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“I’ve got a cancellation this afternoon. See if she can come in around three o’clock.”
“Thanks, Michael.”
He raked a hand through his sandy hair. “I like the Santiagos. They’re hardworking, really good people. I know it hasn’t been easy for them.”
Not for Maria, married at fifteen, or Raul, who’d been in and out of trouble for years. “No, it hasn’t. I’ll see if she can come in.”
Driving her husband’s battered old blue Ford pickup, Maria arrived that afternoon right on time. Elizabeth walked into the reception room to greet her and they sat down on the dark brown leather sofa. The area was small but cozy, with an overstuffed chair that matched the sofa, an oak coffee table and an end table with a shiny brass lamp. A stack of magazines sat on the coffee table: Redbook, Better Homes and Gardens and a couple of tattered issues of Family Circle.
“How are you feeling?” Elizabeth asked Maria, who sat with her hand cupped protectively over her belly.
“I am fine, a little tired, is all.” She looked pretty today, in pink slacks and a pink-striped maternity blouse, her black hair drawn back into a single long braid.
“Sleeping any better?”
Maria sighed. “If you are asking if I have heard any more voices, no, I have not. Besides, Miguel has been home in the evenings before it is time for bed.”
“Well, at least you’ve been able to sleep. Let’s see what Dr. James has to say about what’s been going on.”
Maria stood up from the sofa. “Will you…will you come in with me?”
“I think the doctor would rather talk to you alone.”
“Please?”
Elizabeth looked up to see Michael James standing in the doorway.
“It’s all right, Maria. If Ms. Conners is free, she is welcome to sit in for a while.”
Maria cast a hopeful glance at Elizabeth, who nodded, and all three of them went into the doctor’s office. The women sat down in front of his desk and Michael took a seat in the leather chair on the opposite side. He slid a pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses up on his nose and scanned the information in the manila folder on the desktop.
When he finished, he took the glasses off and set them down on his desk. “Let me start by saying that Ms. Conners has told me a little about what you’ve been experiencing, Maria. I’m sure it’s been very disconcerting.”
Maria glanced at Elizabeth and the doctor realized she didn’t understand the word.
“I’m sure it’s been extremely upsetting,” he said. “Having an experience like that is bound to be difficult.”
Maria nodded. “Sí. I have been very frightened.” She gripped her hands tightly in front of her.
“Before we get into a more serious discussion, let’s start with something simple. I have two brief tests I’d like to give you. Just answer each question honestly, yes or no, then we’ll see where we are.”
She nodded, seemed to brace herself. For the next fifteen minutes, the doctor asked questions from the first sheet of paper he picked up, questions that would reveal symptoms of depression.
“All right, Maria, here we go. For the past few weeks or months, have you been excessively worried about work, family or finances?”
Maria shook her head. “No. Miguel is doing very well at his job, and Raul, he is doing very good, too.”
“Have you lost interest in the things you usually like to do?”
“No. I am very busy at home getting ready for the baby.”
“Have you been feeling sad or hopeless?”
“No.”
“Have you lost interest in sex?”
Soft color rose beneath the dark skin over her cheeks. “My husband, he is a very virile man, but with the baby coming…” She glanced away. “Still, I feel desire for him.”
Elizabeth bit back a smile and Michael looked down at the paper. “Do you cry often?”
“A few times lately, but only because I am afraid.”
Michael made notes on the paper. “Are you irritable and out of sorts with other people?”
“No, I do not think so.”
“Do you spend time thinking about death or dying?”
Maria shook her head. “I think mostly about having my baby. The doctor says it is going to be a little boy.”
Flicking a glance at Elizabeth, Dr. James set the questionnaire aside and picked up a second sheet of paper. “This is a test for Anxiety Disorder. Answer each question just as you did before.”
Maria nodded, sat up a little straighter in her chair.
“Do you sometimes feel that things around you are strange, unreal, foggy or detached from you?”
“Sí…at night…when I am alone.”
“Do you have a fear that you are dying or that something terrible is about to happen?”
“Sí, and I am very afraid.”
“Do you have difficulty breathing? Or feel as if you are smothering?”
“That has happened to me…yes.”
He made notes on the paper. “Do you suffer chest pains, light-headedness or dizzy spells, shaking or trembling?”
“Sí, but only when the fear comes.”
“Have you experienced the sensation of your legs being rubbery or jellylike?”
“It was not quite that way. The last time the voices came, I could not move my legs. I could not move from the bed. I could not get away.”
Dr. James frowned. “Have you experienced a skipping or racing heart?”
“Oh, sí. My heart, it goes so fast I think it will beat right through my chest.”
The doctor set the paper aside and pulled off his reading glasses. “From the answers you’ve given, Mrs. Santiago, you have the classic symptoms of anxiety. What you’re feeling isn’t really happening. But stress is making it seem as if it is.”
“Then the voices, they are not real?”
“No. But you mustn’t be afraid. Once we discover what is causing the anxiety, the voices will go away.”
Dr. James glanced at Elizabeth, who took her cue and rose from her chair. “Dr. James is going to help you, Maria. All you have to do is talk to him, tell him your fears, be honest about yourself and your past.” Elizabeth squeezed the young woman’s shoulder. “If you do that, it won’t be long before you’ll start to feel better.”
Elizabeth left the doctor’s office, closing the door softly behind her. It looked like Maria was definitely suffering from anxiety. Michael James was good. In time, he would discover the cause. Once the problem was out in the open, the symptoms would likely disappear.
Elizabeth returned to her office, relieved yet wondering what had set off the young woman’s recent attacks.
Her marriage, perhaps. Miguel Santiago was twenty-nine, ten years older than his wife.
He wasn’t abusive, just domineering, and up until now, Maria hadn’t seemed to mind. She had been raised to believe the husband was master of the household and it seemed their mutual understanding was working to make a successful marriage.
Now, based on what Elizabeth had heard in Michael’s office, she was beginning to have her doubts.
“So what do you think I should wear?” The week was over. It was Saturday afternoon, hot, as usual in San Pico, the sun beating down through the bedroom windows in Elizabeth’s Cherry Street apartment.
“The black cocktail dress,” Gwen Petersen said, plopping down on the edge of the bed in front of the mirrored closet. “Definitely.” The room was simply furnished, with an inexpensive walnut queen-size bedroom set she had purchased right after college, and not much on the walls.
Elizabeth had never planned to return to San Pico and in the two years she had been back, she’d done little to make the apartment feel like home.
“Carson’s house is very elegant,” Gwen continued, “and he’ll have the dinner professionally catered. Jim and I attended a function there not too long ago. You’ll definitely need to wear something nice.”
Gwen studied the dresses laid out on the bed, a red chiffon with a full, flowing skirt, and a light blue silk sheath with a modest neckline and small cap sleeves, and a simple black silk sheath. “The black is perfect, classic yet sexy.”
“That’s kind of what I was thinking. I’ve always felt good when I wear it. I usually wear my mother’s pearls with it.”
“Perfect.” Gwen got up from the bed, picking up the hanger with the black sheath on it, holding it up in front of Elizabeth. “It’s a good thing you still fit into the clothes you brought with you from L.A. You sure couldn’t find anything like this in San Pico.”
The above-the-knee sheath dress was made of black silk crepe, with a draped neckline that dipped down low in back.
“I don’t suppose you could, but you really don’t need clothes like these very often here, either.”
“True enough, but if you seriously start dating Carson Harcourt, you’re going to need everything you’ve got and a whole lot more.”
“I’m not seriously dating Carson. I hardly know the man.”
“It’d be nice, though, wouldn’t it? If you two got together? Carson has plenty of money and he’s well respected in the community. Around these parts, the man is considered quite a catch.”
“Well, I’m not trying to catch Carson or any other man. I’ve had one husband. As far as I’m concerned, one was more than enough.”
Gwen held the dress up in front of her and looked at herself in the mirror. The skirt was too long for Gwen’s petite frame, but the black did wonders for her fair complexion and short red hair. “Not all men are like your ex, you know. Jim’s a terrific husband.”
“Yes, he is. Jim’s one in ten thousand. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to plough through another nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine to find one like him.”
Gwen laughed. “It isn’t that bad. There are a lot of nice men out there.”
“Maybe.” Elizabeth walked over and took down a shoebox that held a pair of black fabric high heels. “I just haven’t had much luck spotting them. Besides, not everyone needs a man in order to be happy. I’ve got my career. I’ve got friends like you and Jim. I have a perfectly acceptable life and that’s the way I intend to keep it.”
“What about kids? Surely you want children. Having babies is a very good reason to find a husband. Unless of course, you’re one of those modern women who wants to get pregnant and raise a kid on her own.”
“I’m not that modern, believe me.”
And when she had first married her college sweetheart, Brian Logan, she had wanted children very badly. But Brian always said it was too soon. They needed to get their careers established. There wasn’t enough money. He just wasn’t ready to be a father.
In the end, they had divorced before she’d had a chance to get pregnant. Now at thirty, her biological clock rapidly ticking, she had returned to using her maiden name and immensely disliked the idea of falling under any man’s thumb again. Which meant there was a very good chance she would never have a baby.
“I’d love to have children,” Elizabeth said, “but not unless I stumble across the kind of man who is committed to the long haul. No more divorces. Not for me. And we both know men like that are few and far between. It just isn’t worth the risk.”
Gwen didn’t argue. She knew Elizabeth’s views on marriage and no amount of discussion was going to change them.
“Listen, I’ve got to run.” Gwen snagged her purse off the walnut dresser. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how it went.” She grinned. “I’m still holding out hope for you, Liz, whether you like it or not.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I’ll call. I promise. But don’t get too excited. It’s just a date, nothing more.”
“Yeah, right. See ya.” Gwen disappeared through the bedroom door and Elizabeth heard the front door close as she left the apartment. The women had known each other since high school. Since Elizabeth’s return to San Pico, they had become even closer friends.
It was the only thing she really liked about the ugly little town. Nice people. Gwen Petersen was one of them. An image of Carson Harcourt, tall, blond and handsome, rose into her head. Carson seemed nice, too. She wasn’t completely immune to the notion of having a man in her life. Tonight might prove interesting.
Six
Elizabeth crossed the living room to answer the knock at her door. Carson stood on the small front porch, looking casually elegant in a pair of summer-weight tan slacks and light blue shirt, a navy blue jacket draped over one arm.
“Ready?”
“Let me get my purse.” She grabbed the black fabric bag that matched her high heels, locked the front door as they walked out, and Carson guided her down the walk to his silver Mercedes.
“You look terrific, by the way,” he said as he opened the door and waited for her to slide into the passenger seat. “Great dress.”
“I wasn’t quite sure what to wear. Fortunately, I had a very nice wardrobe by the time I left L.A. My ex-husband was a stockbroker with big aspirations. He wanted his wife to project the right image.”
“Most of the women from here drive down to L.A. to go shopping.”
Most of the women married to men with money, he meant. Elizabeth no longer cared about playing the role she had played as Brian’s wife, though she had to admit she was glad she had the appropriate clothes to wear tonight.
The drive out of town to the farm didn’t take long. Carson parked his car in an immaculate four-car garage, but took her around to the front door to go into the house. The big, white, wood-framed structure with its wide porch across the front looked impressive and well cared for from the highway. Now she saw that the interior had recently been remodeled: new paint, new drapes, new furniture, which was a comfortable mix of overstuffed sofas and Victorian antiques, the oak floors adding a sense of elegance and charm. The molded ceilings were high, and an antique chandelier hung from the ceiling in the entry.
The decorating had been professionally done, she was sure, probably a designer from L.A.
“It’s lovely, Carson. Like something out of Better Homes and Gardens only more inviting.”
“Thank you. I wanted a place that looked good but didn’t put people off.”
He led her into one of two front parlors, where a bar had been set up. A member of the catering staff, a young man in black slacks and a starched white shirt, poured her a glass of chilled champagne, Schramsberg, a brand she recognized as coming from the Napa Valley, a fairly expensive California label.
They talked as Carson gave her a tour of the downstairs portion of the house, including his modernized kitchen where the catering staff was hard at work, then on to his wood-paneled study. By the time they returned to the parlor, a long black stretch limousine was pulling up in front of the house.
