In Confidence

A quick knock at her door brought her head up.

“Got a minute, Rachel?” Preston Ramsey, the school principal, pushed the door open and waited for her to wave him inside. She did, pointing to a chair, which he refused. “No time to sit. I’ve got a killer schedule today and that’s why I’m here. Is there anything of vital importance on yours? I need someone to go to Dallas.”

Rose Hill was located southeast of Dallas, about an hour-and-a-half drive. Rachel enjoyed an occasional trip into the city. She glanced at her watch. “If I stay in my office, something will come up, as you know. If you want me to go, I should leave before that happens. What’s the problem?”

“One of Coach Monk’s kids was picked up in Dallas last night on a DUI. It’s Jason Pate. Parents are divorced, lives with his mom, who’s single with three more kids, all younger than Jason. Anyway, Monk made some calls and arranged for Jason’s release if a representative of the school will vouch for him. Monk’s got a conflict today, a conference call with a college that wants to sign Pete Freidman.”

“The quarterback who performed so well this season,” Rachel murmured. “Monk’s doing the deal today?”

“Apparently.”

“And his record for signing his athletes to major universities is impressive.”

“He takes a personal interest in these kids, Rachel.” He was instantly on the defensive. It was well known to Preston that Rachel and Monk Tyson had had fierce disagreements several times over his blind ambition. To Tyson, performance at sports—whether football, basketball, baseball or track—took precedence over his athletes’ academic performance. Preston had had to step in more than once to mediate when neither Rachel nor Tyson would give an inch.

“Anyway,” he said now, “if you could go to juvenile detention—I’ve got the address here—and pick up Jason, it would help us out of a jam.”

“Not a problem,” Rachel said, getting to her feet. “When are they willing to release him?”

Preston glanced at the note in his hand. “The paperwork will take a while to process, but according to Coach Monk, he’ll be ready to leave around ten.”

“Then I’d better get going,” Rachel said, taking her purse out of her desk drawer. “I wish they’d release him later as Ted’s in Dallas today, and if I could find him, I’d let him buy my lunch.”

“Oh, too bad.”

“It’s okay. It’s a long shot, anyway.”

“I owe you one for this, Rachel,” her boss said, handing over the note with the address.

“No, Monk owes me.” She snapped off the light in her office and smiled at him. “File that for the next time we lock horns and you’re dragged into the fray.”

When dealing with bureaucrats, Rachel thought as she turned into the parking lot of a trendy restaurant in Dallas’s Turtle Creek area, nothing goes according to plan. She’d negotiated the city’s freeway, then fought a tangle of traffic to get to a maze of municipal buildings, finally found a place to park, only to be told that there was a glitch in the getalong with Jason’s paperwork, but they’d have it worked out by 2:00 p.m. She’d wished for a later departure time, so the glitch wasn’t a total lost cause. She called the practice, found out where Ted had reservations for lunch and decided to take a chance that she’d be able to join him and the interviewee they were considering. Rachel didn’t feel she’d be intruding. She’d been Ted’s office manager when the practice was just getting started and had left after several years in the practice only when her responsibilities there began to encroach on her responsibilities at home. She’d replaced herself with a hot-shot MBA type and then looked around for another venue for her skills and found it as the guidance counselor at Rose Hill High. There she had the same hours and holidays as her children. That had been eight years ago, and she truly enjoyed her job now. In spite of the fact that her “clients” were teenagers and their hormones were raging, she loved the challenge. Sadly, as happened with Ashley today, too many of the kids she saw were dealing with stress beyond their ability or experience to cope.

Ted, she was told by the receptionist at the practice, was having lunch at the Mansion in Turtle Creek. She was familiar with the area and easily found the restaurant. As she got out of the car, she glanced down at her denim skirt and Birkenstocks and thought, belatedly, that she was a bit too casually dressed for such a posh place, but a chance to have lunch with Ted was too rare to pass up.

“Do you have a reservation?” asked the elegantly clad hostess, a stunning blonde with flawless skin.

“No, but my husband is here somewhere,” Rachel said, looking beyond the woman to the crowded dining area. “I thought I’d surprise him.”

“Of course,” the hostess murmured. Leaving Rachel to do just that, she turned her attention to the party of four waiting to be seated.

Rachel moved just inside the dining room, scanned the crowd and was on the verge of leaving, thinking Ted must have changed his plans, when she spotted him at a table in the rear of the restaurant. His back was to the door, which explained why she’d almost missed him. Moving forward with a smile, she was almost upon him when she realized his lunch partner wasn’t the prospective internist for the practice, but a woman, one whom she recognized instantly. It was Francine, wife of Ted’s partner in the practice, Walter Dalton. What on earth…

Neither had yet seen Rachel and her pace slowed, almost to a full stop. In a heartbeat, her pleasure in surprising Ted vanished. She watched in disbelief as he reached for Francine’s hand, closing his fingers around hers in a way that could only be described as intimate. Ted had not touched her that way for a long time. She saw Francine’s face go soft and flush with arousal when Ted brought her hand up for what Rachel could tell was a slow, sensual kiss on her palm.

Rachel had stopped now, rooted in place with sheer surprise. She put her hand to her chest, felt her heart beating so hard that her head was filled with it, her ears rang with it. She could not see her husband’s face, but the look on Francine’s was unmistakable. Still, Rachel resisted what she was seeing. It could not be what it appeared.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” A waiter burdened with a large tray paused, needing to thread the narrow space between the tables. With a murmured sound, Rachel shifted and let him pass. Then, drawing a deep, painful breath, she moved directly to Ted’s table and stopped. It was a beat or two before he became aware of her. His eyes went wide with shock and he flushed a ruddy crimson.

“Surprise,” she said, and gripped the back of one of the unoccupied chairs before her knees gave way.

“Rachel—” Dropping Francine’s hand, he made to rise clumsily, then had to grab at his wineglass to keep it from tipping over.

“Is this a private party, or is there room for one more?” she said in a voice that wobbled a little.

“It isn’t what you think,” Ted said.

“Really.” She glanced from him to Francine and back again. “Then what is it, Ted?”

Francine stood up, laid her napkin on the table and groped for a small Chanel handbag on the seat of the chair. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she said to Ted, and walked away without once looking at Rachel.

“This is not the time or place, Rachel,” Ted said, with a warning look toward the other diners. A few nearby had picked up on the unfolding drama and were openly curious. Some watched with amusement, enjoying the show.

“What is it if it isn’t what I think?” Rachel demanded in a low but fierce tone.

Ted had his wallet in his hands now, pulling out cash. He dropped a number of twenties on the table and reached for her arm, intending to guide her out of the restaurant. “Rachel—”

Rachel jerked away. “Don’t…touch me.” Lifting her chin, she turned on her heel and strode through the tables, mortified beyond anything that strangers had witnessed her humiliation. Her color high, she looked neither right nor left until she cleared the room. Now at the entrance, she pushed blindly at the double doors before Ted could assist her, desperate to breathe fresh air. She was aware that he said something to her before addressing the attendant who’d valet-parked his car, but she was intent only on escape. Almost running now, she sought the refuge of her car and dashed across the circular drive into the parking area. In her shocked state, however, she forgot where she had parked.

She reversed direction suddenly and almost ran into Ted, who’d caught up with her. “What are you doing here?” he asked tersely.

“Looking for my car.” Rooting through her handbag, she found her car keys and, in a panic, pushed the remote. Somewhere to her left, she heard the chirp of her vehicle.

“I mean, what are you doing at this restaurant? How did you—”

“Find you?” Heading for her car, she simply shook her head. “What does it matter, Ted?”

“Were you following me?”

She stopped then and looked at him. “I didn’t think until ten minutes ago that I had any reason to follow you, Ted.”

He gave a sigh and, bending his head, began to rub a place between his eyes. Ted was prone to migraines and she suspected he’d be in real pain by nightfall. Come to think of it, his migraines had come more frequently in the past few months. She thought back rapidly—six months? Longer? “How long have you been seeing her?”

“This is not the time, Rachel.”

“How…long?” she repeated deliberately.

“Awhile.”

She felt a pain in her chest that was as sharp as if he’d actually struck her. He wasn’t denying it. Had she been thinking there was any other explanation for finding him in so compromising a situation?

“We were planning to tell you soon,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“Tell me what? That you’re having an affair with the wife of your partner and friend in your practice? That you’ve decided to ignore the fact that you’re a married man? Were you going to tell me that you’ve broken the vows you took to be faithful?”

It was midday and sunny. Overhead, the vast Texas sky was a surreal blue with stunning formations of soft white clouds. Ted’s brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he squinted upward. “I know it looks bad,” he said. “Francine and I—well, we didn’t plan for this to happen. We tried to fight it. We—”

“You tried to fight it.” She gave him a look of disgust. “I didn’t see any sign of struggle when you swiped her palm with your tongue a few minutes ago. I haven’t noticed any battles with your conscience when you’ve made excuses to miss Nick’s ball games or Kendall’s recitals. And I’ll bet you haven’t fought the urge to hop into bed with her, either, right? So just what do you mean, you’ve tried to fight it, Ted?”

“Would you keep your voice down, for God’s sake? We’re in a parking lot, Rachel. I know we’re going to have to talk about this, but not here, okay?” He drove his fingers through his expensively styled hair. She suddenly recalled finding the two-hundred-dollar charge on their American Express card at one of Dallas’s premier hair stylists. She’d teased him about it, as his hair was obviously thinning and she’d assumed it was simply male ego. Well, it was ego and a lot more, she knew now.

She felt tears well up and she looked away quickly, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt. Through a haze, she saw Francine standing beneath the canopy at the entrance of the restaurant. She noted the trim black suit, the sleek, long legs made even more stunning by shoes with three-inch heels that had cost at least two hundred dollars. Rachel could afford to pay hundreds of dollars for a pair of shoes, too, but she felt there was something intrinsically…vulgar in such self-indulgence. Obviously, Francine felt no such reluctance.

“Is there an internist from Baylor interested in joining the practice,” she asked quietly, “or was that a lie, too?”

“He was interviewed last night.”

She nodded, her gaze still fixed on Francine now being helped into Ted’s car by a valet. They were so comfortable in their illicit affair that they didn’t even bother coming in separate vehicles. Where did they meet in Rose Hill? she wondered. Had Ted found time when she was at school to screw Francine in their bed at home?

She turned back and looked her husband in the eye. “Why, Ted?”

“He’s qualified. He’s young. He’ll build up a nice patient base in no time flat.”

“I’m not talking about the internist. I’m talking about us. Why? How did this happen?”

Now his gaze found Francine, who watched him from the passenger seat of his Lexus. It was a long moment before he shrugged and said, with his eyes still on his lover, “I couldn’t help myself.”

Rachel drove back to Rose Hill with a silent and sullen Jason Pate. He sat slumped in the seat beside her, the headset of his CD player vibrating at a decibel level that was certain to damage his eardrums. Accepting the silence as a missed opportunity on her part to try to do some good with the boy, Rachel’s own emotions were also in turmoil, and it was all she could do to hold herself together.

Actually, she felt numb. But she knew, as a professional, that when something shocking or hurtful or grievous strikes an individual, going numb is a temporary coping mechanism sometimes necessary for survival. She needed time to decide how best to deal with this. A part of her was still clinging to shocked disbelief. To denial. Ted couldn’t possibly be serious. This was a crazy, midlife crisis thing and he would get over it. Then, maybe the horror of telling Nick and Kendall, destroying their illusions about their father, would not be necessary.

On the other hand, if he was determined to carry on the affair, what then? She hadn’t asked him if he was planning on getting a divorce. In the first shock of discovering Ted’s infidelity, she didn’t think she was ready to consider ending her marriage.

Definitely denial.

Considering she’d left Dallas later than planned, she didn’t arrive in Rose Hill until after school was over for the day. She’d reached Nick on his cell phone after arranging with her friend, Marta Ruiz, a teacher at Rose Hill High, to pick up the kids and see that they were settled at home until she got back, leaving Nick in charge. Marta had been happy to oblige. Widowed after a brief marriage and childless, Marta had been Rachel’s friend since her first day on the job at Rose Hill High. At thirty-three, Marta was an award-winning honors English teacher and a great favorite with the kids, even while forcing them to read Thomas Mann and Shakespeare.

“Is everything okay?” she’d wanted to know. “You sound funny, Ray.”

“Everything’s fine,” Rachel had lied. “It’s been a hassle fighting bureaucrats in the Texas legal system.”

“We’re bureaucrats, too,” Marta pointed out dryly. “I’d think you’d have a leg up, being entrenched yourself.”

“Yes, but we don’t have to deal with lawyers,” Rachel said. “Anyway, I’ve got Jason now, and after I drop him off at school where Coach Monk awaits, I’ll go straight home. Are you sure it’s not an inconvenience to pick up the kids and drop them at my house?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll even stay awhile and watch Kendall if Nick wants to hang out with his buddies.” She paused. “I guess Ted couldn’t get away.”

It wasn’t exactly a question. “No, he’s tied up…into the evening.”

“Hmm.”

Marta never bothered to hide her disapproval of Ted. She considered him neglectful as a father and selfish as a husband. “It’s a doctor-thing,” she was fond of saying. “They’ve got too much ego and you’re so attuned to everybody else’s needs that you never stop to consider your own.”

“I don’t have any needs that go unfulfilled,” she’d disputed on the day of that conversation, “or at least none that cause me much heartburn.”

Now, recalling her words, she felt like a complete idiot. Of course she had needs, and now that she’d been slapped in the face with her husband’s infidelity, she admitted to sensing something wrong in her marriage for quite a while. Was this the prelude to divorce? Were she and Ted destined to go their separate ways? Would Nick and Kendall wind up as part of two “blended” families one day?

At a traffic light, she fought off a wave of despair. One thing she had decided during her soul-search on the way home—she wasn’t going to mention anything to the kids just yet. Before tearing their lives apart, she and Ted would have to talk, but it would not be tonight. She was too filled with conflicting emotions to face it tonight.

Her cell phone rang as the light turned green. She reached for it, glancing at the number without recognition. “Hello?”

“Is this Rachel Forrester?”

It was a man’s voice. She frowned, trying to place it. “Yes, who is this?”

“It’s Cameron Ford. Dinah gave me your number,” he said.

Cameron Ford. She was momentarily speechless. Why would he be calling her? They hadn’t spoken since that distressing confrontation in her office five years ago.

“I’m at the hospital,” he said.

“Yes?” She waited, still in the dark.

“It’s your mother.”

“My mother?” Her heart stopped. “Oh, Lord. What is it? What’s wrong?”

“She’s in the emergency room. She wanted me to let you know.”

Two

Cameron Ford ended the call to Rachel Forrester and stood, grim-faced, in the waiting room of the ER to wait for her. It had been a helluva shock to look out his kitchen window and see his elderly neighbor lying unconscious in her azaleas. It had been another shock—and this one almost as unpleasant—to learn that she was Rachel Forrester’s mother. Dinah Hunt had moved next door a couple of months before, but he had not made any of the usual hospitable gestures that he might have done to welcome her. He was pretty much a solitary type to begin with, plus he’d been on deadline with his book and, as always, nothing and no one got much more than momentary interest until he was done. He’d noticed the woman and felt relieved that she lived alone and would probably be a quiet, unobtrusive neighbor.

Which was his excuse for not being more attentive. But what, he wondered, was Rachel’s excuse? He did not recall seeing her over there in the weeks since Dinah moved in. You’d think her daughter would have put in an appearance or two. Too busy sticking her nose into other people’s lives to put in time with her aging mother, he thought. But he’d heard real panic in her voice when he’d called just now. He’d been unable to give her any information since he hadn’t been told anything himself when he’d arrived at the hospital with Dinah, incoherent and pale as the white gardenias she prized. But at least she’d been conscious, sort of. When he’d reached her after spotting her lying at the edge of the flower beds separating their two houses, he had been pretty close to panic himself.

“Sir? Excuse me, sir.”

He turned to find a woman beckoning to him from a cubicle behind a sliding glass partition. With a last look outside, he went to her. “What’s the problem?”

“We need some insurance information on Mrs. Hunt.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you. She’s my next-door neighbor, not a relative. I happened to see her when she fainted out in the yard.”

The clerk frowned. “I need to know how to bill this, sir.”

“If you’ll wait a few minutes, you can probably get everything you need from her daughter, who should be here any minute. Dinah told me flat-out that she wasn’t staying. I had a heck of a time just getting her here.”

The clerk sniffed and shuffled forms. “You should have called 911. EMTs are trained to deal with the elderly.”

“I’ll remember that next time,” he said dryly. He glanced again at the entrance just as Rachel rushed inside looking flustered and anxious. “Here’s her daughter now.” Cameron lifted his hand, catching her eye, and she hurried over.

“Where is she? What’s wrong? Is it a heart attack?”

“They haven’t given me any information, but maybe the clerk here can tell you something. For what it’s worth, your mother regained consciousness in the car and did her best to talk me out of bringing her here. She claimed she wasn’t having chest pains, so I don’t think it’s a heart attack.”

Rachel turned quickly to the woman. “Is that right? Is she okay? Can I see her?”

“Someone will be out soon to answer your questions,” the clerk said. “Meanwhile, I need—”

“What happened?” Rachel asked Cameron. “What do you mean, she was conscious and talking? When was she unconscious?”

“When she was flat on her back in her azaleas,” he said, making no effort to be gentle. “Once I got her up and on her feet, she was dizzy and disoriented, but after a few minutes, she seemed to rally.”

Rachel was still confused. “I don’t understand. How did you…I mean, are you saying you were at her house?”

“I was on my porch. I looked over and saw her.”

“Your porch. You looked over and saw her.” Rachel put a hand to her forehead before looking at him and asking incredulously, “You…live nearby?”

“I live in the house next door.” She didn’t look any happier hearing that than he did knowing it.

“How could that be?” She was asking herself, not him. “How did I not know that?”

“Because you don’t show much interest in your mother’s affairs?” It was a cheap shot, but Rachel Forrester had that effect on him. He had nothing against her mother, but he didn’t owe Rachel anything. Just the opposite, in fact. His feelings for her hadn’t changed since that day they had talked in her office after Jack’s funeral, five years ago. Seeing her now was like taking the lid off a pot that still simmered with bitterness.

“Did you call the EMTs?” she asked, ignoring his remark.

“I drove her. She wouldn’t let me call the EMTs.”

“I—thank you.” Rachel pressed the fingers of both hands hard against her lips. “Maybe it’s a stroke,” she whispered. “But the last time I was over there—”

“Yeah, when was that, Rachel?” he asked, fixing her with a hard look. “I see the neighbors dropping by, I see the postman chatting her up, I see the guy delivering her prescriptions from the pharmacy, but I don’t see much of you.”

He could see he had her attention now. She stared at him. “I do not neglect my mother,” she said stiffly.

“Yeah, well, you could have fooled me.”

“Dinah Hunt. Someone for Dinah Hunt?” Both turned as a young resident appeared and stood looking over the occupants in the waiting room.

“Here,” Rachel said, moving toward him. “I’m Rachel Forrester. Dinah Hunt is my mother. How is she?”

“I’m Dr. Carruthers.” He smiled at both Rachel and Cameron, who’d followed her. “Your mom’s just fine. In fact, she’ll probably be out here demanding to be taken home before I finish talking. She told me in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t about to spend a night in a hospital bed.”

“What on earth happened?” Rachel asked anxiously. “Mr. Ford said he found her unconscious outside where she was working in her garden.”

Carruthers nodded. “That’s her story, too. And it’s not uncommon in patients with hypoglycemia.”

“Hypoglycemia?” Rachel repeated blankly.

“We don’t have the results of her blood work yet, but she tells me she’s been diagnosed as borderline hypoglycemic and she confessed to spending most of the day doing yard work without stopping for lunch or even taking a break.” He paused. “How old is your mother?”

“Sixty-two.”

“Amazing. Couple that with her medical condition and the fact that she worked in full sun without a hat and you have a recipe for a blackout.”

“Hypoglycemia means low blood sugar, doesn’t it?” Rachel asked.

“Yes. You knew, of course?”

She was shaking her head. “No. No, I didn’t.”

“Well, now that you do, try to persuade her to make a few concessions to her body’s need for frequent, small meals, preferably high in protein.” He smiled again. “And perhaps pacing herself a bit when she plans to do yard work.”

“Is this a serious illness?”

“Not particularly, so long as a few common-sense precautions are observed.” He included both Rachel and Cameron in his next words. “If she seems reluctant to discuss it with you, just stop by my office and pick up a pamphlet. You need to be aware so that you can help her adjust. The pamphlet lists some suggestions that help prevent sudden drops in blood sugar, which is what caused her to faint. Again, I don’t have the results of her blood work and I might be jumping the gun here, but chances are we’re on the right track.”