Flashback Page 2

  Zack had once asked a genetics professor, "of two brothers sharing none of the same genes?"

  The old man had smiled and patiently explained that with millions of maternal and paternal genes segregating randomly into egg and sperm, all siblings, brother or sister, were, in essence, fifty percent the same and fifty percent different. "You should meet my brother sometime," Zack had said. "If that's the case, " the professor had countered with a wink, "then perhaps I should meet the family milkman, instead."

  In the end, science had prevailed, although the notion that he and Frank were fifty percent alike was only slightly less difficult for Zack to accept than the possibility of his mother having had a child by any gene pool other than the Judge's. It was nearly seven o'clock and the meal was winding down. The twins were getting restless, but were held in place by Lisette's glances and the prospect of Grandmama's apple pie.

  Although snatches of conversation had dealt with Zack's upcoming practice, most of it had centered around golf. The Judge, blind to anyone else's boredom with the subject, was on the sixteenth green of a hole-by-hole account of his match with Frank. "Thirty feet, " he said, nudging his wineglass, which in seconds was refilled by his wife. "Maybe forty. I swear, Zachary, I have never seen your brother putt like that-Marthe, a young lady does not play with her dress at the dinner table. He steps up to the ball, then looks over at me and, just as calmly as you please, says double or nothing. It was-what, Frank, three dollars…?"

  "Five, " Frank said, making no attempt to mask his ennui. "Mon dieu, five. Well, I tell you, he just knocked that ball over hill and dale, right into the center of the cup for a three. The nerve. Say, maybe next weekend we can make it a threesome."

  "Hey, Judge, " Frank said, "leave the man alone. He's an Ultramed surgeon now. It's in his contract, no golfing for the first year." He turned to his brother, his hands raised in mock defense. "Just kidding, Zack-o, just kidding. You play any down in Boston?"

  "Only the kind where you shoot it into the whale's mouth and out its tail, " Zack said. Annie laughed out loud and choked briefly on a piece of celery. "We played that, Uncle Zack, " Lucy said excitedly. "Mama took us. Marthe hit herself in the head with her club. Will you take us again sometime?"

  "Of course I will."

  "You're not going away like all the other times, are you?"

  "No, Lucy. I'm staying here."

  "See, Marthe. I told you he wasn't going away this time. Will you take us to Mcdonald's, too? We never get to go except when you take us."

  Zack shrunk in his seat before Lisette's reproving glare. "They get confused sometimes, " he said. "I spoke to Jess Bishop, " the Judge went on. "He's membership chairman at the club. You remember him, Zachary?

  Well, no matter. Jess says that being as your father and brother are members in good standing, you won't even have to go through the application process."

  "Thank goodness, " Zack said, hoping, even as he heard his own words, that the Judge would miss the facetiousness in his voice. "So, who finally won today?"

  "Won? Why, me, of course, " the Judge said, shifting his bulk in his chair. His Christian name was Clayton, but even his wife rarely called him anything but Judge. He was, like both his sons, over six feet, but his athlete's body had, years before, yielded to his sedentary job and rich tastes. A civic leader and chairman of the board of Davis Regional Hospital until its sale to Ultramed, the Judge had no less than six plaques tacked up in the den proclaiming him Sterling Man of the Year.

  He was also, though in his mid-sixties, a ten handicap. "It was close, though, Frank, " he went on. "I'll give you that."

  "Close, " Frank humphed. "Judge, you're the one who pounded it into us that close only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes."

  Again, Annie Doucette laughed out loud, and again her laugh was terminated by a fit of coughing. This time, Zack noted, she was massaging her chest after she had regained control, and her color was marginally more pale than it had been. "You okay, Annie? " he asked.

  "Fine, I'm fine, " the woman said in the Maurice Chevalier accent she had never shown the least inclination to change. She lowered her hand slightly, but not completely. "Now you just stop eyeing me like you want to take out my liver or something, and go on about your talking.

  There'll be plenty of time for you to play doctor starting tomorrow. All my friends are busy thinking up brain problems just so they can come in and see you in your office."

  Before Zack could respond, Cinnie Iverson reappeared, a pie in each hand, and began her rounds of the table, insisting that everyone take a slice half again larger than he or she desired. Annie flashed him a look that warned, "Now don't you dare say anything that will upset your mother." Still, there was something about her color, about the cast of her face, that made him uneasy. Dessert conversation was dominated by the twins, who competed with each other to give "Uncle Jacques" the more complete account of what had been happening in their lives. Completely Yankee on one side of their family and completely French-Canadian on the other, the girls were interchangeably bilingual, and as they became more and more animated, increasingly difficult to understand. What fascinated-and disturbed-Zack was the lack of outward interaction between the twins and their father, or, for that matter, between Frank and Lisette. Perhaps it was the seating arrangement, perhaps Frank's preoccupation with issues at the hospital, in particular the arrival of his younger brother as the new neurosurgeon on the block. Whatever the reason, Zack noted that Frank had spoken scarcely a word to the girls and none, that he could recall, to Lisette. In all other respects, Frank was Frank-full of plans for expanding the scope and services of Ultrameddavis, and tuned into every potential new real estate development and industrial move in the area. Watching the man, listening to him expound on the risks and benefits of entering the bond market at this time, or on the possibilities of developing the meadows north of town into a shopping mall, Zack could not help but be impressed. Frank had overcome one of the most difficult obstacles in life, early success.

  And, Zack knew, it hadn't been easy. A legend in three sports at Sterling High, voted class president and most likely to succeed, he had gone to Notre Dame amidst a flurry of press clippings touting him as one of the great quarterback prospects in the country. His high school grades and board scores were only average, if that, and his study habits were poor, but the coaching staff and administration at the Indiana school had promised him whatever tutoring help he might need to keep him on the field. And help him they did — at least until his passes began to fall short. Midway through Frank's sophomore year, the angry, defensive calls and letters home began. There were too many quarterbacks. The coaches weren't paying enough attention to him. Teachers were discriminating against him because he was an athlete. Next came a series of nagging injuries-back spasms, a torn muscle, a twisted ankle.

  Finally, there was a visit to Cinnie and the Judge from one of the assistant coaches. Although his parents had never made him privilege to that conversation, Zack was able to piece together that Frank had developed an "attitude problem" and had become more adept at hoisting a tankard than at directing an offense. By the middle of Frank's junior season, he was back in Sterling, working construction, complaining about his ill treatment at Notre Dame, interviewing with the coaches and administration at the University of New Hampshire, and partying. A knee injury midway through his first season at the state school put an end to his athletic career.

  And as if those failures weren't enough, Frank had to endure the rising star of his younger brother, whose participation in all sports except climbing had been curtailed by a vicious skiing injury. Following that accident, Zack had suffered through a brief period of depression and rebellion, and then had quietly but steadily built a grade-point average that enabled him to be accepted at Yale-the first Sterling graduate to be so honored. There was every reason for Frank to fold, to become embittered and jealous, to drop out. But he didn't. It took an extra year, but he got his degree. Then, to the surprise of many, he
stayed on in school and earned a masters in business administration. The walls of expectation erected by the Judge were sheer glass, but bit by bit, in his own way, Frank had scaled them, and now he was a success once again, at least in terms of lifestyle, power, and accomplishments. Cinnie Iverson had poured the final round of coffee, and the twins had at last been allowed to leave their seats, when Frank stood and raised his half-filled wineglass. "A toast, " he announced. The others raised their glasses, and the twins insisted that theirs be refilled with milk so they could join in. "To my little brother, Zachary, who proved that brains are always better than brawn when it comes to making it in this world. It's good to have you back in Sterling."

  "Amen, " said the Judge. "Amen, " the twins echoed. Zack stood and raised his glass toward Frank, wondering if anyone at the table besides himself thought the message in the toast a bit strange. For a moment, his eyes and his brother's met. Almost imperceptibly, Frank nodded. The toast was no accident. For all of his status and accomplishments, Frank still measured himself against the MD degree of his younger brother, and found himself wanting. "To you all, " Zack said finally. "And especially to my new partner in crime. Frank, I'm proud to be working with you."

  "Amen, " shouted the twins. "Amen."

  CHAPTER TWO

  The three of them, father and sons, sat alone at the table. Outside, the storm clouds had arrived, bringing with them a premature dusk. The women were in the kitchen, Annie in the breakfast nook, Cinnie and Lisette by the sink, loading the dishwasher for the second time, chatting about the upcoming Women's Club bake sale, and keeping watch on the twins, who had taken Cheap dog out back to play in the meadow. In a manner quite consistent with his belief that business matters and women should be separated whenever possible, the Judge had kept the conversation light until the last of them, Annie, had left the room. Then, after a few sips of coffee, he turned abruptly to Frank. "Guy Beaulieu came to see me yesterday, " he said. "So?"

  "He says Ultramed and that new surgeon, Mainwaring, have just about put him out of business at the hospital."

  "Jason Mainwaring's not new, Judge, " Frank said patiently. "He's been here almost two years. And no one-not him, not Ultramed, not me, not anyone-is trying to put Beaulieu out of business. Except maybe Beaulieu himself. If he'd be a little more cooperative and a little more civil to people around the hospital, none of this would be happening."

  "Guy's a crusty old devil, " the Judge said, "I'll grant you that.

  But he's also been around this town nearly as long as I have, and he's helped a lot of folks."

  "What's all this about? " Zack asked. The Judge was hardly a spontaneous man, and Zack could not help but wonder if there was a reason he had postponed this conversation through four hours of golf to have it now.

  Frank and the Judge measured one another, silently debating whose version of the story Zack was to hear first. The contest lasted only a few seconds. "A short while back, " the Judge began, obviously unwilling openly to concede Frank's "almost two years,"

  "Ultramed-Davis brought a new surgeon into town, this Jason Mainwaring."

  "I met him, I think, " Zack said. He turned to Frank. "The tall, blond guy with the southern drawl? " Frank nodded. Zack remembered the man as somewhat distant, but polished, intense, and, during their brief contact, quite knowledgeable-more the type he would have expected to see as a university medical-center professor than as a mountain community-hospital general surgeon. "Well, " the Judge went on,

  "apparently Guy was already beginning to have some trouble getting a lot of his patients admitted to the hospital."

  Frank sighed audibly and bit at his lower lip, making it clear that only courtesy kept him from interrupting to contest the statement. "More and more, his patients-especially the poor French-Canadian ones-were being shipped to the county hospital in Clarion. Then rumors started floating around town about Guy's competence and all of a sudden, all the surgical cases who could pay-those with insurance, or on Medicaid-were going to this Mainwaring. I've heard some of the rumors myself and, let me tell you, they are vicious. Drinking, doing unnecessary internal exams on women, taking powerful drugs because of a small stroke…"

  "Is there truth to any of them? " Zack asked. During the summer between his sophomore and junior years at Yale Med, he had worked as an extern at the then Davis Regional Hospital, and Beaulieu had gone out of his way to bring him into the operating room and to nurture his growing interest in surgery. It was a concern he had never forgotten. The Judge shook his head. "According to Guy, there have been no specific complaints from anyone. Just rumors. He says that about eighty percent of his work now is charity stuff at Clarion County, and that he hasn't operated on a non-French-Canadian patient at Ultramed for almost a year.

  He says the whole thing is a conspiracy to get back at him because he was so opposed to the sale of the hospital to Ultramed in the first place."

  "That's ridiculous, " Frank said. "Mainwaring's getting the cases because he's good and he works like hell. It's as simple as that. You know, Judge, I don't think it's fair for you to take Beaulieu's side in this thing."

  Clayton Iverson slammed his hand down on the table. "Don't you ever dare tell me what's fair, young man! " he snapped. "The provisional phase in our contract with Ultramed still has a month to run. I convinced the board of trustees to sell out to them in the first place, and by God, the three weeks until our meeting and vote is more than enough time for me to convince them to exercise our option and buy the damn place back."

  He breathe deeply and calmed himself. Zack glanced over at Frank. Though he was staring at their father impassively, his hands were clenched and his knuckles were bone-white. "And let me make this clear, " the Judge went on, "I haven't taken anyone's side. As a matter of fact, Frank, I resented his implications that you were in any way involved with his problems, and I told him so. He apologized and backed off some, but he's hurt, and he's angry.