Saving Meghan(105)

“Meghan thinks you’re in love. Are you?”

“No,” Carl said, but in a way that could not have sounded convincing even to him.

“Who is she?”

“She’s nobody,” Carl said. He took a single step toward Becky while she took one in reverse.

“Who?”

Carl dragged a hand through his thick hair, nervous and agitated. “A girl in the office,” he said.

“A girl or a woman?” Becky asked. Meghan was probably right—Angi spelled with an i was a trendy, young person’s name.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know that you demean everyone, including yourself.”

“I swear to you, Becky, it meant nothing. It was nothing.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better? That you’d throw away twenty years of marriage for something that meant nothing?”

“It was just … just something that happened, that got out of control. You have to believe me. But it’s over now. I know I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Done what? Fuck your coworker or hit your daughter?”

Carl looked away. “Neither,” he said.

“Get out,” Becky told him.

She was surprised to see that Carl looked surprised. What did he think she’d do? Go back to her hotel so as not to inconvenience him?

“You heard me,” Becky said. “You disgust me. Get out. Get out now!”

“Becky, please, you’re being—”

Becky picked up her cell phone. “Get out, or I’ll call the police.” Becky showed him the phone like she was leveling a gun to his chest. “I’ll call the police and tell them that you hit me.”

Carl scoffed. “Oh, because making up stories comes easy to you, doesn’t it?”

“And hitting comes easy to you,” she said. “Go. We can make arrangements to get your things later. You’ll be hearing from my attorney—Andrea Leers, by the way, whom I am not going to fire.”

Carl pursed his lips and hesitated before striding up to Becky. He came to within striking distance, but Becky held her ground, fighting the urge to flinch. It felt good to show no fear, no emotion whatsoever.

“I may have screwed a coworker, but you screwed up our daughter something good,” he said with menace. “Just because you believe something doesn’t make it true. And I will do everything in my power to make sure you can never harm her again.”

“Get out!” Becky screamed. Her shrill voice sounded foreign to her ears. “Get out now!”

Carl stormed away.

Becky stayed in the kitchen. Her fingers gripped the counter as she listened for the sounds of his departure, so familiar that they normally went unnoticed: the garage door rising, the crunch of wheels backing up, engine noise growing fainter as the fast patter of her heart quickened.

Becky got a spoon and carried the thermos from the granite counter over to the kitchen table. She unscrewed the lid, unleashing the aromatic scent of chicken soup. She figured something warm might help ease the cold dread whirling through her.

She took a few tentative sips of soup, then, closing her eyes, tried to forget what Carl had said. But she could not forget. She was going to jail. She was going to lose custody of Meghan. All of that seemed inevitable now. But a seemingly unanswerable question troubled her the most: Was her daughter sick, or was she the one making Meghan sick? Had she created an illness out of nothing? Had Meghan bought into her delusion?

Those were the questions dancing around in Becky’s head when the doorbell rang. She hurried to the front door, expecting to confront a determined reporter. She opened the door with anger in her eyes, which did not go away when she saw who it was standing on her front step.

Dr. Zach Fisher.





CHAPTER 51





ZACH


Zach had heard from a nurse at White that Becky Gerard had come to the hospital, gone up to the BHU to visit Meghan, and then left with Carl. He knew Carl had paid her bail—that was all over the news—so it was a gamble going to her Concord home. It was also a gamble to try to make amends. But Zach felt as though he had nothing more to lose.

The moment Becky opened the door, he sensed he’d made a grave mistake. Anger leaped off her like an electrical discharge. She tried to slam the door shut, but Zach got his foot in the way.

“Please, Becky … please just hear me out.”

“Why should I?” Her blue eyes smoldered.

“Because I’m the only one who’s ever believed you.”

Becky kept her hand on the door. Zach was unsure if she’d open it or try to kick his foot away. To his surprise and relief, she opened the door. Zach went inside, trying not to let his jaw hit the floor. His studio apartment was the equivalent of an upstairs closet in this house.

“Nice place,” Zach said, noting how his voice carried in the cavernous home.

“It’s got a lot more room than I need,” Becky answered coolly.

Zach followed Becky into the kitchen, where again he tried not to gawk. Pediatrics was a calling, but never a path to riches.

“Do you want something to drink?” she asked.

“Water would be fine.”

Becky retrieved two glasses from a cherrywood kitchen cabinet, filled them with water from the sink faucet. She handed one glass to Zach, and the other she set on the kitchen table, next to an open thermos.