Marriage of Convenience (25 page)

“Equal to that of any newlywed, I suppose.” Again, awkward.

“Oh, I don’t know. Seems you’ve been more successful than others. But I think that’s just how you are, considering your professional career. Why should your personal life be any different?” He chuckled and smiled as if to say, “You know what I mean.”

But really, Malcolm didn’t. And he said so.

Dr. Allen hesitated. “I, well, I saw Caroline upstairs. With Dr. Cooper. I assumed … I guessed, perhaps I shouldn’t have, that she was pregnant.”

Pregnant? No. She would have told him.

The past few weeks had been wonderful. They’d returned rested and connected. They’d hired personal assistants to make sure they didn’t get so committed elsewhere that they didn’t have time for each other. They’d had dinner together almost every evening and talked freely about what was going on. Caroline had officially changed her name, and they’d joined bank accounts.

True, they hadn’t discussed children, but for his part that was because he’d assumed they’d have plenty of time for that. Though he hadn’t taken any precautions to prevent it. And neither had she, as far he knew. So it was a possibility. But this sounded like a probability. And it wasn’t that he was getting tense about the idea. No, it was knowing she hadn’t told him.

But perhaps she was merely confirming it, before she mentioned it. Perhaps it was a surprise, and she was waiting to be sure so that she didn’t get them both excited for nothing.

Malcolm’s shoulders relaxed, and he rolled them back.

“Look, my wife is always telling me to mind my own business. I can’t tell if it’s because of my training or my upbringing, but it’s very hard for me to do. It’s none of my business, and I apologize if I’ve upset you.” Dr. Allen spoke with his hand over his heart as though he was swearing secrecy or taking an oath.

Malcolm saw his discomfort and assured him he was fine. Dr. Allen bowed slightly, all apologies, when he stepped off the elevator.

Malcolm waved away the gesture and pressed a new button. There was really only one way to resolve the question. The OBGYN suite of offices was separate from the main wing of the hospital. The OB doctors had argued, en masse, at a hospital budgeting meeting years ago that the privacy of their patients, the health of newborns, and the stress of pregnancy and birth necessitated a more secluded existence. Considering the money in birthing, the hospital hadn’t fought back very hard.

Malcolm wound his way through the corridors until he came to the suite. The newborns themselves, when not with their mothers, were not in this wing, but were connected to the ward on the other end. There was no access to them without first passing through several security checks. He didn’t need to go that far. He passed through the first set of outer doors, and, after speaking with the receptionist and showing his ID, was permitted through the second set of doors to find Dr. Cooper’s assistant.

As he turned right, then left, then right again and didn’t feel he was getting any closer to civilization, he wished he’d taken the map the receptionist had offered. He was about to turn around, or he hoped he’d be turned back around, when he was stopped in his tracks.

“Congratulations, doctor. A baby is such a blessing.” From one of the rooms, came a smiling woman in a nurse’s uniform. She was carrying a plastic tub with diapers, wipes, and those ubiquitous striped hospital baby blankets in it. He recognized her as Dr. Cooper’s nurse, Susan.

Confirmation number two. He wasn’t sure he needed the third, but he’d come this far. He greeted her salutation with a wave of his hand and a small smile as if to say “Sure, thanks.” He hoped it gave the impression that he was dazed from the news and not ready for questions. Which of course he was and wasn’t.

“Is Dr. Cooper around?” He couldn’t get a greeting to come out. The less he said, the less he had to struggle with things like breathing.

“Of course, follow me. This place is such a maze.” She turned on her heel and left him to follow. Following far enough behind to make small talk difficult, Malcolm kept his head down and eyes on the floor. He was grateful when she didn’t attempted conversation and instead was quiet until they came to a solid brown door a good three minutes of walking later.

“Here we are. His last patient was a half hour ago, so he’s probably working on some paperwork. Just knock on that door over there.” She led him through the waiting room and pointed to a door on the far side of the room. She let herself back out.

Malcolm stood in the silent room as he waited for the outer office door to close. The room was the same shades of dull and boring as most of the hospital, but there were some touches not seen elsewhere, too. There were flowers in the window, framed pictures of babies on the walls, and motivational quotes about strength and perseverance. Not having been pregnant or a parent, Malcolm wasn’t sure how well these went over, but he could imagine some eye rolling.

“Susan? Could you find that folder?” Dr. Gordon Cooper had pushed through his office door with his shoulder, flipping through a folder.

“Hey, Malcolm! I’m sorry I assumed you were Susan coming back from rounds.” He shoved the folder he was holding under his armpit and took Malcolm’s hand with both of his. “Congratulations, Dad! How does it feel?” Malcolm smiled, but couldn’t manage a verbal response. “Overwhelming, isn’t it?” Gordon interpreted his silence accurately, but for the wrong reason. “I know. I have four, and though almost every aspect of pregnancy, birthing, and rearing gets easier, finding out is always the same.” He chuckled and continued shaking Malcolm’s hand.

Confirmation number three.

“Sorry, I’m going on and on. You must be here for Caroline’s copies. She’d asked for copies of everything when she left, and I went and forgot to get them together before she checked out. Said she was thinking of creating a scrapbook. My wife would be so jealous. You know, when we started having kids, people just didn’t think about those things. You hoped you fed them right and they didn’t bite too many strangers.” He laughed, obviously remembering his own introduction to parenthood. Shaking his head, he continued. “Let me get them for you. They’re on Susan’s desk. We were just going to mail them to save her another trip. We’ll check on her by phone in a couple of weeks. Otherwise we won’t see her again for a month or so.”

Gordon flipped through some envelopes in Susan’s outgoing mail tray. “Here we are. She can let us know if there is anything else she’d like. Such a cute idea.”

She’d thought about a scrapbook, but not about him?

“Of course.” Malcolm managed the words with some effort. He grasped the manila envelope and nearly ran out the door. It didn’t make sense, but the room seemed to have lost oxygen in the past ten minutes.

Malcolm had no idea how to get out of the suites, so he collapsed onto one of the many upholstered mini couches outside each office door up and down the hallway. They only had plastic benches in his wing, he mused, as he sank into the cushions. Eying the envelope he pried the clasps back and peered inside. There were several sheets of paper, and he took the one off the top. He supposed he should feel a little guilty about looking through Caroline’s papers, but he quickly squelched the mental protest, arguing that her child was half his child.

He took in the personal information at the top of the form and then read the chart below. Nearly crumpling the paper in his hand in disbelief, he threw himself off the couch and took off down the hall. If it didn’t lead to an exit soon, he’d make his own.

Through the door Caroline could see a receptionist at a desk, her face buried in a book propped up in front of her. She glanced up nonchalantly when they entered and then down to her book only to raise her eyes again in alarm.

“Reggie, his direction was to bring her in for a meeting, not put her through a shredder.” The woman gave him a reproachful look and raised her ample frame from her chair. She waddled around the desk, making soothing sounds as she took Caroline’s arm and led her to a chair.

“You poor dear. Let me get you some water.”

She hustled away and was back momentarily with a cup of water and a damp cloth. “We’re not set up here for first aid, though with some of the ‘help’ he’s hired we ought to be.” She glared at the man called Reggie again. “This is all I could find in the kitchen.”

He shrugged. “Tell him I’ll stop by tomorrow for my check.” He left without a backward glance.

Caroline drank the water with shaking hands. Handing the cup back with a small but grateful smile, she hesitated to take the cloth. She had a very low pain threshold and didn’t relish the sting that would accompany the compression of the cool wetness against her broken skin.

The woman noted her hesitation and smiled encouragingly. “I’ll just leave it here in case you change your mind. In the meantime, I’ll let Ronnie know you’re here.” She gathered her girth around her and heaved off the chair. Stepping through a door behind her desk, she knocked and entered without waiting for permission. She spoke softly and then returned. “He’ll be right with you, dear.”

She said it as if Caroline had arrived on her own accord for a meeting she’d set up voluntarily.

She knew the company. And though she’d researched them and chosen them deliberately, she didn’t understand why she was here. Or why it was necessary to bring her here under the conditions she’d endured. Without access to her inheritance, she’d had little choice but to borrow the funds she needed to expand the shop. She’d wavered back and forth between the virtues of a legitimate bank loan versus the ease of the private loan, but her mother’s antics hadn’t left her any real choice. If she applied for a bank loan, her mother would know immediately. She’d kept tabs on Caroline’s financial dealings for years, making sure, she said, that Caroline wasn’t embezzling what rightly belonged to the rest of the family. If Caroline had sought a legitimate loan, she’d have had to put the trust’s contents up as collateral. She didn’t have anything else of value on her own to use.

But she wasn’t late on her payments. And she had every intention of following through. This abrupt and violent call to a meeting was uncalled for. Caroline squared her shoulders and straightened her suit as best she could. She knew she looked as bad as she felt, but with the muscle gone, she no longer felt her life was in imminent danger. She began to regain some of her composure, even if she couldn’t make her wardrobe reflect her renewed strength.

The door behind the receptionist’s desk opened, and a stocky man appeared. He didn’t look like a mobster. He was average height with dull brown hair. His button down shirt was open at the collar but was tucked neatly into dress slacks. A little rumpled around the edges perhaps, but it was getting toward the end of the business day. He gazed at Caroline sympathetically and gestured for her to follow him. As she walked past him, Caroline nearly gagged at the strength of his cologne. She couldn’t place the smell but was certain that a reading of the ingredients would place rubbing alcohol right near the top. He motioned for her to take one of the two visitors’ seats across from his desk as he went to the wet bar and poured two glasses of water. Placing both glasses on the table next to Caroline, he pulled the other chair up and around to face hers. They were practically knee to knee.

“Let me apologize for my associate. He can be a little … overzealous in his tasks. Can I get you anything?”

Caroline shook her head. Though she hoped to present a confident facade, the mention of his associate’s “overzealous” nature forced her to relive the day. Her shoulders shook, and she closed her eyes to gather strength. This man didn’t care what his thug had done. He was probably the one who told him to do it. He wanted something. Best to find out what it was and leave as soon as possible.

“What do you want?”

“It’s interesting that you should have to ask that question. I would have thought that was obvious by now, if not by my associate’s explanation, then at least by the sign on the outer door.”

Caroline understood what her obligation was. Dollar Tree was a loansharking business that asked few questions and charged exorbitant interest rates. Borrowing from them hadn’t been her first choice, but when she realized she was stuck between owning a business that was losing customers by not expanding and having to ingratiate herself to her mother, she would have chosen the brutal road offered by Dollar Tree any day of the week.

And though her first payment wasn’t due for another two weeks, apparently Dollar Tree was anxious to remind her of her obligations. Perhaps they thought she didn’t have the money to cover it.

Caroline eased her weight back deeper into the chair, hoping to ease some of the pressure off her knees and also to put some space between her and the smelly man. Perhaps it was occupational preference not too get too far away from your meal ticket. Regardless, he clearly didn’t understand the concept of personal space. It was getting late, and she knew Malcolm would be either home soon or calling to say he’d be a little late if he was with a patient. Either way, she wanted to be cleaned up and ready.

“Ms. Mathers, I’m Ronnie Green.” Caroline eyed him warily. She didn’t care what his name was. She wanted to go home.

“You owe us quite a large sum of money, Ms. Mathers.”

Caroline winced and licked her lips. “I know. The first payment is due in two weeks.” There was no point in denying that truth. She wasn’t prepared to bend too far over to keep this relationship pleasant, but she could give him that. He did appear to control the ape that had attacked her―she wasn’t interested in having him call the primate back from wherever he’d disappeared.

“And will you be able to make the required payment?”

Caroline swallowed. She’d intended to.

“Well, I had planned on it. But there was some damage to my property last night. I may have had to use some of your payment to repair some essential equipment. After all, without my business, there is no way to make money to make the payments.”

“I see. So the answer is ‘No’?” He rested his elbows on the gleaming chrome armrests and steepled his fingers. His lower lip rested on the points of his fingertips. “Ms. Mathers, I, too, am a business person. I’m not a violent man. I lend money for a fee and await payment. When payments are on time, I’m happy, and my boss is happy. When payments are late … well, that’s a little stressful.”