mom.”

“She’s ten minutes away, and that’s not counting getting dressed. Besides, who’d stay with Dylan?”

“Then Poppy. He’s just down the block.”

Jill reached the bottom of the stairs and turned back. “No, Grace. You’re here. You know how to drive.”

“Last time I did, I killed a man.”

“Here’s your chance for redemption.” She pressed the keys into Grace’s hand, opened the back door, and went out.

“It’s raining,” Grace cried as she followed. “It’s
raining.
I can’t do this.”

Jill turned back. She took Grace by the shoulders. Looking stern but desperate, she said, “I need you, Gracie. Right now, you’re all I have.”

“But it’s…but it’s the
van
.”

Jill smiled. “Automatic shift. Piece o’ cake.”

Chapter 15

Deborah’s phone rang at dawn. Less than ten minutes later, she had Dylan up and dressed, and they were on their way to the hospital. Fortunately, he slept most of the way, so he didn’t ask questions she couldn’t answer.

Everyone in the emergency room knew why she was there. One of the nurses took Dylan to the cafeteria, while another guided Deborah to the right cubicle. Eyes closed, Jill lay on a gurney, her skin the color of the sheets. Biting her nails, Grace was watching her aunt’s every change of expression.

Deborah touched her daughter in passing and went on to take Jill’s hand. “Hey.”

Jill smiled tiredly. “Hey,” she said without opening her eyes.

“Grace said the baby’s okay.”

“I told her not to call you at this ungodly hour.”

“She was right to phone. Is the baby really okay?”

“The baby’s fine,” Jill said. “It was only spotting. I panicked.” She seemed vaguely embarrassed. “When was the last time I did that?”

Deborah couldn’t remember. But Jill had never been pregnant before. “I’m glad Grace was with you.”

“She didn’t get much sleep. We’ve been here since two.”

Grace looked exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes. This time, Deborah didn’t say anything about sleepless nights building character.

“Have they ordered bed rest?” she asked Jill.

“Just for a day or two.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“No, but I want this baby. Skye and Tomas will have been baking for a few hours already. They won’t even know I’m not upstairs. If one of you can call Alice—”

“I’ll call,” Grace said, pulling her hand from her mouth and standing straighter. “I can meet her there.”

Jill moved her head on the pillow. “You need to sleep. Alice is good. She’ll know what to do. Besides, I’m out of here as soon as they give the okay.”

“Maybe you should stay a day,” Deborah told her sister.

“Insurance won’t pay.”

“I know, but I’ll pay.”

“No way,” Jill said firmly. “I only came here because it was close and I was scared. The longer I stay, the more people know why I’m here. If Grace hadn’t called you, one of the nurses would have. Not much is sacred for a Barr in this place.” Her eyes flew to the curtain that separated her cubicle from the rest of the unit. She made a defeated sound.

Michael Barr stood at the edge of the curtain. His clothes were mussed, likely from sleeping in the chair in his den. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw stubbly.

As a doctor with visiting privileges, he had every right to look at a patient’s chart, so he had helped himself to Jill’s. When he was done reading, he looked at her in dismay. “Did I have to find out about this from strangers?” When Jill didn’t reply, he turned on Deborah. “Did you know about it? Is that what all that please-talk-to-Jill crap was about?”

“It’s not crap,” Deborah said.

“Let me guess,” he told Jill. “You have a boyfriend and forgot to
use
something.”

“Wrong,” Jill said quietly.

“Then you’re carrying someone else’s child? A surrogate mother? Doing it for money to support the bakery?”

“Please, Dad,” Deborah tried, but Jill spoke more boldly.

“Wrong again. I
paid
to have this child and used my very own egg, which means that this is your biological grandchild.”

“You went to a sperm bank? Then you don’t know the father.”

“I know everything but his name. I know his age, his medical history, his education, his occupation, his looks. I also know that he has other healthy children.”

Grace was suddenly all eyes. “How do you know that?”

“Is this anyone’s business but Jill’s?” Deborah asked, but Jill overrode her again.

“I know of two children, actually, because their mothers used the same registry. That’s partly why I went there myself. I wanted to know any half-siblings. I’ve talked with the two women. They’re in touch with each other. They see each other as extended family. They get their kids together several times a year.”

“That’s
amazing,
” Grace breathed, clearly impressed. “Do the kids look alike?”

“They’re two little boys, and no. One looks just like his mother. But their temperaments are compatible, and they both love playing with cars and blocks.”

Michael snorted. “Isn’t
that
unique for boys.”

Deborah was about to protest when Grace said, “Poppy, you’re missing the point.”

“They’re also very verbal, very athletic, and very creative,” Jill went on with remarkable poise for someone flat on her back. “Their dad went to Harvard. Don’t you love that? He went to Harvard and rowed Varsity Crew, and now he writes children’s books.”

“Which no one probably reads,” Michael said.

Jill had a comeback for that, too. “His all hit the bestseller lists, and he donates a portion of his profits to children’s cancer centers. How can you not love a guy like that? See, Dad? I made sure to pick someone you’d approve of.”

“Your mother would be thrilled,” he remarked in a voice thick with sarcasm.

Mention of Ruth ended Jill’s composure. Tears sprang to her eyes. “She
would
be thrilled. She’d be thrilled because I’m happy, and because she knows I’ll make a good mother.” She raised her voice as Michael turned to leave. “And she wouldn’t be surprised like you are, because she’d have known all this from the start!”

Michael was gone.

Deborah leaned over Jill. “Mom would have been thrilled, you’re
entirely
right about that, and she’d have been furious with him.” She looked at Grace. “I need to talk with Poppy. You’ll stay here with Jill?”

“Don’t talk with him,” Jill ordered. “There’s no point. He won’t change his mind.”

“Maybe not, but enough is enough, y’know?”

“Dr. Monroe?” said a nurse, opening the curtain.

Dylan was close behind her, with two fingers under his glasses, pressing his eye. “Was that Poppy?” he asked before seeing everyone else in the room. “What’s wrong with Aunt Jill?”

Deborah pulled him close and whispered. “She’s going to have a baby.” Enough was enough with that secret, too.

“Now?”

“No, but she wasn’t feeling well, so she came here to make sure everything’s okay.”

Shutting the eye he’d been pressing—the left eye, the good one, Deborah realized—he looked up. “Is that why Poppy came?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why he was angry?”

“He wasn’t angry. He’s just worried.”

Putting his fingers to his left eye again, he mouthed something she couldn’t make out.

“What?”

In a rush, he whispered, “Don’t tell him about my eye.”

“What about your eye?” she said, but suddenly she knew. He had been blinking too often, pressing it too often. Heart heavy, she took his shoulders and looked directly at him. “What about your eye?”

“It
kills,
” he said with a woeful look. “The same way the other one did.”

It was all Deborah could do not to cry. “Does the light bother it?” He bobbed his head. “Since when, sweetie?”

“I don’t know, but I couldn’t say anything because there was all this stuff happening with you and Grace, and I
need
to be with Dad this weekend.”

Deborah pulled him close again. “You will be with Dad,” she said and met Grace’s eyes over the top of his head. “Can you help Aunt Jill?”

Grace seemed torn between anger and worry. “I got her here, didn’t I? Where are you going?”

“To see Dr. Brody.”

“Nooo, Mom,” Dylan wailed.

But Deborah had known there was a problem. Deep in her heart she’d known it but had looked the other way, and all the while Dylan had known what was happening and kept it all to himself.

Deborah didn’t want
to hear the diagnosis any more than Dylan did, but she did love his eye doctor. Aidan Brody specialized in pediatric ophthamology, and was so good with Dylan that Deborah was doubly sorry she had waited to bring him in. Aidan opened his office early to see them, and did the kind of thorough exam that said he was thrilled to help.

“This is nothing more,” he told the boy calmly, “than what you have in the other eye, and it’s just as curable. The pain you feel comes from tiny cracks in the surface of the cornea. There are little nerve endings under those cracks. When they are exposed, you feel pain.”

“But now I won’t be able to see at all,” Dylan cried.

“Not true, not true,” Aidan said. “You will not lose your sight. In another couple of years, once you stop growing, we’ll take care of that.”

“Will the transplant cure the farsightedness, too?”

“No. You’ll continue to wear glasses for hyperopia until laser surgery can cure it. The corneal transplant is only for your lattice dystrophy.”

“But what if it keeps getting worse ’til then?”

“Did the other eye do that?”

“No.”

“Right. It stabilized. This one will, too.”

“But what if it doesn’t?”

“It will, Dylan,” he insisted with such gentle conviction that Deborah fully believed him. “Tell you what,” he said, grabbing a card from the corner of his desk. “I’m going to write down my phone numbers at the office and at home. Any time you get scared, I want you to call.” He wrote the numbers large enough for Deborah to see from where she sat. “Now, would I give you my home number if I thought you’d be calling me every two minutes? No, sir. You’re going to be too busy with school and your friends. But I bet you’ve been real worried.”

“Yeah,” Dylan said, clutching the card.

“Bet you were worried you were going blind.”

“Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Now you know you’re not, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied, worried again, “b-but what if I lose your card?”

Aidan Brody smiled. “Your mom knows my number. She went to medical school with my wife.” He nodded at Deborah and smiled. “You can ask her. She’ll write you a new card.”

As Deborah drove
home from Boston, her emotions ran the gamut from relief to fear. Aidan Brody had made it sound easy, but
two
corneal transplants involved
two
separate procedures, neither of which was as simple as removing a wart and both of which involved risk.

Conversely, Dylan was upbeat, the weight of worry off his shoulders and onto hers. But that was what mothers were for.

She stopped home so that they could shower, and when Deborah would have left Dylan there with Lívia to sleep, he wouldn’t hear of it. She drove him to school, walked him inside to explain his tardiness, then went to the bakery.

Jill was already home sleeping. Alice had things under control downstairs, and Grace had collapsed on a sofa in the small third-floor loft.

Deborah stretched out on her back beside Jill, who wakened with the weight shift of the mattress. “What’s the story with Dylan’s eye?” she asked groggily.

“Same as the other.”

Jill came fully awake. “Oh, no. Oh, Deb. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. My heart breaks for Dylan. He’ll have surgery in a couple of years, but there’s not much to be done until then.”

“How’s he feeling?”

“He’s great. Relieved that it’s nothing worse. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, too. The spotting stopped. Where’s Grace?”

“In the loft. Asleep.”

“You need to talk with her, Deborah. She feels very guilty.”

“I try, but she isn’t biting.”

“Try again. She’s a fabulous kid. She was the one who drove me to the hospital and back.”

Deborah turned her head. “She did?” When her sister nodded, she didn’t know whether to be pleased or hurt. “Well, thank you. She wouldn’t do that for me.”

“She had a choice of driving or letting me bleed to death.”

“You weren’t bleeding to death.”

“We didn’t know that at the time. She did what needed to be done. She is like you that way.”

Deborah rolled onto her side. “I always assumed she was like me in
every
way. I may have been wrong.”

“She’s like you in what counts.”

“I thought she wanted to be a doctor.”

“Is being a doctor what counts most?”

Deborah didn’t have to think for long. “No. Look at me, lying here without so much as a call to the office. Jill, I’m sorry about Dad. You know how wrong he is.”

“Yeah, well, I guess we always harbor a little hope.”

“He’ll change,” Deborah said. “He just needs time to get used to the idea.”

“Spoken by someone who’s always been on his good side.”

“Not lately.”

Jill frowned. “Speaking of which, you do have patients to see.”

“I’m tired.”

The words hung in the air. After a minute, Jill laughed. “That’s something.”

It was, Deborah realized. “I’ve never in my life let that be an excuse not to work. But I’m tired.”

“Of work?”

“Of being good. Of
trying
to be good.”

“Of trying to please Dad,” Jill added.

“That, too.”

“What happens if you don’t show up at the office?”

“I don’t know, since I’ve never not shown up before.”

“Your patients will understand.”

“Do I
care
?” Deborah shot back, then quickly said, “Yes, I care—but, my God, I’ve
always
been there for them. If they can’t understand that just for once I need a little time, well, too bad.”