Saving Meghan(67)

“Thank you for making time to see me,” Kelly said, her voice melodious as a songbird’s.

A pit opened in Becky’s stomach. If Kelly London was over twenty-eight, then Becky was related to Mary, Queen of Scots. How could the courts have assigned such an inexperienced person to head up this investigation? Becky wanted a do-over. She wanted to call Judge Trainer, tell her a mistake had been made, that they’d sent a law school student instead of a seasoned court investigator to her house. Rather than make that call, Becky invited Kelly inside. She offered her something to drink or eat, but Kelly and her hyper-thin physique declined.

They set up shop at the dining room table, where Kelly had plenty of room to spread out the file folders and notes she carried in her leather bag. Carl and Becky each gave consent to let Kelly record the conversation. Carl was especially accommodating, nodding obsequiously, seemingly smitten with her.

Becky was used to women checking Carl out, but she’d seen the opposite before, too, and had even talked with him about it on occasion. She noticed how he looked Kelly in the eyes longer than was strictly appropriate; saw how his posture straightened, how his arms stayed in a state of perpetual flex. Carl often complained about getting older, so perhaps it was Kelly’s youth that he found attractive. Maybe she reminded him of a time when life was far simpler.

“Let’s start by getting an update on Meghan. What have you heard?”

Carl did most of the talking. He recounted for Kelly’s benefit how the doctors had essentially dragged their deathly ill daughter away from them. He sounded aggrieved, but his anger was directed at White, not Becky. It had been the reverse on the car ride home. Carl was convinced Becky had said or done something to Meghan to make her sick. When Dr. Nash called with news that Meghan’s test results had come back normal—that there was no physical cause for her profound and rapid-onset illness, that the blood work was perfectly fine—Carl’s doubts had found new, stronger footing. There was a fight—another damn fight.

“And we still don’t know what made her so sick?” Kelly asked in a honey-dipped voice. There was no edge to this woman, because the years had yet to hone one. She did not, could not, appreciate Becky’s struggles—she was probably still cruising the bars with her girlfriends.

“There’s been no official diagnosis,” Becky said before Carl could interject his point of view. “But I’m not sure they tested her properly. I haven’t seen any of the labs. Nobody has sent me any reports.”

“Well, that’s because Jill Mendoza would need a court order to release them,” Kelly explained. “That would be her decision to make.” Kelly tossed this out rather thoughtlessly, as if Becky were not fully aware of the guardian ad litem’s power.

“I know it doesn’t look good that we were together when she got sick,” Becky said. “But I’m not intentionally making her sick, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The look Kelly returned made it clear she’d need more than an impassioned plea in order to get Meghan back. “I guess that’s what we’re here to figure out,” said Kelly. “The question is how to prove it.”

“That’s simple,” Becky said emphatically. “She needs to have a muscle biopsy done, and maybe an EMG test—that’s electromyography. It measures the energy in her muscles and nerve cells, or something like that. Dr. Fisher can explain it all better than I can.”

“Dr. Fisher, yes,” Kelly said, glancing at her notes. “I have an appointment to speak with him later today.”

In the cracks of time when her mind drifted away from Meghan, Becky sometimes thought of Zach. She imagined he had been an amazing father, kind and attentive. It made her wonder what sort of husband he’d been to his ex-wife, Stacy was her name, wasn’t it. Most likely he had been kind to her as well, with a big heart, always peppering her with sweet little surprises. It had disappointed Becky how unreceptive Zach was to her coquettish behavior, but she had to try. Bonding over their dead children would dredge up too much pain for them both.

She researched him the way she always did—relying heavily on social media and reports from the mitochondrial community for which he was something of a hero—but found little joy in his life or his past that could be used to ingratiate herself to him. He worked and he grieved, and that was the extent of Dr. Zach Fisher as far as Becky could tell. She figured he was lonely, as she could find no evidence of a girlfriend, wife, or lover. Maybe he was still pining for his ex, or it could be she needed to turn up the charm factor a few ticks higher. She’d do that if she thought it would be of benefit to Meghan—unlike Carl, whom she’d watched flirt aimlessly, with no justifiable goal in mind.

“How do we get this procedure done?” Kelly asked.

“We need Jill Mendoza to authorize it,” Becky said bitterly. “She’s the one in charge.”

“It’s an invasive procedure,” Carl said with evident reservation. “Meghan’s in a fragile state. She has a terrible needle phobia because of all the treatments she’s received.” He turned his attention over to Becky—and no, he did not look at her the way he did Kelly London.

“If I may be very candid,” Kelly said somewhat tentatively, “it sounds to me, Carl, that you doubt your wife.”

Becky perked up. Well, now, she thought. This girl had more fight in her than it would appear.