Natural Causes

CHAPTER 11

THE PARK, A SANDY OASIS WITH A FEW SLATTED BENCHES and some well-worn playground equipment, was located several blocks from the MCB. Sarah signed out to one of the other residents and walked there with the woman who had once very nearly become her stepdaughter. But this Annalee Ettinger-slender, self-assured, and surprisingly worldly-bore little resemblance to the shy, rotund girl Sarah had once tried so hard to befriend. From the first tentative minutes of their conversation, Sarah felt a stronger connection between them than at any time when Peter was part of the equation.

"I wrote you from med school," Sarah said, as they settled on one of the benches. "Two or three times. You never answered."

Annalee nodded.

"I know," she said. "About a year or so after you left, I was looking for something in my father's desk, and I found one of your letters. It didn't have an envelope or a return address. I made a copy of it and kept that. But I never confronted my father about it. I was a self-centered little tub back then, and pretty wrapped up in myself and my problems. Perhaps I should have pushed things and tried to get back to you. But whatever your reasons, you had left us. I guess it really didn't matter enough to me at that time to pursue it."

Her voice was deep and melodic, her nails perfectly manicured and polished a high-gloss crimson. If as a teen she was often silly, self-absorbed, and immature, she now projected a maturity well beyond her years.

"I'm sorry for leaving the way I did," Sarah said. "I was so angry. Still, I can't imagine Peter doing something like keeping my letters from you."

"He was very hurt and angry when you walked out on us. So was I for that matter-at least until I found that letter." She slid a pack of Virginia Slims from her purse. Her gold and silver bangles-eight or ten on each wrist-jangled as she tapped one out. "I don't suppose you smoke."

"Not for years."

"Good. Good for you." She lit up and inhaled deeply through her nose and mouth.

"I tried to explain the reasons I left in one of my letters to you," Sarah said. "God, I shudder to think what version of the story you must have gotten."

"My father's a marvelous man, but he does have his faults. Holding grudges is one of them. Did you know that he got married a year or so after you left? A revenge marriage if ever there was one. She was quite a looker in a WASPy kind of way, and from a big-bucks family that probably came over on the Mayflower. I'm surprised he didn't send you an invitation."

"Very funny. Listen, Annalee, things happen the way they're supposed to happen. I really believe that. Ninety-five percent of what your father was I loved. But the other five percent involved big-league stuff that I just couldn't see having to live with for the rest of my life. And I didn't believe there was much chance that those particular things would change. I think it's terrific that he got married."

"Well, I don't believe he shares your opinion, Doc. The marriage only lasted a year."

"Oh, I see. Did you get along with her?"

"Considering that I was probably the first black woman Carole had ever been near who didn't work for her, I guess we did okay. I didn't see her much, really. A short time after you left, Peter shipped me off to boarding school. That was another reason I never got around to trying to find you. I was so messed up. Sending me off to school may have been the right idea, but his timing was lousy. I think when he brought me home with him from Mali, he expected I'd become someone other than what I was turning out to be-a college professor or concert musician or something. Anyhow, being away at Miss Whatzername's the way I was, it seemed to me like one minute ol' Carole was there, the next, poof."

"And when did he close the institute?"

"Not too long after all that. We lived in Boston for a while longer, then his Xanadu thing actually began to happen."

"Ah, Peter's dream," Sarah said. "I knew he'd pull it off someday."

Xanadu-the first of what would eventually be a chain of upscale residential communities centered about the principles of living a long and healthy life through diet, exercise, seasonal routines, stress management, and holistic medicine. Peter had spoken about his ambitious concept the day they first met, and they had spent countless hours discussing and dissecting it during their years together.

At the time of their breakup, he had begun looking for available land and investors and even had a glass-enclosed architect's model of the prototype complex prominently displayed in the institute's conference hall. The design of the homes, he insisted, would be strictly controlled. All construction would be in accordance with the ancient laws of health and harmony subscribed to by the Indian Ayurvedic healers.

"It's beginning to happen in a pretty big way now," Annalee said. "But the whole thing was touch and go for a while. At one point, Peter was even talking bankruptcy."

"Well, what happened?"

"That powder happened, that's what."

"Powder?"

"The powder they were talking about at your conference. From what I can tell, it really saved his behind." She laughed exuberantly. "Hey, that's great, now that I think about it. That powder saves Peter's ass and gets rid of mine. What a product."

"I don't understand."

"The Xanadu Ayurvedic Herbal Weight Loss System," she said. "Why, woman, surely you have heard of it."

"Not until today I haven't. I was very confused when they started talking about it at the press conference and everyone in the place seemed to know what was going on except me."

"That's because everyone in the place except you did know what was going on. Most folks in the country for that matter. Why, Peter's been on TV so much lately pushing that ol' system of his, it's a wonder he hasn't been nominated for an Emmy. You don't watch TV?"

"I don't have time."

Annalee stubbed out her cigarette and seconds later lit up another.

"Well," she said, "he does these things called infomercials. They're set up to look like real programs, half an hour long with guest stars and film clips and all-but what they really are is commercials. They run mostly in the off-hours-you know, late nights and Sunday mornings. And damn, are they beginning to bring in some bucks. Peter's got charts all over the wall in his office showing the constant rise in sales. Since he started this campaign just a few months ago, it's been phenomenal. And all of a sudden, the big bad wolf has backed away from the Xanadu door."

"Does the powder actually work?" Sarah asked. "I'd be fascinated to know what herbs are in it."

"Hell, yes, it works," Annalee said. "Peter didn't invent the mixture, though. This Indian doctor, Dr. Singh, did. He's not an M.D., he's an Ayurvedic doctor. I guess you know what that's all about."

"Ayurvedic medicine was being taught in India centuries before Hippocrates or Galen were born. There are some pretty solid reasons why it's survived over all this time."

"Well, Dr. Singh brought his powder to Peter a few years ago and offered him some sort of a partnership, I think. I'm not sure of the details, but I'm sure they included Peter's acting as the spokesperson for the company. Dr. Singh seems very bright, but he isn't exactly the most dynamic, photogenic critter I've ever seen. Have you heard of him?"

"No. No, I haven't."

"I don't know much about him either. Anyhow, seeing as I had only tried one or two hundred different diets without much success, Peter asked me if I wanted to be his guinea pig and try the stuff out before he invested in it. The result?" She rose and spun around to give Sarah a look.

"Bravo. And you don't have trouble staying on your diet?"

"What diet? Why, those of us who are into infomercials know that the Xanadu Ayurvedic Herbal Weight Loss System preaches no dieting, only moderation and avoidance of a few forbidden foods."

"Let's hear it for moderation," Sarah cheered, delighting more every minute in the once-sullen girl.

"Here's the best part," Annalee went on. "In the beginning, when I first started the powder, I tried moderation and I lost weight. After a month or two, just because I am who I am, I tried eating like a piglet. And I still lost weight. That's what really sold Peter. Now isn't that something?"

Sarah rose and hugged her lovingly.

"It is that," she said. She held Annalee by the shoulders and moved her back enough to focus on her face. "Annalee, I always thought you were pretty special and that problems or no problems, you had tremendous potential. I want you to know that I underestimated you. You have really become a wonderful, beautiful person."

"Hey, thanks. You're pretty special yourself. But you left a word out when you were describing me."

"Let's see, wonderful… beautiful"

"And pregnant." Annalee read the shadow that crossed Sarah's face. "And happy," she added quickly. "Very happy. This baby's being born come hell or high water, and if I have my way, you're gonna deliver it."

"Hey, that's great. Thanks for asking me. I'll have the chief of the department be our backup. Annalee, I'm really, really excited for you. Are you sure about the pregnancy?"

"Planned Parenthood did the test. Goodness, but those people are some of the best on earth. They guessed maybe four or five months more, but they couldn't be certain without more tests. My periods have always been screwed up. That's why I waited so long before even considering I might be pregnant."

"Well, congratulations. I'll check you over and maybe even get an ultrasound. Annalee, this is going to be fun."

"I know it will. I was in the middle of deciding who to go and see when I read about you in the papers. Then I heard about the press conference on TV and I said to my boyfriend, 'Taylor, the first hands to touch this baby are going to be Sarah Baldwin's.' "

"Taylor, huh. I like the name. So, give me the low-down. What does he look like? What does he do?"

"Let's see… he's got a face like Denzel Washington, an ass like Wesley Snipes, and he moves like Michael Jordan."

"Lord."

"And he's a musician-a damn good one. Bass, guitar, horns even."

"Rock and roll?"

"Hell no. Jazz. I sang with his group for a while. That's how we met. You see, Dr. Singh's powder kind of backfired on Peter-on me, too, I think. I was in college at U Mass, doing reasonably well as a psych major, but not enjoying it or my miserable social life very much. Then all of a sudden, the woman beneath the flab emerged, and I guess I sort of got, well, out of control, you might say."

"That's understandable."

"I ended up on the West Coast, running with a fast crowd, singing with this group and that, and trying to make it in films. I had some nibbles from a few producers, but more often than not, they were nibbles on my earlobes and breasts. Finally I met Taylor. His last name's West. Right then and there I began to mend my ways. He's on the road a lot, and we aren't exactly rolling in dough. So a few months ago, I took Peter's offer to come home and help him at Xanadu."

"And what does he think about becoming a grandpa?"

"He… um… he doesn't know. He's only now getting to know Taylor. And he still believes I'm going to start school again in January."

Sarah took time to ponder that news.

"I certainly hope you will get your degree at some point," she said finally. "But you know, I'm thinking that you ought to tell him. Give him the benefit of the doubt."

"I'll consider it."

"Well, speaking from a purely biological standpoint, Annalee, pretty soon he's going to start wondering why his fabulous Xanadu Ayurvedic powder has failed in such a specific, low-belly way."

"You do have a point there."

"Thanks. It's good to know I've mastered some of the basics over my years in obstetrics. And you know, as long as you're giving him the benefit of the doubt, I think I'd feel more comfortable if you'd tell him about your seeing me as well. Seven years is long enough for most wounds to heal-even Peter's. Besides, just like your belly, sooner or later, that's going to come out, too."

"If you wish it, it shall be done."

"I wish it. But you should certainly do what feels right to you. It just seems as though if you're living with him, and he's helping to support you-"

"I understand."

"On the other hand, I don't think anything would be served by getting on his case about the vanishing letters from me."

"Ancient history."

"Exactly. God, I'm blabbering on and on. Do you think I could be nervous about dealing with your father after all this time?"

"Let's just say that you better be a damn sight more relaxed when you're delivering our baby." Annalee laughed again. Her smile made her remarkable face even more appealing.

"I'll work on it," Sarah said. "One last thing, though."

"Name it."

"If I'm going to be your obstetrician, and you want to give that kid of yours the best chance to be healthy, those cigarettes have got to go."

The younger woman's almond eyes narrowed.

"Couldn't I find something else to give up instead?" she asked.

Sarah shook her head. "I'm afraid it's a big deal."

"All right, okay. The smokes are history."

"Excellent." Sarah checked the time. "Listen," she said, "I'm due back at the hospital. But if you'll walk me back, I'd like to tell you at least a little bit of my version of what happened-why I left."

"You don't need to."

Sarah slipped her arm inside Annalee's. "I know," she said.

By the time they arrived at the gate to the MCB campus, Annalee, shaking her head sadly, had her arm draped around Sarah's shoulders.

"Nothing you've told me comes as much of a surprise," she said. "He's really not a bad guy, just difficult sometimes. And speaking of surprises, it probably won't surprise you much to know that Henry McAllister is as devoted to Peter as ever. He's been to Xanadu for dinner, and he's designing a big fountain for the front lawn."

"You're right," Sarah said. "I'm not surprised…"

Her voice trailed away. Although she had visited McAllister once in the hospital after his operation, he never indicated that he knew the role she had played in saving his life. And she had chosen not to be the one to tell him. She knew, and that was all that mattered-or at least so she had thought at the time.

"Well, now," Annalee said, quite obviously changing the subject, "I for one and this baby in here for two are gonna have the time of our lives over these next few months. I'm gonna stop smoking, and stop drinking, and stop staying up to all hours, and stop eating Twinkies, and-say, do I have to stop…?"

"No," Sarah said. "No, you can keep doing that right up to almost the end."

"In that case, what you see before you is the start of the perfect pregnancy."

"A textbook case. Listen, as long as you're here, I'll tell you what. Why don't you come by the clinic right now. You can register as an outpatient afterward, and have the routine blood and urine tests done before you go home. I have enough time to do a quick exam just to make sure everything's okay. After that, we'll stop by my locker. I have a supply of the natural prenatal supplement that many of my patients take. You ought to get started on it now. That is, assuming you prefer the organic to the stuff from the drug houses."

"I'm still my father's daughter," Annalee said. "Besides, if you recommend something, I'm doing it. After all, you're the doctor."

• • •

Rosa Suarez placed the last of her clothes into the maple highboy, and then set framed photographs of her husband, Alberto, three daughters, and four grandchildren on the doily-covered bedside table. The bed and breakfast she had chosen from the list supplied by her department was hardly elegant, but it was comfortable enough and within easy walking distance of the Medical Center of Boston.

After nearly twenty-five years on the job and dozens of extended field investigations, the routine of unpacking was as familiar as her robe. But there was something special about this assignment. Long term or short, significant findings or not, this investigation would be her last. She had left her letter of resignation on the section chief's desk and had promised Alberto that this time she meant it.

Now everybody would be happy. Her husband, at seventy nearly a decade older than she, would have some reasonably healthy years to enjoy retirement with her. Her department would be able to bring in some new blood. And more important, they would be able to wash their hands of a colleague who had become something of an embarrassment to them-the old lady who many of them believed had botched a major investigation.

"Mrs. Suarez, there's two packages here for you. Heavy ones," her landlady called out from just outside her door.

"Just sign for them, Mrs. Frumanian. But don't try to lift them. They're books. I'll be down for them in a minute."

Following her assignment to the Boston case, Rosa had spent hours in the library. She set her portfolio on the bed and took out the notes she had made. Diligent preparation and obsessive attention to details. Those had always been her trademark-the keys to what had once been an unbroken string of successes. They had never failed her, not even in San Francisco. And, she vowed, they would not fail her now.

She knew there was nothing her section chief wanted less than to turn this investigation over to her. The BART fiasco had probably cost him a promotion. And since then, he had gone out of his way to keep her shuffling papers, making out bibliographies, and sorting through miles of computer printouts. But at the moment of the call from Boston, she was the only field epidemiologist available. And people were dying.

She changed into the gray Champion sweatsuit her daughters had given her for Christmas and padded down the narrow stairway. Mrs. Frumanian was standing guard over the two boxes, waiting, it was clear, to check on their contents. She was a pleasant, ample woman with a deeply etched face that Rosa found interesting.

"I can manage all right, Mrs. Frumanian, thank you," she said.

"Nonsense, I am twice your size, and you are my guest. If you have books to carry, I have books to carry."

Her dense accent was Eastern European, but Rosa could pinpoint it no closer than that. Frumanian sliced open the boxes with a paring knife she conveniently produced from her apron pocket.

"Hematology… Advanced Computer Programming… Differential Calculus… Coagulation" The older woman read the titles off as she stacked each volume on her arm. Her pronunciation was surprisingly good. "Two of my boys finished college," she said. "They brought home books like this on their vacations all the time, but they never read them."

"Well, I expect to spend a good deal of time reading these, Mrs. Frumanian."

Rosa ushered the woman out the door as gently as she could. Limits had to be set if she was to get work done. She had been given this one chance-this one last chance-to go out a winner. This time she would trust nobody. Nobody at all.