Chapter 3
Patch
My phone wakes me from a dead sleep. My first thought is that it’s a call from my practice’s after-hours answering service. Rolling over in bed, I grope for my phone on the bedside table. My mind is already racing with possibilities. I hope Jake hasn’t taken a turn for the worse.
When I look at the phone, I see it’s not the after-hours service. It’s my mother. I jolt to a sitting position and answer her call.
“You’re calling early. Is everything alright?”
Her voice is more serious than usual. “I need you to come home. Right now.”
I’m sitting up in bed trying to focus on the conversation at hand. “Tell me what’s going on?”
“Just come home. We have a situation here and we need your help.” Before I can press her for more information, she hangs up.
My mother never talks like that, with an edge of controlled panic to her voice.
I jump into action. I take the shortest shower humanly possible and pick through one of my drawers, pulling out something presentable to wear.
If my folks are having an emergency, there’s no telling where I might end up today.
I’m out the door in under five minutes and take a shortcut to their house.
I try to keep my cool, but my mind is working through dozens of crisis scenarios and how I should handle them.
If something has happened to my dad then surely, she would have said something.
That’s what the rational part of my brain is telling me, but by the time I arrive and pull my Harley into their driveway I fully expect to find one of them in a medical crisis.
What I don’t expect to see is my parents in a state of controlled distress and the daughter of my mom’s best friend sitting at their breakfast table looking sick to her stomach.
Beth’s mother died a few months ago. I’ve not seen her in years, I only knew about Mrs. Jefferies dying because my mom mentioned it in passing. But something about Beth catches my notice. It’s in her expression. I know she’s grieving, but this is something else.
I try to bring down the anxiety with an icebreaker. “The doctor’s in the house. Tell me where it hurts.”
Her eyes fly up to mine and for a brief second, she’s amused. Then she glances away, looking distressed again and I kick myself for my flippant attitude.
My mother frowns at me, but my old man is the one who speaks up. “So, after all these years of being the most serious son in the known universe, you’ve decided to get a sense of humor.”
I pull out a kitchen chair, drop down into it and deadpan back, “It’s called having a bedside manner when doctors do it.”
My mother speaks up as she loads my plate with pancakes and pushes it across the table. “I’m sure they taught you that in medical school. And as fascinating as that is, we’ve called you here for another reason.”
I dump syrup on my pancakes, suddenly ravenous, and take a gigantic bite. “Do you know that when you’re hungry food tastes a hundred times better than it actually does?”
My mom flashes me a frown and before she can get worked up, I explain, “That means your normally delicious pancakes taste like the nectar of the gods this morning.”
She smiles, but then her expression turns serious. “I like this new personality trait of yours, but we need to talk about Beth.”
“Is this another attempt to set me up? You ambush me with breakfast and a pretty woman,” I joke.
But when I look up instead of smiles, I see my mom and dad looking serious. Beth is looking at her plate, her eyes steadfastly refusing to meet mine.
What the hell?
I point to Beth with my fork and make a tight swirling motion. “Look, I appreciate that you’re both trying to look out for me. But if this is why you dragged me out of bed at the crack of dawn today, I need you to know it is not happening.”
Beth’s mouth falls open, but before she can say anything, my mother interjects. “And just why not? Beth is exactly the kind of woman you need in your life.”
I cut my mother off, tossing my fork down onto my plate. “I told you already, I can sort out my own love life.”
My old man cuts to the chase. “She’s in danger of being trafficked. You want that on your conscience?”
I glance from him to my mother and back again.
I’ve gotten pretty used to my mom’s attempts to set me up with eligible women, but even for her, this is totally out of character.
For a moment I wonder if I’m actually having one of those surreal dreams, but I glance up and see Beth’s eyes on me.
She doesn’t have the expectant look my mom’s usual wife offerings have, instead she looks like a lamb brought to the slaughter.
Feeling my stomach sink, I cut off another bite of pancake and stuff it into my mouth.
When I swallow, I tell them, “You’ve got the time it takes me to eat this pile of pancakes to tell me what this is all about.
After that, I’ve gotta go. My practice is booked solid today. ”
I look over at Beth. She’s just sitting there looking humiliated.
Truth be told, I haven’t talked to her in the last year or so.
I don’t know her very well, but she’s always been hovering in my orbit because our mothers were best friends.
I grudgingly admit to myself that she grew up beautiful.
But it’s the kind of beauty that can sometimes draw the wrong kind of notice.
My dad said something about her being trafficked, I mean, I know it goes on.
But not in small-town America. Beth still hasn’t said a word, she’s staring down at her plate, shoving food around with her fork.
“Elizabeth is in real trouble and you’re going to help her.”
I’m not sure I’m going to like this, but I swallow my mouthful and ask my mom, “So what do you want me to do?”
“She needs protection. If Beth had a husband, then—”
“Wait, what?” I interrupt.
“Your father and I thought that if you married her then maybe that would help,” my mom says as she glances at my father, then pats Beth’s hand.
Beth is still sitting there in silence. Her face is bright red, and she’s looking like she’d prefer to be anywhere else in the world right now.
“I’m not marrying her, or any of the others you’ve tried to fix me up with. I need you to start respecting what I’m telling you about meeting someone on my own,” I say.
My father sighs. “She needs your protection, son. Her stepfather has spiraled since her mother’s death. He’s drinking himself to death and has decided trafficking her would be a good way to settle a debt he’s created with some shady person.”
I shoot Beth a questioning look. “Is this true?”
She nods.
“You expect me to believe this?” I ask, convinced that my mom has gone too far in her attempts to find me a wife.
My mom tucks a loose strand of hair behind Beth’s ear. “You didn’t see her last night. She was terrified. You know what her stepfather is like. Remember I told you that I thought he’d been beating Linda? She denied it, but that man is no good.”
Beth shifts in her seat and finally speaks, “I thought you were going to give me a job or maybe a place to stay for a bit. This is the first I’ve heard of marriage. I would never expect that of you. I’m sorry, I don’t want to be a bother. Maybe I should just do what I planned to do and head to LA.”
My father chimes in once again. “She’s vulnerable and has no place else to go. We need you to step up and be the man she needs right now.”
I glance at Beth again. She’s sitting there with her shoulders hunched and misery etched onto every inch of her face. She’s clearly not putting on an act. Cutting off another bite, I ask the most obvious question in the world. “Why don’t you just call the police and let them handle it?”
“I’ve got no evidence.” Beth answers. “I heard him discussing it on the phone. It would just be my word against his. I don’t know who he owes money to or how much. No police officer is going to take my report seriously. I’ve got nobody to turn to, but that doesn’t make me your problem.”
My mother lifts her chin. “Since we can’t call the police, that leaves me handling it the only way I know how.
She needs a husband who can protect her.
You’re not only a doctor. Everybody in town knows the Savage Legion takes care of their own.
If she were your wife, all her other problems would simply go away.
Then the two of you could decide what you want to do after that. ”
Her words slam through my brain. I shake my head. “How many times have you told me that marriage is forever, a sacred union between husband and wife? Now, you want to rope me into a fake marriage. Were you lying when you said marriage was forever, or are you just a hypocrite?”
My old man begins rising from his chair. “Don’t you dare talk to your mother that way.”
She grabs his arm and pulls him back down into the seat. “Neither was a lie. Normally, I would say marriage is a holy sacrament and once taken it’s forever. But what if you just go to the courthouse?”
I tilt my head because what she’s suggesting makes sense. “You mean get married just on paper and leave the church out of it? That’s very modern thinking for a woman who believes everything Father Michael had to say.”
She spreads both hands out in a gesture of exasperation. “What’s the other choice here? You’re both Catholic but you haven’t been to church in years. Is this really such a hardship for you?”
My father lowers his voice. “Though if you changed your mind, I’m sure Father Michael would probably welcome you both back into the fold.”
He’s not lying about that, but we both know what he’s suggesting is manipulative. I ask, “So if we’re just getting married on paper to protect her, what difference does it make if Father Michael approves or not?”
“Then you’ll marry her?” my mother asks with a hopefulness that makes my chest hurt.
“I agree that this is a good idea, but she needs someone closer to her own age.”