by Rhett DeVane
Glenn recalled the suffocating panic. How his throat constricted and his heart rate increased so that he heard the fluttering thuds echo in his ears. Left to his own, he might have stayed there, stuck for all eternity. His buddy had managed to find a long branch to extend across the bog, and Glenn had used it to pull himself over to grab onto a cypress knee. His clothing was torn and muddy. He’d face his mother’s wrath later. But he was out of the swamp, whole and alive.
Now Glenn couldn’t tell who was extending the branch.
“I look like a skunk ape,” Abby McKenzie said. “I don’t think my hair has ever been this filthy.”
Ben rummaged in a backpack and pulled out a plastic bottle. “I’m here to save the day, my friend.”
“Is that something to drink, or are you going to dip me like a mangy dog?”
Ben smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to wash your hair, so I asked Mandy at the Triple C if she had some kind of dry shampoo. She suggested this astringent instead. Said to apply it to the scalp and it would absorb some of the oil. I figured I could use a washcloth and help you wipe it on. It’s alcohol-based, so it’ll evaporate fast. That way, you won’t have wet hair.”
Abby jabbed the bed switches to raise the head of the bed. “Bring it on. It’s worth a try. Choo-choo helped me get a bath last night. But this hair is driving me insane.”
Ben saturated a cloth and massaged Abby’s scalp, working toward the end of one hank of hair. His fingers, gentle and strong at once. Abby closed her eyes and gave herself over to his touch. Somewhere beyond the bandages, other parts went tingly.
“I’m going to owe you big for this,” she said. “You, and everyone else who has been so amazing to me throughout this whole thing.”
“No debt between friends, Abs.”
The easy familiarity between her and Ben had none of the prickly sensations she associated with male/female interactions. Abby didn’t even mind that he had picked up the nickname Mason Dixon used for her. “You’d make a great nurse. Where’d you learn to be so good at all of this?”
Even through the painkiller fog, Abby realized the stupidity of her question. She reached up and grasped Ben’s wrist. “I’m sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean . . . ”
“No harm, no foul.” His hands didn’t miss a stroke. “I did have lots of practice.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through.” She listened to his breathing—even and slow.
“It was a difficult time, with my wife. And remember, I’m a father too. My son has never had to go through anything as traumatic as cancer, but I’ve experienced my fair share of spilled body fluids and otherwise.”
His fingers caressed her scalp. Abby leaned into his touch. “Tell me what’s been happening over in the Hooch.”
She heard him inhale and exhale. When Ben spoke again, the aura of sadness had been replaced with his usual calm humor. “Let’s see . . . Your office is managing without you at the helm, barely. Sabrina is propped up at the front desk when she’s not with a patient. She’s easing back into her job. Said to tell you they finally got a payment from some insurance claim you’d been waiting on. Said you’d know what she was talking about. That it was clearly a miracle.”
Abby grinned. All those staples and red marks had worked! At least she’d gotten that one right. She should author an office management manual.
“Dr. Payne’s wife comes in a couple of hours a day to help out,” Ben continued. “She’s a little . . . umm . . . stuffy.”
“Mrs. Payne is not unfriendly. I think it’s because she’s not from the Deep South, and a little more reserved than people are accustomed to.”
“Right.” Ben laughed. “If you don’t know a person’s life history, darkest secrets, and favorite color by the time you’ve spoken ten minutes, something is amiss.”
“Elvina Houston says that the Bible tells her to love her neighbors. And she has to know all about their lives to do that. Kind of a divine permission to meddle. She got that philosophy from her late friend Piddie.”
Ben chuckled, poured more liquid onto the cloth. The sound of his laughter helped her more than drugs.
“What else . . . ,” he said. “Joy and the yoga class miss you and Sheila terribly. Loiscell’s managed to go once, but Choo-choo’s been too tired to make it. I’ve missed once, but I find the movements help me stay a little calmer, so I try to go. I feel guilty, though—what with you and Sheila in the hospital.”
“Don’t. It’s only right you have a little down time. I’ll be back to class as soon as I heal enough. Might not make it there before the second surgery, but for sure after my insides are reconnected. I’ve been doing a few of the shoulder and neck movements, and the breathing thing we do in class. Beats blowing in that little plastic contraption the respiratory therapists are so keen about.”
“Deep breathing’s important. Keeps you from getting pneumonia.”
“I know. I know.” Abby pushed out an exaggerated sigh. “Joy called me the first day after surgery. Can’t even begin to tell you what we said. I was pretty doped up. It was sweet of her. She has such a mellow voice. Now, what else?”
“Mason Dixon’s taken it upon himself to oversee Oreo’s care and feeding. Nice kid.”
Abby felt a pang of guilt, but couldn’t bring herself to share her prearrangement for the kitten’s care, or the reason why. One day. Maybe.
Ben talked as he worked each strand of hair through the damp cloth. “Joe Fletcher added this fantastic new Chocolate Dream Cake to his menu. Can you have sweets? If so, I can bring you a piece.”
“I think it’s okay, as long as there aren’t any nuts. The dietitian is supposed to come by sometime today and review my list. I’ve been thrilled to have the Jell-O.” Abby stuck out her tongue. “Cake doesn’t even sound appealing right now, believe it or not. And I love Joe’s baking. About the only thing I’ve wanted since they’ve allowed me to eat has been bland stuff, like mashed potatoes and cream of wheat.”
The sliding door opened behind them and a woman stepped inside. “Hi, I’m Janice, the Ostomy Care Nurse. Is this a good time for us to talk?”
“You want me to leave, Abs?” Ben asked.
Panic seized Abby. She needed Ben. The realization stunned her and scared her spitless at the same time. “Would you stick around? My memory isn’t too hot right now. And if there’s something important I have to know later . . . ”
Ben’s face softened. He fastened the top onto the astringent bottle. “Sure. Glad to.”
“I’m going to show you how to care for your stoma, how to empty and change the ostomy bag. Since your surgeon had to leave your incision open to drain, so close to the stoma, it will take a bit of extra care until the wound fills in and heals.” The nurse’s gaze shifted from Abby to Ben.
“Okay with me, if it’s okay with Abby.”
Abby winced. Kind of a creepy thing to ask the man to do. He’d been in the room when the nurses cleaned and packed the wound, but this was taking it to a new level.
“I’ve seen and done just about everything. When my wife—well, let’s say it won’t be an issue.” He offered Abby a warm smile. “You might need a little help the first few times you do this. But if you’d rather it be Loiscell or Choo-choo, tell me. You might prefer a female. I’m good with whatever you decide. Really.”
Abby flipped the sheet down to reveal her abdomen while still keeping her private parts covered. “I’ve got to learn how to deal. The sooner, the better. Hand me a pair of those rubber gloves and let’s do this.”
Chapter Sixteen
Three days after suicide
Thursday
In Sheila Bruner’s dream, the FSU women’s basketball uniform fit perfectly. The material: shiny white with garnet and gold trim. Sheila looked up. Sue Semrau motioned for her. She was going in! As soon as she hit the court, a teammate passed the ball, and Sheila zoomed down the court. No one could stop her. Her feet worked in rhythm with her hands. Two more steps. She charged forward f
or the perfect lay-up.
A rap sounded at her hospital room door. Sheila jerked awake and the dream faded. No court. No FSU basketball team. No smiling coach. No cheering fans.
Probably Loiscell and her daughter coming back after lunch. Bless her heart, the poor woman shouldn’t even be over at Tallahassee General again. Sheila had tried to talk her out of coming. Sheila could get up and walk to the bathroom unassisted, as long as she used one foot to jumpstart the rolling pole over the bathroom threshold.
Sure, time passed faster with someone to talk with, but Sheila didn’t mind being alone. When a person had shared so many years of bad company, solitary time was a gift. It gave her pause to listen to the small inner voice she thought long dead. That voice told her, “your husband tried to kill you, your husband tried to kill you.” Part of her still didn’t believe it. Stupid, since she had worried about it nearly every moment of every day for years.
“Come in,” she called out when the knock sounded again.
Instead of Loiscell and Lisa, a man with close-cropped silver hair walked in, a large bouquet of flowers held in one hand. “Sheila Bruner?”
“Yes.”
“These are for you.” He stood and stared at her, as if he was trying to absorb every detail of her face.
The man’s eyes: cold. The way he held himself: military erect. A coiled spring. A rattlesnake.
“Um . . . put them down on the little shelf there, if you please.”
The man took two measured steps and slid the arrangement into place. When he looked back her way, Sheila fought the urge to leap from the hospital bed and move as fast as she could manage. Anything to get as far away, as fast as possible.
Don’t be silly. Not every man is out to get you. Her breathing calmed a little with the self-talk. The least you can do is be cordial. “Usually the Pink Ladies bring flowers and cards.”
The man smiled. The expression was far from pleasant. “We make an exception for special patients.”
The door behind him swung open, and Loiscell and her daughter entered. “We just had the most wonderful lunch! I wish you could—” Loiscell stopped when she spotted the man. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know you had a visitor.”
Sheila swallowed. Her throat felt as dry as it had after surgery. “He’s delivering flowers.”
The man nodded first to Sheila, then in the general direction of the two women, taking particular note of Loiscell. He walked past and closed the door behind him.
“He was a little odd,” Loiscell said. “Didn’t seem quite like the flowery type.”
Lisa tsked. “Like, you have to be a certain type to work for a florist, Mom?”
“That’s not what I meant. He looked . . . ” Loiscell brushed the notion aside with one hand. “Never mind me.”
Sheila motioned to the shelf where the elegant bouquet stood. “Would you see who sent them?”
Lisa slipped the small white envelope from its plastic prong holder and handed it over. Sheila’s lips moved as she read the insert. “This is weird.” Sheila handed the card to Loiscell.
“May your fondest wishes come true,” Loiscell read aloud. “What the heck is that supposed to mean? And it’s not signed.” She turned the card over twice, as if she expected a reasonable answer to appear.
Lisa plopped down onto one of the vinyl upholstered chairs. “Maybe you have a secret admirer, Sheila.”
Elvina Houston entered the modern lobby of Capital Medical Center and paused to admire the interior design. Everywhere she looked, the wood, tile, and floors reflected the ambient light. At least at its entrance, Capital Medical resembled an architect’s grand office complex more than a hospital. After all the years of visiting sick friends, anything to take one’s mind off suffering and disease was an improvement in Elvina’s view. Being sick was bad enough without depressing surroundings. Even the air smelled fresh, not covered up with some mountain-spring, dewdrop air spray.
In the center of the cavernous room, a smiling information person sat behind a large glossy circular counter. No Pink Lady here.
She stepped from the third floor elevators into a pleasant atrium and continued past the nurses’ station with a nod to one of the ladies behind a computer screen. Elvina stopped dead in her tracks. A robotic automatic floor cleaner/polisher eased forward. It was the most remarkable piece of equipment, and she loved to confuse it. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one watched, then stepped directly into its path. It beeped, twice. Stopped. Lowered itself. A slight whirring noise and a few clicks sounded as it contemplated its next move. Then it elevated a couple of inches, turned forty-five degrees, moved forward a couple of feet, stopped again to straighten out, lowered itself, and proceeded with its buffing duties, missing Elvina altogether.
“You’re downright amazing, is what you are,” Elvina said as it whisked past. She tapped on the door to room 315 and entered after she heard Abby’s muffled answer. “Good afternoon, sunshine!”
Abby muted the wall-mounted television. “I’m so glad you’re here. I couldn’t stand one more second of CNN. News is so depressing. I watched The Young and the Restless. But the other soaps, I don’t keep up with.”
“I brought you a big stack of magazines and my Kindle loaded with books. I know how it is, once you start feeling a little better.”
Abby punched the switches to elevate the head of the bed. “Need to take a walk. Would you mind going with me?”
Elvina set the tote bag on a chair. “Of course I don’t mind. The sooner you look like you can get around, the sooner you can go home.”
Elvina helped Abby slip on her house shoes and robe, careful not to dislodge the I.V. She checked to make sure the surgical drain was secured to the gown, then unplugged the IV pump from the wall socket and hung the cord over the top of the rolling pole.
“I feel less like an octopus since they took all of those monitor wires off. I don’t have to wear that oxygen clip on my finger like in the ICU. I should be getting this drain out tomorrow. Then all I’ll have left is the IV. Not that I was mistreated in ICU, but it’s much quieter here on the floor. Trying to rest in that intensive care unit was like trying to sleep in the middle of a band concert.”
“Most of those patients are out of it, or in a coma. You were an exception. You were pretty hopped up on that morphine.” Elvina smiled. “Your color’s improved. You were stone gray last time I was up here.”
“I felt gray.” Abby tugged at her gown’s shoulder. “One size fits all. It keeps slipping down like I’m trying to be sexy or something.”
“Don’t you love hospital gowns?” Elvina commented. “Like my dear friend Piddie used to say, ‘they can be a bit air-ish in the rear.’ ”
A knock sounded at the door. Abby paused, her hand on the pole for support. “They just did rounds and took vital signs. What now?”
A man stepped inside, a huge vase of fresh cut flowers in hand. His gaze slid from Elvina to Abby. “Abby McKenzie?”
“Yes.”
“These are for you. Where shall I put them?”
Abby motioned to the cabinet beside the bed. “Over there’s fine, thank you.”
The man stood for a moment, taking a long look at the two of them. He offered a creepy half-smile, set down the arrangement. He tipped his head. “Good day, ladies.”
“That was strange,” Elvina said after he left. “Over at TGH, the Pink Lady volunteers deliver the flowers. Don’t know how they do things here. That fellow didn’t have any kind of logo on his shirt, like he was from a florist shop.”
“Dunno. The other arrangements came when I was doped up. Honestly, Cleopatra could’ve delivered them.” Abby shrugged. “Those might be from my office. Sabrina called earlier and said they were sending some.”
“Or from Ben Calhoun.” Elvina winked.
Abby stepped over and slipped the florist’s envelope from its holder. Her brows crimped. “It says ‘may your fondest wishes come true.’ ”
“No name?”
; Abby checked the backside of the card, then the envelope. “Nope.”
Choo-choo Ivey stood behind her screened front door and blinked a couple of times to assure her eyes weren’t fooling her.
“Mother?”
Jacqueline Ivey stood on the porch, her shoulders squared. Her daughter had gained a few inches around the waist, and her hair was severe, almost masculine. Her face: stern with few frown lines.
“My word. Well, come on in.” Choo-choo glanced over her daughter’s shoulder. A young woman stood behind Jacqueline, a nervous smile worrying her lips.
They stepped inside. Jacqueline motioned toward her companion. “This is Tee.”
The young woman extended a hand: small, quivery like a trapped sparrow. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Ivey.”
Back in the olden days, someone would’ve said Tee looked wormy, like she needed to eat some good, solid meals. With a few pounds on her frame, and a good stylist to calm down that mass of wild blonde curls, Tee could be almost attractive. Maybe a little make-up. She was too pale.
“Please, do call me Choo-choo.” She glanced back to her daughter, her mind still trying to fold itself around the fact Jacqueline was actually standing here, in her living room. And it wasn’t a major holiday.
“Jack, do you want me to get the suitcase?” Tee asked.
“Not yet.” Jacqueline’s gaze lingered on her mother for a moment before she stepped inside.
“I’m pleased as punch to see you, Jackie. But I wish you had called ahead.” Choo-choo looked from her daughter to Tee. “The guest room linens are clean, but I like to give them a good washing, freshen them up, before anyone sleeps on them.”
“It’s okay, Mother.” Jackie Ivey glanced around the room. “Where’s Prissy?”
“Oh. I haven’t spoken with you since . . . Prissy passed, Jackie. I left several messages on your phone. Asked you to call.”
