by Janna Hill
Between the Rage
and
Grace
By Janna Hill
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information
storage and retrieval system without permission
in writing by the author.
Copyright © 2012
by Janna René Hill
Cover: All art is original in its creation and sole
property of _jrh
Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work
are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Three women,
Three very different backgrounds
&
The roads that all seem to lead to one place
Janna R. Hill
To all the angels of this world
Some come dressed in scrubs
Others in cotton and denim
It is with you in mind that I dedicate this
_jrh
Chapter 1
Clara O’Bromley
The night air was cold but not near cold enough to calm the feverish pulsing in young Clara’s face. Holding to the brick wall she steadied herself and gulped at the frigid night air.
In through the nose she reminded herself testing the depth of her lungs and out through the mouth as she puckered her lips and forced the warmed air out.
After several deep breaths the nausea was little by little subsiding and the swimming in her head had slowed to a dull blur.
Her usually well kept sandy–gold locks hung in damp clumps around her face. Drenched in the salt and oils of her perspiration Clara found herself shivering but not just from the cold.
Steadying herself she concentrated on her respirations, watching as the vapors faded after each forced exhalation she counted to ten before sucking in the next stinging breath and then cautiously stood upright. Straining her eyes beneath the dim security light she held her hands out in front of her to check for any visible shaking. It’s all on the inside. Good. She thought while rubbing her arms vigorously. Pushing back her hair a jagged finger nail trailed across her face. You weak pitiful idiot!
She scolded herself all the while smoothing her clothes into place and checking her reflection in the amber glass; she gave her cheeks a light slap to evoke color and stepped through the door as if nothing had ever happened.
“Are you okay?” Maggie asked with only a hint of concern. Clara wanted to shout,
No, no I am not okay! But instead she mustered a smile and replied,
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Good, then finish re-stocking and I’ll start cleaning up.” Maggie ordered and dashed out of the room.
Clara didn’t know Maggie very well, not yet any way, but she imagined the woman must have been in the military; the way she was quick to bark out orders, very plain spoken and cussed like a sailor which was all in contrast to her appearance because to look at her one might think she was a debutante.
Good. Finish re-stocking, blah- blah- blah. I’ll clean up, blah-blah-blah. My lord what does that woman think this is – an afternoon tea? Just clean it up. Sweep it away. Everything in its place like nothing ever happened. Its oookay! Clara kept her thoughts to herself, she was good at that and besides she had no reason to be upset with Maggie, the woman was just doing her job and somebody had to keep it together.
Whatever she had thought this job might entail, whatever she had prepared herself to do… she had not prepared for the way that it would make her feel.
She stocked each cart according to the list that was secured to the top, checking and re-checking each vial, each package.
A few items she pulled to check again incase she missed an expiration date. The truth was she was just going through the motions due to the fact that her mind was still else where.
“Are you sure that you’re okay?” asked Maggie, with more sincerity this time.
“Oh yeah, I’m fine.” Clara lied.
“Well then how many times are you gonna shuffle those damn bottles – till you rub the labels off?” Maggie was joking and Clara [appreciating the humor] responded with a smile, “I’m done, just need to date and initial these forms.”
“She’s in a better place you know.” Maggie said as if to console Clara, “Mrs. Levine- she’s in a better place. At least that’s what everybody says.”
Maggie’s tenderness and reference to an afterlife surprised Clara but she never let on. She just nodded, clicked her ink pen and kept writing.
At last the night was over. Clara made her report as short and sweet as possible, said the customary good byes and headed for the parking lot. She just wanted to get home as soon as she could and put this night and Mrs. Levine behind her.
“See you tonight?” Maggie yelled across the lot.
“Sure” Clara replied, “Why not?”
“I don’t want to be short handed” Maggie explained, “You’re a greenhorn and tonight was the kinda night that makes `em or breaks `em. Some don’t come back.”
”Really?” Clara asked in honest surprise.
“Hell yeah.” Maggie laughed, “It’s not as profitable and glamorous as some might think. I’ve trained a whole lot of newbie’s.”
“I’m not a newbie, I’ve been here over six months.” Clara said in her own defense.
“Oh yeah, you’re a newbie!” Maggie exclaimed, shutting the door to her car and the conversation.
“Well, I’ll be back. It’ll take more than that to break me.” Clara yelled as Maggie sped away.
What Maggie didn’t realize is that it was not death that rattled Clara; she’d seen people die before. It was the seeing them afterwards that was the problem.
Chapter 2
Dark Days
The sun was coming up as Clara hurried home to beat the morning light. Being a sun seeker by nature it always felt peculiar to sleep during the day but she had to.
She imagined herself being a vampire preparing her lair as she pulled the heavy drapes in her room to block out the beautiful sunshine. She turned back the covers and dimmed the bedside lamp in attempt to mimic the night. A pseudo evening of sorts, she thought while picking a book from the nightstand. There were three paperback novels to choose from, Eenie meenie miney moe , she closed her eyes and grabbed the middle one.
Clara was never an avid reader, she read only to dull her mind – to block out her own thoughts. The bed always seemed too big without Jim beside her and she couldn’t help but think of the rest of world bustling around while she was trying to force an un-natural slumber. She regretted taking the night shift as much as she dreaded sleeping alone.
Crawling beneath the cool linens she packed extra pillows around her in lieu of the warm body she longed for and opened the book to the page where she had left off. Not that it mattered because she hadn’t retained a bit of it anyway but she read the words in sequence until her mind was blank, her eyes grew heavy and once again she marked her place in the musty paperback, slid down in to the flannel sheets and closed her eyes.
Hand me the suction. Clara’s heart fluttered at the command but in an instant she was at the lady’s side, flipped the power to the canister on and handed Maggie the cannula. Hand me the suction dammit! She heard again. Bewildered, Clara seen the apparatus still in her hand and shoved it at Maggie.
Clara fumbled for the tubing but before she could grasp it, it disappeared.Where’s the damn suction – she’s aspirating, came the voice with an extreme note of agitation.
Feeling around the bed, see
ing it again but again it vanished from her hand.
She’s choking you fucking idiot, give me the tube…
The tone grew deeper; give me the tube so I can wrap it around your neck!
Suddenly the voice was not Maggie’s. Clara (forcing herself to focus) strained at the face – the face looked like Maggie’s but the eyes…
there was something terribly wrong with the eyes. They were so dark and sinister…
“So you wanna be a nurse?” It growled, “You think you can make a difference- you’ll break like mommy’s favorite vase! Just give in.” The voice cackled with a wicked laugh erupting from the twisted mouth. There were two, maybe three voices coming from what appeared to be Maggie, but it wasn’t her. It had her dainty debutante appearance but even Maggie didn’t speak as foul as this intruder. Clara wanted to tell the thing that it was not who it pretended to be but she couldn’t manage to get the words out. All of her strength had left her as she stood by the lady’s bed frozen and speechless.
Olam ha-ba, came another voice, softer. Clara’s mind was spinning as she strained to make sense of it all. “Olam ha-ba” Clara looked down to see the dying woman’s eyes wide and staring– not really at her or even past her, it was more like the frail old lady was staring straight through her. Squeezing Clara’s wrist the lady cried, Olam hah bah, over and over, more slowly and more pronounced like a soothing chant.
But how could it be her, how could she speak? Clara wondered as Maggie repeatedly swept the woman’s mouth, darting in and out with the suctioning device.
““Have you ever seen so much fluid come out of such a small body?” asked the entity across from her. Help me turn her on her side.”
Relieved that it was Maggie’s voice speaking this time Clara turned the thin body with little effort and watched the green liquid drain from her now gaping mouth but it didn’t quiet the gurgling sound and her respirations grew more erratic.
“Milk bubbles.” Maggie said. Clara cocked her head not understanding the strange remark so Maggie clarified “Milk bubbles – didn’t you ever blow bubbles with a straw? That’s what the gurgling sounds like, don’t you think”? Remember that sound and know that death is close by.
Clara hadn’t thought about it and didn’t want to think about it. All she could really think about was the bizarre sick feeling that had overtaken her.
“Let’s clean her up – it won’t be long now.” Maggie said.
Clara studied the petite frame lying before her and gently wiped the weathered flesh of her face, her arms, her hands – watching as they turned a mottled pink and blue and then a pale shade of alabaster yellow. She felt the involuntary twitch of the body and the slight contractions of the limbs all the while listening as the gurgling became barely perceptible.
Looking at the monitor the heart rate registered 43 beats per minute, then 21, then eight…
And then with one long wheeze – a straight flat line on the screen and Mrs. Levine was gone.
“Better go tell the family she’s give up the ghost.” Maggie yelled form the desk.
“Olam ha- ba.” Clara spun around at the sound of those foreign words she’d heard earlier, the same gibberish but the anxiety wasn’t present in the tone as it was before. To her shock a radiant lady stood at the foot of the bed smiling. “What?” Clara asked.
“Olam ha-ba.” Mrs. Levine said; “Tell her I have seen and I’m not afraid.” And with that the woman faded away.
“Tell who? Tell who?” Clara heard herself asking as she jerked straight up in the bed.
Chapter 3
Meet Jim Havel
“Honey, I’m home.” Jim called as he came into the kitchen, sliding his lunch box and thermos across the counter. Before Clara could turn to meet him he slipped his stout bushy arms around her waist, lifted her up and buried his thick beard into her neck.
“Stop it.” She giggled.
“No” he mumbled through nibbles, “I’m going to eat you up.”
Jim was the happiest (and some times the silliest) person Clara had ever met. In all the time she had known him she had never seen him unhappy. He had the temperament of a seasoned philosopher refusing to be angered or frustrated and truly took life in stride.
He was what many called a bear of a man, being six foot three inches tall, 250 pounds and hairy. He was not Clara’s idea of a handsome man. When they first met Clara’s initial thought was that he was too hairy, too shaggy and rough around the edges, but he was easy to talk to and he was smart.
Clara and Jim met at The Eats & Ale Restaurant, a small ordinary eatery that served [as the name implied] food and ale, it was famous among the locals for the home cooked meals. The O’Bromley’s had owned the quaint tavern for years and that’s where Clara met Jim. She was waiting tables just after graduating nursing school so not only did she desperately need the tips; she owed it to her parents.
Jim came in for breakfast one morning with a large out of state work crew. Clara guessed, by their attire, they were working on the new interstate that would stretch from the east coast to the west coast along the entire southern portion of the United States. Lucky them, she thought.
“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” she asked while pouring fresh coffee into a dozen cups. Her question was meant to be friendly and not really directed at anyone in particular but one said “Looking for you.” A second chimed in, “Yeah, we been looking for you all up and down that highway.” A roar of laughter went up from the table.
“Well, you found me.” Clara said with a smile though completely un-amused with what they considered to be funny as she emptied the glass canister and spun toward the kitchen. The crew couldn’t see her rolling her eyes as she cheerfully yelled “Pardon me while I put on another pot of coffee gentlemen.”
“You better put on a few pots for these clowns.” The husky voice called causing Clara turn and it was then, the first time Clara’s eyes met Jim’s and he was apologizing for his crew.
“I hope you’ll over look these heathens.” Jim said, “They don’t mean any harm- they just, well they are just heathens.” Clara suddenly felt shy yet warm and fuzzy as she gravitated in Jim’s direction and she couldn’t help but grin. She noticed the big guy was grinning too and Clara thought she seen him blush.
Standing while extending his right hand, “Hi, my name is Jim, Jim Havel.”
Clara grasped the big mans hand and glanced down to see how small and pale hers looked in comparison but her eyes quickly went back to hold his. The air around her warmed and she could smell cake, chocolate cake. The aroma so delicious and strong she could almost taste the fresh sweet confection.
Clara felt the floor rising beneath her and it seemed that she and Jim were the only ones in the room, in the universe which was now softly spinning.
“Well are you going to dance with him or introduce yourself?” she heard someone ask. Clara, elevated and lost in the sweet aroma and locked into a pair of warm cocoa colored eyes, couldn’t bring herself to speak.
“Her name is Clara O’Bromley and you boys are out of coffee.” The woman said as she gently pried their hands apart, turned Clara toward the counter and spatted her behind.
“Mother!” Clara exclaimed. “How embarrassing!”
“You’ll get over it. Now go and make these men a fresh pot of coffee.” Mrs. O’Bromley chuckled, shook her apron and headed back to the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry.” Clara told Jim when he approached the register to pay the tab,
“My mother can be so-”
“Let your mom do what mom’s do best.” He said, cutting her off.
“Seriously? I am a grown woman yet she treats me like a little girl.” Clara argued.
“And you treat her like your mother- that’s how it works. Love it for what it is.”
Jim winked, stuffed his wallet back into his stained denim jeans and jaunted out to catch up with the crew.
Clara watched out the window till the white work trucks drove out of site.
“You’ll marry that one.” Mrs. O’Bromley yelled from the kitchen.
“You are joking, right?” Clara asked.
“Nope, `fraid not. Mrs. O’Bromley declared, “He’s the one for you.”
“You don’t get to say who I’ll marry- or even if I’ll marry.” Clara called back,
“Besides, I didn’t know you liked that big burly type.”
“Don’t matter what I like Clara Bell – you’re already in love with him even if you don’t know it.” Mrs. O’Bromley said matter of factly.
“IF I marry it’ll probably be a doctor.” Clara said dreamily. “It’s just as easy to marry up as it is to marry down. That’s what you’ve always told me.”
“Ole Jim might turn out to be a doctor, who knows – we’ll see.” Mrs. O’Bromley shrugged.
“I don’t see that happening”, Clara said with a phony laugh “He looks like a real road scholar. Ha ha, get it? Road as in highway?”
Mrs. O’Bromley wasn’t amused.
“How about a piece of that chocolate cake you’ve got back there?” Clara posed rubbing her stomach in anticipation.
“I don’t have any cake today, would you settle for some hot apple pie?” Mrs. O’Bromley asked all the while readying the plates.
“No thanks to the pie Mama, I know I smelled a chocolate cake baking.” She said with certainty as she scanned the counters. Seeing no cake she pushed through the doors leading to the kitchen and peered into the empty oven. I could have sworn I smelled cake.
“Yep, you’ll marry that one.” Mrs. O’Bromley reiterated.
Clara spent the next few weeks avoiding Jim, not just because her mother was too often right in her predictions but for the out of control way he made her feel.
