Searching for Cate. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ “I can’t deal with this right now, I just can’t.”

      Christian had no idea what was going on, only that his patient was on the verge of hysteria, which didn’t do her present condition any good.

      He turned his attention to the blonde. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Mrs. Cunningham obviously doesn’t want you here.”

      Cate continued looking at the woman fate and genetics had made her mother. Despite the frustration she felt at the moment, she was still determined to find out all she could about Joan. “I’m sure she’d rather I wasn’t anywhere. She should have thought of that twenty-seven years ago.”

      Christian had no idea what was going on, only that he needed to have the blonde leave before Joan became even more agitated. “Don’t make me call Security.”

      Cate suppressed a sigh. She didn’t want to create any trouble. And getting tossed out on her ear wasn’t going to get her what she wanted. At this point, she wasn’t completely clear what it was that she did want, other than recognition.

      Acceptance, she supposed. Something to make this awful restless feeling in the pit of her stomach go away, to help dam up this gnawing, gaping hole in the center of her being. She didn’t expect to have the space filled, but at least the rent could be repaired before she began hemorrhaging.

      Angry, frustrated, Cate turned on her heel, away from Joan and under her doctor’s watchful eye.

      It was hard not to succumb to the dark mood that was vying for possession of her. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. She wasn’t supposed to have lost her temper like this.

      But then, she supposed her nerves had been on edge ever since she’d discovered that she had been adopted. And now it was as if she was waiting for something else to happen, something to further tear down the foundations of her world.

      What foundations? she mocked herself. What was left? Between Gabe’s death and her mother’s deathbed confession, there were no foundations. Only empty air under her feet. And, unlike the cartoon characters who could walk on air until they realized what they were doing, she couldn’t. She was plunging down swiftly. Toward what, she didn’t know.

      Maybe the chasm was bottomless.

      No, damn it, it wasn’t. She was going to stop feeling sorry for herself and rally. Because Joan Cunningham was going to give her some answers.

      Reaching the door, Cate looked back over her shoulder toward the woman who refused to admit to being her mother. “This isn’t over yet,” she warned, then left the room.

      “Yes, it is,” Joan insisted. Her voice broke as she attempted to raise it. A sob followed and then she began to cry.

      “Calm down, Joan,” Christian instructed, his voice low, soothing.

      The tears continued to come. Joan looked from the door toward her doctor, her eyes pleading with him again. “She’s not coming back. She can’t come back.”

      Who was this woman to her? The question echoed in his head. He knew his asking would only contribute to Joan’s agitation. He wanted her calm.

      Reaching over to the nightstand, Christian picked up the small box of tissues tucked behind the telephone. He held it out to her.

      Instead of taking one tissue, Joan took the whole box and held it against her chest, as if having it there somehow comforted her. She looked up at him, the same silent plea in her eyes.

      “No, she’s not coming back,” he told her. Christian crossed to the door. “I’ll send in a nurse in a couple of minutes with a tranquilizer for you. You need to calm down.”

      He saw gratitude enter her face as she silently nodded her thanks.

      Once outside the room, Christian looked up and down the hall. The blonde was just disappearing around the corner. Hurrying to catch up to the source of his patient’s agitation, he passed Joan’s nurse and gave her his instructions on the fly.

      “Hold on a minute,” he called after the blonde.

      Cate didn’t hear him. Or if his voice registered at all in the recesses of her mind, she didn’t realize that he was talking to her.

      That certainly went well, she upbraided herself. If she’d interviewed suspects the way she had her birth mother, the bureau would have had her mowing lawns instead of where she was.

      She did her best to calm down. Part of that entailed focusing on a plan. Now that she had located her birth mother, she was going to have to try talking to her again. Later, after both she and Joan had an opportunity to collect themselves.

      As she approached the elevators it occurred to Cate that she still didn’t know what the woman was doing in the hospital. She needed to get a look at Joan’s medical records.

      Christian lengthened his stride. He had considerable more leg than the woman did, but she moved quickly. He managed to finally catch up to her just as she pressed for the elevator. Rather than call out to her again, he simply got in front of her. She looked surprised, and almost as agitated as his patient.

      “Excuse me.”

      She could feel herself growing defensive. Was he about to lecture her on behalf of his patient? Right now, she was in no mood to have to listen. If he wasn’t careful, this good-looking doctor was going to find he had bitten off more than he had bargained for. “Yes?”

      There were a great many diplomatic ways to begin. Since Alma’s death, he’d lost the ability to be diplomatic and patient. Christian went straight to the heart. “Who are you?”

      Blunt. She admired blunt. Sometimes.

      “Ah, the million-dollar question,” the woman he’d just chased down said sarcastically. Christian saw the same tears he’d just witnessed in Joan Cunningham’s eyes now making an appearance in the blonde’s. It struck him that they had the same light green color. “I wish to God I knew,” she whispered. It sounded as if she’d said the words more to herself than to him.

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