Death Flight

by Melissa Yi

  She started crying. "This is so horrible. It's not right, making me think like this when he's so sick. I want you to leave him alone. I want you to go away."

  "But Mrs. Yarborough—"

  "I said go away!" She stood up and shouted so hard that her face turned red and her veins throbbed. "Get out of here! Don't touch him. He wanted comfort measures, not you pulling down his pants or shoving things in this mouth. He said no tube! No tube! No tube!"

  33

  "I hear you," Tucker spoke to Mrs. Yarborough in his low, measured voice. "No tube. You don't want any further treatment."

  "That's right!"

  "You want us to stop touching him, so we'll take a step away from him for the moment."

  I glared at Tucker. I didn't want to leave Mr. Yarborough. We might be able to argue that his wife wasn't competent and we had to make decisions for an unconscious patient.

  Tucker used his chin to indicate Mr. Yarborough's body, which gave a twitch and fell still.

  His wife cried out.

  Tucker gazed at Mr. Yarborough. "It's okay. He's still breathing."

  His wife covered her mouth with her hand.

  We waited to see if he'd seize again. He lay quiet.

  "I'm sorry," said Mrs. Yarborough. "I don't know what I'm saying any more."

  "It's fine. Maybe the saline's having some effect," said Tucker. "We can only hope. What a terrible ordeal for you."

  She nodded. Luckily, she wasn't screaming. Inside an airplane, post-concussion, post-PTSD, post-Staci Kelly, that would make me want to yank off my own ears.

  "We can't predict anything one hundred percent. Health care isn't straightforward like business."

  Mrs. Yarborough nodded in soundless agreement.

  "I've always admired your success. ShapeR seems like such an innovative product."

  Huh? I assumed Tucker had a plan, though, so I nodded along.

  "Best shapewear on the market." Her answer was like a reflex. She gazed at her husband, who was breathing peacefully for the first time since I'd met him.

  "Didn't you win an award for it recently?"

  She smiled. "Which one?"

  "Businesswoman of the Millennium," said Tucker.

  That didn't make any sense. The millennium had barely begun.

  "Yes, the ceremony was incredible."

  "It was all over social media, those pictures of you and Kenneth Vaughn Reid."

  I had no idea who Kenneth Vaughn Reid was, but her eyes flashed with recognition.

  Tucker laughed. "Businessman and Businesswoman of the Millennium. It's like Ken and Barbie, only better, because you're entrepreneurs."

  She started to smile before she caught herself. "I already have a husband."

  "Yes, you do," said Tucker. "Tell me about him. How did you meet?"

  "Online. Harold posted a wonderful ad. I found out later that Kim wrote it for him, but I liked his sense of humour, and he was of sound mind and reasonably sound body." Her hazel eyes cut into mine.

  I blushed. Tucker had the mind, and it felt like everyone in a two-mile radius could tell that I was recently acquainted with his body.

  "He proposed immediately. I put him off for a year before I gave in. Within five years, he had gone from forgetting his car keys to forgetting his children's names." She paused.

  I glanced at Tucker. Please don't forget our non-existent children's names.

  He pressed my hand. I won't. To her, he said, "What a shame. Were you working on ShapeR at the same time? It seemed to explode on the market two years ago."

  "Yes, it was a very hectic time."

  Mr. Yarborough's shoulders tweaked, but settled back down. We all sighed.

  "Excuse me," said Pascale softly, in her French accent. "Maybe this could help?"

  We spun around to look at her.

  She bit the corner of her lip. The ends of her red scarf trembled as she extended a piece of paper toward me. "I found a list of medications stuck in the corner of the plastic bag."

  I didn't really need the list now that we'd compiled the pill bottles, but I uncrumpled the paper and scanned it. Then I snapped to attention.

  "Desmopressin," I said aloud.

  "DDAVP." Tucker stared back at me, and then at Mrs. Yarborough.

  We use DDAVP for incontinence, which is common in dementia. This medication makes you retain water so that you don't pee in bed, or all over the plane. The problem is that when you take in more water than sodium—like when you keep glugging out of your favourite water bottle—your sodium drops into your boots, and you can't stop seizing.

  I whirled on Mrs. Yarborough, who had backed against the cockpit door.

  "Why didn't you tell me he was taking DDAVP?" I said.

  She lifted her shoulders. "I gave you a bag with his medications."

  Not until he lay down on them. "You didn't include the DDAVP. Where is it?"

  She clasped her hands. Her posture would rival the Queen's. "I have no idea. Perhaps it fell out during the ... incident at the airport."

  "I didn't see anything," I said.

  Tucker opened his mouth, but she rode over him. "Well, then, when we were boarding the plane the first or second time. How would I know? You can call to complain to the airline about it." She sniffed.

  I checked at her meticulous makeup, her suspiciously smooth neck, and her bland expression. "You said you took 'wonderful' care of him. 'All his bills and all his pills.'"

  She barely blinked. She would be a tough negotiator. "I do."

  And yet she'd claimed to have checked his medications in his main bag, had supposedly forgotten about the bottles in her purse when she was taking her iPad in and out of it, and couldn't keep track of one of the most deadly pills. Her story kept changing. For the Businesswoman of the Millennium, she sure didn't keep an eye on her husband.

  California splits its property 50-50 when you divorce. It would be much cheaper to kill your husband than to divorce him before you take up with the Businessman of the Millennium.

  She regarded me coldly. "Dr. Sze, I don't care for your tone. You have no proof of wrongdoing, and you can't search me. You're not a police officer."

  "No." I snatched her purse from her seat. "But I can hold onto this for them while you head to the back of the plane."

  Her facade cracked. "With the—"

  "The remains of Joel J. Firestone and his widow, yes. That's a good place to recollect where you might have misplaced his DDAVP."

  "I absolutely will not. I'm calling my lawyer. How dare you."

  The plane pitched to the right. We all grabbed hold of the seats—she pushed on the wall—and I said, "You can call all you like. There's no reception, the last time I checked."

  At last, she patted herself down, reached under her billowy black outfit, and said, "There's no need to be unpleasant. I might have forgotten this." She handed me a translucent orange bottle.

  I read the label. Desmopressin 0.1 mg at bedtime. I held it up to the light to see how many tablets were inside. "How come you only have ten of these and the Clonazepam, but the other pill bottles are full?"

  "I must have forgotten to refill—"

  I twisted the bottle to read the label. She'd refilled it two days ago.

  She noticed me noticing. "My hands are shaky. Maybe they fell out."

  Into his mouth. I turned to Tucker, who shook his head at me. I was too angry to care.

  Mr. Yarborough wasn't seizing, but he hadn't woken up, either. It's normal to be out of it after a seizure, with a post-ictal period, but we'd have to do a full neurological exam and scan him for brain damage, especially with his blood thinner.

  Her mouth snapped shut. "I want my lawyer."

  34

  There it was again. Lawyers flung in our face. It's like when you're a little kid, and you have to watch out for the bogeyman. I was sick of it.

  "Guess what? There's a lawyer right here. She does family law. Let me get her." I stood up, still carrying the DDAVP. I'd have to put it in a safe
place.

  Tucker grabbed my arm. "What Dr. Sze means to say is—"

  I handed Elizabeth's card to Pascale. "Could you call her, please? She's in economy class. She asked us to notify her any time we need her services.”

  Pascale looked confused, but I beamed, Trust me, I'm a doctor at her, and she moved down the aisle.

  "—we don't want to imply anything," said Tucker.

  I opened my mouth. I wasn't implying anything. I'd say it straight out.

  Mrs. Yarborough told him, "You seem like a gentleman, Dr. Tucker, but your ... partner does not."

  Like that was going to stop me.

  "I have considerable resources. It's a shame that both of you don't seem to be aware of all the things we could do together."

  Oh. She's moving on to bribery.

  "You mentioned you'd recently had surgery at the Healing Hospital. I know one of the board members. I'm sure he'd be happy to take your ... heroic efforts into consideration when tabulating your account."

  I felt my face flush. With one call, she could remove the black cloud of debt plaguing him.

  "In fact, it would be my greatest pleasure to compensate you for your commendable care with such limited resources on board a plane."

  She'd discovered my weakness. She, too, knew that she could accomplish more with honey than with bitterness.

  She'd silenced both of us by the time Pascale returned with Elizabeth Rodriguez y Calderón, who was holding an electronic tablet. "Dr. Sze and Dr. Tucker, I'm so glad you called me. I've got something you need to see."

  Not even the Sze/see juxtaposition seemed funny now. I turned dead eyes on her. I didn't want to be the kind of person who'd sell out an old man for a few thousand dollars, and yet, if it would save Tucker from years of compounding debt ... I tried not to look at Mr. Yarborough, who had started to snore.

  "It's okay, Hope," said Tucker. He turned to Mrs. Yarborough and said gently, "This is the lawyer Dr. Sze was telling you about, if you need her services."

  "I do not." Haughtiness crept back into her voice. "I have the best lawyer in Los Angeles at my disposal."

  "He's not here. Elizabeth is."

  Elizabeth nodded. "I'm happy to discuss—"

  "No one asked for your opinion," said Mrs. Yarborough, staring at Elizabeth. "You crawl back to your practice now."

  Why was she so rude? Only one answer made sense: fear. Elizabeth must be triggering her. No matter how much Mrs. Yarborough invoked lawyers, she didn't want to meet one in the flesh right now.

  We might be able to use this, if Elizabeth could handle the attitude.

  Fortunately, Elizabeth appeared far calmer than I did. "Dr. Sze and Dr. Tucker called me, and I do need to discuss something with them."

  "Right now? Right when my husband is unconscious?"

  "I can wait," said Elizabeth.

  "I don't know what the world is coming to, when we can't count on common courtesy," Mrs. Yarborough said. The irony of her own words? Lost.

  We made sure Mr. Yarborough was in the recovery position, lying on the floor on his side so that his tongue fell anteriorly, before I faced his wife. "The world must seem like an improvement in some ways, Mrs. Yarborough. After all, you started a business empire. It must have been so difficult when your husband was losing his memory at the same time. Thank you for offering to ... help Dr. Tucker." I was running out of euphemisms. "The bigger question for me is, when we land, what are you planning to do with your husband?"

  "He'll have to go to the nearest hospital, of course."

  "Such a shame that you'll spend your Christmas in hospital," Elizabeth murmured.

  "I don't mind. As long as he gets the care he needs. He'll be there for a while, I imagine." She fluffed her white bob.

  Tucker stepped in. "Depending on his complications, I'd estimate he'll need a week or even two before you take him home."

  Her hands stopped fluffing. "I'm not taking him anywhere. He needs to be with his family."

  "Your husband will adapt best in a familiar environment," he said.

  She pressed her lips together "He needs his daughter, Kim."

  Mr. Yarborough's mouth worked for a second. I wondered if he'd recognized Kim's name.

  "Both of you would be the best. In sickness and in health," Tucker said.

  "Blood is thicker than water," she countered.

  It was certainly thicker than her marriage certificate. However, now I knew why she'd hatched this plot, and Elizabeth's electronic tablet gave me an idea. The courts have made their first convictions based on cell phone evidence. Your phones show you where you were, who you called, and everything you've texted. "Speaking of blood, why don't you contact Kim and let her know what's happening, if the Wifi is up?"

  Mrs. Yarborough's eyes sharpened. She didn't reach for her phone.

  I leaned closer and tried to look trustworthy. "She'll be worried about him, don't you think?"

  She nodded. "I'll call her as soon as we land."

  "I could help you with that. I know you were having trouble with your tablet earlier. I'm pretty good with electronics." Nothing like Ryan, of course, but with any luck, she'd see my Asian face and assume I was symbiotic with all silicon chips. "If you want me to contact her, I'd be happy to. We know more of the medical details. She might have a lot of questions."

  She arched one razor brow at me. "You want me to give you my phone and tablet."

  "Right." My heart double-thumped. "Often doctors talk to family members to update them."

  "But you want to talk on my phone."

  "I'd be happy to." If I kept chirping, it might start to sound normal to her.

  "So would I," said Tucker. "Kim might not answer a strange number calling her, but she could trust your number. It makes sense to use your phone."

  "You could use his phone," she said, pointing to her husband.

  "That's true." I wasn't sure if he had the wherewithal to use search engines properly, but what the heck. I'd take it.

  "Why would I trust you with my phone?" she said. "It has my business, my schedule, and personal information on it."

  "You trusted us with your husband's life," Tucker pointed out.

  Boom. With one sentence, he'd revealed that she cared more about her phone than about her husband. And she had no answer for Tucker except to gape at him. Eventually, she managed to say, "Well, of course he's more precious than anything." But she clamped her electronics in her beringed hands.

  Tucker held out his palm.

  Slowly, reluctantly, she placed her phone in it.

  "I can take your tablet," I said, going for the full Monty, but she shook her head.

  I wondered what was on it. It must be incriminating. We needs ze tablet.

  Tucker took her phone, shook his head, and gave it back to her. "You'll have to unlock it."

  Flashback to Tucker and me mounting in the family bathroom. I stared at the phone screen, trying to push that memory away, when I spotted a text.

  You do it yet?

  There was more, but she grabbed the phone back before I could read it. "You don't need to see that. I'll call Kim's number, even though the Wifi seems to be down."

  "Thank you," said Tucker, but from the look on his face, I knew he'd glimpsed more than me.

  There was evidence on that phone, if we could get it away from her.

  She pressed the buttons and brought the phone to her face, then shrugged. "Can't connect. Too bad."

  Elizabeth pointed to the name on the phone screen. "I thought her name was Kim. That's Tim."

  "Oh. How silly of me. Getting old. You know how it is," she added, with a poisonous look.

  Elizabeth smiled. "I can help you."

  "Absolutely not." This time, she really did dial Kim Yarborough. "No signal. Too bad. Well, as soon as we land, we'll go to a hospital, and I'll contact her from there. I do hope your Canadian health care system is as good as she says it is."

  That clicked. "Kim said we have a good health care system?" Queb
ec health care is so underfunded that the media constantly reports on how emergency departments are at 150 percent capacity or that the wait time hit 15 hours.

  "Oh, yes. The social safety net is so much better in your country. Old, young, you take care of them. A much more evolved society, wouldn't you say? With wonderful doctors like you."

  She was back to flattery, but the skin prickled on the back of my neck.

  Elizabeth said, "Of course, no social safety net can take the place of a family."

  Couldn't have worked better if we'd cued her. Tucker agreed, "Yes, it's terrible when families don't take care of their own."

  "What are you implying?" Mrs. Yarborough's lips drew back from her teeth.

  I snapped my fingers. "Granny dumping. That's what they call it. Or grandpa dumping, I suppose."

  "Granny dumping? Grandpa dumping?"

  The more she said it, the more it conjured up the image of an old man on the toilet. But the reality is much more sinister. "One Nova Scotia family abandoned their demented granny in the ER while they took a trip to Florida. They wanted free babysitting."

  "How dare you!"

  "How dare you overdose him on DDAVP and water so you could hook up with the Businessman of the Millennium—"

  She lashed out at me. I swooped away before a ruby scratched my eyeball.

  Tucker sprang past me and pinned her arms to her sides.

  "I started out with nothing," Mrs. Yarborough shouted. "I came from the south side of Chicago and dragged myself from rags to riches. He was lucky to have me. Every day he had with me, he should have gotten down on his knees and thanked God that I was looking after him instead of putting him in an institution with someone like you. You little bitch!"

  "That's enough," Tucker said, but she rode right over him, still machine gunning her words at me.

  "You wouldn't know anything about it! You've never been shackled to an invalid and had to change his diapers in an airport bathroom!" Spit shot out of her mouth. "I hope you die. I hope you end up covered in shit and vomit and raped by a thousand cocks. That's what you deserve, you little cunt prick!"