The Test (15 page)

Welton took Ashley's hand and led her out to the party now in full swing on the deck surrounding the infinity pool. The entire property from the guesthouse to the tennis courts was decorated in patriotic red, white, and blue. Big flags. Little flags. The hammocks and tabletops draped in stars and stripes. Balloons everywhere. The day was perfect, with cerulean skies and wispy clouds randomly distributing the warmth of the sun. Ashley took all this wealth for granted, even the weather. Welton thought how similar she was to Crissy, his late wife.

So far he hadn't told Ashley about Crissy. She had been nineteen when he'd married her; twenty-two years old when he'd divorced her; twenty-four when she died thirteen years ago. Soon he'd have to tell Ashley, before her family started digging.

“Imagine that kind of energy,” Ashley said as she led Welton toward chaotic screams in the pool. “Marco”, followed by the chorus of “Polo,” repeated over and over with giggles, screams, and splashes. Welton tried not to cringe. He didn't like children. Messy, whiny, demanding, he'd seen them suck every iota of attention and energy out of well-meaning parents. No child of his would compel such a sacrifice. They'd hire a nanny and never have to bother. Paul's note to Ashley had said for her to “be like her mother, to balance a personal and professional life.” Ideally, Ashley should have a baby, too. He realized that if Crissy had gotten pregnant, things may have turned out differently.

The Marco Polos stopped as Welton and Ashley stopped at the edge of the pool. One of the older girls yelled, “Aunt Ashley, get your bathing suit on.”

“Later,” Ashley called, waving and smiling.

Welton nudged Ashley over to join Meredith, who was stretched out on a chaise near the edge of the pool. He'd done a double-take when he'd seen her earlier—the iron lady in a two-piece turquoise bathing suit. Not bad. Her blunt-cut brown hair styled, her nails perfectly manicured. He glanced at Ashley's nails. After years of nervous chewing, they were ragged, but better now that he was coaching her.

“Hi, Ashley.” Meredith started to get up.

“Don't get up,” Welton said, reaching to touch her shoulder.

Meredith leaned back, relaxing. “What's up with our rehab patient?” she asked. “She'll be here. Right?”

“Supposed to be,” Ashley said.

“Hey, slow down!” Meredith held out an arm to catch one of the Stevens kids before the child tripped onto the concrete. Dripping wet, she and her brother ran shrieking toward the house.

“Ricky's got my floatie!” the little girl yelled. “Dad got it for me. Ricky has his own.”

“I'm sure he'll bring it back,” Meredith said. “Look, Elise is waiting for you over by the slide.”

“Okay, Aunt Meredith,” said the little girl; then, “Aunt Ashley, when are you comin' into the pool?”

“Maybe later, Misty,” Ashley said, patting the child on her wet head.

“Where's everybody else?” Ashley asked.

“Monica and Patrick are on the tennis court with Terry and Carrie,” Meredith reported. “Gina didn't come. Couldn't get off work. Can you believe it? Anyway, Frank and Dan and Chan are setting up the volleyball net on the other side of the courts, and I'm the designated pool monitor, a job I would gladly relinquish. One kid's enough to make me crazy and there are nine in there.”

Welton put his arm around Ashley's waist to urge her away from the turmoil in the pool, but Meredith went on, “Oh, and Matt Cleveland, Frank's aide, has a crush on Carrie.”

“Carrie?” Welton asked.

“Carissa, one of Dan's twins,” Meredith clarified.

“We'll be glad to take over with the kids,” Ashley volunteered, “but first I'd better check out the barbeque operation. Oops, looks like I may be too late.”

“You kids hungry?” yelled Matt as he pushed a cart heaped with hot dogs and hamburgers from the barbeque pit.

Amid louder squeals of delight, Meredith hopped off her deck chair. Tossing a pile of beach towels over to Ashley and Conrad, she ordered, “Let's get these kids dried off. I'll round up the adults. Everybody accounted for but Carla.”

Welton stood, hands on hips, while Ashley started chasing children with towels.

“Kids, sit over by the picnic tables,” Meredith shouted. “Adults, take the umbrella tables up on the terrace. Mrs. Mendoza's orders. She's laying out a buffet.”

Frank came jogging toward them and took his place beside his aide at the helm of the barbeque operation. Both donned chef hats and red, white, and blue aprons. From first glance, Welton had disliked Cleveland, a pretty boy, with a distinguished streak of white highlighting his dark hair. Today, he was all smiles, laughing and joking with the kids.

“Who does he think he is?” he whispered to Ashley, but her answer
was obliterated as a brass band appeared on the scene and started up “Yankee Doodle.”

Frank seemed to have gone all out to make this a festive affair. He even appeared to be getting a kick out of it. His usually serious demeanor gave way to a frivolity that Welton had not expected and did not trust. Meredith also looked different, relaxed, and comfortable with the family.

Disgruntled, Welton stood by Ashley as she dutifully doled out the towels to one child after another. She called to two older girls. “Cool bathing suits!”

Both voices rang out, “Aunt Meredith took us shopping.”

“Watch out, Conrad,” Ashley warned as two children plowed into his legs, almost knocking him into the pool.

“What the—” he hollered. “Can't somebody get these kids under control?”

“They're just having a good time.” Ashley forced a smile, and Welton had to remind himself not to lose his cool.

“Almost got you, didn't they?” As Welton recovered his balance, Monica Monroe strolled to his side and met his gaze with a wide smile. Her body in short shorts almost made him gasp.

“Ashley,” Monica said, “Meet Patrick Nelson, my fiancé.”

Welton watched Ashley as she held out her hand to the man by Monica's side.

“Honey, this is Ashley. She's the doctor, the one who lives here.” Monica gestured around the grounds. “It's was tough preparing him for all of you, when I'm mostly clueless myself.”

Welton noticed how Ashley stared at the buff guy's chest, which was marred by a tortuous scar running from the base of his neck to his umbilicus. The guy must have had some major health problem. Hadn't Patrick Nelson been an athlete before he got into sportscasting?

“We were just on our way to the buffet table,” Ashley said. “The adult one, over there.” She pointed to the red, white, and blue extravaganza now laden with food. “Want to join us?”

“Love to,” Monica said.

Wealth was one thing, Welton thought, but did this lady have so
much that she'd renounced the Parnell money? “Ashley and I are engaged,” he said as they walked toward the buffet. “So you and I have something in common, and I'm new to the family myself.”

“Patrick, good meeting you.” Ashley had stopped staring. “I'm not a sports fanatic, but I did read an article about your new show in
People
magazine. I wanted to watch it, but since I'm on-call most of the time—How's it going?”

“Super. Keeps me hopping.” Patrick said, with an easy television smile.

“So super that I don't see much of him,” Monica said. “But today worked out great. We were staying at Patrick's mom's place in the Hamptons. Just a short plane ride away.”

“Pat,” a male voice called.

Welton turned and couldn't suppress a groan.

Dan's kid, Terry, was lifting up a can of beer. “Rematch after the eats?”

“You're on,” Patrick flashed his television smile again.

“Only if you make it doubles,” Monica said. “Get Carrie. Or Ashley, do you play?”

“Yes, but not that well,” Ashley said. “Plus I was on call last night—”

“Some other time,” Welton said. “Now let's get something to eat.”

“Maybe I should wait for Carla,” Ashley said, glancing around. “She should be here by now.”

Waiting for Carla—how long would that take?

Carla had been looking forward to today's family gathering. She was proud of her progress in rehab, and had tried hard to shake the shame of what had sent her there. She was anxious to see Ashley and Rory. Would she confide in them about having HIV? She didn't know, but she would ask Ashley's advice about signing up to be a volunteer at an AIDS clinic for kids.

Toying with the idea of competing for a share of her dad's inheritance, Carla had decided that with all that money, she could do a lot of good. She'd even thought about nursing school. Unless they didn't take HIV-positive students. But would they have to know? HIV was supposed to be confidential. Or maybe she could do more good as a social worker? Her immediate plan: get Ashley's advice and then talk to Bunky about it. He'd always been after her to try for the money, and now that she was clean, maybe she'd have a chance.

That morning she'd been up early to attend an NA meeting. The nice thing about Manhattan was that meetings went on almost around the clock and so far she hadn't missed a day. When she got home, she'd made a pot of coffee and toasted a bagel. Then she changed into a flowered sundress with a matching shawl. With her new hairstyle and yesterday's manicure and pedicure, she knew she looked good. She smiled, confident that the family would be pleasantly surprised.

Then she picked up where she'd left off in a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt. She'd started on biographies of powerful women when she was in the Roberts Clinic. So far she'd read about Queen Elizabeth I, Katherine Graham, and Florence Nightingale. Learning about all of these women, she'd come away awed and inspired. She now felt that she, too, could make a difference. And wouldn't Ashley be impressed. Other
than her medical texts, Ashley read only thrillers. Rather superficial, Carla thought. She smiled, anticipating the look of surprise on Ashley's face later that night when she pulled out her Eleanor Roosevelt tome.

When the doorman rang up to announce Bunky, Carla checked her watch. Nine fifteen. He was early. The car to take them to Pennsylvania wasn't due until ten. She had promised Sara that she would not let Bunky into the apartment, but she couldn't leave him in the lobby for forty-five minutes. Since she'd been released from Roberts Clinic, Sara had not left her side, but today Carla had convinced the maid to go home to her husband since she was going home to Pennsylvania.

Not that her family would be happy to see Bunky, but Bunky was a part of her life. She'd walked away from everything and everybody else, but she could not walk away from Bunky. When it came right down to it, Bunky was the one human on the face of the earth who really cared about her because he wanted to, not because he was paid to or because they were related. But to honor her family's wishes, she hadn't let Bunky move back into the apartment.

She knew that he needed to get clean before she could live with him. She realized how vulnerable she was, how easy it would be to slip. She'd heard so many horror stories in those meetings. As for Bunky, he still used—too heavily—but not in her apartment. Her plan was to save enough money to get him into the Roberts Clinic. Amazing as it seemed, Carla was now a huge fan of the Roberts Clinic. She'd be eternally grateful that her family cared enough to send her there, and she would tell them so today. And she'd also tell Ashley that she thought her boyfriend was a real prick. Ashley and Welton had visited her in rehab, and he hadn't shown her one iota of empathy. After weeks in group therapy, Carla felt pretty damn sure that she could pick up on personality disorders. Welton's was narcissistic and manipulative. The type of guy who's into control and domination. The type who hides behind charm and social niceties.

Carla had learned a lot. During that awful ride up to the clinic, she'd warmed up to Dr. Adair and now she saw him every week in his Manhattan office. He'd hooked her up with a doctor who specialized in HIV. She now knew that her virus level was quite low and her CD4 count fairly high, which was good news. In general, the CD4 count goes down
as HIV progresses. And the best news of all: Bunky had been tested. He was HIV negative, and he now used a condom.

“You look great, babe,” Bunky said, as she did a twirl when he stepped off the elevator. He had shaved, but his reddish curls flopped over his eyes and hung over his ears almost onto his shoulders. Meredith and Frank would not be pleased. According to them, worthiness was related to the clean-shaven, short haired, preppy look.

“Where's your watchdog?” Bunky glanced nervously about as they stepped into the living room.

“Sara's not here right now,” Ashley said. She felt a pang of guilt, but they'd be leaving soon. Carla had promised herself no more lies, but this seemed so minor, so temporary.

She saw Bunky glance down the hall leading to her bedroom, but she shook her head, so he headed for the door again. “I gotta meet a guy,” he said, “before we go. He's downstairs. Just be a second, babe.”

“Okay, but we're supposed to leave at ten.”

“You nervous?”

“A little, but mostly I'm anxious to see everybody, to show them that I'm okay.” Carla brushed her lips against his cheek as he stepped into the elevator. “And, you know what? I really am okay.”

“That's cool, babe.”

Bunky was gone for five minutes. She waited for him in the living room, leafing through
Self
magazine. Yesterday, at a meeting, a girl she'd seen on some soap asked her if she was going back to modeling. She'd told her no. That lifestyle was just too high-risk.

“Got a little something for us, babe. This you're gonna love.” Bunky was back and lifting the glossy magazine from her hands, replacing it with a white plastic bag. “This is some special shit.”