Richard Mabry: Lethal Remedy

Sara sat in her living room, slumped in her favorite chair, when the doorbell brought her up from a half-sleep. Was this Rip again?

After he gave her the news about the decision of Ingersoll and Schaeffer to replace her as Randall Moore's primary physician, he'd asked if he could buy her dinner. She told him all she wanted to do was go home and relax with a hot bath and a pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream. Although she hadn't made it past the living room, she had a full-fledged pity party planned, and she resented this intrusion. She tried to ignore the bell, but whoever was at her front door apparently had more persistence than a bill collector on commission. "I'm coming," she mumbled under her breath. She eased out of her chair and padded to the door on stocking feet. Halfway to the door, she heard the distinctive splash of rain dripping from her roof. When had it begun to rain? She put her eye to the peephole, only to discover that while she was napping, darkness had covered the world. Sara snapped on the porch light and saw a thoroughly soaked and bedraggled Mark Wilcox standing there. She unlocked the door and said, "I'm so sorry. Come in." As soon as he was inside, she said, "Stay right there. Let me get you a bath towel or something." Sara grabbed a couple of thick towels from the bathroom, hurried back, and handed one to Mark, who nodded his thanks. "You know, this wouldn't have happened if you answered your phone… or replied to my text messages… or my voicemails." "I'm sorry, Mark. It's been a terrible day, and I didn't feel like talking with anyone." Sara took the sodden towel Mark handed her and gave him the second one. "When you've dried a bit, come on into the living room. I'll make some coffee." "Hot coffee sounds good." Mark finger-combed his hair. "Here's your towel back. Shall I use it to mop up the puddle I've made?" "Just drop it there. I'll deal with that later." She led him into the living room and pointed him to the couch. "Let me give you another towel to sit on, though." "I can stand," Mark said. "I don't want to take all your towels." "Don't be silly. I got lots of them as shower gifts when Jack and I… " Sara felt the words clog her throat. She tried again. "I have plenty of towels." Sara brought coffee in thick white mugs, and when they were settled in the living room she said, "So what's so important that you'd risk drowning to come here and tell me in person?" Mark blew across the top of his mug, then sipped. "What's going on? I thought there was some mutual attraction between us, but now it seems like you're keeping me at arm's length. Did I do something wrong?" Sara shook her head. "It's not just you. Ever since Rip and I began trying to dig out the truth about Jandramycin, someone's been after us. I've been shot at. Rip was almost killed in a car accident. And you don't even know about the latest attack. Do you blame me for not enlarging my circle of friends at this point?" "I thought I was already in that circle." Mark frowned. "And I hoped I was more than a friend." Sara felt a tingle of apprehension within her chest. What now? She waited for Mark to go on. "My wife and I were childhood sweethearts. We married when I was in law school, and I was happier than anyone has a right to be. Then one day, I got a call from the police. She was dead, killed in an auto accident. My world crumbled. I was resigned to life as a widower until I met you." She didn't need to hear this. Not now.

And not from Mark. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Let him talk.

"You and I had that one dinner, and I felt like everything clicked.

I've wondered if somehow my finding that digital device in your attic made you feel ashamed to be around me, ashamed I'd find out the kind of marriage you had." "No, I-" "All that made me feel was angry, so angry at Jack Ingersoll that I wanted to shake him. How could anyone do that to you?" Mark leaned forward, his coffee forgotten. "Sara, I'm serious about this. If you want to hold me at arm's length until this Jandramycin thing is settled, I'll wait. But I'm not going away."

Sara's head was spinning. She had to admit, there was an attraction there, but there was also an element of doubt. It was hard to trust anyone she didn't know. And hadn't John told her Mark's practice was a blending of medicine and law, including some consulting for pharmaceutical companies? Was one of those Jandra? Could Mark-No, she couldn't think about this right now. "Are you going to say something?"

Mark asked. "I've spilled my guts, but I have no idea what you're thinking. Where do we stand, Sara?" Sara held her mug in both hands and brought it to her lips. The coffee was cold by now, but she needed something to buy time. She finished the coffee and reluctantly set the mug aside. "Mark, I like you. I can see us possibly going forward in a relationship at some point, but not now." "So you don't trust me?" The hurt in his voice was plain. "I don't trust anyone! Especially someone who might have ties to the company that's quite likely behind efforts to kill me, the way they're willing to risk killing patients in the name of science." Sara bit her lip. "I'm sorry. That's not fair. But this is a terrible time for you to want to take our relationship to another level. Can't you understand? Can't you be patient?" Mark stood and placed his mug on the table gently, as though it were made of fine china. "Can't I understand? No, frankly, I can't. I thought you trusted me. Less than a week ago I sat with you, Rip, John, and Lillian and talked about working together to solve the Jandramycin puzzle. Now you're freezing me out-out of that group and out of your life." His shoes made a soft squishing as he stalked toward the door.

"Well, I can take a hint." He closed the door softly behind him, leaving Sara alone. She padded to the front door and listened until his car pulled away. She wanted to call him back. Instead, she knelt with a towel and began to mop up the puddle of water where he'd stood, a puddle dotted with tiny circles from her tears. Not for the first time, Sara wished she could hit the rewind button on her life.

John Ramsey matched Lillian's slow, measured pace as they walked together toward the medical center's parking garage. The rain of the past two days had left behind puddles to trap the unwary. It was fully dark now, and the security lights on the buildings he passed cast shadows that made John think of the childhood night terrors he experienced after reading a ghost story at bedtime. Only this time, the terrors were with him day and night, and had nothing to do with scary tales. No, they stemmed from the work of evil men-he had no idea how many-who were more interested in their own gain than the well-being of countless patients. "John, you don't have to walk me to my car," Lillian said. "I can look out for myself. I'm a grown woman."

"With Mace in her purse, I'd wager." "Matter of fact… " He caught a glimpse of her grin in the reflected glow of headlights as cars began to stream out of the parking structure. John decided to risk it.

"Would the unafraid, grown woman like to have a cup of coffee, or even dinner, with the courtly gentleman who insists on escorting her through the shadows?" There was a hiatus in the parade of cars. Now darkness veiled Lillian's face. Was she frowning, smiling, what? Then John felt her hand take his. "I'd be pleased to, John. Remember, though-right now I'm just a friend." "I know. And I appreciate your sensitivity. But a friend is what I most need." Half an hour later, they were seated in a back booth at Amberjack, one of the nicer restaurants in town. Lillian looked at John over her menu and said,

"I've always wanted to come here, but I could never bring myself to dine alone at one of these places." "I know. I tried it once after Beth died. Since then, I don't think I've eaten out anywhere except fast-food restaurants. They sort of look at you funny, don't they?"