by Elena Graf
“I hope that’s not interfering with your love life,” said Maggie with a sly smile.
“Not a chance.”
“Well, you’re newlyweds. You wouldn’t know about that.”
Lucy gave her an innocent look. “You mean it changes?”
Maggie was about to say something when she realized she was talking to a trained marriage counselor, and she’d been had.
“Lucy, sometimes you’re so wicked!”
Lucy laughed. “It’s been said. But back to your suggestion. I think we should focus on having an impact right here in Hobbs. Let’s start with St. Margaret’s. Alina has some very good ideas for creating a mixed liturgy. She knows how to split the feed and integrate transmissions from various sources. Holy Week and Easter are coming up. We could do so much more with multimedia. You could sing. We could have a virtual choir!”
Maggie hadn’t heard Lucy sound so enthusiastic since they’d worked together on the Labor Day Benefit for the Webhanet Playhouse.
“I was thinking education,” said Maggie. “We have all these big brains in this house. We should be able to do something special.”
“Erika is already teaching. You’ve agreed to teach remote classes. And you’ve said yourself, there’s the curriculum to consider.”
Maggie tapped her fingers on the table. She was hurt that her friend had shot down her idea so quickly. “I thought I could count on you.”
Lucy leaned forward so she was in Maggie’s face. “You can count on me. But we shouldn’t try to compete with the resources already flooding the internet. Free movies. Free online access to libraries, museums, concerts. It’s all wonderful, but it’s overwhelming. I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with unique ideas that will make a difference right here in Hobbs.”
“In Italy, opera singers are singing to their neighbors.”
“In Italy, people live right on top of their neighbors. That’s why they’re all getting sick. Here, we can’t even see the next house.”
“So, what can we do?”
“We can use the church Facebook group to livestream entertainment. That would cheer up parishioners. Maybe we can start a separate Facebook group. Let’s call Tony Roselli and see if we can reach out to our friends at the Webhanet Playhouse.”
“But no Bible stories?” asked Maggie, disappointed.
“Maybe for the Sunday school we had to cancel.”
Maggie looked up as Liz came into the breakfast room wearing a little frown. She bent to speak confidently, and Maggie reached up to touch her cheek. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You look worried.”
Liz’s frown deepened as she glanced at Lucy.
“Oh stop,” said Maggie. “You know you can talk in front of Lucy. She’s a priest. She’s sworn to secrecy.”
“Maggie, can you take over the science lesson? I need to get to the office.”
“Is there an emergency?”
“Could be. Cherie Bois’s father is really short of breath, and she had to leave. I’m going over there to see her afternoon patients.”
Maggie sat up straight, instantly concerned. She was very fond of Cherie, who sang with her in the choir. “Is it serious?”
“I don’t know. She told him to put himself on his CPAP. That might help.” Liz kissed Maggie. “I’ve got to go. The kids are occupied for now.”
“I’ll bring them in here. They can finish their project, and we can keep an eye on them.”
“I hope that JP is all right,” said Lucy. “Cherie is devoted to him. The only reason Cherie moved up here was because he wanted to die at home.”
“Hopefully, he doesn’t get his wish sooner than later.”
Lucy gave her a sharp look. “Oh, Maggie, don’t even say such a thing!”
Maggie shook her head. “I shouldn’t, I know. I should be praying for him instead.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Liz scrolled through the screens. Negative. Negative. Negative. All of the SARS-CoV-2 tests for the office staff had come back negative. Liz was about to shut down the test portal when she realized she hadn’t seen a report for Cherie Bois. Liz scrolled through the screens again, scrutinizing them more carefully. She still didn’t find Cherie’s name. Liz pulled up Cherie’s complete lab records to double check. The file showed everything from her TSH for thyroid, which was normal, to a hormone test confirming that yes, she was in menopause. There was nothing for SARS-CoV-2.
Liz called the practice manager’s desk. “Ginny, has Cherie come in yet?”
“No, Liz, she called out this morning. Her father is still having respiratory problems.”
“What’s on her schedule?”
“Nothing until this afternoon.”
“What’s on my schedule?”
“Mrs. Peterson is coming at 8:00 to review blood work. And you have three lab reviews after that. Mr. Lafferty, Mrs. McGee, and Mrs. Duval.”
“I have an important errand to run. Could you call them and push everyone back an hour?”
“Sure thing.”
Liz hadn’t opened the box that had arrived yesterday. She was fairly certain it contained test kits, but she had delayed opening it because the box was smaller than she had expected. She could guess that meant they’d again received fewer tests than she’d ordered.
She took a razor knife out of her desk drawer and sliced open the tape. She counted the kits. There were twenty-five, marginally better than last time. She pulled out two kits and put them in the pocket of her vest along with a stethoscope. She headed to the supply room to pick up a mask and gloves.
“I’m going down to Cherie’s,” Liz told Ginny as she passed the registration desk. The practice manager looked concerned but nodded in reply.
The sun was shining brightly overhead. So far, March had been warmer than usual. Liz glanced at her watch. 7:45. She had time to walk if she set a brisk pace and didn’t dawdle once she got there.
When Liz arrived at Cherie’s cottage, the drapes were still drawn in the picture window. The old-fashioned cape was from another era. Despite its vintage and size, the value of the tiny house was ridiculous because it was within walking distance to the beach. Liz knew the owner of the property from the chamber of commerce, which was why Cherie could afford the rent. Liz was not above pulling strings for a good cause.
Liz made her way up the gravel walk to the front door. She tried to look through a small gap in the drapes to see inside. Maybe Cherie had had a bad night with her father and was sleeping in. No, there were lights on inside. Liz rang the bell and listened carefully. Finally, she heard the sound of footsteps. Liz slipped on her mask.
The door opened a crack. “Dr. Stolz?” asked a surprised voice. The door opened wide. In a workout suit, her blond hair tied back, and no makeup, Cherie still looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Liz put her weakness for her beauty aside and assumed a professional expression.
“I’ve never had my boss show up at my house,” said Cherie, sounding slightly annoyed.
“That’s because you’ve never worked for me.”
“I’ve always heard you do things differently.”
“Believe what you hear,” said Liz. “May I come in?”
Cherie stood back, and Liz stepped into the house. “How is your father?”
“He’s resting comfortably. It was a bad night.”
“Coughing?”
“Hacking away.”
“Fever?”
“Elevated two and a half degrees.”
Liz frowned. “Do you suspect the virus?”
“I suspect a virus. Could be the flu.”
“What about you? Are you feeling all right?”
“I feel fine. If I could find someone to sit with him, I’d be at work.”
“Maybe that’s not a good idea,” said Liz. “I was reviewing test results this
morning. Everyone in the office was negative as of the test date.”
“That’s a relief,” said Cherie.
“It is. Except I didn’t get a test result for you.”
Cherie stared at her worn, fleece-lined moccasins. “I kept meaning to get to it.”
“When I give an order, I mean it,” said Liz. The even tone of her voice belied her anger. “I’m glad we started wearing masks in the office.”
“So am I,” said Cherie, sounding contrite. “I wouldn’t want to infect anyone.”
Making a concerted effort to sound more gentle, Liz said, “Since I’m here, would you like me to take a look at your father?”
Cherie finally looked up. “That’s so kind. Yes. I’d appreciate it.”
“First things first.” Liz tore the cellophane off the test kit and opened the box. Cherie made a face. “Yes, I know. I don’t like having a swab stuck up my nose either. Head back.” Liz gently routed the swab up Cherie’s nostril and deposited it in the test tube. She corked it carefully. “I brought one for your father too.”
“Can we spare it?”
Liz looked at her incredulously. “He’s your father, Cherie. He’s seventy-two and he has COPD. Who are we saving them for?” Cherie looked properly chastened, so Liz stopped scowling. “Show me where.”
Cherie led Liz into a large bedroom. It was obvious that she had given her father the master bedroom. The small, gray-haired man was lying on an adjustable bed, not hospital-issue, but a commercial bed that looked expensive and comfortable. He was scrupulously clean, and, although a bit thin, he wasn’t significantly underweight. Cherie was taking good care of him.
His eyes opened when Liz stood over the bed. “Hello, Mr. Bois. I’m Liz Stolz, remember me?”
“Hello, Dr. Stolz,” he said in a charming voice. “How nice of you to make a house call.”
“Your daughter is my favorite PA, so of course, I’d make a house call. How do you feel?”
“The coughing is nasty. Cough. Cough. Cough. Nothing comes up. Just hacking away.”
“So, it’s a dry cough? What else? Do you have body aches?”
He smiled weakly. “I was a mechanic in the navy. I used my body hard. I have bad arthritis in my knees, my hands, my wrists. I’m achy all the time. I wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Believe me. You’d know the difference. Does it hurt more than usual?”
He nodded. “It hurts pretty bad.”
“I’m going to listen to your lungs, but first I’m going to stick a swab up your nose to test for the new virus. Okay?”
When Liz turned to open the test kit, she noticed that Cherie was watching her intently and wondered if she was evaluating her bedside manner. If she didn’t approve of it now, she should have seen her when she was still a surgeon.
Liz swore at the cellophane wrapper, wondering why everything had to be packed so tightly that you needed a knife to break into it. It was even harder with gloves on. She handed the box to Cherie. “Can you open this, please?”
“Let me wash my hands.”
Liz tried to be patient while she waited. Cherie returned and opened the kit. “Do you want me to do it?”
“You’re the test maven,” said Liz. “Have at it.” She stood back. Cherie gently removed the nasal cannula and swabbed her father’s nose. Deprived of oxygen for a few minutes, he began to gasp. Cherie replaced the cannula.
As Liz listened to Jean-Paul’s chest sounds, she became concerned. He was Jim Bowden’s patient, so she didn’t have an actual memory of how his lungs sounded when he was healthy, but she certainly didn’t like the sound of them now. The characteristic crackling of lung disease was fierce. Liz felt his forehead with the back of her hand. She didn’t care if Cherie thought it was old-fashioned. Liz had been trained in another era, when physical examination still meant something to doctors. Now, it was test, test, test.
“Thanks, Mr. Bois,” said Liz, stepping back. “I’ll let you rest now.”
Jean-Paul managed a smile. “I appreciate you’re coming to see me, Doc.”
Liz put away her stethoscope and gestured toward the door. When they stepped into the hallway, Cherie closed the door to her father’s room. “What do you think?” she asked anxiously.
“Without the test, we can’t say conclusively, but I think he might have the coronavirus. His lungs sound really bad.”
Cherie’s eyes widened with alarm. “Should I call an ambulance?”
Liz frowned as she thought through the options. If he had the virus, taking him to the hospital was a risk to him and other patients. On the other hand, his pulmonary function was already compromised, so the hospital was the best place for him if things went bad quickly, and he’d be at the front of the line for care because there were still so few cases in Maine.
“I see you have him on a CPAP. You could give him excellent care here, but if he needs to be on a vent, which, given the state of his lungs, is a real possibility, he should be in a hospital. Better safe than sorry.”
“Okay. I’ll call 911.”
Liz put her hand on her arm. “Make sure this is what you want to do. As you know, there are risks in the hospital too.”
“I know, but I agree with you. The hospital is the best place for him. Once he’s settled there, I’ll come into the office.”
“No, you won’t. You’re on self-quarantine.”
“Why?”
“Cherie, think. Your father never goes anywhere without you. Where do you think he got this?”
“From me? I feel fine.”
Liz looked at her intently, hoping to make her point without the need to elaborate.
“But I wear a mask in the office, just like everyone else,” Cherie protested.
“Do you wear a mask everywhere else? To the supermarket?”
“The CDC doesn’t recommend it. Only social distancing. I always use those disinfectant wipes they have at the door to clean my cart.”
“You’re the one who reminded us that the CDC is hedging its bets because of shortages. You can’t trust anything they say.”
“Then who can we trust?”
“Our own good judgement and verifiable scientific data.” Liz extended her arm so she could see her watch without touching her sleeve. “I’ve got to get back to the office. Make the arrangements for your father and call me later. If you need anything, we’ll make sure you get it.”
Cherie’s eyes started to fill. “Thank you.”
Liz began to realize how frightened the woman was. “We’re here for you,” said Liz in her most reassuring voice. “Remember that. Now, get yourself together. I can find my own way out.”
Liz walked back to the office at a brisk clip. She dropped off the test kits with Ginny. “Wear gloves.”
“Has she been exposed?”
Liz shrugged, but she said, “Wash your hands afterwards.” She headed back to her consulting room. On the way, she stopped into an exam room and carefully washed her own hands. She used an antiseptic wipe to clean her stethoscope. For fuck’s sake, she thought, how are we ever going to keep everything clean? For good measure, she washed her hands again.
She’d changed her routine from taking a shower in the morning to showering before she left the office to avoid bringing any bugs home with her. She decided to shower now to avoid passing the virus on to her elderly patients. She rooted around in the drawer in her consulting room where she kept clean underwear and a clean top. After she showered, she’d wear a clinical coat to keep herself as free from contamination as possible. Clinical coats reminded her too much of the old days, but she’d wear one if it kept her patients and family safe.
Liz was reviewing the blood work for the patients on her schedule, when her cell phone lit up. She leaned over to take a look and saw a text from Brenda Harrison coming in.
In a meeting. Ambulance d
ispatch to Cherie’s house. Know anything?
Liz texted back: Suspected C-virus case. Cherie’s Dad. Hospital transport.
That bad?
Just a precaution. Call me later. DON’T GO OVER THERE!
Liz put down the phone and went back to studying her patients’ labs. Then she thought about it. If she were Brenda, she would be heading to Cherie’s house by now. Liz picked up her phone and called Brenda. It rang and rang before going into voice mail.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The salesman demonstrating the new radar equipment looked startled when Brenda jumped up in the middle of the meeting and said, “Excuse me. I need to go.” Everyone turned around to look at her as she climbed over people’s legs to get to the door.
As Brenda passed the dispatcher’s window, she told her that she was responding to the 911 call.
“But, Chief, we already dispatched a car.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Brenda muttered as she opened the door to the parking lot.
After she jumped into her cruiser, Brenda was tempted to turn on the sirens but resisted the impulse. After all, she was the chief of police, not some young rookie playing cop. There was hardly any traffic on a weekday in March, so she didn’t need to force cars off the road to get to her destination. Then she decided to turn on the bumper lights to let the cars ahead know she was on a mission.
In a matter of minutes, Brenda was turning into Cherie’s street. One of the white Hobbs PD SUVs was already parked in front of the house. Brenda pulled in front of it.
Officer Cote was standing on the walk, talking to Cherie from a distance. Either the ambulance hadn’t arrived or had already left. Brenda saw that Cote was wearing a mask and gloves, per regulations. Grumbling, Brenda rummaged around in her console for the plastic bags holding masks and gloves. As chief, it was her job to model correct behavior.
She looked up to see flashing lights in her rear-view mirror. The Hobbs volunteer ambulance had just arrived. Brenda got out of the squad car to wave it down.
“You can go, Cote,” she called to the officer, standing in front of the house. “I’ve got this.”
“It’s fine, Chief. I can handle it.”
