Pulling Home (15 page)

Maybe even saved her.

But she’d been afraid. And then there was the twinge that ate at her for years and had forced her to obliterate her memory with drugs and sex. Only it hadn’t erased the guilt. That piece lived on, grew through the years until it festered and took on a life of its own. Doris had been jealous of her best friend. Not just passing jealous but putrid, hateful jealous. It didn’t matter how hard Doris tried to imitate her friend, she couldn’t succeed with her coltish legs and thin lips.

She could have lived with those few issues, maybe made adjustments to

compensate for her deficiencies. But the disparity grew. Boys began seeking Corrine out after class, asking her to the movies, the sock hop, the Burger Den for fries and a shake.

They snubbed Doris. Even when she offered to give one or two a hand job behind the Burger Den, they just laughed and followed Corrine like she was Snow White, The Pure, and they were her little follower dwarfs, which made Doris The Wicked One, a role she gladly accepted. If she couldn’t find her own brand of popularity, she’d make damn sure her best friend didn’t either.

Corrine’s pregnancy was a surprise, one which Doris leaked to the entire senior

class during an assembly. She even supplied a list of seven or eight prospective fathers, boys who’d snubbed her. It didn’t matter Corrine confessed to loving the father of her unborn child, vowed he was the only one she’d even been with—nothing mattered but crushing her best friend’s popularity. Doris succeeded. By the time she realized the destruction she’d caused, not only to her best friend, but to herself, it was too late.

This was the reason she must help the girl find her real father. She owed Corrine that much. Audra would be here soon and Doris would confess her sins. Maybe God

wouldn’t burn her sorry soul in hell for eternity. Maybe He’d only toss her in for the first thousand years.

She smoked her way through three more cigarettes before Audra Valentine

knocked on her door and entered, a dark-haired, slimmer version of her mother. “Thank you for seeing me, Ms. O’Brien.”

Doris fiddled with a string on her chenille robe, wishing for one more cigarette.

“Doris, child. Call me Doris.” Corrine’s daughter smiled, just the way her mother used to when she and Doris passed notes in Chemistry class. “I know I tell you this every time I see you, but you look just like your mother.” A faint blush crept along the daughter’s neck, as though it were an embarrassment to resemble a beautiful woman. “Sit down.

Please.”

Audra sat in the chair next to the bed and set her purse on the floor. “You must be wondering why I’m here.”

“Actually, I thought you’d come to learn more about your mother.”

“Indirectly, yes.” She looked away, her face awash with despair, so like Corrine’s the last time Doris saw her. “It’s my daughter. She’s sick.” Pause. “Possibly a genetic condition.”

“Ahhh.” Doris sucked in three puffs of air. “Genetics will get you every time.”

Corrine’s daughter fiddled with her wristwatch and stumbled on, “I’d like to ask if you can give me a list of names.”

The air in the room evaporated, shrink-wrapping Doris’s lungs. “My oxygen,” she

croaked, “in the corner.” Audra sprung from her chair to retrieve the canister and tubing Doris so hated. The only reason she used it at all was so she could get her smokes in.

Corrine’s daughter helped fit the tubing in Doris’s nose and turned on the tank. A steady rush of oxygen filled Doris’s lungs. “There is no list,” Doris managed. “No string of men either.”

“But—”

“There isn’t,” Doris insisted, forcing the words out in a blast of desperation.

“Your mother never slept around. Not early on. The strings of men were later, after the town ruined her.” She paused, puffed a breath. “After I ruined her.”

“I don’t understand.”

Doris cursed herself for what she’d done to her best friend. “Your mother was

seeing someone. She wouldn’t tell me who it was, but she said they were in love. It was her first time. I was so jealous of her. She always had all the attention, even though she could care less. I just wanted to make the boys not like her so much. When she found out she was pregnant, I started a rumor.”

Corrine’s daughter tensed. “What kind of rumor?”

Doris rested her head against the pillows and forced herself to speak. “The kind that ruins lives.”

“I cursed the day I met you.”Jack Wheyton

The surgery lasted four hours, three pots of coffee, ten cigarettes, and six rosaries.

Relatives and friends saturated three quarters of the tiny waiting room on the fifth floor of McMahon Children’s Center. Joe Wheyton complained about the location every time he had the need for another puff—which averaged every twenty-two minutes—and didn’t know why the waiting room couldn’t be located on the first floor, close to the exit doors, and fifty-five feet of a smoking clearance.

Alice clutched a rosary in one hand and a Kleenex box in the other as Joyce and

Marion guarded her like sentinels with words of reassurance and scripture quotes. Tilly did her part, too, positioning her bony frame against Audra and Peter’s seats as though to ward off evil.

Audra ignored the old biddies’ curious stares. One of them looked almost

sympathetic, her sorrowful gaze sweeping Audra. Perhaps she had suffered her own misery.
Had lost a child.
Audra squashed the thought. Kara would survive and recover.

People flew in from all over the country for Jack’s touch. Hadn’t the woman in the waiting room professed as much when she told Audra how he saved her sixteen year old?

I’ll treat her as though she were my own child
, he’d said. If he only knew.

Peter held her hand, ignoring Joe Wheyton’s glare as the old man limped toward

the elevator for the seventh time. Audra didn’t care what they thought. She needed Peter’s strength and hadn’t missed Jack’s cool stare when she insisted Peter remain for discussions of surgery and testing.

Surprisingly, Leslie and Grant Richot offered the most comfort, sending trays of sandwiches and pots of black coffee along with Joe Wheyton’s favorite, raspberry kolaches. Eating, despite a lack of appetite provided a means of control, no matter how small. This group could perform the ritualistic machinations of hand to mouth to chew to swallow—anything to cling to the known and help time pass.

The elevator dinged open and Joe Wheyton emerged along with Leslie, who

balanced a tray of kolaches between her hands. “More kolaches”—she winked at Joe

—“extra raspberry.”

Joe snatched two from the tray and popped them in his mouth. “Almost like my

mother’s,” he said around a mouthful of pastry.

Leslie made a bee-line for Audra and nudged the tray in front of her. “My

grandma used to make these when I was a little girl,” she said. “I carried on the tradition.”

“Thank you.” Audra selected a nut kolache and bit into it. The woman was

beautiful, loved sex, and could cook. What man wouldn’t fall in love with her? Certainly Jack had.

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Leslie said in a soft voice. “She’ll go to recovery and then Jack will come out to talk to you.”

“Thank you, you’re very kind,” Audra said, and realized she meant it.

Leslie offered Peter a kolache and then with a swift jerk of hip, hefted the tray from the table and moved to the people on the other side of the room. Audra spotted Peter’s gaze on Leslie’s legs and whispered, “Okay, so she’s beautiful, sexy,
and
nice.”

He smiled down at her, his blue eyes twinkling so like Warren Beatty in

Shampoo
. “So, now you really hate her, right?”

Audra sighed. “How can I? She’s the only one who’s treated me like half a human

being, even if she provides way too much history of her sexual escapades.”

“With Jack of course,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

She shrugged. “I’m safe, don’t worry about me.”

Peter leaned closer. “I’ve seen the way he watches you when he thinks you aren’t looking.”

Jack hadn’t watched her any way, except with annoyance. “You’re mistaken.

We’re barely civil. Except when it comes to Kara.”

Apparently he didn’t agree. “I’ve seen you watching him, too.”

“If I’m watching him it’s only to determine his ability to help Kara.”

“If you say so.” Peter settled back in the vinyl chair and flipped open
Newsweek
.

Audra wanted to continue the conversation but couldn’t risk the coffee klatch

overhearing. Or Joe Wheyton, who seemed to gimp by whenever she and Peter leaned in to talk to one another. She knew what they were all thinking. The messages were as clear as if they wore neon billboards on their chests.
She’s just like her mother, flitting from
one man to the next.
But one woman knew differently, even believed Corrine’s corruption hadn’t started until the rumors mounted and the man she truly loved cast her aside. Doris O’Brien had given her a list of men. Their names were familiar—Audra had even gone to school with a few of their children. She would begin the search tomorrow and was planning ways to approach these men when Jack burst through the surgery doors. He headed straight for her, looking tired and worn in his scrubs and cap with his mask dangling around his neck.

“Audra,” he said in a hoarse voice.

She jumped up, oblivious to anyone but him. “How is she?”

He laid a hand on her shoulder, a comforting gesture of doctor to parent. Then the touch changed ever so slightly as he squeezed the flesh beneath her cotton shirt. “She’s in recovery.” His eyes never left hers. “Everything went well. We were able to make room for the cerebellum.”

Relief made her weak. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Joe Wheyton interrupted in a blast of

expectation. “How’s our girl, Jack? Your mother’s beside herself here.”

Jack’s hand fell to his side and he turned to face the group on the other side of the room. “Kara’s doing well. The next several hours are critical, but she’s young and strong.”

The room burst into excited chatter. Would they be able to see her? When? How

long would she remain in the hospital? Would she need medication when she went home?

And then, bolder questions—what were the chances this surgery was the last?
Was she
cured?

Audra listened as Jack addressed each question, careful to explain, hesitant to

predict. When it came to the question of another surgery and cure, he sidestepped this altogether, stating only that it was much too soon to tell.

“I’m sure Audra would like to see her daughter,” he said, signaling an end to the bombardment of questions.

“Jack”—his mother tugged on his sleeve, her eyes pleading—“will I be able to

see her, too? Just for a second?”

He glanced at Audra, silently asking permission, and she found herself nodding.

“Okay, once Audra sees her. And Mom”—he fixed her with a firm look—“just for a

second.”

She nodded, pressing the rosary she held to her lips.

“Praise be to the Lord,” Joyce murmured.

“And mercy on all His children,” Marion added.

“Amen,” Tilly finished.

Audra followed Jack to the recovery room, leaving Peter with Joe Wheyton and

the biddies. Jack had saved Kara’s life, and whatever else they’d shared, the sex, the betrayal, it all fell away when she stood over her daughter, staring at the closed eyelids, the smooth forehead, the blond curls spilling across the starch-white pillow. With the exception of the IV running in her left arm, Kara looked no different than any other sleeping child.

“I know you said you’d only shave a patch of hair, but I thought I’d be able to

tell,” she whispered, studying her daughter’s neck.

“There’s a patch in the back, about four inches long, but once it grows back, you won’t see it.”

Audra gripped the side rails. “She’ll look normal, but she won’t be.” She sniffed and blinked hard. “I don’t even know what’s normal anymore.”

“That’s enough.” Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the bed. He

didn’t speak again until they were several feet away near a supply room. He opened the door and motioned her inside amidst shelves of medical supplies. “Never say anything in front of a sleeping patient you wouldn’t say to their face.” His expression turned dark.

“Haven’t you heard of people in comas who can hear?”

“I didn’t think—”

“No. You didn’t.”

He advanced on her and backed her against the supply door. “She’ll need every

ounce of strength you have to pull her through this. You’ve got to be strong for her.” Jack placed both hands on either side of her head. “Look at me.”

He was too close. “I’m sorry,” she said again, fixing her gaze on the mask

dangling from his neck.

“Audra. Look at me.”

No man had ever zeroed in on her emotions the way Jack did. He knew how to

touch, stroke, and strip her with a few words.

“Audra.”

She met his gaze—a mix of anger and desire—and wished she hadn’t.

“I cursed the day I met you.” He plunged his hands into her hair. “You put a

wedge between me and my brother.” One hand slipped along her neck, traced her

collarbone. “Gave my mother untold years of misery.” His index finger dipped beneath the opening of her shirt, stroked a sliver of flesh. “You made my life a living hell. And yet”—he undid the top two buttons of her shirt and slid a hand inside to unclasp the front of her bra—“I can’t get you out of my system. Even after all these years.” He moved closer, rested his forehead against hers and breathed, “I can’t forget.”

When he kissed her, she opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue as he

plunged deep inside, stroking, probing, stripping away years of denial. When he lifted her skirt and buried his hand inside her panties, cupping her sex, she groaned and moved against his fingers. When he yanked down his scrubs with an impatient jerk, she helped him, desperate for the taut flesh she’d once known so well.