by Betsy Ashton
Emilie winked at me. “How did you find a doctor named Running Bear?”
“I didn’t find him. He found me. Several nurses assured me he’s the best surgeon in the hospital.” I laughed. “You had the same initial reaction I did, but I like the way he talks to us. Blunt.”
“I like the way he includes Alex in all decisions. He treats him with respect.” Ducks ate silently for a few moments. The conversation flowed around him until he rejoined. “He didn’t tell us the whole truth, though.”
“Who didn’t?” I asked.
“Dr. Running Bear.”
“He did outside of Alex’s room,” Johnny said, relaying the gist of the medical update. Dr. Running Bear confirmed that they were knocking down the infection in the leg. He thought the cough would resolve itself and not turn into something worse. He planned to run tests to rule out pneumonia.
“Like I said, we need to keep an eye on Alex’s leg and lungs.” Ducks had said all he was going to for a while.
“You know, Em, you and Ducks should take your show on the road,” said Johnny, his eyes twinkling. “Spooks R Us. Think of the money you guys could make.”
Emilie had no interest in exploiting her gift. She worked with a therapist for several years to learn to control it. When she used it to help people or protect them from danger, she was fine. If she ever tried to use it for profit, her therapist said she’d become deathly ill. Right now, her brother was her complete focus.
We chatted about their flights into Albuquerque. Emilie said theirs was really bumpy just before they landed. Ducks’ plane had slewed sideways as it approached the runway.
“You hit the afternoon thermals,” Johnny said.
“And how. The plane bounced all over the sky for about ten minutes. Several people screamed, and a couple of children got sick.” Emilie cut a bite of filet. “I didn’t do either. I’m getting really good at flying.”
“We had a couple of sick passengers as well. I say, I vastly prefer flying in your private jet, Max. At least I have legroom and the coffee and tea are always hot,” Ducks said.
“My plane would have slewed, too,” I said.
“True, but I’d have ridden out the slew in comfort.”
Ducks often accompanied me on my corporate jet from Biloxi to the general aviation airport at Teterboro in New Jersey, just outside of New York City. After my third and last husband died in an experimental plane crash, I inherited his engineering business, which was invested in determining alternate fuels that could be used safely in transportation. I went home for monthly board meetings; Ducks went home to shop and visit friends.
“So, tell us, Ducks, are you set to sail with Max and Em?” Johnny shook Worcestershire sauce on his steak.
“I’m ready to pack. As soon as Max says it’s a go, I’ll meet them in Key West. I’m looking forward to getting back on the water. Maybe do a little scuba diving when we reach port in the Virgin Islands.”
Johnny shuddered.
“What? You don’t like scuba diving?” Ducks asked.
“I don’t like the ocean,” said Johnny. “I stay out of salt water.”
“Come to think about it, I’ve never seen Uncle Johnny swimming,” Emilie said, attacking her baked potato with a gusto normally reserved for Alex.
“And you never will.”$
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEXT MORNING, Johnny, Ducks, Emilie, and I arrived at the hospital to find families milling around in the lobby and an ambulance idling in the emergency bay, lights flashing. The day before had been quiet until we left. My initial impression was that San Felipe served a steady stream of routine injuries and ailments, but little else unless there was an accident on the highway. This hubbub seemed unusual. I shot a look at Emilie and Ducks, who responded with small nods.
“Whatever it is, it’s getting worse.” Sweat beaded on Emilie’s upper lip, a sure sign that she was in her secret place.
Ducks stared at the family, evaluating their concern. He jerked his chin toward the crowd. “They’re terrified.”
Johnny’s eyes clouded. “The sooner we get Alex out of here, the better. He’ll be safer at the ranch.”
Safer? We left the lobby to see if Alex had made enough progress to leave. We found Whip in his room, looking tired but relieved.
“Had a good talk with Dr. Running Bear,” he said in greeting. Alex was out of traction, although the screws still poked through his cast. His temperature returned to normal, and the swelling diminished around the incision.
“He’s responding well to the different antibiotic,” said a mousy nurse, who’d followed on my heels. “You just missed Dr. Running Bear. He’s living up to his name today. We had a rush of admissions last night.”
“It looks like another one came in just now.” The nurse moved back down the hall and I moved to Alex’s bedside, and leaned over to kiss his cheek.
“Alex has a date with the physical therapist within the hour.” Whip stretched cramped shoulders. I should have warned him that the reclining chair wasn’t very comfortable.
“We’re here to give you a break,” Johnny said. “Come down and have a cup of coffee.”
The three men left Emilie and me alone with our now restless boy, who said he hadn’t vomited once on the new medicine.
“Mad Max, hospital food sucks,” Alex complained. He picked at the cast, and I swatted his hand away.
“Yesterday you didn’t give a crap about the food,” Emilie said. “Nothing tastes good coming back up.”
Alex stuck his tongue out at his sister and laughed before falling into a coughing fit. Emilie moved to the side of the bed. She watched Alex’s face contort, his chest heave, as he tried to clear whatever was in his lungs. He tried to draw a deep breath, but stopped.
“My chest hurts so bad.”
“Don’t forget you have two broken ribs,” I said. “Uncle Johnny said it could be a couple of weeks before they stop hurting.”
Emilie and I shared a look of concern over his head. The antibiotics worked on the infection in his leg, but not on his lungs.
The physical therapist came to exercise Alex. She put him through a series of leg lifts, which caused him to groan. “I know it hurts, but you have to strengthen the muscles.”
“My chest hurts worse than my leg does.”
“I’ll teach you how to tighten your tummy muscles to help with the exercises. I’ll be right back with a pair of crutches. No matter how much your chest hurts, you need to get out of bed. It will help with that cough. We don’t want it to turn into pneumonia, do we?”
When we were alone again, Alex bitched about how much it hurt to raise his leg. I ignored him. Emilie stared into the distance as if the windowless wall were transparent. Five minutes passed before the therapist returned with kid-sized crutches.
“Okay, I want you to clench your abdominal muscles.” She laid her hand on Alex’s stomach. “Tighten here. Good. Now swing both legs off the bed slowly. You can put your good foot under the cast and lift if that hurts less.”
Alex bit his lower lip and did as he was told. The therapist adjusted the length of the crutches and showed Alex how to put his weight on his hands and not his underarms.
“Your hands are tougher than your armpits. They’ll get sore, but if you bear all your weight on your underarms, you’ll irritate the skin and get a rash.”
Alex took a few tentative steps to get used to swinging the dead weight of his cast.
“Keep the cast in front of you,” the therapist said. “Lead with it. You’ll be better balanced than if you keep it behind the crutches.”
“And no being the terror of the ward.” I didn’t want him barreling down the hall until he was steadier. Strike that. I didn’t want him barreling down the hall. Period.
“Hey, Captain Chaos, no racing,” Emilie called.
Dr. Running Bear turned a corner in time to see Alex shuffling along as fast as he could. “I see where you got your nickname.”
“Yeah, well.” Alex re
turned to his bed. He was sweating from the effort.
The therapist praised him. “I want you to walk every two hours, but don’t try to get out of bed by yourself yet. Call a nurse to help you. We don’t want you to fall. Walk to the end of the hall and back. Walk slowly.”
“Let’s not break any more bones, okay? Much as I like you, I want you to go home,” said Dr. Running Bear.
Toby slipped into the room and chirped, “Time for your daily bloodletting.”
###
We held a family council in the hospital cafeteria to talk about the next steps in Alex’s recovery. Dr. Running Bear planned to release him in another day or two, but he wouldn’t allow him to return to the construction site. We had to be in a cleaner environment, closer to doctors who could monitor his recovery. He’d need outpatient surgery to remove the screws in a couple of weeks.
“We have great doctors in New York,” I offered. I’d been on the losing end of the bring-the kids-to-New-York argument many times in the past. After their mother was murdered, I felt the best place for them was my Manhattan apartment. The novelty of living in a huge city would be good therapy. Their father wanted nothing to do with that. “They’ll live with me,” he’d said.
Again, Johnny volunteered his brother’s guest house. “Max, stay at the ranch until his incision heals. Once there are no open wounds, you can come back to Mississippi. My sister-in-law would love to have you. She’s really good with kids, too.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Ducks said. “He can continue his lessons through the Internet and email while he recuperates. We can text and talk by phone to get a jump start on the next term.”
Emilie remained in her special place. When she re-emerged, her brow was creased, her eyes dark and troubled. Ducks stared at her. Had I not been looking directly at her, I’d never have noticed Emilie and Ducks sharing an unspoken message.
“What?” I said. “You feel something. I can see it.”
She shook her head. “I do, but I don’t know what it is. I don’t feel right about something, but it’s just too vague to have a name or face.”
“A name? A face? You mean, like a person?” Whip asked.
“Yes.” The word came out in a long string of syllables. She shook her head again. “I don’t know. Maybe it’ll become clearer soon.”
Over a second cup of coffee, we decided as a group that it made little sense for all of us to sit around and watch Alex heal. Whip and Emilie would return to their townhouse in Richmond, and Ducks to his New York apartment. Johnny would stay with me until Alex was released, then he would go back to the job site where he’d eventually be reunited with our extended family. I’d stay with Alex at the ranch until he was cleared to travel.
Whip decided to spend his last night in New Mexico with Alex. The rest of us returned to the ranch, where Johnny arranged for his brother and sister-in-law to loan me an old truck so that I could come and go as I wished. I protested that I could rent a car, only to be rather summarily smacked down. The nearest rental agency was close to sixty miles away, at the airport. Western hospitality demanded I accept the loan of the truck.
“I hope you can drive a stick,” Johnny said.
“No problem.” I’d learned to drive on my dad’s farm truck. Nothing fancier than a three-speed standard transmission. But I had more recent experience, too. “My first Jag was a five-speed manual.”
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT MORNING, Ducks and Emilie left to visit with Alex before heading to the airport for their late-afternoon flights. I planned to follow Johnny to the hospital to acquaint myself with the peculiarities of the old truck, whose name was Gabby. The column shift had to be wiggled three times to go from second to third, and the brake pedal was loose, but regardless of its assorted squeaks and squeals, the truck seemed sound. I parked in the visitor lot next to Johnny’s truck.
When we entered the hospital together, we immediately sensed a change in atmosphere. Nurses rushed around the lobby, most with cell phones glued to ears. Orderlies ensured that the emergency room was stocked and ready to receive patients.
Is this urgency because more patients have arrived? Or is something unknown causing the apprehension I feel?
Johnny took my hand “Upstairs. We need an update from Ducks and Em.” We rushed for the staircase.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but something significant has changed. Even dense me can feel it,” I said as we turned the corner toward Med-Surg.
“Hey, guys,” Ducks said, heading toward us. He pointed a finger back the way we came. “Cafeteria.”
Johnny and I spun on our heels and trotted downstairs with him. We drew cups of coffee and threw money in the jar before Ducks led us to a table in a far corner. He was edgier than I’d seen him, even distraught.
“Is something wrong with Alex?”
“No. Hear me out before you rush in.” Ducks blew on the coffee. I stirred cream into mine until Johnny took the spoon from my hand.
“If you stir that any more, you’ll have butter.”
I put my hands in my lap. Ducks sipped the coffee and wrinkled his nose before speaking. “You can feel the difference, can’t you, Max? Something bad is beginning.”
“Beginning?” Johnny asked.
“Yes, but I don’t know what it is . . . ”
Ducks had been in and out of Alex’s room all morning. At one point, he and Emilie left Whip and went on a walkabout, much as I had the first night. They poked into every ward except maternity, which needed a wristband to get in. They strolled through the attached medical center where the doctors had their offices. They peeked through doors into physical therapy, located the lab where our chirpy vampire held court, and found several more general wards, each with individual patient rooms. Gone were the days of open wards. Gone were the days of double rooms, unless they were needed to accommodate a sudden influx of patients.
“We stumbled into the ICU without knowing what it was at first. That’s when things got weird,” Ducks continued.
“Weird? How?” Johnny asked.
They’d seen two patients in the ICU, both children, and both surrounded by medical personnel.
“Dr. Running Bear was there, as were two other doctors I didn’t recognize, and several nurses. The lab tech passed us on a run with a fistful of blood samples. He smashed through the door and disappeared down the hallway. The parents hovered outside the rooms, the mothers wringing their hands and crying.”
“Was there an accident?” That seemed like the most logical explanation to me.
“I don’t think so. You wouldn’t need blood work for an accident, would you?”
“Not usually,” Johnny shook his head. “Unless there were severe injuries requiring transfusions.”
“No one will give us information. A couple of nurses brushed me off with ‘some children are sick.’”
“No shit,” Johnny said. “From what you saw, they must be really ill. Otherwise, why the urgency?”
Ducks had run out of details. We looked at each other, rose, and carried our stale, burnt coffee upstairs, where Emilie, Alex, and Whip played cards. We needed Emilie to give us her take.
“Hey, Mad Max,” Alex called as soon as he saw me. “I’ve been up and down the hall six times since you left. Want to see me?”
Of course, I did. Alex tossed his cards on the bed, swung his legs to the floor, and grabbed his crutches. In his excitement to show off his newly-round freedom, he forgot to call a nurse for assistance. He moved out into the corridor faster than he should have, tripping Toby in the process. Ducks jumped in time to catch Alex, but Toby dropped his tray of syringes, which rolled away or shattered.
“Goddamn it, kid, watch where you’re going!”
“Hey, don’t swear at my son,” Whip cried, jumping to his feet—not to help with the cleanup but to confront Toby. He grabbed his arm. “It was an accident.”
“Get away from me,” Toby’s voice rose. He shook Whip’s hand off. Gone was the fake cheer. �
�Get back in your room until I clean up the mess you made.” Johnny leaped to help.
“Don’t touch anything.”
Johnny and Ducks exchanged glances, as did Emilie and I. Toby’s reaction was way out of proportion for a simple spill of syringes and vials. If an influx of patients caused Toby to abandon his chirpy façade, I wondered how he’d react if the situation exploded out of control.
Toby’s shouts brought an orderly on the run with mops and brooms. Before Toby could warn him, the orderly swept the broken glass into a pan and dumped it. The orderly pulled a sliver from his thumb and wiped a smear of blood on the hem of his shirt.
Whip helped Alex back into his room. Alex called an apology to Toby’s back, to no avail. He turned toward Ducks and his father.
“I didn’t mean to trip him.” Tears formed in the corners of his eyes.
Whip put an arm awkwardly around his son. Alex got tangled in his crutches and stumbled. “I know you didn’t. I’ll talk with Toby before I leave. He needs to apologize for his language.”
Ducks and Whip helped the upset boy into bed. I promised I’d watch him walk in the evening or the next day. He had plenty of time to show me how strong he was getting. We headed out for a late lunch after Alex assured us he’d be fine alone for a couple of hours. He’d play with his Game Boy while we were gone.
###
We slipped out to a small mom-and-pop restaurant. We needed time to talk. Homey smells of meatloaf and macaroni and cheese welcomed us.
Emilie started with, “Something bad is coming. I don’t know what it is. I keep trying to feel the source of danger, but I can only get so far. I have jumbled impressions of one or more people involved. Everyone’s general unease gets in the way. You’re getting in my way, too, Mr. Ducks.”
“Me?”
“You’re partly blocking me.”
“I see. Sorry.”
Emilie closed her eyes.
“You described what I sense perfectly, Em. It’s like a dome fell over the hospital, trapping something evil inside.” Ducks scanned a menu and decided on his meal.
