Chapter Eleven --

 

Doc’s arms were crossed as he sat there, observing my discomfort. Discombobulated by his attention, I rose and got busy collecting the remains of our dinner. He didn’t say anything as I started to clear the table -- he just kept on watching my every move. I was surprised he didn’t get up to help me, but then I realized I was doing just fine on my own. I loaded the dishes into the sink to scrape the food down the disposal and rinse them before putting them into the five-year-old, less-than-efficient dishwasher. Finally, he made his move and his point.

“Why is the idea of dating me such a repellent idea?” he growled from across the room.

“I’m sorry?” I looked up at him from the kitchen sink. He got up out of his chair and took a seat at the counter opposite where I stood. Arms crossed defiantly, determined to have it out with me, he started pushing all my buttons, trying to locate one that would yield to him.

“You were pretty quick to shoot down the idea of us dating. Why? Am I too hideous for you?” That gnome face was set into a grim scowl.

“When did I shoot the idea down?” I asked. “And I’ll point out that you weren’t the one making the comment that we should date, Carole was.”

“So, if I asked you out, you would go?” Why did I feel like a zookeeper who was about to get thrown in with the wild cats? Hungry wild cats. Ravenous, in fact. Wild cats in a cage, ready to tear me to pieces. I had to tread carefully.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Should I?” There was that snarl again.

“We don’t know each other very well,” I countered, trying to figure out how to tame the beast that roared. Doc looked at me like I was the doe in his sights and he was getting ready to spring for the kill.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Doc was angry. There was no escaping that reality. The longer he sat, the more steam seemed to build up in that pressure cooker mind of his.

“You’re asking me to make a decision?” I finished loading the plates in and started on the glasses, dragging my feet as I tried to analyze the situation.

“Which is it?” There was something in his tone that really disturbed me. I thought I heard an ultimatum. And the second I looked up at him, I recognized it in his eyes. There was no turning back.

“Right this minute?” I turned off the faucet.

“Yes. And stop stalling. Make a decision or I’ll make it for you.” For one millisecond, I hesitated. I tried to wrap my brain around the idea of Doc as a lover, not just a friend. Dare I risk it? What if it didn’t work out? There was definitely something about him that I found appealing. He made me feel safe when he was around, like we’d work out any problem that popped up in our way. I was getting used to having him in my life and I liked it. He challenged me in ways no one had before. I felt like I could be myself, warts and all. But at the same time, he was a difficult man. He did not suffer fools easily. He was pricklier than a porcupine. He was argumentative, even cantankerous. But in his own way, Doc was a healer; he wasn’t afraid to cauterize a wound, especially an infected one. In the short time I had been spent with him, I had confronted a very difficult past with new eyes, new insight.

“Time’s up,” he announced, shoving his counter stool back quickly as he stood. “It’s been great knowing you, Cady. Have a nice life.” In six strides he was at the hall closet by the front door.

“Doc, wait!” Panic filled my brain and I hurried after him. He was already pulling on his coat. “Doc, please!”

“What?” he responded gruffly.

“It’s not what you think,” I answered. How did I explain this?

“Oh? I’m not the most hideous creature on the planet?”

“I...I don’t want to lose you as a friend...if it doesn’t work out. You...you get me, Doc. The real me. Not the one I show to the world.” I started crying. Don’t ask me why. I’m not really sure. I’m not normally given to a display of tears. But at that very moment, there was a big ball of pain lodged in my throat, and all I could think of was that if I let him walk out the door without telling him why I hesitated, I would never see him again. And suddenly I knew I couldn’t bear that. “If...if we date and for some reason it doesn’t work out, it would...it would...break my heart.”

For the first time in my life, I admitted my need for a man, my real need. Not for a partner in bed. Not for someone to waltz into my life with flowers and candy. For a man who was as imperfect as the day was long, who cut to the chase because it was the fastest way to get to where he was going. I was filled with doubts, about me, about Doc, about us, but I knew I couldn’t risk losing him.

“Please, Doc.”

He stood there, swamped by his oversized raincoat, those dark-framed glasses perched on his nose. Hardly the epitome of the swashbuckling hero. Hardly a Hollywood heartthrob. I had never wanted a man more.

“So, you’re saying yes?” He just wasn’t going to let it go. He was going to make me say it, commit to it. As I struggled to answer, I knew that. All I had to do was say yes and he would be happy. But if I said yes, what would happen to me? His hand reached for the door in exasperation.

“Yes!” It was out in a short burst of air, draining my lungs so quickly, I gulped for more oxygen as my knees went weak.

“Well, now that we have that established, I’ll say good night, Cady. Pick you up tomorrow, bright and early.” Before I could say a word, he leaned over, kissed me hard on the mouth, and went out the door without another word, leaving me spent on the threshold, wet tears still on my cheeks.

For the first time in several nights, I slept soundly. And when I awoke, my first thought was of Doc. I wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on me. To feel him touching every part of me. Would his lovemaking be as abrupt and rough as his conversations? Would it be a never-ending challenge? He certainly wasn’t the kind of guy to swamp me with gifts or sweep me off my feet with prose. Doc was too straightforward for that. But maybe that was exactly what I needed. I thought back to Stephen. He was the antithesis of Doc, full of flowing conversation about everything under the sun, on the constant prowl for the next great gourmet find, embracing the luxuries of life with real gusto, even when that meant bouncing from bed to bed. Doc was such a measured guy, who inserted himself so totally into the equation that there was no way to ignore his presence. He was what he was and he wasn’t going to apologize for it or beg for the opportunity. That’s what made him so appealing. It was his strength. Stephen couldn’t commit to anything other than himself if his life depended on it. Doc was all about his word as bond. Stephen was the yacht that set sail without a final destination in mind, letting tide and current steer the course. Doc was the rescuing lifeboat that cut through choppy storm waters and aimed for shore with a determination to overcome the odds. Stephen was the nonchalant bon vivant who wanted to experience life’s excitement, who put a lot of time and energy into the act of seduction. The who was less important than the what, the where, the when and the how. Doc was the healer, the shaman who saw through the mask of bravado and went right to the heart of the matter. He wanted what he wanted. It was all about people, but Doc’s standards were pretty high, as were his expectations. Two very different men. Stephen had been a pleasure trip, nothing more. I always knew we would eventually part. I even counted on it. When the party was over, both of us would move on. But Doc was a commitment. He wasn’t afraid to do battle. He wouldn’t try to charm me or win me over with sweet nothings uttered in my ear. He would push and poke and prod me on my way, but he would be there by my side on the entire journey, come hell or high water.

I rolled over, tossing the covers off me as I sat up. My shoulder was still tender, but I was able to raise it higher, high enough that I might, after a hot shower, be able to wear my normal work apparel. I considered the choices in my closet, finally settling on a blue cotton scoop neck top and a pair of blue-and-white paisley stretch jeans. I had just made my bed and laid out my clothes when there was a heavy pounding on my front door. I headed downstairs.

“Morning, sunshine.” It was Doc, overnight case in hand. He gave me a peck on the cheek and snaked past me up the stairs. “I’ll be in the shower.”

With that, I was left in the lurch, so I got busy, making coffee and mixing up a batch of buttermilk pancakes. By the time he was down fifteen minutes later, clean-shaven and ready for work, breakfast was warming in the oven, juice was on the table, and I had read the front section of the newspaper.

“Flapjacks -- my favorite.” Doc helped himself to four, buttered each one, and then doused them all in syrup. He grabbed the sports section and buried his nose in it. He barely noticed that I left the table five minutes later.

The shower did help me relax. I could feel the ache melting away as I stood under the flowing water. My body was still black and blue here and there, but most of the bruises had begun to fade to purple. It was easier to shampoo my hair today.

By quarter of eight, I was dressed. I threw my hair back into a ponytail, added a blue scrunchie, and put on my makeup before heading downstairs. Doc was on the phone.

“Right. Right. Okay then. Sure.” He nodded several times, his expression intense. “Got it. Will do.”

He had already done the washing up. The dishes were in the dishwasher. The griddle was clean and back on the range. The newspaper was stacked into a neat pile on the table. I finished the regional news while I waited.

“You’re going to love this,” he told me as he hung up. “Mimi got a call from her hired hitman, telling her that the cops were onto him, so he couldn’t do the job. But he had a guy who could do it. His buddy, the guy he already had helping out at Cady’s Cakes.”

“You?”

“Explains what I’m doing at the shop, right?” he chuckled. “She’ll buy it because the guy told her he hired me to get information on Daisy’s movements, and since the assault took place in the parking lot, Mimi thinks this is now a done deal. She didn’t even balk at my fee of ten thousand dollars. The only hitch is that she wants it done tomorrow, right after her plane leaves, and she wants it to look like an accident, so no one will suspect her. I’m going to meet her at the train station in Clinton at 1:30.”

“Doc, do you think you’ll be able to get a confession?” The thought of Mimi getting away with attempted murder was more than I could handle. If she was able to blow it all off, what would that do to Carole and the kids? How would Daisy feel, knowing her stepmother wanted her dead? Would she ever feel safe?

I still couldn’t understand how Mimi, a mother of three, could even contemplate killing an innocent girl like Daisy. Doc had a theory about it.

“For some reason, Mimi has it in her head that Daisy stands in her way of achieving a goal. She’s got to get rid of her. You said that Doug wants to change Dylan’s custody.”

“I did.”

“Mind if I just do a quick search?” Doc went over to my computer and woke it up with a swish of the mouse. “Mimi Walchuk. Ah, here she is. Miriam Bithous Walchuk.”

I read over Doc’s shoulder as he scanned through the stories about her. She was clearly pressing forth with her effort to launch a political career. She was recently named as candidate for the State Board of Education. All she needed was the approval of the governor and the state senators and she would have a four-year term. Maryland Today, the regional magazine, did a feature piece on her at home and at work, touting her as an up-and-coming superstar. There were photos of her with the triplets and with Doug, but the reporter also slipped in the references to Carole and the kids, the messy divorce, and how Doug and Mimi had to move to get away from the stink of their affair. There were other articles on her charity work, donations made to charter school programs, and special educational events.

“It looks like she’s throwing a lot of money at her future,” Doc decided. “You would have thought triplets would put a damper on their finances, but Mimi must make a chunk of money.”

“Well, she’s a lawyer. But wait,” I said, reaching over Doc to point at the screen. “Click on that.”

“What, this?” It was an article written four months ago, about how Mimi decided to quit her job as a corporate attorney to concentrate on her three babies, giving up the live-in nanny in favor of a couple of daily helpers.

“If they’re paying for help with the triplets, that’s got to be taking a bite out of the budget. How much can Doug be making as an assistant superintendent?”

We did a search of the salary for Doug’s position, listed in the Maryland educational budget. Not nearly enough to pay for daily assistance with the triplets as well as Doug’s share of child support.

“And Daisy’s off to college shortly,” I pointed out.

“Doug’s paying for three babies, all in diapers, and two kids from his first marriage. And his current wife quits her job and dumps the live-in nanny.” Doc rolled that one around in his head for awhile. “Know what I’m thinking?”

“What?”

“I’m thinking that Mimi’s been spreading the wealth around to all her pet projects and there’s not enough left in the pot to send Daisy to college.”

“But there’s a college fund, Doc. That was part of the custody agreement. Doug and Carole would each contribute to it.”

“That was before Mimi quit her job, right? Before she gave up that corporate salary. How much can she be bringing in as a town solicitor? She would have been better off staying at her job and keeping the nanny.”

“But if she did that, Doc, she’d come off looking like a calculating politician, and people don’t like that much ambition in their educators.”

“True. You said Doug wants to change the custody.”

“Yes, he wants Dylan to live with him.”

“Maybe he can’t afford all the child support payments.”