by Joanne Fluke
He tried to open his eyes, but there was something heavy on his eyelids. All he could do was listen, barely breathing, as footsteps receded. There was a stabbing pain in his arm and realization that the voices had been talking about him!
This time it worked. He opened his eyes and stared at the white-clad figure leaning over him.
“It’s Joyce Meiers.” The nurse leaned closer. “Just relax, Mr. Larsen. You’re doing fine. I’ll get the doctor.”
He was in a hospital. It was clear now, the small room with white furnishings. He was in a room at the Nisswa Clinic, on the far edge of town. But what was he doing here?
“Well, well . . . you finally decided to join us!” Dr. Hinkley’s face swam into focus. “One more little pinprick and we’ll talk . . . All right?”
There was another stab in his arm and Dan flinched. “What am I doing here? What happened?”
As he asked the questions, he knew. The snowmobile. The sudden storm. The accident. And Laura. What had happened to Laura!
“She’s dead, isn’t she.” His voice was slow and thick as the shot took effect. Tranquilizer. “You said something about a . . . a funeral. Laura’s dead.”
“I’m afraid so, Dan.” Dr. Hinkley reached for his hand, practiced fingers taking his pulse. “Would you like something to put you back to sleep?”
“No.” Even though his voice was weak, the word was definite. “I’ve slept enough. How long?”
“You’ve been in a coma for three days.” The doctor’s voice was kind. “You had a nasty blow to the head, Dan. Now that you’re awake, we’ll do some tests.”
Laura was dead. His baby was dead. Dan tried to think, but his mind was fuzzy. “Marian?” he asked. “Where’s Marian?”
“She’ll be here in a few hours.” Dr. Hinkley released his wrist and wrote something on the chart at the foot of his bed. “Don’t try to think about anything now, Dan. Just concentrate on getting well.”
Was he dying? His body was numb. His legs felt like lead. He tried tentatively to move but nothing happened.
“My legs!” Dan’s eyes widened. “They’re gone!”
“No . . . It’s all right, Dan,” Dr. Hinkley said soothingly. “Your legs are fine . . . nothing wrong at all. You’re just experiencing some difficulty in moving, that’s all. It’s probably a simple blockage caused by the accident. Nothing to worry about. Now relax and let us take care of you.”
Just as panic started to set in, there was another prick in his arm and a wave of soft grayness settled down over his mind. Another shot. Don’t think. It was all a bad dream.
The sun reflecting against the highly polished desk top hurt her eyes and Marian shut them for a moment. She wished the sun weren’t shining. Something should be changed, in honor of her grief. The scene outside the plate-glass hospital window was straight out of a Currier & Ives Christmas card, but her baby was dead. How could this afternoon be so beautiful when Laura was lying in the frozen ground?
“Marian?” Dr. Hinkley pushed a box of Kleenex across the desk top and Marian realized that tears were running down her cheeks. Why now? And not at the funeral?
“Do you want a tranquilizer for tonight? It helps sometimes, just to get a good night’s sleep.”
“No, thank you.” She had the insane urge to giggle. He sounded as if he were offering her a pastel mint at a party. Would you like a mint, Marian? No? Then perhaps you’d care for an after-funeral pill.
Marian realized with a start that she wasn’t paying attention. Dr. Hinkley was trying to tell her something.
“. . . We think it might be conversion hysteria, Marian.” She tried her best to concentrate. “That’s a term for acute anxiety converted to dysfunction of parts of the body. In Dan’s case the problem is his legs. He regained consciousness briefly this morning and we immediately ran tests. There’s no sensation in the lower extremities. Even though the paralysis is only in his mind, it has the same effect as a break in the spinal column.”
“Wait a minute.” Marian tried hard to understand. “Are you saying Dan can’t walk?”
Dr. Hinkley nodded slowly. “I’m afraid so, Marian.”
It was just too much to take. Laura was dead now and Dan was paralyzed. The bright room was closing in on her. There was a sound growing around her, a thin high-pitched wail. She was shocked to find it was coming from her own throat. And then the afternoon sun began to darken alarmingly and she was pitching forward, falling into Dr. Hinkley’s arms.
There was a metallic taste in her mouth as Marian struggled to open her eyes. She must have made some sort of sound, because suddenly a nurse was there beside her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Larsen. We had a wonderful night’s sleep.”
The nurse was holding a glass of water to her lips. Marian gulped thirstily. Her lips were stiff. The words formed slowly in her mind.
“Dr. Hinkley? I need to see him.”
“He’ll be here in a few minutes.” The nurse smiled. “You can doze off again, if you want. Dr. Hinkley said to give you the royal treatment.”
She must have responded somehow, for the nurse left and she was alone again. Marian made herself sit up straighter. She knew she had to play a part again, the part of an alert, competent woman. Then the doctor would let her go home. It was important that she didn’t let anyone guess how helpless and frightened she was inside.
Things were better when she had applied the light makeup she carried in her purse. The hospital coffee was weak, but it helped. She was ready when Dr. Hinkley came. This time she would not faint.
“The X rays show no spinal damage, Marian.” Dr. Hinkley was sitting in the chair by the bed and Marian nodded alertly. “In Dan’s case, the paralysis is definitely a form of hysterical neurosis. Only his lower extremities are affected. That means he can use a wheelchair, Marian. And he can go home tomorrow, if you think you’re up to it.”
“Yes . . . Of course I am.” Marian drew a deep breath. “But when will he recover? You said it wasn’t physical. When will Dan be able to walk again?”
“No one knows, Marian.” Dr. Hinkley reached out to pat her hand. “Dan’s body is punishing him for the accident. He blames himself for Laura’s death. In some cases of Dan’s type spontaneous remission has occurred almost overnight. But, Marian . . . Dan may remain paralyzed for the rest of his life.”
“I have to help him.” Marian straightened her shoulders. “What can I do, Dr. Hinkley?”
“Good girl!” Dr. Hinkley nodded. “You’re a fighter, Marian, and that’s precisely what Dan needs. Take him home with you tomorrow. There’s no reason why he can’t go back to work in a week or so. He has a commitment to that hockey team of his and that might just pull him out of this. I talked to Jim Sorensen at the Conoco station and he says he can rig your van for a wheelchair. You drive it down there this afternoon, if you feel up to it, and Jim’ll work on it tonight. And don’t stay alone in that house of yours. I’ve had calls from half the women in town offering to stay with you until Dan gets home. You take somebody up on that, Marian. Or I can move an extra bed into Dan’s room, if you’d rather stay here.”
“I’ll stay here with Dan.” Marian’s voice was strong. “He’ll need me if he wakes up. And thank you, Dr. Hinkley. Thank you for being so kind.”
She sat in the chair by the window, looking out at the gathering darkness and hearing the deep, even sound of Dan’s breathing. He opened his eyes once and saw her sitting there. It seemed to satisfy him, for he had gone straight back to sleep without a word. Marian turned to study her husband’s sleeping face. He was a handsome man, rugged and muscular. They’d called him “The Viking” when he’d played for the Northstars in college. But Dan had never wanted to be a professional hockey player. He’d wanted to teach history and coach hockey on the side. He took the job in Nisswa because of Harvey Woodruff’s persuasion.
Harvey was a principal in danger of losing his school. There was talk of dissolving the Nisswa district and busing the students to Brainerd
or Pequot Lakes. Dan’s job was to add prestige to the school and make the community proud to have a winning hockey team. There was no way Harvey wanted the local kids bused away. The Nisswa School was his life. He’d built it into a fine academic institution and Dan could help him save it.
Dan had been coaching for two years when she had joined the Nisswa staff. The hockey team was winning and Dan was the town hero. There was no more talk of busing. Nisswa was proud of its school and even prouder of Dan. It had been exciting to date the most eligible bachelor on the faculty.
Marian hadn’t dated much in college. Her particular combination of femininity and brains had served to scare off most of the college men. And she had to admit that she wasn’t all that interested in beer parties in student apartments. Marian was convinced she was destined for something more worthwhile than becoming a simple wife and mother. She had dreams of an academic career, perhaps a place on a college faculty, the respect of her colleagues, the publication of her innovative teaching methods.
Then he’d asked her for a date, Marian Walters, newly graduated, her head filled with theories of education, her heart dedicated to bringing enlightenment to the children of America. And Marian realized what she had been missing by pouring every waking hour into her lesson plans and her research. Dan Larsen was fun!
She remembered telling Dan her dreams, how disappointed she was in not landing a job in a warmer climate, how she longed for a break from the endless snows of Minnesota winters. But jobs in better climates were at a premium and elementary school teachers were a dime a dozen. She was lucky to get the position in Nisswa. After two years she thought she would try to move on, perhaps to California where the days were sunny and warm, even in the winter, but there was Dan, and then there was love, and marriage . . . and Laura. Painful tears squeezed out behind Marian’s swollen eyelids. Her baby was dead and Dan was paralyzed. It was too much.
“Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Larsen?” A white-uniformed nurse came into the room on silent feet.
“I’ll sit with Mr. Larsen if you want a little break.”
“Thank you, yes.” Marian rose to her feet stiffly. She had been sitting in the chair for hours now, just thinking.
“There’s coffee at the nurses’ station at the end of the hall and there’s a sandwich machine there too. I’m Joyce Meiers, Mrs. Larsen. I had Mr. Larsen for history when I was a senior.”
“Thank you, Joyce.” Marian forced a pleasant smile. She remembered Joyce now. Dan would be pleased to see her if he woke up, she thought as she began to walk down the hall.
In a way, he was glad she was gone. He loved her so much and he didn’t know what to say. He had opened his eyes in the early evening to see her sitting there, head bowed slightly, eyes vacant and weary. Somehow it was wrong to interrupt her solitude. They had always been so close, but now what could he say?
I’m sorry I killed your daughter, Marian.
Oh, that’s all right. It was an accident.
It was better to say nothing at all. They would talk later, heal the breach, start over. But not now. Now he was too heartsick to try. And his grief was too new. It was best to pretend to go back to sleep until the pretense became a reality.
She felt better after the coffee and sandwich. There was a candy machine at the end of the hall and Marian reached into her purse for a quarter. She should take Laura a Nut Goodie. It was her favorite candy bar.
Marian stopped suddenly, the quarter balanced against the coin slot. A hard, racking sob shook her slender body. She leaned her forehead against the cool impersonal glass case and held it there until her legs stopped trembling. She couldn’t break down now. She had to be strong for Dan. He needed her. It wasn’t fair. Life would go on and time would pass, whether she wanted it to or not.
And don’t miss Joanne Fluke’s
latest Hannah Swensen mystery
RED VELVET CUPCAKE MURDER
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1
“You’re staring at me again!” Hannah Swensen emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around her unruly red curls. She grabbed her favorite robe, shrugged into it quickly, and turned to face the only other occupant of her bedroom. “It’s not polite to stare at me when I’m not wearing anything and you’re sitting there in your fur coat.”
When there was no response to her comment, Hannah sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the package of panty hose she’d purchased on her way home from The Cookie Jar, her coffee shop and bakery. She wasn’t looking forward to putting on her best formal clothing on the hottest, muggiest evening ever recorded in Lake Eden, Minnesota’s history. Actually, if she was completely honest, she never enjoyed donning formal clothing, even when the weather cooperated. She was much more comfortable in jeans and a billboard T-shirt, or, as a concession to her family, a comfortable pantsuit. She wasn’t looking forward to tonight’s party either. She’d much rather spend the evening on her living room couch, sipping cold lemonade and watching a movie on television with one of her boyfriends, either Norman Rhodes or Mike Kingston. Unfortunately, her presence tonight was mandatory since The Cookie Jar was catering dessert.
“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,” she told her roommate, who was watching her intently. “At least that’s what Great-Grandma Elsa always used to say. But she also used to say that nobody in Minnesota needed air-conditioning, that a fan blowing over a block of ice was enough.”
This comment was met with widened eyes and what she interpreted as an incredulous look.
“I know,” she reassured him. “Great-Grandma Elsa was wrong. Or maybe it was cooler back in her time. I’ll turn the air-conditioner on high on just as soon as I’m through getting dressed.”
Even though the sun would be setting while she was gone, Hannah knew that air-conditioning would be necessary. In some areas of the country, the nights cooled off considerably, but not in central Minnesota. Perhaps the temperature would drop a few degrees as night approached, but that wouldn’t provide much relief. The outside walls of her condo had been baking in the sun all day and they would still be warm to the touch long after midnight.
It was hot in her bedroom. She’d opened the window to let in some outside air, but the curtains hung limp and lifeless. There was no breeze and the humidity was still sky high. Hannah could testify to that fact because even though she’d dried off thoroughly after her shower, her skin felt moist and hot again.
“It’s not even summer yet,” she told him, sighing a bit. “The Summer Solstice isn’t until June twentieth this year and today is only the ninth. Technically, it’s still spring and this afternoon it was hot enough to fry an egg outside.”
It was difficult to tell, but Hannah thought he looked impressed at this news. Earlier in the afternoon, when the mercury had reached its highest peak in the thermometer that hung outside the window in the coffee shop, her customers had decided that it was hot enough to cook an egg on the hood of a car. Hannah’s partner, Lisa Herman Beeseman, had volunteered her old black Ford for the test and the egg was duly cracked on the hood. After twelve minutes in the blazing sun, the yolk was still a bit runny, but the white was definitely cooked. Since no one wanted to stand around in the heat any longer to wait for the yolk to solidify, the dozen or so customers who’d trooped out to the parking lot to watch had declared the experiment a success.
Hannah rolled up one leg of the panty hose and glanced over at him again. It seemed to her that he was smiling. “Watch it,” she warned. “I don’t know if you can laugh or not, but if you even look amused, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” She paused to choose the most effective threat. “I’ll put you on a diet!”
“Rrrowwww!” The twenty-three pound orange and white tomcat , who was perched on top of her dresser, let out a howl.
“That’s right. A diet. And that means no more salmon-flavored, fish-shaped kitty treats. So if I were you, I’d be very careful!”
Hannah gave a little nod of satisfaction
as Moishe turned his head away. She wasn’t sure if he’d understood her words, or simply reacted to the tone in her voice, but the desired effect was the same. As she looked down at the rolled sock in her hand, she thought about how much she hated to put on panty hose. The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could stretch out on the bed on her back, raise the panty hose up in the air, and try to thrust both feet into the sock parts at the same time. That required coordination she wasn’t sure she possessed. The second method was to sit on the edge of the bed, lean over and place one foot in the sock part, pull the panty hose up part way, and then try to get her other foot in. Either way required perfect balance and the skill of a contortionist.
“Gotta do it,” she said, deciding to try the second method. But just as she began to thrust her right foot into the toe of the sock, the doorbell chimed.
There was a ripping noise that sounded very loud to Hannah’s ears, and she let out an exasperated expletive that she would never have used around her two nieces. Her toe had poked completely through the sock part and there was no way she could wear these pantyhose now. It was a good thing she’d bought an extra pair.
Hannah reached for her slippers and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was only six-fifteen and her sister wasn’t due to pick her up until seven. Barring some kind of family emergency or national disaster, there was no way Andrea would be forty-five minutes early.
The doorbell pealed again and Hannah stood up. Salesmen weren’t allowed in her condo complex, but sometimes one slipped past the guard at the kiosk. It could also be a neighbor with a problem and now that she was a member of the homeowner’s association board, she had a duty to listen. As she hurried down the carpeted hallway with Moishe at her heels, she thought about how interruptions always seemed to come at precisely the wrong time. But was there a right time for interruptions? She really wasn’t sure.
