Good Medicine

by Bobby Hutchinson

  “I’m more impressed with the wine thing.” Jordan thought over what Christina had just said. “So let me get this straight, you don’t think it’s my lying to him that’s at the root of this awful silence?”

  Christina shook her head. “Nope. Think about it. Silas was only a baby when Mom left him. How was he to know she loved him and wanted him? It took her years to get that asshole of a Keefer to agree to visiting rights. By then, Silas must have felt she didn’t care. And then when he did start coming here, we gave him a rough time because he was so different. And Keefer never remarried, so there was no home life there, for sure. He lived in some mausoleum with only hired help for company, and get this, his dad packed Silas off to boarding school when he was five, even though Keefer was living only a couple of miles away from the place. Then when Silas decided to come and live here, Keefer excommunicated him. Abandonment in spades, honey.”

  “And you know this—how?”

  Christina gave her a baffled look. “Silas told Sandrine, Sandrine told Mom, and Mom told me, of course.”

  “Of course,” Jordan said in a weak voice. The Canadian military could benefit from studying communication systems in Ahousaht. “I really have to talk to him. The longer I put it off, the harder it gets.”

  “So go right now. You’re clear for a couple hours.”

  Jordan hesitated. “I wanted to get these charts—”

  “Go. They’ll wait. Stop procrastinating.”

  Jordan went. The woods were wet and heavy with the recent rain. She hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella or a hat, and water dripped onto her hair and trickled under her collar. But the air was warm, so the atmosphere felt almost tropical.

  As she walked along the now familiar trail, she thought about Christina’s abandonment observations. They’d made her feel uncomfortable, because they applied to her and Toby just as much as Silas. They’d each chosen different ways of dealing with the fear, but it was a common thread, all right. Trust Christina to pinpoint it.

  When she reached the cabin and Silas answered her hesitant knock, she realized by the closed expression on his face that this was going to be even more difficult than she’d anticipated. Her heart sank.

  “Hello, Jordan. Come in.” He stood aside as she slipped past him. He didn’t ask her to sit, so she turned to face him.

  She’d planned a dozen different openers. Taking a deep breath, she scrapped them all for the most direct approach.

  “Silas, you know about Garry coming here to see me.”

  “Michael and Eli filled me in.”

  “Well. I should have told you more about him, I’m really sorry I didn’t. I should have been up-front about the fact that he’s an addict and that we haven’t been separated very long. We’re not divorced, but I’m working on it. Or rather, my lawyer is.”

  His eyes pinned her, cold and green. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I—I was ashamed.” Her heart was thundering and her palms were wet. It was hard to admit how she felt. “I didn’t want you to know how dumb I’d been. See, I—I supplied Garry for a while with morphine. I feel really stupid about having done it. I believed him when he said he was still in pain.” She described the horrible night when Garry had overdosed and shown up in the E.R. “That’s when I had a breakdown and checked myself into the psych ward. A psychiatrist helped me face up to the fact that I couldn’t do anything for him and that I didn’t love him. But I should have smartened up a lot faster than I did, and I feel like an idiot about that.”

  Instead of disagreeing, Silas nodded, which Jordan didn’t think was a good sign at all. And then it got worse. In a voice cold enough to freeze her heart, he said, “So you gave him morphine again when he came here?”

  Jordan felt as if he’d struck her. “No. I did not, absolutely not.” She took a breath to explain what had happened, but he beat her to it.

  “Then where did he get the vials he sold to Johnny Swann?”

  “Johnny Swann?” She couldn’t stand up anymore. She sank onto the sofa. “I didn’t know about that. Garry stole all the drugs out of my medical bag before he left. I didn’t know he’d sold any, but it makes sense. When the RCMP picked him up in Tofino, some of the morphine was missing. I just assumed he’d used it himself.”

  Silas shook his head. “No. Your husband sold it to Swann who then sold it to Patwin. And he used it.” He told her about finding Patwin high, and finding the morphine and syringes. “No one knows about it, and Patwin doesn’t want anyone to know. I gave him my word.”

  “I won’t tell anyone.” Shock made her feel sick. “Oh, Silas. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. Is he—is Patwin okay?” This went much deeper than she’d thought. He must have felt totally betrayed by her.

  “He’s okay. I walked him until the stuff wore off. He says he’s ashamed and won’t do it again. Which, of course, he’s said plenty of times before.”

  There was cynicism in his voice she hadn’t heard before.

  “And—and you blame me for what Garry did. You actually thought I’d given him the morphine. Why didn’t you come and talk to me about it? Or were you planning to just avoid me for the rest of the year?”

  Silas shook his head. “I don’t blame you for what anyone else did. And I’m not avoiding you. I just need some time to think, Jordan.”

  “That sounds like don’t call me, I’ll call you.” She was getting really mad at him now. It helped her not to feel hurt. “So what happened with us was the equivalent of a one-night stand, and now you’d rather pretend it didn’t happen at all.”

  “What we had was good, Jordan, I’m not denying that. But it was pretty much based on fantasy, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that. Sure, I made a serious mistake not telling you about Garry, but I’ve apologized for it. Didn’t you tell me that communication is the basis for your healing practice?”

  “Yes, but you’re not my patient.”

  “So what am I, then?” She lost her temper. “Just somebody who was convenient and willing when you needed a roll in the hay?” And wasn’t that pretty much how she’d viewed it, as well? She knew she was being unreasonable. She knew she wasn’t helping things by pushing him, but she couldn’t stop herself. He was dumping her, and it hurt. She wanted to hurt him back. She wanted to dump him first.

  “Jordan, you know that’s not true. You’re jumping to conclusions. Let’s just give ourselves a little time.”

  “There’s no point, because this is so over.” She turned and headed for the door, even more furious—and hurt—because he didn’t make a move to stop her. “Goodbye, Silas. It’s lucky we didn’t let this go any further, at least neither of us had much invested.” She stormed out, slamming the door behind her, not caring that it was a childish thing to do.

  Helen had told her that she needed to get in touch with her emotions, figure out how she felt about things rather than what she thought.

  Well, Jordan fumed as she stomped along the path back to the village, she’d sure as hell mastered that little exercise. She was a sad, sorry bundle of feelings at the moment, with not a rational thought in her head.

  She was sick with worry about Toby, heartsore and furious over Silas, disgusted with Garry.

  Men. The world would be a simpler place if there were only women in it.

  FOR THE REST OF THAT DAY, anger buoyed her up. The clinic was busy, and then Toby invited Christina and Jordan out for dinner to Mabel’s, which meant there was no privacy to talk to Christina about the disastrous meeting with Silas.

  Jordan managed to hold her center until the call about Toby’s blood tests came early the following morning.

  When the phone rang, she was alone in the clinic, again working on charts, and as Beryl read out the results to her, Jordan had to struggle to maintain control. The blood work was a veritable death sentence.

  The levels of toxins in Toby’s system were even worse than she’d feared.

  Shaking, Jordan managed to thank Beryl and hang up
the phone. She was grateful that Toby had gone out fishing with Michael’s father early that morning. She’d be able to pull herself together by the time he got back, she told herself, and they could talk about treatment.

  Treatment? Jordan smashed both fists down on the table. Who was she kidding? There wasn’t any treatment. The only alternative therapy she’d heard of was chelation therapy, an IV procedure that claimed to improve circulation and remove harmful toxins from the blood. Jordan hadn’t found any conclusive scientific studies that proved it worked on neurotoxic poisoning.

  Which left diet and B vitamins, a pitiful arsenal that might prolong her brother’s life by a few weeks or months, but she couldn’t make herself believe they’d affect the inevitable outcome.

  The clinic door opened and Christina came breezing in. She set a small bag on the desk. “This is rose-hip tea, concentrated vitamin C, for strengthening the immune system. I thought it might be good for Toby. Brew it up and add honey, it’s pretty bitter without it.”

  Jordan was staring at the charts like a zombie. Toby was her only family. If she lost him, she didn’t know how she could survive.

  “Hey, earth to Jordan. What’s up?”

  Jordan looked up at her friend. In a shaky voice, she said, “They just phoned me about Toby’s blood tests.” She cleared her throat and gave Christina a fast, concise rundown.

  The other woman pulled a chair over and sat down hard. “Shit. That’s some bad news, eh?”

  “Really bad.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe Silas could help.”

  Jordan felt Silas wouldn’t help her across the road at the moment, but she didn’t say so. She raised an eyebrow and waited.

  “Mom had a rare blood disease before I was born— TTP. Sandrine cured her.”

  Jordan nodded. “He told me about that. He said it convinced him he should study native healing.”

  “Yeah, well, if Sandrine knew how to heal Mom, and Silas learned from her, maybe there’s a chance he can help Toby.”

  Jordan thought about it. “I’d try anything, and I’m pretty sure Toby would, too. The problem is, Silas and I aren’t speaking at the moment.”

  “He’s so damned stubborn,” Christina groaned. “But he’ll get over it. Just give him time.”

  “No.” Jordan shook her head. “We had a couple dates, but that’s as far as it goes.”

  Christina frowned. “I thought you two were good together. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  “Me, too. Do you think he’ll refuse to treat Toby? He’s pretty mad at me.”

  “Silas is a healer. Being mad at you won’t matter. When it comes to healing, there’s no personal baggage involved. And anyway, you don’t have to even talk to him about it. Toby has to go to Silas himself and ask for healing.”

  “Toby has to do it himself?” Jordan had envisioned begging on bended knee.

  “Yeah, that’s the way it works,” Christina explained. “The sick person has to make the decision to ask for help. Motivation, the shrinks would call it.”

  “I’ll talk to Toby. He’s pretty stubborn, too, but you never know. He might just go for it. He doesn’t have a lot of options.”

  “Yeah, well, if he does, there’s a sort of ceremony involved. He has to formally ask Silas for a healing and give him something in return. At the initial meeting, it’s usually tobacco—not the commercial kind—a raw, wild version that’s reserved for ceremonial use. If Toby decides to go for it, let me know and I’ll take him to see Auntie Lena. She can supply him with the tobacco.”

  Tobacco? Jordan tried not to react. To a medical doctor, it sounded like so much hocus-pocus, and she was afraid Toby would feel the same way. But on the other hand, there was Rose Marie, alive and well, a powerful testimony to the effectiveness of native healing. Jordan had to admit that Silas had some indefinable quality about him that could inspire great trust and confidence. Passion—he had passion. God, did he have passion.

  “I’ll talk to Toby.” She felt a tiny seed of hope sprout, and her dread eased just the slightest amount.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THAT AFTERNOON, Toby came home from the fishing trip so tired he could barely make it from the wharf up to the medical center. He collapsed on the sofa and Jordan tucked a blanket around him. He was still deeply asleep when she finished up for the afternoon.

  She looked at him lying there, gray and trembling even in sleep, and the fear she’d been keeping under control broke free, a wild and terrifying thing that gripped her abdomen and pummeled her heart. She couldn’t lose him, she just couldn’t. She’d do anything, endorse any far-fetched treatment if it would add even a day to her brother’s life.

  She showered and then, anxious not to wake Toby, sat quietly with an unread medical journal in her lap until he groaned and sat up, rubbing his hands over his thighs, grimacing with pain.

  When he noticed her, his expression changed as he hid the pain, and he gave her a smile so sweet she felt tears burning behind her eyes.

  “Hey, squirt. How long have you been sitting there perving on me?”

  “No time at all,” she lied, getting up to put the kettle on. She made up cups of the rose-hip tea Christina had brought, lacing it with honey.

  Toby tasted it. “This isn’t exactly Seagram’s, but it’s not bad. Is it some kind of tonic?”

  “Christina brought it for you. It’s high in vitamin C.”

  “And it’s going to fix me right up, eh?”

  “Not exactly. It might help, though. Vitamin C is a powerful antioxidant. A guy named Norman Cousins cured himself of cancer just by taking mega doses of vitamin C.”

  Now was the time. Jordan drew in a breath. “I got those blood results back today. And the other doctors were right.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I didn’t think they’d have made a mistake. I know there’s no real treatment, Jordan.”

  “A good diet, doses of vitamin B—”

  “They told me that. And when I nailed them for a prognosis, they gave me the straight goods. They said a couple years, maybe five.”

  “There’s something you could try.” Jordan told him all about Rose Marie. “At that time, conventional medicine had no treatment for what she had. She came here unable to even walk, and her grandmother Sandrine cured her. She’s dead now, but Christina’s brother, Silas Keefer, learned to be a healer from Sandrine.”

  Toby gave her a mischievous grin. “That’s your boyfriend, right?”

  “Who told you that?” As if she didn’t know.

  “None other than the gossip rats, Eli and Michael.”

  “They’re a little behind on the news. We had a thing going for about two minutes, but it’s over. He dumped me.”

  “Want me to beat him up for you?”

  “I want you to ask him to help you get better.”

  He shook his head. “When I found out about this, I decided I wasn’t going to fall into the trap of running from one so-called healer to another. You can waste what life you have left doing that, Jordan.”

  She wanted to scream at him. Instead she said in a rational voice, “It wouldn’t hurt to try this one thing. You’re here, it’s not as if you have to travel to see him. Think about it, okay?”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it.” He was humoring her. Jordan was about to push him on it when his cell phone rang.

  Toby answered, and while he talked, Jordan put kindling in the stove and lit a match to it, trying to figure out what to make them for dinner. She could probably manage macaroni and cheese from a package.

  “Jordan.” The tone of his voice told her something was wrong. She turned, and he put his arms around her, holding her close against his trembling body.

  “That was the nursing home. Dad died an hour ago, there wasn’t any warning. He just laid down after lunch and died in his sleep.”

  She didn’t feel anything, Jordan told herself. After all, she’d thought about this, about what she’d do when it happened. S
he’d decided a long time ago not to go to her father’s funeral—what was the point, when she hadn’t seen him in years, and had no feeling for him?

  “They want to know what arrangements to make.”

  She could hear the strain in Toby’s voice, feel the tension vibrating through his frail, thin frame. She knew what he was going to ask, and she knew what she was going to have to do, because she couldn’t let him go through this alone.

  “Will you come to Vancouver with me, Jordan?”

  “Of course.” It made her angry, because Mike was winning this one after all. But she had to go for Toby’s sake.

  THEY ARRIVED IN VANCOUVER the following afternoon and rented a car for the drive into the city. The Lower Mainland was having a hot and surprisingly dry summer. There were watering restrictions, and even the manicured lawn at the rest home was brown instead of green. It made Jordan nostalgic for the wild green island she now called home.

  The staff knew Toby, and they greeted him with soft murmurs of sympathy. One of the older nurses hugged him, and there were tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry about your dad, he was a great favorite here.”

  Toby said, “Thanks, Lucy. This is my sister, Jordan.”

  “Of course it is.” The portly woman took Jordan’s hand in both of hers and patted it. “Hello, dear. I recognize you from the pictures in Mike’s room.”

  Jordan gaped at her. Pictures? What pictures?

  Lucy didn’t seem to notice Jordan’s reaction.

  “I’ll take you down there,” she said. “We locked the door—you just never know around here. Everything’s just the way he left it. I put some cartons in there for you, but if you need more, just holler.” She led the way down a hallway lined with old people in wheelchairs.

  The room was small, with a double window along one wall, wide open to the afternoon air, but there was still an odor of strong disinfectant. The narrow bed was neatly made, with a blue comforter folded at the bottom. On the dresser was a model of a sailboat and above it a corkboard covered with snapshots.