The Test (17 page)

“We can't worry about her right now.” Frank squeezed Meredith's hand. “I'm going to get Matt.”

When Frank rushed outside, a momentary silence interrupted the clamor of kids and the banter of adults.

“Matt, I need you inside. Right away.”

“Duty calls. Carrie, you're in charge of burgers.” Matt stripped off his apron. “Can't believe they keep coming back for more.” Without another word, Frank hustled Matt into the library to brief him on the Carla situation.

Having spent the last three months as the designated family orchestrator, Matt had no problem grasping the urgency of the tragedy. Before Frank could suggest that he take over operations, he grabbed his cell phone. “First call, Senator, our PR firm. Then I'll get started on a priority list of next steps. Mrs. Parnell, you and the senator will have to tell the rest of the family soon. How much do you want to say?”

“Just that there's been an accident,” Meredith said. “At least for now.”

“Yeah, I'm worried about saying more because of Dr. Welton and the senator's nephew, Terry. The less we say right now, the better. Then there's Patrick Nelson. Too many outsiders.”

“I'll gather everybody,” Meredith agreed. Then she paused. “I guess Chan will have to tell Rory. With her immune system knocked, she doesn't need this stress.” Frank recognized Meredith's genuine concern for his stepsister and was comforted that his own emerging sympathy was matched by hers.

Frank's cell phone rang. The deputy police commissioner. Of course, New York-Presbyterian Hospital, a Cornell affiliate, would be fine. There'd have to be an autopsy. Did Frank need a police escort? Anything else the police could do? Paul Parnell, personally, and the Parnell Foundation had deep ties to Cornell, the most recent being a $2,000,000 dollar grant to fund training in palliative medicine. Frank hoped that Parnell philanthropy had been adequate to ensure the confidentiality that would keep Carla's cause of death out of the media.

“Okay, Frank,” Meredith stepped toward him, notebook in hand. “We'll leave in the helicopter right after we brief the others. Include the Mendozas. They're like family and were close to Carla. We'll just have to stress confidentiality.”

“And shouldn't we call Carl Schiller?”

“Matt has him on the list of communication priorities. He put together
this.” Meredith handed Frank a sheet of paper with a list of bullet points in bold caps—TALKING POINTS FOR FAMILY. “Then as things unfold, we'll update and spoon-feed the press.”

Frank glanced over the four simple statements: Carla is dead; we don't know what happened; doctors think it might have been her heart; Meredith and Frank are on their way to Manhattan.

“This looks fine.” Frank handed the paper back to her. “Oh, for crying out loud, what about Cardinal Sean?”

“Tell him there's been an accident,” Meredith instructed. “Carla is dead. Very unexpected. We need more details before we make any public statement.” And Meredith could not help but add, “Tell him to keep his mouth shut. Fight the urge to pontificate.”

“Yeah. Now, let's get everybody together. Meredith, can you tell them?”

“Matt's assembling them in the living room,” Meredith said, patting Frank on the back. “And no, Frank, you have to do this.”

“The media, I can handle. But the family? What will I say?”

“You'll say the right thing,” Meredith said, grabbing Frank's hand and leading him into the living room.

Dan was sitting on the long sofa between his offspring. Chan had gathered all the kids at the foot of the circular staircase. For once, they sat soberly among the pile of pillows he'd tossed to them. Ashley sat with Conrad Welton in the closest wingback chair, he carefully scrutinizing her. Monica and Patrick sat on the edge of the matching loveseat hand in hand. Standing off to the side, no doubt fretting about so many damp bathing suits sitting on the expensive furniture, were the Mendozas. Frank noted how much gray had crept into their hair since Dad and Vivian hired them eighteen years earlier. He watched as Matt maneuvered himself over to the side of the sofa nearest Carrie.

The room went completely quiet as Frank faced the quizzical faces. Even the children were silent. As those nine sets of inquisitive eyes converged on him, he realized that he was no good with kids. Could they handle the concept of death?

“I have something very tragic to tell you,” he began.

Frank could feel the ripple effect as the family shifted ever so slightly,
all eyes riveted on him. “I don't know how to go about this, especially with the children . . .” He started to falter and could see Ashley and Chan exchange a worried glance across the array of kids. “But we got a call a few minutes ago. A call with shocking, terrible news. Something has happened to Carla.”

Ashley gasped. “What happened? Was she in an accident?”

“She's dead. Mrs. Waring found her. That's all we know.”

“My God, Frank, that can't be true,” Chan leaned forward, fists clenched.

“Dead? Carla dead?” Ashley echoed trance-like. “No, there must be some mistake. She was supposed to be
here
.”

Frank shook his head as Meredith came to stand by him. He put his arm around her.

After a long silence, tears now trickling down her cheeks, Ashley asked, “Do we know what happened?”

“We don't,” Frank answered. “Perhaps something to do with her heart.”

“Then it wasn't an accident? It wasn't,” Ashley glanced across at the kids, “self-inflicted?”

“Heart? In somebody so young?” interrupted Monica as she glanced pointedly at Patrick.

Dan extended an arm around both of his children, and Frank could guess what he was thinking. They were the same age as Carla.

“Is Aunt Carla dead?” asked the youngest Stevens boy in a squeaky voice.

“Yes, honey,” said Meredith. “She's gone to be with God in heaven.”

“Like Grandpa,” said one of the twins matter-of-factly.

“Frank, what are we going to do?” Ashley was sobbing openly now.

Welton drew her closer to him, encircling her in his arms. At that protective maneuver, Frank flashed back to his father. That same serious look, the same wrinkling of the brow, the set of ice-blue eyes. The two of them involved in what Meredith called an Oedipal complex.

“We'll figure out what's happened and do what has to be done once we get to Manhattan,” Frank said. “Meanwhile, Dan, you and Carrie and Terry should stay here with Matt. At least until tomorrow.” Frank
flinched at the glazed, teary eyes of his stunned family. “And, of course, absolutely no media leaks. Tomorrow, we'll issue our own press statement.”

“Here?” Welton gestured around the room. “Ashley's too upset for houseguests.”

“Conrad, if only we'd picked her up and driven her in.” Ashley moaned, ignoring her fiancé's question.

“There's nothing we can do for your sister now, my love. I told you before that she'd go back on drugs.”

Meredith winced at Welton's insensitive remark. And Ashley tried to wriggle out of his arms.

Meredith spoke for the first time. “As for the logistics, Chan, you and the kids should wait this out at home.” Her voice softened to a near whisper. “And you'll have to tell Rory. Monica, you and Patrick should probably go back to the Hamptons. With all the media attention, it's best that you're not here. Ignoring Welton's remark, Meredith said, Dan, I assume you and Terry and Carrie will stay here?”

All three nodded their assent.

“And Matt will stay here and keep the communication loop open. But nothing, absolutely nothing, to the media. Everybody understand?”

Frank looked to each for their response. All nodded, even Welton who was still clutching Ashley.

“Car's waiting,” Mrs. M. announced, as heads still nodded. “Senator, we're so sorry, Peter and me. We will be here to do whatever you need.”

“You were always among Carla's favorite people,” Meredith said to the distressed couple. “Thank you for taking on the burden of unexpected houseguests.” Frank again reminded himself how lucky he was to have Meredith by his side.

As Frank and Meredith turned to go, Chan spoke in a hoarse voice. “Ashley,” he pleaded, “will you help me with the kids?”

Fuck your kids
, Welton wanted to scream.
Fuck the entire Parnell family
. He tightened his hold on Ashley, but she managed to pull out of his grasp and go to Chan. Welton let his eyes travel the room, and he nodded his head almost imperceptibly as he inspected each target. They would fall, one by arrogant one. Carla was simply the first.

“— now and at the hour of my death. Amen.” Rory fingered the beads of her mother's coral rosary, but her mind wandered. A recurrent theme with her right now. Was her illness a type of payback for all the good things that had been her life, until now? She could never remember being unhappy. True, her father left when she'd been a toddler, but she had no memory of him. Her mother got through medical school on a small inheritance and made ends meet. To Rory, her mom had been no less than perfect.

Rory had been eleven when Vivian Baricelli met Paul Parnell. He'd told her that she looked just like her mom—freckles, wavy auburn hair, and lilac-colored eyes. And he told her how he had always wanted a little girl. After they married, Mom explained that Paul wanted to legally adopt her and change her name from Barricelli to Parnell, but that they did not know the whereabouts of Tony Barricelli. Rory loved Paul and was in awe of her new brothers. Dan had just left for college, but Frank was still in high school—class president, varsity sports, honor student.

From then on her life got even better. Paul became CEO of Keystone Pharma. Mom was a successful doctor. Even though her teen friends didn't think having a pregnant mom was cool, Rory adored her little sisters. She was like a second mother to Ashley, taking her everywhere in that fold-up stroller. Carla, crankier and naughtier, had always looked up to her, relying too often on Rory to bail her out of trouble.

Then Rory met Chan at the University of Pennsylvania when she was a nursing student, and he a family medicine resident. They fell instantly in love, had a perfect wedding, and beautiful children. Now her Mom and Dad were dead. Carla was dead. And she was into her third round of chemo.

Chan had brought in all the specialists. Hematologists, oncologists.

All speaking in euphemisms, all chasing that elusive remission. And Chan, even though he pledged to tell her the truth, still sugarcoated her prognosis. Right now she was still on induction therapy to get rid of the leukemia cells in her bone marrow. Since there are always residual cells, she'd need to go on post-remission therapy, and that meant at least four more courses of chemo. Endless, it seemed. But she wouldn't give up. There was a knock on her partially open door. The family knew that she couldn't stand to be totally isolated, that she needed to stay connected.

“Mom? Are you awake?”

“Yes, come on in, sweetie.” She sat up in bed and tucked the rosary under her pillow as Becky tiptoed in.

“I brought you some tea and a muffin.” As she set down the tray, Becky brushed Rory's arm.

“Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry. Is it okay?” Becky inspected the gauze patch that covered the catheter in Rory's left forearm.

“It's fine.” Rory hoped that to be the truth. Her veins had become impossible. The doctor had threatened a surgical insertion if this intravenous got disconnected.

“Good. Dad said to tell you that Tyler can't come in today because he may be getting a cold.”

“I just can't wait to get better so you guys don't have to worry about every little sniffle.”

“I know. Us, too.” Becky leaned down to kiss Rory's cheek. “I gotta go help Dad find stuff for the kids to wear to Aunt Carla's funeral.”

“Bye, sweetheart. You cheer me up.”

Alone again, Rory thought of Carla. Had her beauty been her downfall? That sexy walk she managed in four-inch heels. The formfitting pants and sweaters, the very short skirts. The long blonde hair she flipped this way and that and those distinctive eyes. As far as Rory was concerned, the only physical attribute she had in common with Carla was her lilac-colored eyes. Rory had always been a few pounds overweight, but Carla made her feel obese with her ultrathin glamour look. And now Rory herself was as thin as Carla had been.

A knock interrupted. Ashley, properly businesslike in a black pants
suit, hair pulled up off her neck, stood at the door. Rory had asked that she stop by.

Rory motioned her to the bedside chair. “Thanks for coming. I need to talk to you about Carla's funeral. Chan means well, but his protectiveness sometimes keeps me in the dark.”

“Frank and Meredith have pretty much arranged everything,” Ashley said, nibbling the cuticle of her thumb. “Naturally, we didn't want to bother you after that spinal tap yesterday.”

Rory did not have energy to waste so she cut straight to her objective. “This is our last chance to do something for Carla. Frank and Meredith don't know her that well.”

“I'm sure they've worked it all out with Cardinal Sean.”

“Carla and Cardinal Sean never saw eye to eye. Thus my concern.”

“But the service is t-tomorrow. I'm sure everything will be okay.” The hint of a stutter. Rare now, only when Ashley was very stressed.

“Let's get Meredith on the phone.” Rory was adamant.

When her sister-in-law came on, Rory slowly adjusted her position in bed. She still had spurts of vertigo, but not the horrible nausea and vomiting she had experienced earlier.

“Meredith, I know you're busy, so I'll get right to the point,” Rory said, eliminating all small talk. “I want to make sure that tomorrow's ceremony reflects Carla's taste.”