The Widow's Walk

by Carole Ann Moleti

  “Can’t I go with you?” The empty room seemed too much a portent.

  “No, he’s coming back here.” She headed down the hall.

  Liz stood to follow anyway. The knee/ankle duo kicked up a fuss. Dizziness pushed her back into the seat. She flipped open her phone to try Allison again. No service. Nothing was working. Nothing.

  Wheels squeaked, oxygen hissed a warning.

  Mike fussed. “Just a little water, please. Tea would be nice, but I’ll settle for a wet sponge to suck on.”

  Hearing him strong and feisty left Liz unprepared for the sight of her burly husband in a powder blue gown, pale as the sheets, lips blue, prongs in his nostrils. Bad memories wrapped around her like a shroud; her grandmother on a respirator until Liz was allowed to turn it off and release her from the living death of coma. Gerry, a mere skeleton, barely breathing from the morphine but just not quite ready to die. The passage in Sandra’s book detailing Jared Sanders death rattles with trusty servants Katherine and Paul by his side. Was it coincidence or did she have a knack for bringing pulmonary afflictions to bear on her loved ones?

  “Hey, sweetie.” Mike’s voice was raspy, breathless, but he managed a smile.

  Her heart quivered, melted. She smoothed his hair and stroked his cheek.

  An orderly wheeled the stretcher in. Nurse Karen reattached monitor pads to Mike’s chest, checked the intravenous pump, and lowered the sound on the console so they could hear themselves over the blips of his heartbeat.

  “Oh, Mike.” Liz reached to hug him, but the rail got in the way.

  “Let me put this down as long as you’ll be here, Mrs. Keeny.” Karen was competent, empathic, just like the nurses who were there when Gerry finally gave up, when Grandma Mulcahey’s heart stopped. Liz dearly hoped this young woman would not be called upon in that capacity.

  She pulled a chair next to the bed and put her head down next to Mike’s arm. “I’m so sorry I did this to you.”

  “Mike raised his hand and tousled her hair. “Come on, honey. You didn’t do anything to cause this.”

  Liz’s head shot up. “You’ve been sick for weeks, and barely missed a day fishing in the freezing cold. If it weren’t for me and Eddie . . .”

  “ . . . I’d be an old man, dying of loneliness without my beautiful wife by my side.” Mike’s puffy eyes narrowed. His arm rested heavy on hers, too weak to do more.

  Her heart thumped twice that of his monitored rhythm. “I didn’t make you go to the doctor. All we’ve been giving you is chicken soup, cough drops, and homeopathics.” She pounded the mattress in frustration.

  “Modern medicine will kill you faster. That’s why you had Eddie at home, right?”

  The doctor strode in. “Good news. The CT is negative. Everything points to pneumonia: Fever, cough, increased white blood cell count. We’re going to admit you to the hospital for a couple of days for antibiotics and some respiratory treatments to get the phlegm out.”

  A coughing fit overcame Mike again. Liz rubbed his back to try and soothe him. A niggling sense of unease wormed its way into Liz’s stomach. Jared had died lonely, if not alone, in the very same way. Did the ghost or Sandra Kensington have anything to do with this? Sure, things were different in those days–no antibiotics, no oxygen–but he was fifty-six years old and looked seventy right now.

  The doctor waited until the hacking stopped “So you’ll be going to a room shortly.”

  “My daughter is a nurse.” Mike beamed. “Cardiology at Dartmouth Hitchcock.”

  “Interesting.” The guy probably didn’t want someone who knew as much as him snooping around. He left without saying goodbye.

  Liz scrolled through the number in her phone and found it this time. “I must call her back. Who knows if she got the message?”

  “You called Allison? Why?” Displeasure oozed from Mike’s face.

  “Because she’s your daughter, and she’s a nurse, and I had no idea what I’d find once I got here.” And because I’m scared and need someone with a clear head who is grounded in reality. He can’t find out about Sandra’s book, not now, not this way.

  Mike’s eyes teared up. His voice, already gravely, became even coarser. The cough returned, incessant, wet. He spit into a tissue. “She’s two hours away. What if she runs off the road rushing here for nothing?”

  I can’t seem to do anything right. “I’m sorry, Mike. I did what I thought best at the moment. I’ll go call her, tell her not to come, and find Kevin and Mae.”

  He slumped against the pillow, his face ashen, struggling to catch his breath. Liz studied the monitor. Surely if there was a problem there would be an alarm, the staff would be in. 94% flashed near an icon that read Sp O2. Oxygen? Was that good enough? Allison would know.

  Mike cleared his throat again. “I don’t want a lot of fuss.” He closed his eyes and dozed off.

  A foreboding, premonition of death rumbled through her. Liz settled into a torn vinyl chair, which snagged against the seat of her pants. You can’t leave him alone. Not for a minute.

  She picked up Mike’s hand, and he turned at her touch. She squeezed. He smiled. She cried silently and kept watch while his eyes closed again.

  Liz jumped when Mae poked her head in. “Kevin is chilled to the bone. I’m takin’ him home. How’s Mike?”

  She stepped outside to talk, leaving one eye on him. “He’s got pneumonia. We’re waiting for a room.”

  Mae’s jaw hung open. They’d never discussed the British accent during the aftermath of her accident. Would Katherine’s ghost be agitating? Could May already know? Anxiety prickled Liz again.

  “So long as it’s not a heart attack.” Mae peeked in at Mike, still sound asleep. Maybe she hadn’t remembered.

  “I’m staying here with him. Pack me a change of clothes and toothbrush.” She had to call the school, and Allison, but that would have to wait.

  “I’ll pack an overnight bag. Kevin will bring ya some dinner.” She hugged Liz. “Yer doing the right thing to stay with him. Damn hospitals. They didn’t even give Kevin a pair of those paper clothes to wear and he’s wringin’ wet.”

  As Mae disappeared behind the ER doors, the ache of loneliness descended over Liz. Life was nothing more than a vigil. She’d kept one at Gerry’s bedside, just as Mike had kept one at Mary’s. Elisabeth kept an eternal one for Edward to return. Jared’s was a solitary watch, during which time he’d encased himself in an embittered shell, living only until he worked up the courage to die. There was no end in sight, no new beginnings, just one long middle, dragging under the weight of endless despair.

  Voices mumbled outside the partially closed door. The monitor bleeped but, unlike the comfort of Mike’s heart beating next to hers, the electronic rendition jarred Liz’s nerves. She waited for it to skip, to end. Each breath rattled, he coughed to clear it, then it began anew.

  Artificial light in the windowless room cast a yellow tint over everything. Footsteps scuffed the floor. Liz expected the nurse, but a woman in street clothes burst through the door.

  “Daddy?”

  Mike’s eyes shot open at the sound of Allison’s voice. She ran to him, leaned over, and hugged her father. He patted her back.

  “What happened?” Her practiced eyes went to the monitor. She tilted the IV bags, read the contents.

  “Pneumonia, so they say.” Mike’s eyes filled with tears.

  Liz rose from her chair. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. Cell phones don’t work in here.”

  “Liz.” Allison embraced her. “ What happened to you?” Her eyes surveyed the battered right side of Liz’s body, then glanced back at her father, obviously more concerned.

  “I slipped and messed up my ankle and knee. Actually, I’m doing much better.”

  “We’ve had a bad few weeks, sweetie.�
� Mike clutched Allison’s hand.

  “You’ve both got to take better care of yourself.” Allison patted him like a puppy.

  Damn, we’re like an elderly couple being watched over by grudging children.

  Liz squirmed. She needed to get away for a few minutes, and now that Allison was here, she could leave without worrying.

  “Let me check on your room, Mike.” Liz fled without waiting for a response.

  Allison fussed over him like he had done when she had appendicitis at age eight. When did the roles reverse? How could the caretaker become the patient, and the child be more in control than the parent?

  A warning–that’s all. He had to do things differently–and not touch any more ghosts.

  She finished poking around the monitors. “Everything looks good, Dad. But maybe you and Liz are pushing it too far. She looks awful, too. Can I do anything to help?”

  “No, thanks. And please, don’t mention this to Liz. She’s already feeling responsible.”

  “Dad, at this stage of your life, you should be relaxing, taking it easy. I don’t want to lecture you but a man your age . . .”

  “Then don’t lecture. I’ve been doing this since I was a teenager, and I’m not going to stop now. I have a wife and baby to support.” He felt like a geezer right now, but was in the best shape amongst his friends.

  “You’re going to a room now, Mike.” Liz walked in followed by a nurse and orderly.

  Had she heard? Her voice was cold as stone.

  “I’m going to talk to the doctor and find Dana to let her know what’s happening.” Allison stepped out of their way.

  The nurse disconnected wires, and the orderly clicked a brake on the stretcher. They pulled him out into the hall, past the desk, through a back doorway to an elevator. Liz hobbled behind, juggling her bag, his things.

  “Patients only, ma’am.” The orderly punched three, and the door closed in Liz’s face.

  “Hey, man. How is she supposed to find me?” Better not get too testy while this joker was pushing him. He was in no condition to fight back.

  “I don’t make the rules, just follow them. Visiting hours are almost over and they’ll have to leave.”

  If he’d been stronger Mike might have looked forward to the firework show when his wife and daughter were told to go. But right now he just wanted to have some tea and go to sleep.

  Rubber wheels squeaked, and those stupid clogs the staff wore slapped the floor. They rolled past the nurse’s station where everyone looked about as happy to be there as in a dentist’s office. The rail ground against the door frame. The jolt knocked loose the pain in Mike’s chest again. He grunted and grabbed himself, holding his breath until it eased.

  The orderly didn’t acknowledge Mike’s discomfort, didn’t apologize. Nothing. And neither did the woman who came in to help.

  He moved the stretcher next to a bed, all the while discussing the upcoming March Madness basketball. “You can move over now.”

  Mike guarded the IV and slid across, bare-assed, freezing. Were they holding the bed and stretcher together enough that he wouldn’t fall through?

  He got himself situated and tried to figure out how to raise the head. The woman handed him the controls and corralled him with side rails. The orderly set off to terrorize the next patient. She fled without another word.

  The bed was as hard as a marble slab. He shivered under the thin sheet. Another spasm of coughing grabbed hold. Mike would have cried if he wasn’t a grown man in a dress with no back. Then came the vision.

  Jared lay in what was now the same guest room he slept in, choking on his own phlegm. He murmured something unintelligible, delirious.

  “There, Jared. We’re here with you.” Katherine, already in a black dress, sponged him off, not even flinching at the sight of his naked, gaunt body.

  Paul stood watch near the door, his hands folded, his lips moving in silent prayer.

  The doctor put on his coat and hat. “Very good, Mr. and Mrs. Mays. I fear it won’t be long for the poor fellow. May he finally find some peace.” His footsteps faded.

  Katherine began to sob. “Why, Paul? Why did it have to end for all of them in such a horrible way? Not one of them died with their spouse by their sides for comfort. Edward, Elisabeth, now Jared. I fear this house is cursed.”

  Paul took Katherine into his arms. “We’ll carry on the best we can. For Edward, for Elisabeth, and for Jared.” He looked at his dying friend gasping for breath, mucous frothing around his nose and mouth.

  Paul dabbed Jared’s face with a towel. “Go quietly and peacefully, my friend. God willing, Elisabeth will be waiting for you on the other side.”

  Mike shook like a tree branch in the wind. He had the same soupy cough, foamy spittle. Jared Sanders had resigned himself to his fate, but Mike Keeny wasn’t going anywhere. He punched the call button for the nurse. He dissolved into another spasm, his chest tight, dizzy, pain in his back like someone had beat him with a stick.

  “Nurse!” he managed to get it out but doubted anyone could hear him through the closed door. The cough left him gasping, the pain in his chest made it hard to take the next breath. Mike couldn’t muster another call for help. He pounded the call bell on the bed. It continued to bleat, but there was no response.

  Give up, Jared insisted. She threw me away like a piece of trash. I gave up everything–my home, my livelihood, my reputation because of that woman. And where is she now when you need her?

  Near panic, Mike tried to get the oxygen mask back on. The elastic strap tangled behind his ears, and he couldn’t get a tight enough seal for any relief. It’s not her fault. That prick closed the door in her face. Liz is looking for me. I know she is.

  Mike drew what he could from the mask, but it was like sipping through a straw with a hole in it. The pain eased, but a wad of phlegm closed off his throat. His heart fluttered. The sheets were drenched with sweat.

  Could he fight off his own ghost?

  Chapter 17

  “Oh, my God!” Liz ripped the call bell cord out of the wall. She knew from past experience the immediate high-pitched whine would bring a stampede down the hall.

  Allison had already gotten the oxygen mask back on, and Mike sucked in air like a greedy baby. She reconnected the monitors. “Lie back and rest, Dad.”

  Mike’s heart beeped frantically, and the O2 thingie flashed between 93 and 94%. A nurse rushed in. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m freezing . . . and can’t . . . breathe.” Mike stammered. Liz got right into her face. “We found him here alone, unhooked from all the monitors, gasping for breath, with the call bell unanswered, that’s what’s wrong.”

  The nurse turned off the bleating alarm and plugged it back into the wall. “I just came on. Let me get an aide to take vital signs and go check the orders. My name is Cynthia.” She took Mike’s hand. “I’ll get your meds, dry sheets and a blanket, Mr. Keeny. Don’t worry, we’ll have you comfortable as soon as we can.”

  Mike nodded and tipped his hand to his head. Cynthia hurried out.

  Liz settled into the chair next to Mike’s bed.

  He took her hand, still too winded to speak, shivering like a leaf in a fall gale.

  “I asked them to call the supervisor when the orderly slammed the elevator door in my face.” Liz said this as she put her coat over him.

  “Let me handle it.” Allison left.

  A female aide came in with a thermometer and blood pressure cuff. She tucked a warm blanket around Mike, then took his vital signs.

  Liz wasn’t surprised to see the temperature register 103ºF. She helped change the sodden linens, sparing Mike the indignity of his daughter seeing him naked.

  “Don’t mess with my two girls.” Mike smirked, his voice tinny, trapped inside the mask. “Damn, it
hurts.”

  “Once they get the fever down, you’ll feel better.” Could they get it down?

  Cynthia came back with two blankets and an extra pillow, and tablets in a small plastic cup. “Here is something for fever and pain, Mr. Keeny.” She removed the mask and waited until he swallowed the pills with a sip of water.

  “The supervisor is talking to your daughter.” She replaced Mike’s mask and fiddled with the IV. “These are the antibiotics.”

  Steam boiled inside Liz. The orderly had slammed the door in her face, mistreated her husband. Allison should be in here, attending to what she knew best. Liz should be handling the complaint. And Mike needed peace and quiet, no more to think or worry about.