by Barbara Ebel
On the other hand, Danny had continued to learn from Family Court. He knew an order was an order and his documents spelled out visitation rules. He’d be breaking the judge’s order if he didn’t bring her back to her mother. This had to be worked out legally, and yet how could that happen in one day? His thoughts spun as he placed the call, only to get a recorder.
“Mark, this is Danny Tilson. Sorry to bother you on a Saturday but its imperative we talk. I’m having my first visitation weekend with my baby girl, but I just had her seen by a pediatrician. He’s confirmed she has multiple injuries indicative of child abuse. I really need your help. Certainly we can’t send her back tomorrow to her mother.”
Danny put the phone down while Joelle gasped.
Chapter 18
“You seem to live life in the fast lane, Dr. Tilson,” Joelle blurted. She placed her water bottle on the coffee table and crossed her legs. “I hope your baby daughter is going to be all right.”
Mary joined her, nestling into the corner of the coach. “Julia is littered with cigarette burns and broken bones,” Mary said. She gritted her teeth, showing her disgust.
“I don’t have kids,” Joelle said, staring ahead. “How could anyone do that?”
Danny made a feeble attempt to camouflage his apprehension as he moved from behind his desk and sat across from them. “I don’t know, either, Joelle. I swear, it has to stop and I’m sorry to dampen your day about it. Anyway, I better mention why I called you. Mary’s fiancée, who is my best friend and a paramedic, remembered an event which may be useful. It may be nothing, yet some people may consider it strange, and it’s certainly perplexing why I haven’t gotten sick like the others especially after coming in contact with all that saliva.”
Joelle clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “I’m dying to hear anything. And I have to tell you something, too. I spoke to Peter and Ralph today. But go ahead first.”
“Well, excuse me if this story sounds crazy, but two weeks ago from tomorrow, the day after Michael Johnson had his accident, I had off that Sunday. I was cutting down tree limbs, missed the branch, and cut my left hand instead.” Danny turned his hand over, showing her his palm, although he remembered she had seen it briefly at one of their meetings. “We debated whether I should get stitches. Casey and Mary were there. We all live together in my deceased parents’ large house, but I digress. The point is that the cut was quite bad, and bled substantially. My dog was there and I let him act as the lap sponge.” He shot a glance at Mary who nodded, “despite the advice of my sister.”
“Danny trusts the dog’s saliva,” Mary said. “He says Dakota has a clean mouth.”
“Sounds like a lot of loyalty going on between you and your dog, Danny,” Joelle said. “Hmm,” she slumped back into the sofa. “An open wound treated with dog saliva. Which then ended up in your bloodstream…..and since twenty percent of your cardiac output goes to your brain, your brain cells got a dog bath, too.”
Danny erupted with a therapeutic smile and laugh. “Not mainlined like an IV because I’m not a druggie, but probably the next best thing.”
“We’re up against something unprecedented for these modern times,” Joelle said. “I’m willing to hear and research any possibilities. I’m spending the afternoon in the lab. Dog saliva will be put on my agenda.”
“Are there still research dogs in kennels on the roof?”
“They’re still there,” Joelle said, “and used for med student class demonstrations by the physiology professor.”
“What do they do with them?” Mary asked.
“I saw my first demonstration,” Danny said, “of what a muscle relaxant does using a dog.”
“How awful,” Mary said.
“Not exactly, Mary. They are the same drugs we use on people, be it during anesthesia or for reasons in the ICU and other areas of the hospital.”
“And these dogs,” Joelle said, “come to us from kennels where they were slated for euthanasia.”
Danny looked back at Joelle, who took a slug from her water bottle.
“So what’s the bad news from this morning?” Danny asked. “What does our southern CDC partner have to say?”
Joelle put down her empty plastic container. “Ralph and his colleagues did a total head count this morning from all sources around the country. The total number of PAM cases are up to eighty-nine, with thirty-two deaths.”
Shock registered on Danny’s face and Mary froze.
“Peter Brown and Timothy Paltrow are doing an excellent job with our patients here. Michael Johnson continues to be the youngest. He is in a full-blown coma but at least Peter is not battling waning vital signs with him compared to the older patients. Bill Patogue doesn’t look like he’s going to make it and the word from Kentucky is that Michael’s mother passed away yesterday. His father won’t be able to hang on much longer either.”
“Unbelievable,” Danny managed to whisper. A morbid, oppressive feeling came over him. The little optimism he had felt about the day upon awakening was swallowed up and lost.
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Joelle filled her water bottle from the kitchen sink before leaving Danny’s office, and then she jogged back to her apartment several miles away. She nodded to the security guard at the gate as she sprinted past the water fountain along the brick circular drive in the front of her condominium. She moved aside to let a young couple wearing high end running gear exit the elevator and rode to the top floor.
On the ninth floor, she owned one of the four units. With no outside work from a house, all she wanted for a residence she had found in her present condo. A large bedroom and bath, a shiny kitchen, and a big room with a hardwood floor that sometimes creaked. For furnishings, she’d kept it sparse because she disliked rooms with cluttered furniture. She was orderly and exact in both her professional and personal life and her greatest comfort at home besides her flat screen TV which ran news coverage or movies, was Bell, a six year old Siamese cat.
The sun spilled into her bedroom windows. She glanced out, below and beyond, amused at the weekend quiet from below. Downtown Nashville still slept after a Friday night of honky-tonk and late night country western bars. Bell meowed from Joelle’s bed, reminding her to say hello. “Spoiled thing,” she said and went off to embrace her. The cat purred while Joelle stepped into her closet and picked out casual clothes. After showering and dressing, and deliberating the other avenue her PAM research should go in, she decided to call another researcher who had a lab under hers in the medical campus. The researcher was a veterinarian associated with the vet school, but sometimes their paths crossed, including the potential use of the animals housed on the roof top.
After Joelle placed the phone call, the veterinarian agreed to come by her lab in the afternoon. Joelle made a brunch of yogurt, a bagel, and an orange juice. She rinsed her dishes, cuddled Bell again, and headed to the lab.
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Joelle flipped the lights on in the darkened lab and also pulled the shades up all the way. She turned on the transistor radio stuck in the corner, but changed the dial from country to easy rock. She looked over her current PAM projects which bore no good or new discoveries. As far as she was concerned, nothing was fruitful because neither Ralph’s people at the CDC or her were on the right track to finding a cure.
Joelle knew more information from the CDC had been reported to the media that morning. The evening news would announce to the world the major scare patients, the public, and the medical community were facing. Would it be crystal clear that curing, if not stemming, the epidemic at present was hopeless? For anyone prone to panic, the reports should give them justification for alarm.
After putting samples back into refrigeration, Joelle grabbed a bag of lab materials and rode the elevator to the roof. She exited outside to the cacophony of barking dogs. She faced two rows of six large kennels with an aluminum roof over each. A toned and tanned vet student busily cleaned out a cage while its resid
ent enjoyed his freedom.
Behind her, against the elevator, the door opened from a small office which held supplies and furniture for personnel looking after the dogs.
“Hey, Joelle,” a young woman said with a bounce to her step. “I just got here.” Rhonda Jackson, the veterinarian, was no more than five feet. Even though she sported a nose ring and pink squared fingernails, her eyeglasses were traditional preppy.
“Good to see you,” Joelle said. “As I mentioned on the phone, this has to do with the meningoencephalitis outbreak. I figure you deal with dog saliva more than I do.” She shook her head. “Actually, ha, I’ve never worked with dog saliva, but there’s a first time for everything.”
Rhonda eyed the young man ahead of them. “You can say that again.”
“I see your point,” Joelle said, eyeing the student. “Anyway, it’s a long shot but we have to acquire samples. We have to see if there’s anything in a dog’s saliva which thwarts or kills this horrific amoeba.”
“Joelle, I’m all too happy to help. Since he’s got that dog out already, why don’t we sample him first?”
“That’s fine,” Joelle said, approaching the dog.
“Here, you write while I gather samples,” Rhonda said, pressing a notepad and pen into Joelle’s hand. “It may not be necessary to do this, but at least we’ll be keeping track, especially if we need to redo any samples. Write sample 1, Golden Retriever.”
Rhonda pulled a sterile swab packet from the contents of her lab bag. “This is different than getting a DNA sample, where I’d use a smaller swab and run it in between a dog’s gum and cheek.” She nodded at the young man. “We won’t disturb you, we’re just randomly picking out three dogs for an experiment.”
The student tapped the small shovel’s waste into a lined aluminum can. “No problem, Dr. Jackson. Holler if you need help.”
“By the way,” Rhonda said, “when did they last eat?”
“Long time ago, probably six hours.”
“Thanks,” she said and turned to Joelle. “That’s good, we can harvest pure saliva without contaminants. Here, hold his head while I open his mouth. Don’t worry about any of these dogs. They’re all friendly and should be in someone’s living room, not here.”
Rhonda swiped a large, spoon-like swab in the dog’s mouth and smeared the contents into a sterile container. “The kid’s working to help pay his tuition,” she said. “Plus he gets experience with canines. I was in his shoes just a few years ago.”
“Get paid for doing what you like,” Joelle said. “That’s the trick to a well chosen field.”
Rhonda stood up. “Do you have a preference as to which breed is next?”
Joelle pointed. “How about the docile little one down there?”
“Put sample 2, mixed Collie.” Rhonda opened the cage and Joelle watched, amazed when the vet practically got in the crate with the dog and procured her sample. “Thanks, cutie,” Rhonda said. “She doesn’t have a name, but sweet dog. Who’s next?”
Joelle glanced to the set of kennels behind them. “That’s a huge dog over there, how about him?”
“Excellent choice,” Rhonda responded. “That’s George. He’s got plenty of saliva to spare. Put sample 3, Newfoundland. George.”
With specimens in tow, both scientists left the dogs and their caretaker, went back to Joelle’s lab, and hunkered down during a supposed day off.
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“I would have taken you all out to lunch on the way home,” Danny said, holding Julia in his arms as they piled into the kitchen at home, “but Julia needs a nap.” Dakota sprinted into another room and came back dangling his pillow like a true retriever.
“What that poor baby has been through,” Mary said.
“I’ll go put her in her crib,” Danny said. When he came back downstairs, Annabel and Nancy had taken Dakota out.
“What do you plan on doing,” Mary asked, “if your lawyer doesn’t call you back?”
“I don’t have a clue. The more I think about it, I realize lawyers like him don’t return weekend calls. Otherwise, they’d never get a break.”
Mary slipped off her sandals and slid onto the stool. “I’ll listen for Julia if she wakes up. I’m going to go paint for awhile.”
“Thanks. I’m going to jump on the riding mower and cut the front lawn. I have to divert my rampant thoughts for an hour or two. My own child’s torture and a deadly epidemic are consuming me.”
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At six o’clock, Danny announced to Mary and the girls that his pizza level had been low and he’d called for two take out large pizzas. They sat out back with the large cardboard boxes and a six-pack of coke.
“Thanks for feeding Julia,” Danny said.
“You’re welcome,” Nancy said.
Julia played in the small portable playpen Danny had pulled outside. For the first time that day, she interacted with a toy rather than looking scared at her surroundings. A simple brown bear captivated her attention as well as Dakota who sat alongside the netting, body guarding her.
The evening hour brought more discomfort to Danny. His heart felt pain and he twisted his hands as he thought about Sara. Tonight was a big night for her, one that made Danny cringe. He wished she were with them, and not on her first real date after their divorce.
As if reading Danny’s thoughts, Annabel interjected. “I wonder if Mom is having fun tonight with the principal.” She had her pizza folded in half, waited a second to drip some oil off, and took a small bite.
Danny’s expression soured. He made a feeble attempt to act natural as he looked down.
Nancy swiveled toward her sister, her hazel eyes dancing. “I wonder where they went and what Mom wore.”
Danny had eaten two slices. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore. “I must check on what news the CDC released today,” he said leaving the table. As he turned on the TV and glanced at his Rolex, his stomach churned with his cheesy, oily meal. Mark Cunningham still hadn’t called. What was he going to do about Julia’s return the next day?
Chapter 19
Sara beamed into the mirror. She admired her peppered blonde hair which looked as good as a professional salon’s highlighting job. She tried a new look by putting on a thin multi-colored head band. It made her look more youthful than her already young looking forty-four years. She whipped her hands around her head, tucking in a few strands, and realized that just getting ready for the date had been a lot of fun.
After putting on a light lip gloss, she left the bathroom to hang up the two blouses and pants she had decided against wearing. A dress had won out. It buttoned straight down the front with matching buttons on the end of the three-quarter length sleeves. It stopped at her knees and was a solid, rich brown. Maybe not light weight enough for late summer or early fall, she considered, but restaurants were always more air-conditioned than they should be and the dress looked smart on her.
Downstairs, she grabbed a purse and made sure it was stocked with things she needed. She drove the fifteen minutes into the downtown area rethinking her decision to meet Ross there instead of his invitation to pick her up. She didn’t regret it. It would save any awkwardness of him taking her home, even seeing her to the door. She couldn’t think that far out - if she even wanted a man kissing her yet. She wanted to know him better than going on one date. Anything physical between them could wait, especially since they would be working under the same roof.
Seafood & Steaks Galore had customers spilling between the two sets of front doors. She craned her neck looking for Ross, then felt a hand on her arm. She turned and smiled at him as he guided her around the couple between them.
“Not exactly a quiet place is it?” he said, raising his voice. “You sure look nice! I told them to page us at the bar when our table is ready.”
Not only did he wear a warm smile, but his teeth were white as clouds. As they neared the occupied stools at the bar, one person left, so Ross signaled for h
er to sit. Several people ambled around, but there was still enough room that it didn’t seem overly crowded.
“What can I get you?” he asked. The bartender precisely monitored newcomers and slapped down two napkins.
“A white Chardonnay,” Sara said.
“A Calfkiller beer,” Ross said.
Sara could feel the Saturday night party spirit. The busy surroundings put her at ease. A wide screen TV over the liquor bottles and mirror played local news.
“This is an excellent place in case you haven’t been here before, Sara. The steak or seafood will melt in your mouth. I used to take my wife here at least once a month.”
“I haven’t been. I should get out more than I do, especially since the girls are older now. We pop into less expensive places maybe once a week. Otherwise I’m a pretty good cook.”
“My wife was a good cook.”
Sara thanked the bartender as he placed down a tall wine glass. The evening news shifted to national news as she decided to glance up. Other patrons looked up at the concerned reporter and banner streaming underneath the newsroom which spoke of a national health alert not seen since the pandemic influenza outbreak many years ago. The current PAM made that outbreak seem like a sneeze during the flu.
Smelling the sweet aroma of her Chardonnay she thought of Danny, deeply immersed in the biggest far-reaching local news event stemming out of their own Nashville.
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The house was quiet. Even Annabel and Nancy were sound asleep. They had watched a short rental movie and had gone to bed before eleven. Danny had rolled in an old but comfortable desk chair from the other room and sat next to Julia’s crib. The curtain was parted all the way and he stared out at the black night, the moon, a crescent figure brilliant behind the trees. He had always been fascinated with the night sky, especially when he’d had late nights at the Caney Fork River, and suddenly regretted never having a telescope to scan the stars.
