by Sarah Zettel
“Grandma?” said Dana again. Jeannie still didn’t move.
Mom muttered something and grabbed a thin white blanket that had been left on one of the cabinets. She shook it out and Dana grabbed one side. Together, they covered Jeannie up, carefully moving her hand to try not to disturb the IV.
Eventually, people started bringing paperwork and questions. Mom filled out a crap ton of forms. And then everybody went away for a while. Then, a man came and introduced himself as Dr. Yasim and took Mom out past the curtains to talk.
When Mom came back, she stood by the bed railing and stared down at Jeannie.
“What are they saying?”
“Nothing.” Mom bit the word off. “They’re just asking questions right now. Oh, but she is showing signs of malnutrition. And…there are some signs consistent with a cancer diagnosis.”
Mom pretty much stopped talking after that.
Don’t die, Grandma. Dana twisted her hands. She couldn’t keep them still. She needed to do something—watch something, or thumb or make or chop something. She couldn’t just sit here.
Except that was all she could do, because there were signs on every wall about how you had to keep your phone turned off. So, all Dana had to do was listen to the ebb and flow of voices on the other side of the curtains and stare at Jeannie and think, Don’t die, don’t die—please don’t die.
Either that or, Do something. Do something, do something, do something.
Finally, a white woman in scrubs with rainbow-colored hearts all over them pulled the curtain back and told them they had a room ready on the twenty-fifth floor.
That woman and an African-American man came and fussed with the gurney bed and the IV and rolled Jeannie away. Which left Dana and Mom nothing to do but gather up their stuff and try to navigate corridors and elevator banks up to the room.
When they finally got to the right hallway, Mom put a hand on her shoulder.
“You go on ahead. I need to talk to the nurse at the desk.”
So Dana went on ahead, but when she found the room, she looked back over her shoulder. Mom stood at the reception desk, talking with a young, brown-skinned woman in dark-blue scrubs.
Mom was crying. Not ugly crying or anything, but she had a Kleenex clutched in her hand and dabbed at her eyes and her nose.
Dana watched numbly. I don’t get it. Mom never cried.
The nurse took Mom’s hand and said something. They stood like that for a minute, and then Mom walked briskly down the wide hallway.
The tears had stopped like she’d thrown a switch.
“What was that?” asked Dana.
“Getting the room phone hooked up.” Mom brushed past her. “And I wanted to try to make sure somebody’s going to let me know if Todd makes a surprise visit.”
The hospital room was quiet, dim, beige, and private. There was an abstract print on the wall, and a whiteboard with the date and the nurse and the doctor on duty written in blue marker. There was a tall cupboard, a vinyl recliner, and a window onto the sprawling network of parking lots. Dana could see the Skyway in the distance.
They had Jeannie on her back in the bed, wired up to…everything. The monitor beeped. She was frowning in her sleep, her face all clenched up tight.
Mom set the plastic bag with Jeannie’s stuff down beside the narrow cupboard that was the room’s closet. Then she turned away and dug into her purse. “Listen, Dangerface, did you see that café we passed in the lobby? Why don’t you go get some breakfast? And I think the gift shop is open, or it should be soon. Can you go get y—your grandmother some things? Toothbrush, soap. Socks are good. Your feet are always cold in the hospital. Maybe they’ll have some pajamas or something comfortable she can wear until we can get home and pack a proper bag for her.”
“But I want to be here when she wakes up.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Mom. “I’m going to be right here.” Why did that suddenly sound like a threat? Mom handed Dana some bills. “That should be enough.”
“Can we have our phones on here? You’ll text me if she wakes up, right?”
“Right away. Promise.”
Dana took the money reluctantly. I don’t want to leave. I want to…I want to…
What did she want? What did she think was actually going to happen if she left Mom and Grandma alone right now?
But Dana didn’t know, and that was the problem.
When Dana stepped out of the elevator, the first thing she did was switch her phone back on. The signs said cell phone use was allowed in the lobby. There were a couple of messages. Kimi and Keesha sent pictures from the party she had missed, trying to share the fun. It was like she was looking at another life.
She shoved her phone in her pocket. She didn’t want to think, and she definitely did not want to feel. She had a job to do. Jeannie needed stuff.
In the gift shop, Dana grabbed a handbasket and immediately found the aisle of travel-size soaps and toothpastes. Jeannie would probably like a brush better than a comb. There was a whole rack of socks. She picked two pairs: one with puppies and one with kittens. There were nightshirts. She got a pink one that said PRINCESS IN TRAINING. It looked happy and goofy.
She stopped in front of the rack of balloons. Maybe just one? She wanted to bring Jeannie something to eat, but the doctors might be putting her on a restricted diet or something, and if there were…stomach problems, she should probably wait and…
“Dana?”
“The fuck!” Dana jumped and spun.
It was Dad. Right behind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
As soon as the door closed behind Dana, Beth collapsed into the room’s vinyl recliner and squeezed her burning eyes shut. I wish I weren’t so tired. I wish I could think. I wish…
If wishes were fishes, we’d all cast nets. That was Grammy, stomping across the dirt yard, with little Star trailing after her. Before this all started, before, before, before…
Stay awake, Beth. Beth blinked hard and knuckled her eyes. You’ve got things to do before Dana gets back.
She thought about her daughter downstairs, shopping for little things to make this woman comfortable. Fear was automatic. What if something happened? She shoved it aside. She needed Dana gone. She would be all right for fifteen minutes in a hospital lobby.
Beth made herself get out her phone and switch it back on. There were missed calls from Doug, all of which she ignored. Nothing from Rafi, or Zoe, or her father.
She pulled up James Kinseki’s number. While it rang, she crossed to the doorway, so it would be at least a little less likely the sound of her voice would wake Jeannie up.
“What?”
“It’s Beth Fraser, Mr. Kinseki.”
“Yeah.” She heard rustling and pictured him sitting up in bed. It was only eight thirty on a Sunday morning. They had been in the hospital since two a.m. “What can I do for you?”
“I need you to track down some names.”
Kinseki sighed. “Yeah, okay. Hang on…” There was more rustling and then shuffling and a sound that might have been a drawer dragging open. “Okay. Shoot.”
Beth dug down hard into her tired memory. “Amanda Pace Martin is probably the most recent. Felicia…no, Felicity. Felicity Brandt. And Stacey Walsh.”
“You got anything to help me on this? A bunch of names isn’t really enough to work with if I’m trying to find somebody.”
“They all would live within a few hours of places my parents were staying over the past year, maybe two. And they are all women my father scammed.”
“Well, that’s new.” Kinseki finally sounded like he was waking up.
“Yeah. And it might not be true. But I need to know, and I need to know right now.”
“I’ll see if I can turn up anything. No promises, and we are back on the meter.”
“I understand.”
Kinseki hung up and Beth hung up.
What now? What should I be doing?
She knew there was something. There had
to be. But in the fog of her own exhaustion, all she could do was stare at the frail woman in the bed.
A cancer diagnosis would be consistent with some of the symptoms we’re seeing. The doctor’s words rose softly out of Beth’s sleep-deprived brain.
It doesn’t matter if it’s true, she tried to tell herself. It doesn’t change anything. She is what she is. What she always has been.
So why did Beth feel so suddenly, deeply sick? She curled her knees up to her chest. She should have been dancing in the streets. One of them would finally be dead and gone, and she didn’t have to lift a finger. How long had she wanted this?
But not this way. And that was the clawing feeling that made no sense. She did not want to watch her mother really, finally failing. She did not want the awareness that Jeannie was weak and dependent and that there was no one left in her world, except Beth. Beth and Dana.
And Todd. Oh yes, Todd, always and forever.
He’s not gonna stop. The memory of Jeannie’s sobs rippled through her. Not until somebody’s dead.
Something bothered Beth. Something about those sobs and the darkness and what she’d seen while her mother wandered around her home.
She stared out the window over the parking lot. She made herself see Jeannie’s silhouette, with the cigarette bobbing in her mouth as she leaned forward to look at the books. See her reach into her pocket and pull out the lighter and hold it up and…
And did she hesitate? Like she heard something?
Did she know I was there?
Then Jeannie went to the balcony and saw Dad, and she dropped like she’d been shot. Or had she hesitated then too? Was that what bothered her?
Something…something…something…
Beth’s phone beeped. It was Dana, texting to say she was getting breakfast in the café and did Beth want anything? She texted back a no.
She levered herself out of the chair and went over to the plastic bag of Jeannie’s possessions. Moving carefully, Beth pulled the clothes out. She went through the bathrobe and sweatpants pockets and found the lighter, the cigarettes, an unmarked amber plastic bottle half-full of bicolored capsules. Should tell the doctors. She laid those aside.
She also found the flip phone.
It could just about fit in the palm of her hand. Beth tried to imagine how it would look in the dark.
In the dark it might—maybe—be mistaken for a cigarette lighter. In the dark, her mother could hide it in her bathrobe pocket and head out to the balcony, not to get a smoke, but to talk to Todd, who was waiting across the street.
The memory fit into the ragged places in her mind. But was it real? Or just what she wanted?
Beth heard rustling behind her. She slid the phone into her jeans pocket and turned.
Jeannie had opened her eyes. They were bloodshot and darted back and forth wildly.
“Shit,” she mumbled. “Where the hell…”
“West Chicago County Hospital.” Beth stepped into her line of sight. “You passed out in my apartment. Do you remember?”
Jeannie frowned at her for a couple of seconds. Then, she started shoving back the blanket. “I’ve got to get out of here,” she snapped, or at least she tried to. Her words were slurring.
“No, Mom.” Beth grabbed the blanket and held it, and Jeannie, in place. “You need to stay. In fact, it’s what we all need.”
Jeannie glowered at her, but she did stop fighting with the blanket. “What are you talking about?”
Beth picked up the remote control that was cabled to the bedside.
“You wanted to leave Todd, right?” She pushed one of the buttons to raise the bed’s head. “And you didn’t want to go to the shelter. Well, this is not the shelter, and Todd’s not going to be able to get at you.”
“What are you talking about? He’s my husband. They’ll let him in the second he shows up!” Jeannie coughed, and coughed again.
There was a skinny tray table on wheels and some cups wrapped in plastic like in a motel. Beth ripped one open and filled it from the sink. She held the cup to Jeannie’s mouth. Jeannie gave her another hard glare, but she took a swallow. And another.
“The rules have changed.” Beth set the cup on the table. “They won’t let him in unless you put his name on your visitors’ list. They can’t even tell him you’re here, and he can’t ask for you if he doesn’t know what name you’re checked in under.”
“You got me in here as Debbie Watts?” Jeannie snapped. “Jesus! Why the hell…?”
“You told me you had cancer,” Beth answered. “Of course I told the doctors your given name. They have to be able to get your full records. So you see?” Beth spread her hands. “As long as you don’t invite him in, you’re practically in witness protection. You’ll be fine. Dana’s bringing you some stuff from the gift shop. Then I’m going to take her home so—”
“No!” Sudden panic filled Jeannie’s voice. “Don’t leave me alone. I hate this! I’m not staying! I’m not!”
“You have to,” said Beth. “You’re sick, remember? You’re dying of cancer and you wanted to get help.” She leaned in closer. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me before I hear it from the doctors?”
Jeannie grabbed her hand. She squeezed, or she tried to. Her fingers felt too light around Beth’s.
That was when the nurse knocked on the door. Jeannie froze like she’d been caught in the act.
“Come in.” Beth yanked her hand free and backed away, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest, like she was afraid something was going to break free. Beth stood by the window, trying to keep out of the way while the nurse checked the IV and the machines and asked all the questions. Jeannie answered, very clearly both annoyed and bored. She also watched Beth the whole time.
This is your fault, her expression said. You’re why I have to put up with this shit.
When the nurse left, Jeannie rolled over on her side and pretended to go to sleep. Beth sat back down in the recliner and let her. She got out her own phone and texted Dana.
You okay?
She waited while the message flashed from Delivered to Read. She waited while the three little dots appeared.
Jeannie’s breathing deepened. The beep from the monitor slowed.
Yeah, Dana’s text came back. Back soon.
Beth laid her phone on the chair arm.
Jeannie still wasn’t moving. Her breathing was deep and easy.
Beth brought out the other phone and flipped it open. She found the most recent number called. There was that San Francisco area code. There was the time.
Saturday, 8:15 p.m.
When Mom was in the guest room, full of Dana’s comfort food, swearing she was leaving him.
Beth closed her eyes briefly. Oh, Dana. I’m sorry. There is no way you are ever going to believe that. But I am.
Beth touched the number and waited while it rang.
“Where the fuck have you been!” shouted Todd on the other end. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been stuck out here with this j—”
“It’s me, Dad,” Beth said, and when the stunned silence fell, she added. “I think we better talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Sorry!” Dad reached toward Dana, not quite touching her. “I didn’t…Are you okay?”
Except you just about gave me a heart attack! Dana swallowed and started checking to see if she’d dropped anything out of her shopping basket when she jumped. “I, uh, what are you even doing here?”
“I was at your place. I needed to talk to your mom, but the guy at the desk told me she’d left, and that there’d been an ambulance and— They wouldn’t tell me anything here…” He waved toward the reception desk. “Are you guys okay?”
Now that Dana had a chance to really look at him, she could see he was kind of a wreck. He wore his usual polo shirt and khakis—standard-issue white-guy uniform, Chelsea called it. But everything was creased, like he’d just pulled it out of the package. His hair was all messed up too. She cou
ld see his scalp shining through the thin patches.
Dad liked to look perfect, sophisticated, ready for anything. Right now he just looked confused. It hit Dana that if Dad was here, he must have been coming to see them at, like, seven a.m. On a Sunday.
“Is your mom…okay?” he asked.
“Oh, um, yeah. It’s not her. It’s her mom.”
“Her mom?” he repeated. “Her mom is here?”
“Yeah, she’s…she was…visiting.” Which sounded lame, but what else was she going to call it?
“Wow.” He looked back over his shoulder at the lobby, like he thought Mom was going to sneak up on him. “Uh. I didn’t think she’d…you know, she’s never wanted anything to do with her folks.”
Dana shrugged. “It’s kind of complicated. You want to come up and see her?”
“Huh? Uh, no, no—I don’t want to bother her now. It’s…it’s not a good time.” Dad was looking over his shoulder again.
“Is something wrong, Dad?”
“No, no. Uh…look, there’s a coffee shop on the other side of the lobby. Let’s talk there.”
Dana hesitated. Her last coffee shop meeting had gone badly really fast. But she was starving, and Mom did say she should get breakfast.
“Okay, but I gotta pay for this stuff.”
“I’ll go get a table.” Dad practically ran for the door.
Dana stared for a second, trying to understand what could possibly be going on. Nothing came. So, she just paid for the stuff. As an afterthought, she texted Mom.
Getting breakfast @ coffee shop. Want anything?
The answer was short and to the point. No. Dana stuffed her phone in her pocket and gritted her teeth.
Just get this over with. Whatever it is.
The lobby café made an effort to be cute and casual, but nobody at the tables looked casual. They looked sad, exhausted, and stunned. Except for the guy by the window who was thumbing his phone and grinning. There was a security guard talking to the barista, or whatever you would call her in here. Dana felt her shoulders relax just a little. Which was stupid. Her father was about as dangerous as spilled milk. Half the time they were together, she was taking care of him. Some days she even liked getting to play the grown-up.
