Twisted Justice (27 page)

Tim Robinson was obviously happy to see Laura. He was taller and broader than Steve, his thick brown hair combed straight back, his golden brown eyes behind eyeglass frames that matched his eyes. More sexy than handsome, his ready smile, quick wit, and prestigious medical appointment made him a favorite among the single females in the Philadelphia medical community. He'd been ahead of Laura in med school, and he'd known Steve socially when he'd dated Laura's anatomy partner and friend, Rosie Santangelo. He'd gotten himself in hot water with both girls when he'd propositioned Laura once at a surgical meeting he'd attended with her in Montreal. When Rosie found out, it had been the end of that relationship. As far as Laura knew, Tim had never had a serious relationship since.

“Hey, Laura, it's been a long time.”

“Graduation, I think,” she said, smiling slightly as he kissed her on the cheek.

“Though it's nice to see you both,” Tim said, shaking Steve's hand, “I'm sorry about the circumstances. So if you don't mind, let's get focused on your son. Dr. Chambers has provided me with all the test results and I've examined Patrick.”

“Yes,” the Nelsons said simultaneously.

“Good morning, Steve, Dr. Nelson.” Dr. Chambers greeted them as Tim ushered the trio toward the large rectangular table in the hospital conference room. “Mr. Klingman is already here.”

“Does he need to be here?” Steve stared suspiciously at Greg.

“I'd like him to stay,” said Laura.

“Okay, let's get started,” said Tim. “Here's what I think. Patrick has some kind of cardiac tumor. Probably benign,” he hastened to add. “It's impinging on the aortic outlet causing an obstruction severe enough to induce CHF and arrhythmias —”

“What's CHF?” Steve interrupted.

“Congestive heart failure. That's why he's been so short of breath,” Tim explained. “Anyway, we need more sophisticated tests, but the echocardiogram here is pretty good quality and I
think the tumor is resectable.” He paused to address Greg's quizzical frown. “Meaning it can be surgically removed. When we go in, we'll do a frozen section — that's a quick biopsy while the patient is still on the table. Pathology will give us a read on the tissue type and hopefully, according to the numbers, it'll be benign. We remove it, patch things up, and he'll be just fine.”

Steve was the first to speak. “That sounds good, Tim, but I don't want to send him to Philadelphia for this. Ann Arbor's much closer, and Dr. Chambers says they have a good pediatric surgical department.”

“That's true, Steve,” Dr. Chambers interjected, “but Tim here is the real expert. They have the best pediatric surgeons in the world at CHOP. Dr. George Kamen is world renown. I've been in the library reviewing the series of these types of cases. They're rare and there's no doubt in my mind that Patrick should be operated at CHOP. And soon.”

“I've made all the arrangements for transportation,” Greg offered quickly. “The tests can be done over the weekend with surgery on Monday. The MediJet can be here this afternoon.”

Steve glared at Greg. “It's not up to you to make decisions about my son.”

“I think you should let Dr. Nelson make the decision. Chest surgery is her area of expertise,” Greg countered.

“Now, Steve,” Dr. Chambers turned toward Steve with a look of concern. “I know you're anxious and want what's best for that little boy. You know, you and Laura were really wonderful to adopt him, what with four kids of your own and you two with such busy careers. I don't recall your father even telling me. I'm sure everything will work out. I've got all the transfer documents ready to go.”

“Adopted? Nobody told me that,” said Tim.

Steve's eyes opened wide. “What are you talking about?”

“How much do you know about the natural parents' family history anyway? I didn't think to ask you that earlier, Dr. Nelson,” Dr. Chambers went on. “Can this be something hereditary?”

“Hereditary?” Steve echoed.

“Well, I assumed you adopted him.”

Steve looked at the elderly physician as if he were a doddering fool. Laura, sitting next to Steve, turned a chalky white.

“Simple matter of genetics. Your blood's been A/B negative for as long as I can remember, Steve. Very rare, that's why I remember. You and your — anyway, Laura, yesterday's bloodwork showed you to be B neg. Dr. Nelson offered to donate yesterday and well,” he glanced over at her, “two negatives just can't make a positive. Since Patrick is O positive, I just assumed —”

Steve stared at the older man as a look of abject horror crossed his face.

“Doesn't the child know?” Dr. Chambers asked. “Children should be told right off, as young as possible, so there aren't problems later. That's what I tell my families who adopt.”

“You're saying that my son is not my son?” Steve swung slowly around and looked at Laura who sat rigid in the chair beside him. “Laura, what's he saying? This is all a big mistake. Laura?”

Laura would not look at him. He stared at his wife. A long moment passed.

“No, no, no. It can't be!” Steve suddenly bolted out of his chair, lunging toward Laura, grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her. “How could you — you whore!”

Greg and Tim jumped up. Each gripped one of Steve's arms as Laura sat frozen, not moving a muscle to defend herself. Dean Chambers remained in his chair, head bowed into his hands, as Steve struggled to free himself.

“You take your bastard wherever you want,” Steve spat at Laura, “but don't you even think about getting near my real sons again.”

“Steve, Steve, let's not be so impetuous,” Dean Chambers managed. His kindly face registered confusion and regret.

“Let go of me!” Steve ignored Dr. Chamber's plea as he writhed to free himself. When Greg and Tim finally released him, Steve abruptly left the room, on his way crashing into a supply cart and a dozen stainless steel emesis basins clattered to the floor.

Children's Hospital of Philadelphia, known throughout the pediatric medical world as CHOP, sent a fully equipped MediJet to Traverse City. It arrived at one thirty on Friday and was scheduled to leave within the hour. The day was bright and sunny and they'd estimated three hours for the return flight. As the medical officer in charge, Dr. Tim Robinson checked all the medical supplies and instruments as he waited for the arrival of his passengers. The manifest he'd prepared for the return flight to Philly included both Laura and Steve. It would be a full flight with himself, the pilots and co-pilot, and an intensive care nurse.

After the nightmare scene in the conference room, Laura forced herself to pull it together. Her focus had to be on Patrick right now, and with Tim and Greg's help the arrangements were finalized to transfer him to CHOP. As she sat with Patrick, Laura tried to make the trip sound like an adventure, but he was apathetic. She reached for the chart on the hook at the foot of his bed and flipped through the progress notes to the lab results, searching for the latest blood gases. As she noted the steady fall in arterial oxygen levels, she withheld a gasp and immediately inspected her son more carefully, taking in the bluish discoloration of his lips and nail beds.

Patrick squirmed. “What's wrong, Mom? Where's Dad?”

Laura didn't know what to say. What to tell him about Steve? “Listen honey, your job is to wait here while everybody gets ready for your trip. I'll be right back,” she said, “then we leave with Dr. Robinson.”

Patrick made a face. “I want Dad.”

Laura found Greg by the telephone in the visitor's waiting room about to place a call.

“Greg, can you take me to Steve's father's house? Right now?”

“One second, Laura. I've got to call Rob back about Judge Potter. We have to make sure it's a ‘go' here.” He glanced at his watch. “We have less than an hour.”

“Now, please. It's only a five minute drive, and I have to go now,” she pleaded. “Patrick's worse. He wants his father.”

Greg hung up the receiver and started to follow Laura out the door. “Do you really think Steve will —?”

“He's got to be there for him. I've got to convince him that none of this was Patrick's fault. It would be devastating for the child to lose his father, especially now. I don't know what to do, but I'll do anything.”

“Laura, what are you doing here? After …” Jim Nelson stammered as he stood blocking the front door. “How could you do this to my son? To all of us? I know things have been tough for you and Steve, but I've always trusted you, defended you. You know how much Steve loves that little boy.”

“I'm so sorry, Jim.” Of course she was sorry that she had hurt her family, her husband, and especially Patrick, who she feared would pay the price. But the truth was, she would never be sorry about that one night and she would never, never tell a living soul about it. This she had solemnly vowed over seven years ago, before leaving Detroit forever.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“It's that things were awful between Steve and me at the time.” Laura could think of absolutely nothing else to say as she made up this response. “Please understand.”

There was a prolonged, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Laura said, “Please, tell Steve that I need to talk to him.”

Jim Nelson shook his head. “He's very upset. I'm not sure you want — Steve came home from the hospital all in pieces. I had to call Dr. Chambers to find out what happened. He's just beside himself for bringing it up at all.”

“Jim, I really am sorry that it happened this way, but Patrick needs Steve. He's getting worse and he's calling for his dad.”

“Steve, Laura's here,” the older man called inside, still not letting Laura across the threshold.

In a moment, a disheveled Steve appeared beside his father.
Blonde hair falling out of place, his eyes red and puffy, the neat slacks and shirt he'd worn to the hospital rumpled.

“What do you want?” he stared at her, sadness mingled with fury.

“Steve, we have to talk. You can't just abandon Patrick at a time like this. He's just a little boy. He idolizes you. It's not his fault, and he's so sick right now —”

Steve turned away.

“Please, Steve.”

“Son, why don't you let her in? Sit out on the back porch. Try to talk things out.” Jim led them back through the shade of maples and the smell of roses. Silently she and Steve followed, taking a seat next to one another on the back porch swing they had always loved when they were young. “None of us are perfect, son,” said Jim Nelson as he closed the door behind them.

“So, what? You're here to tell me what happened over eight years ago back in Detroit? Which one of those doctors knocked you up?” Steve moved as far as he could to the edge of the swing.

“It was so long ago, I don't —”

“You don't remember?” Steve cut her off. “What? There were so many you don't remember who you fucked? And you give me grief over one fucking single mistake like you're some kind of canonized saint? My God, this is — I can't believe this. All these years —”

Laura's hands rose up in a “stop” gesture. “You don't understand, Steve. It's not like that.”

“Then you tell me what it is ‘like.' I keep going back to 1970. I thought we were happy. Sure, we had a tough year with you being pregnant with the twins and all that trauma around their early birth, but after that I actually thought we were fucking happy.”

Laura remained quiet.

Steve's eyes were wild as he ran his fingers again and again through his hair. “I have to admit that when you got pregnant with the twins, I suspected something. Naw, you're just being paranoid,
I kept telling myself. But there was my beautiful wife, a med student, spending nights and days with all those fucking doctors. On call. Medical meetings. All that shit. And I talked myself into trusting you. What a goddamned fool. Maybe I should be blaming myself for being so stupid instead of blaming you for betraying me.”

Tears flowed down Laura's cheeks. “You can blame me, Steve, just don't blame Patrick. It's not his fault.”

“No, it's not, but you know how the child always pays for your ‘sins'? God, look what happened to my mother — and me — after my brother —”

“Steve, it's not — I was raped,” Laura said quietly, her eyes downcast.

“What? Raped?” Steve lifted her chin with one hand so he could look into her eyes. Lying eyes, like the song, flashed though his mind.

Laura was silent.

“‘I was raped'?” he echoed. “And where was I? We'd been married for seven years by then. And now what, nine years later, when it's convenient, you tell me that you were raped?” He jerked his hands away from her head.

“It's the truth, Steve,” Laura spoke so quietly that Steve had to lean in to hear her. “I never reported it. I never told you — or anyone.”