Mary sank into one of the chairs at the breakfast table. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “I just don’t know.”
“Well, I know,” Ted replied darkly. “Tonight, after Dad and I get home from work, Kelly and I are going to have a little chat. I’m going to tell her what the rules are around here, and she’s going to by-God abide by them! And if she doesn’t—”
“And if she doesn’t, what?” Mary broke in, her eyes moistening with tears. “She’s never obeyed any of our rules, Ted! What makes you think she’s going to start now?” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed quietly. “It was supposed to be different here,” she said. “That’s why we came. But it’s not different. We’re the same, and Kelly’s the same, and I can’t stand it. I just can’t stand it!”
Ted and Carl gazed helplessly at Mary as she sobbed.
Finally Carl spoke into the silence. “Michael Sheffield’s not a bad kid,” he said. “He’s kind of a loner, but he’s never been any trouble to anyone. If Kelly’s hanging out with him, there’s nothing to worry about.”
Mary, hearing the words, wiped her eyes and managed to look up. “Is that what you think, Carl?” she asked.
Her father-in-law nodded.
“Well, I wish I thought you were right. But right now I’m not so sure. Just now I think that maybe Craig Sheffield should be worrying. After all, it’s his son who’s hanging around with my daughter.”
Carl’s expression darkened. “You don’t mean that, Mary,” he said. “That’s a terrible thing to say about your little girl ”
Mary nodded miserably. “But she’s not my little girl, is she?” she asked brokenly. “She’s a stranger who lives with me, and I hardly know her. And it’s always been that way. Always.”
• • •
Two hours later, as he and Ted were inspecting one of the houses in Villejeune Links Estates, Carl paused halfway up the temporary stairs to the second floor and found himself panting. Ted, already on the landing above, looked down at him. “Dad? You okay?”
Carl took a deep breath, nodded, and continued on upward. But his legs felt heavy, and by the time he reached the top, he needed to sit down. “Getting old,” he said. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll be okay.”
Ted eyed his father carefully. Carl’s face had gone pale, and wrinkles Ted had never noticed before were etched around his eyes. “You don’t look so good,” he said. “I think maybe we’d better get you over to the clinic. Does your chest hurt?”
Carl glanced up at his son and chuckled hollowly. “Thinkin’ maybe your old man’s going to have a heart attack?” he asked. “Well, don’t get your hopes up. I don’t have any plans for dying.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Ted said quickly. “But at your age—”
“At my age, I’m in better shape than most men twenty years younger’n me!” He struggled to his feet, but his legs still felt rubbery. “Huh,” he muttered. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go see Warren Phillips.”
Allowing Ted to steady him, Carl made his way carefully down the stairs. As he came to the bottom and started toward the front door, his vision began to blur slightly, and suddenly he knew what was wrong. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
Ted, still holding the older man’s arm, tightened his grip. “What is it?” he asked.
“Nothin’,” Carl replied. “I just need to go see Phillips today, that’s all. I’m feeling puny ‘cause I’m due for a shot.”
Ted said nothing until they were in the truck and heading toward Villejeune. He glanced over at his father. Though Carl was sitting straight up in the seat next to him, he looked even worse than he had a few minutes before. “What’s wrong, Dad?” he asked.
Carl’s head swung around, and his eyes, suddenly looking dull, fixed vacantly on Ted. “Huh?” he grunted.
“You said you need a shot, Dad,” Ted went on, trying not to betray the concern he was feeling. “What shot? What’s wrong with you?”
Carl made a dismissive gesture. “It’s nothing. Just a vitamin shot Warren Phillips gives me.”
Ted frowned. Whatever was wrong with his father, it didn’t look like a vitamin shot would take care of it. Indeed, Carl seemed to be getting worse by the minute. His breath was rasping now, and he was beginning to cough every few seconds. Ted pressed his foot on the accelerator, and the truck shot forward. When they came to the clinic, Ted ignored the parking lot, pulling up to the emergency entrance and hurrying around to help his father out of the truck.
“I can make it,” Carl complained, brushing Ted’s hand away as he struggled to get out of the truck. He felt his limbs stiffening, as if his arthritis were flaring up again. Clenching his jaw against the pain, he walked into the clinic, Ted beside him.
Jolene Mayhew looked up from her computer terminal, a welcoming smile on her face, which faded into a look of concern when she saw Carl Anderson. “Carl! What’s— My goodness, let me call Dr. Phillips.” She picked up the phone, punched two digits into it, then spoke rapidly. A moment later she hurried out of her cubicle and took Carl’s left arm. “Let’s get you right in.”
Carl irritably shook the girl off. “Leave me alone, will you?” he rasped, his voice querulous. “I’m not dying, young lady.”
Jolene fixed him with an exaggerated glare. “Well, you couldn’t tell by me,” she said. “You look gray as a ghost. If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you were having a heart attack.”
“Well, I’m not!” Carl snapped, moving toward the corridor that led to Warren Phillips’s office. “Ted, you stay here. I don’t need you fussing while I’m talking to Warren.”
Ted, ignoring his father’s words, started after the older man, but Jolene stopped him. “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she said. “I’ve seen your pa like this before, and he’ll bite your head right off if you cross him. Just sit down. He won’t be but a few minutes.”
Ted looked at the nurse curiously. “This has happened before?” he asked.
Jolene shrugged. “Not often. Your pa’s real good about making his appointments.”
Ted felt a twinge of foreboding. “How often does he come?”
Jolene shrugged. “Every other week, regular as clockwork. And don’t you worry. Dr. P will fix him right up.”
Ted sank into a chair, his mind spinning. What was going on? His father had never been sick — in fact, as far as Ted knew, he was in perfect health. But if he was taking shots every other week …
He sat numbly, waiting for his father — or the doctor — to reappear.
Fifteen minutes later Carl walked back into the waiting room, smiling now, his color back to normal. “See?” he teased Jolene Mayhew. “Fit as a fiddle. Even had Warren give me an EKG, just to prove to you that I was right. Probably cost me fifty bucks, but what the hell?” He turned to Ted. “Come on, boy. Let’s not waste the day sittin’ around here waiting for people to die. There’s work to be done.”
Ted stared at his father, stunned. It was as if the incident had never happened. Carl’s breathing was back to normal, there was a spring to his step again, and he was once more the man he’d been early this morning.
As they left the hospital and returned to the truck, Ted had the uncomfortable certainty that he knew why. “Dad,” he said as he started back to the construction site, “about those shots …”
Carl chuckled. “I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupted. “You think Warren Phillips is a Dr. Feelgood, and your old man’s hooked on drugs, right? Well, forget it — he’s not!”
Ted pursed his lips. “Whose word do you have on that?” he asked. “Seems to me that if Phillips was shooting you up with something, he’d be the last person to tell you.”
Carl laughed out loud. “Well, I guess we know whose son you are, anyway! First time he gave me one of those shots, way back when my arthritis first hit, I got suspicious. Never thought I’d say this, but I felt too damned good. So the next time, soon as I was done with him, I hied myself up to Orlando and got a blood test. Didn’t name any names — just told them I’d been given a shot and wanted to know what was in it.” He chuckled softly. “Figured it was amphetamines, at least, and probably a whole lot else. Well, score one for Warren Phillips. All they found was cortisone, along with some traces of hormones.”
Ted stared at him incredulously. “Hormones?” he repeated. “What kind?”
“How the hell would I know?” Carl boomed. “I don’t know shit from hormones, and don’t want to. Probably some kind of sheep’s balls or something, like that guy in Switzerland used to use on the movie stars. All I know is, it keeps me feeling good and looking good, and the doctor in Orlando said there was nothing wrong with it. And there
