THIEF: Part 6
Authors: Kimberly Malone
THIEF
Part Six
KIMBERLY MALONE
All Rights Reserved
. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Holy shit.
I want to laugh at Fiona’s text, but tears hit my eyes instead.
Tell me about it,
I write back.A few seconds later, her questions start.
Is Alex freaking out?
I look over at him in the driver’s seat.He hasn’t stopped smiling since we left the hospital, politely declining my father’s many offers to spend the night at his house and celebrate together.
“What a day,” he’d said, when the hospital discharged me a half hour later and Alex told him the news.“I find out about my daughter and grandkid in the same evening.”He’d called me sweetheart again, given me a hug, and made me promise I’d call and email with updates as often as I could.Then, as if reading my mind, he said, “Don't go getting worked up over our paternity test; I'll set that up.We'll know before February.”
At first, after Dr. Swanson basically punched me in the face, I just sat there staring at the ID bracelet on my wrist, trying to grasp it.
Pregnant
.
Alex was quiet, too.When I looked up at him—after Dr. Swanson finally got the hint and left us alone to talk privately—I expected to see a comrade.A face just as frightened as mine.
Instead, he broke out into the biggest grin I’d ever seen.
“I—I just can’t believe it,” he said, laughing as he put his hands on my stomach.“This is insane.”
And now, thundering down the dark highway with the radio turned low, he’s still got the smile.I can practically hear him saying, “I can’t believe it,” over and over in his head.
I can’t believe it,either,
I wish I could tell him.
But not in the way you can’t.
He’s ecstatic,
I text back.
Which is actually freaking me out even more.
There’s a long lull before Fiona’s response.The glow of my screen lights up the entire car, and I tilt the phone towards myself a little.Alex can’t see it, anyway, but it makes me feel safer all the same.
How far along?Like do you know when it happened?
I see what she’s really asking.And it’s the same question that’s been attacking my brain ever since Dr. Swanson announced the news.
Jane’s wedding,
I write.
Most likely.
This pause is even longer.Finally, a text buzzes through.
Fuck.
“I’ve got to tell him.”
Fiona looks like she’d slap the biscotti out of my hand if a full coffee cup wasn’t in hers.“You can’t,” she says, voice grave.“It’ll crush him—he’s so excited.”
“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do here, Fi?”I glance around, remembering we’re in a crowded coffee shop.“I can’t let him go on thinking this kid is his if it’s…”I think of Silas. The last time I saw him.I see his face in my memory, fading from view as I shut the door on him again.
Fiona’s expression softens as she sips her coffee.“So…not to sound insensitive or anything, I’m just wondering…you’re definitely keeping it?”
I set my biscotti on my napkin, staring into my cappuccino foam.The barista drew a smiley face in it with cocoa.“I think so,” I tell her, glancing up through my hair.“It’s not that I’m against my…other options.They just don’t feel like the right choices.And they don’t feel easier.”
She nods sympathetically.“Well, I’m here for you,” she offers, and we smile at each other.“And if you want to tell Alex, I’ll support you.But I think you should get a paternity test first.To be sure.”
To be sure
. I think about Benji, how much we both wanted to be excited, but felt afraid to until we were certain.Even without the results yet, just a swab of my spit mailed overnight to the lab he'd contacted, had made me feel better.I nod at Fiona's suggestion.
“I’d need his consent, though,” I realize, after a beat, “to get his DNA.”
Fiona shifts in her seat, stirring her coffee idly.“Not necessarily,” she says.
I stare at her.Slowly, it starts to sink in: I’ve got two choices.Like my others, neither is easy.
I can tell Alex the truth, or I can try and track down Silas.
Over the next few weeks, I research every avenue I've got to find Silas while Alex—already in an adorable, yet severely guilt-inducing, baby craze—searches for jobs.“We’ll get everything we need, don’t worry,” he told me the first morning of his job hunt, as I helped him knot his new tie.“I can tell you’re freaked out, but I’m going to make everything perfect.”It practically killed me to reflect his smile back at him.
Finally, in early February, I find something I might be able to use.
It's right after my DNA results come back: Benjamin Brinsley is, in fact, my father.He calls to share the good news, then asks how his grandchild's doing.
“Growing normally,” I tell him, trying to sound excited.“We'll try to visit soon.And you're invited to the birth—September.”
“Wouldn't miss it, sweetheart.”
When we finally hang up, I look at my computer screen.I'd been idly Google-searching as my father and I chatted, pausing during the silences so he wouldn't hear my keyboard and assume I was bored.I was, a little, but only because I wasn't sure what to say to him.Updating him on my life felt strange—partly because he didn't know much about my life to begin with, and because my life stayed the same, day-to-day.The only matters of interest were things I couldn't tell anyone but Fiona.
What are you up to?
I imagined him asking.
Gee, not much, Dad.Just trying to find out who my baby's dad is, since I slept with two guys in the same night.What's new with you?
When I hang up, diving back into research, a name catches my eye: Dr. Stewart Ramirez, a reconstructive surgeon in Mexico City.My hands feel numb as I type the number on my laptop into my cell.
After several rings, I get a receptionist voicemail.“Hi,” I stutter, and then hang up.I dial Fiona’s number.
“You found him?” she says, after I give her the update.“That’s awesome.”
“I don’t know if it’s him,” I admit, “just that he’s a really prominent surgeon in Mexico.Silas said he had a really hard time finding someone who’d do the procedure, so what if the doctor’s flying under the radar?”I sigh, pushing my hand through my hair, staring that the phone number on my computer as though it will transform into an answer.
“Then why’d you hang up?Just ask if he’s treating Silas’s daughter.”
“I don’t know if he’d tell me.Especially if the procedure’s not entirely legal.Or maybe Silas paid him off, you know, in case police called to track him down.I know it sounds crazy—”
“No, it sounds pretty on-point, actually,” Fiona interrupts.I hear dishes and water in the background, such a normal thing, and wonder what Fiona’s life is like.I know it’s not perfect—her last long-term relationship ended when she confirmed her boyfriend was, in actuality, cheating on her with men, and her mom died when she was just fifteen.But from a distance, at least, it seems pretty simple: bad things happen, and she moves on.My bad things keep biting me in the ass and dragging themselves out, and I've got to admit: most of it's my own damn fault.
“I’ve got an idea,” she says, suddenly.I hear the water shut off.“Call and leave a message he can’t say no to.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, you know—that business strategy people always yammer on about, not giving people a chance to reject you.Instead of leaving the ball in the doctor’s court, you make up some crap that gives him no option but to call you back and tell you what you need to know.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, nodding, even though she can’t see me.“That makes sense…but I still can’t think of what I’d say.”
“I can,” she says.I hear a proud smirk in her voice.“Check your email in an hour—I’ll send a script.”
Later that afternoon, just before Alex returns home from his continued job hunt, I call New Mexico General Hospital again, punch in the extension for Dr. Ramirez, and leave this message in as confident a tone as I can manage:
“Hello, Dr. Ramirez, this is Stacy Fletcher from C&L Pharmaceuticals. I’m calling to confirm the shipping address for your order—two cases of Luxidal, delivered to Mexico General Hospital’s reconstructive surgery office?It’s listed as your office building, so we’ll need a signature when it arrives.If you’ve got any questions, you can reach me during nine-to-five business hours at my office number….”
As I stammer out my cell phone number, then thank him and hang up, Fiona watches the scam via Skype.She smiles, even though I’m grimacing.
“Now change your voicemail from your personal recording to something generic,” she says, “like that robot ‘You have reached’ thing.Hurry up, in case he calls right away.”
I do as she tells me, despite shaking my head.“I don’t think this is gonna work, Fiona.”
“Of course it will!Just trust me on this, okay?”
“But Luxi…whatever it is—is that even real?”
“No.”
“What about the pharmaceutical company?”
“No.”
“Then isn’t he going to know it’s bogus right away?”
Fiona props her head in her chin, elbow resting on Jane's kitchen counter.She stares at me with a faint grin, like I’m a n
aï
ve kid.“Erin,” she says firmly, “that’s the point.Using these made-up names, but you sounding totally legit, is going to make him
have
to call and see what the hell’s happening.Besides, new drugs come out all the time, companies get started overnight—he’ll think he’s out of the loop.We’ll pique his curiosity.”
“Well,
if
he calls back—”
“He will.”
“—how do I bring up Silas in a way he’s got to answer?”
“Erin, seriously.”Fiona shakes her head at me, making fun of my nerves.“Give me some credit, here.”
My phone rings just before five.I check the screen: it’s Dr. Ramirez’s number.Alex is napping on the sofa, still in his interview clothes, so I slip onto the back patio as fast as I can.
“Stacy Fletcher, C&L Pharmaceuticals, how can I help you?” I answer, pulling the sliding door shut behind me.It’s been a year since I’ve worked in retail, and I’m surprised at how easily the smooth sales voice comes back to me.Maybe it's in my newly discovered blood.
“Hello, Ms. Fletcher,” the voice says.It’s a woman.“My name’s Inez—I’m calling on behalf of Dr. Stewart Ramirez.”
My heartbeat picks up as I pull the list of fake names, courtesy of Fiona, from my pocket.“Hello,” I say, masking the nervousness.“I assume this is in regards to Dr. Ramirez’s order for Luxidal?”
“Um…yes, it is,” she says politely, though I can tell she’s confused and maybe a little nervous, too.“We don’t have any record in our, um, files…for that order?”
I feel bad for her; I wonder if she got blamed for the phony order mix-up. Maybe she’s just new.
Gotta break a few eggs
, I think, shaking off my guilt.I hold up the list.“We have an order placed recently, by Dr. Ramirez, for two hundred doses of Luxidal, to be shipped out immediately upon confirmation,” I tell her.“If it would help, I can give you the patients’ names associated with the order.”
“What?”The receptionist’s voice moves into flat-out alarm now.“We don’t divulge that information—there must be some mistake.”
Stay calm,
I coach myself, but it sounds like Fiona’s voice.“Above all else,” she had told me, emailing me the list of fake names and the rest of her plan, “don’t break character.You’ve got to sound sure of yourself, or they won’t be.”
“Michel Garcia,” I say, reading, “Penelope Riviera, Donald Williams, Fernando Marcela, Emma Landings-Marlowe, Leonard Gleaner, and Oliver Torres.”I pause.“Is this correct?It was faxed to us, along with the order, on Dr. Ramirez’s letterhead.”
The receptionist trips over her own words for a moment, then pauses.“If it’s at all possible, Dr. Ramirez would like to cancel the, um…the order.Only one of those patients is his, and he won’t be requiring La…Lux…”
“Luxidal.”
“Yes, that.He apologizes for any confusion, but he did not place that order.”
I feel hope swelling in my chest as I ask, “But his memo had a star next to Emma Landings-Marlowe; we believed the order was urgent?”
“That patient will not be needing the…the drug you’ve described,” the woman says.Now she sounds annoyed, so I decide to wrap up.
“All right, Inez, we’ll go ahead and cancel the order.Please give Dr. Ramirez our most sincere apologies if we somehow misunderstood the order, or are mistaken.”I slap on my sappiest smile so she can hear it in my voice.“Please consider C&L Pharmaceuticals for your future orders.”
“Thank you, Ms. Fletcher,” she answers sharply, “but our hospital has a company in contract already, and we don’t do independent orders.Have a nice day.”
The line goes dead.I’m not sure, but I think I heard her slam the phone first.