In Confidence Read online

  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 unc
onscious?”

  “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.”

  Just then, Dinah emerged from a treatment cubicle and, spotting Rachel, headed directly over. She was dressed for gardening in a pair of loose-fitting denim overalls over a faded tie-dyed T-shirt and muddy, once-white sneakers. A neat size eight, she ordinarily looked ten years younger than her age, but her collapse had taken a toll. There was a liberal sprinkling of gray in her hair, which had probably once been the same rich, near-black shade as Rachel’s, Cameron noticed now. But whereas Rachel’s cut was short, sleek and smooth, Dinah’s style was wildly curly and much longer. She’d probably started the day with it confined at her nape in a leather thong, circa the sixties, but much of it had long since worked itself loose and the overall effect was one of a slightly aging flower child.

  “As I mentioned,” Dr. Carruthers said with a chuckle, “I guessed she’d be out here before I was done.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Rachel murmured, turning back to Carruthers and extending her hand.

  “My pleasure,” he said, shaking it. He looked then at Cameron. “You did the right thing insisting on having her checked out, Mr. Forrester.”

  “Ford, not Forrester,” Cameron said, shaking the doctor’s hand. “And I’m just a neighbor.”

  “Oh.” Carruthers paused for an awkward beat or two, then turned again to Rachel. “The results of the blood work should be available sometime tomorrow, Ms. Forrester. If there’s anything unusual, I’ll call you. Otherwise, the results will be mailed.”

  “Call me, Dr. Carruthers,” Dinah instructed firmly, “not Rachel. I’m not too fragile to hear bad news, at least not yet.”

  “I don’t anticipate giving you bad news, Mrs. Hunt,” he said, with a grin. “And remember, no working in the sun without a hat and no skipping meals.”

  Dinah gave him a droll look. “I’ll try to remember that, as I sure don’t want to wake up looking at the underside of azalea leaves again.”

  Still chuckling, he left them to enter another cubicle a few steps down the hall.

  “Let’s go, Mom,” Rachel said, taking Dinah’s arm. “The insurance—”

  “In a minute.” Dinah resisted being hustled away. “First, I need to thank Cameron.”

  “You don’t owe me any thanks,” he said. Now that he knew the older woman wasn’t suffering a stroke or worse, he itched to get back to his work. He was only half done with the proposal for his next book.

  “Well, of course I do. And I meant what I said in the car, Cameron. Anytime you feel like having a break, come over for coffee or some iced tea. I like to bake and usually have a little something on hand—cake or cookies. Nick and Kendall can vouch for that.”

  “Nick and Kendall?”

  “My grandchildren, Rachel’s babies.” Dinah moved over toward the area where the insurance clerk waited and presented the appropriate cards before looking back at him. “And thanks again for giving me a ride to the hospital, although I still say it was not necessary. I knew what was wrong the minute I began to feel dizzy. But by then, it was too late and I just keeled over. Plain bad judgment on my part,” she said, taking the clipboard that was passed through the partition by the clerk.

  “You should have waited until the weekend, Mom,” Rachel scolded. “That’s the kind of work Nick can do for you. And this just proves what I was telling you about moving out of your apartment. The upkeep on a house and yard is arduous. You should have gotten a condominium.”

  “Do I advise you where to live, Rachel?”

  “No, of course not, but—”

  “Then when I become senile, you can start advising me. Until then, I make my own decisions. Now,” she said briskly, “as I said, I exercised bad judgment today, but the day dawned so sunny and clear and the ground was nice and soft from that shower Wednesday. I knew I wouldn’t have a better chance to get those shrubs relocated and to tackle the weeds in that bed where th
e daylilies are planted.” She studied the form to be completed on the clipboard for a moment. “My word, I’m going to have to sit down to fill this thing out. Must be fifty questions on it.”

  “Let me do that for you, Mom.” Rachel reached for the clipboard.

  “I’m still capable of filling out my own medical history, Rachel.” She moved to a line of chairs against the wall, sat down and began writing.

  Rachel drew a frustrated breath, then looked gamely into Cameron’s eyes. When she spoke, it was in a tone that Dinah couldn’t hear. “It’s frustrating trying to keep my mother from taking on more than she can handle, and since you believe that I neglect her, I’ll say nothing more about that. Nevertheless, I appreciate what you did this afternoon. Thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary,” he told her, just as he’d told her mother. “I did what any decent neighbor would do.” She simply looked at him and something in her expression prodded the devil inside him. “Your mother’s not getting any younger. She bought the house she wanted and you should be gracious enough to help her enjoy it. An occasional visit would be nice.”

  She flushed as his barb found its mark but, as good as her word, she didn’t offer any defense. Something flashed in her eyes and he caught it just before it was veiled by her lashes—very long lashes, he noted. Then whatever he’d glimpsed was gone. Still stonily silent, she gave him a curt nod—just a quick dip of her head—before turning on her heel and striding to a chair on the far side of her mother and taking a seat. She didn’t look at him again.

  “Mom, won’t you please reconsider and come home with me tonight?” Frustrated, Rachel watched Dinah strip the leather thong from her hair and run her hands through the unruly curls. A couple of dried leaves and a broken twig landed on the bedroom carpet.

  “For the tenth time, Rachel, I’m perfectly fine.” Sitting on the side of her bed, Dinah pulled off her dirty sneakers and handed them to Rachel. “Will you drop these in my washing machine on your way out, please? Don’t turn it on. I’ll need to throw in the overalls when I’m done with my shower.”