The Second Silence (13 page)

Oh, Nana, what remedy do you have for me now?
Noelle thought in despair, her heart aching. What was the cure for having stupidly allowed your child to be snatched from under your nose? For a lawyer’s sound advice not taken?

A short while later, seated in Dr Reynolds’s small shabby waiting room, Noelle began to wonder if maybe she should have taken her grandmother’s advice as well and stayed at home. Was it her imagination or was everyone staring at her? Yvonne Lynch wasn’t even making an attempt to disguise it. And Mona Dixon, pregnant with her second child … they’d gone to school together, but from the way Mona was acting you’d have thought they barely knew each other. When Mona’s two-year-old wandered over in her direction, Noelle was certain she hadn’t imagined the abruptness with which he was snatched up—as if her former classmate thought he’d be harmed in some way.

Mona and Yvonne weren’t the only ones. Yesterday at the Shop ’n’ Save, Noelle had bumped into a neighbor from down the street. The whole time they were chatting, Karen Blaylock kept sneaking glances at Noelle’s laden shopping cart—as if she expected to see a six-pack of beer or a bottle of wine tucked in among the groceries. It didn’t matter that the people whispering behind her back had absolutely no proof of anything. In a town the size of Burns Lake, you were guilty until proved innocent.

Noelle suddenly felt too warm. The waiting room, though air-conditioned, might have been a hundred degrees. She was reaching for one of the well-thumbed magazines on the coffee table with which to fan herself when she stopped short. Sylvia Hochman, seated directly across from her, was eyeing her narrowly. Round, no-necked Sylvia, who reminded her of a fat old tabby, with stiff hairs that poked like whiskers from the moles on her face. As proprietress of the town’s one and only gift shop, appropriately named The Basket Case, she’d be quick to fan the flames by whispering that Noelle Van Doren had been sweating like a prisoner on the way to her hanging.

At that moment the door to the examining room swung open and Hank Reynolds stepped out into the waiting room, looking a bit disheveled in creased chinos and rumpled doctor’s coat, but wearing a smile a colicky baby couldn’t resist. Even Sylvia’s sour old face lit up.

Noelle judged the doctor to be in his midthirties. Medium height, with light brown hair just beginning to recede at the hairline. A slight overbite kept him from being classically handsome, but his face was so kind—the gentle mouth that curled up in permanent bemusement, the intelligent brown eyes that crinkled in a sunburst of fine lines when he smiled—that was all you noticed.

Noelle had a sudden keen desire to go into the next room and hop up onto the examining table. She remembered how when she was a child, Dr Matthews would hold his stethoscope pressed to her chest, a large spotted hand resting on her shoulder. She longed for it to be that simple now, for the cure to everything that was wrong with her life to be as uncomplicated as a scribbled prescription, a soupçon of advice, a cherry sucker from the jar on the counter.

Hank glanced about the room, his gaze falling on Noelle’s grandmother. ‘Mrs Quinn, I believe you’re next.’

But Nana shook her head, remaining firmly seated. ‘Thank you, Doctor, but I’d appreciate it if you’d see to my granddaughter first.’

His gaze shifted to Noelle. ‘What seems to be the problem?’

Noelle held out her foot, which was beginning to purple where her sandal’s straps had cut deep into her swollen flesh. ‘It’s probably just sprained. I don’t think anything’s broken.’ She was conscious of every eye in the room being fixed on her and even more horrified to realize she was on the verge of tears.

‘Let’s have a look.’ Hank stepped forward to help her to her feet and held her elbow as she limped through the doorway.

The examining room was exactly as Noelle remembered it. The same brown leather table with a fat roll of paper attached at the foot. The same gray metal filing cabinets and salmon-colored Formica. It even smelled as it had in Dr Matthews’s day: of rubbing alcohol and cherry suckers.

‘I would have phoned ahead for an appointment,’ she apologized, scooting onto the table. ‘But since I was on my way over anyway, I—’

She broke off, wincing as he unbuckled her sandal and gingerly probed her ankle. Hank was seated on a low stool with his head bent over her foot, and she stared down at his neck, which was pale, except for the line of sunburned flesh along the collar of his light blue oxford shirt. His brown hair was shaggy in back, she noted, the downy triangle at the nape making him seem oddly vulnerable somehow.

When he lifted his head, his brown eyes were twinkling. ‘Which do you want first, the good news or the bad?’

‘If the bad news is a broken bone, believe me it wouldn’t be the worst I’ve gotten today,’ Noelle assured him grimly.

Hank didn’t press for details. ‘In that case maybe things are looking up. I could take an X ray to be on the safe side, but I’m ninety-nine percent certain you’re suffering from nothing worse than a bad sprain.’ His smile broadened. ‘The bad news is that whatever you kicked is probably beyond repair.’

Thinking of the ghastly scene with Robert, she felt her stomach pitch. At the same time, Hank’s smile was so warmly sympathetic she found herself smiling back ruefully. ‘It was a door,’ she confessed. ‘Unfortunately it’s still in one piece.’

‘Lucky for whoever was on the other side.’

She eyed him warily. ‘I didn’t know you practiced psychiatry as well.’

‘I don’t. Just common sense.’

Noelle became uncomfortably aware of how she must look. On her way out of the house she hadn’t done much more than run a comb through her hair and splash water over her tear-stained face. Had Hank chalked her up as unstable, someone crazy enough to kick a door in?
The patient, a thirty-year-old white female, appeared to be suffering from a psychotic episode, possibly drug- or alcohol-related.

But no, that wasn’t the case. Hank was regarding her with genuine interest, even a hint of admiration. Taking a leap of faith, she confided, ‘It was my husband. We’re in the process of getting divorced.’

‘It’s not amicable, I take it.’

‘You mean this?’ She raised her foot. I’m not out to get him if that’s what you mean. Actually it’s the other way around.’ She heaved a shaky sigh. ‘It’s a long story.’

‘Divorce is tough, I know. You have a little girl, right? Sorry, I know that hurts.’ Hank grimaced in sympathy as he eased her sandal off. ‘How’s she taking it?’

Noelle hesitated, debating how much to reveal. ‘It’s too soon to say. She’s only five.’

‘During my residency I saw a lot of kids that age.’ He spoke gently, seeming to understand her need for reassurance. ‘It’s surprising how resilient they can be.’

She seized at the opportunity to switch subjects. ‘Where did you do your residency?’

‘Columbia Presbyterian.’

Noelle was astonished. Such a prestigious hospital! Before she knew it, she was blurting, ‘Forgive me for asking, but how did you end up in Burns Lake?’

She immediately regretted her presumptuousness. Besides its being rude, it was none of her business.

But Hank didn’t appear offended. He merely smiled like someone used to such questions. Up close, she saw that his eyes weren’t so much brown as hazel, the color of strong brewed tea. In the glare of the overhead fluorescents, his thick lashes cast faint shadows over the lightly freckled ridges of his cheekbones. He looked as if he spent a fair bit of time outdoors and she found herself wondering about that, too, about the sorts of activities a busy family practitioner without time even for a haircut might enjoy. Fishing? No, he didn’t look the type. Jogging maybe.

He’s certainly in good enough shape.
She blushed at the direction her thoughts had taken.

‘The best way to answer that is to ask what I was doing on Park Avenue to begin with.’ Hank gave a rueful laugh. ‘I gave it nine years, nine not-so-terrible years, but it just wasn’t me. I grew up in a small town in Kansas, a town I spent my whole life trying to escape from. And now I’ve come full circle. How’s that for a cliché?’

‘I guess that makes two of us,’ she confided. ‘I was born and raised right here in Burns Lake, moved to the Big Apple with my mom when I was ten. Don’t get me wrong. In a lot of ways it was a wonderful experience. But the whole time I couldn’t wait to move back.’ Noelle was surprised to find herself smiling. ‘Any children of your own?’

He shook his head. ‘My wife didn’t want any.’

Noelle felt absurdly disappointed to learn he was married.

‘Motherhood isn’t for everyone,’ she offered weakly.

‘We’d planned on a family, but after we’d been married a few years, she had a change of heart. Actually it’s one of the reasons we got divorced.’ This time his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Kathryn’s a professor of women’s studies at NYU. Needless to say, she’s very political. At some point she became convinced that children were little more than devices by which men make chattels of their wives.’

‘What an awful way of looking at it.’ So he was divorced. Not that it should matter, but the knowledge left her lighter somehow.

‘My sentiments exactly.’ Hank rose and walked over to the counter, where he began rummaging in a drawer. ‘This won’t take long,’ he said. ‘I’m just going to wrap that foot in an Ace bandage. Keep an ice pack on it. The swelling should go down by tomorrow. If it doesn’t, I want you to come back and see me. In the meantime’—he paused, his eyes crinkling—‘don’t go kicking down any more doors.’

Noelle fought the impulse to confide in him. The thought of being just one more patient crying on his shoulder was more than she could bear. Forcing a smile, she replied simply, ‘I won’t.’

With her ankle snugly bound, she slid off the table, careful to rest most of her weight on her good foot. She was limping toward the door when Hank reached into a supply closet and pulled out a stout wooden cane. He handed it to her with a wink. ‘Here, you might need this. It’s good for braining ex-husbands, too.’

By the time she and Nana were on their way home, the throbbing in Noelle’s foot had miraculously subsided. She wasn’t sure how much of it had to do with the Ace bandage or Hank himself. She replayed their conversation in her mind. Was he just being nice, a doctor with a chatty bedside manner, or had his interest been genuine? She could certainly use a friend. Especially now. But if he wanted to be more than that she’d be forced to tell him that right now there was no way on earth—

She was turning onto Larkspur Lane when all thoughts of Hank Reynolds were pushed from her mind by the sight of her mother’s dark blue Lexus parked in the driveway.

Mary, dressed in slim-fitting jeans and a white cotton blouse, was struggled to lift a cardboard carton from her trunk. At the sound of Noelle’s car she straightened and turned around.

Noelle clambered out to greet her, wincing as she stepped down too hard on her bandaged foot. ‘Mom, what are you doing here? What’s all
this?’
She gestured toward the luggage and cartons piled on the lawn.

She must have sounded less than welcoming because her mother stiffened slightly. ‘What does it look like? I’m moving in.’ She gave an airy laugh that wouldn’t have fooled a child. ‘Not for good, of course. Just for the duration.’

Noelle was too stunned to reply. Her mother cared enough to put her career on hold? Swallow her differences with Nana? It was incredible. Amazing. Almost—

—
too good to be true.
Her exhilaration was replaced by a rush of familiar doubts. She had no doubt Mary meant well, but how long would it last? Until the first crisis at the office? Until a client squawked loud enough to send her running? An awkward silence fell. When Noelle finally spoke, her words came out sounding flat and insincere. ‘Wow. That’s great.’

Mary’s smile was equally forced. ‘My computer is already set up in the guest room. I can work from here, take trips into the city when I need to.’

Noelle nodded toward the cartons. ‘I’d help you carry in the rest of your stuff, but I seem to have sprained my ankle.’

Mary looked down at Noelle’s foot. Her expression of forced cheer was instantly replaced by one of genuine dismay. ‘Oh, honey, how in heaven’s name—are you sure nothing’s broken?’

‘I’m sure.’ Noelle’s tone was curt.

She glanced over at her grandmother. If Nana knew anything about this sudden descent out of the blue, she showed no sign of it. Nana stepped forward to greet her daughter with a peck on the cheek. ‘You look as if you could use a nice cold glass of tea. How was the traffic?’

‘Not too bad.’ Mary seemed to relax a bit. ‘And, yes, I’d love an iced tea.’

When her mother had finished carrying everything upstairs, Noelle hobbled up to join her, leaning heavily on the banister. Mary had taken the bedroom across from hers, the one that had been Mary’s growing up. Noelle sank onto the bed, watching in silence as she arranged her clothes in the closet with an almost military orderliness: dresses at one end, slacks in the middle, blouses arranged according to hue. After several minutes the brittle tension became too much.

‘I’m sorry if I didn’t seem more excited to see you,’ she blurted. ‘You caught me by surprise is all. When you said you wanted to help, I never expected—’ Noelle stopped, afraid of saying what was really on her mind. It could be days, even weeks before all this was resolved. Could she really count on her mother to stick around until then?

‘I’m here. That’s all that matters, right?’ Mary pried open a carton and lifted a shoebox from inside, dark blue, with the unmistakable Polo logo. A leather suitcase lay open on the bed beside Noelle, smelling faintly of suntan lotion. A reminder of Mary’s recent vacation to St Maarten.

Noelle glanced around the room at the chintz curtains and matching quilted spread, the built-in shelves lined with back issues of
Reader’s Digest
and
National Geographic.
On the dressing table an assortment of fancy cologne bottles was displayed on a mirrored tray, one for every Christmas that Aunt Trish hadn’t been able to come up with something more imaginative.