In Confidence. Karen Young

      “When she was flat on her back in her azaleas,” he said, making no effort to be gentle. “Once I got her up and on her feet, she was dizzy and disoriented, but after a few minutes, she seemed to rally.”

      Rachel was still confused. “I don’t understand. How did you…I mean, are you saying you were at her house?”

      “I was on my porch. I looked over and saw her.”

      “Your porch. You looked over and saw her.” Rachel put a hand to her forehead before looking at him and asking incredulously, “You…live nearby?”

      “I live in the house next door.” She didn’t look any happier hearing that than he did knowing it.

      “How could that be?” She was asking herself, not him. “How did I not know that?”

      “Because you don’t show much interest in your mother’s affairs?” It was a cheap shot, but Rachel Forrester had that effect on him. He had nothing against her mother, but he didn’t owe Rachel anything. Just the opposite, in fact. His feelings for her hadn’t changed since that day they had talked in her office after Jack’s funeral, five years ago. Seeing her now was like taking the lid off a pot that still simmered with bitterness.

      “Did you call the EMTs?” she asked, ignoring his remark.

      “I drove her. She wouldn’t let me call the EMTs.”

      “I—thank you.” Rachel pressed the fingers of both hands hard against her lips. “Maybe it’s a stroke,” she whispered. “But the last time I was over there—”

      “Yeah, when was that, Rachel?” he asked, fixing her with a hard look. “I see the neighbors dropping by, I see the postman chatting her up, I see the guy delivering her prescriptions from the pharmacy, but I don’t see much of you.”

      He could see he had her attention now. She stared at him. “I do not neglect my mother,” she said stiffly.

      “Yeah, well, you could have fooled me.”

      “Dinah Hunt. Someone for Dinah Hunt?” Both turned as a young resident appeared and stood looking over the occupants in the waiting room.

      “Here,” Rachel said, moving toward him. “I’m Rachel Forrester. Dinah Hunt is my mother. How is she?”

      “I’m Dr. Carruthers.” He smiled at both Rachel and Cameron, who’d followed her. “Your mom’s just fine. In fact, she’ll probably be out here demanding to be taken home before I finish talking. She told me in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t about to spend a night in a hospital bed.”

      “What on earth happened?” Rachel asked anxiously. “Mr. Ford said he found her unconscious outside where she was working in her garden.”

      Carruthers nodded. “That’s her story, too. And it’s not uncommon in patients with hypoglycemia.”

      “Hypoglycemia?” Rachel repeated blankly.

      “We don’t have the results of her blood work yet, but she tells me she’s been diagnosed as borderline hypoglycemic and she confessed to spending most of the day doing yard work without stopping for lunch or even taking a break.” He paused. “How old is your mother?”

      “Sixty-two.”

      “Amazing. Couple that with her medical condition and the fact that she worked in full sun without a hat and you have a recipe for a blackout.”

      “Hypoglycemia means low blood sugar, doesn’t it?” Rachel asked.

      “Yes. You knew, of course?”

      She was shaking her head. “No. No, I didn’t.”

      “Well, now that you do, try to persuade her to make a few concessions to her body’s need for frequent, small meals, preferably high in protein.” He smiled again. “And perhaps pacing herself a bit when she plans to do yard work.”

      “Is this a serious illness?”

      “Not particularly, so long as a few common-sense precautions are observed.” He included both Rachel and Cameron in his next words. “If she seems reluctant to discuss it with you, just stop by my office and pick up a pamphlet. You need to be aware so that you can help her adjust. The pamphlet lists some suggestions that help prevent sudden drops in blood sugar, which is what caused her to faint. Again, I don’t have the results of her blood work and I might be jumping the gun here, but chances are we’re on the right track.”

      Just then, Dinah emerged from a treatment cubicle and, spotting Rachel, headed directly over. She was dressed for gardening in a pair of loose-fitting denim overalls over a faded tie-dyed T-shirt and muddy, once-white sneakers. A neat size eight, she ordinarily looked ten years younger than her age, but her collapse had taken a toll. There was a liberal sprinkling of gray in her hair, which had probably once been the same rich, near-black shade as Rachel’s, Cameron noticed now. But whereas Rachel’s cut was short, sleek and smooth, Dinah’s style was wildly curly and much longer. She’d probably started the day with it confined at her nape in a leather thong, circa the sixties, but much of it had long since worked itself loose and the overall effect was one of a slightly aging flower child.

      “As I mentioned,” Dr. Carruthers said with a chuckle, “I guessed she’d be out here before I was done.”

      “Thank you, Doctor,” Rachel murmured, turning back to Carruthers and extending her hand.

      “My pleasure,” he said, shaking it. He looked then at Cameron. “You did the right thing insisting on having her checked out, Mr. Forrester.”

      “Ford, not Forrester,” Cameron said, shaking the doctor’s hand. “And I’m just a neighbor.”

      “Oh.” Carruthers paused for an awkward beat or two, then turned again to Rachel. “The results of the blood work should be available sometime tomorrow, Ms. Forrester. If there’s anything unusual, I’ll call you. Otherwise, the results will be mailed.”

      “Call me, Dr. Carruthers,” Dinah instructed firmly, “not Rachel. I’m not too fragile to hear bad news, at least not yet.”

      “I don’t anticipate giving you bad news, Mrs. Hunt,” he said, with a grin. “And remember, no working in the sun without a hat and no skipping meals.”

      Dinah gave him a droll look. “I’ll try to remember that, as I sure don’t want to wake up looking at the underside of azalea leaves again.”

      Still chuckling, he left them to enter another cubicle a few steps down the hall.

      “Let’s go, Mom,” Rachel said, taking Dinah’s arm. “The insurance—”

      “In a minute.” Dinah resisted being hustled away. “First, I need to thank Cameron.”

      “You don’t owe me any thanks,” he said. Now that he knew the older woman wasn’t suffering a stroke or worse, he itched to get back to his work. He was only half done with the proposal for his next book.

      “Well, of course I do. And I meant what I said in the car, Cameron. Anytime you feel like having a break, come over for coffee or some iced tea. I like to bake and usually have a little something on hand—cake or cookies. Nick and Kendall can vouch for that.”

      “Nick and Kendall?”

      “My grandchildren, Rachel’s babies.” Dinah moved over toward the area where the insurance clerk waited and presented the appropriate cards before looking back at him. “And thanks again for giving me a ride to the hospital, although I still say it was not necessary. I knew what was wrong the minute I began to feel dizzy. But by then, it was too late and I just keeled over. Plain bad judgment on my part,” she said, taking the clipboard that was passed through the partition by the clerk.

      “You should have waited until the weekend, Mom,” Rachel scolded. “That’s the kind of work Nick can do for you. And this just proves what I was telling you