wrong?” Her mother crossed to Terry, her face concerned. “I know you think he’s a bit officious about the clinic, but if we get to know him better—”
“I already know him. From Philadelphia.” Her throat tightened, and she had to force the words out. “He’s the one I told you about. The one who blamed my team for the death of the woman he’d been seeing.”
The words brought that time surging back, carrying a load of guilt, anxiety and the overwhelming fear that perhaps he’d been right. Perhaps she had been responsible.
“Oh, Terry, I didn’t realize.” Her mother gave her a quick, fierce hug. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “It’s all right. I didn’t tell anyone because—well, it didn’t seem fair to me or to him.”
Mom sat next to her on the desk. “Has he talked to you about it, since he’s been here?”
“Only to say he thinks we should leave the past alone.”
“But the inquiry cleared you of any wrongdoing. He should apologize, at least.”
Terry’s lips quirked at the thought of Jake apologizing. “He probably doesn’t see it that way. Anyway, if anyone’s guilty—” She stopped, regretting the words already.
Her mother just looked at her. Better people than she had crumbled at the force of that look.
“We’d been called to the woman’s apartment before. Two or three times. Always the same thing—she’d taken an overdose of sleeping pills or tranquilizers. We figured out finally that she was being careful. Never taking enough to harm herself. Just enough to make people around her feel guilty.”
“And Dr. Landsdowne was the person she wanted to feel guilty?”
She nodded, remembering the gossip that had flown around the hospital. “They’d been dating, but I guess when he wanted to break it off, she didn’t take it very well.” A brief image of Meredith flashed through her mind—tall, blond, elegant, the epitome of the Main Line socialite. “I don’t suppose anyone had ever turned her down before.”
“Poor creature.” Her mother’s voice was warm with quick sympathy. “And him, too. What a terrible thing, to feel responsible for someone committing suicide. But what happened? You said she was careful.”
“She took something she was allergic to.” Terry’s throat tightened with the memory. “We couldn’t save her.”
Her mother stroked Terry’s hair the way she had when Terry had been a child, crying over a scraped knee. “That’s probably why he blamed you. He couldn’t face it.”
Or because he did believe she was inept and incompetent. “I don’t know, Mom.” She pushed her hair back, suddenly tired. “I just know I’ve got to figure out how to deal with him now.”
“Do you want me to cancel the invitation?” It was a testament to her mother’s concern that she’d be willing to violate her sense of hospitality.
“No.” She managed a smile. “I’ve got to get used to his presence. At least I’ll be on my own turf there.”
Her mother laughed. “And surrounded by Flanagans, all prepared to defend you.”
“I don’t need defending.” The quick response was automatic. Her brothers had been trying to shelter her all her life. They’d never accept that she didn’t need their protection.
“I know.” Her mother gave her another hug and slid off the desk. “They mean well, sweetheart.”
The sound of a horn turned Siobhan toward the door. “There’s Mary Kate, coming for me. Are you heading for home now?”
“I just want to make one last check, okay?” And take a few minutes to clear her head. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Walk out with me to say hi to your sister.” Her mother linked her arm with Terry’s.
Together they walked to where Mary Kate sat waiting. The back of her SUV was filled with grocery bags.
“Hi, Terry. Come on, Mom. I’ve got to get home before the frozen stuff melts.”
“I’m ready.” Siobhan slid into the car, while Terry leaned against the driver’s side, scanning her big sister’s face for signs of strain.
It had been ten months since Mary Kate lost her husband to a fast-moving cancer—ten months during which she kept up a brave face to the world, even to her own family.
“How’re you doing? How are the kids?”
“Fine.” Mary Kate’s smile was a little too bright. “They’re looking forward to seeing you on Sunday.”
“Me, too.” She wanted to say something—something meaningful, something that would help. But, as always, words faltered against Mary Kate’s brittle facade. She’d never relax it, certainly not in front of her baby sister.
Terry stepped back, waving as the car disappeared in a cloud of dust down the lane. Then she walked back into the clinic, mind circling the question she knew her mother had wanted to ask. Why hadn’t she told them the whole story about what happened in Philadelphia?
Because I was trying to prove I could accomplish something independent of my family. Because I failed.
Pointless, going over it and over it. She pushed herself into action, cleaning up the last few items that were out of place, locking the drug box, putting Jake’s list of rules in the desk drawer. The cases that had come in today were so minor she hadn’t even been tempted to bend any of the rules. Not that she would.
The door banged open. Manuela raced in. Terry’s heart clutched at the look on her face.
“Manuela, what is it?”
The girl leaned against the desk, breathing hard. “Juan. He’s sick. He’s so hot. Please, you have to come.” She grabbed Terry’s arm in a desperate grasp. “Now. You have to come!”
Jake’s rule flashed through her mind. Staff will not go to the migrant housing facility alone.
“I have to,” she said aloud. “I have to.” She grabbed her emergency kit and ran.
Manuela fled across the rutted field toward the back of the string of cement block buildings that served as dormitories for the workers. Terry struggled to keep up, mind churning. Juan’s cut could have become infected. That seemed the most likely cause for a fever, but there were endless possibilities. If she had to take him to the hospital, she’d also have to explain how she’d come to break Jake’s rules in her first day of operation.
The sun had already slid behind the ridge that overshadowed the camp. It would be nearly dark by the time she finished. She should have thought to bring a flashlight. She should have thought of a number of things, but it was too late now.
Please, Lord. Guide me and show me what must be done.
A snatch of guitar music, a burst of laughter, the blare of a radio sounded from the far end of the camp.
