A Love Story with a Little Heartbreak
Page 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
At three in the morning, approximately two hours after the accident, Ruby and Henry walked into St. Agnes’s emergency entrance. Nurse Kaplan was expecting them. She was the one who had called them—a call that was as difficult as any to make in her career. It was a call that she had made less than an hour ago.
When she called, Henry got out of bed, groggy from being rousted out of a good night of sleep by the intrusive and incessant ring of the phone. His step was a bit unsteady, and his legs a bit stiff when he walked into the kitchen to answer it. Ruby sat up in bed, knowing that no phone call at that hour was one that carried good news. Instantly, she was worried sick with a mother’s instinct. She held her breath, listening acutely and wanting Henry to return to the room and say, “It’s nothing, Ruby, a wrong number. Go back to sleep.” She could hear his voice but couldn’t understand what he was saying except for the words that caused her to climb out of bed and run to the kitchen when Henry cried out, “Oh God, no!... not Connie!”
Ruby ran to Henry’s side and grabbed the old phone so that they could both listen to the voice on the other end of the line.
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Steenport. Dr. von Hoerner insisted that I call you right away and tell you to come to St. Agnes’s emergency desk.”
“You say she’s alive?” Henry asked, his voice already choking up.
“Yes, yes!” the voice on the other end of the line said, “She’s alive, but it’s not good.” Upon hearing those words, Ruby screamed and slumped to the floor and wrapped her arms around Henry’s legs, already heaving in tears, thinking about what it all must mean. “You must hurry, Mr. Steenport. Dr. von Hoerner is already in surgery.”
Henry wanted to know more. “What about Carl, her husband? The man in the car with her… what happened to him?”
“Oh, Mr. Steenport, I don’t know if I can tell you that. I can’t be sure. I only heard things.”
“Dammit, woman!” Henry swore, half in anger and half in deep anguish.”
“I’m sorry,” the voice said with great sorrow.
“Tell me!” Henry implored. “What do you know? Please tell me.”
The pain of this conversation was taking its toll on Nurse Kaplan. It was so difficult, and she felt so badly to be the bearer of this heartrending news. She raised herself up in her seat, seeking the inner strength to share what little she knew. “I heard there were two other people in the accident, two men. Mr. Steenport, I am so, so sorry, but I’ve been told they are both dead.”
Henry knew one of those men was Carl—it had to be. He took a deep breath. “My wife and I will be there as soon as we can—within the hour.” He hung up, drained already, and feeling a bottomless emptiness in his heart that he knew would never be filled. He knew he had to be strong; it was the only way that Ruby and he would get through this, and he was sure the worst was yet to come.
Henry lifted his tearful wife to her feet and hugged her and hugged her and hugged her, swaying with her in a veil of shared tears.
After a couple of minutes of sobbing, Ruby, enveloped in his arms, looked up into Henry’s face and asked a question she didn’t want to ask, “What about Carl?”
Henry looked up at the ceiling, wondering how he could possibly find the strength to say anything, but he had to; Ruby had to know. He gently tilted Ruby’s head onto his chest so that it was secure under his chin and placed his open hand to the back of her head, like one might hold an infant, while his other was around her back, supporting her. He took a deep breath, tightly closing his eyes, not wanting to believe what he was about to say. “Ruby, Carl’s dead.”
Ruby’s heart could have stopped right there; the pain was so great. She screamed in anguish again and heaved heavy tears as she clutched at Henry, as Henry pulled her tightly into his arms. Finally, she stopped; they both knew that they had to get to the hospital—they had to be with Connie. She pulled back a few inches from Henry, her face soaked with tears. “Henry,” she could barely get the words out, “we have to be strong for Connie.” He nodded, looking at her with his own tears streaming down his face. “Let’s get dressed and go to the hospital right away. C’mon, we should go now.” They pulled apart and did what they had to do to get to the hospital in what would easily be the most sorrow-filled drive of their lives.
There is probably no limit to the compassion we human beings can feel for our fellow human beings. We hurt so much at times, in every way, when we see that others are hurting. It is a bonding agent, common to all humans, regardless of where they live, regardless of their culture, regardless of their beliefs. Compassion is one of those things that makes us distinctly human—we feel for each other, for all human beings: another person’s suffering is our suffering. Sometimes life can be so brutal and, sadly, sharing the experience is sometimes all we have to keep us going.
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