Cloning Galinda

by Jan Smolders

  Doyle now had grown visibly irritated. “The soil.” He paused. “Mister Simmons,” he said sternly, “Vince Davis is a conscientious, hard worker. He’ll clean up this spill in a minimum of time. We’ve seen very little penetration into—”

  “Three days? Four?”

  “Cleaning up means much more than just pumping the stuff into a tanker. Checks have to be done, short term, long term. Removing any contaminated layers…I can’t commit to a timetable.”

  Jones kept wiggling his behind. “Mr. Doyle,” he asked soothingly, “we all know this is a very serious matter. Can your company assure us that Carrollton is safe, now and in the future?”

  “I can’t guarantee that a hundred percent, not right now. But I’m telling your viewers that we’ll spare no effort.”

  “Fair enough.” Jones turned to his right. “Jeff?”

  “How about another kind of effort? Precaution? Prevention?” the young man asked. “I keep wondering what happened. And how it can be avoided in the future. Did Mr. Bertolo drink? Do drugs? Work too many hours?”

  “That’s three questions. The third one is a ‘no’ but the first two…I have no way to answer them. Just as I can’t assure you he had no personal problems, family issues, money—”

  “How about his health?” Jeff’s tone betrayed impatience.

  “His health, well, we all have a little cough now and then. Mr. Bertolo as well, probably. But I don’t think his health has anything to do with this accident.”

  “You don’t?” Jeff stared at Doyle.

  “No.”

  Personal problems. Mary knew enough. Disgusted, she turned off the TV as smiling Jack Jones looked ready to throw Mike Doyle another softball. She poured herself another cup of coffee.

  Her phone rang. The hospital. She almost dropped her cup as she grabbed her phone.

  Chapter 15

  “This is Dorothy from Akron City Hospital. Am I speaking with Mary Jenkins?”

  “Yes. Mary Jenkins. Yes.” She could barely utter the words, her vocal cords unwilling to function.

  “Can I have your date of birth?” Dorothy asked, her voice robotic.

  “Uh….” Mary needed a second. “June fifteenth, seventy-six.”

  “Thank you. Doctor Lima would like to speak with you. One moment.”

  The doctor seemed to take forever. Mary checked on Andy and Jimmy through the window while waiting and listening to the on-hold music, her heart pounding, her lips dry.

  “Good morning, Miss Jenkins. Dr. Lima. I have good news from Dr. Toro regarding Joe Bertolo, your….”

  “Husband.”

  “Yes. He’s come out of the coma already.”

  “Oh my God!” she shouted, gripping the phone hard. She wanted to kiss it.

  “Dr. Toro’s report says some organs were injured and required surgery. And of course Mr. Bertolo has had a heavy concussion. The surgery went well. The rib cage showed significant bruises. They should heal. Your husband has, however, suffered major loss of blood. Life threatening initially. Also, his right foot has been heavily impacted, and will need surgery as soon as his condition allows.”

  “Can he speak?” She gripped the phone hard.

  “Not really. Not now. He’s under heavy sedation. Waking up now and then. Briefly.”

  “But he would recognize me, right?”

  “He might. It depends on when.”

  “Can I come and see him this afternoon?” She checked the clock.

  “You could.”

  “With the kids?” She heard their shouts out in the yard and Jake’s excited barking.

  “Ages?”

  “Six and nine, almost ten.”

  “Hmm. I’ll have to say no. It would do them more harm than good.”

  “Oh….” Mary’s fears flared up again. And her heart went out to Jimmy and Andy. Would they still have a real father?

  “Come between two and three. Go to the front desk and tell them we talked this morning. Okay? I must go now.”

  “Excuse me. One more question. Will he recover? I mean, completely?”

  Doctor Lima sighed. “I hope so—I don’t know for sure about his foot. This is not my or Dr. Toro’s area of expertise. The hospital will advise on the next steps for that. Take care now.”

  After the call, Mary still had many questions. How long for the recovery? His foot…would Joe walk again? What could she do to help him? Did he remember anything about the accident? What about the insurance? She had to speak with Doyle. He still hadn’t called.

  The kids. She heard Andy and Jimmy out in the yard. They sounded totally absorbed in their game, but they too had to be anxiously awaiting news about their daddy. Maybe they were even smarter than she thought and had put on their bravest faces. Acting, as she was.

  She swung the door open. “Hey guys!” She raised her fist and exclaimed enthusiastically, “Daddy’s better! He’s awake!”

  Andy dropped the ball and ran up to her, Jimmy in tow. “Did he call?” he asked.

  “No. Not yet. He asked somebody else to contact me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…the person didn’t say…. She was very kind.”

  “I want to visit Daddy,” Jimmy pleaded.

  Mary had to say no. It tore her heart. “I know.” She had to swallow. “I know you do. But he still must rest a lot. The more he rests, the sooner he can come home. I’ll go this afternoon to see him, maybe for only five minutes. I’ll tell Daddy that you guys begged me to take you with me, but that the doctor said—”

  “That doctor doesn’t know how much we’re missing Daddy.” Andy shook his head and looked down.

  “I argued with her. But then I thought she knew best.”

  “Will Miss Joanna stay with us again while you’re gone?”

  “Maybe. I must hurry now.”

  She dialed Frank’s number. “Joe’s out of the coma. I’m going to see him this afternoon. Must find a babysitter. ‘No kids yet,’ Akron said. He wakes up sporadically and may, may remember me.”

  “So the surgery was successful?”

  “It went well, all I know. But he’ll need more. His foot. ‘Heavily impacted,’” Dr. Lima’s words. “What does that mean? Will he ever drive his truck again?” She pictured Joe hobbling over the grass, chasing a soccer ball with the kids.

  “Does he remember anything?”

  “Well…I don’t know. He doesn’t speak yet.”

  “Hmm.” Frank sounded subdued.

  Mary wondered what it meant. Did he think Joe would not remember? Not ever? She kept the thought to herself. “I should go now. Just wanted to tell you about the hospital’s call.”

  “Okay. About that babysitter. If you don’t mind, I’ll give Sonya a call. You know she loves kids.”

  “Oh. Thank you, Frank. Very kind.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “How sweet. You’re a real friend.”

  Less than five minutes later he called back and assured her that Sonya would be there shortly after twelve. “She’s glad to help and sends her best for Joe and you. She’ll bring cookie dough.”

  “Great. Sweet girl she is. Thank you, Frank.”

  “Call me anytime in case you’d think I can help. And this afternoon…I think Joe will be very happy to see you.”

  “I hope he can tell me that. Thanks again.”

  Mary put the phone down and sighed. The kitchen was a mess. She hadn’t cleaned up yet after breakfast.

  She walked over to the kids. “More good news, boys. Mrs. Sonya, the teacher, will come and stay with you til Mommy’s back from the hospital. I’m sure she’ll bake cookies. And she can kick soccer balls very well. Much better than me.”

  Andy said, “You can play with us now, Mommy. Please.”

  “But—”

  “Yes,
Mommy. Please,” Jimmy chimed in.

  She looked back at the kitchen mess once more, but she couldn’t say no.

  Ten minutes later she was back inside, putting leftovers into the fridge, filling the sink with cups and plates and spoons, and working herself into a state of anger. She kept wondering why Mike Doyle didn’t call.

  She noticed the voicemail light was blinking. “Doyle. About time,” she muttered to herself and pushed play.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Bertolo. This is Mike Doyle from Supren. I’d like to express my support for you and your family. I can’t tell you how sorry I feel about what happened to your husband. My best wishes for a speedy recovery, and apologies for the delay, but you can imagine how busy I’ve been. I must hurry into an emergency meeting about the clean-up in Carrollton. I hope to speak with you in person soon. Thank you.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for what? For letting you badmouth Joe on TV this morning?” she shouted out loud.

  ***

  By the time Mary turned onto Arch Street to enter the parking garage of the Akron City Hospital she had become a nervous wreck. Had the phone call from Dr. Lima been just a pacifier, a virtual Valium to tide her over until she could see for herself what Joe had become? The fear had grown stronger with every mile she had driven north on Interstate 77. She had visions of life without Joe and couldn’t fend off the waves of relentless sadness.

  A chill swept through her body and she shivered as she approached the reception desk.

  When she was led into Joe’s room by Nurse Williams, a young woman with a compassionate look on her face, Mary found him asleep, head bandaged, feet raised, an off-white sheet over his body, arms and legs, two bottles of intravenous liquid and two electronic monitoring devices to his left.

  The nurse pointed at an armchair near the foot of the bed. “He’s still very weak after so much loss of blood, but Dr. Toro hopes he’ll heal,” she explained, her voice hushed, her eyebrows raised and doubt in her eyes. “The heavy concussion and his foot are also of great concern. Time will tell. His foot is an issue we can’t deal with right away.”

  Mary’s fears were confirmed: Joe’s condition was more serious than she’d been told over the phone in the morning. She mumbled, “I know,” and closed her eyes, her lips pursed.

  “Why don’t you sit down and wait, ma’am. He may wake up and even try to speak a few words. I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”

  Mary thanked her.

  As soon as she was alone with Joe, she tiptoed to the head of the bed. She didn’t touch him, but held her lips close to his right ear and whispered, “I’m here, Joe. With you. We’ll get you home soon. Andy and Jimmy wish you well and can’t wait to have you back. We love you. You don’t answer or nod, but I know you hear me.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she took a step back to observe her man.

  She sat down in the armchair. The barren room looked indifferent and threatening: a stopover on the way to heaven?

  Scenes of backyard soccer fun and Joe’s pretend fights with the boys over the biggest piece of bacon came back, torturing her. And would he ever drive his truck again? Did she want him to? Yes and no battled it out in her head. Maybe Supren would find a way to discard him anyway with some flimsy regulatory argument. How would she fight that, with Joe? Did she want to? Yes and no again. Then the real question reappeared: would he survive? For a life worth living? As a real man? She answered her own questions: he was the man she wanted to marry, no matter how poor or how incomplete his recovery.

  She stood up, looked at the indecipherable graphs hanging at the foot of the bed and moved closer to Joe.

  Nurse Williams entered the room after a soft knock on the door. “You’d better go now, ma’am.”

  “Can’t I stay a few more minutes? He might wake up, no?”

  The nurse frowned but said, “Another five minutes. You understand we must supervise these visits tightly, under the present circumstances. For his good.”

  “I do. Thank you.”

  “By the way, you should stop by the reception desk. They want to know whether he has a living will.”

  “Huh? They….” Her voice broke. “Is he going to—?”

  Nurse Williams shook her head and smiled. “It’s just a routine matter. It means nothing. They forgot to ask you yesterday.”

  Mary took a deep breath. “Thank you.” She sat down, relieved.

  Living will. The words kept coming back as she drove home. Her worries about all the complications and financial headaches grew. Who would help her? Friends? The school? Supren? Supren’s HR department? Doyle? How about disability payments? Practical concerns kept piling up in her poor brain that felt ready to burst. She needed answers. She decided to go and see Mike Doyle, right now, quickly, while she still had Sonya at her disposal.

  Chapter 16

  Mid-afternoon Mike Doyle got a call from Dave Broderick, Executive Vice-President of Supren in Houston.

  “Mike!”

  Doyle felt pangs in his stomach. “Hi, Dave. What’s up?” He tried to keep his tone even.

  “I think you know, buddy. What the hell’s going on up there in your neck of the woods? Supren’s all over the news here. You guys put little Carrollton on the map.” Dave didn’t sound as jovial as his words suggested.

  “Yeah, we sure did, unfortunately. But relax. You know how it works: anything that can give fracking a black eye, the press and TV jump on it. That’s no surprise to you or me. Sharks smelling blood in the water. Reporters making mountains out of molehills. Ratings!”

  “I know. But you could’ve—”

  “I gave Don a heads-up yesterday. Shot him a quick email. Sorry, I see I forgot to copy you. Busy, man. Getting home at midnight. But be assured, we’ve got things under control. Give us three weeks. No más.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “Don forwarded me your email. He’s concerned. The buck stops with the CEO, right? He told me to give you a buzz. Of course, he’s been to bigger rodeo’s but—”

  “We all have. This isn’t a big one.” Doyle put calm conviction in his statement. That should do it.

  “Well…okay. If you say so. But he worries, believe me. I’m sparing you his own words.” Dave chuckled.

  Doyle knew a few of Don’s favorite expletives. “I see.”

  “He doesn’t like to get that kind news from TV. He’d rather get it from the horse’s mouth. And I don’t blame him. He’s up to his neck in the negotiations for the Peruvian deal. The life of a CEO. That’s why I’m the one calling you.”

  “I understand. You can tell him with full confidence that we have the experience here to stay on top of this. I have a great young guy on the job who wants to prove himself. Vince Davis. ‘If twenty-four hours a day isn’t enough, I’ll have to start working overtime,’ he quips.” Doyle smiled at his own mendacious quote. “I believe we’ll have this thing cleaned up in two to three weeks.”

  “Okay, but Don wants to send some of our guys up there anyway. Specialists like Hugh Timmer. It can’t hurt and shows Supren’s commitment. We should avoid any risk to our reputation in Ohio.” Dave’s tone had gone full business.

  Doyle sighed slowly, without sound. “You’re right about that commitment, and our image, but, take it from me, an invasion of Texans wouldn’t go over well here. Locals trust locals, particularly if we do a good job, show them we’re doing it and keep communications going with the community.”

  “Yeah. Always those locals.”

  “You know what I spend most of my time on? Holding hands. ‘I understand, I understand Mr. Mayor, we’re committed to excellence.’ I think you see why I’m not bugging you guys with phone calls.”

  “Still….”

  Doyle scratched his head. This last pause was tough to handle. “Dave,” he said, trying not to sound like he was complaining, or begging, “it’s a small spill; my top guy, Vince, is doing a
whale of a job, and dropping a battalion of Texans here to take over will make it look like we have an Armageddon on our hands. Please ask Don to hold off and let us earn our stripes here. I want to show we can do the job.”

  “You’d better be sure—”

  “Of course. At the first sign of things turning for the worse I’ll be on the phone to you in a New York minute. I’ve been with Supren for just two years and this is a chance for me to prove myself. I’ll work my butt off. And I’ll keep you and Don posted with daily emails.”

  “I get it. You want to show us something. Good. I wish I still had your drive. I’m six months from retirement, from fulltime bass fishing. Don’t forget to send those emails. Also to Don. And call immediately if anything doesn’t go as expected.”

  Bass fishing. Doyle felt triumphant. “You got it.”

  “I’m sticking my neck out, you know. But I like your ambition. You’re lucky he’s swamped with Peru. You and me, we’ve known each other many years and I’ll have to trust you’ll deliver the goods. I’ll try to get Don’s ear on this.”

  Many years. He’s aboard. Doyle was jubilant but kept exuberance out of his voice. “Deal. Don’t pay attention to silly press releases or those selected, attention-grabbing TV clips. I’ll get you the real stuff. Plus, you guys can call me anytime.”

  “I’ll put my best foot forward with Don, buddy.” Dave paused and said, his voice lower, “I remember our good old days together in Oklahoma. Long before Don hired you. I still chuckle—”

  “Good old days? What good old days? How good? Just kidding! Thanks.”

  “Shh!” A sardonic laugh followed.

  Doyle smiled and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  ***

  As she drove up Main Street toward the Supren office, exhausted and consumed by grief, Mary mustered all her remaining energy and determination. But she would have to keep the discussion with Doyle short; there had to be a limit to her friend Sonya’s patience and good will.

  Joanna seemed surprised when Mary walked into the office, but welcomed her with gracious expressions of empathy. She inquired about Joe’s condition and reassured her. “I promise you my support for your family, Mary,” she said. “I’m not only a Supren staff member but also a friend of your children.”