Island Life Sentence

by Carrie Jo Howe

  “The Life Flight people said that they took her to your hospital. She must be there,” Peg pleaded in a desperate tone.

  “Ma’am. She was here and then, based on her condition, she was transferred elsewhere. That’s ALL I can say. I need to attend to other patients now. Goodbye.”

  The line clicked off. Peg held the disconnected phone up to her head while it beeped, not wanting to hang up. Maybe the woman would start speaking again. Maybe she would feel sorry for Peg. Maybe she would help her find Trudy.

  After a couple of minutes, Peg pushed the off button. She held her head in her hands and slumped over the counter.

  How can I go to her when I don’t know where she is?

  Text from Peg to Clark

  Call me. It’s an emergency. I’m fine but Trudy’s not. I need your help.

  Email from Peg to Clark

  Clark – I know that you don’t get the emails I send until days later, but PLEASE call me as soon as you get this. I need your help. Trudy was here and got hit on the head with a coconut and knocked out. I don’t know how she is. They life-flighted her by helicopter to Miami. The Miami hospital sent her somewhere else and they won’t tell me where. How can I find out where she is? I can’t do nothing, but that’s what I’m doing. I am alone in Key West and need you.

  Please, please, please call me.

  Peg hit the send button and stared at the screen, willing it to respond. Nothing.

  Think… think… Who can I contact?

  The teenage neighbor boy who is watching Trudy’s dog, Tucker.

  Peg scrolled through her old Rolodex for the boy’s number. She shook off the wave of nostalgia as she touched each well-worn index card from her past life.

  Phone call to teenage neighbor boy

  Boy: “Hullo?”

  Peg: “Hi, this is Peg. I’m a friend of Trudy’s. She got hurt and I’m wondering if you have heard from her or anyone who would know about her?”

  Boy: “Uh – she’s in Key West.”

  Peg: “Right. I’m in Key West and she was with me, but she was injured and helicoptered to Miami and then somewhere else… I just don’t know where.”

  Boy: “Dude. That sucks.”

  Peg could hear the machine-gun fire of a video game in the background.

  Peg: “Yes, that does suck. You haven’t heard from anyone? No phone calls… maybe to your mother?”

  Boy: “Uh. No. The dog’s cool though.”

  Peg: “I’m sure that you are taking good care of him. Keep my number in case you hear from anyone.”

  Boy: “No prob. Later.”

  Peg: “Any news… at all from any…”

  Click.

  Peg rolled onto the floor and curled up into a ball. The dog licked her ear.

  Think.

  You have to think.

  What about her sister? They haven’t spoken to each other in years… but maybe, since she is a relative, someone contacted her…

  She crawled to the desk and lifted the Rolodex to the floor. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she took a deep breath and dialed the number on the card.

  Phone call to Trudy’s sister

  Peg: “Hi, this is Trudy’s friend Peg. Has anyone contacted you about Trudy? She’s been injured and I don’t know where she is.”

  Sister: “Is she dead?”

  Peg: “No. Oh my God, no… she’s…”

  Sister: “Then I don’t care.”

  Peg: “I just thought that–”

  The line disconnected.

  Peg tossed the phone across the floor. It spun round and round until it smacked into the wall. Nipper jumped up at the noise and looked expectantly at Peg, who lay flat on her back with her eyes closed. The dog gazed down at her face and licked her nose. When there was no reaction from Peg, he licked again. With this rare green light to perform a thorough nostril cleaning, he placed both front paws on her chest, curled his tongue and dug in.

  Sputtering, she pushed the dog off. “Okay, okay, I’ll get up.” She turned onto her hands and knees then rose to her feet to retrieve her phone. Peg followed Nipper, who ran into the guest bedroom where Trudy’s suitcase lay open on the floor. The wet clothes from the day before hung, still wet, over the arm of the chair. Peg flopped backward on top of the guest bed, covering her nose when Nipper hopped up next to her. Holding the dog at arm’s length she said to the ceiling, “Trudy, I won’t abandon you. If I have to call all of the hospitals in Florida and then all of the hospitals in the country, I will find you.”

  Her phone buzzed. Her heart leapt.

  Text from Clark

  Can’t call right now. Swamped. Trudy will be fine – she’ll show up.

  Text to Clark

  Show up? She’s unconscious.

  Get home now or I’m outta here.

  Text from Clark

  I’m emailing you the contract from the Cuban subsidiary so you can see the importance of this mission. We’re going into the mountains for a few weeks. After that, I’ll come home. I promise.

  Peg sighed when she saw the email come through. It was a real project – signature and everything.

  Clark is working to better an entire country and I’m playing the jealous housewife.

  Her fingers felt heavy. Her eyelids too huge to keep open. Nipper curled up next to her. The guest bed was occupied but the guest was nowhere to be found.

  Day Two, Three, Four… Twenty (post coconut)

  Call hospitals

  Lie on floor

  Text Clark

  Erase text to Clark

  Lie on guest bed

  Write email to Clark

  Lie on couch

  Erase email to Clark

  Walk dog

  Drink

  Sleep (sort of)

  Day Twenty-One (post coconut)

  As the sun set, Nipper Houdinied out of his collar and took off down the street.

  “Nipper, come back here.” Peg woke from her zombie-walk state, the leash dangling in her hand. The dog greyhounded around the corner then slid to a screeching halt next to the familiar glitzy baby buggy. Peg chased him at full speed for a full ten feet, then paused to put her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Panting, she continued her pursuit but slowed when she saw Randolph place Lulu on the ground to greet Nipper.

  Peg limp-walked up to them with her fingers pressed under her ribcage. She gasped for air. “I need to get more cardio. Hi, Randolph. Hi, Lulu.” She slipped the collar over her renegade dog’s head.

  Randolph looked sideways as he spoke. His voice frosty. “Hi, Peg. You really need to keep a better grip on your dog. He’s going to get hurt if he keeps doing this you know and–” He spun to face her to continue, then hesitated. “Oh my. You look terrible.” He moved closer to get a better look. “Are you okay?” He poked her cheek with his pointer finger.

  Peg welled up. “No.” She avoided his eyes.

  Randolph thawed. “What’s the matter, doll?”

  Looking down, the tears trickled. “I can’t find my friend. She was hit on the head by a falling coconut and airlifted out of here. I’ve called every hospital in five states and I can’t find her. Either they won’t tell me… or won’t talk to me.” She choked. “I’m so worried.”

  Lulu sat under Nipper’s front legs as he groomed the top of her head.

  Randolph put his arm over Peg’s shoulder. “I’m sure that your friend is okay. I mean at least you know the helicopter worked. She got out of here – right? That’s not always the case. I knew a guy, and, well, when they couldn’t get the helicopter started–”

  Peg sobbed for real. “She’s gone. I don’t know where she is.”

  Randolph threw his hands in the air. “Stop. Please. I can’t stand the sight of tears. I don’t care what Bernie says, I am compassionate. It’s a curse.” He took a step back. “Is that a stream of snot dripping below your chin?”

  Peg gurgled, “I think so.” She schwiped her nose back and forth, leaving a zigzaggy goo streak on her forearm.<
br />
  “Everyone says that I’m too nice. Honestly they’re right.” He took a tissue out of the zipper pouch on the buggy and handed it to Peg. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll talk to Bernie.”

  “What can he do?” Peg honked a nose blow into the tissue. “Does he do work for the hospitals too?”

  “Not exactly, but he might be able to do a search for your friend.”

  Peg lifted her head. “Really? He would do that? There are privacy laws… and they are so strict–”

  “Bernie knows a lot of people. He’s very respected.” Randolph chest-puffed as he spoke.

  “That would be wonderful. Anything… I’ll text you the details–”

  “No promises,” Randolph interrupted. “But he’ll try if I ask him.”

  “Thank you… and…” Peg paused. “I’m sorry about ruining your lobster catching.” The tears reformulated.

  Peg took a breath to continue. Randolph held up a finger to shush her then pulled it away from her drippy lips before it made contact.

  “No talking about it.” He did a just-in-case finger cleanse on his shirt.

  Peg nodded and wiped each eye with the used tissue.

  The dogs were contentedly lying next to each other on the sidewalk. Lulu’s head gleamed. A smile formed on Peg’s face as she watched the dogs.

  Randolph thought for a second, started to speak, then stopped, then started again. “There’s a dog float at the Fantasy Fest Parade tomorrow evening.”

  “Oh,” Peg said, “that’s nice.”

  “Yes, and I’m running it. I do all of the creatives for the float.”

  “You’ll be good at that,” Peg added, not knowing what else to say.

  Randolph blurted, “I’ve had a cancellation and I’d like for you and Nipper to come on the float. You need to dress alike and you can sit next to Lulu and me.”

  Peg’s numbness prevented any protest. “Sure, that would be great,” she lied.

  “Super.” He patted Peg on the back. “We’ll chat.”

  Randolph picked up Lulu, who bared her teeth when he placed her in the buggy. “You can see your boyfriend later, you diva.” Lulu snapped at his finger as he waggled it in front of her nose. He yanked the cover of the stroller shut and wheeled off in the other direction.

  Peg walked a couple of steps, but the dog resisted the leash.

  “Let’s go, Nipper.” Peg yanked with greater effort until he reluctantly relented and moved his feet.

  “Come on, mister, I can’t have you leaving me for another woman.”

  Her stomach twisted at her own words.

  Clark… no… not true… stop thinking about it. Need to think about Fantasy Fest… what am I supposed to do?

  To distract herself as they walked, she asked her phone out loud, “Okay, Google. What is Fantasy Fest?”

  Google responded in a helpful voice: “Fantasy Fest is a street fair for grown-ups. It brings in more than 100,000 visitors each year to the island of Key West. Body paint and imagination are a must.”

  Wow, 100,000 body-painted people? I can’t go out in body paint… not enough Chardonnay in the world.

  Back at the house, she Googled images of the Fantasy Fest dog float. It seemed harmless enough. Some of the pets were naked, but their owners were fully dressed in dog costumes. This was a relief, since the image of the “aviary” float showed a woman with breasts painted in the likeness of colorful birds – above the artwork, in black magic marker, the word swallows.

  Thank God I don’t have a parakeet… the bird float?… no thank you.

  Fantasy Festering

  The next day, Peg’s heart leapt when she read the text from Randolph.

  Text from Randolph

  Bernie located your friend, Trudy. He can’t say where she is. She can’t contact anyone and they won’t let you talk to her. Sorry. At least you know that she is alive.

  Text from Peg

  Is she okay? Can she talk? Does she have permanent damage? How long do you think it will be? Can’t Bernie tell me where she is so that I can go there?

  Text from Randolph

  No.

  Text from Peg

  Right, of course not. I don’t want to get Bernie in trouble.

  Text from Randolph

  Bernie can’t tell you any more. He broke quite a few rules. I won’t be able to help him if he goes to jail.

  Text from Peg

  No, of course not, I’m so grateful. I’m so relieved that at least he knows where she is. Please tell him thank you very much.

  Text from Randolph

  I will. Also – be at the float site tonight at 6:30 sharp. The Fantasy Fest parade starts at 7:00. Dress like Nipper and don’t be late. I had to turn down two French Bulldogs who attempted bribery for your spot on the float.

  Text from Peg

  I don’t want to make anyone mad… if they want my spot…

  Text from Randolph

  French Bulldogs aren’t real dogs. They have to be inseminated artificially – hips too small. Only dogs that reproduce naturally are invited on the float.

  6:30. Sharp.

  Yick, that’s a horrible thought… an undulating mass of humping dogs floating down the street.

  Text from Peg

  We’ll be there.

  In the past, she would have shared everything with her husband. Where was he? Why was she alone in this? Clark’s silence was deafening. Shaking off her feelings of despair, longing for some control, she re-energized to prepare for Fantasy Fest.

  Nipper sat on his haunches with one leg lifted up to his ear. Head down, tongue in full gear, he slurped around the area on his body that had, once upon a time, contained his reproductive equipment.

  Peg made a face. “I guess you still qualify for the float.”

  She opened up her laptop and Googled matching dog and owner costumes. Scrolling through costume options like Han Solo and Chewbacca, Vendor and Hotdog, and Wicked Witch of the West and Toto, Peg sighed. “Ugh. You won’t even wear a bandana. I can’t imagine you in a full lion mane.” Nipper made eye contact with Peg in affirmation then resumed his task.

  “Okay, how about easy dog and owner costumes,” she asked herself out loud as she typed. She flipped through the search results and yawned. “I totally don’t want to do this.” She closed the PC.

  Trudy, where are you? Why can’t you call me? I just hope you’re okay.

  Dog-tired and bone-weary, Peg collapsed on the couch. She could hear the distant hoots and hollers from the crowds walking toward Duval Street. Nipper jumped up and plopped his head on her leg, eager for a comfy lap. Peg caressed his velvety ears – so smooth and silky. Her body relaxed. Her breathing slowed. She closed her eyes and slept. It was a dark, dreamless sleep. The shadows cast lower on the wall as the clock tick-tocked.

  “Crap. What time is it?” Peg’s semi-awake body stood up faster than her bloodstream. Woozily, she sat back down.

  She looked at the clock. “Six fifteen? Argghh. We’re going to be late.” She stood up again, heart pounding. The dog wagged his tail.

  “What are we going to wear, Nipper? Or should I say, what am I going to wear? You’ll be having none of this costume business, smart dog.”

  Nipper barked.

  Peg scurried into the bedroom and opened up the bottom dresser drawer to its fullest two inches. She yanked out assorted clothes and chucked them onto the bed. Sifting through the pile, she picked out a pair of brown leggings and a brown bodysuit that snapped at the crotch. A flashback ensued: she’d worn the donkey head at the office Halloween party and Clark had followed behind her in the hindquarters.

  If Trudy were here she would say, “If the ass fits…” I miss her.

  She tugged the 15-year-old leggings over her thighs and shimmied them around her hips. Her stomach formed a round pillow in the spandex-free stockings.

  My God, I think this waistband is made of scrap metal… it’s cutting me in half…

  Not having the time to fuss about self-mutilat
ion, she pulled the one-piece bodysuit over her head. Leaning forward, she reached one arm between her legs to catch the snaps on the flap at her fanny. Yet, the farther she bent over to grab them, the higher the snaps scooched up her back.

  …like a dog chasing his tail…

  Not having the time to snap-catch, she checked herself out in the mirror.

  A pregnant dog with a floppy metal tail.

  She split her hair into two fluffy pigtails, sticking straight up like ears on the top of her head. Nipper’s old collar smelled like three years of wet dog, but she loosened it and clicked it around her neck. The crusty, extra leash exuded a moldy, old-pee odor. Breathing through her mouth, she attached it to the collar.

  She shoved her stockinged toes into the closest pair of flip-flops.

  Cramming her phone into the top of the abdomen-splitting hosiery, Peg and her dog, and his leash, and her own leash, raced out.

  “Let’s go, Nipper. Six twenty-five. I think we can just about make it.”

  People of all shapes, sizes and accoutrements packed the streets to get to the parade. She held all of the leashes close as they bumped through the crowd.

  It was Nipper nirvana. Never in his life had he had the opportunity to walk behind an 80-year-old man wearing only a strategically placed athletic sock.

  Or walk next to a woman painted like a GIANT male private part with cotton balls on her face.