Evolution

by L.L. Bartlett

  Worry etched deeply into Curtis’s face. He turned to Jeff. “He’s right, boy. We can’t let Joe Miller get sued if you got hurt.”

  “I’d be wiping down wet cars? How can I possibly get hurt?”

  It was Richard’s turn to fold his arms across his chest. “Five pounds. You’ve lost at least twelve. I’m not even asking you to gain back half of it. That’s my compromise. Take it or leave it.”

  He’d effectively boxed the kid into a corner.

  “Okay,” Jeff said grudgingly.

  “And you can’t gain the weight by just eating junk food. You have to eat real food. Healthy stuff, or the deal’s off.”

  “I will not eat their food.”

  No need to ask who they were.

  “I’m not asking you to. I will buy your food. This is money I earned. It’s not from a trust fund that came from them; it’s what I earn working here at the hospital.”

  Jeff crossed his arms over his chest once again. “No deal.”

  “Then it’s a real Catch-22, isn’t it? Where are you going to get money to buy the food you need to get a job so you don’t have to depend on me or anybody else?”

  “You told me last year that my mom left me some money.”

  “Yeah, a hundred and forty seven bucks. Are you sure this is how you want to spend it?”

  Jeff thought it over for a few moments. “Yes.”

  It was just one more rejection for Richard. But then, didn’t he deserve it? “Okay. I’ll give you the money tomorrow after my shift.” Then he had an idea on how to check up on the kid. “Maybe you’d like to take me out to dinner.”

  Jeff looked defiant. “I could do that.”

  “Fine.” Richard turned for the corridor. “I’ll see you tomorrow at five. But first, you’ve got to weigh in. There’s a scale in the ER. Get your butt off that chair and let’s go.”

  #

  Richard skidded the little lead weight across the scale’s sectioned bar and watched the balance lever bob up and down before it finally settled on a number.

  “That’s it. Five and one half pounds in three weeks. High Five!” he called, and Jeff raised a jubilant hand to smack his—hard.

  Jeff stepped off the scale, grabbed his jacket and pulled out the working papers and a pen. “Now pay up,” he said, shoving them toward Richard.

  He had already read them, so putting his John Hancock on the dotted line was a no-brainer. Yet, he felt a twinge of sadness. He’d enjoyed the times the kid had come to the hospital to be weighed. Afterwards, they’d usually gone to the cafeteria where Richard had downed a cup of hospital swill and the kid ate a fruit cup. Healthy food, as he pointed out to Richard. Now those times would come to an end.

  Richard carefully folded the papers and put them back in the envelope. Jeff made a grab for them but Richard pulled them out of his reach. “Before you take on a job, we have to have an understanding. Schoolwork comes first. Your grades drop, and the job is history.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “There’s one more condition: now that you’ve gained the weight, you have to keep it on. Lose even half a pound, and I revoke those papers.”

  “That’s not fair. You didn’t mention these conditions when we first made the deal.”

  “Yeah, but it’s my signature on those papers, and on the guardianship papers that say I’m responsible for you. You want to be a grownup so bad, you have to live by grownup rules. Are we clear on this?”

  Jeff frowned, his gaze fixed on the envelope still in Richard’s hand. “I guess.”

  Richard handed the kid the envelope, then offered his hand.

  Jeff looked at Richard’s hand, for long seconds. Then, finally, they shook on it. He quickly pulled his hand back. “Curtis is waiting for me. Mr. Miller has held the job for me. I want to start right away.”

  “How are you going to get there on a regular basis? That car wash is a couple of miles from the house.” He could no longer refer to it as his home.

  “Jim Ruggeri sold me his old ten-speed for twenty bucks. I can ride that to my job, and to school. I won’t need to depend on anybody anymore.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want? People do care about you, you know.”

  “Curtis cares about me,” Jeff corrected him.

  “I care about you, too. And you may not think so, but we have a lot in common. Neither of us had happy childhoods, and I’m sorry I haven’t made what’s left of yours better.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  “Neither of us knows how to let people love us, or knows how to really love anybody. We need to learn that it’s okay to lean on other people—and on each other.”

  “After today, I won’t need to lean on anybody ever again.”

  “I hope you won’t have to eat those words one day. And I am here for you. You just have to let me in.”

  “Curtis is waiting for me,” Jeff said, and turned.

  “You’re going to have to weigh in again next week,” Richard called after him.

  “There’s a scale at the house,” Jeff called over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

  Richard stared after him for a long few moments, feeling like he’d lost an opportunity—a huge opportunity—to do something right.

  And he had a feeling he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

  ***

  THE TURNING POINT

  Bittersweet. There was no better word to describe the nearly perfect weekend Richard Alpert had just experienced. The best skiing, the best food and drink, and the best sex ever.

  Pediatric nurse Cathy Garner had been more than just a casual friend these past six months, but she’d made it clear from day one that her days in Buffalo were numbered. Her job search had taken her to several different cities. She was determined to help children with a poor shot at life and had accepted a position at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee.

  “Better weather, better opportunity, better life,” she’d described it. He’d understood. Though sad to see her go, he couldn’t help but feel envious because she knew what she wanted out of life. With his medical residency about to end, Richard still wasn’t sure what it was he wanted to do with his career. “To be a doctor,” had been his life’s goal, but now that it was within reach, he wasn’t exactly sure what kind of physician he wanted to be, or how he’d use his training.

  There’s still time, a little voice within him called. Yeah, about four months. But he needed to make a decision on what exactly he would do before then.

  Bittersweet. Dropping Cathy off, their last kiss, their last good-bye…. She hadn’t cried and he’d been a bit disappointed by that, too. Still, she’d never misled him, either. He’d remember her cool gray eyes, her effervescent smile, and hoped she’d remember him with the same fondness.

  Turning up the radio, he’d driven the last few miles with jaunty music, feeling content, and hopeful he’d soon figure out what he needed to do for the rest of his life.

  He pulled up the drive and parked his Porsche inside the three-car garage. He popped open the trunk, withdrew his duffle, and slammed the lid before heading to the house. He didn’t have to be back on duty at the hospital for another fifteen hours. He could have a few drinks, a leisurely dinner, and a good night’s sleep before reporting for work again in the morning.

  The back door to the big pseudo-Tudor house was unlocked and he entered, passing through the butler’s pantry to the kitchen. Curtis stood upon seeing him. The old black man’s deep brown eyes were worried. “Sir,” he said, and his tone conveyed an anxiety words alone wouldn’t have.

  Every muscle in Richard’s body tensed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly fearing for his elderly grandparents. Since both were in their eighties and not in good health, he knew their situations could sour at any given moment.

  “It’s the boy,” Curtis said.

  Richard’s worry quotient diminished by about eighty percent.

  “He didn’t go to work yesterday or today.�
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  Richard had to catch himself from muttering, ‘Big deal.’

  The previous three years had not been without problems. Jeff’s and Richard’s relationship was tenuous at best, and now….

  “Why didn’t he go to work?” Richard asked, more annoyed than anything else.

  The old man shrugged.

  “Where is he?”

  “Upstairs. In his room. I think. Mary—” the housekeeper, “said so yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” Richard repeated, a tendril of anxiety running through him. “You haven’t seen him since yesterday?”

  “I hasn’t seen him since Friday night, sir.” This was Sunday evening, forty-eight hours later.

  “He hasn’t come down at all?” Richard asked, sudden worry creeping into his gut.

  The old man nodded.

  Richard peeled off his ski jacket, tossed it onto the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and headed for the staircase that would take him to the second floor and the family bedrooms.

  The door to Jeff’s room was closed. Richard opened it without knocking. The air inside the darkened room was stale. “Jeff?”

  No answer.

  Richard flipped the switch and the overhead light cast a wan glow over the room. “Jeff?”

  The mound huddled under the comforter didn’t move.

  “What’s the matter, you sick or something?” Richard crossed the small room in four steps. “Jeff!” he tried more sternly.

  Still no movement.

  Richard stripped back the cover. Jeff lay curled on his left side, clad only in a T-shirt and underpants. He still didn’t react. Richard reached down, felt the kid’s forehead: Warm, possibly a low-grade fever.

  The boy stirred at his touch, batting Richard’s hand away. “No,” he said, but his voice sounded odd, and he soon resumed his former position with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

  “Jeff, what’s wrong?” Richard asked. “Did you eat today?”

  “What?”

  “Did you eat today? Yesterday?”

  “I can’t eat. I wanna puke.”

  “Have you thrown up?”

  “Go away.”

  “Does your stomach hurt?” Richard asked.

  The kid nodded, but didn’t bother to open his eyes.

  Richard placed both hands on Jeff’s shoulder and pulled him onto his back. “Where does it hurt?” he demanded.

  His tone must have gotten through, because the kid’s right arm moved, his hand tracing a circular path above his abdomen.

  Not good.

  Richard pressed down on the kid’s lower right abdomen. No reaction. He quickly withdrew his fingers and the kid recoiled, writhing in pain and rolling onto his side once more.

  Rebound pain; very, very not good. Probably appendicitis.

  Next step: get him to the ER.

  Goddamn it. It was a sour end to his wonderful weekend. Thinking that made Richard cringe in embarrassment. Cathy would not have approved of such a thought.

  He studied the inert form before him. It would be best to call an ambulance; that would speed up the process.

  He yanked the comforter up around the kid, resting his hand on Jeff’s head. “We’re going to have to get you to the hospital. Do you understand?”

  “I gotta do my English homework. Mr. Andrews is gonna crucify me if I don’t hand it in,” Jeff muttered.

  “Forget the homework,” Richard said, “You’re not going to school tomorrow.”

  “I gotta change the developer,” Jeff said. “My last shots came out like shit. I gotta change the developer.” The kid was now the chief photographer on Amherst High School’s yearbook staff.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Richard said and crossed the room, entering the bathroom that connected to his own bedroom. He strode to his desk and the phone there, picked up the receiver and punched in 911.

  “I need an ambulance,” he told the dispatcher and gave the address. “Probable appendicitis.”

  “And your name?”

  “Dr. Richard Alpert.” The title gave him instant respect.

  After a brief conversation, Richard hung up and trotted down the stairs, where he found Curtis waiting for him. “Mr. Richard?” he asked anxiously.

  “Jeff needs to go to the hospital. I wished you’d called me, Curtis.”

  “Sir, I didn’t know how to find you.”

  “I told my grandparents where I’d be. I left a number.”

  “I didn’t know that, sir,” the old man said, defensively.

  Richard sighed. And if Curtis had asked, it’s likely Richard’s grandmother wouldn’t have shared it with him anyway. So why hadn’t he thought to tell Curtis as well? Next time…. “The ambulance will be here any minute. Will you please wait at the front door and tell them how to get to Jeff’s room?”

  “Yes, sir. Will he be all right?” the old man asked, worried.

  Richard rested a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Yeah. It’ll take a few days but he should be okay.”

  Curtis nodded and gave him a weak smile.

  Richard didn’t bother to tell him that was the best-case scenario. He suspected things weren’t quite that good, but decided not to voice it. “I’m going back upstairs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Richard turned and trudged back up the stairs. So much for a good dinner and a good night’s sleep. He reentered Jeff’s room, found the kid exactly as he’d left him under the comforter. He crouched beside the bed. “Jeff?”

  The kid’s muddy brown eyes opened, but seemed to have trouble focusing.

  “I’ve called for an ambulance. We need to get you to the hospital. I’m pretty sure you’re going to need surgery.”

  “I gotta change the developer,” the kid insisted. “My negs … ruined.”

  “Okay. It’ll be okay,” Richard said and found himself patting Jeff’s head as one would pet a dog.

  Richard heard a commotion in the hallway as pounding footsteps approached. The paramedics had arrived. He straightened, left Jeff’s side, and stood outside the door.

  “Are you the doctor?” one of the EMTs asked.

  “Yeah. I’m a resident at Sisters. It looks like acute appendicitis.”

  “You want us to establish an IV?”

  Richard gave them an order and the guys went straight to work. Two more EMTs showed up with an ambulance gurney. Richard stood out in the hall as they prepped Jeff for transport, and then moved him onto the stretcher.

  Across the hall, the door to Richard’s grandmother’s room opened. “What’s all this noise?” she demanded shrilly.

  “It’s okay, Grandmother, Jeff is sick. He’s got to go to the hospital.”

  Her eyes widened, blazing. “He’s on drugs, isn’t he! Don’t lie to me. That stinking son of a bitch is a drug addict, isn’t he?”

  “No, he’s not,” Richard said and turned her around, and ushered her back into her room. “He’s sick. He needs surgery.”

  But the old woman would not listen. “He’s a bad seed. His mother was a whore. He takes drugs, he’s a drug addict!” she hollered.

  The door to his grandfather’s bedroom swung open. He took in the hall filed with paramedics. “Margery! Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Richard shouted over the old woman’s caterwauling.

  The paramedics raised their gazes to Richard, looking for direction. He pulled the door closed on his grandmother and took a step forward. “Trust me; the kid’s got appendicitis—he does not take drugs.”

  The door opened again. “He’s a drug addict!” the old woman screamed.

  The paramedics went back about their work, ignoring the old woman’s harangues, picked up the stretcher and maneuvered it out of the bedroom, heading for the stairs.

  “Richard!” the old man called.

  “Can you take him to Sisters? That’s where I’m affiliated.”

  “Sure thing, Doc,” said one of the paramedics.

  “Great. I’ll follow in my car.”
r />   “What’s going on?” Grandfather demanded.

  “Jeff’s sick,” Richard called and bounded down the stars after the retreating crowd. He caught up with them in the entryway and watched from the door as the paramedics carried Jeff to the waiting ambulance.

  “Sir?” Curtis asked, coming up from behind and sounding worried.

  “I’m going to follow them,” Richard explained. “I’ll give you a call later to let you know what’s happening.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said the old man.

  Richard patted his arm.

  “I feels like this is all my fault,” Curtis said.

  Richard shook his head. “No. These things happen.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Richard trudged back to the kitchen, retrieved his ski jacket and exited out the back door, heading for the garage. No leisurely dinner. No good night’s sleep.

  Cathy would have been proud of him.

  #

  Dressed in scrubs, Richard stood behind Murry Foreman and watched the surgeon make the three-inch incision. Watched as the surgical nurse positioned the sponge to soak up the blood. He’d assisted Dan with several procedures during his surgery rotation. He hadn’t cared for it, either. Still, he watched, anticipating the moves, counting the clamps, watching the sutures. Yet throughout the procedure his gaze kept creeping back to the patient’s lax face. This wasn’t just another body, another hunk of meat, on the operating table. This time it was more personal. This person, this boy, shared half his DNA.

  He’s a bad seed!

  Arms crossed over his chest, Richard was grateful the surgical mask covered his face. As a courtesy, Dan had invited him to observe the procedure. Yet watching this operation had affected him more than he would have anticipated. Seeing Jeff’s blood well had almost sickened him, forcing him to swallow again and again, which had rarely happened in all the times he’d tended to anonymous patients during the past three and a half years.

  “Ready to close,” Dan said, and Richard stood back.

  The anesthesiologist called out Jeff’s vitals and within a minute or two the nurses were clearing away the surgical instruments.