Authors: Lisa Scottoline
Jill felt stung, for Abby. “You can’t judge someone on the worst day of their life. Her father just died.”
“Isn’t it likelier that she’s changed? She’s grown up without you, or any mother, in her life, and it hasn’t done her any good.”
Jill felt a wave of guilt. “That’s not her fault, and I really think you’re being harsh. You talked to her for fifteen minutes.”
“I can tell. You can’t. You’re not objective. You love her.”
“So what are you saying?” Jill asked, puzzled. “You don’t want her here this week?”
“I think you should slow this relationship down, between you and Abby. Even between Megan and Abby. You’re responding to a need, automatically, which is what you do so well. It’s as if Abby’s an acute wound and you’re rushing to stop the bleeding.” Sam kept his tone reasonable, his gaze steady. “It’s what makes you a great mother, and physician, too. But you have competing needs here, and you have to weigh them carefully.”
Jill couldn’t agree. “You’re making too much of it. How does it hurt Megan if Abby spends time here?”
“Megan’s gotten used to living without her, and it took a long time. I know, I remember that time. Do you?”
“Yes.” Jill nodded. Megan had gotten a little lost after the divorce, weepier and more sensitive than usual, with the familial rug pulled out from under her. “But it wasn’t only about Abby.”
“Either way, you’re inviting Abby back into Megan’s life, but it won’t be the same as before. Abby isn’t the same girl, and neither is Megan. Megan’s grown up a lot, and these girls won’t fit so well together.” Sam leaned on the gleaming counter, which reflected him in a murky outline. “In fact, if you ask me, Megan’s gotten stronger, and Abby’s only gotten weaker.”
“I don’t get it.” Jill couldn’t deny a growing irritation, like having something in her shoe. “Abby needs a hand now, so can’t we give it to her? She’s so vulnerable, and anything can happen. I’m scared for her, Sam. Can’t we just see her through this patch?”
Sam blinked. “How long is the patch?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know it’s a patch?” Sam raked his hand through his hair. “I don’t know where this road ends, or if it ends. This is a kid who’ll need help for the foreseeable future. She’ll need therapy, love, a family, and a home. You name it, she needs it, she’s a
bolus
of need.” Sam cocked his head, blinking thoughtfully behind his glasses. “How will you cut her off, babe? When? It’ll only get harder, you know. You’re taking on a problem you don’t own, and where will we be, down the line? Megan goes off to college, and we’re at home with Abby? I don’t want the problems of a problem child, at this point in my life.”
Jill recoiled. “Slow down. We’re not there yet.”
“But we have to think about it, now. You know me, I’m a researcher. I know that what I do now will pay off years from now. In fact, it won’t pay off
until
years from now. Everything’s long-term, Jill.
Life
is long-term.”
Jill had heard him say this before, to Megan. “So what’s your point?” she asked, impatient.
“My point is, let’s not start this process without thinking. You have a triage mentality. You see a problem, you fix it. You go. You act.”
“It’s not because I’m a clinician, it’s because I’m a mother. That’s what all mothers do, Sam. We’re practical.”
“But whose mother are you? Don’t slip so easily into the role of being that kid’s mother.”
“I used to be.”
“But you’re not, anymore.”
“Really?” Jill’s chest tightened. “What’s a mother, or a stepmother? What’s a family? Isn’t it forever? The love doesn’t stop when the legal relationship does.”
“No, but the obligation does. The responsibility does.”
Jill tried a different tack. “Okay, think about it this way. Your son Steven is going to be my stepson, after we get married. I love him, and he’s a great young man. Let’s imagine that, God forbid, something happens to you, and I remarry, and your son Steven gets into trouble. Medical, legal, whatever. Do I turn my back on him because my new husband says so?”
“Steven’s thirty years old, busy as hell, down in Texas. He doesn’t need us anymore, he barely even visits.”
“But he could need us, or me.”
“Then you can’t be there for him, not forever and ever.”
“Love isn’t finite, Sam.”
“No, but time is. Money is. Resources are. Energy is.”
“I know, but is that the world you want to live in?” Jill thought he was missing the point. “Wouldn’t you want me to take care of Steven?”
“No, I still come down the same way.” Sam’s lips flattened to a firm line. “I’d understand it if your husband felt the way I do, which is that I didn’t sign on for this. I love you and I love Megan, but I don’t love your troubled ex-stepdaughter, and I don’t want another kid. I’m getting out of the kid business.”
Jill felt her heart sink, listening to him and seeing his adamancy. She could tell the way it was going, and it wasn’t good. If she wanted her family with Abby in it, then she’d have to fight for it. And the person she’d have to fight was Sam.
“I’m older than you, and I see the light at the end of the tunnel. Steven’s gone, and Megan’s on her way. She’ll be in college before you know it.” Sam leaned over, urgently. “I’m looking forward to you and me, being alone together. No more blow dryers or swim meets.”
“I think exactly the opposite.” Jill felt heartsick. “I’ll be sad when Megan leaves. I’m sad that she’s already growing up, so fast. I never want to be out of the kid business.”
“We’ll be fine, you’ll see. You’ll love it.”
“You never talked this way before,” Jill said, hurt.
“I never had to.”
“Are you unhappy?”
“No, I’m happy, and I’m trying to stay that way. We were fine before Abby entered the picture, just last night. We were great.” Sam smiled and tried to touch her arm, but Jill found herself backing away, wishing she had a sounding board.
“You know what, I’m not that tired, so maybe I’ll drop by Katie’s and see if she still needs me.”
“Really, babe?” Sam looked disappointed, puckering his lower lip.
“Well, she is cooking.”
“Fair enough.” Sam managed a smile. “She could burn down the neighborhood.”
“Right.” Jill picked up her handbag, gave Sam a dry kiss on the cheek, and left the kitchen. “I should be back in an hour, or so.”
“Okay, drive safe,” Sam called after her.
“Love you.” Jill called back, and it wasn’t until she reached the front door that she realized she hadn’t told Sam about the pharmacy or the padiddle.
But he wasn’t exactly a willing ear.
Chapter Fifteen
“Sorry I missed your call.” Jill followed Katie into her kitchen, which was in disarray. Flour dusted the butcherblock counter, and grated potatoes made a lopsided snowdrift on a plate, next to a lineup of cracked eggshells, chopped onion, and a Pyrex bowl of batter. The air smelled like something good was cooking. “Yum. What’s going on here?”
“Paul took the boys out to dinner, then the bookstore.” Katie hurried back to the stove, her blonde ponytail swinging. Like Jill, she had on a light cotton sweater, capris, and clogs, the uniform of suburban moms. Katie picked up the spatula. “I was having an I’m-gonna-kill-my-kid moment.”
“Why?” Jill asked, though she knew Katie was kidding. They’d been best friends since Penn State, and Katie had gone on to become a teacher, then an at-home mother of three sons, all under twelve years old. She always said humor and a cattle prod were her only weapons.
“Monday is International Day at school, and Robbie tells me this an hour ago, when we’re gone all day tomorrow.” Katie rolled her large, cornflower blue eyes. She was wholesomely pretty, with no makeup, an easy smile, and a turned-up nose under a sprinkling of soft freckles. “We’re moving my mother-in-law to a retirement village. With her, it’ll take a village.”
“Yikes.” Jill set down her purse and came over to the stove. The big Viking oven gave off a homey warmth, and she started to relax, after the talk with Sam. She felt lucky to have a friend like Katie and she could only imagine how Katie would react when she found out about William’s death.
“You want soda or coffee? Or a margarita? Feel free.”
“No, thanks. So what are you making? It smells great.”
“Irish potato pancakes.”
“Ambitious.”
“
Insane.
” Katie flipped the pancake. “He has to bring in a typical food that represents his family, and you have to
make
it, so no Entenmann’s.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Am I screwed or what? Can I just say that not all moms can cook? And what kind of time do they think we have? Should I thatch the roof next? Jeez! You know, the joke is, I assigned all this crap when I taught, too. Payback’s a
bitch.
”
Jill smiled. “How can I help?”
“Just keep me company. It’s good to see you. I called you to get an old family recipe of yours, for anything, but then I found this old family recipe on the Internet.”
“How many do you have to make?”
“Too damn many.” Katie flipped the third pancake. “There are twenty-three kids in the class, and I figure some kids will eat two, so that’s thirty-three. Plus I have to suck up to the teacher, the aides, and the secretaries in the office, so that makes fifty. I bribe everybody. Elementary school is a banana republic, without the limos.”
Jill smiled. “It’s nice to include the office. I always did. Nobody makes them anything. They’ll never forget it.”
“I know. Great minds, right?”
“Here, let me help.”
“Okay.” Katie waved the spatula at the base cabinet. “Get another pan going. We’ll get it done twice as fast.”
“On it.” Jill went into the cabinet, got a heavy skillet, and set it on the stovetop, then reached for the butter, glancing over. “You need to let them cook longer.”
“No, I don’t. This is for eight-year-olds. They eat crayons.”
“You’ll give them salmonella.”
“You get what you pay for.” Katie flipped another pancake. “I’m so glad you came over. What’s shakin’?”
“Brace yourself. I have big news.” Jill held the pan’s handle, turned on the heat, and waited for the butter to melt, a spreading pool of gold. “You’re not going to believe this, but William’s dead.”
“
What?
” Katie gasped. She looked over, her eyes wide, in disbelief. “William, your
ex-husband
? Are you
kidding
?”
“No, it’s true.”
“Hallelujah!” Katie broke into an incredulous smile. “Was it painful? Please tell me it was painful.”
Jill felt torn. “I admit, I’m not crying over the man, but—”
“Look, a jig! Kiss me, I’m Irish. Happy International Day!” Katie put down the spatula and did a dance, shaking her butt. “Lordy be, what goes around really does come around. Hey, can we go dance on his grave?”
“He was cremated.”
“He did that for spite.” Katie made a face, scrunching up her nose.
“Come on, stop. Be nice. Abby came over with the news last night, and she thinks he might have been murdered.”
“Abby was at your house?” Katie asked, suddenly growing serious. “Aw, I love that girl. How was it to see her again? How is she? Tell me everything.”
“I will, but your pancake’s burning.” Jill gestured with the ladle, then poured some batter into the pan. “I feel terrible for the girls.”
“Oh, well, okay, that
is
sad, only because they’re hurting.” Katie’s face fell, and she picked up the spatula. “But they’re better off without him, they just don’t know it. He didn’t really care about them. Narcissist, crook, thief, liar, sleaze, cheater.”
“Cheating was unproven.” Jill reached over and flipped one of Katie’s pancakes. “Now, don’t speak ill.”
“You can’t talk about William Skyler
without
speaking ill.” Katie shook her head, disgusted. “I’m sorry, Jill, but he almost ruined you, and he kept those girls from you, too, after the divorce. He punished you, and he punished them, too. He used them like pawns to hurt you, and he straight-up
abandoned
Megan. I’ll
never
forgive him for that, ever.”
Jill tasted bitterness on her tongue. “Well, he’s gone now. You want to hear what happened or not?”
“Yes, please,” Katie answered, calming down, and while they cooked, Jill told her the whole story, from Abby’s visit to the surveillance film at the pharmacy. Katie asked questions, Jill elaborated, and sixty-two pancakes later, the story was finished.
“You want to see the photo from the drugstore?” Jill went to her purse, slid out her BlackBerry, thumbed her way to the photo, and showed it to Katie. “Think it’s him?”
“I can’t see it, it’s too small. Email it to me.” Katie went over to her laptop on the counter near the chopped onions, and Jill emailed her the photo. They huddled around the computer while Katie opened the email, saved the photo, and enlarged it. Katie shook her head. “It could be William, but I can’t tell.”
“Me, neither. He could be disguising himself.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know.” Jill dug in her purse. “Hold on, let me check something else on the web.”
“What?”
“The prescribing doctor.” Jill found the paper with Abby’s notes, logged onto the Internet, Googled
licensing authority in Pennsylvania,
and got the website. “I have his license number, so I should be able to find his address.”
“How?”
“Anybody can check the status of a doctor’s license, online.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Most people don’t. Luckily, Abby didn’t.” Jill found the Pennsylvania Department of State website, typed in Medicine, then supplied the doctor’s name and license number from Abby’s paper. She had to add a location, so she plugged in Philadelphia, then hit Search. The screen switched to a single line of text:
Dr. Raj Patel, Lic. No. 9483636, DEA # 393484, DECEASED, 3/9/09
Jill felt her heart sink. “The prescribing doctor is dead, so Abby’s right about one thing. This script is a fraud.”
“Whoa.”
“And it’s not even recent, so it’s not like the doc wrote the script, then died.”
“Are you sure it’s the same Dr. Patel?”