by Barbara Ebel
Chapter 10
In his line of duty, Casey had never before been involved with a personal tragedy; he meekly let his partner carry out their duties. Mark called the hospital, their base station, to relay the situation to a medical doctor. The distant physician received the transmitted EKG and concurred; abort further attempts at Melissa’s resuscitation.
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Something wasn’t right, Mary was sure of it. Narrowing her eyes, she could make out the ambulance down the block in the driveway, right next to Melissa’s car. She pulled behind them, pushed open the car door, and ran into the house after ignoring her grocery bags in the back seat.
“Hello? Melissa?” Mary cried loudly from downstairs while scouting each room. She took two steps at a time upstairs when she heard Casey’s voice. She stepped over paramedic supplies in the hallway. Mark kneeled by Melissa’s head, but Casey crouched over her, his weeping musculature like putty. Mary slinked alongside her niece, next to Casey.
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They didn’t hear Sara arrive. She rounded the top of the staircase, her eyes bulging, her uncombed hair densely matted, her sweat pant strings hanging untied. She dropped to her knees on the other side of Casey and Mary, enveloped her daughter, and tried to wake her up.
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Mark left them for some time, but finally guided Sara, Mary and Casey to the living room. Sara pressed her fists into her lap while squeezing the wad of tissues Mark had given her. She dotted her cheeks, absorbing the moisture. Her two tear ducts were too small for the avalanche she felt would ensue. Now she knew about a mother’s pain, what it felt like to lose a child.
“We have to call Danny,” Mary said.
Casey’s mouth trembled. He raised his eyebrows and looked up, considering what she’d just said. How could they? He dropped his head back down into his hands.
Sara waved a tissue near her face. “How are we going to tell him? His daughter.”
Mary pushed the ottoman aside and embraced her sister-in-law. “I don’t know if we should call the office, the hospital, or his pager, but we better start somewhere.”
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Danny had a long list of patient’s to see, but today it went like clockwork. Plus, that pretty Rachel had put zip into his steps. Mr. Donaldson seemed so relieved that his surgery was in the past tense, that he now saw humor in it all. Since it had been a rare operation, he had even become a conversation piece in the hospital wing, the attention flattering him.
“Dr. Tilson,” he said, “I sure feel lighter getting rid of all those freeloaders living in my head.”
Danny laughed. “Anytime, Mr. Donaldson. Now just be careful of human being spongers. I won’t be able to help you with them.”
“Okay, Doc. And thanks again.” Danny left the room while Mr. Donaldson resumed eating his scanty bowl of corn flakes.
There were several more patients to see. Danny had also agreed to see one of Bruce’s patients, a simple discharge with instructions for him to follow up with Bruce in the office. He sat at the nurses’ station writing a note in the chart while looking forward to heading to the office with a to-go cup of coffee. His pager blared; the number was from his dad’s house. He rolled his chair and reached across open charts for the phone.
He called to hear Sara, her voice broken-up. “Sara, what’s wrong?”
“Danny, it’s Melissa,” she sobbed. “She was alone and had an acute asthma attack. She didn’t make it.”
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Danny had to park on the street. The driveway and front were cluttered with cars: an ambulance, Melissa’s and Sara’s cars, a police car, and some strange Honda. He held on to his denial like holding on to a boulder to keep it from falling. He had to go inside to wake Sara from her strange dream and preposterous story.
But the cascade of embraces when he entered the house was real, as well as the crumpled faces filled with sorrow. Dr. Neatle, the girls’ pediatrician for many years, stood over Melissa’s unmoving body, signing a medical death certificate.
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Danny stood near the casket the last night of viewing, talking softly with Casey before the funeral home closed. Pastel flowers surrounded them, draping from baskets, stands, and heart shaped wreaths. Adults streamed into the funeral chapel, offering Sara and him their condolences. They acknowledged the steady tide of teenagers, who forlornly paused at her casket, her popularity evident. Ivory silk casket lining caressed Melissa and a white and red rose lay on her abdomen atop the peach button-down dress she’d planned to wear for graduation.
“Here, I want you to have this,” Danny said when all the guests had departed. He reverently slid Melissa’s opal bracelet off her wrist – the one that Casey had given her one year at Christmas when she was small - and placed it in Casey’s hand.
Casey held it momentarily. He took Danny’s hand, placed it there, and wrapped his hand around it. Leaning forward, he pulled his friend closer and embraced him firmly. “No. You keep it, always.”
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Danny, Sara, Annabel and Nancy decided to bring half the flowers home that night and the remainder the next day, the day of Melissa’s funeral. They sprinkled the house with gladiolas, mums, and carnations. Danny put a mixed arrangement of yellow baby breath orchids in Melissa’s bedroom. He quickly exited her room, wanting to visit it again later. He couldn’t bear to remember that a few days ago she’d slept there for the last time.
Pulling Melissa’s iridescent bracelet from his black suit jacket, he crossed the hall. In the bedroom, he crouched to his bottom dresser drawer. As he took out his leather case, he couldn’t believe his mother and daughter were no longer alive. What a cruel world. He must make the pain of Melissa’s death subside. He opened the leather flap and took out Einstein’s masterpiece. “Mom,” he said, “…..your granddaughter …. she’s gone. I don’t know about anything. Maybe she’ll be joining you.” Danny reflected on the book and Melissa’s bracelet, then slipped them into his burgundy case, and nestled it under his clothes.
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At midnight, Danny still lay awake while Sara curled at the edge of the bed in a ball, her breathing irregular, like she was sobbing in her sleep. He wrapped his thoughts around the last time they had all hiked, the weekend his dad was in the hospital from his stroke. Melissa had been as vibrant as spring but as compassionate as a Calcutta nun. He closed his eyes and began at the beginning …
Autumn always proved to be the best time for Sara and Danny to hike in Tennessee, not just the state park trails, but also the ones that Danny and Sara knew from dating, when they disappeared together for hours with nothing more than tattered maps and water bottles. Danny carried two bottles of water in a backpack, one zip lock bag of trail mix, packets of handi wipes, and his cell phone. After ten minutes of walking, Danny realized that burying himself in nature for the morning had been a wise decision. What better way to spend beeper-free time than to be with the family. In any case, they wouldn’t have accomplished anything hanging around Greg’s hospital room while his stroke workup was in progress.
“Mom, you’ve got shoes on,” Melissa said.
“How about that? Ankle boots for the occasion.” Sara held a branch from slapping back towards Melissa.
Leaf colors had not yet peaked; still, some trees blazed with yellow shades of fall. They had chosen this particular path because they would veer off on a one-mile circular loop. The byway was less traveled and they were privy to its rocky ridge with a breathtaking view of a gorge.
“Melissa,” Sara said, “Aunt Mary may be coming home for a while to help Pop-Pop. You can ask her about marine life in Alaska.”
Danny slowed, wondering if their pace was too fast for Nancy, but she took the opportunity to hurry past him, walking on old leaves that were practically pasted on top of the narrow path. A breeze filtered through the woods, subtle near the ground, but swaying tall deciduous trees at the top.
Sara tightened the sweatshirt tied around her waist and slapped an itch o
n her arm. For a moment, she waved her hands, as if with delight, passing Annabel.
“Just because you’re a runner,” Annabel said, jokingly.
Sara noticed a fine distinction in the trail ahead. “Is that our turn-off?” she asked Danny.
They got closer. “That’s it. Narrower than this path. Single-file,” Danny said, leading the way, their mouths quiet, their minds busy.
“Just be alert,” Danny remembered. “It’s rutting season.”
“What does that mean?” Nancy asked.
“It means it’s more magical here in the deep woods than the woods in the back of our house. It means the bucks aren’t cautious and are moving freely, looking for receptive females, to mate and have babies.”
“I’ll show you deer tracks when we see them,” Melissa said, “they’re all over.”
“Grandpa showed them to me in the back yard,” Nancy said.
“Look, stop,” Melissa said, crouching down. “Deer poop.”
“Ewww,” Nancy whined.
Sara, Danny, and Annabel huddled by the ground. “Pop told me that deer can poop thirteen times a day and that naturalists learn things from it,” Melissa said.
“Like what, know it all?” Annabel asked.
“She’s right, Annabel,” Sara said. “And that’s not polite.”
Annabel rolled her eyes. “Well, I know it’s not called deer poop. Grandpa told me they’re woodland nuggets, deer droppings, or deer pellets.”
“These are round droppings,” Danny said. “This particular deer must be eating leaves and acorns.”
“I want to see,” Nancy said. She slithered next to Sara, plopped into the leaves and rolled the pile around with a stick.
“Gross, you idiot,” Annabel said.
“Melissa, this is like a biology field trip,” Sara said. “Maybe you can be a white-tail biologist.”
“Maybe, Mom. But I want to learn about marine biology, too.” She sighed deeply, catching her breath, and then coughed.
“Okay, let’s go girls,” Danny said.
They walked again in silence as the temperature warmed, their clothes getting heavier. When they approached their secret ridge, they detoured and stood on the rocky cliff alongside baby white pines. The small evergreens jutted from the bluff beginning their ascent toward sky, like the towering trees behind them. “Beautiful,” Sara said. She stepped next to Danny and touched his hand.
“Very beautiful,” he said, smiling at her. Danny perched himself on a boulder, Sara sat next to him, and the girls stretched on groundcover jutting between rocks. They drank more water and shared dried fruit and almonds. “We better head back,” Danny said. They resumed their trek, walking a half hour in seclusion.
“What’s that smell, anyway?” Annabel exclaimed.
“I smell it, too,” Sara said.
“Lots of pellets,” Melissa said, pointing to the ground.
Danny looked closely at the ground, large deer tracks obvious. He stepped into the brush and woods, the smell becoming stronger.
Sara gasped at what came into view by Danny’s feet. A mammoth white-tailed deer lay in the leaves, a slick lengthy arrow protruding from its chest. From where they stood, it was difficult to make out its neck and head.
“Is this some new hunting sport?” Sara asked. “To kill and not take the venison?”
“How awful,” Melissa said.
Danny scanned the area. It couldn’t be dead that long; there weren’t any flies or vultures around. He agreed with Melissa. “Such a magnificent creature. It won’t be running free anymore.”
Nancy pinched her nose.
“Girls, that musky smell. It’s coming from here.” Sara pointed to the fallen animal’s back inner legs. “During the breeding season the males pee on these glands. It sits here and mixes with bacteria, making that stink.”
Melissa took a twig and rubbed the patch, while Sara continued. “Biologists study these things. Perhaps each deer has its own distinct odor to communicate and attract does.”
“Why don’t they teach me biology at school?” Nancy asked.
“They will, sweetheart, soon,” Sara said. Nancy pouted, kicking leaves underfoot.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Danny said.
“Where are you going Dad?” Annabel asked.
“To the restroom.”
“What restroom?”
“The woods.”
Danny stepped upward on the mound, parted brush and tree limbs, and took a leak. He turned around and came back, picking up a cane-size tree limb to begin clearing the organic matter off the front end of the deer. Finally, everyone had a view of the mutilated animal. Sara’s arms tucked Nancy and Annabel into either side of her and the girls nestled their heads into her chest. The slayer had carved the antler rack out of the buck’s head.
“Damn poachers,” Danny said.
Melissa crumpled to the ground. Salty water pooled, the tears slinked down her cheeks, and moistened the corners of her mouth.
Thinking about that day was all Danny could stand. He finally willed himself to fall asleep, the heartache accumulating like the falling petals in Melissa’s room.
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“Wait, Danny,” Sara said. They entered Wellington’s Life Care several days later, and she tugged on Danny’s shirtsleeve. “Mary left the same time as us. She’ll be here in a moment, so let’s go see Greg all together.”
Annabel plopped into a chair she thought dated back to the 1800’s. She dug into her cargo Capri pants and pulled out Melissa’s holy card. Melissa Susan Tilson 1991-2008. She read the prayer while chewing the gum she’d been harboring under her tongue, occasionally embedding it behind her crooked tooth.
Nancy passed her, looking out the window for Mary, and mumbled. “Why do we have to wait here anyway?”
Mary hurried into the front lobby after seeing Danny’s car in the parking lot and they all steered down the hallway to Greg’s room. Greg stared into the hallway, surrounded by his walker.
“Dad, you must be expecting us,” Danny said.
“Yeah, right.” Annabel rolled her eyes as Danny shot her a glance, warning her as to her inappropriateness.
“Dad, look, we brought you oatmeal cookies,” Mary said. If Greg got any skinnier, his frame would slither out the bottom of his brown pants. Greg’s eyes locked onto Mary’s face. Was there recognition there, or a total absence of who she was?
“Sara, why don’t we take Dad for a spin?” Mary asked. “Outside, around the fountain. Get his circulation going. We can’t complain about his care here, but certainly no one takes him outside.”
Greg’s jittery hand reached towards the cookie. Mary and Sara guided him by the elbows into a wheelchair and steered him out the door as Mary split the small cookie in two and put one piece into Greg’s mouth. Nancy folded Greg’s quilt and Annabel poured sunflower seeds in the feeders outside his window.
Danny sat in the rocker reflecting on the last seven days. Melissa had died on Monday and the subsequent gatherings had flown by. He had not thought of work, but had told Bruce he would return on Monday. Surely the next day would be hectic. Even though Bruce and Harold would have seen some of his office patients, his surgeries were rescheduled to him. In the morning he’d do a surgical resection of a single metastatic cancer lesion to the brain.
Mary and Sara came back with the wheelchair – Greg like a fragile, handle-with-care package propped on the black leather seat. “I’m going to leave in a few minutes,” Mary said. “Casey will be off at three o’clock. He’s coming over to cover the back broken window with a wood panel until the window is repaired. I’ve had plastic hanging there all week.”
“That’s nice of him,” Danny said. “Say hi.”
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Casey arrived at Mary’s straight after his shift. His entrance made her gasp. She’d seen him in his uniform before, under worse conditions. Now, he wore a half smile; she practically wilted.
“Let me see the damage I did,” he said.
“I didn’t stop to think about neatness at the time.” His face soured after saying it, bringing back all the memories of last Monday, like a bad dream.
“I swept away the glass. The clear plastic has worked fine, but if you board it up, that will be better. Especially if the window company doesn’t show for a few more days. You know how that goes.”
Casey surveyed the damage, then brought in a piece of plywood from his Jeep and nailed it in place. Mary observed from her perch on the arm of a chair. She knew he was the same age as Danny, but he seemed more spirited. Maybe he managed his time better. Besides his forty-hour workweek, there must be gym time, plus who knows what else. She wondered if he was currently dating a gorgeous Vice President of a bank or an attorney hotshot in Nashville. There was always someone.
“Would you like something to drink?” Mary asked when he finished.
“Sure, whatever you’ve got.” Casey moved a pillow and parked himself on the couch.
She looked in the refrigerator. He occasionally drank beer, so she brought him a Miller and fetched a glass of water. She partially tucked her legs under her at the other end of the sofa. Silence temporarily filled the room. Casey snapped back the aluminum tab and put the beer down on the side table as Mary took a sip of water and turned to him.
“You know,” he said, “things might have turned out differently. If only I hadn’t…”
“No. Casey. Don’t ever think that.” Mary extended her hand and placed it on his forearm.
Casey looked down at his lap and shook his head.
“No. Really, Casey. You did your job. What happened …” She slid over toward him. “Please,” she said.
They sat quietly. Casey detected Mary’s lingering body lotion, like being inland, yet near a coast, teased by the salty ocean smell. For a moment, he let the guilt lift … the guilt he had carried all week.
“I’ll try,” he finally said.
Casey took a small sip, but put the can down. He thought of a better pastime than drinking a beer.
