“I want you to try to relax, Van.”
“I’m fine.” But the burning hadn’t stopped. “It’s just stress, maybe a little indigestion.”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.” He eased down beside her. “I want you to tell me when I hurt you.” Very gently, he pressed on her lower abdomen. “Have you ever had your appendix out?”
“No.”
“Any abdominal surgery?”
“No, nothing.”
He kept his eyes on her face as he continued the examination. When he pressed just under her breastbone, he saw the flare of pain in her eyes before she cried out. Though his face was grim, he took her hand soothingly.
“Van, how long have you been having pain?”
She was ashamed to have cried out. “Everyone has pain.”
“Answer the question.”
“I don’t know.”
He struggled for patience. “How does it feel now?”
“It’s fine. I just want—”
“Don’t lie to me.” He wanted to curse her as pungently as he was cursing himself. He’d known she wasn’t well, almost from the moment he’d seen her again. “Is there a burning sensation?”
Because she saw no choice, she relented. “Some.”
It had been just about an hour since they’d eaten, he thought. The timing was right. “Have you had this happen before, after you’ve had alcohol?”
“I don’t really drink anymore.”
“Because you get this reaction?”
She closed her eyes. Why didn’t he just go and leave her alone? “I suppose.”
“Do you get gnawing aches, here, under the breastbone?”
“Sometimes.”
“And in your stomach?”
“It’s more of a grinding, I guess.”
“Like acute hunger pangs.”
“Yes.” The accuracy of his description made her frown. “It passes.”
“What are you taking for it?”
“Just over-the-counter stuff.” And enough was enough. “Brady, becoming a doctor’s obviously gone to your head. You’re making a case out of nothing. I’ll take a couple of antacids and be fine.”
“You don’t treat an ulcer with antacids.”
“I don’t have an ulcer. That’s ridiculous. I’m never sick.”
“You listen to me.” He propped a hand on either side of her head. “You’re going into the hospital for tests—X rays, an upper G.I. And you’re going to do what I tell you.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.” The very idea of it made her remember the horror of her father’s last days. “You’re not my doctor.”
He swore at her richly.
“Nice bedside manner. Now get out of my way.”
“You stay right here. And I mean right here.”
She obeyed, only because she didn’t know if she could manage to stand. Why now? she wondered as she fought against the pain. Why here? She’d had nasty attacks like this before, but she’d always been alone, and she’d always been able to weather them. And she would weather it this time. Just as she was struggling to sit up, Brady came back with his father.
“Now, what’s all this?” Ham said.
“Brady overreacting.” She managed to smile, and would have swung her legs off the bed if Brady hadn’t stopped her.
“She doubled up with pain when we were outside. There’s burning in the abdomen, acute tenderness under the breastbone.”
Ham sat on the bed and began his own gentle probing. His questions ran along the same lines as Brady’s, and his face became more and more sober at her answers. At last he sat back.
“Now what’s a young girl like you doing with an ulcer?”
“I don’t have an ulcer.”
“You’ve got two doctors telling you different. I assume that’s your diagnosis, Brady.”
“It is.”
“Well, you’re both wrong.” Vanessa struggled to push herself up. Ham merely shifted the pillows behind her and eased her back. With a nod, he looked back at his son.
“Of course, we’ll confirm it with X rays and tests.”
“I’m not going in the hospital.” She was desperately hanging on to one small bit of control. “Ulcers are for Wall Street brokers and CEOs. I’m a musician, for God’s sake. I’m not a compulsive worrier, or someone who lets tension rule my life.”
“I’ll tell you what you are,” Brady said, anger shimmering in his voice. “You’re a woman who hasn’t bothered to take care of herself, who’s too damn stubborn to sit back and admit when she’s taken on too much. And you’re going to the hospital if I have to hog-tie you.”