The Doctor's Little Secret

Kind of late for that, sniped the rejected child inside Rachel. Still, in fairness, the infant hadn’t been old enough to miss her parents, and she’d gone to a loving family.

“My family takes in foster kids, so I grew up around them.” She saw no reason to trot out any additional personal details. “Here’s my opinion—she needs stability as much as love. So if you’re going to put in an appearance, you’d better be prepared to follow through.”

“That’s a good point.”

Russ resumed his window staring as she navigated into his housing development. Reaching the cul-de-sac, Rachel again noticed the coziness of his cottage. This guy must have been acting on nesting instincts even before he learned of the grandparents’ demise.

She hoped her remarks hadn’t discouraged him. The girl could do far worse than to gain a father like Russ. “Go for it,” she advised as the car halted.

“What? Oh. Fine.” He reached for the door handle.

“I wasn’t trying to boot you out!” She hurried to clarify. “I meant, don’t let Janine give you the brush-off. Drop by her place. Show that you’ve matured.” Painfully, Rachel concluded, “If you guys were in love once, maybe there’s something left.”

Pale moonlight traced the angles of his cheeks. “We weren’t in love. I’d been exhausting myself as an intern, and Janine was a business grad student with big ambitions. We both regarded the relationship as temporary.”

Rachel couldn’t imagine a woman landing a guy like Russ and not hoping to keep him. “There must have been chemistry.” They hadn’t conceived a baby while shooting hoops. “Also, you may have misjudged her feelings.”

“If so, she gave no sign of it,” he responded. “Nevertheless, I agree that I should have been more supportive. In any case, I’ll bet she regrets missing our daughter’s early childhood as much as I do.”

“You mean the grandparents banned her from Christmas and birthdays and all that stuff?”

A furrow formed between his eyebrows. “I doubt that.”

“So forget the guilt trip. If you want to be close to Lauren…but maybe you don’t.” A twinge of old hurt prompted Rachel to challenge, “If you’re easily discouraged, I guess fatherhood doesn’t matter much to you.”

“Who says I’m easily discouraged? Like hell!” Anger frayed his voice.

Despite the irritation directed at her, Rachel didn’t take it personally. “Then go for it!”

He opened his mouth as if to argue further, but stopped. “You’re quite a motivator. Ever coach Little League?”

“Naw, but I was on the wrestling team in high school.” She didn’t intend to get sidetracked by that story. “Call her now. To heck with how late it is.”

A smile eased the man’s intensity. “My bad temper doesn’t faze you?”

“You call that bad temper?” she scoffed. “I saw what you could dish out yesterday when I tried to cuff you.”

“You’re one of a kind.” He leaned toward her, and for one tingling instant she thought they might kiss. Instead, he said, “If you need someone to help knock off that case of beer in the trunk, remember where I live.”

Buddies. As if she didn’t already have enough of those. Still, Rachel liked the guy, and she’d rather be his friend than a stranger.

“Keep me current on what happens with Lauren,” she requested.

“You bet.” He waited while she scribbled her cell number on the back of a business card and handed it to him. “I’ll do that.”

“Great.” She lingered to watch him stride up the walk, enjoying the view.

She wondered about Janine. Petite? Curvaceous? He’d described her as a businesswoman, which meant a sharp dresser with salon hair. That must be his type. A million miles out of Rachel’s league.

On the way home, she wondered what it’d be like if she were reborn with a shape like, say, Elise’s. To collect wolf whistles without trying and discover flowers on your desk from secret admirers must be nice. But not having to fend off unwanted advances from an old coot like ex-chief Vince Borrego, who’d put the moves on Elise to the point that she’d filed an official complaint two years ago.

Viewing the complaint as disloyal, many fellow officers had given Elise the cold shoulder. She might have remained frozen out except that Joel Simmons had witnessed one of the incidents. He’d admitted as much in the course of an internal investigation into a second case involving allegations that a lieutenant, Norm Kinsey, had beaten a prisoner and that Chief Borrego had covered for him.

Some members of the force had considered Joel a traitor, too. Hale, however, had stood by his friend, and Rachel had discreetly supported both Joel and Elise. Eventually, Borrego had retired under pressure and Kinsey got fired. As the department struggled to heal its wounds under Chief Lyons, old enmities had been set aside.

On reflection, Rachel supposed being cute and curvaceous had its downside. Nothing wrong with height and heft and enough guts to win the case of beer jouncing in her trunk.

Her spirits rose as she hung a left from Arches Avenue onto the side street that led to her condo development, Archway Acres. She planned to spend an hour or so reading and enjoying a brew and then…

What was a fire truck doing in the parking lot? She glanced around for signs of a blaze or other emergency and spotted a couple of police cruisers. Beyond them, a half-dozen civilians were loading stuff into their cars.

Squinting in the light of a streetlamp, Rachel sought a reason for the apparent evacuation. She didn’t have to look far. On the door of each unit was posted a yellow placard.

Yellow tags required residents to leave, at least temporarily. That status was a rung below red tagging, which indicated homes slated for destruction.

Gloomily Rachel recalled the workmen inspecting the slope earlier. Pulling forward, she halted beside a patrolman she recognized. “Yo, Bill!” she called. “What’s up?”

He peered into her car. “Hey, Rache. You live here?”

“Yeah.” Or I used to.

“How was Hale’s party?”

“Awesome.” Enough small talk! “Well?”

A sympathetic grimace. “Inspectors found instability in the slope. The condo association’s going to hire engineers next week. We’re only letting people fetch their stuff with a police escort, but you can take responsibility for yourself.”

“Any chance of me sleeping here?” She ached to stretch out in her own bed. The odds of the slope collapsing tonight seemed minuscule.

“Sorry. No exceptions.”

Rachel itched to argue that this was her property and she had a right to stay, but she’d behave the same way in Bill’s place. A mud- or rockslide could crush people in their sleep; that had happened in several cities ringing Los Angeles. Public-safety personnel had to protect folks from a foolish sense of invulnerability.

“Thanks.” As she parked to one side, she wished she’d bought the biggest SUV on the market instead of this puny little roadster. She could only transport a bare minimum of possessions.

No way was she abandoning the beer, though. Her buddies would never forgive her.

RUSS HUNG HIS JACKET in the closet and tossed his wrinkled shirt and stiff pants into a hamper. Had his co-workers witnessed the usually reserved Dr. McKenzie diving into a pool and rescuing Rachel, they’d have buzzed about it for days. Amazingly the event had scarcely fazed the police officers.

As Russ pulled on a sweater and fresh pair of jeans, he pictured Rachel swooping around the concrete on that ridiculous bicycle. Her fearlessness suited a person who could never predict what might happen during a shift.

His anger about yesterday’s encounter had long since vanished. In fact, he had to admit she’d behaved reasonably under the circumstances.

And he’d enjoyed this afternoon and evening more than any experience in a long while. With her easygoing attitude, she deserved her colleagues’ obvious approval. Being around Rachel meant living in the moment and accepting a refreshing level of frankness.

How different from his own experiences! Russ recognized the barriers he’d erected between himself and almost everyone else. Perhaps as a result, people from the past appeared as blurry shapes—Janine, his parents, even himself at a younger age.

His most clearly defined memory of Janine remained her face when she broke the news about her pregnancy and decision to relinquish the baby. Stressed out, she’d been all sharp edges, from the pointed chin to the narrowed eyes. Besides that, he recalled only random details about his ex-girlfriend: shoulder-length brown hair, quick movements, an eagerness to reach the next step on the career ladder.

Her private emotions and goals remained an enigma. At roughly thirty-three, Janine had surely long since ceased to be the outgoing graduate student he’d met at a party shortly before beginning his internship. By contacting her now, he risked a messy entanglement of child support and recriminations. Diving into a pool to rescue Rachel had been easy by comparison.

Buoyed by her encouragement, Russ went into the kitchen, where the almost medicinal purity of the white walls and oak-accented counters soothed his mood. Sitting at the oak table, he pulled out a pad and pen to prepare for his conversation.

At the head of the list went a request for regular visitation, including the occasional weekend. In return, he’d offer financial aid and a college fund.

Russ set down the pen, disturbed by the legalistic harshness of the black-on-white agenda. This was neither a debate nor a negotiation. Mostly, he had to persuade Janine of how much a relationship with his daughter meant to him.

Initially, he’d experienced only relief about the adoption. That he might later regret the decision hadn’t crossed his mind.

He’d begun to think about her during his residency. Observing the development of babies, toddlers and preschoolers under his care had made him wonder about the well-being of his own child.

In a sense, Russ had watched her grow over the following months as he observed the changes in youngsters about the same age. Lauren became far more than an abstraction as he ticked off the months and the milestones, the first words that mothers reported, the humorous incidents that might parallel Lauren’s, the dawning self-awareness.

After age three, when overt signs of growth yielded to more-subtle mental and emotional gains, Russ had gradually ceased to keep track. But he continued to maintain an album of photographs sent him by appreciative parents.

Now he might finally meet Lauren and, perhaps, become her father for real. Yet their future together might well depend on a single conversation with a woman he hadn’t spoken to in five years.

When Russ fetched a glass of orange juice for his dry mouth, the glass felt damp in his hand. So much at stake. He wished Rachel had stuck around for moral support.

Close to 10:00 p.m. He’d better proceed.

After dialing the number, Russ listened to the rings. Two…three. Then a female voice said, “Yes?”

Although his voice threatened to stick in his throat, he plunged in resolutely. “Janine? Russ McKenzie. I just heard about your parents. I’m so sorry.”

A pause. Warily: “Thanks. What can I do for you?”

“I’m told your parents left you custody of Lauren. I’d like to help…financially, I mean. And to be part of her life.” He forced himself to stop rather than chatter on, and waited tensely.

“She’s five years old, not an infant. We can’t go back and rethink our decision.” A trace of irritation laced her tone.

He marshaled his powers of persuasion. “I’m aware this is unexpected. I have no desire to intervene in your life. Obviously you’ve moved on….”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Janine muttered. “Whatever you have in mind, drop it. You don’t factor into this picture, not one tiny little bit.”

Flat-out rejection. Russ refused to accept it. “I’m sure I’d react the same way if our roles were reversed. All I ask is a chance.”

“I make the decisions regarding Lauren. She’s my responsibility. You’ve been out of the picture for five years and that’s where you’re staying.”

He hung on to his temper. “I accept my share of guilt, if that’s the right word. And I’d have kept my nose out of this except for your parents’ deaths. Now I want to be part of planning her future. Until this happened, you weren’t planning on raising her, right? So it’s not as if I’m intruding into an established relationship.”

“I’m still not planning on raising her,” Janine replied testily.

The declaration caught him by surprise. “What do you mean?” Immediately and painfully, he recognized a possibility he’d overlooked: that another relative intended to step into the picture. An aunt or great-aunt, perhaps, who’d already grown close to Lauren.

“She can’t stay here. I’ve been like an older sister, nothing more. Even though my parents told her I was the birth mother, I’ve never—” Janine broke off to command, away from the phone, “Put that down! It isn’t a toy. Byron will have a fit if you break it!”

In reply, a little voice said, “I’m sorry, Janine.”

Lauren! Russ nearly stopped breathing. If he could, he’d rush to the other end of the line right now.

But who the hell was Byron?

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” his ex-girlfriend snapped.

“I got scared. Please come tell me a story.” The breathy uncertainty twisted his heart.

“In a minute. Go to bed.” Janine sounded angry, although he didn’t understand why. Perhaps the anger was intended for him rather than Lauren.

“Don’t forget.” A rustling noise faded as, Russ presumed, the little girl retreated.

Her distress vibrated through him. He ached to shout, Go comfort her! You’re her mother. Yet he was the last person with any right to criticize.

Janine spoke into the phone again. “Sorry about the interruption. You can see what it’s like here.”

“Who’s Byron?” He tried to pose the question casually.

“My fiancé. Our wedding’s in April,” she said tightly. “And if you think Byron’s thrilled about having a preschooler invade his house…He’s older than I am, by twelve years, to be exact. His kids are grown, and his plans—our plans—don’t include raising a child.”

Russ was so outraged he could hardly respond civilly. What kind of man simply cast out a child because of the inconvenience? But again, he was in no position to criticize. “Is she going to stay with another relative?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m an only child,” Janine answered. “My only cousins live on the East Coast. One’s a single mom with two kids, another cherishes his wild bachelorhood, and there’s a couple I wouldn’t trust with a goldfish.”

“What are the options?”

“I’ve been talking with a lawyer about arranging an adoption. The world’s full of people with empty arms and beautiful homes.” The statement rolled off her tongue as if she’d rehearsed it. Or as if she were quoting someone. Probably, he guessed, the absent Byron.

“She’s a five-year-old, not a newborn.” The prospect of losing his daughter forever tore at his heart. “You may not love her, but you represent continuity. Being handed over to strangers…I can’t help believing that will traumatize her.”

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