Chapter Six
Dallas
My mind is spinning. I can’t think straight, or come to any reasonable conclusion right now. All I know is that I have to get Mason to his doctor’s appointment, and the fastest way to my car is back through the farmer’s market. The crowds are starting to thin, and I’m able to make quick progress past the numerous booths and to the exit on the opposite end from the park where I’d sat with Levi and listened to his incredible story.
I understand his reasons for disappearing, but the circumstances were devastating. The man I once loved is now a murderer. It may have been self-defense, but who could prove that? It’s his word against no one’s…there were no witnesses. Surely none that had come forward or been tracked down. Incredible that Levi made it nearly one hundred miles away without anyone noticing, no cops on his trail or reports of his splashy new Chevy spotted leaving the area.
Part of me is grateful that he’s alright and that Mason still has a father; another part wishes things had stayed the way they were. I have a feeling I’d have been better off not knowing, unaware of his whereabouts or what happened to him. They say knowledge is power, but what they don’t say is what a burden knowledge can also be. If I’m ever questioned about him or about the incident again, I would have to lie. I hope I’m never in that situation.
Sadly, the only way to avoid that situation is to distance myself from him, never lay eyes on him again, and I don’t know if I can do that. His pleas for us to join him, be together as a family, tear at my heart. I do still love him, damn my soul. I may not be living in the lap of luxury at my mom and dad’s, but it’s comfortable and safe. I don’t know what I would have done without my parents’ support after losing my job and struggling through a difficult pregnancy.
I can’t imagine being better off living in the mountains, even if it’s with the father of my child. I have to think about Mason’s welfare, not just my own. Whatever happiness I might find being with Levi is overshadowed by the very real needs of my offspring. I won’t have him brought up in isolation, living like a fugitive recluse with no knowledge of the outside world.
As I walk into the doctor’s office, I realize I’m probably being silly. Overreacting. Plenty of people choose to live in rural areas; it doesn’t mean they have to lose touch with reality. And who says we have to stay here in the Pacific Northwest? With Levi’s significant financial worth, we could go anywhere, Europe, Australia, the Far East. Where there are prestigious universities and endless business opportunities. He could give me access to his personal banking information without ever showing his face in public. I need to calm down. I think my nerves are still jittery after experiencing a bank robbery. Sometimes I feel I may never fully recover.
“Ms. Wynter?” the receptionist calls. “C’mon in.”
“Thank you,” I reply, wheeling Mason through the doors to the examining rooms. He’s been sleeping ever since we left the market but is awake now and needing a diaper change. Doctor Halpert doesn’t seem to mind. Mason gets weighed, his temperature taken, and his ears peered into.
“How’s his mood been? Have you been administering the antibiotics I prescribed?”
“Yes, and he’s perked up considerably. In fact, he’s due for another dose right now. He seemed feverish again.”
“His temperature’s not overly high, but it’s important to finish the entire medication when it comes to antibiotics. Even if patients show improvement, which they usually do right away, it’s most effective if the entire regimen is followed.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“And how are you doing? You had a bout of the flu last time I saw you.”
“It’s better now. Almost gone, I think.”
“That’s good. You’ll need your strength,” he says, putting away his instruments and indicating I can dress Mason and get him ready to take home.
I reach for the diaper bag so I can give him a fresh change. “I know. Keeping up with a little one can sure take it out of you.”
“At the best of times. I think young Mason here has a slight ear infection as well. It’s quite common and nothing to overly worry about, but it can lead to other things, such as viral meningitis. His color looks good, but watch out for any yellowing of the skin. He’s been in generally good spirits? Eating well? Does he seem to sleep more than usual?”
Meningitis doesn’t sound good, despite the doctor’s lighthearted tone. Doesn’t that mean swelling of the brain or something? Oh, God. That’s all I need now, after all Mason’s other health troubles. None seemed serious up to now, but what if things get worse?
“Well, he sure liked some of Miller’s apple puree at the farmer’s market,” I answer.
The doctor laughs. “I’m sure. Be careful of too much fruit, though. It can cause constipation. Try to give him as much liquids as you can. And keep him indoors for awhile. If he exhibits any of those symptoms, let me know. Irritability, stiffness in the neck or arms. Antibiotics aren’t any good against viruses. Give him infant Tylenol for pain if needed, and come back and see me in a few weeks.”
“Okay. Thanks, Doctor Halpert.”
“Take care, have a good day.” The graying doctor leaves the room, allowing me to tidy up. Although I respect his many years of experience, I wonder how much longer Halpert will keep practicing. There are a lot of young doctors looking for postings, and small towns offer a ready starting ground for new practitioners to build their careers on as the old guard retires or can’t keep up with population growth. I can’t help thinking I need a second opinion of someone brighter and more eager to succeed in the medical field. I want the benefit of everything modern science can provide for my son. I give a long sigh. One more reason I miss the city.
Mason makes a grunting sound, and I see his face twist into a grimace and turn red. Mild panic rises in me at the doctor’s warnings, but as the sudden foul smell fills the air, I realize the source of his discomfort and am grateful I waited the extra minutes before changing him. Now I just need the one diaper instead of two. Thank goodness. I might have had to drive all the way home with that delightful aroma filling the car.
I get the baby all clean and re-dressed then give him his medication. Not wanting to leave the dirty diaper behind to assault the rest of the doc’s office, I shove the rolled-up, soiled bundle in a side pocket of the diaper bag so I can dispose of it later. In another pocket I see the bulging outline of Levi’s radio handset, where I’d stuffed it in haste. It was nice of him to give us a way to stay in touch, but the likelihood of giving in to his request seems even more remote after our doctor’s visit than before. With a sigh I sling the bag over my shoulder.
I make our way down the elevator and to the main floor of one of the only multi-story buildings in Forks. It has other offices besides Doctor Halpert’s within its brick and steel structure, and I’m lucky to have found a parking stall in the paved lot around the side of the building fairly close to the entrance.
I maneuver Mason’s stroller to the car and open the door. I unbuckle him and lift his little body out of the carrier to transfer him into the waiting baby car seat that my parents bought. A pang of guilt surges through me. I owe them so much; I hadn’t stopped to think how they might feel if I suddenly announced I was going to take Mason and go live with his father who mysteriously turned up after being thought dead. No. I couldn’t do that to them.
“Going somewhere, pretty mama?”
The words and the gruff, nasal voice that utters them freezes me cold. It’s coming from right behind me, just inches away. Bullet-guy. He’s followed me here. Dear God, why? I clutch Mason to my chest with all my strength.
“Well, you will be soon enough. You’re gonna take a little ride with me, you and junior,” he says. I turn my head slowly, just enough to get a glimpse of the man. Sure enough, it’s him; greasy hair, soiled vest, furry tail and all. “I can tell he’s precious cargo, so you just behave and take care of him so he doesn’t get hurt. You’re gonna get into that gray van right there,” he continues, pointing to an older-model Dodge Caravan, its sliding side door open and beckoning like the maw of a monster. “Get moving.”
He doesn’t have a weapon that I can see, but his free hand inside the bulging bulk of his vest tells me he’s not without something to convince me to comply. The van is just a few stalls over, even nearer to the building’s entrance than my own car. I force my feet to move, Mason’s diaper bag still slung over my shoulder and bouncing against my hip. With my baby in my arms, I’m able to hide the movement of my hand as it reaches into one of the pockets.
I hesitate before the open door.
“Get in,” he says, reaching inside to toss some junk, rope, tools, and packaging I recognize from the Outfitters on the floor of the van out of the way. It’s then that I hurl the smelly, dirty ball of poopy diaper directly at his head.
“Fuck!” he yells.
I spin on my heels and sprint for the building entrance. The automatic doors whisk open, and I leap inside, my heart thudding and my lungs burning. The receptionist and security guard look up in alarm.
“Call the police,” I gasp breathlessly. “A man just tried to kidnap us.”