Miss Julia Delivers the Goods

by Ann B. Ross

  She shook her head, and I got ready to intervene with a few questions of my own. He beat me to it.

  Turning swiftly to me, he said, “I’m Dr. McKay, but call me Rick. I’m filling in for Dr. Hargrove for a couple of weeks. And you’re Hazel Marie’s friend?”

  “Julia Springer Murdoch,” I said, offering my hand but put off by his casual manner. I should say, Rick. This wasn’t a social occasion by any stretch of the imagination. “And you’re from?”

  “Down around Wilmington.”

  “I meant, from what school?”

  “Ah,” he said with a slight smile, “Chapel Hill, and I’m with a group of locum tenens, which means . . .”

  “I know what it means, and I don’t mind telling you that I’m distressed about Dr. Hargrove being gone and not telling us he’d run in a substitute. I expect you’ll do fine, though, if you follow his instructions. Now, what’s wrong with Hazel Marie? I’m worried about her.”

  “Well, I am, too,” he said with a frown, which did nothing to reassure me or her. “Hazel Marie, I’m not finding anything obvious, other than dehydration from the vomiting. And that’s causing the fever, I think. But at this point, I can’t rule out some kind of systemic infection. Have you been out of the country lately?”

  “Just to San Francisco a couple of months ago,” Hazel Marie said. “Oh, and I went to Mexico earlier this year, but I was real careful what I ate and drank.”

  Dr. McKay frowned. “Still, with all the gastrointestinal problems you’re having, I don’t want to overlook some sort of parasitic invasion. We’ll admit you to the hospital and get some intravenous fluids started and do some blood work. And, while you’re there, run a few other tests. We’ll know something after that. Now, Hazel Marie, I want you to go right on over to the hospital and get settled. I’ll order some medication for the vomiting and we’ll get those tests started.”

  Parasitic invasion? I was stunned at the thought, immediately wondering if I should call Lillian and tell her to get out the Lysol and start wiping down the walls. I opened my mouth to ask if we were talking microscopic infestation or would we be able to see them but never got the chance. Dr. McKay patted Hazel Marie’s thigh in an altogether too familiar a manner, whirled around, his long coat flapping, and sailed out of the room. Doctors never hang around very long in case they’re asked something they don’t know.

  “The hospital?” Hazel Marie looked at me, fear etching her face. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

  “It’ll be all right,” I said, trying to reassure her and myself in Dr. Hargrove’s absence. “I’m sure he’s just being on the safe side, checking everything out. Actually, Hazel Marie, I’m glad he’s doing that. He’s awfully young, you know, so he hasn’t had time to get much experience. I’d rather he do too much than too little.” Lord, I thought, how much would a shore-to-ship telephone call cost me?

  I drove Hazel Marie the three blocks to the hospital, wondering all the while if parasites could jump from one person to another. I didn’t have time to worry too much about it, though, for I had to stop twice to let her lean out the door to throw up. If I hadn’t already known how ill she was, the fact that she totally ignored what the rain was doing to her hair would’ve clued me in.

  By the time we got there, it was all I could do to go through the rigamarole it took to get her in and out of the admitting office. They were so accustomed to filling out forms and filing insurance claims that they couldn’t understand a cash deposit. Hazel Marie had insurance—Sam and Binkie had seen to that—but she didn’t have her card with her, and you would’ve thought she’d come in naked the way everybody in that office carried on.

  But before long, she was ensconced in a private room, which I’d had to insist on, undressed and redressed in a flower-strewn hospital gown. I warned her not to get out of bed or she’d be exposing more than she wanted to, but there was little fear of that. She didn’t feel like doing anything but lying there and letting one nurse after another minister to her.

  First, they connected intravenous fluid to the back of her hand. Then they shot her with something for the nausea and vomiting, which soon made her sleepy. Then in came a woman from the laboratory and started drawing vital fluids for all the tests that young doctor had ordered.

  When they finally left her alone, Hazel Marie lay there, looking ashen with dark circles under her eyes. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to leave her alone, yet I needed to get home and let Sam and Lillian know what was happening. And I needed to get her some decent nightclothes.

  “Miss Julia?” Hazel Marie whispered.

  “I’m right here, Hazel Marie. What do you need?”

  “You’ll look after Lloyd, won’t you?”

  “Of course, I will. Don’t I always?”

  “No, I mean,” she said, her eyes barely open, “if I die.”

  “Hazel Marie! Don’t be thinking like that. You’re not going to die, at least, not anytime soon. You just concentrate on getting well and put such thoughts out of your mind. I’m thinking of going on now since Lloyd’ll be home soon. I’ll bring him up to see you tonight.” I patted her arm and leaned over to look at her. Her eyes were half-open, but I don’t think they were seeing anything. “Hazel Marie?” I whispered. “Are you awake enough to answer one question? You want me to call Mr. Pickens and tell him you’re here?”

  My only answer was a soft snore, so thinking, I guess so, I tiptoed out of the room and went home.

  Chapter 3

  “Lillian,” I said as soon as I stepped into the kitchen, “where’ve you been?”

  “To the grocery store, the post office, the dry cleaners an’ the shoe shop to pick up Mr. Sam’s ole boots. Jus’ like I tol’ you.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten. Well, too much has happened while you were gone. I have to sit down.” And I did, collapsing onto a chair by the table and rubbing my hand across my brow. “You won’t believe this, but I just put Hazel Marie in the hospital.”

  Lillian whirled around, her eyes wide. “What you mean, in the hospital?”

  “She’s sick, Lillian, and I took her to the doctor, but don’t get me started on that. Anyway, he admitted her and she’s over there all hooked up to this, that, and the other. And they’ve stuck her with so many needles it’s a wonder she’s survived them all. And put her in a skimpy little hospital gown that has to be replaced.” I looked around as if someone else should be in the room with us. “Where’s Lloyd?”

  “He stayin’ late at them tennis courts to practice. ’Member? He tell about it at breakfast. He oughta be home pretty soon.”

  “Well, I’d forgotten that, too. I tell you, Lillian, this has not been a good day, and it started out so well.” I got up to get a cup of coffee. “I guess they all do, don’t they? And I guess it’s a good thing we don’t know what’s coming our way when we get up every morning. Otherwise, many of us would just stay in bed.”

  “Not if they have work to do, they don’t. Now tell me what be wrong with Miss Hazel Marie.”

  “That’s the thing, Lillian, I don’t know. And neither, it seems, does that substitute doctor in Dr. Hargrove’s office. When we left to go to the hospital, I almost kept on driving to Asheville. Except I don’t know any doctors over there. But I am not happy with that young man. Any real doctor could’ve listened to her symptoms and looked in her eyes and down her throat and come up with some answers. But not him. He just said he didn’t know what was wrong with her and brought up such awful possibilities as infections and parasites, of all things, that she might’ve picked up in Mexico or San Francisco. That simply does not engender a whole lot of confidence as far as I’m concerned. He could’ve taken a stab at it, if for no other reason than to offer a little comfort. I mean, they blame everything else on the flu or old age or some kind of female problem, so why not this?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Julia. But I tell you one thing, I been noticin’ how she pick at her plate. She hardly touch anything I fix. An’ sh
e lookin’ pore, too, like her eyes too big or something.”

  “I wish you’d said something, Lillian, before it came to this. I’m ashamed that I didn’t notice anything.” I poured the coffee into the sink, realizing that I didn’t want it. “Where’s Sam? Have you heard from him?”

  “He settin’ in there in the livin’ room.”

  “Why, what in the world . . . ?” I turned and started out of the kitchen. “What’s he doing home in the middle of the day?”

  I pushed through the door into the dining room and continued on into the living room where Sam was sitting on the sofa, pen in hand and a yellow legal pad propped on his knee. A stack of papers was on the lamp table beside him.

  “Sam?” I said, hurrying toward him. “I’m so glad you’re here. Hazel Marie’s in the hospital and nobody knows what’s wrong with her.”

  Sam looked up over his glasses and quickly put aside his pen and pad. “What happened, Julia? Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody does.” I sat down beside him as close as I could get. “I’m so worried about her I don’t know what to do.”

  “Tell me,” he said, slipping his arm around my shoulders.

  So I did, from start to finish, not leaving out one thing, even touching on female trouble in a delicate way and including especially my concern over that untried doctor. “We have to get her to somebody who’ll know what he’s doing, Sam. Why, that ponytailed doctor doesn’t even know enough to put on a pair of socks.”

  “All right,” Sam said, “here’s what we do. Let’s let him run his tests, then we’ll see what he says. If he still doesn’t know, why, then we’ll take her to Bowman Gray or down to Duke. It could just be a touch of flu.”

  “That’s what Dr. Hargrove would say. He wouldn’t make such a fuss about it and worry us half to death with thoughts of imminent, well, you know. Oh, Sam, Hazel Marie’s had such a hard life and now, just when things are easing off for her, this has to happen. It’s not fair.” I clutched at him. “For all we know, that child could end up an orphan.”

  “Now, Julia, Lloyd’s not going to be an orphan anytime soon. Besides, he has you and he has me. And Pickens, too, for that matter. Which reminds me, does Pickens know about this?”

  I shook my head, unable to speak for being so choked up. “I asked her if she wanted me to call him, but she was too far gone to answer.” I looked up at him. “But I guess we should, don’t you think?”

  Sam unhanded me, reached for his papers to straighten them before putting them in a folder. “Why don’t you do that while I run this stuff back over to my house and tell James to go on home.”

  “Well, that reminds me,” I said. “I was so glad to see you here that I didn’t think to ask why you’re home so early. I thought you’d still be working. Is anything wrong? Anything else, I mean?”

  “Not really,” he said with a trace of a smile. “I’ve just had a few things on my mind, so I came home to think them over. Besides, James took a notion to clean out the garage, and he kept coming in to ask if he should keep one thing or throw out another.”

  “James gets on everybody’s nerves when he starts talking,” I said, but was somewhat brought up short by realizing that I could possibly have been neglectful of Sam here lately. To think that he had something on his mind so worrisome that he needed peace and quiet to ponder it made me feel guilty for showing so little interest in his work. I rarely asked what he was doing, assuming that it filled his time, now that he was retired, in a productive way. “So what was on your mind? Anything interesting?”

  “Oh, this and that.” He nodded toward the folder in his hand. “Trying to organize my thoughts. And some of the records I’ve found.”

  Sam had been working on a legal history of Abbot County for some few years now, ever since he’d retired from the practice of law. He’d spent untold hours in the courthouse tracking down ancient records, deeds, and court cases, then putting the information into some kind of order in the office at his house—the house he’d moved out of when he came to live with me. Legally live with me, I might add. I was proud of him and completely supportive of his effort to write the definitive book on lawyers, judges, prosecutors, and some of the more nefarious cases tried in our county from the earliest times to the present. Just think how many people would buy a copy, if for no other reason than to see if their names were in it.

  Putting aside my concern for Hazel Marie for the moment to concentrate on him, I asked, “How far along are you?”

  “I’m well into the sixties now.”

  “The sixties! Why, Sam, that’s remarkable. You’re really moving along.”

  “I’d like to think so,” he said, “but I’m just getting to the time when there’s almost more material than I can manage.” He smiled somewhat ruefully. “We are a contentious people, Julia. That courthouse is bulging with records on paper, microfiche, and computer disks.”

  “I thought the new courthouse was supposed to be able to handle everything. Don’t tell me we’re going to have to build another one.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s just that tracking these things down and putting them into some kind of order so I can tell exactly what went on is no easy task.”

  “Well, I’m sure you can do it. There’s certainly no one else who could.” Or who’d want to, I thought but didn’t add. A good wife always encourages her husband in his interests. For one thing, they keep him occupied and out from under foot most of the day.

  Then, satisfied that I’d exhibited the proper amount of interest in his affairs, I said, “Well, you better run on, but do hurry back. Lloyd’ll be home soon, and I know Mr. Pickens is going to be beside himself when he hears the news. We’re going to need you here.”

  I walked Sam to the door, urging him again to hurry back, and went to the kitchen. “Lillian,” I said, “will you get out Hazel Marie’s gowns and whatever you think she’ll need? I’ll pack up her best ones to take over a little later on.”

  “Yessum,” she said, wiping her eyes, “that’s what I was gonna do, anyway. An’ she prob’ly want all her beauty aids, too, if she able to use ’em.”

  “Now, Lillian, we have to be optimistic about this. For one thing, I don’t want Lloyd to see us so concerned. He’s going to worry himself sick as it is.”

  “Well, me, too,” she said as a fresh track of tears streamed down her face. “Lotsa folks go to the hospital an’ don’t never come home again.”

  “Don’t say that! My word, Lillian, she can’t be that sick.” I had to hold onto the counter. “Can she? I don’t know what I’d do if. . . .” I took hold of myself but hardly knew what I was doing. “On second thought, I’ll go get her things together. It’ll give me something to do. Oh, and I have to call Mr. Pickens. I declare, I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”

  I trudged upstairs to Hazel Marie’s room, but before collecting what she’d need in the hospital, I sat on her bed and reached for the telephone. Mr. Pickens had always been a good man to have around in a crisis, but I didn’t know how he’d handle this one. I knew he’d come flying over to sit by her bed, though, and be there to help me pin that flighty doctor down.

  After placing the call, I hung up the phone, thinking that if any pinning was going to be done I’d have to do it. I’d learned, to my dismay, that Mr. Pickens was unavailable, out of town on a case and not expected back anytime soon. “This is an emergency,” I’d told the answering service woman. “I need to get in touch with him.” But she was no help at all. I didn’t believe her, for what private investigator goes out of town without leaving some notification of where he’d be or how he could be reached? But try as I might, I couldn’t budge her.

  So I got out Hazel Marie’s overnight suitcase and began packing some gowns, a robe, and her bedroom slippers. That’s what you call being optimistic, I thought to myself, making preparations for her to be up and out of bed. At the sight of all her beauty products in the bathroom, though, I threw up my hands and decided
to let Lillian determine which ones to take.

  Hearing a slight commotion downstairs, my heart gave a lurch and I hurried out of the room. Lloyd was home, and I was faced with telling him the sad news. Then it would be up to me to comfort and reassure him when I, myself, had little comfort or reassurance to give.

  Chapter 4

  I hurried downstairs, stewing not only over Hazel Marie’s condition but also over Mr. Pickens’s thoughtlessness and my coming talk with Lloyd. Lord, that child would be overcome with worry when he heard about his mother.

  I stopped for a minute in the dining room, collecting myself so I could talk to him in a reassuring fashion. I wanted him to know that people go to the hospital all the time and come home again in much better shape. I would present the situation to him calmly and with full confidence that Hazel Marie was in good hands and being well cared for.

  So what did I see when I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen? Lillian, her face streaming with tears, crushing the boy to her bosom.

  “Oh, you pore little thing,” she crooned, sobbing between the words. “It gonna be all right, don’t you worry. She be well ’fore you know it, an’ be back home with us, singing’ an’ flittin’ ’round like she always do.”

  Lloyd struggled out of her grasp, looking with alarm all around the room. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “Lillian,” I said, “get hold of yourself. You’re scaring him to death.” The truth of it, though, was that she was scaring me, too. I’d never seen her break down in that way, and I feared she’d understood the situation better than I had. “Come sit down, Lloyd. Lillian’s just upset, as we all are, but things aren’t that bad. The doctor’s put your mother in the hospital and. . . .” At his gasp, I hurriedly went on. “Just for some tests, that’s all. She’s not been feeling well, and he wants to make sure that everything’s all right. It’s really nothing to be too worried about.”