by Lynn Bohart
“Martha!” I interrupted her, thinking that if I didn’t stop her babbling, I might just drive off a cliff myself. “Let’s keep our fingers crossed. She may pull through this.”
“You think so?” She looked at me hopefully, wiping her eyes.
“I’m keeping good thoughts,” I said. “You should, too.”
“Oh, yes, I will,” she said dutifully, twisting her purse straps again.
I felt sorry for the purse; Martha was shortening its lifespan with each punishing twist. But since it was a Dooney & Bourke and worth about $400, I thought it could handle it. No pun intended.
“I’m just so stunned.” Martha was still rambling. “I can’t imagine why Ellen would have been up there. Can you? I mean, Marchand Road doesn’t go anywhere.”
Since she was echoing my own thoughts, I chimed in, careful not to ratchet up her emotions any more than they were.
“I thought of that, too,” I said quietly, moderating my tone. “Who do we know up there that she might have gone to see?”
I thought getting her to focus on something specific might help.
“Well, the Abbotts live up there. So does Marilee Brinkley. I suppose Ellen could have been visiting one of them and was just coming home late, although I can’t imagine why. She’s never gone up there before. Other than the Abbotts and Marilee, the only people up there are…well, you know…the Others.”
Martha said the “Others” as if she’d been watching too many reruns of Lost. The “Others” were merely a rival book club. Did I say rival? What I meant was…well, rival. They called themselves the “Mercer Island Literary Society” and turned up their pointed noses at anything written in a genre: mysteries, romances, and thrillers. On the other hand, our club didn’t have a name because we would read pretty much anything suggested by one of our members.
“Then of course Dana Finkle lives up there,” Martha said with a sneer.
The very sound of Dana Finkle’s name was enough to ruin my entire afternoon—well, perhaps not more than Ellen’s accident.
“Who knows?” I said. “Maybe Ellen just couldn’t sleep and went for a drive.”
Martha glanced at me with an expression that could have curdled milk.
“What?” I said, sneaking a peek in her direction and then returning my eyes to the road.
“When have you ever known Ellen to just go for a drive?”
She had me there. Ellen was mostly a home-body. She had very specific things she did, like volunteering, attending the book club, and going to the store. Other than that, she could always be found at home, cleaning or gardening. Spontaneous outings always had to be approved by Ray in advance, which of course meant they weren’t spontaneous.
“Okay, you’re right,” I said.
By the time we made it to the hospital lobby it was after two o’clock. Rudy was already there, pacing back and forth in front of the gift shop.
“I came straight from the golf course,” she said.
Not big news there, since she still wore her mauve-colored golf shirt and a visor, with knobby knees poking out from under a pair of plaid Bermuda shorts. All she was missing were the cleats in her golf shoes.
“Doe is coming from a meeting, and Blair is at her Pilates class,” she said in the clipped way she had of speaking.
Just then, Doe appeared, dressed in a striking gray silk suit and carrying the large black leather tote bag that went everywhere with her. Doe is tall and slender, while Rudy is short and compact. Standing next to each other dressed as they were, they looked like something out of a cartoon.
“Sorry I’m late,” Doe said. “I was in a union meeting, and I had to find someone to take my place at the bargaining table. Do we know anything, yet?”
“No,” Martha said. “We just got here. Can we go up now?”
She was twisting the strap of her purse into a knot again. I placed my hand over hers.
“Take it easy, Martha.”
Just then, a woman in the gift shop caught my attention. She was hovering behind the card rack, peering at us through the window.
“Isn’t that Dana Finkle?” I said.
Everyone turned around, forcing the woman in the gift shop to quickly turn away.
“Of course it’s Dana,” Doe said. “How could you not recognize her?”
I grinned. “I just wanted you all to look at her.”
Dana Finkle was one of the few people in the world I actually hated. Perhaps hate is too strong a word. Let’s just say the very sight of her makes my skin crawl. And that isn’t hard to do since she looks like a toad. You see, she is the bane of my existence on the island, challenging everything I do—from having our bakery and antique business as part of the inn, to decisions I support as a member of the Library Board. I can’t stand her, which clouded my judgment at the moment, because as I watched her waddle away, I whispered to myself in a tinny voice, “Going so soon? Why, I wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Really, Julia?” Rudy snapped, making me spin around. “You need to stop quoting the Wizard of Oz in public. People will think you’re an idiot.”
“Can we go?” Martha said again, her expression pleading for action.
“Okay. Sorry,” I said. “Let’s see what room she’s in.”
We left my nemesis behind and approached the volunteer receptionist, who told us how to find the Intensive Care Unit. Normally, only family members are allowed in the ICU, but before leaving her house, Martha had been able to get hold of Ellen’s husband in Thailand. He’d given us permission to visit since neither he nor their children could be there.
After stepping off the elevator, we checked in with the Intensive Care nurse.
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to stay long,” the young woman said. “She’s suffered a lot of internal injuries. We’ve patched her up the best we can, but…” She stopped short of saying what she thought, and Martha let out a loud sob.
The nurse had us follow her to the last bed on the right, which was shut off by a circular curtain.
“I’ll give you just a few minutes,” she said quietly.
The nurse left and we were about to step inside the curtain, when Blair came running awkwardly down the hall behind us in three-inch heels. Her bleached blond hair was pulled back into a loose pony tail, and she was still dressed in a pair of tight black Pilates pants. While I tended to dress for comfort, Doe dressed for business, and Rudy dressed for sports, Blair always dressed for attention. So even at age sixty-two, the purple hour-glass tank top she wore showed enough sweaty cleavage to cause a male orderly to hit the wall with a gurney as she passed by.
“Is she going to be okay?” Blair said with restrained urgency.
Rudy put a tanned finger to her lips. “We’re just about to see her, but we have to be quiet.”
Blair nodded. The five of us slipped inside the curtain and positioned ourselves silently around Ellen’s bed. She was lying beneath starched white sheets, with tubes running every which way. I wish I could say she looked peaceful, but she didn’t. While her chemically enhanced dark hair lay in soft curls on the pillow around her head, her face looked like it had been beaten with a baseball bat. Her breathing was labored, and a machine monitored her vital signs.
We silently spread out around the bed. My eyes followed a tube that extended from a bag of saline to where it disappeared under her blanket. I reached out and lifted the edge of the sheet, spying the wrinkled green hospital gown that was draped around Ellen’s thin figure. Why couldn’t hospitals invest in garments that looked less like backless prison-wear and more like actual clothes? Ellen was a snappy dresser, and under normal circumstances wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing.
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I glanced up. Had I said that out loud?
My mind had a tendency to wander, and I’d done it once before when Rudy and I followed the mayor’s wife into an outdoor picnic. As I watched her tight little ass sashay its way through the gate, I’d contemplated how she must have air-brushe
d her jeans onto her butt since there wasn’t enough room to sneak a mosquito’s wing between the washed denim and her bare skin. She’d turned around wide-eyed and gasped, “Excuse me?” and then stomped away. Rudy had suggested that next time I keep my thoughts to myself. Fortunately, this time I had. I gave a sigh of relief.
I returned my focus to Ellen and how she had gotten here in the first place. Ellen didn’t drink much, and we all knew she didn’t like drugs, even prescription ones. So what else would have prompted her to drive to the top of the island? Marchand Drive would be the perfect place to take your own life if you wanted to, I thought, but….damn! What if Ellen had done this on purpose?
As if she’d heard my thoughts, Ellen’s eyes fluttered open. She glanced around the bed and gave us a weak smile, exposing blood-stained teeth. One eye was almost swollen shut, so she struggled to focus on us with her other eye. Finally, her mouth opened, and she mumbled something. We all shuffled in closer in order to hear.
“I’m thorry,” I thought I heard her say.
Even though I was standing at the head of the bed, I had to lean in to hear her clearly.
“I…couldn’t take it anymore,” she said, wheezing and shaking her head ever so slightly. “I wanted my life to mean more. Money can’t buy you everything, you know.”
She reached out with lightning speed and grabbed my hand, squeezing so tightly that she lifted one of my acrylic nails off its nail bed. I stifled a groan, and Rudy scowled at me from across the bed.
“I let my entire life slip by. Don’t let it happen to you,” she said with a slur.
Ellen was staring at me when she said this, as if pleading with me. The fire in her eyes—eye—sent a chill rippling down my back.
“Go after your dreams,” she said. “All of you!” She swiveled her head to look around the bed at each of us in turn. “Don’t settle for the back of the bus. And don’t be a bunch of old maids!”
With that, her head dropped back onto the pillow, triggering the bedside alarm.
I extricated my hand from hers just before the hospital personnel appeared through the curtains. They shooed us away, and we retreated down the hallway to a waiting room. We all took seats, and I fought back tears as I contemplated Ellen’s final comments. What had she meant by never settling for the back of the bus? I didn’t think any of us took a back seat to anyone, and frankly, Ellen had had enough money to buy the bus. So, what did she mean? We certainly weren’t a bunch of old maids. All of us had been married, some had children, and everyone now lived purposeful lives.
A nurse appeared behind me in the doorway and spoke in low tones.
“Do any of you know if Mrs. Fairchild ever signed a living will?”
“What’s that?” Blair sniffled as she asked this.
“It’s also called an advanced healthcare directive. It tells us what to do in case her heart stops, or if she wanted to donate organs.”
Blair almost screeched, “She’s dead, then?” Her blue eyes flooded with tears, clumping her very thick mascara.
“They’re working on her. We’ll know soon. I’ll keep you posted.”
The nurse left and we sat in silence, or nearly silence. Martha and Blair kept sobbing, while I cried silently to myself. It was another several minutes before a young female doctor appeared. Her face was an expressionless mask. I thought she probably had to do this a lot.
“I’m Doctor Ames,” she said. “I understand there is no immediate family available. Is that right?”
“That’s right,” Martha said, standing up. “I’m listed as the emergency contact when her husband is out of town. He’s in Thailand, trying to get back.”
“Well, then, I’m sorry, but your friend has passed away,” the doctor said.
Blair sucked up another sob, and I got up to take Martha’s elbow since she looked like she was about to keel over.
“If you’ll stop by the nurse’s desk and give us his number, we’ll find out how he wants to handle things from here. I’m really very sorry for your loss,” she said before leaving.
The doctor’s departure sparked a new chorus of sniffles, and then Rudy took over, as Rudy was apt to do.
Over the years, I had mentally given all the girls nicknames. In my mind, Doe was the Wiz because she was a tough negotiator and could juggle multiple tasks with ease. Of course, Blair was Catnip, because she’d never met a man she didn’t like, or a man who didn’t like her. I had never formally given Martha a nickname, although I tended to think of her as the Whiner. But Rudy was the Boss, even though she didn’t actually run anything. It was her take-charge attitude, accented by short bristly hair, a sharp chin, small, piercing brown eyes and a snarky attitude. She could have been a drill sergeant in another lifetime.
“Everybody up!” she said with enough emphasis to make us jump.
We all got up and took her cue to grasp hands.
“Dear God,” she began. “Please take Ellen into your loving embrace. Bring her peace and let her know that the four of us promise to keep ourselves mentally healthy and alive, just as she wished. Amen.”
We each murmured, “Amen.”
As we began to unwind our hands, the stern look on Rudy’s face stopped us.
“Well?” she said, expecting a response.
We each gave an affirmative nod to Rudy’s promise to Ellen.
And then, thankfully, we went for a drink.
CHAPTER THREE
We met back at the Mercerwood Shore Club, our favorite place for lunch and libations on the island. Doe and Blair both had boats moored there, and my daughter, Angela, had participated on the swim team back when she was in high school. The clubhouse overlooks an Olympic-sized swimming pool and has a great second-story deck where you can sit in nice weather.
It was almost four o’clock and a little chilly to sit outside, so Rudy selected a table next to the window so we could at least enjoy the view. We ordered our drinks in an uncharacteristically subdued mood, and then waited for Martha, who had run to the restroom to freshen up. She had cried herself out in the car and returned to the table without any makeup at all, but looking slightly more at peace. As she sat down, I noticed that she’d stopped manhandling her purse. After all, it was over; there wasn’t any need now for tension or stress. Ellen was gone, and it appeared as if Dooney & Bourke would survive to see another day.
As we waited for the drinks, I snuck a glance around the table, wondering what the other girls were thinking. Our book club had met monthly for almost eleven years. During that time, we’d become more than neighbors and fiction lovers; we’d become close friends. We had suffered together through divorces, funerals, illnesses, and family emergencies. We dog sat, house sat, and sometimes even husband sat on the rare occasion when a husband might be sick. While we might differ in faith or politics, or compete on the golf course, we were fiercely loyal as friends.
“I can’t believe it,” Doe said under her breath. “I just spoke to Ellen yesterday. She was going to help me select some new furniture for the den.”
Doe had beautiful dark brown eyes and naturally thick, dark brows and lashes, so she never had to wear makeup. She wiped her eyes and reached into her big black purse to find a tissue.
“I wonder how Ray will take it,” I said. “And the kids. I mean, they’re all so far away.”
“She died alone,” Blair said with a sigh.
Martha’s round eyes flared momentarily. “Not alone. We were there.”
“I suppose,” Blair said, tempering her remark. “But it’s so sad that her immediate family wasn’t there. How long does it take to get back from Thailand, anyway?”
Blair’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on anyone. Ray wasn’t a favorite with the girls in the club, but we’d always been careful not to say anything in front of Ellen.
“Longer than a couple of hours,” I replied, feeling the need to defend him. After all, he’d just lost his wife.
“But what did she mean there at the end?” Blair asked with her Botox lips pur
sed. “All that stuff about being sorry and that she couldn’t take it anymore. Take what anymore?”
“And that business about ‘money can’t buy you everything,’” Doe said. “What the heck did that mean?”
Doe had a graduate degree in business and the task of meeting the payroll for 300 employees, so she knew the value of a dollar.
“Let’s admit it,” Rudy said, getting everyone’s attention. “Ellen was essentially alone in the world. Her husband ignored her, and her two ungrateful children live out-of-state. She was lucky to see her grandchildren once a year. All Ellen did was travel, shop, and organize fundraisers for the ballet or the homeless shelter. I’ve never thought she was very happy. I suspect she was just finally letting us know.”
Rudy was a no-nonsense kind of gal who had worked for fifteen years as a beat reporter for a big city newspaper, spending two months as one of the few female reporters during the last days of Vietnam. She was a compact 5’ 5”, with the tenacity of a pit bull and the dental implants to match. She was sixty-eight, the most verbally aggressive of the group, and a woman you didn’t want to cross.
“You say that like traveling is a bad thing,” Blair said, tossing her head, forcing her pony tail to come loose.
I was resting my hands on the table and had started picking at the fingernail that Ellen had snapped partway off at the hospital.
“And raising money helps organizations who serve the poor,” I said. “We all help with the fundraising for different causes.”
Just then I inadvertently popped the nail off and flicked it across the table. It landed in Rudy’s water glass with a little clink.
Everyone stopped.
I stared at Rudy, who merely glanced at the nail floating among her ice cubes and then at me, frowning in the same way my Home Economics teacher used to frown when I couldn’t sew a straight line in high school. I mouthed an apology, just as the waitress returned with our drinks. Rudy handed off her tainted water glass without a word.
