Dylan carefully scooped the kitten up and wrapped it in a towel then held it close to him. “Hey there,” he softly said, while cradling the kitten in the crook of his arm and wiping its little head with the corner of the towel. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” The words flowed from his lips with such tenderness that he sounded like he was comforting a frightened child, rather than a scrawny rain-soaked cat.
Dylan carefully fluffed the kitten’s coat while it looked up at him with marble-sized eyes that seemed much too large for its tiny head. He felt a surge of pity for the animal that lay trembling at his chest, so he drew it closer and gently stroked its fur. Dylan lifted his arm and lowered his face then closing his eyes, he rubbed his cheek against the kitten’s head, all the while wishing that the soft little body cradled on his arm was that of his wife.
“Oooh, Lorraine.” Her name exhaled like an audible breath. “You don’t know how much I miss you.” The kitten squirmed when he tightened his embrace. Dylan opened his eyes and relaxed his hold to let the kitten move freely. “I’m sorry,” he said, refocusing. “What should I call you?” He did a quick bottoms-up, and then decided that she would be called Misty, since he found her in the rain.
He set Misty down on the floor and then opened the refrigerator to find the leftover tuna, macaroni mixture from the night before. He picked out the tuna and placed it on a saucer then set the dish in front of her, along with a bowl of water. Misty scurried under the table, but watched as Dylan squatted down to move the dish closer to her. Her little nose rose and sniffed the air before she took a hesitant step forward.
“Come on, Misty. I know you’re hungry. Eat.”
She turned her head to one side as though trying to understand English and then took another step forward. He could tell that she wanted to eat by the way she rocked back and forth on her haunches. To the dish, away from the dish. Nose up, nose down. Back and forth, dancing a little kitty cha-cha. He moved the food within her reach and she hesitantly lowered her head. Misty tasted the tuna and when she decided that it was safe to eat, she licked the entire plate clean.
It was well past midnight when Dylan mopped the puddles from the floor. Misty had dried to a soft gray mound of fluff like a giant pussy willow. He lifted the ball of fur and placed her at the foot of his bed where she curled up on the sheet and softly purred to sleep. And as Dylan savored the peaceful sight the thought came to his mind: Everything’s going to be all right.
FOUR
“Doctor Mitchell. Code blue. Room 356!” The voice called over the intercom, and Lorraine sprinted down the corridor of Mercy General Hospital. “Oh, please, not Sophia. Let her be okay,” Lorraine whispered to herself before rushing into the room to assist the doctor, who was compressing the elderly woman’s chest.
“The paddles are on the way,” Lorraine offered, as she placed the resuscitator on Sophia’s face, and then squeezed the ball when Doctor Mitchell’s stopped between compressions. The woman nightgown had slipped from her bony frame, exposing her thin wrinkled shoulders. Her frizzy, white head had lolled off the pillow like a rag doll discarded after a long day of play. And her mouth drooped as though trying to breathe through it because of a congested nose—but Sophia wasn’t breathing.
Randy pushed again and again as he counted each compression aloud. The process always reminded Lorraine of someone plunging a clogged drain, and although a necessary procedure, it was upsetting to watch the aggressive movements forced upon the frail woman’s chest.
“Where is the machine?” Randy demanded, his face reddening, his arms rigid and unrelenting. Lorraine dashed into the hall for a look. “It’s on the way right now,” she said, the clickety-clack of the crash cart preceding its arrival.
Doctor Mitchell placed the pads on the woman’s chest and commanded that everyone stand clear. The machine sent a shock that jolted Sophia up from the bed. Lorraine flinched and cupped her hand to her mouth as the sight sent a rippled up her spine.
The elderly woman’s eyes opened and she took a breath, as the beeping of the monitor sang a hopeful tune. Although Sophia was alive and alert, her bulging eyes revealed such a look of horror that it startled Lorraine. The frightened woman wrapped her hand around Lorraine’s arm with such surprising strength that she thought Sophia would climb up to her shoulder. “Something was there…there…like a shadow,” Sophia said, pointing toward the corner with a jabbing motion. “It was there! I could feel it!” The woman shuddered.
Lorraine was afraid to look, but she turned toward the corner anyway, relieved that nothing was there. “Feel what, Sophia?” she asked, while prying Sophia’s fingers from her arm to resume normal blood flow.
“Something was there waiting for me!”
Lorraine’s feet were now glued to the floor. “What was it, Sophia?” she asked, ignoring the fact that Randy stood watching them with a sardonic look on his face. Lorraine steadied herself on the bed rail, waiting for the answer.
“I don’t know, but it wanted me to follow him. I didn’t want to go. I still don’t want to go!” Tears brimmed on the verge of spilling. “Not yet, I’m not ready!” Then the dam broke loose and Sophia cried wracking sobs like a child lost in a deep, dense forest. The tears streamed down her face and doused her cheeks and chin as though she’d been standing in a torrential rain. “I’m eighty-three years old,” her chin quivered uncontrollably, “but I’m not ready to die! What should I do?”
Lorraine lifted the woman’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know, Sophia,” she said, offering no answer while trying to regain her own sense of composure. “You’re all right now and that’s what matters.” The truth was Lorraine had no idea what lay beyond the grave. She’d heard bits and pieces about God and the afterlife during Christmas Eve services and Easter musicals, and oftentimes at funerals, but that was about it. She knew God was out there somewhere, but she didn’t give much thought to him. So now, rather than face her own questions concerning faith and mortality, she quickly busied herself by making Sophia comfortable in hopes of shaking the eerie feeling that clung to her like smoke.
When Randy left the room and things returned to a semblance of normalcy, Lorraine made light of the incident to relieve her own uneasiness by chiding Sophia as though the elderly woman deliberately went into cardiac arrest to agitate the staff. “Now don’t you ever scare me like that again, Sophia,” she said, wagging her finger at the woman as though she were a naughty child.
The obedient patient offered a sad smile and nodded as Lorraine fit a nasal tube into Sophia’s nose and then secured it around her ears. Then, after checking the woman’s vitals and writing the information on the chart, Lorraine said, “Don’t go away. I’ll be right back.”
Another hesitant smile appeared.
There were three things Lorraine could not get used to while working at the hospital: The hollow sound of the long corridors in the middle of the night, the pungent smell of disinfectants, and watching people die. Sophia had been admitted over three weeks ago. Most of her family lived out of state, but Lorraine’s tender care for the frail woman had formed a special bond between them. “You remind me of my grandmother,” Lorraine would say.
“And you remind me never to come back to this place. The food is horrible,” Sophia would reply. Lorraine liked Sophia’s feisty spirit, so she treated the woman with extra care and kindness by bringing in lasagna, or coconut cream pie, or some other homemade treat to eat, whenever possible. In return, Sophia shared boxes of candy and bouquets of flowers with her dedicated nurse.
* * *
Thankful that her shift was over, Lorraine glanced at the clock next to her bed. The red glow reminded her that Randy would arrive soon to pick her up for their dinner date. She sat on the edge of the bed and gathered her pantyhose down to each toe then pulled the stockings up each leg. She stood up and shimmied into her slip then walked to her closet and moved a dozen hangers across the supporting bar, before she stuck her head out and yelled down the stair
s, “Mom, where’s my teal dress?”
Mrs. Crawford clomped up the stairs, pulling herself up by the railing. “Twenty-years old today and you still can’t find your own clothes.”
“I know,” Lorraine moaned. “I’m just nervous about tonight. Randy said he’s taking me somewhere very special.” She patted her face with both hands as though her cheeks were warm.
“You’ve been seeing a lot of the doctor lately. I think he really likes you,” Mrs. Crawford sang the comment out with glee. “I think he wants to marry you.” She circled Lorraine and twiddled her fingers in front of her face, as though she was casting a spell. “I think you want to marry him too.” She grinned and then danced her way into the closet. She scooted two clothes hangers across the bar, found the dress and then gave it to Lorraine, while donning a lopsided smile.
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, while slipping the dress off the hanger and pulling it over her head, “but you know the divorce isn’t final yet. Randy and I are just friends.” She turned her back to her mother and lifted the hair off her neck.
“I know, but a mother can dream, can’t she?” Mrs. Crawford said with a spark of hope in her voice, while zipping up the dress.
“Three more months then you can dream. Do you think I should wear my hair up?”
“It does look nice that way.”
“Then up it is.” Lorraine leaned into the mirror and dusted a hint of pink blush across her cheeks then applied a matching lipstick.
Mrs. Crawford leaned her head in next to Lorraine’s as they stood gazing into the mirror. “You’re so beautiful, Lorraine. I remember when I was your age and dating your father.” She waved at herself in the mirror. “Oh, but that was so long ago. Never mind. You have a good time tonight.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, as she watched her mother exit from the reflection in the mirror. After pinning her hair up into a tidy French-twist, Lorraine stepped into a pair of kitten-heels with pointy-toes, and then fastened on a gold necklace and earrings. She checked her face one last time then pulled a few strands of hair onto her forehead and in front of her ears.
Before Lorraine flicked off the light, she caught a glimpse of her stuffed bear that had been sitting the same old rocker for as long as she could remember. How far she’d come since she came back home. She remembered her first evening back like it was yesterday, when she walked into her bedroom and regressed from woman to child again. The night she picked up her old Thumbelina doll from its wooden cradle and turned the knob on its back and it came to life in her hands. Holding the wiggling doll was just another reminder of her loss.
She remembered how she laid the doll back in its cradle and collapsed across her bed with one arm draped across her forehead and the other across her flat stomach. The familiar flutter of life was gone, leaving her empty in more ways than one. She had stared up at the ceiling as though it would bring relief from the longing that haunted the inner chamber of her heart. Instead, the solitude of her room had brought her face to face with the reality that Dylan was gone too, and in her emptiness and grief, she had rolled over and cried herself to sleep.
The bell chimed and Lorraine hurried from the room when she heard her mother answer the door. She smoothed her dress and glided down the stairs, to where Randy stood in the hallway in his perfectly pressed suit and tie, holding a dozen red roses. “Happy Birthday, Lorraine,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.
“Oh, Randy! They're beautiful!” she said. “Thank you! Come inside while I put them in water.”
Randy strolled over and sat down on the couch. He stretched both arms across the back of the sofa then crossed one leg over his knee.
In the kitchen, Lorraine lifted a crystal vase from the cupboard, and as she filled it with water, she called out to Randy, “What time are the reservations again?” And although she knew the answer, she felt the need to ask again to keep the conversation flowing. Sometimes Randy’s silence made her feel uneasy, but she excused his lack of dialogue by rationalizing that he was introspective, and that’s why he was such a good doctor.
“Seven o’clock.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there,” she said, snipping off the tip of each stem and then placing each rose in the vase. She checked her reflection in the chrome of the toaster and wiped a lipstick smudge from the corner of her mouth.
Back in the living room, Randy stood to meet her. “You look beautiful, Lorraine.”
“Thank you,” she smiled, as she picked up her clutch purse and tucked it beneath her arm. “I’m ready now.”
He held the front door open for her to pass through, and then intercepted her again to open her side of the car, before he slid onto his own champagne-colored seat. The soft cushions and the distinct smell of leather made her feel rich, and she liked it.
Randy pulled on his driving gloves then tightened them up by yanking each cuff while opening and closing his hand. He started the car and adjusted his mirror then smoothed away from the curb in a fluid-like motion.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“The usual. Busy. I’ve been putting in a lot of hours. How about you?”
“Everything’s fine except for Sophia. I’m worried about her.”
“You know that’s a no-no. We don’t get emotionally involved with our patients,” he reprimanded, while waving a gloved finger at her nose before giving it a gentle tap.
She smiled. “I know, but she’s so sweet. I just love her like she’s my own grandmother.”
Randy barreled down the highway. The car jerked as the engine growled and shifted into third gear. “Remember the unspoken rule, no emotional ties. It’s too easy to have your heart broken if something happens to a patient.”
She knew that he was right, but her heart didn’t function that way. She cared about her patients, how they felt, how they lived, and even how they died.
Randy rested his wrist on the top of the padded steering wheel for the remainder of the trip and then swung his red Jag into the restaurant’s parking lot. He dropped his keys into the valet’s hand, as he lightly touched the small of Lorraine’s back and guided her up the stairs and through the entrance of the mansion-like building. An avocado green carpet covered the dining room floor and a picturesque bay window gave view to the waterfront as sailboats cut across the glassy lake. Intricate designs of lace and doves were carved into the cherry wood rafters and broad-leafed plants clustered together gave the room a tropical feel.
Randy and Lorraine followed the waiter to a table where the man pulled out a jade colored brocade chair for Lorraine. “This place is gorgeous,” she whispered, as the waiter handed each of them a menu.
“My name is Eduardo. I’ll be your waiter for the evening. Would you care for something to drink while you make your selection?”
“Coffee, please,” they both chimed in unison, smiling. A moment later, Eduardo returned to fill their cups.
“Thank you,” they sang another duet, and then ordered their meals and waited to the tune of silverware tinkling on fine china, as tantalizing aromas escaped from the kitchen.
“See that man over there?”
Lorraine nonchalantly turned. “Yes.”
“That’s Anthony Caperio. He’s been a lawyer for thirty-five years.”
“Humm,” Lorraine raised her brow and politely nodded.
“He’s the best around.” Randy gave a slight wave to Mr. Caperio when the man glanced in their direction.
“That’s a long time to be at one job,” she said, while touching the tines of her fork.
“That’s his wife with him. They’ve been married for almost forty years.”
“Humm, also a long time.” She smiled wryly and nodded again, wondering if he was going somewhere with this information.
The waiter returned and placed their salads in front of them.
Lorraine draped her napkin across her lap, and then stabbed her tomato and held it up with a playful smile, and said, “This is just what the nurse ordered.”
&n
bsp; Randy didn’t smile back.
“Get it? Just what the doctor ordered? Nurse ordered? I’m a nurse —” Lorraine was stymied by his solemn demeanor, because he was being more serious than usual this evening. “Is something the matter?” she asked.
“No, not at all,” he said, coughing a little.
“Have I done something wrong?” she glanced at her place setting. Forks in order. Napkin properly draped.
A faint smile appeared. “Of course not,” he said. “I just have an important speech coming up, that’s all.”
The waiter returned with two delicate porcelain plates artistically arranged with prime rib and baked potato for him; shellfish and steamed vegetables for her. Lorraine pulled the lobster meat from its shell and dipped it in the melted butter then ate it. “Mmmmm, this is soooo good,” she said with an exaggerated moan.
Randy sliced his meat into small pieces. Lorraine tried not to watch, but the process looked more like a surgical procedure than the cutting of a steak. When he finished dissecting his beef, he took a bite but then pushed the rest of the meat around on his plate. He coughed a few more times and cleared his throat as though trying to break the silence, but his strange behavior was creating an even more awkward type of quiet, because now she didn’t know what to say to him.
Unsure of what was going on, Lorraine watched and wondered if she should prepare to do the Heimlich maneuver instead. Once certain that Randy was all right, she lifted her eyebrows and smiled, waiting for him to inject some morsel of conversation, or mention the attorney again. When he didn’t speak either way, she offered some of her own information. “My father’s blood pressure is down. I’ve been checking it every day like you suggested.”
The Missing Piece (Inspirational Love Story) Page 4
