Pete took the cup, I took the tea and shared uncomfortable silence until the doctor came out.
“You’re all here for Mark?” he asked. “Boy, he’s a lucky fella. And in quite a good shape, too. His syncope could have been just a sign of stress and dehydration. You’d be surprised how many people get dehydrated in the winter. They think that if they don’t sweat, they don’t need to drink water. Anyway, we’ll keep him for a couple of days to rest and get an MRI to make sure he didn’t hurt his head. But he’s in no danger at the moment, and since visiting hours are over, you can all go home in peace.”
I was relieved. The “Guess Who’s Trying to Hurt My Son” game floated away.
“You heard the doctor. I’m fine! Time to bust this party!” Said Mark from the doorstep. “Come on, I’ll walk you down the hall.”
He took Jane’s soft hand in his and put his other hand around John’s shoulders. We’ve seen this image in many of the photos he sent from college. Most of the times they were dressed up like popular trios - The Three Stooges, the Powerpuff Girls, the Three Amigos, the Big Lebowski, there wasn’t a trinity to slip through their fingers; not even the Holy One.
“My folks will spend the night in the apartment, okay, honey?” he said to Jane.
“Sure, baby! But there’s nothing to eat. I didn’t have time to do the groceries today.”
“Even better, go out! Take them to that Italian place next to Fenway Park. You’ll love the beef rigatoni, dad! Hot and spicy, yum!”
“Any good porters in that place?” Pete asked, mouthwatering already.
“The best homemade brewski in the state!” was Mark’s short reply.
The dinner was indeed nice. It was just the three of us, we parted ways with John at the hospital, so we took this opportunity to bond with Jane a little better. Or, at least, I did, since Pete was too busy talking to the servers about the beer, the Sox, and the weather. They concluded that all three were cool.
Jane was quiet. I reassured her that Mark was going to be fine while strengthening this belief for myself. I thought of some witty conversation starters, but all I could come up with was that in ancient Greece, the penalty for adultery involved hammering a radish into the adulterer’s bottom with a mallet. It’s the only thing that came to my mind and, sadly, stuck with me when they brought the salad, too.
“So are you set for Valentine’s Day next year, then?” I blurted out, quite pleased with such a normal topic choice.
“Huh? Oh, the wedding! Yes. Next Valentine’s Day.” She said and a smooth smile appeared on her freckled face.
It was easy to guess why my son loved this restaurant. The lighting in this place was dim and warm, with three tall lit candles in the middle of each table. The flames danced, casting a gentle light on Jane’s clean face. She wore very little make-up, letting her freckles bedazzle those brave enough to look her way.
“And your mother’s band?!”
“Haha! The Silly Wets?” she laughed. “They’ve already started rehearsing. I don’t know if she realizes how emotional the entire day will be, I’ll be surprised if she’ll even get up on the stage.”
“Well, from what Mark told me, she’s got the music in her blood,” I said, relieved that Jane was back to her playful state.
“That’s true. She also has a bad knee and twelve years since she touched an electric guitar,” she chuckled.
While Pete was still busy making new friends at the bar, we had our dessert and Jane told me an array of strange, funny and sad stories from college. That’s how I found out that Mark was nearly suspended for using a fire extinguisher in the dorm for no reason, their weekend ventures to the Cape, the semester when she and Mark did an intervention on John due to his “commitment” to his occultism class or when she tried to keep a kitten in her room and spent most of the time playing with it in order to get tired and not meow all the time. And just like college, dinner was also over.
Chapter 4
The next morning we dropped by the hospital before heading back home. We grabbed our coffee from a vending machine at the front desk. When we reached Mark’s door and looked through the window, he wasn’t there. As we entered, one of his room mates told us in a thick Jamaican accent that he was upstairs, getting an MRI.
“Want some coffee? They make a decent one down the hall,” Pete said, implying he would get one for him.
“Naa worry bout it, mon. Di coffee makes mi heart race. Look pon disya medicine.” He said.
Needless to say, Pete went to his bed and made a new friend - Damon.
Meanwhile, I arranged Mark’s things on his cabinet and opened a random issue comic book John brought him. Soon enough, I heard my son.
“John’s trying to get me to like this Deadpool character, but I insist I’m into the old school stuff.”
He’d been feeling a little weak overnight, so the doctors put him on an IV he was still carrying around. The results from the MRI should have been out in a couple of hours, so we decided to leave and wait for him to call with any news - we still had to work that morning. I left with a faint heart, leaving my son there. Pete left with Damon’s phone number - they planned to go ice fishing as soon as he would get back on his feet.
By the time we got home, Mark’s MRI results came - crystal clear. We were still a little tired, so we decided to let him rest for the rest of the day.
I couldn’t get any work done. The two lattes didn’t help, neither did my colleagues’ he’s young, he’s gonna be fine reassurances. But what they did do was throw me in my boulder maze.
I began building this maze in my mind right after my mother died. Initially, it was an escape from the paralyzing fear I felt before going to bed. It was overwhelming in size, made solely from tall and thick hedges. With time, I added gems and small toys to its green walls. The rule was simple: get out of the maze without cheating.
The trick was that each wrong turn would lead to a wonderful memory I had with my mother. I had to stay there until the very best part and leave immediately, knowing that I’ll see my mother again soon. Finally, when I was tired enough, I found the exit and fell asleep.
As for the boulder, it just appeared one night. There I was, on a wrong turn, watching my mother trying to break her personal record for the most grocery bags she could carry, in a parking lot under the scorching July sun of Tucson, Arizona. First, the cans ripped a hole in one of the bags, scattering all over the hot pavement; then she lost her balance, dropped the fruit bag and a melon flew into the air and smashed open all over her roman sandals; and then, right before the carton of eggs reached the ground, a huge round boulder came out of nowhere and smashed us all to bits. Thus, the terrifying boulder maze. The next day I adopted a cat to purr me to sleep every night - Snookums. Now she’s in the maze, too.
The funny thing is that I haven’t thought about the maze in decades, but I was fearful again. A knock on the door snapped me out of my muggy state. The door opened and a hand holding a big gyro crept through. The maze, the boulder, and the fear faded away. Attached to the gyro was my husband, who came in with a straight face and proceeded in fake balkan accent: “Comrade bring food to beautiful wife.”
I burst into laughing.
“Yes, yes, come in,” I said, “but gyros are Greek, you know, not Russian.”
“Da, da, gyro loved in Russia and ze world,” he continued.
I knew it was lunch time, but I wasn’t hungry. Still, we both sat at my desk and opened the steaming wrap filled with tender lamb meat, fries, a salad and oozing in hot sauce.
“You know, that’s how sparrows eat,” said Pete, finishing his gyro and pointing at mine, barely touched.
“I’m worried about Mark.”
“So call him!”
“I don’t want to bother him.”
“Courtesy won’t get you very far,” he said, grabbing my phone from the desk.
I heard it ring on the other line once, twice, three times, and finally, the answer.
“Hello? Who is
this? … John, hi! Where’s Mark? … I see. Jane with you? … Oh, OK. Well, tell Mark to call us when he can. We’ll check up on you guys later. … OK, bye!”
Pete “the Tease” took his time. He put the phone down and with the greatest of ease cleaned a spot of hot sauce on his finger that he initially missed. He lifted his eyes to meet my piercing gaze.
“I don’t think you’re taking this ordeal serious at all.” I was a little disappointed, I must admit.
“It’s barely an ordeal. More like a bump in the road…” he said as I stood my ground. “Look, Mark is just tired, he was sleeping now. John answered. He’s with him all the time. Worrying won’t do anyone any good, especially you.”
He was right, I know that now. But back then, it was more important that I was wrong. I grabbed my jacket and walked him out. The snow fell down with such gusto in the half hour he visited me that the car got covered in a thick white blanket. I watched as he swept it clean and drove off.
Chapter 5
You are listening to The Tide at 107.2 FM, now with Amber bringing you the weather. It’s beginning to look like Christmas out there, isn’t it?
More like Christmas on crack, Dave. The blizzard is here to stay for the night, with heavy winds coming in from the gulf. The police authorities have advised everyone to stay indoors tonight, as all the roads are closed and the snowplows are unable to keep up with the heavy snow.
You’ve heard her, guys. Grab a blanket, put the kettle on and we’ll do our best to keep you warm for the night. Stay tuned for the Evening Special at 8 with Sandy, right after this.
A couple of seconds into Carnie & Wendy Wilson’s “Winter Wonderland” and Pete walked in, covered in snow, nose red and piercing look. He’d been out trying to clean the driveway, to no avail.
“John called,” he said. “Mark’s not well. He went into shock. The doctors put him on heavier medicine. He’s stable now. Jane’s there, too.”
There was nothing we could do that night.
“Look,” said Pete. “I called Damon, the Jamaican guy in Mark’s room. I explained the situation. He said he’s going to be our eyes. If anything changes, no matter what, he’ll let us know. I trust him.”
We called our bosses to let them know that if the weather changed, we’d drive to Boston and needed a couple of days off. Then we waited.
Rise and shine, Cape Cod! Grab those shovels and get at it! But don’t be fooled by the clear sky, it’s awfully cold outside with only 37 degrees and a stingy wind.
By 9 AM all the roads were clear and we were driving back to Boston. When I saw Mark’s number calling, I answered in a heartbeat. He said he was fine, and this time, I believed him. Regardless, we were still going to see him get back on his feet.
The hospital was quiet. Some of the staff was sitting by the big windows, taking in the morning sun. You could read the overnight shifts still lingering on their faces. Mark was in his room, staring at his phone. As soon as we entered, Damon, the only other patient left in the room, stood up and greeted us. He seemed to have something on his mind, yet waited for us to talk to our son in peace.
For the first time since he was admitted to the hospital, Mark was actually looking well now. After the expected “you shouldn’t have come, I’m fine” and “we couldn’t just sit around and wait” back and forth with him, he gave us a rundown of what he’d remembered from the previous day. He’d been sleeping most of the day, John was there every time he opened his eyes, Jane came later in the evening, just before his seizure and that’s all he could gather.
“This morning I woke up to this bouquet of roses. It has a note, it says Love you, get well soon, B. xoxo, but I have no idea who sent it. I tried calling Jane, but her phone is off.”
“Listen, champ, what matters now is that you’re feeling better. What did the doctors say?” asked Pete.
“They still don’t know, but they gave me a wide spectrum of antibiotics last night. I guess they finally worked.”
I decided to go talk to his doctor, but before I could exit the room, I heard Damon clear his throat.
“Mi was here wen yuh gat the flowers. A nurse brought dem. Di gyal an di bowy were here too.” he said.
As Damon talked us through, I could see the entire picture unfold before my eyes.
A nurse comes with the flowers. She says someone dropped them off at the front desk. Jane takes them and reads the note. She asks John if he knows who they’re from. He hesitates. She insists that he tells her. He says that perhaps they’re from someone at work. Jane is restless. He mentions the name Beatrice - an old girlfriend of Mark’s, who he remained “friendly with”. Jane flips out. She storms out of the room. John follows her. He apologizes to her, maybe they’re not from her; maybe they’re not even for Mark. Jane tries to find the nurse, but she had just finished her shift. They go to the cafeteria. An hour later, John comes back to the room, grabs both their jackets and leaves.
The monitor measuring Mark’s heart was beating faster and faster. Before he could grab his phone, Pete stopped him and a nurse came rushing in.
“You need to calm down, son. First, you need to get out of here, then you can fix this screw-up.”
The nurse pushed a transparent serum from a syringe into his IV line and the beeping slowed down.
“Call John!” Mark said to me. “Tell him to move his butt in here!”
It only took a couple of seconds for the sedative to kick in. To be honest, I didn’t feel like calling John at all. Still, I knew Mark wouldn’t get his rest until he got to the bottom of this.
“Well, here we go!” I told Pete with a sigh and dialed his number. He picked up immediately. “Hi, John! Hope here. Listen, we’re here at the hospital and umm... How do I put this? What happened with Jane last night?”
“Oh, the flower thing…” he whimpered.
“Yes, the flower thing. Mark wants to see you. I think you’d better come here and fix this.” I advised him.
“I’m on my way right now. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Fine,” I said and hung up.
“When it rains, it pours, huh?” said Pete.
Yeah, a wonderful New England shit storm.
We saw John bolting through the corridors carrying a small paper bag.
“How is he?” he asked.
“Doctors had to knock him out before his heart exploded. Other than that, peachy.” Pete’s sarcasm was through the roof, but who could blame him? John seemed clueless.
“Beatrice?!” I asked.
“How.. how do you know that name?” he muttered.
“Never mind how. Who is this Beatrice person who’s sending flowers to my newly engaged son?”
“I’m sorry, I got carried away and it just came out. Jane was very pushy, Mark was asleep and she was ready to bite my head off. So I said maybe they’re from Beatrice. Maybe! Now she’s got this idea that Mark is cheating on her and I don’t know how to make it right.” He was in tears.
He went inside the room to wait for Mark to wake up. My husband waited for the door to close behind him and asked:
“So what do you think? Steve? Or just stupid?”
We never found out what happened in that room between my son and John. Neither of them ever spoke of it.
We stayed in Mark’s apartment for the rest of the week. Jane came and took all her stuff while we were at the hospital. She left behind drawers, shelves, and cabinets filled with nothingness. The entire place looked like a grasshopper with its hind legs cut - like it wasn’t going anywhere. It got my husband and I so depressed that we couldn’t sleep the first night, so we made arrangements.
We spread out my son’s hangers and tucked the empty ones away. We moved his socks to a different drawer, so they wouldn’t be crammed with the underwear, dusted off the nightstands to hide the spot where she kept her reading lamp. We changed the sheets and threw the old ones in the wash.
If she was going to come back, she would return to a clean apartment. But she never did.<
br />
We were Mark’s only visitors for the next few days. His health improved, although the void inside him painted a dreadful shadow on his face.
“Here are your discharge papers. I need you to place your initials here and sign at the bottom and you’re good to go,” said a shapely nurse in pink scrubs. “The doctor left no recipe for you, but you need to be mindful of what you eat. Have fruits, vegetables and lots of protein for the next couple of days, no coffee, but lots of water and natural juices.”
“Anything for his broken heart, miss?” asked Pete jokingly.
The nurse’s faint smile gave away a recently closed wound. “Travel and help others,” she said. “I wish you the best of luck.”
Chapter 6
Our house in Orleans is a traditional New England cottage with a patch of lawn in the front and a bicycle rack on a side. We have a small porch that fits two rocking chairs and a bird feeder. The comfy inside is split between an open kitchen, a sitting area, and a tiny bedroom. We live close to the house I used to live in with my parents; here, everything is close to everything else. Still, I had a feeling of getting away with my husband and my son. Maybe that nurse was right - a vacation would fit us all very well.
I opened my e-mail. It’s always filled with spam messages from beauty companies, wellness centers, and travel agencies.
Sunny days in Aruba! Book your flight today!
“Hey, honey! Wanna go to the Caribbean?”
My husband was making his signature dish - pork chops and chips. Well, it’s not his signature dish per se, it’s just the only thing he knows how to cook. He bolted from the kitchen with his blue apron on and a sizzling skillet in his hand.
“Hot momma wants to go to the islands, eh?” he asked with a grin on his face.
“I was thinking hot momma, stallion husband and wonderful son could go together.”
Mystery: Black Feathers: A Secret Hope ( Book 1 of Series) Page 2
