“Damn, you gave me a fright. If I’d lost you…” He stroked her once from head to hip, then knelt, opened the carrier he’d been dangling from one hand and tucked her inside. “Let’s go home, Jez. Later, I think I’ll drop you in the Providence River, but now, I’ve had it. Let’s go home.”
“Sounds good to me.” Home. She hadn’t had a home to run to for eight years.
But there was one slight delay, Jessica found, when they reached the hospital exit. Two small boys waited for them outside the doors, each clutching a black cat.
“Is this her?” they cried on seeing Sam, each raising a resigned cat for his inspection.
“Nope.” Laughter shimmered behind Sam’s denial. “I told you, guys. The cat I wanted got loose inside the hospital. Your job was to catch her if she tried to sneak out the door. Now where did you find these mangy critters? And, hey, look at that one—he’s a black-and-whitie. You didn’t listen to me at all!”
Negotiations followed. There was a payment for their efforts, but once two tens had changed hands, the kids were inclined to consider all cats involved to be henceforth Sam’s responsibility, not theirs.
Further negotiations ensued. Finally, with Sam muttering darkly about kidnap charges and the end of his career as he knew it, they chauffeured the whining cats back to their respective points of apprehension—or as close as those points could now be determined—then the two gleefully whispering boys to their home.
“Think they really live above that video arcade?” Sam wondered after he’d handed each a second ten and waved goodbye. “And do we even care?” He thumped the side of her bag. “Free enterprise at its finest, Jez. You reckon they’ll show up tomorrow with three black cats apiece?”
But curled tightly into a ball inside her carrier, plummeting downward into oblivion, Jessica was too exhausted to respond.
SHE SLEPT straight through until morning, awoke reluctantly when Sam shook her, like a drowning suicide dragged back to the surface against her will. God, I’m tired. How could I be this tired?
Sam deposited her in their one working chair in the kitchen while he cooked breakfast. Assuming the loaf-ofbread position, she crouched there, blinking and brooding. Raye Talbot…Jon…
The way she felt this morning, one half of her would gladly stay a cat forever, if only she’d be allowed to catnap her life away. Her other half groaned under the mounting pressure. I’ve got to get back to myself, stop Raye…
She yawned hugely and remembered. “She’s blackmailing him, Sam.” Does the little wifey know you’re a movie star? Shall we show her our tape? Our tape—a tape in which both Jon and Raye played a role? She shivered, and tucked her paws further under her breast fur. Suppose Raye had some sort of hidden video camera set up, aimed at that couch in her office?
The night of the fire, Raye had claimed she’d once been a stage hypnotist, then she’d retracted the statement. What did they call that when you told the truth disguised as a joke? Joking on the level?
Wherever she learned it, she’s a hypnotist. No wonder it was hard to resist her.
Supposedly a person couldn’t be hypnotized against his will. But how hard would it be for a sexy female hypnotist to subtly lower the inhibitions of a male patient, who was perhaps more than willing to fantasize about a couch-top seduction? Seemingly safe in that oceanic blue room, soothed by the confidentiality of the patient-doctor relationship, lulled into a position of trust, the average man would think he was being given a delicious freebie—if he stopped to think at all.
It was only later, once Raye showed him a copy of their tape, that he’d begin to realize the cost.
And of course, Raye would have to choose married men who valued their marriages, for the tape to be useful. “That’s what happened to Robert Coffman!” she cried, remembering. “A patient of mine—I sent him to Raye to be cured of smoking and suddenly he was furious with me. She must’ve got him, too. God—do you think he thinks I’m in cahoots with her?”
“Waking up, are we?” Sam raked reheated lasagna onto two plates, set hers on the floor below the window. He tipped her out of his chair, then sat down to his own breakfast. “Hustle up, cat. Eat.”
“Coffman had oodles of money. I guess that’s what she wanted from him. I doubt if Jon has two nickels to rub together, but she’s taking his prescriptions. She must be making them out for drugs—Demerol, Valium, controlled substances like that—then selling them to addicts. And if the law catches on, Raye’s nose is clean. It’ll be Jon who loses his career.”
Buried in one of the scientific magazines his secretary had sent him, Sam waved a loaded fork at her. “Eat and stop jabbering.”
Jessica sniffed at her lasagna, then lifted her head and looked around the room. “And I bet that explains this loft, Sam! I’ve been wondering for months why Harold Neuman quit a perfectly good practice here and moved to Hawaii. And don’t you think it’s weird the way he left? He must’ve just packed his clothes, grabbed his wife and caught a plane. He left all his furniture, left the food in the cabinets, didn’t even stop to sell the place, just asked Mac to handle it, then send the money on. He was running, Sam—running from Raye, I’ll bet you anything! And maybe from an investigation, if Raye had written too many prescriptions under his signature?”
And that, she realized with a gulp, just as she started to eat, explains why Raye tried to cozy up to me! Raye would have lost a prime source of prescriptions when Neuman left. If she could’ve gained my confidence, found some sort of leverage to use on me, I’d have been her next source!
Still reading, Sam stood, took his empty plate to the refrigerator and placed it inside. He swung back to the table, collected the half-empty quart of milk from which he’d been drinking and set it in the sink. “Let’s hit the road, Jez.” He stopped when she stood on his feet. “What do you want, green eyes?”
“Milk in the fridge, plate in the sink, big guy. And thank your lucky stars your head’s permanently attached.” When he still didn’t get it, she leapt to the counter and smacked the milk carton, then sat to lick her paw and scrub her face.
“Oh.” He made the trade, then turned to frown at her. “I always thought cats were one step up from guinea pigs, brainwise.”
“That puts ’em two steps up from the average molecular biologist.” She hopped down from the counter and trotted off to wait by her carrier.
ON THE WAY through RI Gen’s lobby, Sam stopped in at the florist to buy a dozen red roses. “Should’ve done this days before,” he muttered in the elevator. “She always loved flowers.”
“I’m sorry?” said the elderly man standing across the car.
“Just talkin’ to my cat.”
The man mustered a wavering smile, then stepped off briskly at the next floor. They reached their own, ran the gauntlet of the nurses’ station—much admiration for the roses, no change in the patient—then reached the room.
“Babe…” Sam deposited his bundles on the windowsill, then sat on the bed. “How was your night, Jess?”
No answer, not a ripple of consciousness. Her body lay like a lake beneath a windless, cloudless sky.
“I hate to leave you here alone at night. The nights are always the worst, aren’t they?” He smoothed his palm over her forehead. “Jess, sweet Jess…”
I’m here, Sam. Jessica stood, one eye pressed to an air hole. Closing her eyes, she strained to feel the warmth of his hand on her brow. Oh, let me be there… with Sam touching me. That’s all I ever wanted, all I’ll ever ask. Oh, please?
No response. She stayed where she was, trapped in a bag, trapped in a cat.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” Sam whispered. “And you know I’m here.”
No answer. At last Jessica said wearily, “Let me out, Sam.” At least I can be with you.
Sam sighed, then straightened and squared his shoulders. “I brought your fuzzy friend again.” Releasing Jessica from her carrier, he returned to the bed.
Jessica hopped up onto the mattress, then st
ood on his thigh. “I’m here, Sam. Right here. Look at me?”
Absently he scratched her shoulders, his gaze fixed on her human face. “I brought you flowers, babe, red roses. Make of that what you will. Want a sniff?” He held the blossoms to her untwitching nose, then breathed another silent sigh. “Not bad for hothouse roses, but d’you remember that old bush that grew behind our little rental house? You always thought it was something antique, remember?”
“I remember.” He’d scattered the petals on her body one night. When they made love, the fragrance of the petals, crushed between them, had…
“Do you remember one night, we…”
Yes, Sam, oh, yes, I do. She reared to lean against him and kissed his cheek. Don’t cry. Please don’t. I’m right here.
He hugged her fiercely with one arm, his gaze still focused beyond her.
The door opened, and a crowd of men filed into the room.
“Hey!” Sam barked, swinging around. “You don’t barge in here without knocking! Can’t you read?”
Jessica’s brother, Winston—or rather, Dr. Winston Myles, world-famous neurosurgeon—took half a step backward, then stiffened. “Sorry, Sam, I didn’t realize that sign applied to me.” In the group at his heels, Jessica recognized Fisher, her own doctor and head of Neurology, along with two other at tendings, plus several residents and med students of the house staff—the usual collection of courtiers who danced attendance when a celebrity made Grand Rounds. And her brother was very much a medical rock star. Winston’s eyes shifted to Jessica, hugged to Sam’s chest, and his eyebrows rose. “What are you up to in here—voodoo? I thought the usual requirement was a chicken.”
The doctors behind him chuckled obediently, though Fisher was not amused.
“This is Jess’s pet.” Sam stood and moved to the carrier. “I figured anything that might stimulate her…” He tucked Jessica into the bag, then zipped it.
“I see.” Winston advanced toward the bed, and his retinue pressed closer. “Not a bad idea, Sam, but given that it’s a hospital, a sterile environment…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Sam lifted the carrier. “You mean to examine her?”
“Of course.”
“With a cast of friggin’ thousands?”
Winston smiled a smile of practiced tolerance. “That’s how it’s done, Sam. Would you care to stay?” He turned toward his followers and extended one arm to indicate Sam. “This, by the way, is my ex-brother-in-law, Samuel Kirby, the Nobel laureate, molecular biology. The man who cracked the code for nonsense DNA.”
The rumble of approval said these men knew this already.
The tips of Sam’s ears turned red. “No, thanks, I think we’ll pass, but a word, Winston.” Catching him above the elbow, he towed him through his admirers and out into the hall. Marching him a dozen feet from the doorway, he set Jessica’s bag at their feet. “You could’ve told me you were coming, Win.”
“Oh?” Winston brushed off his sleeves, then shot the cuffs on his Italian suit. “Sorry, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it—I’m only passing through on my way back from Prague. I had back-to-back operations scheduled in Boston—special patients—yesterday and today, but this morning’s subject coded last night.” He shrugged. “If he’d held on one more day…” I would have been able to save him, was the unspoken assumption. “So my flight out of Logan isn’t scheduled till this evening. And of course I wanted to see Jessica if I could find the time.”
“Fine, but how many eyes does that take? You know how shy she is. She doesn’t need half a dozen jerks standing around gaping, while you do your thing.”
“That’s the way it’s done in a teaching hospital, Sam. Jessica knows that, even if you don’t. And she’s hardly in a position to be embarrassed. She’s comatose.”
“That’s another thing.” Sam took half a step closer. “You know as well as I do what they’ve learned about patients’ awareness levels under anesthesia—that they hear everything that’s going on in the operating room? Well, I’m working with the same premise here. While you’re in there, Winston, I want you to treat her like a human being. Like your sister, not like a slab of raw meat laid out for dissection. If you have to discuss her in there, keep in mind that she’s listening. I want sweetness and light, and most of all optimism in that room, is that understood?”
Through the breathing hole to which she was pressed, Jessica could see the muscles flutter in Winston’s jaw. Nobody has talked to him like that in years, she suspected, not even their father. Given hands, she might have hugged herself. Thank you, Sam.
“You’re in a position to ask that?” Winston inquired pleasantly.
“No. I’m in a position to tell you.” Sam’s drawl had faded to nothing. He spoke with the same clipped consonants as her brother, in the language of the academic elite, his tone so light and even it would have been a major storm warning to anyone who knew him well.
Winston was not numbered among these. “Ah.” His tone condescended without conceding. Humor the layman, then go your own way. “If you wish.”
“I wish.”
Once Winston had returned to her room, Sam paced the corridor, swearing under his breath.
“You could put me down,” Jessica suggested as he turned on his heel for his fourth pass. “I’m getting seasick.”
“Sorry.” He set her down, shortened his circuit so that he paced a dozen feet to either side of her bag. “Guess that’s the end of your visits.”
Yes. She’d already figured that one out. Fisher wasn’t about to allow an animal near his patient. Oh, Sam, how will I protect you from Raye after today? And how will I get back to myself? I’m going to go mad!
They both turned when the group of physicians shuffled out of her room. Winston spoke hurriedly to Fisher, clapped him on the arm, then strode their way while the others headed for the elevator. “Sam, join Fisher and me for lunch? It’s a rather good restaurant, I understand. Seafood. We’ll have a drink and then we’ll talk.”
“Thanks, Win, but I guess I’ll stay here.” Sam drew a deep breath. “So tell me.”
“A drink first, Sam. She won’t miss you.”
“No.” Something vibrated deep in Sam’s voice. “Now.”
Winston let out an irritated breath, then turned to lean back against the wall beside him and crossed his arms. “I’m advising Father tonight that he request DNR be written on her chart.”
“DNR?”
“Do not resuscitate. If she stops breathing for any reason, Sam, they won’t try to bring her back. And no respirator, if it should come to that.”
“Why would you recommend that?” Sam’s voice grew markedly softer.
Winston sighed again. “Sam…we don’t want to prolong this.”
“Prolong—you’re damn right. Let’s talk about curing her!”
“Sam…” Winston shook his head. “She’s gone, Sam. Don’t think I don’t care. She was my little sister, I loved her—but she’s gone. What’s in there…well, that’s not Jessica. I’m sorry.”
Sam was shaking his head, a nonstop, stubborn denial. “No, no, no, no, that’s not right, that’s not true! She’s there, Win, even if she can’t talk! I can feel her trying to reach me every time I walk into that room. Why, just when you barged in—”
“Sam, her brain wave—”
“Screw her brain wave, and all your other friggin’ machines! I’m talking about her heart, her…her soul! She’s still with us, Win. We just have to give her the chance!”
“We’re giving her a chance—that’s just what we’ve been doing. But the odds drop dramatically by the day, Sam. She’s achieved some sort of stasis. She could lie like that for years.”
“You’ve got to give her a chance. If it’s the money, then leave it to me.”
Winston snorted. “It’s not the money, Sam. Don’t be absurd. You think my family can’t—”
“Then if it’s the nuisance, the pain of facing this, having to see her like this, okay, okay, I can see th
at. That’s okay.” Sam swiped one hand up through his hair, shook his head. “In that case, just leave Jess to me. I take full responsibility. I’ll move her down to North Carolina, marry her again, so all the decisions are—”
“That is grotesque!” Winston bounced away from the wall. “And certainly illegal—she’s not competent to consent! Moreover, it’s not the point.”
“Who needs a point?”
“The point is that, given this condition, my sister would want to die. That’s what her body is telling us, lying there— I’m dead, let me die. Jessica wouldn’t want to live without a brain—that’s not life!”
“Yeah, it always comes down to brains in your family, doesn’t it?” Sam laughed bitterly and swung around to flatten his hands to the wall, his arms braced, head hanging. “You all lead with your heads, not your hearts. I tried to tell Jess that, but she couldn’t hear…”
Winston touched his shoulder. “Doesn’t it come down to family, in the end, Sam?”
Sam turned his head slowly. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, we’re her family, and we know best what Jessica would want.”
“You never had a clue!” Jessica cried from her carrier. It wasn’t her family who had brought her rose petals by moonlight, who had showed her delight for the only six months of her life that had ever mattered. Not her family who now sat aching by her bedside.
Winston glanced at her bag, grimaced, then turned back to Sam. “Jessica wouldn’t want to live like this. And I’m sorry to rub your nose in it, but really, Sam, what is this to you? You two broke up—what?—six, seven years ago. You’re out of the loop now, man. This is a family affair.”
His voice a raw, aching whisper, Sam thumped his own chest. “I am her family. Because I care about Jess the most, then I’m her family. Yes, we broke up, but that was her idea, not mine. I loved her with all my heart.”
“Sam…” Show Winston a skullful of bloody brains and he wouldn’t have blinked. Show him a naked emotion, and he quailed. He backed off a fastidious step, his face pink with embarrassment—on Sam’s behalf. “Look, there’s no real hurry on this. Perhaps we should discuss it later, by phone, once you’ve calmed—”
You Again Page 24
