Searching for Cate. Marie Ferrarella
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in no condition to field this latest shock.
Avoiding the young woman’s eyes, Joan grasped at a lie. “I’m afraid that you must have me confused with someone else.”
Then why won’t you look at me? Cate silently demanded. People lied to her all the time, attempting to avoid the consequences of their actions. Part of her job was to see through the lies and get down to the truth.
She saw through Joan’s.
Cate moved closer to the bed. “Are you Joan Cunningham?”
The woman’s breathing became more audible. Like a cornered animal, Cate thought.
“Yes, but—”
Holding up her hand, Cate didn’t let her finish. “And are you formerly Joan Haywood?”
The look of panic in the woman’s eyes increased. “Yes, but—”
Cate pushed on, refusing to allow the woman a chance to regroup. “And did you live in the San Francisco area twenty-eight years ago? Did you know someone named ‘Blue?’”
Joan dug her fingers so deeply into the bedclothes that she was pulling loose not only the white blanket, but the sheets beneath it. Panicked, unable to cope, she cried, “Get out.”
Cate remained where she was. Rather than triumph, she felt anger welling up inside of her. This was the woman who’d given her away. People gave away things they didn’t want, not children.
Her voice was deadly calm, even though her insides were in turmoil. “Well, did you?”
“I said get out!”
The order came out in almost a high-pitched scream. Frantically, Joan searched for the buzzer to summon a nurse, an orderly, someone, anyone, to come and help her. To come and save her.
This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. She was back in her own bed in her own bedroom and this was some nightmare she was having. If she could only scream, Ron would shake her awake and tell her that this was just one of those awful dreams she sometimes had. Dreams of small girls with huge green eyes looking up at her.
It had been a mistake ever to hold that baby, to even look at it. If she hadn’t, she would have been able to sweep this out of her life forever, like the nightmare it was.
But she had held her little girl. Against her mother’s wishes, she had held her baby. Held Bonnie Blue to her breast. And left a piece of her heart wrapped up in those small, curled fingers when the nurse came to take her away.
The woman looking at her had green eyes. Accusing green eyes. Joan shrank back in her bed, still frantically trying to locate the call buzzer that had somehow gotten loose.
“I just need to know that I’m right,” Cate said, struggling to remain calm. To keep from crying because the hurt went down deep, scraping against the bone.
Shaking now, Joan felt as if she was falling completely apart. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m too upset to deal with this—”
“I’d like an answer, please.” It was hard keeping the emotion that choked her out of her voice.
“Get out!” Joan screamed again. Finally finding the buzzer, she clutched it in both hands as she pressed the button frantically. Her entire body was trembling. Any moment, she thought she was going to begin convulsing.
The door flew open.
“What’s going on here?” Christian demanded as he strode into the room. He looked accusingly at the young woman by his patient’s bedside. He’d been right outside, about to go in when he’d heard Joan’s raised voice. Coming in, he recognized the other woman as the one he’d bumped into earlier.
Just who the hell was she and why was she agitating his patient?
Joan looked ready to collapse. “Oh, God, Doctor, please get her out of here,” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t deal with this right now, I just can’t.”
Christian had no idea what was going on, only that his patient was on the verge of hysteria, which didn’t do her present condition any good.
He turned his attention to the blonde. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Mrs. Cunningham obviously doesn’t want you here.”
Cate continued looking at the woman fate and genetics had made her mother. Despite the frustration she felt at the moment, she was still determined to find out all she could about Joan. “I’m sure she’d rather I wasn’t anywhere. She should have thought of that twenty-seven years ago.”
Christian had no idea what was going on, only that he needed to have the blonde leave before Joan became even more agitated. “Don’t make me call Security.”
Cate suppressed a sigh. She didn’t want to create any trouble. And getting tossed out on her ear wasn’t going to get her what she wanted. At this point, she wasn’t completely clear what it was that she did want, other than recognition.
Acceptance, she supposed. Something to make this awful restless feeling in the pit of her stomach go away, to help dam up this gnawing, gaping hole in the center of her being. She didn’t expect to have the space filled, but at least the rent could be repaired before she began hemorrhaging.
Angry, frustrated, Cate turned on her heel, away from Joan and under her doctor’s watchful eye.
It was hard not to succumb to the dark mood that was vying for possession of her. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She wasn’t supposed to have lost her temper like this.
But then, she supposed her nerves had been on edge ever since she’d discovered that she had been adopted. And now it was as if she was waiting for something else to happen, something to further tear down the foundations of her world.
What foundations? she mocked herself. What was left? Between Gabe’s death and her mother’s deathbed confession, there were no foundations. Only empty air under her feet. And, unlike the cartoon characters who could walk on air until they realized what they were doing, she couldn’t. She was plunging down swiftly. Toward what, she didn’t know.
Maybe the chasm was bottomless.
No, damn it, it wasn’t. She was going to stop feeling sorry for herself and rally. Because Joan Cunningham was going to give her some answers.
Reaching the door, Cate looked back over her shoulder toward the woman who refused to admit to being her mother. “This isn’t over yet,” she warned, then left the room.
“Yes, it is,” Joan insisted. Her voice broke as she attempted to raise it. A sob followed and then she began to cry.
“Calm down, Joan,” Christian instructed, his voice low, soothing.
The tears continued to come. Joan looked from the door toward her doctor, her eyes pleading with him again. “She’s not coming back. She can’t come back.”
Who was this woman to her? The question echoed in his head. He knew his asking would only contribute to Joan’s agitation. He wanted her calm.
Reaching over to the nightstand, Christian picked up the small box of tissues tucked behind the telephone. He held it out to her.
Instead of taking one tissue, Joan took the whole box and held it against her chest, as if having it there somehow comforted her. She looked up at him, the same silent plea in her eyes.
“No, she’s not coming back,” he told her. Christian crossed to the door. “I’ll send in a nurse in a couple of minutes with a tranquilizer for you. You need to calm down.”
He saw gratitude enter her face as she silently nodded her thanks.
Once outside the room, Christian looked up and down the hall. The blonde was just disappearing around the corner. Hurrying to catch up to the source of his patient’s agitation, he passed Joan’s nurse and gave her his instructions on the fly.