8
I RUSHED TO get into a blouse and jeans and slip on some flats, while my mother stood there looking very worried.
“What is this about?” she asked.
My mind was filling quickly with possibilities, none good. “I don’t know, Mummy.”
“It has to be something very, very serious to bring Bea Davenport down here raging and the doctor demanding to see you, Fern. Could it be something to do with the prom? Did something happen last night?”
I paused. I suspected that someone had revealed all that had gone on at Shane Cisco’s house concerning the drugs and alcohol, and that had gotten back to Dr. Davenport. Perhaps another parent had called him or even Shane’s parents.
“Everything was great until we went to the after-party,” I said, running a brush through my hair. “Many people were drinking beer and other things, and some were taking a party drug.”
“Party drug? What drug?”
“Ecstasy. I didn’t, of course, and neither did Ryder or Alison.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “But the boy you were with?”
“He did,” I said. “As soon as Ryder found out, he made us leave the party and had Parker pick us up and take us home.”
“Oh. Parker must have told Dr. Davenport.”
“Ryder didn’t think he would.”
“He didn’t think he would? That’s ridiculous. There is nothing Parker wouldn’t tell Dr. Davenport. He’s more devoted to him than he is to himself. Dr. Davenport operated on him and saved his life. Why didn’t you tell me these things last night?”
“I thought it could wait until morning. I was tired; you were tired. Regardless, Dr. Davenport shouldn’t be angry at Ryder. It wasn’t his fault. He was as surprised as I was that Paul drank and took a pill.”
“Drank, too?”
“He said just a little, but I don’t know. It was very . . . chaotic at times.”
“Were all your other friends at this party doing these things?”
“Not all, no.”
She stared at me a moment and then nodded. “Let’s go,” she said. “This isn’t going to be very pleasant.”
With my head down and my heart thumping, I walked with her to the main house. The silence only made it more frightening to me. Not a maid, not Mrs. Marlene, no one seemed to be moving or doing anything. I didn’t look at my mother until we reached Dr. Davenport’s office. The door was open.
Bea Davenport was seated on the settee to our right, sitting up with her stiff, perfect posture, with her eyes looking forward like a judge ready to pronounce the death sentence. Ryder was in a chair in front of Dr. Davenport’s desk. He was wearing a robe over his pajamas and was leaning forward, his hands pressed against his temples.
“Come in, please, Emma,” Dr. Davenport said.
Ryder looked up quickly at us. We stopped beside him, I on his right and my mother on his left. The expression on his face told me this was far more serious than parents complaining.
“I don’t know how much you know about all that happened last night,” Dr. Davenport said.
“Fern slept late, but after Mrs. Davenport left just now, I asked Fern what this might be about, and she told me about some unpleasant things that occurred at the after-party,” my mother said.
Dr. Davenport nodded. He was wearing his suit jacket and tie, but he looked very tired to me. His hair looked like he had been running his fingers through it. He nodded at the chair on his right. “Have a seat, Emma,” he said. “This may take a while.”
My mother sat, and then he turned to me. “I was called to the hospital about three thirty last night.”
I looked at Ryder. He kept his gaze low now and seemed to be holding his breath.
“A young man was brought into the emergency room with some serious heart issues, an arrhythmia,” Dr. Davenport said. He was looking directly at Ryder. Then he turned to my mother. “Arrhythmia in young people is often associated with a drug known as MDMA or better known to young people today as Ecstasy or just X.”
My mother gasped and brought her right hand to the base of her throat.
“There was some concern about heart-valve damage, but fortunately, that didn’t happen, and we were able to correct his heartbeat,” Dr. Davenport continued. “The reason we’re all meeting here right now is that the young man was the young man who took Fern to the prom and drove Ryder and his date, Alison Reuben, as well.”
He looked back at Ryder.
“Ryder tells me that this young man came to him first to inquire whether he should ask Fern to the prom. He admits that he convinced Fern to accept the young man’s invitation. She apparently didn’t know him well, and from what I’m gathering now, neither did Ryder, at least not as well as he should have.”
“It was my decision to go with Paul,” I said. “Ryder didn’t have to convince me.”
Dr. Davenport looked at me. “You knew the boy that well beforehand, did you?”
“No, not exactly. He’s a senior and—”
Dr. Davenport turned back to my mother. “Ryder assures me he personally did not use any drugs.” He turned his eyes on me. “Fern?”
I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. Someone offered me one, but I didn’t,” I said. “I didn’t drink anything alcoholic, either.”
Bea Davenport blew some air through her closed lips and looked away.
“I swear,” I said. “I didn’t.”
“She didn’t,” Ryder added, glaring angrily at Bea.
“Is Paul Gabriel going to be all right?” I asked Dr. Davenport.
“He’ll recuperate, yes. He was lucky. A significant number don’t. However, one tragedy is too much for those parents to bear.”
I nodded and glanced at my mother, who looked now like she was about to cry.
“We had to involve the police, and they’ve informed Mr. and Mrs. Cisco about what went on at their home. It’s still an ongoing investigation. You two will probably be interviewed, as will Miss Reuben,” Dr. Davenport said, looking at Ryder. “Expect the police to come here or perhaps have you go to the police station.”
He let that set in for a moment and then sat forward.
“There’s more. Apparently, someone else at that after-party drove into a ditch last night. He wasn’t wearing his seat belt and sustained some head trauma. He has a concussion and will recuperate. No one else in his car was hurt, but he had a serious alcohol level and will face serious consequences.”
Ryder looked up sharply. Apparently, all this was news to him, too. Dr. Davenport had saved it for this moment. “Who was it?” Ryder asked.
“Joey Dunsten,” his father replied.
“Disgusting,” Bea Davenport said. “This is what comes of this laissez-faire attitude when it comes to raising children these days, drugs and alcohol.”
“You can’t generalize about all children these days. Our children did not participate,” my mother said.
“So they say,” Bea responded.
“My daughter does not lie to me,” my mother insisted.
“Yet she didn’t tell you about what went on at the party, did she?” Bea countered.
“It was very late.”
“Almost too late,” Bea said sharply. “For all of us.”
“She would have told me this morning,” my mother insisted, but more under her breath.
Dr. Davenport looked at her and then sat back. “The would haves and could haves always pale in the light of tragedy or near tragedy,” he said, looking at Ryder and me. “For the immediate future, I think it would be best if neither of you did much more than attend school and come home.”
“What? Why? Why are we being punished for what other people did?” Ryder responded quickly. “When I saw what the situation had become, I called Parker to come get us, and we went right home.”
“That’s admirable. I’m not saying I don’t commend you for it, but there’s going to be a lot of commotion in the school and in the community for a while,” Dr. Davenport said. “I’d like things to calm down. It’s better that parties and dates be put off for a while. The full impact of all this hasn’t been felt yet. Your friend might lose his privilege to play baseball. In fact, I’d say that’s pretty likely.”
“That’s freaking unfair!” Ryder’s face turned a shade of crimson I had never seen on him. “This party didn’t involve the school. It was after the prom!”
“I believe your school has a strict policy about drug use, Ryder. MDMA is a class A drug. It’s illegal to sell it or use it, and no doctor can prescribe it. You can be sure that when the police isolate who distributed the drug at the party, that person will face some serious legal issues. Paul Gabriel might as well.”
He turned to me.
“If you’re asked who offered the drug to you, Fern, and you refuse to answer, that could be construed as obstruction of justice. Same goes for you, Ryder. I think it’s a good idea for both of you to take stock of the situation, be grateful you had the sense to make an exit, and, as I said, let things calm down here.”
“For how long?” Ryder asked.
“A while,” Dr. Davenport replied.
“A while? Is that the kind of answer you would give a patient?” Ryder said. “ ‘You’ll get better in a while?’ ”
I never had seen anger rise to the surface of Dr. Davenport’s face or his eyes turn so steely and cold.
Bea Davenport leaped on the opportunity. “Just as I’ve been saying, Harrison, he’s been quite insolent lately.”
Dr. Davenport looked at her and then nodded. “I believe that is all for now,” he said. “The conversation is over.”
Ryder shot up out of his chair, turned, and stormed out of the office.
My mother rose slowly. “Let’s go back, Fern,” she said, a deep sadness weighing her down.
I felt the tears welling in my eyes. I had enough trouble saying hello to Dr. Davenport, much less challenging anything he said or did. The very thought of doing that would terrify me, but the shock and pain in Ryder’s face had a greater impact.
“This is unfair, Dr. Davenport. Ryder took me out of an unpleasant situation immediately. I’m sure some of his friends will call him a goody-goody or something now. He should not be punished. And neither should I for things other people do,” I said, this time not looking away.
“Fern!” my mother said.
“Not unexpected,” Bea Davenport said.
“I hope not,” I said, still flying high on my defiance. “I hope speaking the truth is always expected.” I started to walk out.
“Just a minute, Fern,” Dr. Davenport said. I turned back to him. “You and Ryder are ignoring a great lesson here. It is perhaps unfair to suffer because of the actions of others and not yourself, but understand that you will be judged by the company you keep. It is childishly naive to think otherwise. There are always consequences. When you settle down, be grateful you’ve learned this with little cost to yourself other than being grounded for a while.”
I glanced at my mother, and then I walked out.
She stayed back for a few moments and then caught up with me. “We need to have a long talk,” she said.
“Yes. We do. Finally,” I replied.
I was crying. I was afraid, but I was quite satisfied with how I had stood by Ryder as well.
As we entered our section of Wyndemere, however, I realize that Bea Davenport could say all sorts of things about me now. She might convince Dr. Davenport that I was the bad influence he had referred to, that I was a bad influence on Ryder, and that I had somehow placed him and the family in this compromising situation. Maybe now she would persuade him to give my mother her walking papers. Where would we go? What would my mother do? Take a job as someone else’s nanny? You needed references for that, and Bea Davenport would make sure my mother had no good ones.
Really, what would my mother do? She had devoted too much of her life to Wyndemere and the Davenport family and not developed any other work skills. People said to be careful what you wished for; you might get it. Was I about to get it? I had been wishing we would leave for years now, but on our own steam and not driven out.
When I glanced at my mother, I saw the pain in her eyes. She followed me into my room.
I sat on my bed, folded my arms under my breasts, and scowled at the floor.
“Dr. Davenport wasn’t blaming either of you for what happened last night, Fern. He was merely suggesting everyone take a deep breath and let the dust settle.”
“Bea Davenport was so damn happy about it,” I said. “I hate her, and Ryder hates her, too. I think her own daughter hates her.”
“Ryder’s and your defiance of Dr. Davenport just now gave her the upper hand, Fern. You must learn when it’s best to suck in your breath and wait. A branch that—”
“Bends doesn’t break. I know, I know.” I spun on her. “You hate that woman, too. I know you do.”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t rush to throw her a lifeline if she was in danger of drowning.”
She sat beside me and stroked my hair.
“I think you understand now what I meant when I told you once that you grow up when you face challenges. Dr. Davenport was appealing to the potential adult in both of you. He wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t care about you, both of you.”
“Funny way to show it. Ryder was so upset,” I said. “He did everything right. He basically rescued me, if you want to know. I wasn’t going to get into details in front of Bea Davenport, but Paul was out of control. He had persuaded me to go to Shane Cisco’s sister’s bedroom to get away from the raucous party. Alison and Ryder were somewhere else in the house, too. It was then that I realized Paul had taken something besides just drinking some vodka or something. It wasn’t pleasant. He was forcing himself on me.”
“What?” She grimaced.
“I was screaming, and Ryder heard me. He burst in, and I ran out.”
“I see,” she said. “Well, then, Dr. Davenport was right. Maybe Ryder shouldn’t have been so eager to persuade you to go to the prom with Paul Gabriel.”
“He just wanted me to have a good time, have a special night,” I protested. “He wanted me to go along with him and Alison. I’m sure he feels terrible about it now, and his father forbidding him, forbidding both of us, to do anything fun because of what others did is just . . . unfair. He makes it all sound like a recuperation from an illness, too. Dr. Davenport should try to be a father more and not just a great doctor.”
“That’s exactly what he’s trying to do. He’s looking out for both of you.”
“He’s looking out for the Davenport name and reputation, especially because of what his wife wants him to do. That’s all she cares about. She doesn’t care about her own daughter enough, either. They belong together. No wonder he married her. I hate it here now. I hate it!” I cried. “Why didn’t you just leave when you could? Why didn’t you return to a singing career or at least return to trying? Then we wouldn’t be stuck in this giant . . . dark . . . old mansion full of lies and ghosts.”
She stared at me. The tears were streaking down my cheeks, but I didn’t wipe one away. I took a deep breath.
“You said it was time to talk. Well, it is. I want to know everything now. I’m old enough. I feel like I’m living inside a cloud.”
“Yes,” she said. “You are old enough. But are you mature enough?”
“What’s that mean?”
She rose, turned away, and, after a long moment, looked at me again. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth concerning how I came to be at Wyndemere,” she said. “Things for me were a lot worse in New York than I had described. It was as if my father’s curses over my disobeying him and leaving England were coming true. When my first roommate left, I struggled. I was working as a waitress and living off tips mainly. I tried getting work singing in bars, but that was difficult when I tried to coordinate with auditioning for parts in Broadway shows and working at the restaurant. There were so many young girls like me in New York, all dreaming of beginning a career in show business. The competition was overwhelming. Two hundred and fifty girls would show up for a tiny part in a musical. They didn’t even use your name. You were given a number. That’s what I began to feel like, a number.
“Some girls my age were dancers going to every Broadway audition; some were trying to be actresses. When you went into a fast-food restaurant or one a little more like the one I had been working in, and you asked the young men or women what they were doing, pursuing, they all had similar answers. They were just working in service to make ends meet, but they were really pursuing a career in entertainment.
“Many were very, very talented. I was sure that in their hometowns, they were the bee’s knees, but when they got to New York, they were competing, as I was, with even more talented people. Some of it might be luck, but in the end, you understood that the best of the best in a high school in Iowa or Nebraska, anywhere, or even a college drama program, would be lucky to get a job as an understudy in the chorus when it comes to Broadway.”
She sat on my desk chair. I was mesmerized. It was as if she was opening the cover of a book of secrets kept buried for years.
“Eventually, I was at a very low point, much lower than I led you to believe. I had one roommate after another, some in worse financial condition than I was in. One got married and left me. I had fallen seriously behind on my rent without a roommate sharing. The extra jobs I would apply for wouldn’t pay for my living expenses anyway, and many of these jobs wouldn’t enable me to go to auditions. Why would I take one? I felt like . . . like I was being smothered by reality, and the worst thing I feared was having to return to England and beg my father’s forgiveness.
“I had his pride, you see. Doing something like that would have been devastating.” She paused as though she was deciding whether to continue. I was afraid she would decide not to.
“What happened?” I asked. I feared what her next confession would be. It was sounding more and more like one of the typical runaway-girl stories we read and heard about, a desperate girl who turned to prostitution to survive. And then one day discovered she was pregnant.
“I was behind three months on my rent at this point and down to my last few hundred dollars. I skipped lunch every day to still have that much. I wouldn’t even have enough money to buy a ticket home if I gave up. I’d have to call to get my mother to persuade my father to send the money. Desperate people do desperate things,” she said.
“What did you do?” I asked again. What could she have done that was a desperate thing? My skin felt like it had turned to ice. Did I really want to hear this? Wasn’t I better off not knowing? Ignorance was bliss sometimes, and this felt like one of those times. Why did I push so hard for the truth?
“The landlord of my building, Leo Abbot, had a younger brother who had suffered a heart attack and had to have an emergency bypass. It was performed by Dr. Davenport. The family lived in Hillsborough, you see. At the time, I knew or cared to know nothing about Hillsborough.
“One night, Leo Abbot came to my apartment. I anticipated it, expecting him to give me my walking papers. He was a widower in his midfifties, who had two married daughters and five grandchildren. In the beginning, he was very pleasant and often teased me about my English accent and some of our expressions. He asked me about my family, and I told him how my father was furious at me for trying to develop a career in America. He said he couldn’t imagine disowning one of his children the way my father had disowned me.
“To be honest, I exploited that to get him to be more patient about the rent. He liked me well enough to feel sorry for me and permit me to be in arrears for as much as three months, but I was sure his patience and sympathy had run their course. It was expected. He had a building with apartments in demand because it was in an ideal location. There was no question that he could rent the one I was in minutes after he had evicted me. I imagined he had a waiting list anyway.
“I had no more promises to make and no pending possibilities to offer with any plea for more time. When he asked to come in to speak to me, however, I sensed different vibes coming from him. Unexpectedly, he was as pleasant as he was when I had first moved in. He asked me what I was intending to do now. I cried and admitted that there was nothing left to do but return to England. I promised him that I would find a job there and send him money until my back rent was paid up. He nodded and listened, and I thought that was it. I was ready to contact my mother and throw myself on my father’s mercy.
“ ‘Well,’ Mr. Abbot said, ‘I guess you don’t have a young man to help, no romances, yet?’ I didn’t. I had dates, but I had yet to get serious with anyone. I was so fixed on my career. I wouldn’t permit myself to be distracted, and I knew how obligations to someone would conflict with potential opportunities. I had the ruthlessness to succeed. I was just . . . maybe not good enough.”
“Or lucky enough,” I offered. “You always said it was at least fifty percent luck, if not more.”
She smiled. “Yes. You can tell yourself that. It helps relieve some of the pain of disappointment. Blame it on capricious luck, but you know I’ve told you many times that people who succeed simply have the persistence to accept defeat after defeat and still keep going. You can have all the talent in the world, but without that persistence, you won’t make it. Maybe I didn’t have it. Anyway, I told him I had no one like that. What difference did it make now, anyway?
“ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘how would you like to make seventy-five thousand dollars?’
“ ‘Seventy-five thousand?’ I said.
“ ‘Yes.’ That seemed like all the money in the world to me. Then he added, ‘Your back rent due will be paid for, and you will have no living expenses for some time. Everything will be tax-free. I can assure you. You’ll actually have seventy-five thousand dollars after it’s over.’
“ ‘After what’s over?’ I asked him. What did I have to offer anyone who would willingly pay me seventy-five thousand dollars? Be his or her private singer?
“ ‘Pregnancy,’ he said.
“ ‘What?’ I replied. My indignation began to shoot through my blood.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “I’d have thrown him out.”
She smiled. “The fury of youth. Not something easy to hold on to when you’re desperate, love. Hopefully, you never will be. Anyway, it wasn’t what you’re thinking. He wasn’t pimping me out, at least not in that sense.”
“Then what was it?”
“Surrogate conception,” she said.
“Surrogate conception? I don’t really know what that is. I mean, I’ve heard something about it, but . . .”
“That’s all right. At that time, I didn’t know anything about it, either.”
“But who wanted you to do that?”
“Dr. Davenport and his first wife, Samantha, were looking to employ a surrogate mother.”
I felt the heat rise up my neck and into my face. What was she telling me? “You mean for Ryder?”
“Yes, but let me explain. There are two kinds of surrogate mothers, traditional and gestational. The traditional is artificially inseminated with the father’s sperm. She carries the baby and delivers it and is the baby’s biological mother. Gestational surrogates have the egg from the mother and the father’s sperm from something known as in vitro fertilization. The egg and the sperm are combined in a laboratory. Once the embryo is formed, it’s placed in the uterus of the surrogate mother. That was what I had done to me.”
“But why? Why did they want to form Ryder in a laboratory?”
“It wasn’t that they wanted him formed in a laboratory, exactly. It’s not some Frankenstein experiment. At the time, it wasn’t that unusual.”
“But why do that? Why have a surrogate mother?”
“Samantha wanted a child, her own child, but she didn’t want to go through pregnancy. I told you once that she was like a child herself. Everything in her life was easy, had been made easy for her. She was very beautiful, and she knew it. She didn’t want to do anything that would threaten her beauty. The image of a pregnant woman and that woman being her terrified her. No, I should say it disgusted her. She simply couldn’t do it. She was afraid of every aspect of it, the pain, discomfort, stretch marks. You name it, she was afraid of it. There are many women like that.”
“But how did you know all this?”
“I didn’t at the time. She told me all this months later. The why wasn’t my business, and I wasn’t thinking or caring about reasons. The money was overwhelming.
“So what I was offered was seventy-five thousand dollars to carry Samantha and Dr. Davenport’s baby. Leo Abbot had convinced Dr. Davenport that I’d be an ideal surrogate mother. My age and my situation recommended me. Dr. Davenport had me brought to his office in the family limousine to be examined by an obstetrician and pediatrician, Dr. Bliskin, who was a good friend of his. He was a very nice, good-looking man. He put me through extensive tests to confirm my health and my ability to carry a child, and then Dr. Davenport had his attorney draw up a contract between me and himself and his wife. There would be no question the baby belonged to them. I thought I’d go through it, deliver the baby, get my money, and return to New York well financed to pursue my career. I even sent my mother and my sister Julia some expensive gifts just to annoy my father.” She smiled.
“I lived in the main house then, one bedroom down from Dr. and Mrs. Davenport’s bedroom. He had a nurse visit twice a week to check everything. I gave birth to Ryder in this house. Dr. Bliskin delivered Ryder. He remained Ryder’s and, for a while, your doctor, but you were too young to remember him, I’m sure. He was married with triplet girls, all prematurely born. He had a lot to do with his own family, obviously, so this was something of what we called a busman’s holiday.”
“Why isn’t he my doctor now? The last time I went to a doctor, it was Dr. Abrams.”
“He’s no longer working here. Years later, he went on to work in a big New York City hospital. How’s that? He got to New York, but I didn’t.”
“Why didn’t you leave immediately afterward?” I asked.
“I always intended I would. But I was talked into remaining to . . .” She paused.
I knew what she was going to say. “To breastfeed him?”
She nodded. “Dr. Davenport and his friend Dr. Bliskin believed that was the healthiest thing to do.”
“And you were still going to leave when that was completed, weren’t you?”
“Yes, but Dr. Davenport offered me an additional fifty thousand dollars to remain for a year as Ryder’s nanny.”
“And you had me eventually to care for, too.”
“Something I’ll never regret.”
“What about my father, then?”
“What about him?”
“Does he even know I exist?”
“Yes, but he couldn’t be your father or my husband.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
“It’s better if you don’t know. Trust me about that, Fern.”
“You’ll never tell me?”
“Someday.”
“He lives in this town?”
“Just leave it for now. Anyway, the reason I wanted you to know my history here is so you’ll understand how deeply tied I am, we are, to Dr. Davenport. His wife can try to drive a wedge between us, but she won’t succeed.”
“How could he possibly love her?”
“She gave him Sam, and she fills a place he needs filled in his life. Why some women stay with the men they’ve married or vice versa is often more complicated than what you read in romance novels.”
“Does Ryder know about you, what you did?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “And you must promise me, swear on everything sacred, that you will never tell him. That is something I promised Dr. Davenport, actually agreed to formally in the contract, never to reveal I carried and delivered his son. Will you promise me?”
“Yes,” I said. “But someday he should know the truth.”
“That’s between Dr. Davenport and him, not us. Okay? Fern, you can hurt Ryder more than you know. He has a beautiful image of his mother. Just leave it at that.”
“Okay.” I thought a moment. “But how did she get away with people believing she gave birth to Ryder?”
“She claimed to be pregnant, and then in what were the latter months—some women don’t show until the seventh month, actually—she left to supposedly give birth in a special maternity hospital in Switzerland. When she wanted people to know she was back and the baby was born, I was introduced as the baby’s nanny, someone she had brought over from England. It made me sound very special, not that I was seen that much by her friends. It’s not hard to hide things in Wyndemere,” she added.
“The house of secrets,” I said.
“Yes.” She smiled. “That’s right, love, the house of secrets.”
When it came to secrets in Wyndemere, I was sure this wasn’t the last one I would learn.