by JJ Lamb
He wasn't going to get either—his aunt's car was parked in the driveway.
He decided to sneak around the side of the house and enter the garage from the back door, hoping she wasn't planning to stay until his mother came home—that would ruin everything. He shivered and moved closer to the hot water heater, but the heavily insulated tank offered no comfort.
Until this moment, everything had gone as planned. Getting out of the hospital had been a snap, less of a problem than he'd ever dreamed possible.
He'd worked out the details during the past couple of days, deciding the best time would be after they picked up his breakfast tray, but before lunch. At first he'd thought about leaving during either the 7 a.m. or 3 p.m. shift change, but then realized there might be too many people in the hallways who could recognize him, wonder why he was wandering around in street clothes. The late afternoon to early evening hours also were no good since by then either one or both of his parents would have arrived. And if he waited until they went home, it would be too late.
As soon as the candy-striper had picked up his tray around 9 a.m., trying her best to be cheerful, yet unable to keep her eyes off his bald head, Vinnie had gotten out of bed and dressed. He'd automatically pulled on his grungy Giants baseball cap, which had been at his bedside ever since he'd checked in. But he quickly returned it to its assigned spot. Gina and most of the other Oncology staff not only knew the cap, but also often teased him about it when the Giants lost a game. If they saw it was missing, they might become suspicious.
Instead, he put on the new Giants cap his father had brought a couple of days earlier, the stiff fabric scratching the exposed skin of his head. He'd turned the cap front to rear and scowled at himself in the mirror: the style was an affectation he hated, but the long bill better hid the fact there was no hair growing down the back of his head. He wanted to blend as much as possible with the non-patient visitors to the hospital.
No one had given him a second glance as he'd walked out of his room, taken the elevator to the main floor, and strolled out of Ridgewood. With no money for bus fare, he'd initially thought he would try to hitch a ride, but not one person slowed down for him, let alone stopped. After several minutes, he became worried someone would sooner or later spot him standing on the corner.
Toward the end of the long hike, stumbling along the sidewalk, he'd become less certain that he'd done the right thing. Now, he was barely able to stand. He needed rest and something to eat, if he could keep food down.
He eased open the door between the garage and laundry room and turned one ear to the interior of the house, trying to determine where his aunt might be hanging out. He almost panicked when he heard mumbled conversation drifting through the rooms.
He held his breath and strained to hear what was being said, and by whom, then cursed himself for being so naive and stupid—his aunt would almost rather die than miss an episode of the afternoon soaps. When he finally heard the start of a commercial, he took a deep breath and slumped against the doorway. If she stayed in the den with the TV, he could make it to his room without being seen.
He slipped off his shoes and waited for the string of commercials to end, then made his way through the kitchen, grabbing a carton of milk from the refrigerator on the way. He hugged the hallway wall to keep from falling, concentrated on holding onto the milk. Once inside his room, he wasn't sure whether or not to close the door—if he left it open, she might come down the carpeted hallway without his hearing her; if he closed it, she might notice the change and look inside, out of curiosity.
He compromised: left the door open just enough so he could continue to hear the audio from the television, yet move about his room in relative safety.
He dug out his savings account passbook—he wasn't going to be able to do anything unless he got some money. And even the cash wouldn't do him any good if he didn't get some rest—he could barely lift an arm to pull open the dresser drawer.
He shoved the passbook into a hip pocket of his jeans and checked his watch—almost noon. He still had plenty of time.
After struggling to change into dry clothes, he opened the bedroom door all the way before going around to the far side of the room and stretching out on the floor between his bed and the wall. He set the alarm on his wristwatch, positioned it beneath his ear, and fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
Frankie, no!
The moment Faye Lindstrom heard that Oncology was looking for Vinnie Capello, she was certain Frankie had something to do with it. She bent forward and rested on the top of the lab counter, trying to ease the searing in her stomach where her flesh was torn. Some of the staff, noticing her discomfort, had asked if she'd been in an accident.
She'd made up her mind: no matter what Frankie said or did, she wasn't going to steal any more marrow. Not only was the deceit overwhelming, she was in constant fear of being caught and going to jail. Besides, no matter what she did or didn't do, Frankie would continue to hurt her.
And now, Vinnie Capello was missing. She tried to find out what had happened, but all she could pick up from hospital scuttlebutt was that he was missing from his room, hadn’t been seen since morning.
Had Frankie gone off the deep end and snatched him in broad daylight? She took a deep breath, gasped at the stabbing pain in her kidney.
Why does he always have to hurt me?
“Faye!”
She grabbed the edge of the counter, trembled, and pretended she didn't hear.
“Faye! Phone for you. Pick up on three, please.”
She walked over to the nearest desk and put her hand on the receiver. If it were Frankie, she would hang up. She couldn't talk to him, didn't want to know what he'd been doing.
And what if he asked about Deana Oldham's marrow?
She stared at the blinking light. She had pick up the phone. Everyone was watching her, she was sure of it; everyone's eyes were on her. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to look around the lab; no one was paying any attention to her at all.
Cautiously, she lifted the receiver. “This is Faye.”
“Hi, this is Gina ... in Oncology. I know it's an imposition, but could you do me a favor...”
Gina Mazzio's words stung her like a swarm of attacking bees. She held the receiver away from her ear, tried to absorb what was being said.
Look in the freezer? No, I can’t!
But she had no choice but to respond to Gina's request. She punched Hold and stood there for moment, staring down at the telephone. Finally, she forced herself away from the desk, circled the lab as if looking for something, then went back to the phone. She took a deep breath, raised her eyes to the ceiling, and let the air slowly escape through pursed lips before releasing the hold button.
“It's there, Gina,” she lied.
After she hung up, she rushed out of the lab and entered one of the patient toilets, locked the door, and collapsed on the floor. Uncontrollable sobs shook her body. Somehow, she had to sneak Vinnie Capello's real marrow back into the hospital; she'd have to find some way to deal with Frankie.
Deal with Frankie? How? Oh, God, how?
It was almost a half-hour before she returned to the lab, and a thorough chewing out by Bob Ghent.
* * *
Vinnie was startled by a noise, wasn't sure where it came from. It took several seconds to remember where he was and what he'd done. He fumbled with the wristwatch controls until he found the button that shut off the alarm. Three o'clock! Just as he'd planned.
He lay still, listening from behind his bed, his legs throbbing from the five-mile walk home. The television was still on, but by now he knew the soaps would have ended. It probably wouldn't make any difference: his aunt was equally hooked on the late afternoon talk shows.
When he was certain she hadn't heard the buzz of the alarm, he slowly pushed himself up from the floor and peered over the top of the mattress. He was still exhausted; every muscle and joint ached and throbbed. Twice he had to stop and sit on the edge of th
e bed before he could gather together clean underwear, his best black socks, a fresh white handkerchief, his least dorky wig, and a set of silver cufflinks and studs he'd inherited from his grandfather. He put everything in a small blue and gold U of C athletic bag, along with a couple of bottles of Mylanta.
After checking to make certain he had his wallet and bank passbook, he started to leave, and then remembered the tickets. He stuck them in the side pocket of the bag and escaped from the house as silently as he'd entered it some four hours earlier.
First stop was the local florist, where he bought a wrist corsage and boutonniere. He paid to have the corsage, one of the prom tickets, and a note delivered to Angie's house. The note alone had taken him almost twenty minutes to compose since he didn't know whether she planned to go to the prom, or whether she had a date. Finally, he simply wrote:
If you go to the prom tonight,
I hope you'll wear this for me.
I miss you.
Vinnie
* * *
Faye watched the hands of the clock approach quitting time, but couldn't move when the hour actually arrived. She sat planted on her stool, rehearsing over and over in her mind what she could say to Frankie when he asked for the Oldham girl's marrow.
She wasn't going to take it, that she knew. But could she stand another of his beatings. The pain was horrible every time she took a deep breath, and there was still blood in her urine.
She finally slid off the stool and left the building, but once outside she got no farther than the fountain, where she sat down heavily and dangled her fingers in the water. A couple of curious goldfish nibbled at her fingertips, but she was too distracted to respond as she usually did. Perhaps if she sat there long enough, she might see Gina. If she could only talk to her, tell her ... tell someone.
When Gina did come pushing through the hospital double doors, Faye didn't see her until she was almost halfway out to the street. She started to rise, then saw that Gina was with someone, a man. For a moment, she felt betrayed, deserted. Then she recognized Harry Lucke, Gina's boyfriend. Maybe....
But before Faye could hurry after them, they started trotting down the street. She sat back down and started to cry.
* * *
“You really should have placed your order much earlier,” the salesman told Vinnie, his manner more patronizing than informative.
I didn't know I could go until this morning,” Vinnie said, looking in the three-way mirror. The jacket wasn't a bad fit, but there was about four inches too much material drooping over the tops of the rental patent leather shoes.
“Can you shorten them?” he asked, pointing to the legs of the pants.
“Young man, this is a very busy time of the year for us. I don't know how we could possibly ... our tailors are simply—”
“Look, just mark them the right length, okay? I'll take care of it myself.”
“We can't have you cutting our—”
“Don't worry about it; I won't cut them. I'll pin them ... or staple them ... or something. I have to have this tux tonight, do you understand?” He couldn't bring himself to tell the man this might be the only time he'd ever get to wear a tuxedo. He continued to stare at himself in the mirrors, certain that he looked the dumbest he'd ever looked, with his Christian Slater wig, drooping pants, and a shawl-collared jacket over a white T-shirt.
“So?” he insisted. “Do we have a deal or don't we? I got to know now because it's getting late and there's this other place across town, but I'm not sure whether I can make it there in time ... they'll probably be out of things because they charge a lot less than you guys ... so I need to know now, okay?” He staggered a little and had to grab the back of a nearby chair to steady himself.
“Are you all right?” the salesman asked. “You look a bit ... peaked.”
Vinnie held up one hand. “I'm okay. Really, I am. It's just that I've been so worried about whether or not I was going to be able to get this tux.”
The salesman pressed the fingers of one hand against his lips. “Stay right here,” he said and disappeared through a door behind the three-way mirror.
Vinnie slumped into the chair and waited. He knew if he didn't get out of the rental store soon, he was going to pass out.
Should have started sooner.
The room was doing a slow spin.
No! Not now!
He leaned over and put his head between his knees.
“I really shouldn't be doing this,” the salesman said as he came back into the room.
“What?” Vinnie sat up quickly.
“Young man, are you sure you're all right?”
“Yes, just a little tired.”
“Well, one of our tailors said he wouldn't mind staying over fifteen minutes or so to fix the pants.” He motioned for Vinnie to stand up in front of the mirrors again. “I'll mark the pants myself and he'll baste them for you. They won't be ready until about six-fifteen.”
“I thought you closed at six?”
“Exactly!” He knelt down on one knee and marked the bottom of one pant leg, then the other. “You'll have to go around to the alley door when you come back. The tailor will give you everything then.” He stood up, looked at himself and Vinnie in the mirror, and tilted his head. “Slip out of the coat, pants, and shoes and get dressed. Then come up to the counter; I'll have your bill ready for you.”
“You sure there'll be someone here when I come back?”
“In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Trust me. The tailor will be here.”
* * *
Vinnie hid out in a back booth at McDonald's until almost eight o'clock, trying to consume a Big Mac, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. He hoped they wouldn't ask him to leave, since he had to keep running back and forth between his booth and the men's room—none of the food stayed down for more than a few minutes.
But no one paid any attention to him. He felt safe in the restaurant, surrounded by a crowd of other teenagers, even though he panicked a couple of times when he saw a Plymouth Voyager like his parents’ pull into the parking lot.
A little after eight, he used the restaurant's restroom one last time to change into his tuxedo.
“One dance,” he told the cracked mirror as he turned to leave. “Just one dance!”
Chapter30
“I think we're spinning our wheels,” Harry said, hurrying to keep up with Gina. She pushed through the hospital doors and out into the plaza without answering.
“The police are looking in all the usual places,” he said, running to catch up with her. “There's family at his house ... his parents are out scouting around ... every- thing's being done that can be done, Gina. I don't know what you think we can accomplish driving aimlessly around the city.”
“I can't sit around and do nothing.” She stopped abruptly when they reached his pickup truck. “If you don't want to come with me, that's okay, I’ll understand. But don't try to keep me from going. That kid's out there roaming around on his own; he needs help.”
Harry unlocked the passenger-side door for her. “I didn’t say I wouldn't go,” he said, taking her hand. “I just don't think it's going to do any good.”
“Harry,” she said, leaning her forehead against his shoulder,” I don't know if it's going to do any good, either. But I have to give it a try.” She took a deep breath, lifted her head. “I'm not going to lose another patient without a fight, without so much as following up on a hunch—no matter how stupid or wrong it may sound.”
Harry kissed her on each cheek. “Why didn't you say it was a hunch? I'd follow you to hell and back on one of your hunches.”
Gina glared at him. “This isn't funny, Harry Lucke. I'm very serious about this.” She handed him a small senior class photo of Vinnie. “I got a couple of these from the Capellos,” she said. “We can show them around.”
“Good idea,” he said, closing the cab door. “Just remember,” he added as he started the truck,”
I wouldn't make an offer like that if I didn't mean it.”
* * *
Vinnie knew the taxi driver thought he was nuts. But he planned to keep circling Angie's block until one of three things happened: he saw her come out, dressed for the dance; it got so late he was sure she wasn't going; or, he ran out of money.
It was almost 8:30 when he saw a car pull up in front of her house. She must have a date, he thought.
“Slow down,” he told the driver as they approached Angie's house for the umpteenth time. He saw her coming down the steps, dressed in an ankle-length ball gown, a shawl draped around her shoulders. She was beautiful. He wondered who the jerk was who didn't have the smarts to get out of his car and go up to the house for her.
“Wouldn't it have been easier if you'd just asked her for a date?” the taxi driver said over his shoulder.
“Keep going!” Vinnie ordered. As they passed the other car, he doubled up both fists, and shouted, “Yes!”
“What, yes?”
“You wouldn't understand.”
“That's for sure.”
Vinnie watched Angie as she approached the sedan, waving at its occupants. She had his flowers on her wrist. There were two other girls in the car, all obviously going to the prom stag.
“I suppose you want me to follow them,” the driver said.
“What?”
“Do you want me to follow their car?”
“Why would I want you to do that?”
“I don't know, just a wild guess.”
“Yeah, well, you guessed wrong.” He gave the driver directions for an intersection a block away from his high school. On the way, he took the boutonniere from the athletic bag, pinned it to his lapel, and sat back in the seat, satisfied with himself.
* * *
“What say we stop at the next 7-11 and get a cup of coffee?” Harry said.
“You must be exhausted,” Gina said, looking at her watch. “I didn't realize we'd been at this for more than four hours.”
