Side Effects

by Bobby Hutchinson

  Slowly, feeling a hundred years old, she walked back through the hospital, forcing herself to respond to the friendly greetings of staff members, and near the nursing station she came face-to-face with Becky.

  They hadn't seen each other since Alex had made her ill-fated visit to ask for her friend's support, and the strain between them was immediately evident. Neither seemed to know what to say next.

  Alex was painfully aware of the letter clutched in her hand, aware that Becky, too, looked drawn and weary. Struggling against the awkwardness, Alex groped for something sufficiently neutral to talk about. "How's Winifred doing?" She realized guiltily that she hadn't been in to see the old woman yet this week.

  Tears filled Becky's eyes, and she shook her head. "Not good. Not good at all."

  Alex suddenly wanted to reach out and wrap her arms around Becky, but she knew if she did, she'd lose the steely control with which she'd managed to get through the past two days. Worst of all, she was no longer certain that her gesture would be welcome.

  "I'm so sorry," she murmured. "If there's anything I can do—"

  Becky nodded, and then said in a hesitant voice, "David told me last night that you're not living out at the lake anymore." She tried for a smile and failed. "Small towns, no secrets." She looked straight into Alex's eyes and said earnestly, "Please, Alex, come and stay with us. Mom and I want you to know that you're more than welcome."

  The offer was so unexpected, so touching, that Alex had to struggle hard to control herself before she could reply. Even so, her voice was thick. "Thanks, Becky. More than I can say." She swallowed hard and battled the sobs that rose in her throat. "Your offer—it means a great deal to me, but I—I have to be alone for a little while, to— to try to sort myself out. You understand. Please tell Sadie how grateful I am, won't you?" She added miserably, "And give Emily a big hug for me."

  Becky nodded, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "Em had a sore throat and a bit of a temp this morning. I'm afraid she's getting the flu."

  Alex opened her mouth to offer any medical aid Emily might need, and then closed it again, reminding herself that Hollister was their family doctor. And, she thought bitterly, tightening her hold on the envelope, she no longer had admitting privileges at this hospital, which meant that her days as a family physician here in Korbin Lake were coming to an end—right along with her marriage.

  The pain she was keeping locked inside nearly overwhelmed her, and she had to struggle hard before she could say, "I should get back to the clinic, I have patients waiting. Thanks again, and I'll see you soon, Becky."

  But as she walked quickly away, she knew it was unlikely she'd be seeing Becky anytime in the near future.

  Sometime in the past hour, Alex had made a decision.

  She was going back to Vancouver. She wasn't sure what she'd do when she got there, but there was nothing left for her here in Korbin Lake.

  CAMERON WAS WAITING when Alex left the clinic that afternoon. He was sitting in his Jeep, parked beside her car in the nearly empty lot.

  He got out when she came walking slowly across the pavement, and he realized that his legs weren't quite steady as he moved toward her. The way she looked shocked and frightened him.

  She was pale, and there were dark circles under her beautiful eyes. More than that, however, was the absence of vivacity. Alex never just walked; she moved with purpose, with a sense of absolute energy and grace. Now, that animation was gone. She seemed hardly able to put one foot in front of the other.

  She hesitated a moment when she first saw him, as though she might actually turn and go the other way. More than anything else had, that hurt him. Cam had to clench his fists to keep himself from reaching out and grabbing her.

  "Hi, Alex. I wondered if you'd like to have some dinner," he said as casually as he could manage. He was wearing his old leather jacket for luck, but underneath it he'd put on dress slacks and the silk shirt she'd bought him.

  He'd traded shifts with Greg so he'd have the whole evening free. He'd made reservations at the best restaurant Korbin Lake had to offer, a new place overlooking the lake. He'd vowed that he wouldn't beg her to come home—he had his pride, but seeing her now, he knew that pride wasn't important at all.

  Every hour, every minute since she'd left, he'd resisted the impulse to go after her. He'd wanted to give her time, if that's what she needed. He'd give her anything she needed. He loved her more than life itself.

  "I wanted to talk to you tonight, Cameron, but I don't think I have time for dinner." Even her voice was lackluster. "Maybe we could grab a sandwich back at the house?"

  For an instant, terrible relief made him dizzy. God, she was coming home.

  She must have seen the burgeoning hope that flickered in his eyes, because she added in a less-than-steady voice, "I want to pick up Pavarotti and the rest of my clothes."

  She took a deep breath and then said in a rush, "I'm leaving for Vancouver in the morning. I've decided to go home for a while."

  Home. Her use of the word slammed into his gut like a fist. He'd always thought that home was wherever they were, together.

  "I see." He didn't see at all, but nothing really mattered now. "What about your practice?"

  Her lips tightened, and her eyes were bleak. "Perkins has withdrawn my admitting privileges at the hospital, so there's not much point in pretending I can go on practicing here in Korbin Lake."

  Hot rage rose in Cameron, and his fists clenched.

  Perkins. He'd kill the son of a bitch for doing this to her— But she'd made it clear that what was happening was her fight, not his.

  "Let's go back to the house." He was dully surprised at how normal he sounded. "Your car needs an oil change before you start on a long trip. I'll do it while you're packing."

  It was the only thing left he could think of to do for her.

  AN HOUR LATER, with Pavarotti complaining at the top of his lungs from the carrier on the seat beside her, Alex drove up the driveway, on her way back to the motel.

  Out of his life. Cameron went inside and called the detachment.

  "Greg? Look, I'm giving you the night off. I'll be in to take over as soon as I get my uniform on."

  He had to have something to do tonight or he'd go mad.

  ALEX WAS DEEPLY ASLEEP when the telephone rang. Dragging herself to a sitting position, she fumbled for the receiver and dropped it. Managing to locate the light switch on the bedside lamp, she finally retrieved the telephone. From the cozy nest he'd made on the other pillow, Pavarotti awoke and gave several insulted yowls before he quieted again.

  "Yes?"

  "Alex, it's Becky."

  The clock read 2:53. Immediately, Alex thought of Winifred.

  "Becky, what is it? Is it your grandma?"

  "It's Emily." Becky's voice was edged with hysteria, and her words spilled out, one on top of the other. "Alex, I think it's epiglottitis. She can't breathe. She's choking and tripoding. David and I are at the hospital

  with her now. I don't want Dr. King touching her. Please, Alex, please come. Hurry."

  Acute Epiglottitis. Sudden respiratory obstruction caused by a rapidly progressive infection that could be quickly fatal. Children assumed the tripod position, leaning forward and hyperextending the neck in a desperate, futile attempt to breathe.

  "Move her to the operating room. Set up for a trache-ostomy. Don't touch her any more than you have to."

  Thank God emergencies didn't require admitting privileges. Alex fought down her own panic as she threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed her keys and her medical bag and ran for her car.

  She burst through the doors of the emergency room a scant seven minutes later, and at top speed streaked straight down the hall to the operating room. The first sound she heard as she slammed into the room was the high-pitched, wheezing noise Emily was making as she struggled to draw air into her lungs. The tiny girl was on her hands and knees on the table. Her face was scarlet. She was drooling copiously, obviously in seve
re respiratory distress.

  David and Becky hovered helplessly, one on each side of her. The night nurse, Pam Walker, stood nearby, and all three of them turned to Alex with profound relief.

  Alex threw her coat off and, dragging on a pair of gloves, reached out to gently touch Emily's arm.

  "Poor little sweetheart. Let's have a look—"

  And at that precise moment, Emily stopped breathing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  WHEN EMILY'S BREATHING STOPPED, David's own breath caught and held in his throat. Don't die, sweetheart. Please, please don't die-He watched Alex deftly take charge, and with a combination of horror, utter terror and finally, humble and profound admiration, David saw his sister-in-law save Emily's life by opening a tiny hole in her windpipe and inserting a tube for her to breathe through. Alex was cool, efficient and expert at what she did, and David was nauseous and dizzy.

  He knew he didn't have to stay here and watch—Becky wasn't even aware of his presence. She wasn't conscious of anything at this moment except her daughter. He could easily step through the operating room doors into the hallway, but he didn't. He stayed, and afterward, he marveled at the cool control all three women displayed as they labored over the fragile, unmoving little figure on the table.

  But while the procedure was going on, all David could think was how superficial his life had been up to this moment. He couldn't remember ever really praying before, but he prayed then, asking humbly, over and over, for the life of the tiny girl he'd come to love as though she were his own. Maybe he'd never prayed because he'd never known, clearly and exactly, what he wanted out of life.

  He knew now. He wanted Becky as his wife, and he wanted Emily as his daughter. And he wanted her to live more than anything in the world.

  In the past, he'd paid scant attention to children like her. Oh, he'd seen them now and then, and with indifferent, casual pity, dismissed them, forgetting their very existence the moment they were out of his sight, but now he knew Emily's special sweetness, the recognition that dawned in her fathomless dark eyes when he walked into the room, the unconditional love that was her gift. He knew the feel of her delicate arms looped lovingly around his neck. He'd taught her to wink, and she'd taught him about trust.

  He wasn't aware of holding his breath until at last the operation was over.

  "That's it, angel." Alex sighed. "We're all done here. You're such a brave girl. You're going to feel much better now." Rotating her stiff neck, Alex stepped back from the table and stretched, allowing Becky and the other nurse to lift Emily's small, limp figure off the operating table and place her into a crib.

  "We'll start her on cephalosporin IV. She'll need restraints to keep her from pulling at the tube."

  As Alex gave quiet orders for the care of her tiny patient, David moved hesitantly over to stand beside Becky, looping his arm around her and drawing her close.

  She looked up at him, and now that it was over her eyes filled with tears and her face crumpled. "Oh, David. Thanks for being here with us," she whispered.

  He couldn't even reply. He simply held her, and both of them looked down at the crib.

  Emily lay on her back, exhausted but completely relaxed now, blessed air easily filling her lungs, the neat white band holding the pediatric tracheostomy tube firmly in place around her neck. Alex had done the procedure under a local, and Emily's eyes were open, confused and blurry, but aware.

  "Hey, princess, how ya doin'?" David swallowed back the lump in his throat and leaned down to stroke a satin-smooth cheek with the back of one finger. Even after all she'd been through, Emily tried her best to smile up at him.

  That tiny smile was his undoing, and it was Becky who comforted him as he sobbed.

  Watching them, Alex saw David's shoulders heaving, saw the tears that slid down her brother-in-law's strong features.

  He truly loved Emily, and for the first time, Alex realized that David could be responsible, that he had depths of compassion and an ability to love that she'd never suspected. Becky and Emily were safe with him. That conviction, and the knowledge that she'd kept Emily alive for both of them to love brought an enormous sense of giddy relief to Alex.

  I can't wait to tell Cam. He'll be so pleased and proud and surprised—

  The thought was instinctive. It took an instant to remember, to remind herself that she and Cameron no longer shared such intimacies, and with the realization came the pain that was becoming so familiar, the constant pain of missing the other half of herself.

  She loved him, she'd always love him, but love alone just wasn't enough. There had to be communication, as well, the kind of togetherness David and Becky were experiencing at this very moment, a sharing so deep nothing was held back.

  Alex turned and hurried out of the operating room. She'd simply have to get used to being alone. She remembered something Vema once said, and it brought an ironic smile to her lips, a sad smile. She'd be a woman alone, with an eccentric cat for company. A terrible cliche, Verna had called it, not realizing she was foreshadowing Alex's future.

  She drove back to the motel just as a pewter dawn was beginning to tinge the valley with the first hints of daylight.

  She wouldn't be able to leave today, she realized with weary resignation. It would take three days at least before Emily recovered enough to have the trach tube removed, and of course Alex wouldn't think of leaving until the little girl was truly on the road to recovery. It complicated everything, however. It was agonizing to be this close to Cameron, and this far removed. She'd counted on actual distance to make the break easier.

  There was also a new development in her complaint against King. She'd had to tell Becky about having her admitting privileges taken away. Technically, she'd administered emergency treatment, which was her right—her duty—but, as she'd explained to Becky, she had no legal way of admitting Emily to the hospital for further care.

  "She's going in with Gram right now, and she's staying there," Becky had stated with fire in her eyes. "And as soon as I get home I'm writing out a full report of what went on in the ER when Johnnie died. I'm giving copies to Dr. King, Harry Perkins, and the College of Physicians and Surgeons. I realized tonight how wrong it is of me to go on letting King operate on others when I wouldn't allow him to touch my own child."

  She gripped Alex's hand painfully tight in both her own. "I was so wrong to refuse you, Alex. I'm ashamed and sorry, and I hope you can forgive me."

  Alex had simply hugged her tight, her heart swelling at the thought that Becky would, after all, support her in her struggle with King and Perkins.

  Maybe it was a good thing she couldn't leave town today, she told herself, pulling the car into the motel parking lot and wearily making her way to the doorway of her unit. Becky would need support now.

  She fished in her bag for the key and unlocked the door.

  Pavarotti would be beside himself. She hadn't left him any food—

  "Pavarotti?" The cat was nowhere in sight.

  "Pavarotti?" She knelt on the floor, checked under the bed, looked in the closets, even turned back the bedcovers, but it was evident he wasn't in the unit. He must have slipped out when she left for the hospital, she decided at last, trying not to panic. With the flashlight Cam insisted she keep in the car, she went out to look for her cat.

  An hour and twenty minutes later, shivering in the early-morning chill, her feet soaked by icy dew and her voice hoarse from calling, Alex finally admitted that Pavarotti was lost.

  Terrible visions of her beloved cat under the wheels of a truck on the nearby highway or trapped somewhere, unable to escape, overwhelmed her. She slumped into the green armchair beside the motel bed, and she felt like howling. Losing Pavarotti seemed the final, awful culmination of a series of disasters in Alex's life.

  She'd learned, in these past difficult weeks, to be more independent, and even more confrontational, than she'd ever been in her life. She'd stood up to her mother for the first time, she'd dealt with Hollister King on her
own, she'd made major decisions without procrastinating, completely without Cameron's support—but losing Pavarotti was not something she could bear alone.

  She picked up the telephone and dialed the RCMP office, and in twelve minutes flat, Cameron was there.

  He didn't try to take her in his arms or talk about their separation or beg her not to leave. He simply listened as, nearly incoherent with worry and weariness, Alex babbled out the story of Emily, of how long it must have been since Pavarotti left the motel, of how she blamed herself for not being more careful about the door.

  "I love that cat—your mother gave him to me. I can't bear the thought of losing him," she moaned.

  When finally she ran out of breath, Cam rummaged in her suitcase for warm, dry stockings. He knelt at her feet and tenderly stripped off her wet ones and then bundled her into her warmest jacket and a dry pair of boots and loaded her into the squad car.

  "We'll find Pavarotti," he promised, and Alex believed him, because in spite of everything else, she'd never known Cam to break a promise.

  Officious in his uniform, he went to the motel manager's door and knocked until the wizened man appeared, grumpy and disheveled in a ratty blue housecoat, angry at being disturbed so early in the morning because of a cat that wasn't supposed to be in one of his motel units in the first place. Cam ignored his complaints and insisted every unused unit be opened so Alex could search.

  There was no sign of Pavarotti.

  They drove up one street and down the other, stopping constantly to examine abandoned sheds, building sites, stretches of wilderness, open garages. Cam contacted Greg when he came on shift at eight and had Louise notify the local radio station and all the schools.

  But no one had seen, or even more disturbing considering his considerable voice, heard the cat.

  As the hours passed, any initial awkwardness Alex might have felt faded, and gradually she began to talk to Cam of other things besides Pavarotti. It was warm in the squad car, and unless she talked, she was afraid she'd fall asleep.