Suddenly, Holly’s fear was overshadowed by her sense of injustice. She crossed the room and took her father’s spoon out of the woman’s hand. “I’ll take it from here with him.”
The woman sat up straighter. “Who are you?”
“I’m his daughter,” she said, pulling out a chair. She plopped down and looked at her dad’s face with misty eyes. “Daddy, it’s me. Holly.”
He looked at her, and for a moment, she thought he would say, Holly! I’ve been thinking about you. My little girl!
But of course he didn’t. He regarded her with the same indifference as he’d looked at the aide. Holly scooped some meatloaf onto the spoon, gently put it into his mouth. He chewed slowly.
She waited, allowing him to take his time. The aide finished feeding the other man, a little gentler now.
Holly stared at her father, trying to make him see her. “Is it good?”
He smiled and nodded, then opened his mouth for another bite. She gave him some peas. She was actually good at this. Who would have thought?
After a few more bites, he put his hand up. “I don’t care for any more, thank you.”
She set the spoon down. “Okay.”
He sat back in his chair, his eyes glazing over. Why had she come here? What did she expect from him? He could do nothing for her. He couldn’t restore any of what he’d taken from her. He couldn’t help her now in her pregnancy. He wasn’t going to be a jolly grandfather to her child. And he could do nothing for Jackson or Jay.
Still, it comforted her to see him.
She got to her feet, touched his shoulder. “I’ll go now, but maybe I’ll come see you again.”
He nodded politely, then turned away.
Holly hurried out of the building to the safety of her taxi.
CHAPTER 31
Cathy fell into bed after hours on the phone with the people on Jay’s list — friends and former boyfriends of Annalee. She had gotten a good bit of information about Annalee’s most recent boyfriend, confirming the fact that he had a new girlfriend and was no longer interested in Annalee. His alibi had already been checked out, proving he was a dead end in the case.
At four, the phone rang, startling Cathy awake. She shook herself out of her quicksand grog and picked the phone up.
“Hello?” She heard coughing on the other end, wheezing.
“Hello?” she said again.
“Cathy.” It sounded like Mrs. Haughton’s voice, raspy, wheezy.
“Mrs. Haughton?” she said. “Are you okay?”
More coughing, then finally the woman found her voice. “Cathy, it’s Jackson.”
Cathy sat up in bed, turned on her lamp. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“They’re taking him to the hospital. He’s sick.”
Cathy jumped out of bed. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He must have a stomach virus. He’s been having diarrhea, vomiting, and now there’s blood …”
Cathy’s heart jolted. “Blood? You mean, in his stools?”
“He’s very weak. He didn’t even make it to the bathroom. Just soiled the bed. That’s when I realized how bad it was.” She started to cough again.
Cathy ran around the room, grabbing her clothes. “Mrs. Haughton, have you called an ambulance?”
“Yes. They’re here right now. They’re taking him to Bay Medical.”
Cathy grabbed her purse. “We’ll be at the hospital when he gets there.” Not stopping to brush her teeth or her hair, she hurried out to her car. She pressed speed dial and called Juliet.
Her sister answered after three rings. Cathy filled her in, and she could hear her sister’s terror as she said, “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Call Holly.”
Cathy woke up Holly too, then debated whether to tell Michael. Why would she call him? He wasn’t in their family, and didn’t even know Jackson that well. But she needed him. She clicked on his speed dial number, and waited as it rang several times. Finally, he picked up. “Hey … Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry. I debated whether to call you, and I don’t expect you to do anything except pray, but …”
Instantly more alert, he said, “Cathy, what is it?”
“They’re taking Jackson to the hospital. Mrs. Haughton said he’s really sick. Diarrhea, vomiting, blood. It sounds really bad.”
“Cathy, I’m coming.”
“No, don’t. There’s nothing you can do. I just wanted to tell you so you’d pray.”
“I’ll pray and come. Cathy, it’s gonna be all right.”
She wiped the tear rolling down her face. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes. They’ll get him on a drip, get him rehydrated, figure out why there’s blood …”
“But he’s all alone. His parents … One dead, one in jail.”
“He’s not alone. He has all of you.”
When he hung up, she held the phone for a moment, letting his voice linger in her head. Michael always reassured her, even when he knew things were going off the rails. He would pray as he drove.
She should do the same.
More tears flooded her eyes as she tried. “God, I know you and I haven’t been on very good terms lately.” But that was wrong, wasn’t it? God hadn’t changed. She was the one who’d changed. “Okay, I haven’t been on good terms with you. My fault. I know that. Ever since the stuff with Joe being ripped out of my life … and Michael losing his career over something so minor … I’ve held an even bigger grudge than I already had.”
She opened her console and tore a tissue out of the box there. “It just feels like you don’t listen to me. That you don’t hear. But I’m begging you to hear now!”
It began to rain, big drops splatting on her windshield. She turned on her windshield wipers, watched them wipe the blur away.
“He’s only five. He’s lost his mother, and Jay’s in jail … Can’t you do something? Can’t you heal him? Can’t you do a miracle so Jay can be with him?”
Lightning flashed, and thunder quickly followed. Was that God, letting her know he’d heard? Or was it just the storm?
The truth was, she missed her faith. She missed finding meaning in her trials. She missed the sense that God had her back.
But too much had happened.
She hadn’t really had that solid a faith since she was thirteen. If her father had only known the havoc he’d wrought in his children when he chose his appetites over his family. Would it have mattered?
She had held a grudge, not just against the people of God who acted so ungodly, but against the God who allowed a faithful family to be uprooted and cast out.
She never abandoned her belief in God. She knew he was there. But was he benevolent? Did he care about her pain?
Joe’s murder during her plans for her wedding seemed like more of the same. Another slap-down. How dare she embrace joy? Didn’t she know better?
Michael, sensing her failing faith, had tried to bolster it up. But he should be just as angry as she. He’d lost a brother and had his reputation and calling taken from him. He was bitter about many things, but not about God. He still prayed constantly. Still went to church. Still reminded her that God loved her and was watching.
She reached the hospital, drove around until she saw the emergency room and the ambulance entrance. She went inside and asked if Jackson had been brought in yet. When they told her it would be a little while, she went back out, pacing in front of the doors that flew open each time she passed them, waiting for the ambulance that would bring her nephew.
Within a few minutes, she saw Holly’s cab, and both her sisters got out. They ran toward her and all three embraced. It was clear they’d both shed eye-swelling tears on the way over. As they let each other go, they saw flashing red lights at the edge of the parking lot. The ambulance was pulling in, but no siren screamed of its urgency.
As the ambulance driver’s door opened, the light came on. Through the back window, Cathy saw Warren sitting next to
Jackson on the gurney. Jackson’s eyes were closed and he had an oxygen mask on. The EMT got out, and Cathy approached him. “We’re Jackson’s aunts. How is he?”
“He’s a sick little boy.” He opened the back doors.
Warren shot the sisters a look as they approached the van. “Move back,” he yelled.
They stepped back as the paramedics rolled the gurney out. Cathy moved closer then, trying to see Jackson’s face. It was dark, but in the dim light from the ER doors, she could see that he looked as pale as death.
The hospital’s glass doors flew open and the paramedics rolled Jackson inside, Warren still beside him. The women followed.
“Cathy!”
She turned at Michael’s voice. He was hurrying in behind them.
“Is he all right?”
“No.” In the light, she saw Jackson’s face. Gray circles under his eyes. He was asleep or unconscious. He looked so tiny lying there with an IV in his arm and an oxygen mask covering half his face. So helpless.
Michael hugged her, and she clung for a moment too long. The emergency room seemed busy, even for this time of morning, and the woman at the front desk seemed in no hurry to help the boy. “We have to wait until we can clear a room,” she said, as if Jackson had come in with a sore throat. Cathy waited for the paramedics to tell the woman that this was an urgent matter, but they only went to the desk, leaving Jackson parked in the hallway, and began filling out paperwork.
“This is ridiculous!” Cathy said, her voice rising. “This is an emergency. Somebody has to help him.”
Finally a nurse appeared. “You can come this way,” she said, and pushed the gurney up the hall. Cathy and the others followed as the paramedics gave the nurse a rundown of Jackson’s condition. They stood in the examining room while the nurses worked his clothes off, got him into a gown, took his blood, and typed things into the computer. Jackson never came awake.
All the while, Warren leaned against the wall, the only one in the situation who seemed unruffled. When the doctor came in, he asked the group to leave the room during his examination.
As they all moved toward the hallway, Juliet said, “I’m staying with him here.”
“There’s no need,” Warren said. “I’ll stay.”
“No. He needs me and I’m staying!”
“Juliet, I have the custody order.”
“Your mother has the custody order. Not you. She’s not here.”
“Well, she can’t stay, so I am.”
“Fine, then it’ll be the two of us.”
He bristled. “If you want to make a scene and wake up Jackson, then we’ll get security involved.”
Cathy stared at him, unable to believe how callous he was. “You don’t care about him at all, do you?”
“I care so much that I’m not going to leave his side. End of story. He’s my sister’s son, and I’m not leaving him.”
“Can you, for once, think about what’s best for Jackson?”
“I think I’m best for Jackson,” Warren said.
“Clearly, you’re not!” Juliet cried. “What did you feed him? He could have food poisoning. Salmonella causes bloody stools.”
“He didn’t even eat supper. We couldn’t get him to take a bite. He was already feeling bad. For lunch we had McDonalds, but I ate what he had. I don’t think it’s food poisoning. It’s a virus, and he would have gotten sick no matter who he was staying with. He was probably exposed at school. He’ll be fine.”
The defensiveness in his tone irked Cathy.
“Could we pray?” Juliet said suddenly, the corners of her mouth trembling. “Everybody, let’s just hold hands and pray.”
Warren held back for a moment, then reluctantly took Juliet’s and Holly’s hands and bowed his head while Juliet prayed.
CHAPTER 32
As the group waited in the hall for the doctors to examine Jackson, Cathy glanced up and saw Mrs. Haughton hobbling toward them, one breathless weary step after another, leaning on her cane and rolling her oxygen tank in front of her. Cathy pushed off from the wall and went to meet her, took her oxygen tank so she wouldn’t have to roll it herself.
“Mrs. Haughton, are you all right?”
The woman looked like she was near death. She wore a scarf on her head, probably to hide her chemo-thinned hair, but it was askew. She took three or four steps, then stopped and leaned against the wall to rest. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” she said, then stopped to cough. Cathy touched Mrs. Haughton’s back as she tried to clear her lungs. Finally, she drew in a short breath. “I had to drive myself. Haven’t driven in months. Warren rode in the ambulance …”
Cathy saw an empty wheelchair against the wall and ran to get it. “Mrs. Haughton, sit down. I’ll push you.”
She expected an argument from the proud woman, but Mrs. Haughton didn’t protest. When Cathy brought the chair up behind her, she dropped down into it. Her chest heaved with her labored breathing, and Cathy wondered if the oxygen was doing her any good at all.
She glanced down the hall where Warren and the others stood. Warren seemed impassive as his mother was rolled toward him. “Mom,” he said when they reached him, “you know you’re not supposed to drive.”
“I had to come,” she said. “Had to check on Jackson.”
“But I told you to stay home. I told you I’d let you know —”
“How is he?” she asked, cutting in. “Where is he?”
“He’s in this room,” Juliet said, pointing to the door. “They’re examining him now.”
“He’s not doing well,” Cathy said. “He’s very sick. They’re running tests.”
Mrs. Haughton’s hands trembled as she brought them to her face. “I would’ve insisted he come sooner … but until he had his accident on the bed … I didn’t know there was blood …”
“How long has he been having diarrhea?” Juliet asked.
“For several hours,” she said. “He kept saying his stomach hurt.”
“But Warren,” Holly said, “you didn’t tell me he had diarrhea when I came to visit.”
“It wasn’t relevant,” Warren said. “We figured he was under stress, that he was having a hard time adjusting.”
“But if we had known,” Juliet said, “I could have told you what to do about it. I could’ve told you he needed liquids, that maybe his electrolytes were off. I had medicine that he could’ve taken. I could have called his pediatrician.”
Mrs. Haughton’s shoulders were shaking. “We never should have taken him, Warren. I told you it wasn’t right for him. I told you we should leave … well enough alone.”
Cathy turned from Mrs. Haughton to Warren. So there it was. It had all been Warren’s idea, not his mother’s.
Suddenly an alarm blared across the hallway, startling her. The red light over Jackson’s door began to flash. Nurses came running out of exam rooms, dashing toward Jackson’s room.
“He’s coding!” Juliet cried.
Cathy froze, staring at that light.
“Out of the way!” a man in scrubs said. “Get back! We need this area clear.”
Cathy rolled Mrs. Haughton to the other side of the door. Two doctors ran toward them, a woman following them with a crash cart.
Mrs. Haughton wobbled to her feet, her glazed eyes round. “Is he dead?”
No one answered, and she dropped back into the chair as if her legs had given out.
“What’s happening?” Juliet cried.
Cathy couldn’t take it. Abandoning the wheelchair, she stepped inside the doorway, unnoticed by the staff. They had opened her nephew’s gown and placed leads on his chest.
“Clear!” someone yelled, and they shocked him, his little body jolting up and bouncing back down.
Cathy held her breath.
“Nothing,” someone shouted.
“Again. Clear!”
Again, the body jolted. Cathy winced.
“We’ve got a pulse.”
Thank you, God! Cathy almost collapse
d with relief.
Suddenly Jackson took a deep breath, coughed, and his eyes fluttered open. He began to cry.
Cathy pressed between two doctors and went to the bed. “It’s okay, honey,” she said, touching his face. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re just really sick.”
His eyes focused as he looked at her. “Daddy.” His voice was weak, not much more than a whisper. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s not here, honey. Aunt Holly and Aunt Juliet are here, and we’re all gonna take care of you.”
His face twisted and reddened, but that was a far cry better than gray and pale. Sweat broke out on his forehead and over his lip. “I don’t feel good.”
“I know you don’t, honey. But the doctors and nurses are gonna help you. Everybody’s praying for you.”
If there was ever a time that God answered prayer, Cathy hoped it was now.
Out in the hallway, Michael couldn’t help the niggling suspicion that had been working on him ever since he’d seen Mrs. Haughton coming up the hall, and Warren’s reaction … or lack thereof. It wasn’t normal. Warren’s mother was dying of cancer, yet he looked at her with disgust and dread, as if angry that she had bucked his orders and driven to the hospital to check on her grandson.
The fact that she’d admitted that it was Warren’s idea to take custody of Jackson worried him further. Why would Warren want that? It wasn’t like he was close to Jackson. The few times Michael had seen Warren at birthday parties and other family events, he’d never even seen him speak to the boy. Something wasn’t right.
And now as this emergency played out before their eyes, Michael watched Warren’s face. Everyone else was trembling, embracing, wiping tears, terrified. Warren simply paced back and forth, back and forth, his fingers fidgeting. They’d always known Warren didn’t do things like other people did. His inability to hold a job, despite his high IQ, was evidence that he didn’t do life that well. Now he worked as a janitor and lived at home with his mother. At a time when she couldn’t take care of herself, that was a blessing, he supposed. But he saw no tenderness in his dealings with her.
Truth-Stained Lies Page 15
