Duby's Doctor Read online

  So, the day of the pink sweater had been a day of laughter and teasing, sharing silly opinions and outrageous observations, and receiving (and giving) honest compliments. It had been, in fact, Duby’s offhand praise of the sweater that had resulted in Carinne’s purchase of, and lasting preference for, pink angora.

  Carinne often put on the favorite sweater for a cozy evening of reading on her sitting room floor, near the gas fireplace. She read with her legs crossed Indian style, her book in her lap, head on one hand, elbow on a knee, and screen of long hair guarding her precarious privacy.

  That is how she was reading when someone knocked at her bedroom door, opened it, and entered without waiting for a response. Heavy footsteps pounded through the bedroom and into her sitting room. Kyle Averell’s shadow covered her as he loomed over her bowed head.

  “You’re not dressed,” her father said.

  “I already told Rico,” she answered, looking up. “I can’t go. I think I’m coming down with something.”

  Averell knelt and placed a hand on her forehead. He let his hand slip across her hair, gently, and down to her shoulder. “You’ve been ‘coming down with something’ for months, sweetheart. Still depressed about school?”

  Carinne leaned into him, hopefully. “Can’t Trish go in my place tonight, Daddy? Please?”

  “Sh-h-h-h, now,” he soothed. “Trish is an employee, sweetie. She’s not the beautiful young lady I’ve been bragging about to His Excellency. Truthfully, I don’t think he believes half of what I’ve said, even though I’ve yet to mention a goodly number of your talents and virtues.”

  She leaned back to look at Averell. “What have you told him?”

  Averell stroked her shoulder and allowed pride to color his voice. “That you are pure and sparkling like a clear mountain brook, more graceful than the sleekest swan, prettier than a hundred movie starlets, and smarter than all His Excellency’s generals.”

  Carinne hugged him. “Oh, Daddy, you didn’t.”

  “Oh, Daddy, I did. And I wanted him to get to know you better while he’s in the country this time, to prove I wasn’t lying. But, not if you’re feeling unwell.”

  Then the tone of his voice darkened just enough to quicken Carinne’s heart rate.

  “Maybe I should call Doctor Heinzman to come over and take a look at you, eh?”

  “No! No, I don’t want to see Doctor Heinzman, please.” She disciplined herself to keep all fear out of her voice. “If it’s really important to you, I’ll come. I’m feeling better now.”

  Averell set her away from him and moved to leave, pleased with his work.

  “That’s good,” he said. “Now, you get yourself together and be prepared to entertain His Excellency. I’ll see you downstairs in a little while.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  Averell blew her a kiss and left the room.

  Outside in the corridor, Rico was waiting when Averell stepped out and closed Carinne’s bedroom door.

  “Well?” Rico said.

  “She’ll be along in a minute. And she will please him.”

  “That part should be easy. All she’d have to do is take off her clothes.”

  “Not tonight,” Averell said, without alarm. “All in good time, Rico. I will say whom, and I will say when. This is a bargain we can only make once. We want to be sure and use it to our best advantage.”

  Averell left Rico waiting outside Carinne’s door and went downstairs to prepare for the evening.

  CHAPTER 9 – ANIMALS

  At St. Luke’s Daycare it was late afternoon. Parents were picking up the after-school-care children at the classroom door. Jean waved goodbye as Debbie left with her mother.

  The door closed and only Jean remained. Sister Elizabeth approached him.

  “Jean, Doctor Oberon called and she is going to be a little late today. Could you help me with something, please, while we’re waiting for her?”

  “Oui, madame.”

  “In here, please.” She led Jean into another room and turned on the light. She turned to face him. “Jean, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Fergie has died.”

  Sadness transformed his innocent face. “Fergie! But I saw her this afternoon. She was fine.”

  Sister Elizabeth nodded and placed a soft hand on his forearm. “Sometimes death is unexpected; sudden. But there it is. Fergie is gone. Will you help me move the aquarium to the storeroom?”

  Jean moved to the far end of the room, where a filter gurgled on a 30-gallon aquarium. A fishy form floated belly-up on the surface. Jean looked upon the tank with great concern.

  “Poor Fergie,” he said, gazing on the floating corpse. “Sister Elizabeth, isn’t there anything we can do?”

  “I suppose you and I could give her a funeral.”

  Moments later, Sister Elizabeth and Jean stood solemnly on either side of a toilet bowl in one of St. Luke’s bathrooms. Sister Elizabeth’s Bible was open to the passage she had been reading.

  “Is there anything you’d like to add, Jean?”

  “She was a terrific swimmer.”

  “Amen.” Sister Elizabeth pressed the lever and sounds of flushing reverberated off the tiled walls.

  That night in Mitchell’s condominium, Jean was reading Fun With Dick and Jane aloud to Mitchell as they sat on opposite ends of her sofa.

  “See Spot run,” he read. “Run, Spot, run. Look, Dick. Look at Spot run. Look, look, look.” He looked up at her. “Do you ever do that, Michel?”

  “Do what?”

  “Look. Do you ever just ... just look.”

  “Oh, like, stop and smell the roses?”

  “I mean, really see things. And people. Fishes.”

  “I guess nobody ever does enough of that,” Mitchell said. She watched him turn his attention back toward the book, but he didn’t continue reading. “Johnny?”

  “Oui.”

  “Did something ... happen? Today?”

  Jean looked up at her again, and the sadness in his face alarmed her.

  “Fergie died,” he said. “This afternoon I saw her. She was fine. But tonight she is dead. And, it’s already hard to remember exactly how she looked. I never knew it was so important. Looking.”

  “My gosh, that’s horrible! She died at the Daycare? Today?” Mitchell tensed, ready to cross the distance between them and comfort him if necessary. “Geez, what happened?”

  “We had a funeral and flushed her,” Jean said. “Rest in peace, Fergie Fish.” He shook his head and looked somber.

  Then, he smiled and winked at Mitchell.

  From the other end of the sofa, Mitchell pelted him with throw pillows. “Don’t you ever do that to me again!” she shrieked. “Never do that again! You could give a person a heart attack. ‘Fergie died today.’ Geez. Go to your room!”

  Jean got up to leave, but not before tossing a pillow back at Mitchell and laughing.

  Mitchell tried very hard not to laugh.

  An hour later, when Mitchell entered his room with milk and cookies, Jean was painting. A watercolor of a girl, the same nameless girl Mitchell had seen before, was taking shape on the canvas. Pastel springtime colors suffused the image: a girl sitting in a flower garden, surrounded by a half-dozen or more white rabbits. The girl’s face was obscured as she nuzzled the bunny cradled in her arms. Bunnies played in the tall grass and among the flowers. Still others climbed toward her lap.

  As often happened, Mitchell felt and suppressed a jolt of heartache, pondering the likely reasons for Jean’s obsession with the girl in the paintings. The girl he insisted he had seen only in his sleep.

  “You really should talk to someone about your dreams, Johnny.”

  “I don’t remember them.”

  She set the milk and cookies on his dresser and sat down on his bed, watching him stand before his easel, skillfully blending and shaping the watercolors on the canvas.

  “Head injuries are weird things,” she said. “Parts of the brain don’t function like they used to – or maybe they
do, but some connection is broken. Look at your exercises, your drawings, some other things. It’s like your body remembers things your mind can’t. Like when you knew what an apple looked like, but you didn’t know the word any more. Like this girl in the dreams. You know what she looks like.”

  “Oui.”

  “But, who is she? What is her name?”

  Jean looked at Mitchell, at the painting, at the other paintings around the room – all the same girl in different poses. He looked back to Mitchell, straining for some word, but nothing came out.

  Neither Jean nor Mitchell knew Carinne Averell, but multiple portraits of her hung in their house.

  Carinne sat among the blooming grasses near the bunny hutch and fondled the newest litter of three baby rabbits. Their fur was as soft as the dandelion puffballs that swayed in the breeze. She could hold all three of the tiny creatures in her cupped hands and lift them for nuzzling their twitchy noses or kissing their pink-lined little ears.

  Kyle Averell approached across the lawn from the mansion, bringing with him the Latin politician for whom the latest gala had been carefully orchestrated.

  Carinne did not hear their steps in the soft grass. She started when her father’s voice boomed from behind her.

  “His Excellency is leaving, Carinne. I know you want to pay your respects.”

  Carinne gently released the baby bunnies and took an adult rabbit in her arms. Cradling the warm, trusting animal, she stood, turned, and extended a polite handshake to the dignitary.

  Averell firmly pressed a hand against her back, forcing her closer to the other man. Carinne nearly dropped the bunny, but her precise smile never faltered.

  “Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” Averell said, and his tone was all the hint she needed. Carinne took another step forward and placed a sweet, quick, kiss on His Excellency’s cheek.

  The man captured her hand in his, clearly wishing for more of her affection.

  “Excellency, I wish you safe journey,” Carinne said with a demure nod suggestive of an old-fashioned curtsy.

  The Latin man leered into her face, running his fingers along her chin and down her neck.

  “Formality must not stand between us, mi vida, yes? When I return in a few short months, you will be mine.”

  He smiled in a way he probably thought was charming. He pointed toward the rabbit hutch with his chin. “And if you like animals, I will have my men build a menagerie just for you. Birds and monkeys, even a jaguar if you wish.”

  Carinne allowed a speck of hope to widen her smile an eighth of an inch. “Can I have rabbits?”

  “But of course. I myself often have rabbits. The chef makes an especially tasty pie with wine sauce and scallions. Ah. Heavenly.” He smiled at Averell and missed Carinne’s split-second of horror.

  Before Carinne could spoil the moment, her father ushered His Excellency away from her and toward Rico, standing a few feet away.

  “Excellency,” said Averell, “your plane is waiting, and your security chief will be growing anxious. Rico will see you to the airfield. The sooner you get home, the sooner you will come back to us, eh?”

  “Quite right,” His Excellency replied, and followed Rico toward the waiting limousine. “Hasta la vista, Señor Averell.” He waved to Carinne, whose careful smile had been restored. “Adios, mi amor.”

  Averell moved to place an arm about Carinne’s shoulders, and together they presented a perfect tableau of familial love for the departing guest’s benefit. As soon as the limousine was out of sight, Averell turned on his daughter.

  “Really, Carinne, your sense of priorities is positively astounding! The man announces he is going to make you a queen, and all you care about is some stupid rabbits!”

  “Daddy, he’s going to make me a prisoner, just another expensive souvenir from the United States. At least if I can have a pet, something to love—”

  “The fool already promised to get you all the animals you want!”

  “He wants to take wild animals and make them prisoners, too. Can’t you see what he is? Can’t you see how he thinks?” She stepped close to her father’s chest and put one arm around his waist.

  “I want you to be proud of me, Daddy,” she said, leaning her head against his lapel. “And I’ve tried to be nice to him because I know how important he is to your business. But, Daddy, in the name of mercy, can’t you see I can never marry that man?” She nearly said, I don’t even remember his name, but she feared that would reveal the extent of her inattention to past meetings with the man.

  Averell lifted the rabbit from her and placed his other arm tenderly around her. He lifted the rabbit to eye level. “Sweetheart, you are no better equipped to face the cruel world alone than this bunny is. That’s why your daddy tries to take such good care of you.”

  He stepped back from Carinne and stooped, releasing the rabbit into the grass. The rabbit ran hell-for-leather toward the farthest fence.

  “Lazaro!” Averell shouted to the security guard patrolling the fence with his dog.

  Averell pointed to the rabbit sprinting across the grass.

  Lazaro loosed the dog with a command.

  Carinne screamed.

  The rabbit was history.

  Averell stepped behind Carinne. She had turned to watch when she heard Lazaro command the dog, and now she was frozen, unable to turn away from the horror of the dog dismembering his bloody kill. Averell grasped her shoulders firmly and forced her to face him.

  “You must leave these important decisions to me, Sweetness. Things like marriage and business and the establishment of priorities in life. Believe me, Carinne, I know what’s best for you.”

  Carinne discarded any pretense of polite acquiescence. Anger overcame fear, and it showed in every line of her body. “Just like you knew what was best for Mother?” she gritted out.

  “Exactly,” said Averell, whose voice was sweet enough to terrify anyone who knew him well. “But, she didn’t understand that I knew best. And, she got sick. And, sadly, she’s no longer with us. You’re very smart, though. You do understand, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I think I do. I finally do.” She accused him as much as agreed with him, without showing any of the fear that would overwhelm her later, when she was alone.

  “Excellent,” Averell said. He placed an arm around her shoulders and escorted her with gentle, inescapable pressure toward the house.

  CHAPTER 10 – KAVANAUGH

  Sister Elizabeth sat at her desk, listening patiently to her visitor. Through the window behind her, the preschoolers could be seen at recess on the playground, under the watchful eye of a junior nun.

  “I can’t believe a real daddy would do that,” her visitor was saying. “Maybe he’s not her real daddy.”

  “I’m sorry to say, Jean, that real daddies and real mommies do it every day,” Sister Elizabeth told him. “Usually it means that when they were children, somebody did it to them.”

  Jean rose from the visitor chair and paced the office, frustrated, saying, “But he’s so big, and she’s so little! Doesn’t he know you don’t hit girls? It’s a rule!”

  Sister Elizabeth smiled. “I’m sure he does. But sometimes life gets to be too complicated. People get angry at things they can’t control, and they explode.”

  To Jean’s literal way of thinking, this was a terrible shock. “They explode!” He mimed a volcano erupting.

  “A figure of speech,” the nun said. “It means they lose control.”

  Jean took this in and nodded his understanding. He went to stand at the window, looking out at the playground. Debbie was among the children playing there, and she wore a clean, white, plaster cast on her right arm.

  “Before, it was just bruises,” Jean reflected. “This is much worse. It’s getting worse. What can we do?”

  “We have reported our suspicions to the Department of Children and Families, as indeed we are required by law to do. But, we have no proof, Jean. And, even if we did, if we called the police, they might ta
ke Debbie out of the home, maybe take her father to jail. That could only make the whole family even more unhappy. We want Debbie to be safe from her daddy, but I’m sure Debbie doesn’t want to be separated from her mom.”

  “Debbie’s daddy should be punished.”

  “How, Jean? Should I make him run laps around the school or clean the blackboards?” She waited until he shook his head. “Exactly. So, I – we – shall keep praying that the Lord will somehow get through to him. Change his heart. Give him more self-control, less anger.”

  “Or someone bigger to hit,” said Jean. “Or someone to hit back.”

  Sister Elizabeth’s look said she probably would not be praying for that.

  Several hours later, darkness had fallen when Mitchell’s car pulled into the drop-off zone and stopped. No other cars remained in the lot. Lights glowed inside the building, but no one came out. She waited a few minutes, then she honked the horn. When no activity issued from the building, she parked, turned off the car, and went in.

  Mitchell felt no alarm. She often worked long hours, and on those days Jean was glad to stay longer after school to help the sisters with maintenance projects. Sometimes he stayed late to finish a painting, and the sisters phoned Mitchell to ask that she delay picking him up.

  A frisson of something resembling alarm trickled down Mitchell’s spine, however, when Sister Elizabeth met her at the door, wiping her hands on a bloody towel.

  “He’ll be right out,” the nun said. “He’s all right. We were just cleaning him up before you ... well, actually, it looked worse than it is. The bleeding seems to have stopped—”

  “Bleeding?”

  “—and the paramedics said—”

  “Paramedics?”

  “—they don’t think Mister Kavanaugh’s ribs are broken, just bruised—”

  “Who?”

  “—and the police said, since nobody seems to want to press charges, – ”

  “Police?”