Cloning Galinda

by Jan Smolders

  “It’s all for the good of the community,” Harriet had retorted, her tone indignant. “Mayor Sanders appreciates the sacrifice I make, giving up my backyard and privacy.”

  “And our privacy, and our health, our—”

  Harriet already had done an abrupt one-eighty and was headed for home. She briefly looked back and shouted, “You’d better keep that dog away from my yard. Somebody might poison him!”

  Andy and Jimmy understood the new “Jake rules” Mary established for them. They just nodded. These already were sad days for them.

  One morning they were kicking balls with two other boys. Mary, on her knees, was pulling weeds on a nearby flower bed. She heard a car door slam and looked up.

  A woman standing next to an old station wagon in the driveway shouted, hands cupped around her mouth, “Bobby! Over here! Hurry. You’re late for your reading!” Her hair curlers and scary heavy glasses complemented the shrillness of her voice. She disappeared into her car.

  Mary stood up and walked in the direction of the boys, cleaning her hands on a rag.

  Bobby rolled his eyes and grumbled, his back to the vehicle, “My mom again. I finished my book last night. She doesn’t want me to play here. ‘Your yard’s too dangerous,’ she says. ‘Bad air, crazy people around.’ I like it here, but her….” He tilted his head toward the driveway. He dragged his feet as he left. He briefly looked back at his friends. “Bye.”

  Nathan, the other friend in the game, shrugged. “Mothers.”

  Jimmy and Andy kept quiet and looked at Mary.

  “I’ll take Bobby’s place.” She was ready to go. “Goalie?”

  Mary worried constantly about Joe, her rock, who stoically assured her it would all pass. She had thought of moving, temporarily, but rents in the region had skyrocketed, while property values in drilling areas had plunged. Joe pointed out that it wouldn’t look too good in Supren’s eyes if one of its employees moved out because of the company.

  Now and then the boys would ask, beg, “Why can’t we go and watch, Mommy? All those trucks and huge pipes and the crazy men shouting? It’s fun!”

  “No,” Mary would tell them.

  “We’ll watch less TV,” Andy would bargain.

  “No is no.”

  Occasionally Mary would drive the kids to her friend Dan Clark’s place in Hartville. The Sierra guy had a swimming pool and loved to talk to her about anything environmental. But she worried about wearing out her welcome.

  Often on these hot summer days Mary sought solace in work and caring for her family as best she could. Air conditioner set at sixty-seven, Jake stretched out right in front of it, she cleaned and scrubbed and vacuumed, ears plugged and nose and mouth covered, her mind with Joe and the kids, her anger directed at multiple targets.

  Chapter 12

  The drilling rig, the queen bee, arrived at Harriet’s with much fanfare and a huge entourage in mid-July. It was an impressive, ten-story high structure. A week later it embarked on its newest expedition: a deep dive, Joe had said, through sand, water, clay and rock to about a mile below Harriet’s pasture, now transformed into a grimy drill pad. Almost overnight, traffic on Maple Road and even downtown Noredge became unbearable: dust, fumes, and decibels; constant irritants for eyes, ears and nostrils; nerves strained. Bike rides became suicide missions.

  A few days after the queen’s arrival, Mary drove back home from grocery shopping with the kids at Lou’s Market; she had to battle trucks, shouting, eardrum-piercing clanging, dust, mud and fumes.

  About a quarter mile from home the rig came into view, a majestic presence towering a hundred feet high. Andy and Jimmy started shouting and oohing again, still excited and in awe over the huge structure. Unlike Mary and Joe, the boys hadn’t lost a minute of sleep yet because of the ceaseless clanging and banging and the harsh, eye-torturing lights across the road. They had begged Mary to let them invite friends so they could show them “their” rig and all those huge vehicles. “After dark, Mommy. With the lights!”

  Mary had turned them down. The last thing she wanted was a bunch of kids cheering on Supren’s brutal attack on Mother Nature. She smiled when Joe explained with great authority and big gestures, “Some of those pipes can explode any minute, pieces flying all over the place, even across the road. Haven’t you seen that they all wear hardhats over there? Even those big, strong men?” The kids had stared at him, their faces showing resignation mixed with puzzlement. Mary had winked at him.

  Nearing home, she had to shout, “Quiet!” more than a couple of times as Andy and Jimmy competed for the best observation spot on the back seats, wrestling and crawling over each other.

  “He’s kicking me, Mommy! It hurts,” Jimmy complained.

  “Ouch!” Andy screamed. “He punched me, Mom!”

  “Jimmy! Your seat belt!” She felt small and vulnerable, a dwarf in the threatening crowd of fume-spewing mastodons.

  Finally she could make the left turn into her driveway. She noticed a small red car, older model, its trunk seriously dented, right in front of her garage door. As soon as she turned off the ignition and the kids tumbled out of her Corolla, the driver’s door of the red vehicle opened. A young, dark-haired woman emerged, neatly dressed, holding a thin briefcase and, strangely, staring at the grass in the side yard.

  Mary stepped out. She didn’t recognize the visitor. I’m wearing my worst jeans, she worried as she walked up to her.

  The lady seemed distressed. She didn’t greet the kids but went straight to Mary, lips quivering. “Mrs. Bertolo?” she said

  Mary nodded, her heart pounding.

  “So sorry. We couldn’t…we didn’t have your cell number. I’ve been waiting—”

  “Excuse me. Who are you?” Mary trembled. Joe. “What’s wrong?” She knew it: the woman’s tone and faltering delivery had told her this wasn’t going to be good news.

  “I’m Mr. Doyle’s assistant. I—”

  “Joanna?” Mary froze. “Is it Joe?” she shouted.

  Joanna nodded. Her free palm down she whispered, after a quick glance at the kids in the yard, “He’s in good hands. His truck—”

  “No! No!” Mary’s cry tore the heavy air.

  The kids turned their heads toward her and looked at each other. Jake began to bark from inside the house.

  Joanna grabbed her arm and held it. “He’s going to be okay, ma’am.”

  “What happened? Okay? Okay you said? You’re sure?” Mary begged for a yes. She checked on the kids.

  “Mr. Doyle told me so. From Cleveland. He sent me. Your husband had an accident. He’s in the Akron City Hospital.” Joanna took a sheet of paper out of her briefcase. “I wrote the directions down from my iPhone while I waited. Almost entirely Interstate 77.”

  Of course. “Thanks. Thank you….” Mary tried to collect herself. “What happened? Andy, Jimmy, over here! We must go to Akron, see Daddy in the hospital!”

  Joanna put her hand up. “I think they’d better wait to see him until he’s a bit better.”

  “Huh? Is it that bad?”

  “I don’t know any details. Mr. Doyle wasn’t entire clear. But he gave me permission to stay here with the children until you get back from Akron.”

  “Oh, no. No. I want to take my kids with me.”

  A Nissan Altima appeared in the driveway and out stepped Frank Anderson. He greeted the women from a distance with a half-wave, looking subdued and in a hurry. He shook hands with Mary and nodded kindly at Joanna. “So, you already know. So sorry,” he said softly. “I came to help.”

  “Help? I don’t know how.” Mary sighed, feeling lost, incoherent. “Joanna…Joanna, right? Joanna says she’s going to stay here with the kids. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but Andy and Jimmy must go with me. I know where the hospital is.”

  Frank shook his head, looking in command. “You shouldn’t drive. And
the kids had better stay here. We’ll take my car. You and me. The kids will be okay. I know Joanna.” He gestured he was ready to go.

  “You know her?” Mary’s gaze drifted toward her kids. The kids. Jake kept barking. She lingered.

  Frank seemed to grow nervous.

  “Is Joe dying?” Mary asked, her eyes wide.

  “No, no. I don’t think so. But we have no time to waste. It’s more than half an hour’s drive. You’d better be around when treatment decisions must be made.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Joe can’t…?” A shockwave shot up her spine.

  Frank stared down as he shook his head, lips pursed. Then he said, “I heard he was unconscious.”

  “What happened? When? Why?” She stared at him. Her plaintive tone made her sound reproachful. He had to be withholding the worst about Joe.

  He nodded briefly at Joanna.

  She stood with the kids, apparently explaining how she was going to take care of them. The boys listened, looking concerned but staring at her with eyes full of confidence.

  Frank turned to Mary. “You’ve got your driver’s license, right?”

  “Yes.” She ran to Andy and Jimmy and pulled them against her. She had to swallow before she managed to say, sobbing, “My darlings, I must go help Daddy. He’s not feeling well and needs me. He’ll come home soon.”

  “How soon?”

  “Very soon, Andy. I know he will. This kind gentleman here is Mr. Anderson. I’m going with him to see Daddy in Akron,” she said soothingly.

  “Where’s Akron, Mommy?” Jimmy asked, measuring Frank.

  “Andy, can you tell Jimmy about Akron? I must go now.”

  The elder boy nodded. “How ill is Daddy?” he asked, sounding fearful.

  “I’ll have to ask the doctor there. But he’ll get better quickly. We must go now. Be good with Miss Joanna. She’s a nice lady. I’ll be back as soon as….” She had to turn her head away from her boys and started searching in her purse.

  Joanna accepted the house key from Mary and put her arms over Jimmy’s and Andy’s shoulders. “Come with me big guys. I’ll make dinner for you. What would you like to eat?” They headed toward the house. Jimmy was crying softly.

  Mary was heartbroken.

  “They’ll be fine, Mary,” Frank said calmly as he watched the threesome. “I’ve met Joanna. A very good person. Let’s get in the car. Joe needs you.”

  Mary felt her world had collapsed as she struggled to the car. Her pent-up emotion opened the flood gates for her tears as Frank sat down next to her and took the wheel.

  “Maybe you should take one of these,” he said, showing her a little bottle. “The doctor prescribed this for me. I’m going through a rough patch myself.”

  She frowned. “What is it?”

  “Just Valium. Take one. You’ll be able to help Joe better. You’re not driving.” He opened the bottle and handed her a pill.

  “You—?”

  “Yes. I took one last night. Here’s water. Unopened.”

  “For me?”

  “You should take it. Go ahead.”

  She gave Frank a good stare. She knew what this Valium meant. She said, her voice weak, “Okay, thank you. But you must tell me the truth about Joe. All of it.” She swallowed the yellow pill.

  “What I know is this: his truck must have veered off the road on Route 39 close to the intersection with Route 43, just before entering Carrollton from the west. I hear 39 is pretty curvy there. His vehicle rolled over and hit a tree. I don’t know exactly how.” He shook his head, staring straight ahead.

  “Oh, no! No!” She buried her head in her hands, sobbing. “Just what I’ve always worried about.”

  “Locals tried to pull him out but had to call the fire department, with their cutting equipment. Then an ambulance. He was losing blood from the head. His right leg—I don’t—I only know it was in rather bad shape.”

  “Bad shape? What do you mean?” She wanted to pull his arm.

  “The folks in Akron should be able to tell us soon.” He kept looking straight ahead.

  “Akron. Let’s hurry, Frank. But what happened?”

  “Nobody seems to know. No witnesses yet, I heard. But his tanker is leaking. Spilling the dirty water. When I left for your place it had reached the intersection with Route 43. By now—”

  “By now Joe may be dead,” she cried. “I’m calling the hospital.”

  “I already did. Twenty minutes ago. I thought you were there. They were tight-lipped. I’m not a relative. ‘No information.’ Everything I told you I heard from Vince Davis. Mike Doyle had spoken with him.”

  “Davis?”

  “The guy who took my job. Not a bad guy. He was very concerned. Have some more water.”

  “I’ll call. They’ll talk to me. I’m his wife, his—”

  “Wait.” He handed her his iPhone. “Here’s the number I dialed. Emergency.”

  She was too nervous. “I can’t.”

  He took the phone back and dialed. “Here you go. Lots of traffic.”

  The phone rang forever at Akron City Hospital. When Mary finally got through she screamed Joe’s name into the phone. “Bertolo! B-e-r-t-o-l-o…Yes! Jenkins…Not his wife…What?…Oh, no!” She slammed the phone into her lap, dejected. “They won’t give me information over the phone. Shit!”

  “We’ll be there soon. Try to rest. The Valium—”

  “So you want to really shut me up with Valium? I’m mad as hell!”

  Frank jerked his head in her direction. “Are you okay, Mary?”

  She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, Frank. Very sorry. I should be very grateful to you. I am.”

  “No problem. A few more minutes and then you can explain to them who you are. I’ll vouch for you.”

  She didn’t answer but lowered her head.

  Chapter 13

  The elderly receptionist at the hospital dragged her considerable weight from behind her desk to greet a teary-eyed Mary, who felt lost and helpless in the busy lobby. It smelled like a pharmacy. Frank had quickly dropped Mary off and gone to park his car. “Can I help you, ma’am?” the lady asked, puffing but sounding sympathetic and concerned.

  “Joseph Bertolo,” Mary blurted out, her voice quavering. She trembled on her legs, staring through the glass entrance door, wondering what was taking Frank so long. She felt embarrassed about her faded jeans. Two younger receptionists looked up and then at each other.

  The lady nodded. “And you are?”

  “Mary Jenkins.”

  “Jenkins….”

  “Mr. Bertolo’s partner…girlfriend. We’ve lived together for years. Almost two years.”

  The lady limped back to her seat, sighing as she sat down. “Your address?”

  “1034 Maple Road, Noredge.” It took Mary quite an effort, her memory blurred. “I can’t remember the zip code. Close to Canton.”

  “Can I see your driver’s license?”

  Mary felt a tap on her shoulder. Frank. She acknowledged her panting savior with a heartfelt nod and handed the receptionist her identification.

  The lady frowned briefly but then said jovially, “Good that you have a friend to drive you. Stress causes accidents.” She kept shaking her head; her search for Joe in the computer system seemed to take forever. Then she said, “He’s in surgery.”

  “How much longer?” Frank asked, adding, “I’m a friend of the family.”

  The receptionist smiled. “I’d gathered that. Take a seat.” She pointed at a row of metal chairs near a hallway entrance. “An assistant will come and brief you.”

  Mary stared helplessly at Frank.

  He walked Mary to the chairs.

  As she waited she kept her gaze trained on the elevators across the spacious lobby, silent, unable to find adequate words to thank Frank. He had rush
ed to her assistance although she barely knew the man. It must be Sonya. Or that Joanna?

  Frank’s phone rang. “It’s Vince, my successor. Back in a minute.” He went to the glass door and exited the building.

  Mary hoped and prayed that Frank would be back when the assistant would arrive. Shaken and afraid, she wasn’t confident she would understand and remember correctly what she might hear about Joe. She felt lost, vulnerable in the immense space of the lobby with its cacophony of nervous voices and hurried pedestrian traffic. She got up and stepped to the glass door to check on Frank. He was only twenty feet away. She returned to her seat, calmer.

  Two minutes later he rejoined her. “Vince told me—oh. This must be the assistant.” They stood up.

  The young female doctor wore heavy glasses. Her face exuded kindness and empathy as she walked up to Mary and Frank from the reception desk. She looked at Frank, who pointed at Mary. “Miss Jenkins, I’m Doctor Lima.”

  Mary nodded, her eyes fearfully questioning the diminutive woman.

  “Doctor Toro’s surgery is progressing well but will take some more time, and it looks like we’ll keep your partner in an induced coma for at least a day. He has suffered a serious concussion. The accident has damaged internal organs. And his knee and foot…we’re still evaluating. We have no full diagnosis yet but—”

  “Oh! Oh! The surgeon will save him, right?” Mary wanted to embrace Doctor Lima. Until this young woman walked up to her, she had feared that Joe’s condition was hopeless. That the no-information responses from Joanna and Frank were only part of a well-intended charade to soften the blow. But now she felt relieved: surgeons were devoting their energy to saving Joe. He could be saved! Will be, she told herself inside.

  Doctor Lima had her hand up. “As I said, we have no full diagnosis, Miss Jenkins, and of course no prognosis so far. We’re always optimistic, but also careful. Doctor Toro is excellent. You can contact me anytime, but wait another three hours before you do so. Surgery should be finished by then.” She offered Mary her card.

  “I don’t know how to thank you and Doctor Toro and all the people here.” Mary half-sobbed. She looked at the receptionist, who seemed busy.