Playing the Game

by Stephanie Queen

  Paul Paris was left standing there. Roxanne could not bring herself to look at the man. She was afraid her tears would show. She had the urge to shake him. But then she realized he might be suffering from a kind of shock himself.

  When she looked up, she saw him stare blankly down the hall after the receding gurney bearing the child’s bandaged body. The teardrops escaped from her eyes this time without her caring now, and Roxanne turned to Paul and took his arm. She said nothing, but he eventually looked down at her, then shook his head as if trying to bring himself back from his fog.

  “Have you slept, Mr. Paris? Let me have a doctor look at you. Maybe you could use a sedative.” She led Paul easily to one of the doctors on duty and he was duly accompanied into a room for treatment.

  A while later, after pacing at least a mile along the hallway near the emergency room, she wondered how long she could stall the press conference while she waited for Barry. She headed for the door to get some air and spotted his tall frame jog toward her down the hall from the other direction. He had come in through the front door away from the emergency entrance. Smart man. She steeled herself as he approached. Do not cry.

  “How is she? Can I see her?” He stopped directly in front of her, taking her by the arms and squeezing. “I took a helicopter from the airport to get here as soon as I could.”

  “The best medical team they have at CMH is taking care of her. They’re bringing her to rest now. You might be able to catch her before she goes out.”

  She directed him down the hall and they sped along the path where the gurney had gone, mindful only of getting him a glimpse of his daughter—and getting the little girl a glimpse of her father. Unfortunately they didn’t escape the attention of some reporters who’d come inside and saw them heading off. The reporters followed at a trot to catch up.

  “Mr. Dennis, how do you feel about your ex-wife’s death?”

  “Are you going to take permanent custody of your daughter now? How will all this affect your game?”

  Barry ignored the harangue of questions, so she figured she should too, although it killed her not to slap one of them. He rushed ahead of them now, dragging her along. But there was one last question hurled at their backs.

  “Hey Barry, did you win last night?”

  Barry turned, stopped moving and said, “Of course we won. And I performed the way I always do, the way everyone fucking expects. Now get the hell out of here and leave me alone.” He would have turned back, but a number of them caught up and one of them jumped in front of Barry and took a picture.

  Barry shoved the man aside, and none too gently. He grabbed Roxanne by the arm and dragged her with him as they swiftly aimed at the door at the end of the corridor. She hadn’t been sure how he’d react, or what kind of relationship he had with his daughter, but from what she’d seen so far, he was exhibiting all the symptoms of a typical parent under the circumstances. The relief that came to her at this realization surprised her. But it didn’t matter now. They’d arrived at the room where Lindy had been brought.

  He couldn’t believe how fast his heart was beating. He put his hand to his chest in an unconscious gesture as if to slow it down, before they entered the room where they brought his little girl. He pushed through the door.

  “Jesus.” He breathed the word as he saw her lying there bandaged, connected to tubes and contraptions and surrounded by concerned-looking doctors and nurses. One of the white-coated men turned to him.

  “Mr. Dennis, she’s sleeping now. She’s been stabilized.” The man beckoned him to approach the bed. He was afraid to look too closely, and his stomach churned, but he forced himself. Her face still held the angelic look he’d come to cherish. But he’d never spent enough time with her. He always told himself it didn’t matter because she’d been happy living with her mother…

  “Jesus, he repeated. He put his hand to his face and swiped at the beads of sweat that had formed. Lindy had no mother anymore. He was all she had now. His stomach thundered its revolt at this sudden realization.

  Then Paul Paris walked in the room. He glanced at the man without a greeting. She had Paul too, Barry supposed. He turned to the doctor. Taking a deep breath, he asked. “How bad is she, doctor?” Roxanne had told him only the general picture, saying he should get the details from the doctors. He heard it now and blanched at the long and painful treatment and recovery prognosis described to him. Skin grafts. BCNU. Months in the hospital.

  “And most important of all to the patient’s recovery will be family love and support. Especially under the circumstances here. She’s not only suffering physical loss with all its impact, but there’s also the emotional impact of the loss of her mother to deal with. We’ll have a child psychologist and counselors working with her and the family of course, but…” Doctor Davis turned from him to Paul Paris and back. The man didn’t know whom to address as the family, Barry thought.

  “But what?” It was Paul who prompted the doctor. Barry looked at him sharply.

  “But we normally have the parents involved in day-to-day care.” The doctor eyed them both. He seemed skeptical. And why not? What had he ever done for her really?

  “I’m sure we’ll do our best to handle the situation, Doctor. At least I know I will,” Paul said and turned to him.

  Barry felt like he’d been slapped with a white glove. The sting of shame felt more vivid than the challenge to rise to the occasion. He had to say something. He was no monster. He was a good father to Lindy and he could be better.

  “I’m sure Barry shares your sentiment Mr. Paris,” Roxanne began in his defense.

  “Damn right. You have something you’d like to say to me, Paris?” His voice was quiet, but he shifted further away from the sleeping child. He didn’t feel quiet. Emotions stormed within him and he needed to give them vent. He kept his eyes on Paris who suddenly seemed threatening to him, like his own conscience brought to life. And he reacted defensively, instinctively, like any red-blooded Marlboro man would, challenging him to a fight. He knew it was all wrong, but he didn’t give a crap at the moment.

  “Yes I do, as a matter of fact, and it concerns that little girl over there. You’ll have to pardon me if I’m skeptical about you showing up every day when you haven’t even spent what little time with her that you were supposed to in the past.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I never canceled one single visit with my daughter. Ever.” His voice was still quiet. He felt Roxanne’s eyes on him.

  “What about last Saturday? You were supposed to spend the day with her then?” Paul lifted his chin belligerently. The others in the room hadn’t said a word yet, but Barry felt their growing anxiety.

  Still, Barry had to do it. He had to meet the challenge, fully aware that this wasn’t the time or place. “Your wife canceled that visit, not me. I guess she failed to mention that to you.”

  Surprise showed on Paul’s face. Then the man turned red and scowled.

  “Look, none of this matters now,” Roxanne said, tugging on Barry’s arm to lead him toward the door. But he stood firm to take whatever Paul Paris wanted to dish out.

  “You’re lying,” Paul said and stepped closer to him.

  “No. Your wife is the liar,” Barry said it automatically, without a thought.

  “You fucking bastard!” Paul lurched forward and grabbed Barry’s shirt. “She’s dead, man, dead! And you’re every bit the bastard she always said you were.” Paul’s voice verged on hysterical as Dr. Davis tried to pull him away. But Paul refused to release his grip.

  The choice was his now. Did he want to have it out with Paul Paris here? The man was clearly broken. It wouldn’t be fair. Holding the flood of anger he felt pushing to let loose, Barry decided to let it go. He attempted to remove the man’s hands from his shirt instead. He didn’t get far.

  Paul shoved him backwards into Roxanne and against a cart filled with vials. Everyone jumped at the sound of rattling glass.

  And Barry forgot about holding
back. The instinct to fight rushed back in a flash of memories from his boyhood on the streets. He lunged back with the quickness he was more noted for on basketball courts. No longer having qualms about taking advantage of a smaller man, he ruthlessly grabbed Paul by the collar with both hands, spun him around and slammed him back against the wall with a sobering thud.

  Staring into the man’s eyes, only inches away, he saw no fear. But neither did he see the expected hate and anger. The dark shadowed eyes that returned his stare unblinkingly were filled with despair, bitterness and an endless, fathomless pain.

  “Don’t start with me, Paris,” he bit out. He turned from the already crushed man with disgust. He wasn’t sure if the disgust was with himself or Paul. He flung his arms away, releasing the man with as much abruptness as when he’d grabbed him.

  Before he had a chance to say or do another thing, not that he would have known what to say to the staring, not quite condemning, but certainly not pleased crowd, Roxanne took his arm. This time he let her lead him from the room.

  They rushed toward a lounge area. Barry tried desperately not to break down. The whole thing was reminiscent of his past experiences with death: his uncle, then his father, and worst of all, his mother. But he shut that thought out before the sinking emotions could take hold. Roxanne took him to a couch and forced him to sit with her for the short time before the press conference. She was a reminder of life, not death, and for that Barry was grateful.

  With the press conference wrapped up, Roxanne collected her notes from the podium and stepped down from the platform that she’d shared with numerous hospital staff and Barry. She listened to the newscasters wrap up the story in front of their cameras. Barry and Paul stood separated by several doctors in a group being questioned by the print media.

  The Channel 7 newscaster stood near them and she walked in that direction. As she approached, she heard the man’s comments to the rolling camera.

  “This is a sad day for the Boston sports community as well. The Celtics stand to lose the services of Barry Dennis indefinitely. It’s questionable whether Paul Paris will be able to rejoin the Red Sox for spring training.”

  Roxanne spun around to see if Barry or Paul had heard. She couldn’t tell, but one of the other reporters had heard.

  “One woman, two professional athletes. Guess Boston is a small town when you’re a wealthy socialite like Cynthia Paris was,” the off-camera reporter said to Roxanne. She cringed at the man’s insensitivity.

  She turned her back on the reporter, saying nothing, and walked toward Barry and Paul. Paul’s expression was flavored with a hint of bitterness while on Barry’s face she saw a cynical slant of distaste.

  When everyone had finally gone, including Barry and Paul, Roxanne stood in the hallway near the emergency room where they’d had the press conference. She looked around and felt completely drained. The place was now empty of cables, cameras and people. It was business as usual here now. The media and extra staff were gone. She remained planted. She couldn’t help thinking about Barry, and even Paul. But most of all, she thought of the little girl who had called her “Mommy.”

  She would have stood there all night if Dr. Oki hadn’t approached her. “Your meeting is cancelled. Come with me to my office. We’ll have the donuts and coffee sent up.”

  Roxanne smiled at his obvious relish at the prospect of having all those donuts to feast on. They were probably stale by now. It was mid-afternoon. They walked to the elevator together. Dr. Oki did all the talking. She listened to him describe the planned treatment for Lindy.

  “In addition, I’m planning a new glucose dosage treatment to try and reduce muscle atrophy. It’s still highly experimental, but she’s an ideal candidate,” said Dr. Oki.

  The treatments all sounded top-notch, but Roxanne couldn’t help worrying that this little girl needed much more than medical treatment. And who would give it to her? Barry? Paul? Riding up on the elevator, Roxanne made a decision. The doors of the elevator opened at their floor and Roxanne stepped off first.

  “You know what that little girl really needs, Doc?” Roxanne turned and stood in front of the open elevator doors with her hands on her hips and a determined smile.

  “No, what?”

  “Me.”

  The elevator doors almost closed on Dr. Oki before he could step off. But the look of disbelief on his face didn’t bother Roxanne. Instead, she laughed and took Dr. Oki by the arm, explaining with enthusiasm exactly what she had in mind.

  The cold spell was typical of November weather and Roxanne didn’t let it bother her. The thirty degree temperatures along the coast weren’t nearly as bad as a few miles inland where she’d just been. But even then, it had been no more than a minor nuisance to her. As she pulled into the driveway, she looked beyond the house at the sparkling blue ocean and smiled. She didn’t even bother to pull the car into the garage.

  Bonnie loved the cold. She said it kept her from getting too soft. Said everyone needed a little hardship now and then. She’d probably be out back. Roxanne couldn’t wait to show her what she bought on her way home today for Lindy. Lindy had been so cheered by the little dolls she had brought with her the other day on her visit that Roxanne couldn’t help buying a few more things. Roxanne was careful to buy gifts with smooth surfaces that could be thoroughly cleaned in order that Lindy could have them inside the bacteria-free environment of the plastic cube in which she now lived. Bonnie would probably figure she went overboard, but she didn’t care.

  She grabbed the bags from the passenger side of the sports car and ran around to the back of the house. Sure enough, Bonnie was out raking dead leaves across the cold-hardened ground.

  “Take a break, Bonnie. You’ll end up hurting yourself in this cold,” Roxanne said. Bonnie got up and walked with her into the warmth of the kitchen. “Look what I bought for Lindy. You’re going to love this.” Roxanne ripped open her bags of goodies and displayed the variety of books and toys she purchased.

  “All this for one little girl. It’s too much. She can’t play with it anyway. You told me yourself she just looks at it, maybe touches it. Don’t you think you’re overdoing it? And who’s going to pay for all this anyhow? We don’t even have money to pay for a gardener and I have to do all the yard work,” Bonnie complained. Roxanne only laughed at the scolding.

  “Let the garden go. It’s practically winter anyway. All I’ve bought for Lindy hasn’t even cost me one-hundredth the price of one ruby ring. Al called me and he has a buyer for five grand.” Her friend the lawyer had done a good job for her. She still smiled.

  “How’s Lindy’s treatment coming along?” Bonnie asked, settling into her rocking chair.

  “It’s only been ten days since the graft. Dr. Oki said not to get discouraged. Her body’s rejection rate of the grafted skin is a bit high, but she’s young and it grows fast. She was burnt badly over half her body, mostly her hips and legs. I was there yesterday when they were checking her legs. They look awful.” The smile left her face. Roxanne chewed her bottom lip and looked out over the ocean through the sliding glass door.

  “Then you’re doing the right thing for her. How’s her father?”

  Roxanne winced. “You sure know how to ask the tough questions, don’t you?”

  “That’s no answer. Has he been around?”

  “Not when I’ve been there. But I’ve only been popping in and out at odd hours. They tell me he comes sometimes—at night.” Roxanne gulped on her emotion. He was supposed to be feeding Lindy, helping her by being there. But so far the nurses said that Roxanne was the only person who’d done any of that. Paul Paris came by. She’d seen him once or twice. But he never fed her. The hospital staff insisted that family support was a major component to recovery from burns because it’s such a long haul, sometimes taking a year. With a sudden movement, Roxanne turned from the window.

  It was against all the rules of the hospital for her to get involved with a patient. No one in her right mind would subject herself
to the inevitable pain of getting emotionally attached. Yet Roxanne did. She couldn’t help herself with this girl “I’m going in again tonight to give her these things. Do you want to come?” Roxanne took a seat.

  “No. I’ve done enough surrogate mothering in my lifetime to be canonized a saint already. I just hope you realize what you’re getting yourself into. But of course you don’t. You never do.” Bonnie stood and shook her head and went to the stove. Roxanne couldn’t help smiling again as she watched the old woman.

  “You’re right. I never know what I’m getting myself into. And it’s a good thing too, or I’d never do anything and we’d have a pretty dull life, wouldn’t we?” she said. Bonnie laughed, shaking her head.

  “Roxanne, where did Mommy go?” Lindy lay still, but her pale blue eyes looked up questioningly through the plastic of the BCNU. It was the first time Lindy had asked about her mother, and Roxanne had no idea what to say. She did not know what anyone had told the child.

  “What did your daddy tell you, honey?” Roxanne buzzed the nurse’s station. If there was ever a time she needed assistance, it was now. Up until then, their talk had been only about inane little girl things, like doll clothes and TV cartoon heroes. And basketball. And baseball.

  “Which daddy? Daddy Paul just says she’s gone. He acts funny. He doesn’t talk very much. Not like you. I like talking to you.” Lindy’s eyes continued to implore and Roxanne had to look away. The door to the room was pushed open behind her, and Roxanne turned with relief, expecting to see the nurse. But it was not the nurse. It was Paul Paris.