by Pamela Morsi
“Will you go with me?” he asked instead.
“I wouldn’t let you go alone,” she told him. Within ten minutes he was dressed and ready to head for the car. He could hear Claire in the bathroom brushing her teeth. He thought about the day ahead and the long hours they might get stuck at the hospital. He grabbed a tote bag from the kitchen and hurried out the back door to the work shed.
Inside he wrapped the cut dovetails in newspaper and loaded them into the tote. He added a chisel and a couple of sheets of fine sandpaper. He carried it to the car. By the time he reached the driver’s side door, he realized what a stupid idea it was, to try to do woodworking in the hospital next to a dying man’s bedside. He turned to take it all back to the shed, but Claire was locking up the front door, so instead he just put the heavy tote into the backseat and took his place behind the wheel.
The night was clear and the highway was deserted, but Jack drove more cautiously than usual. On a lonely road like this a deer could easily dart out in front of a car. And it seemed lately that the unexpected was to be expected.
“Do you want me to call and cancel your flight?” Claire asked.
“Oh yeah, that would be great,” Jack answered.
Claire dug the cell phone out of her purse and began dialing numbers and selecting menus to make the cancellation. Jack had gone to great lengths just a few hours before to get a seat on a flight back to San Antonio.
“I’ll go back home, see if I can get things at the office stabilized and be back up here by the weekend.”
She’d nodded agreement.
“I know you miss the kids,” he’d said. “If you want to come with me, I’m sure the family can handle things here.”
“No,” she’d said. “Bud needs us. I wouldn’t feel right about leaving him.”
Jack had been stung by the criticism that was left unsaid. He was willing to leave his grandfather to others, but his wife was not. Now none of that mattered.
“I guess the business will just have to get along without me another day or two,” he mused aloud.
“Everybody understands having a family crisis,” Claire said.
Jack chuckled humorlessly. “You obviously haven’t met our clients.” He was joking, but it wasn’t particularly funny.
“If our clients are so self-involved that they would think their swimming pool is more critical than your grandfather, then who needs them as clients.”
“Our business is very competitive,” Jack told her. “We can’t pick and choose who we want to deal with. And we can’t afford to disappoint anyone.”
“You used to say that personal relationships were the most important part of the business,” Claire reminded him.
“It still is,” he admitted. “But you’re thinking about the old days when our clients were Joe and Jane Sixpack wanting a place for their kids to swim in the backyard. These days our target clients are the most affluent pool owners in the community. They want something that presents the best features of their property. It’s not so much about family as it is about business and social position.”
“So? They still have families, they still understand emergencies.”
“But you can’t have that same kind of relationship with them,” he said.
“No, you can’t have that same kind of relationship with them,” Claire said. “You can’t do it because somewhere, somehow you got the idea in your head that you just don’t fit into their world.”
Jack blanched. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” she answered. “I’m just telling you what it looks like to me. It looks like you think they’re better than you. That you’re inferior.”
“I’m not inferior to anyone,” Jack insisted angrily.
“That’s right,” she said. “You’re not.”
Her agreement took all the wind out of his sails. Why were they fighting? They weren’t. They were on the same side.
“I’m sure that everything at home will be fine,” Claire said quietly. “And if it’s not, then you’ll do your best to set things right when you can.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Jack said. “I’m still kind of stunned at Dana.”
“Well, I’m not,” Claire said.
“You never liked her,” Jack pointed out.
“No, I didn’t. But more than that, I never trusted her. And I didn’t think that you should have, either.”
“She’s good at her job.”
Claire didn’t argue, but she restated her position. “She’s good at doing whatever it takes to get ahead.”
Jack shrugged. “That’s what people do in business, Claire. It’s a world where you live and die by the bottom line.”
“I guess I never thought money was our bottom line.”
Jack knew then that they were just one unconsidered comment away from another fight about the house. He didn’t want to fight about the house. He knew all the arguments about the house. And it was hard to refute them. If they got rid of the new house, he wouldn’t be under such pressure at work. They could easily afford the mortgage they already had. Their current house was in very good shape and in a neighborhood with good schools and lots of friends. They could continue to live there modestly. Jack would have more time to spend with the family and they could still save for college and retirement. Jack knew all this and he knew it was all true. But something compelled him to ignore that judgment.
“Did you get the seat canceled?” he asked, already knowing the answer but choosing to change the subject.
She gave him all the details as they drove on through the darkness.
At the hospital, they found a couple of Shertz family teenagers in the hallway, looking bleary-eyed and out of their depth. The girl was a slightly pudgy brunette who identified herself as Michelle’s daughter. Her cousin and card companion was a skinny, gangly guy over six feet tall who introduced himself as Darby Givens.
“They asked us to wait out here,” the girl told Claire. “I thought about calling my mom, but the nurse said that she’d already called you.”
Jack watched as Claire put a comforting arm around the girl. “You did exactly the right thing,” she assured her. “We were on our way and there was no reason to wake your mother.”
“He was just laying there like he always is,” the boy explained. “And then when we looked up, he was different somehow and he was shaking.”
“We are so grateful that you were there,” Claire told him.
Jack had not given one thought to these kids, and they were little more than kids. He’d seen their faces, just as she had, but he hadn’t wondered what they’d been thinking or feeling. Claire somehow knew that they were scared and guilty and worried that somehow this bad turn of events was all their fault. Her natural empathy was always a surprise to him. It wasn’t the kind of talent that could be quantified or a skill that would show up on a résumé. It did have a very obvious value. The mood in the hallway lightened considerably.
“So who is who in there?” Jack asked, indicating the cluster of people visible through the glass doorway to Bud’s room. “I only recognize Lucy, the nurse.”
The boy answered. “The Asian woman is the resident,” he said. “The man in the lab coat is from Respiratory Therapy. I don’t know who anybody else is. They haven’t really told us anything.”
“Do you want to head on home now?” Jack asked them.
The girl glanced over at Darby questioningly. “My mom wouldn’t want me out driving before it gets light,” he said.
“That’s good thinking,” Claire told him. “Why don’t you go down to the snack bar and get something.” She turned to Jack. “Have you got any cash?”
“Oh, sure,” Jack said, quickly pulling a couple of tens out of his wallet. It fit into the family’s seemingly unwritten rule that the children, no matter who their actual parents were, belonged to everybody and that all were responsible for them. In turn, the kids seemed to treat all their elders with equal deference.
Both made a polit
e, if slightly embarrassed acceptance, and wandered off down the hall.
Jack and Claire continued to stand for a minute at the door. Lucy spotted them and came outside. She didn’t bother with greetings, but went straight to the fact.
“Mr. Crabtree has spiked a temp,” she said, using hospital lingo to describe an abrupt increase in body temperature. “The doctor will be out in a few minutes to talk to you. She’s young, but she’s really smart.”
The nurse indicated that they should sit, so they did. For Jack, however, it was far from comfortable. He had jitters in his legs. He needed to be up and doing something. But there was nothing to do. Nothing but waiting.
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asked Claire. “I could get you a cup of coffee.”
The kids had asked the same question only five minutes before.
Claire shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said.
Jack nervously took out his cell and then shoved it back in his pocket.
Finally, the room began to empty. The doctor came out with Lucy who spoke to her for a moment. She glanced at Jack and Claire, nodding and then turned to walk in their direction, hand outstretched.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Seng,” she said. “I’m the resident on duty and I’ve been examining Mr. Crabtree.”
They had been warned about her being young, but Jack found her age comforting. She was undoubtedly just out of school and she’d be quick thinking and up on all the new technology.
He introduced himself and his wife.
“Your grandfather’s condition has deteriorated significantly in the last few hours,” she said. “The respirator is doing more and more of the work to keep him oxygenated. And his kidneys are only barely functioning. He’s getting a lot of fluid buildup in his chest, which is stressing his heart. Now he’s developed a significant fever.” She hesitated and took a deep breath. “Usually a fever means infection and we’re treating him as if that’s what’s happening, although his white cell count doesn’t back that up. Sometimes in a head injury it can be just a malfunctioning in that area of the brain that regulates heat. We’re using antibiotics just to be safe.”
“Okay,” Jack said. He glanced over at Claire. She was biting her lower lip.
“As for the initial injury,” Dr. Seng continued, “the internal bleeding has resumed. It’s really more of a seeping than bleeding, but it’s still not good.”
“So he’s not getting any better,” Jack said.
The resident seemed uneasy with making such a declaration. “I think the next few hours are critical. Sometimes things can turn around.”
Her voice trailed off putting pessimism into her hopeful words.
Jack nodded gravely.
“Is there any good news right now?” Claire said.
“We’re confident that he’s still in that locked-in state. He hasn’t lapsed further,” she said. “We aren’t hopeful that he’ll actually break through to communicate, but we are detecting frontal-lobe activity.”
“So he might know that we’re here,” Jack said.
The doctor shrugged. “I can’t tell you that,” she said. “But sometimes I think when close family members are nearby, patients do fight harder. I’ll be downstairs, two minutes away if I’m needed.”
Left on their own, Jack and Claire entered Bud’s room to find the situation changed. The old man’s tangle of wires had increased. It didn’t seem possible that there could be more blinking lights and beeping sounds, but there were. Bud lay on the bed, covered by a thin white sheet. He was shaking.
“Can you get him a blanket?” Claire asked the nurse’s aide. “He’s very cold.”
“Not yet,” she answered. “We need to bring the fever down a little bit and blankets don’t do that. If we can get him down to maybe 100, 101, then I’ll try to make him a little more comfortable.”
Claire sat down beside the bed and began talking quietly to him.
Jack sat.
And then he stood.
And then he paced.
And then he sat again.
And then he stood.
The minutes passed by in agonizing slow motion. Even the quiet timbre of Claire’s voice gave him no comfort. Bud’s shaking, his obvious discomfort were more than Jack could bear.
“I’m getting something out of the car,” he announced at the exact moment the thought came to him.
His words, a little too loud, momentarily startled Claire out of her monotone.
“Oh, okay, sure,” she said.
He was out the door before any explanation could be requested.
What Claire might have thought when he returned a few moments later with the tote bag of cut lumber, she didn’t say. What she did say was that she needed to go to the restroom.
“I didn’t want to leave him alone even for a minute,” she said. “Not like this.”
Jack nodded. “I’m here,” he said.
She went out the door and Jack lingered by the chair next to the window. He always sat there, but the chair at the bedside looked very empty. He’d said he would stay with Bud, so he wouldn’t be alone. With no one near, the old man might feel alone even with Jack across the room.
With a deep breath and deliberate decisiveness, Jack crossed the room and sat beside his grandfather. He looked at Bud, his trembling nearly hidden by the tubes and mask that kept him alive. His gaze dropped to the hand that was secured to the bed rail. It looked exceptionally large next to the aging emaciated body. The long, thick fingers were very similar to Jack’s own, but the skin atop them was thin and weathered, with dark spots and lines and creases that evidenced eighty-four years.
From the tote bag Jack drew out two pieces of the cut lumber. He tried to interlock the two as a corner, but as expected it was not a close enough fit. He took out a newspaper and spread it on the floor around him. And then with the chisel began carefully winnowing the dovetails. The handwork required a bit of skill and because Jack was so rusty, he had to take it very slowly, carefully removing the excess wood a millimeter at a time, stopping to gauge his progress after each cut.
“I wish you could help me with this,” he said aloud.
The sound of his own voice caught him off guard. He glanced up quickly to see if anyone had heard. He was alone in the room. His gaze went back to Bud. Maybe it was his imagination, but the shaking seemed to have lessened.
Jack didn’t give himself the opportunity to try to think rationally or discount his own perception. Maybe his voice did comfort Bud, and on the chance that it did, it was a small thing. Jack didn’t have it in his heart to withhold it.
“Claire had to step outside for a minute,” he said, deliberately pushing himself to make conversation. “I’m sitting here with newspapers all around me doing handwork on dovetails. Anybody who walked in here would think I’ve lost my mind.”
He gave a little humorless chuckle and observed his grandfather closely once more. It did seem as if his words helped, so he kept them coming.
“I’m working on this treasure box that my father was putting together for Grandma Geri,” he said. “But I have to tell you honestly that I don’t think this is it. She has enough treasures under that bed to fill a steamer trunk. This is just a little box. Bigger than a standard jewelry box, though. I think he must have had something specific in mind. Wish we could talk about it. Maybe we’d figure it out.”
Claire made a detour after the restroom to check on the Shertz teenagers. She found them in the snack bar area. She couldn’t tell if they were awake or asleep. Both were sprawled over chairs with eyes closed and their respective headphones plugged into their ears. On the chance that perhaps it was the latter, she tiptoed past them and got coffee for herself and Jack.
She was so glad that he was still here with her. And her gratitude made her a little guilty. If Bud had made his turn for the worse just a few hours later, Jack would have been back in San Antonio, dealing with work and Dana and all the day-to-day crises that gave him such a rush. How could a mere wife compet
e with that?
As she approached the room, she was surprised to hear Jack’s voice. She assumed he must be talking to one of the nurses. She went inside to discover something entirely different. Jack was sitting in the chair next to the bed, doing some kind of carving on the wood that he’d brought and finally taking her advice. He was talking to his granddad.
He glanced up as she walked in. He looked a bit embarrassed.
Claire gave him a reassuring smile. She carried the coffee across the room and set his cup on the bedside table within easy reach.
“He isn’t shaking so much,” she said.
Jack nodded. “His temperature must be coming down,” he said. “I thought that talking to him might help. If nothing else, it’s a friendly noise in the room.”
Claire resisted the temptation to say, I told you so.
She sat down with her own coffee in the seat near the window. She quickly realized in the ensuing silence that her presence was inhibiting her husband.
The moment lingered with the beep on the monitors and the whoosh-klaa-whoosh of the oxygen and the soft scraping of wood.
The nurse’s aide returned to check on her patient, insisting that Claire and Jack keep their seats.
“He seems to be shaking less,” Claire told her.
“Let’s see if you’re right,” the woman said as she stuck a thermometer in the nook of Bud’s ear. She waited a half minute until the devise signaled. “One-oh-one point four,” she said finally. “Much better. I’ll be back in a bit and I’ll give him a cool-down rub. That should help, as well.”
Jack nodded and the woman left the room. Claire picked up her coffee and followed her as if she had some reason to do so. The nurse’s aide moved on down the hallway. Claire did not. Outside the room, away from the view from the glass door, she waited for a couple of moments until she heard what she was waiting for. Jack resumed his conversation with Bud.
Claire made her way over to the seating area. It was funny how she’d just been thinking how much she needed Jack to be here for her. When he really needed to be here for Bud and for himself.
She sat alone long enough to get very bored. The nurse and the nurse’s aide made frequent checks inside Bud’s room. Claire walked up to the doorway a couple of times to peek inside. Jack was still conversing with the old man as he worked on his pieces of wood. She wished she’d thought ahead and brought something to do with her hands. As soon as the gift shop opened downstairs, she would buy a magazine to read. She glanced at her watch to see that it was just a quarter after five.
