The phone in Eleanor's bag rang at this moment. She had turned it on while they were driving to the restaurant and neglected its gentle, faint, occasional beeps for unheard messages until now, when it annoyingly made itself known from the depths of her handbag.
With an apologetic glance at Edward, she pulled it out to check the screen, seeing an unfamiliar number.
"Go ahead," he said. "Take it. I don't mind."
"I'll be quick," she promised. She answered it in her best distant-but-polite voice reserved for brevity.
"Hello?"
"Hello, is this Eleanor Darbish?"
"It is," she answered. The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, too, a woman's voice with an authoritative but soft tone.
"This is Pittsburgh Emergency Hospital contacting you on behalf of Marianne Darbish..."
She said more, the woman on the other end – a nurse at the reception station, Eleanor learned – but it was lost upon her ears. Only the connection between emergency and Marianne remained, but it was not the same as previous ones with plane tickets at odd hours or forgotten bills.
She was aware that she was struggling to draw her breath. Her voice shook with inquiries – where? What time? How long? A part of her mind recorded the answers somewhere, taking dictation from this nurse's calm answers, filing them away for the moment the phone call ended between them.
She closed it and shoved it in her bag. "I have to go." Her fingers mechanically fumbled with the clasp on her purse. Across from her, Edward looked puzzled.
"Eleanor?" he said. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"
"My sister is in the hospital," she answered. "Marianne – she's ill. I have to go now." Her words did not emerge as coherently as she hoped, but Edward seemed not to mind.
"I'll drive you." He pulled on his coat and motioned for the waiter. She felt him help her into her own coat, although her mind registered this less clearly.
Was Marianne very ill? Was it the baby? The nurse had not been specific. Late this afternoon was how late? While she had been sitting in that depressing unveiling of the Herald's future, had Marianne been in pain in a hospital bed? Or worse. But she didn't want to think about worse at this moment.
"Which hospital?" Edward steered her through the doors of the restaurant, to his car parked along the street, as Eleanor followed obediently.
She told him. He didn't say anything else as he opened the door and helped her inside.
A light drizzle pounded the windshield as he drove. Sleet, Eleanor realized, when he stopped at the traffic light. She watched it plinking against the glass: small, reflective diamonds beneath the harsh orange of the streetlamps.
She pulled out her cell phone. There were messages on it, which she had neglected to check after the meeting. Wandering around on the sunset rooftop, it had not occurred to her that anything important was happening anywhere else.
She knew she would hear the sound of Marianne's voice even before she played them.
"Eleanor, it's me. Marianne. I tried to call earlier, but if you get this, please come to the studio."
"Eleanor, it's me. Elly, please pick up."
No other message waited after this one. Eleanor felt cold as she disconnected from the message box. Three fifty-five and four-fifteen. Marianne's calls were so closely placed, the sound of pain and fear in her voice the second time.
"No answer?" Edward's voice interrupted her thoughts. She had forgotten about him until this moment, glancing at him with an attempt at a smile. One made tight and unconvincing as her lips refused to obey fully.
"Messages," she answered. "Marianne's. She tried to call me when she felt ill and I – I was still in the conference room. I didn't realize they were hers or I would have..." she trailed off, since there was no reason to finish this statement.
The phone was still in her hand, its screen dark until she dialed a number – Brandon's apartment. An automatic movement which surprised her as her fingers pressed the button naturally. She didn't hang up, however, but listened for an answer on the other end. He would want to know about this anyway, she reminded herself. He was her friend – and Marianne's friend, although her sister was not aware of its truth.
It rang several times, then connected to the machine. Instead of leaving a message, she hung up.
"It will be all right." Edward's voice sounded firm. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine."
He was trying to be reassuring, although a thread of unconvincing hesitation was buried deep beneath his words. The gesture mattered more to Eleanor than the words. "It's probably just a – a small accident. A little fall or a fender bender..."
"It's not that," Eleanor answered. "Marianne's pregnant. And she's exhausted and making herself ill with worry and fear since Will left her."
Will. Should he be told? Her first impulse was to say no, since it was partly his fault that any of this happened. A part of her squirmed with pity at the thought of him finding out later on, however; in the same offhand means as Marianne learned about his engagement.
She did not have his number. That solved the dilemma for Eleanor for now.
Edward cleared his throat. "Your sister is pregnant?" he repeated.
"I didn't tell you before," said Eleanor, remembering this truth. "I forgot, I suppose. But, yes, Marianne is having a baby. And the father is out of the picture now, so she's alone except for me."
He glanced at her. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked. "I mean, if you were supposed to be spending more time with her, I never would have – I would have understood." He fumbled with these words, the concern beneath them evident in his voice.
"It's not your fault," Eleanor answered. "It's no one's fault but my own. I let her...I let her do what she wanted. I couldn't make her see that it was taking its toll on her health. All those little dangers and careless decisions that seemed so harmless." She bit her lip and stared at the lights of the opposing traffic, winking like fierce stars as they flew by.
They were traveling as fast as was legally allowed – this, despite the weather, Eleanor noticed, when she glanced towards the glowing speedometer. On Edward's face, a look of concentration. His fingers gripped the wheel tightly.
He didn't bother to look for a parking space in the crowded front lot of Pittsburgh's hospital emergency room. He pulled up to the doors and halted, glancing at Eleanor.
"Go on," he said. "I'll find you after I find an empty space."
She squeezed his arm, briefly. "Thank you," she answered. Her fingers felt for the door handle and opened it, her body emerging in the cold air of early winter as she pulled her coat more firmly around herself. High heels clicking across the concrete with haste and uncertainty towards the automated doors.
A bitter taste was creeping up her throat. Invading her mouth with the taste of fear as she shriveled and shrank inwardly from it.
Emergency rooms were not a place where Eleanor felt comfortable. Snatches of her mother's final weeks came to her again; still fainter, memories of her father's death, made vivid again by the smell of certain chemicals, or the atmosphere of haste and worry. Gnawing the room's air, these emotions, like insects eating away at a rotting tree stump.
"You admitted a Marianne Darbish –" she began at the desk, where a cautious-looking nurse was sorting through medical files. "I'm her sister. You phoned me –"
"Fourth floor, room 403. Obstetrics," the nurse answered.
Was Marianne's doctor available? Would anyone tell her anything? Eleanor was blind to the world around her as she pressed the elevator button. The surrounding walls were a drab brown, their surfaces seeming to close around her as she waited. The cold from the outside world had melted from her coat and hair, leaving dampness from the frozen rain.
The doors opened. Eleanor was free to go straight to the nurse's station, where its receptionist was hanging up the phone.
"My sister is in room 403. She was admitted this afternoon, and I would really like to speak to her doctor, if he's available." The words rus
hed, tumbled forth without logical thought from Eleanor's lips. She didn't even know if Marianne was awake, or if there was a reason to speak to the physician at this moment, but she wasn't thinking clearly about those matters. "Or anyone who can tell me about her condition –"
"Your sister was admitted this afternoon with a light bleed and cramps," the nurse answered. "Her doctor was a little concerned and wanted to know the cause, so we're running some tests."
"Is she awake?" Eleanor asked.
"She is some of the time," the nurse answered, "but she's on medication for pain which makes her drowsy. You can see her ..."
Eleanor registered the last part of this sentence with a brief smile of gratitude before moving towards the room where Marianne was sleeping.
Marianne's eyes were closed. One hand lay above the blankets, with the familiar marks of red paint on her knuckles and wrist. She might have been painting when she felt the first pains, Eleanor knew. She reached down to take hold of Marianne's fingers, her mind ignoring the steady beep of monitors surrounding the bed.
"It's me, Marianne," she whispered.
For a moment, Marianne's eyes flickered open. Her glance was on Eleanor, her lips moving slightly before they closed again.
The medication, Eleanor supposed. The causes for bleeding – what were they? Preeclampsia? But it was too early for Marianne to develop it. Miscarriage? That was a notion Eleanor dreaded to the marrow of her bones.
Marianne's doctor. He would be on duty now, maybe. She could ask him – or she could ask the nurse if she could stay in Marianne's room. She turned away and crossed the room's threshold to the outside hall again, which was when she saw a familiar figure seated in the cramped waiting area.
"Brandon?" She crossed towards the faded sofas of a pinkish hue, the gradual slide of outdated magazines from end table to floor, where Brandon was seated – or rather, slumped – in one of the far chairs. In his hand was a phone, his fingers dialing a number, their activity ceasing at the sound of her voice.
He sat up straighter. "Eleanor." His voice was slightly gruff.
"What are you doing here?" Eleanor asked. "I tried to call you, but it– "
"I tried to call you," he said. "Twice. But your phone was off or something." He cleared his throat. "Marianne called me. This afternoon. She couldn't reach you and she needed someone to drive her here."
Eleanor started to speak, but the words didn't come. Brandon stood up, looking into her face for a moment before wrapping his arms around her. She leaned against him, hugging him tightly, as if doing so released the tension holding her muscles prisoner.
"They said it might not be anything serious." Brandon's voice was muffled slightly by the collar of her coat. "I thought I would wait. I called you again – but, there you are."
No condolences, no promises of sweet relief from this situation, but she didn't expect them from Brandon. He was a present-tense comforter; a person who faced grim situations with immediate action and assessment, not long-term vagaries, pleasant or unpleasant. Telling her Marianne's condition currently would be the limit of Brandon's comfort.
"Thank you." She clung to him a moment longer. When she released him, she could see evidence of other emotions than stoicism in his face, although he glanced towards the corner of the room rather than meet her eye.
"She was in pain, but there was nothing else the matter, she said," he continued. "So I helped her down the stairs – that place is dreadful, by the way. A dump and a part of town where no one should go after ten o' clock at night – and got her here. About four-thirty or so."
He sat down again. She sat down beside him.
"I'm going to ask the doctor to let me stay," she said. "For tonight. Hopefully, they'll release her in the morning after observation."
"Of course," he said. His elbows rested on his knees as he gazed towards the nurse's station before looking at her again. "Was the meeting – were you there all this time?"
She blushed. "No," she answered, her fingers straightening the hemline of her skirt across her lap. "No, I – I had a dinner engagement, actually."
"Oh." Brandon sounded surprised. "Was it the leering stranger from the airport?"
That he remembered that story at all astonished her. But the conversation at the Chinese restaurant a weekend ago had undoubtedly jogged his memory on their vaguely-defined boundaries of romantic confidences, enough so that her mention of Edward had resurfaced.
"He was not leering," she answered, defensively. "But, yes, it just so happened that it was him. He asked me to dinner and I said yes."
This moment felt awkward. The guilt, she supposed, of knowing that while she was enjoying herself, Marianne was in desperate need of help. Sensible Eleanor who never turned off her phone had left it off for almost three hours, during which time her everyday world began to collapse.
"Ah," said Brandon. He cleared his throat again.
"He's here, actually," said Eleanor. "But he's – looking for a parking spot. I suppose afterwards, he'll come and find me here."
"You could call him." Brandon's suggestion was issued in a flat tone of voice.
She blushed again. "I don't have his number," she admitted. She didn't. Until now, it had not occurred to her that she should know Edward's cell phone number. And that he should have hers, as well.
They were both silent. Eleanor's glance moved in the direction of any human figure on this floor, in hopes of seeing a white coat, surgical scrubs, an official-looking expression – anyone who might be connected with Marianne's overall treatment and long-term care.
"I would get you some coffee," said Brandon. "But I suppose you've just come from dinner." He rose and began shrugging on his coat. "I'll go now. Call me if something changes."
"You don't have to leave," she began, then realized that he might prefer to go. It wasn't in his evening's plans, no doubt, to be sitting in a hospital waiting room for the sake of someone else's family. He might have broken his plans for this; and there was no obligation to hold him here in the same manner as ... well, Edward. If she and Edward had reached that stage in this moment.
"I'll stay if you want," he answered." But I assumed –" He glanced towards the elevator, which emptied a mother-to-be and a toddler into the hall, but no one else.
"Of course," she said. "I'll be fine. You should go. I'm so sorry – it was my fault that you were here at all."
He looked at her. "What are you talking about? I would've come anyway. You would have phoned me, after all, and I wouldn't have left you here alone." He glanced towards the elevator again, but the doors were opening to admit someone from the obstetrics floor, not deposit an arrival.
"Go on," said Eleanor. "Goodnight, Brandon. And thank you again."
"Goodnight, then," he answered. "Hold the elevator, please." He buttoned his coat and offered a polite nod to the nurse behind the desk as he walked away, lifting his hand to Eleanor before disappearing inside.
She waited alone. Ten, fifteen minutes passed, during which time she stared at the carpet beneath her shoes, looking up only at the sound of someone's footfall.
Not the doctor's, but Edward's. His hand was tucked in his jacket pocket, a slightly nervous look on his face until he caught sight of her. A quick stride carried him the distance of the hall to where she was sitting.
"I found you," he said. "I got lost somehow – the receptionist told me what floor, but I got off at the wrong end. I thought I would have to start over again." He took her hand and pressed it tightly, sending a brief wave of bliss through Eleanor.
"How is she?" he asked.
"I don't know, fully," she answered. "She's not awake. The nurse says the doctor wants to observe her for a short time. She was bleeding – they're concerned about the reasons why. For the baby's health, I imagine." She felt the threat of tears, although her voice was calm, and fought their emergence mightily.
"I see." He released a long breath. "When my sister had her second child, she had a similar scare. She spent two days in
the hospital and then she was fine."
"How many children?" Eleanor blinked furiously.
"Two," he answered. "I get to play Uncle Edward two or three weekends a year because of them. None from my younger brother – that we know of."
This little joke stung slightly, with the notion of Will so fresh in Eleanor's mind. "I'll be Aunt Eleanor in a few more months," she said, as if by saying the words aloud they would somehow be true in the future.
But would she be? Or would it be Aunt Elly, Aunty Nell, or any of the other variations of Marianne's taste? She pondered this with a preference of thought over the fear of Marianne's condition.
Edward was still holding her hand. She could tell he was attempting to think of something to say, her heart melting slightly with sympathy. The end of their first date – their first true evening as something more than friendly strangers – and it was spent with the obligation to comfort her in the same manner as an equal worrier or a trusted long-time friend.
"It's all right," she said. She held his fingers tightly for a moment as she spoke.
"What?" he asked.
"That you don't know what to say."
He sighed. "No, it's not," he answered. "I should – I should be more comforting than this. I don't know why I can't ... think of the words I need."
"You don't know me," she reminded him, gently. "You don't know Marianne – she's just a name to you. Now, anyway."
"That's not a good reason," Edward answered. "And I do know you, Eleanor. I know things about you..." he trailed off. "I know how I feel when I'm with you. And how incredible you are."
"I think you may be confusing me with someone else," she answered, with a blush of pleasure that paled with the flash reminder of where she was sitting. "But I meant in the everyday sense of the word that you don't know me. Or us. Yet."
"Then you can tell me all about it," he said. "We'll spend a week on it. A perfect week of just the two of us, a crash course on two separate lives."
Ask Eleanor (Special Edition With Alternate Ending) Page 26
