"That's right."
"And that she was going to be a credit to the medical profession."
"Yes."
"Was there any doubt about . . .?"
"None," Dr. Pearson said firmly. "None at all. She's probably a little nervous. She's high-strung, but if you just give her a chance, I'm sure she'll be fine."
"Well, I appreciate your telling me. We'll certainly give her every chance. Thank you."
"Not at all." The line went dead.
Jim Pearson sat there, hating himself for what he had done.
But my wife and children come first.
Chapter Eight
Honey Taft had the bad fortune to have been born into a family of overachievers. Her handsome father was the founder and president of a large computer company in Memphis, Tennessee, her lovely mother was a genetic scientist, and Honey's older twin sisters were as attractive, as brainy, and as ambitious as their parents. The Tafts were among the most prominent families in Memphis.
Honey had inconveniently come along when her sisters were six years old.
"Honey was our little accident," her mother would tell their friends. "I wanted to have an abortion, but Fred was against it. Now he's sorry."
Where Honey's sisters were stunning, Honey was plain. Where they were brilliant, Honey was average.
Her sisters had started talking at nine months. Honey had not uttered a word until she was almost two.
"We call her 'the dummy,' " her father would laugh.
"Honey is the ugly duckling of the Taft family. Only I don't think she's going to turn into a swan."
It was not that Honey was ugly, but neither was she pretty. She was ordinary-looking, with a thin, pinched face, mousy blond hair, and an unenviable figure. What Honey did have was an extraordinarily sweet, sunny disposition, a quality not particularly prized in a family of competitive overachievers.
From the earliest time Honey could remember, her greatest desire was to please her parents and sisters and make them love her. It was a futile effort. Her parents were busy with their careers, and her sisters were busy winning beauty contests and scholarships. To add to Honey's misery, she was inordinately shy. Consciously or unconsciously, her family had implanted in her a feeling of deep inferiority.
In high school, Honey was known as the Wallflower. She attended school dances and parties by herself, and smiled and tried not to show how miserable she was, because she did not want to spoil anyone's fun. She would watch her sisters picked up at the house by the most popular boys at school, and then she would go up to her lonely room to struggle with her homework.
And try not to cry.
On weekends and during the summer holidays, Honey made pocket money by baby-sitting. She loved taking care of children, and the children adored her.
When Honey was not working, she would go off and explore Memphis by herself. She visited Graceland, where Elvis Presley had lived, and walked down Beale Street, where the blues started. She wandered through the Pink Palace Museum, and the Planetarium, with its roaring, stomping dinosaur. She went to the aquarium.
And Honey was always alone.
She was unaware that her life was about to change drastically.
Honey knew that many of her classmates were having love affairs. They discussed it constantly at school.
"Have you gone to bed with Ricky yet? He's the best... !"
"Joe is really into orgasms ..."
"I was out with Tony last night. I'm exhausted. What an animal! I'm seeing him again tonight ..."
Honey stood there listening to their conversations, and she was filled with a bittersweet envy, and a feeling that she would never know what sex was like. Who would want me? Honey wondered.
One Friday night, there was a school prom. Honey had no intention of going, but her father said, "You know, I'm concerned. Your sisters tell me that you're a wallflower, and that you're not going to the prom because you can't get a date."
Honey blushed. "That's not true," she said. "I do have a date, and I am going." Don't let him ask who my date is, Honey prayed.
He didn't.
Now Honey found herself at the prom, seated in her usual corner, watching the others dancing and having a wonderful time.
And that was when the miracle occurred.
Roger Merton, the captain of the football team and the most popular boy at school, was on the dance floor, having a fight with his girlfriend. He had been drinking. "You're a no-good, selfish bastard!" she said. "And you're a dumb bitch!" "You can go screw yourself." "I don't have to screw myself, Sally. I can screw somebody else. Anyone I want to."
"Go ahead!" She stormed off the dance floor. Honey could not help but overhear. Merton saw her looking at him. "What the hell are you staring at?" He was slurring his words. "Nothing," Honey said.
"I'll show the bitch! You think I won't show her?" "I ... yes."
"Damn right. Let's have a li'l drink." Honey hesitated. Merton was obviously drunk. "Well, I don't ..."
"Great. I have a bottle in the car." "I really don't think I ..." And he had Honey's arm and was steering her out of the room. She went along because she did not want to make a scene and embarrass him.
Outside, Honey tried to pull away. "Roger, I don't think this is a good idea. I . . ." "What the hell are you—chicken?" "No, I ..." "Okay, then. Come on."
He led her to his car and opened the door. Honey stood there a moment. "Get in."
"I can only stay a moment," Honey said.
She got in the car because she did not want to upset Roger. He climbed in beside her.