“I don’t think he’ll die. God, I hope not,” Lou added anxiously, the relief of our meeting melting away. I knew both of us were thinking about Mrs. Sullivan.
Once Lauren moved in our direction I stopped paying attention to Lou’s anxiety and started noticing my own. Whatever her concerns, she carried herself with an easy grace and confidence, though neither calmed me down. Lauren stopped next to Lou and took his hand. “They’re working on him now,” she said. “They probably have to operate.”
“Gutenu!”
“It’s a good sign he remained conscious,” she added.
Lou dropped Lauren’s hand and put his arm around her shoulder. I stared at my sneakers, saw new red Rorschach’s, and felt a twinge of anger.
Lauren noticed. “You have Ian’s blood all over you. I’m terribly sorry.”
“Not to worry,” I said, suddenly embarrassed by my attitude.
She looked me over carefully. “Aren’t you cold?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to tell her about the ruined sweatshirt. I didn’t want to speak to her at all.
Lauren emerged from Lou’s protective cover and I spotted thick strands of black hair peeking out from under her scarf. I couldn’t tell if they were dyed. Her coal black eyes punctuated a strong jaw and full lips. Still, there were a few tells: creases lining her neck, a small droop to the corners of her mouth, furrows across her brow. Of course, the worry lines were probably fears about her son. But if they were, the rest of her anxiety was well hidden.
Lauren rolled up the baggy sleeves of her jacket and stuck out her hand. “We haven’t formally met. I’m Lauren Rowe. The boy you retrieved is Ian Brown, my son. Thank you.”
I noted the name shift as well as her long tapered fingers. I also noticed her strong, sure grip. “I’m Matt Jacob,” I said, forcing myself to speak. “I hope everything works out okay.”
“It’s too late for that,” Lauren replied. Then, spotting Lou’s alarm added, “I don’t mean the operation, sweetheart. Ian will be okay.” She smiled sourly. “There are some things a mother knows. Even a lousy one.”
Lou grimaced, “You aren’t a lousy mother.”
“Look at where we are,” Lauren waved her hand around the emergency room. “And think about why we’re here.”
Lou shook his head stubbornly. “Don’t be foolish. I saw the way you reacted when the boy called. The way you spoke to him, settled him down. You never lost your composure.”
I stepped forward. “Maybe we can find a more comfortable place to wait. Did they give you a time frame?”
Lauren appeared grateful for the interruption and flashed a warm smile which, though weary, added to her appeal. “You don’t have to wait around, Matthew. You’ve already been more than helpful.”
“Don’t be silly,” Lou cut in. “Of course he’ll stay.”
I didn’t know whether to feel angry at Lou’s presumption or pleased by the undercurrent of pride in his voice. I shoved the former on hold and conceded to the latter. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving without knowing whether Ian, uh...”
“Survives,” she finished grimly.
I glanced away, “Yeah.”
Just then, the large glass doors to the emergency room swiveled open and a tall, athletic, silver-haired man wearing a black sport coat, checkered sport shirt, and jeans barreled through. The man paused, then walked rapidly to our small circle. Lauren raised her tweezed eyebrows, glanced at Lou’s wristwatch, then nodded her greeting.
“How is he?” the man asked Lauren but glaring at Lou.
“They won’t know anything for a while. I think he’ll be all right.”
“That’s reassuring,” he snapped, turning his attention back to her.
Lauren’s mouth tightened. “Don’t get nasty with me. I’m the one he called. Where the hell have you been?”
Before silver-hair answered, Lauren leaned toward Lou and me. “Paul, you already know Lou. This is his son-in-law, Matt Jacob. He picked Ian up and brought him to the hospital. Matthew, this is Paul, my former husband.”
I should have split when Lauren had given me the chance. Even Lou shifted from foot to foot. But before anyone broke the tense silence, a gown flapping doctor with a clipboard rushed up.
“I’m Dr. Schneider and I’ll be doing the surgery on...” he glanced at his papers, “Ian. They’re prepping him now.” The doc kept his eyes on the clipboard while he gave us a moment to register his announcement.
Lauren twisted toward Paul, stared coldly, then returned her attention to the White Coat. Me? I was real sorry I’d listened to Boots about the dope and doubly sorry I’d talked myself out of Jimmy’s bourbon, whatever the fucking brand.
“We’ll have to go in,” Dr. Schneider said somberly. “He’s lost a great deal of blood, but we don’t know where it’s from.” He added curtly, “It makes a difference...”
I barely heard the rest of his words.
“...Stomach, liver, vital organs... young, strong, in and out of consciousness... I’m sorry to say there are no guarantees,” Dr. Schneider warned.
The surprise of learning about Lauren’s existence, rushing Ian to the hospital, the night’s thick, pungent blood, the doctor’s “we just don’t know, no guarantees” pushed past my guard, shoving me back to the countless hours I’d spent glued to an uncomfortable hospital couch. Stuck helplessly, hopelessly for Chana and Rebecca.
“We just don’t know, Mr. Jacob.” I could still hear the doctor’s words after all these years. “We have nothing in the way of guarantees in situations like these.”
They claimed not to know, but it was a lie. Those doctors said everything was a “maybe.” And that was a lie. Everything was a when, and I’d known it the moment I saw them lying in the Intensive Care Unit. I knew what I was waiting for during those interminable days and nights. I was waiting for them to die. Strapped onto beds, invaded by plastic tubes, obscenely scoped through cold scraps of metal machinery, and monitor screens. Their deaths had been the unspoken guarantee.
My memories triggered the same bitter rage and I felt it trickle through my veins. Soon after Chana and Becky died, that rage had me booked for assault and battery charges brought by a bartender who’d refused me a drink. But I was lucky. My longtime friend and high-powered attorney, Simon Roth, called in the outstanding paper and made it disappear. When I couldn’t face returning to social work, Simon pulled another ace and bought me a new career as a private investigator. My part of the deal was therapy. Four long years of it, I reminded myself, biting back the growing bile.
“Are you okay, Matty?” Lou asked quietly.
“Yeah,” I lied, relieved to be dragged back into the room. “I’m just tired of standing.” I wanted armrests for my clenched fists.
The doctor pointed toward a hallway. “There’s a waiting room a couple of doors down on your left. Don’t bother asking for information,” he said to no one in particular. “I’ll tell you as soon as I know something.”
I started down the hall while the Gown walked briskly in the opposite direction. I wasn’t sure if the rest of the group was following, but I knew my ghosts weren’t far behind.
The next few hours were a bone tired crawl. Lauren sat on the floor, straight-backed, hugging her knees on a tired braided rug right in front of a brown, Scotch-guarded couch. Most of the time she kept her eyes closed.
Paul slouched on the sofa behind Lauren, his long legs stretched alongside her rigid body. Lou sat in a chair, a respectful distance from the two. I sprawled across another hard settee on the other side of the room. Paul’s legs constantly jiggled though he wore a bored expression occasionally interrupted by a hostile glance toward Lou or me. Once in a while he’d brush against Lauren and she would purposely shift her body out of reach. When the general tension and Lauren and Paul’s dance became too much to take, I slipped out of the building for a cigarette.
It wasn’t much better. Chain smoking next to a hospital’s emergency room in this day and age, even on
a quiet night, wasn’t a relax. Despite the cool, deep-night air, anxious sweat feathered my body. I crushed my second cigarette under heel and reluctantly returned to the waiting room.
Something had gone down during my absence. Paul was pacing, angrily pushing empty chairs out of his way and glaring back and forth from Lauren to Lou. He continued his tantrum until he reached the coffee machine, shoved some coins into its slot, and slapped the plexi with his palm. “If you teach these bastards respect, they don’t steal your money.”
“Damn,” he cursed, as a tilted cardboard cup slid through the chute. I watched as Paul futilely tried to right the cup before he lost all the coffee. His hand was lucky machines kept everything lukewarm.
Lauren now sat in the corner of my couch, long fingers covering her face. If she was aware of her ex-’s act, she kept it to herself. Lou seemed torn between joining Lauren and remaining where he was.
“Have you heard something from the doctor?” My throat felt tight but I sounded okay.
Lauren moved her hands, met my eyes, and shook her head.
“Nothing from the doctor,” Paul said pointedly. He looked as if he would continue talking if I pressed, but the only press was my silence. So he stood there, empty wet cup in hand, seeing me, really, for the first time.
“You picked Ian up from the bar?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“He give you shit?”
“He was out on his feet.”
“Lucky you.”
“Paul!” Lauren jerked upright in one harsh, powerful motion.
Paul quickly swung his attention toward her. “Ian isn’t easy to be with, and you know it. If I picked him up he would have raised hell. Out on his feet or not.” When he turned back after a long pause, his eyes looked genuinely unhappy.
Lauren wasn’t buying. “You just can’t stop complaining about the children, can you?”
“The boys, Lauren, just the boys.” Paul’s remorse scurried behind his sarcasm.
Lou finally made up his mind, sat down next to Lauren, and took her hand.
“I don’t know why I’m holding onto this,” Paul said nodding toward the wet cardboard, ignoring Lou’s place change. He threw the sog into the trash can, wiped his palm on the back of a chair, then rummaged through his pockets. “Damn, I’m out of change.”
I failed to fish enough coins for two. I despised vending machine coffee, only I hated having nothing to do even more. Lauren leaned into Lou’s bulk, resting her head on his shoulder. Every so often he’d run his fingers across her cheek. Watching them, I suddenly felt a disquieting kinship with Paul and amazed by Lauren’s connection to Lou.
“I think there’s a bill changer,” I said walking over to the machines.
Paul slapped his pants. “I ran out of the house so fast I forgot my wallet.”
“And if you’d brought it,” Lauren muttered audibly, “you’d only have a twenty.”
“I have plenty of singles,” I said quickly. The damn night was threatening to dredge up both my marriages. But before I had time to feed the machine, Dr. Schneider strode through the door.
“He’s okay,” Schneider announced. He still wore his gown, but now it was blood splattered. Ian’s no doubt. I wondered if that made me and the doctor blood brothers once removed.
“But just okay,” he added before any of us could relax. “The wound almost hit an artery.”
“Where was he bleeding from?” Lauren asked calmly, her row with Paul forgotten.
“Stomach.” Schneider looked around the room. “I’d like to speak with the parents privately if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Lou spoke for the two of us. “We’ll be in the hall.” He patted Lauren’s shoulder then started for the door. I began to follow but the doctor grabbed my arm. “You brought Ian in, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” After poking around someone’s insides he didn’t need his papers to remember the name.
“Where did you come from?”
“The Plain.”
“There are plenty of good hospitals over there. Why did you drive all the way here?”
“I made that decision, Doctor,” Lauren said succinctly, taking me off the hook.
“Well, you were extremely lucky,” Dr. Schneider remonstrated, still looking at me. “Ian lost quite a bit of blood.”
I kept my mouth shut, walked into the hallway, and joined Lou.
Out of someone else’s fire, into my own. Lou leaned against the wall, a wary look on his tired, pale face. “Nu?” he asked.
“I need a cigarette.”
“You can’t light up in here.”
“I’m going outside.”
He pushed himself off the wall. “I’ll keep you company.”
“You look pretty wiped out. It’s okay if you want to wait here.”
“I said I’ll go with you,” he answered testily.
I didn’t know why he was annoyed at me. This was his gig, after all.
Lou followed me to my secluded outdoor corner and wheezed while I lit up. “I’m doing the smoking, how come you’re breathing like a bull?” I asked.
He ignored my question. “You shouldn’t smoke. So what do you think?”
“I think I’m exhausted and want a big fat joint and a bottle of bourbon.”
He tiredly rubbed his hand across his face.
“I’m sorry, Lou. This has been rough on you.”
His face relaxed as he misread my meaning. “Boychick, you can’t imagine how difficult it’s been to tell you about Lauren.”
“I meant the stabbing,” I said, instantly uncomfortable.
Lou shrugged. “I’m old enough to know situations like this are part of any package.”
I dropped the cigarette onto the ground and carefully toed it out. “This package ain’t exactly tied with a ribbon, Louie.”
He shook his head. “You keep talking about tonight. I mean my, uh, my...”
“Squeeze,” I supplied.
Lou looked sheepish. “I just heard the expression and it popped into my head when we were on the phone.”
“What else are you popping?” I snapped before thinking. “From here it looks like you’re in above your head.”
Lou stepped out of the circle of light. “This doesn’t happen all the time, Matty.”
“The woman looks half your age, for Christ sake.”
“That young?” Lou asked, his pleasure evident.
“No, but plenty younger than you.”
“Is that a sin?”
No sin, maybe a blessing. I clamped a bit onto my attitude. “I don’t know,” I said, fighting off another wave of fatigue. “She is beautiful,” I admitted.
“What’s so wrong?” Lou asked stepping into the light. “I didn’t run out looking after Martha died. I didn’t look at all. Lauren and I met, we had a pleasant conversation, and one thing led to another.”
“Where did you meet?” I asked.
“Charley’s.”
Charley’s was a breakfast joint owned by Phil, both a friend and an ex-cop who was my conduit to our local police. A break for me since I stayed as far away from cops as I could. A legacy from the seventies, and eighties,, and nineties. I knew why Lou ate there, “great traif,” but Lauren didn’t look like ‘grease and grill.’ Course, I didn’t know what Lauren really was—just that I felt uncomfortable about and around her. But before I could wriggle away from Lou’s hopeful gaze, the doors swung open and she and Paul walked into the night.
“There you are. We looked all through the building.” Lauren was visibly relieved by the doctor’s prognosis and her smile gleamed bright through the darkness. “I’m glad you didn’t leave.”
Paul didn’t appear nearly as happy.
“Don’t be silly,” Lou replied. “I would never leave without you.”
His words hung in the air before Paul, visibly tense, broke the silence. “Look, I didn’t thank you back there,” he said to me. “I appreciate what you did tonight.”
“Enoug
h to replace his shirt?” Lauren bit, her smile gone. “He’s not wearing a bloodstained undershirt for fashion.”
“No problem, Lauren,” I hastily intervened. “It was just an old sweatshirt.”
“That’s not the point.”
He didn’t look pleased but Paul nodded. “Send me the bill. Look, I have to get some sleep. You heard the doctor, it’s senseless to wait around.”
He stepped closer to Lauren. “I’ll take you home. We can pick your car up tomorrow.”
Lauren shook her head and took Lou’s arm. “I’m going to Lou’s house if it’s okay with him.”
Paul didn’t wait for Lou’s answer. He shook his head, shrugged, swiveled, and walked into the night.
Lou just stood beaming. It was better than okay, much better.
More okay by him than by me, I grumbled to myself late the next morning, contorting my body into a car cleaning position. A tough fit. The lingering late summer, early autumn sun scattered through my alley, working its magic on my faint but persistent headache. Faint because I hadn’t allowed the return from Beth Israel to become open season for my Holy Trinity of television, alcohol, and pot. Persistent because we weren’t talking abstinence either. Actually, the real head-banger was about my discomfort with the surprising, unexpected turn in Lou’s life.
“His life, his life,” I reminded Mr. Clean. I rubbed my father-in-law’s proud face from my eyes and stared at the blood on the back seat. My long time campanero and mechanic, Manuel, scored an impeccably restored, black ‘2002ti after my old car caught a slew of bullets. He swore the ancient Bimmer had my name on it, insisting I needed a car to drive, not ride, if I planned to remain a P.I. And Manny said it in English. When we first met we’d agreed to help each other learn the other’s native tongue, but only one of us made it.
I’d come to like the lively little square, but always felt a twinge of class guilt about driving a B.M.W., regardless of its age. Well, no relationship is perfect, I thought, which unfortunately brought me right back to Lou. I twisted onto the rear floor and worked the seat while pecking away at my reaction. Lauren wasn’t that much younger than Lou despite her good looks. Somewhere in her middle fifties, I guessed. We weren’t talking much more than twenty-some years here. Probably sported Spandex at a yoga class a few times a week.
The Complete Matt Jacob Series Page 86
