Nightwatch

It was as if she were staring at a new man. All she could see were his eyes, but the change in him was palpable. Guy had always been compassionate—that was one of the things that made him such a good doctor—but this was…different. There was a softness she would never have guessed, right there in his dark gaze.

“What can I do?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Before we get into that, I want to apologize for this morning. I had no business barging in—”

She held up her hand, her face filling with heat as she remembered her outfit, or lack of one. “It’s not a problem. I’m sorry I didn’t finish up the paperwork yesterday. I came in early to do just that, but if I can help here, I’d like to.”

He smiled. Not that she could see his lips curve through the mask, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that you did everything possible for Heather. I’m still stunned about all this. I spoke to her mother. Seems she thought Heather was in Los Angeles with her father.”

“Oh, no.”

“Tammy didn’t even know about the pregnancy.” His gaze went back to the boy. “This little guy had no help coming into this world. No prenatal care, no grandparents. I just don’t understand. This wasn’t like Heather. She’s always been a good kid.”

In the two years she’d been at Courage Bay Hospital, she’d never had such a personal conversation with Guy. Her first instinct was to get out, go back to the world she knew, but she could tell he wasn’t finished. That he needed to talk.

So she walked over to an empty incubator and grabbed the rocking chair positioned next to it. She placed it close to Guy’s chair. Settling into it, she crossed her legs and leaned back. “Tell me about her.”

Guy touched the baby’s tiny arm with his index finger. “I only had Heather for four years. Her mother and I got divorced when she was thirteen. She was bright. Heather, I mean. Inquisitive. I’d hoped that someday she’d become interested in medicine, but back then, all she cared about were boys and music, music and boys. Oh, I forgot clothes. Those were big, too.”

“She sounds like a typical teenager.”

“In a lot of ways, she was.” Guy looked at her, although Rachel had the feeling he wasn’t really seeing her. “She loved to sail. I suppose that’s where we spent most of our time together. I was always getting home after she went to bed, leaving before she woke up.”

“That’s the doctor’s curse.”

“It cursed that marriage, all right. But I learned my lesson. Never again. I wasn’t there for either of them. They needed me, but I didn’t give much of a damn. Tammy…”

She didn’t press him to finish the sentence. In fact, she didn’t want to hear the rest. His confession was hitting her in a place long buried. The two of them were so alike. At least Rachel had never made the mistake of getting married. She knew it would be just as Guy said. She wouldn’t be there in a way a wife or mother needed to be.

“Tammy’s in France, but she’s going to get here as soon as she can. I still haven’t connected with Heather’s father. I left two messages, but the number I have may be old.”

“Do you think he knew what was going on?”

Guy shook his head. “I never cared much for Walter. The idiot. He was unfocused and a wastrel, but I never imagined he was this negligent.” His voice hardened into something Rachel recognized a lot more than his previous gentle cadence. “I’m going to find out exactly what he knew, and when. And how he could have let this happen. I blame him for Heather’s death.”

His head bowed a little farther, as if she wasn’t there. Rachel barely heard his next words, they were whispered so softly. “And myself.”

“Guy, you’ve been divorced from Tammy for how long?”

He didn’t answer for a long moment. “Five years.”

“And the last time you checked, Heather was supposed to be with her mother in Europe?”

He nodded. “Yeah. The last time I checked. Which was months ago.”

“I know this is hard, but don’t borrow any more grief than you already have. There’s no way you could have known that Heather wasn’t with her parents. Or that she was pregnant. Her own mother didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t absolve me, and you know it. But I’ll tell you one thing, Rachel—I’m going to get to the bottom of this. And I’m going to make sure Heath is taken care of. In every way.”

“Heath?”

“After his mom,” Guy said, rocking the baby gently. “He needs to get better. I have to figure out exactly what’s going on here and fix it.”

“Then let me help.”

His chair stopped. “How?”

“I’ll go to the lab and I’ll go over the reports with a finetooth comb. Let me call Tim Burns…get him in here.”

“He’s on vacation.”

Rachel knew the neonatologist was away, but she also knew that he was only in Palm Springs, and that if he understood the situation, he’d get back here, pronto. She also knew the specialists on staff were perfectly capable of handling preemies and all the problems that went with them, but Burns was the best. And he was Guy’s friend. “Let me worry about that.” She stood up, put the rocker back. “I’ll page you as—”

The baby’s heart monitor went off that second, and even though every instinct she had was to rush in to see what was wrong and what she could do, she stepped back as the team swarmed around Guy and the incubator.

After a few moments, she realized Heath had gone into arrhythmia, and the medical staff had to do some pretty fancy footwork to stabilize him. Which they did, thank God. Now it was a matter of keeping him stabilized, and that’s something she could help with.

Guy was standing at the foot of the incubator, his skin paler than she’d ever seen it before. She touched his arm. “I’ll call,” Rachel said softly.

He barely acknowledged her.

She wished she could do more. Say something, be someone who could ease his torment. But she couldn’t.

GUY WENT TO HIS OFFICE and sat down, his head still muzzy with so many thoughts. Heath was stable for the moment, but the information Rachel had gotten from the lab strongly indicated that the boy had a genetic problem, perhaps Noonan’s syndrome, though more tests had to be run.

The thing was, he knew for a fact that there was no indication of Noonan’s in Walter’s or Tammy’s background. So if that was the final diagnosis, the disorder had to have been transmitted through the father.

Noonan’s. It was a relatively common birth defect, and Guy had seen his share of cases. Some severe, some blessedly mild. From Heath’s current physical symptoms, the slight webbing on his neck, his low-set ears, it didn’t appear that he had severe Noonan’s, but there were still heart tests, the karyotype analysis and the genetic tests for mutation in the PTPN11 gene. What no one knew yet was if the boy would be developmentally challenged, which happened in about a fourth of the cases.

Nothing was more important than finding Heath’s father and getting his medical history. If the same genetic testing could be done on the father, Heath’s chances for survival would be greatly enhanced, but Guy didn’t have a clue where to begin.

Rachel was checking into Heather’s belongings, and he’d put in four calls to Walter. Guy wanted to kill the son of a bitch for not calling him back.

He wanted coffee, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to get up and get it. He didn’t like asking Connie, but today would have to be the exception to the rule. Leaning over his desk, hardly looking at the paperwork he couldn’t deal with yet, he buzzed his secretary.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“I hate to ask, but could you make me a pot of coffee?”

Connie chuckled. “It’s already made, just five minutes ago. So you just sit right there, and I’ll bring you a cup.”

Guy smiled. “Thank you.”

“No sweat.”

He sat back in his chair, knowing full well why there was a fresh pot of coffee made. Everyone in the hospital, including Connie, knew about Heather. About Heath. And they would all be solicitous and pitying and it would be a nightmare on top of a nightmare for Guy.

Putting his hand on the back of his neck, he rubbed the tense muscles as Connie entered his office, tapping first, as she always did. She looked bright and sunny today, her dress a brilliant red that made her café au lait skin appear smooth and vibrant, belying her fifty-plus years. She’d been with Guy for the past three years, and their relationship was one of businesslike companionability. He appreciated the fact that he never had to ask for anything twice. Connie was proud of her work, and it showed.