Clinical Trials and Death Page 2

  And I wouldn’t blame him even a little bit.

  “Have you spoken to Robert?” I blinked at Lloyd when he asked that question, surprised by it, taken off guard. My hateful cousin, former sheriff and pain-in-my-butt Robert Carlisle had managed to escape prosecution for any role he might have played in both the Patterson affair and the O’Shea debacle, by giving over evidence of value to the state’s attorney’s office. Meanwhile, the other half of Rosebert was on her way to prison for life, at least, so I could be thankful for that blessing. Honestly, despite Reading’s bad way at the moment, my town was finally free and for the first time in a very long time, so blessings were counted daily.

  But why was Lloyd thinking about Robert at a time like this? “I saw him once since the O’Sheas were arrested,” I said, trying not to think about the warehouse raid, about my cousin’s shift in character, my long-held dislike (and downright hatred at times, I admit it, because I’m a bigger person than him, thanks) challenged by unexpected compassion. Robert had seemed deflated, his normal cock-of-the-walk strutting arrogance lost, that horrible 70s pornstache of his overgrown, shoulders hunched, potbelly reduced for the first time in years, spindly legs and round center making him appear almost spider-like, ungainly. Made me wonder why he even stayed in Reading, lingering despite himself, perhaps, a shadow of the (barely a) man he was.

  “Fee,” Lloyd said then, leaning toward me, intensity in his eyes, “please don’t take this the wrong way, but your cousin is a ticking timebomb and if something isn’t done, I fear he might do something we’ll all regret.”

  ***

  Chapter Three

  I was, naturally, about to ask him just what he was talking about when the door opened, and Crew walked in. My husband took one look at my guest and grinned, sweeping the horn-rimmed glasses from his face, his accountant’s hunch disappearing as Crew Turner took over from Calvin Everett. He strode forward with one hand out, Lloyd standing to shake it, though the pair ended up in a bearhug when the doctor tugged on my husband and drew him closer.

  “Thank you,” our friend said. “This means the world to me.”

  “John had to fight me over the assignment,” Crew said, nodding to me. I didn’t know that, hadn’t heard the pair talked it over. “He wanted to come, but since you signed Fee up in the fertility clinic, I argued her husband was a better option than her dad.” Um, yeah. Wait, what?

  “What is that about anyway?” I poked Lloyd as the doctor sat again, Crew perching next to him, the twinkle back in my friend’s eyes as my Dr. Aberstock—had been, was and always would be, so take that, Martin Poserstock—shrugged and winked at my husband.

  “I doubt you have anything to worry about,” Lloyd said as he patted my knee with his familiar and kind smile back to a hundred watts and making me feel better. “I thought it a good cover story, considering your recent marriage. And, what an excellent opportunity for the two of you, really. Since you’re here anyway and I may have dragged you across two states for a wild goose chase.” Lloyd’s energy ebbed again, his mind clearly on Bernice before he brightened once more. “Since your mother and father could only have you, I thought we’d take care of two issues with one visit.” I almost grunted in surprise. Hang on, what did he just say? I sat back with a vague feeling of selfishness and guilt rising. I’d never asked Mom and Dad why I was an only child. I’d always just assumed they’d found perfection (snort) and decided to stop at me. The idea my mother and father couldn’t have more kids never crossed my mind. And had me worrying all over again despite Lloyd’s assurances.

  Meanwhile, he was clearly assessing my mental state, because he leaned in and tweaked the lobe of my ear, just like he used to do when I was little and he was my GP, not Reading’s ME.

  “Young lady,” he said, his old self fully surfacing at last, the man I adored my whole life smiling at me in that jovial good humor that was irresistible and banished all concerns, “it was either that or pretend you had cancer. I assume you had no desire to shave that glorious red hair of yours?” My hands instantly went to my head (vanity, thy name was Fiona Fleming) while Crew let out a little bark of laughter even as he blanched. I wasn’t the only one attached to my thick, auburn locks, was I? Lloyd let out his own chuckle. “Exactly,” he said. “This clinic focuses on reproduction and death. I have no choice in the matter right now, and neither does my dear Bernice. I couldn’t bear to put you in that position too. So, for you, my dear Fee, Crew, my boy, I chose life.”

  Was he trying to make me bawl like a baby? I wasn’t about to argue with him or his logic, however.

  “Why don’t you tell us why we’re really here.” Leave it to Crew to help us focus. “We got the gist from your call, but we’d love more details.”

  Lloyd had sobered as well, though the kind and lovely man I knew remained, that haunted shell of Dr. Aberstock gone with our arrival, thank goodness. I planned to do everything in my power to ensure he never came back.

  “Martin is an old friend of Ian Linder,” Lloyd said, hands clasping in his lap, cheeks pink though his earlier anxiety seemed to have disappeared or had at least been softened enough he wasn’t so visibly choked by it. “It’s the reason Bernice was accepted into the trial.” It couldn’t have been easy, since trusting his brother meant putting his wife’s life in that same man’s hands. “I thought everything was fine. Bernice has been doing very well.” He sounded optimistic briefly, but his face fell as he went on. “Until an FDA investigator showed up.”

  “It could be just a routine check-in?” I knew better than to try to reassure him but couldn’t help myself. Still, my research told me such inquiries and visits were common when it came to ongoing trials. The FDA was careful around tests like this one, to make sure the public was protected. And in cases of cancer trials, caution was even more encouraged because the potential for harm—and healing—was so high.

  Lloyd nodded, though his troubled expression said there was more to it. “She’s been here for a week,” he said. “That’s not normal, Fee. And no one will explain why she’s here.”

  Yeah, that didn’t sound good. “You said Bernice is improving?” Unlike the previous topic, this one had an excellent ring to it.

  My friend hesitated but sighed as he nodded one more time, almost like he fought agreement. “She seems to be,” he said. “In fact, truth be told, she’s the best she’s been in months.” Desperate hope surfaced before retreating. “But it could simply be a rally, for all I know. I’ve been cut out of the process, and I don’t like it one bit.”

  “You’re a doctor,” I said.

  “But not on the research team,” he told me. “And the drug trial is proprietary, so I’m not privy to any information aside from what a layperson would know about the treatment.”

  “Is this a blind trial, Lloyd?” Crew frowned as his agile mind worked over the case, an excellent question.

  “No,” our doctor friend said, “not in this instance. They are in the final stage of testing. Which means everyone on the trial is receiving the drug, so if it is working, it’s not a placebo effect, at least.” He ran both hands through his white hair, in need of a haircut for the first time since I’d known him, his normally tidy and trimmed appearance somewhat abandoned in the face of what he endured. “I want to believe,” he said then, barely above a whisper. “And maybe I’m wasting all of our time. Maybe she really is getting better, and the drug is working. I just need to know one way or the other and no one here will tell me anything.” His frustration came through again, both hands balling into round fists on his thighs. “I thought I was prepared already. To lose her.” My heart broke for him as he squared his shoulders. “Then this hope surfaced, hope I hadn’t felt since her diagnosis.” I couldn’t even imagine and glanced up at Crew, saw his face tighten, knew he had to be thinking about his first wife. Michele had died of breast cancer, and he’d lost her mother, Carol, a year and a half ago. My darling husband was well aware of the weight and repercussions of this horrible disease, more than I was. Lloyd looked up in a rush, patting Crew’s knee as his hands unclenched. “I’m sorry, my boy,” he said. “I know this is hitting close to home.”

  So kind of him to think of Crew in that moment of hurt. It was Lloyd Aberstock down to the ground and a big part of the reason we all adored him. My husband shook his head, blue eyes lifting to me as he spoke.

  “I’ve lost to cancer,” he said, “but I found love again, Lloyd. Life has to go on.”

  Our doctor friend hitched his breath, nodded. “I need to know one way or the other,” he said. “That’s all. I just need to know.”

  Fair enough. “We’ll do everything we can,” I said, fighting more tears, wanting to hug him even as he stood, offering me his hand while he helped me to my feet in the most gentlemanly way.

  “I know you will,” Lloyd said, hugging me before shaking Crew’s hand. “Don’t worry about your cover story. I’ll tell Bernice you’re here on a case and to pretend that we’re old friends from elsewhere.”

  That helped a lot. “We’ll dig in,” I said, following him to the door, Crew at my side. “And keep you posted.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” Crew left with Lloyd, catching my gaze on the way through the door, the old sorrow I used to see in him back for a moment. The sorrow he carried with him the first few years I knew him, the hurt that was Michelle. And then, his eyes lit up and he smiled, and I knew everything was going to be all right, no matter what.

  Because he was right. Life went on and we were lucky enough to have found love in it.

  I barely had time to process my emotions when the door opened again, and a perky blonde whirlwind entered. She stopped abruptly at the sight of us, eyes widening in surprise, O forming from her perfect pink lips. But before
I could recover and ask her what she was doing barging in like she had, she beamed at me from her barely five-foot height, hazel gaze sparkling when she extended her hands in a rush of enthusiasm.

  “You’re here!” She grasped me in a firm grip. “I’m so excited you made it safe and sound.” Well, that was sweet of her, right? “Mrs. Everett,” she gushed, “I’m Brooke Poplar, one of the nurses in charge of your care. Let’s get you pregnant!”

  ***

  Chapter Four

  Now, I was well aware she couldn’t possibly have meant it the way it came out, but I still giggled like a teenage girl at the implication while Brooke blushed and laughed herself, eyes widening as she snorted along with me before we both regained our composure.

  “You’re adorable,” she said. “And you know what I meant.”

  “I do,” I said, grinning. “Still funny, though.”

  “I’m glad you can laugh about it.” She offered one hand, her sweet expression kind and compassionate, flush of amusement fading from her cheeks. “I promise, we’ll do everything we can to make sure you have all the information you need on how to proceed.” She giggled again, though not as freely. “I’m sure you and your husband have that part handled.” I winked and she laughed one more time. “When biology doesn’t behave the way you want it to, even when you’re not behaving,” her sly smile had me blushing this time, “that’s where we come in.” She squeezed my fingers before releasing me, beaming expression warming the room as much as the sun coming in the tall windows. “I’m on the floor the next few days, so if you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate, okay?”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Brooke,” I said, that twinge of guilt over lying about my real reason for being there waking once more. I squashed it firmly, since for all I knew I really did need their services (heaven forbid) and chose to focus on the case. “I have a friend here,” I said then. “She and her husband recommended the clinic to my husband and me. Bernice Aberstock?”

  Brooke’s eyes told me what her words didn’t, flicker of worry there enough to concern me. “Dear Bernice and Lloyd,” she said, sounding chipper enough as she fixed me with a more professional smile than before. “Of course, you’ll want to visit.”

  “Is that all right?” I nodded toward the door. “Henry said the cancer wing was on the other side of the doors in the hall.”

  Brooke took my hand again and led me out into the main corridor, pointing toward the very doors I’d mentioned. “Through there, the third on your right. Bernice is such a darling, I know she’ll be delighted to see an old friend.”

  “How is she?” I blurted the question before I could stop myself, even as the young nurse tilted her head, with a firm finger shake in my direction though she continued to smile.

  “I’m not allowed to divulge personal information,” she said. Then leaned in with that sneaky grin again. “That doesn’t mean you can’t go ask her yourself, though, does it?”

  I liked her way of thinking. “Thank you,” I said.

  “I’ll see you in a little bit for your first appointment,” Brooke said, waving as she strode off on her short legs at a surprisingly rapid speed, vanishing around the corner far faster than I could have managed. Leaving me to turn and push through the swinging door toward the reason I was here, my own feet feeling leaden as they plodded in slow motion over the polished floor.

  Of course, I wanted to see Bernice. I hadn’t spoken to her in months, Lloyd’s protectiveness and obvious goal to find a cure for her illness meaning they’d both been absent from Reading since she’d been diagnosed. I adored both her and her husband so much, but.

  I’ll admit it. I was afraid to see her. What if I couldn’t keep it together? There was an excellent chance she looked like, well, death. I’d never faced that before. Sure, I’d seen dead bodies aplenty, but someone on the verge of death? Someone I loved? That got me started on worrying about Mom and Dad. They weren’t getting any younger, were they? And Petunia, my darling pug, safely at home with my parents and being pampered, no doubt. She’d been slowing down in recent months, had been through so much, the old dear. I hadn’t been close to Grandmother Iris when she passed, so I’d never really lost anyone near and dear to me before. How would I handle it when my dog—my daily companion and overlady—left me?

  How would I survive without her?

  I stopped abruptly, eyes burning, the world wavering behind a layer of moisture that threatened to spill over and take me down. What the actual…? Something was wrong with me, clearly, that I’d gone from normal woman to standing on the brink basket case in barely a few feet of corridor. Even in that state, I realized I couldn’t just lose my crap in the quiet of the hallway. I needed somewhere to pull myself together from this weird, unnerving and uncomfortable surge of feeling that tried to knock me off my feet.

  As I spun to go back to my room, my gaze passed a door, the silver label marking it as storage. Without further thought, the sound of someone approaching driving me to hide rather than share, I ducked through the doorway and into the dark and silent room beyond.

  There was just enough light coming through at the threshold I navigated without running into anything, the space filled with rows of metal racks stacked with linens and supplies. Heart pounding, barely able to breathe, I strode all the way to the back and down one side, tucking myself into the back corner with the racks hiding my presence before I bent in half, hands on my knees, and let out a few silent sobs through my open mouth.

  I hadn’t expected to feel this emotional. I hadn’t even seen Bernice yet, after all. Anticipation had always been my downfall, making my mind turn and twist into horrible possibilities that could have been easily relieved by a confrontation with truth. But this? This was a new realm and level of holy hecking feck that had me floored.

  Had I finally lost it? No, come on now, Fee. Deep breath, woman, and stop leaping to worst-case scenarios already. Logic was my friend in times like this, so I called up what little I had access to and forced my emotions to submit to the rational.

  I suppose it was a mix of worry for her, new worry I hadn’t considered about my own future as a mother (or not) tied to the recent fight with Crew that bundled together into the kind of perfect feeling storm that had me hunched over in a storage closet, panting near-hysterical tears into the silent space while the world went on without me.

  Look, I’m a redhead. I get we’re emotional creatures, prone to temper and torment. But this was the first time in a long time I’d crumpled, and it scared me, really scared me. What if Bernice died? What if Lloyd left Reading forever? What if Petunia passed when I was here, and she died without me there? What if Crew and I fought again, and again, and couldn’t get past fighting?

  What if I couldn’t have kids?

  Oh. Okay. Yeah. There it was, then. The real root of it after all.

  Argh.

  Understanding brought clarity and calm, both hands rising to wipe at the tears, my shoulders relaxing, body aquiver with extra adrenaline while I shook my head at myself. Ridiculous, and yet, obviously a necessary moment of panic I’d been suppressing. Because it wasn’t that I’d been trying to get pregnant or anything, right?

  But I hadn’t exactly not been trying if you know what I mean. If it happened, great, if not… I guess I was facing if not, wasn’t I? Far more powerfully and out of the blue than I’d planned. No wonder it hit me so hard.

  Oh, Fee.

  At least now that I’d admitted to myself there might be a problem after all, I could do something about it. Funny how we convince ourselves nothing is wrong while letting fear and anxiety fester inside unchecked and unnoticed until something like my present breakdown moment happened. Fortunately for me, I got to lose it alone in a dark closet where I could both dissolve into a puddle of goo and collect myself while admitting my real concern without any public displays of overly emotional hysteria. So that was a win, right?