Unsafe Haven

by Betsy Ashton

  “Mad Max, I have the flight information.” Emilie booked seats from Richmond through Houston and into Albuquerque the next day. She read off the details. “I’ll text you and Uncle Johnny.”

  “Terrific. Do you need Uncle Johnny to pick you up at the airport?” I asked.

  “No. Dad said we’ll rent a car. I called Mr. Ducks. He’s leaving New York about the time we leave Richmond. We’ll meet him at the airport in Albuquerque.”

  “He doesn’t need to come.”

  “He knows that.”

  Whip came back on the phone after another muffled conversation with Emilie.

  “Talked with Johnny. Got the coordinates to the hospital. Be there as soon as we can. You staying the night?”

  I explained my concern about Alex waking up in a strange room. Hospitals were bad enough for adults, but for children they could be terrifying.

  “After the first night, I’ll return to the ranch,” I said.

  “Good.”

  “I want to be sure Alex isn’t scared if he wakes up alone in the middle of the night.”

  “I’m not scared.” Alex opened his eyes and tried to focus. “Hey, way cool.”

  “Your son just woke up and saw the pins sticking out of his soft cast. He’s in traction,” I narrated for Whip.

  “My leg hurts,” Alex said.

  “I don’t doubt it. I’ll see if you can have something to help. Do you want to talk with your dad and Em?”

  Alex held out his hand for the phone.

  I found a nurse, told her Alex was in pain, and stood in the doorway while she gave him an injection through the intravenous line. Alex mumbled “mooph” and dropped the phone on the bed. I stepped into the hall to finish my call.

  “Are you all right, Mad Max?” Emilie asked.

  “I am, but being in the hospital brings back so many bad memories. I’m trying not to think about all those hours I spent at your mother’s bedside.” As if trying not to think about something works.

  “It’s not the same, though. Alex broke his leg. Mom broke her head,” Emilie said.

  She was right. Alex’s broken bones did not compare with the traumatic brain injury my daughter had suffered. I reassured Emilie that everything would be fine. I’d see her the next day.

  “I love you,” Emilie said.

  “I love you, too, dear child.” I thumbed the phone off. No sooner had I done that than the phone buzzed again.

  “Hello.”

  “I say, how is Captain Chaos?” Ducks never failed to cheer me up.

  I gave him the twenty-second post-op update.

  “I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”

  “You don’t have to come,” I said.

  “I want to. Where the hell is—Al-byu-kwer-kwee?” Ducks’ British accent completely butchered the word.

  “It’s Al-beh-kerk-key.” I was laughing so hard I could barely speak. “Well, since you made flight reservations, you know it’s in New Mexico, silly.”

  “Oh my. I’m about to go into the Wild Wild West, am I?”

  I leaned against the wall outside Alex’s room. “You are. And before you ask, there are lots of Indians around here. Alex’s surgeon is named Running Bear.”

  “Right. Anyway, I get in an hour earlier than Whip and Em. We’ll come out together. Be thinking about what I can do to help.”

  “Bring his lessons and homework.”

  “I will.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  BREAKFAST AND LUNCH passed without Johnny arriving, although we talked or texted at least twice an hour. I knew where he was and what he was doing, and he knew where I was and what I was doing. After I talked with Dr. Running Bear, I changed my mind; one of us would stay with Alex around the clock. Johnny promised to bring the things I needed for a couple of days at the hospital. He grouched at not having me all to himself. I grouched at me for the same reason.

  Just past one, Johnny walked in with a bag of my necessities and Alex’s Game Boy. Alex and I exhausted the limited morning television schedule, which was designed for stay-at-home women and not restless thirteen-year-old boys. The Game Boy would keep him in bed until Dr. Running Bear told him he could move around the ward.

  “How was last night?” Johnny sat with me at a cafeteria table, where we found fresh iced tea. He already knew the medical details, so I assumed he was asking about me.

  “Fitful.”

  “For whom, you or Alex?”

  “Yes.” Both of us twitched and fidgeted all night. When Alex’s pain medications wore off, he moaned and thrashed; I couldn’t get comfortable in the recliner an orderly had rolled in to replace the straight-backed chair.

  We took our tea back to the ward to wait for our extended family. The sixty-mile drive from Albuquerque to the hospital would take less than an hour at the speed Whip normally drove.

  The wall clock in the room ticked three. Johnny had commandeered a chair from the waiting room and stretched out his legs, pulling his ball cap over his eyes to doze. I used the time to get lost in my book. I was smack in the middle of a tense standoff between an assassin and the feds when I heard a commotion in the hallway. Emilie threw herself into my arms as I stood.

  “Mad Max! How is he?”

  “Awake. He’s eating a little, but the antibiotics are upsetting his stomach.”

  Right on cue, Alex retched. Johnny woke and held a metal pan under his chin to catch the discharge.

  “See?”

  “Yuck.”

  “He’s still on antibiotics?” Whip asked. He and Ducks brought up the rear. Both men kissed my cheeks, earning a mock-jealous glare from Johnny.

  “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” I said. I hugged Whip and Ducks. Their arrival shifted responsibility from my shoulders to theirs. Even if the shift was temporary, I’d take it, accustomed as I’d become to sharing duties with the men in my life.

  Johnny explained the possibility of infection from the open wound. “It’s just in case. He’s been on them since he came out of surgery.”

  “Hey, thanks for helping, Johnny. Glad you were there to take care of his leg.” Whip lightly punched his best friend on the bicep.

  Whip and Emilie approached Alex in time to see him cough, gag, and vomit a string of bile-flecked gruel. He fell back on his pillows and smiled wanly at his father and sister. Ducks remained in the doorway with Johnny and me.

  “Double yuck.” Emilie took the metal, kidney-shaped pan from Alex’s hand and put it in the sink. She looked around for another one. When none was in sight, she washed the soiled pan and returned it to the bedside table.

  “I hate this medicine.” Alex wiped his mouth with a tissue. He sipped his water, waited to be sure it would stay down, and took a second sip. “It makes me so sick. Dad, can you tell them to stop it?”

  The nausea often caught him unawares. He was suffering as much as his mother had with morning sickness when she was carrying him, although in her case nausea continued all day for nine months.

  “Dr. Running Bear should be in soon to check on you. We’ll ask him if he can order a different antibiotic,” I said.

  Emilie looked at the contraption suspending her brother’s leg. She ran a hand over the soft cast and half shut her eyes. She headed for Ducks and me and we moved into the corridor, out of Alex’s hearing and line of sight.

  “His leg is infected. I can feel more heat than should be there.” Emilie closed her eyes again. From her secret place, she examined her brother. “There’s something else. I can’t figure out what it is. Mr. Ducks, what do you feel?”

  Ducks nodded. “I agree. Something isn’t right. That cough needs to be monitored.”

  I’d attributed my concern to the general apprehension I endured whenever anything threatened my grandchildren or Johnny. But I also worried about the cough. He didn’t have it when we brought him in—I assumed his body was fighting off the dust he inhaled, like Dr. Running Bear suggested, but during the night I’d dreamed about heat in Alex’s shin and something crawling
in his lungs.

  None of us said anything more. We’d wait for the doctor before scaring the shit out of anyone but each other.

  ###

  Within an hour, Dr. Running Bear came through on his afternoon rounds. I was in the bathroom when he arrived, so Johnny introduced him to the family. I returned in time to see the doctor shake hands with Whip before grasping first Emilie’s and then Ducks’ hands. He stared deeply into their eyes, a flicker of awareness passing between them.

  Dr. Running Bear opened Alex’s cast to look at the wound. “There’s some puffiness around the incision, maybe a little more than is normal. We have him on antibiotics to prevent any possible infection. I wouldn’t worry, but I’ll order a blood test, just to be safe.”

  Another “just to be safe.” Is it more than that?

  The doctor replaced the cast and pulled the blanket up to Alex’s chest, but not before Emilie and I had a good look at the incision. It was more than a little puffy and red. The leg shouldn’t be that color. Warmth flowed through me, and a feather attacked my cheek. I was not alone. The doctor gave Emilie an infinitesimal nod. He knew that we knew he was downplaying the seriousness of the infection to keep Alex quiet and calm.

  “Tell me how you’re feeling.” During the early morning hours, a nurse had hooked Alex to a more complicated machine to monitor his vital signs. Dr. Running Bear scanned Alex’s medical chart on his laptop and glanced at the new screen.

  “Can you change my antibiotics? These make me really sick,” Alex said. “I don’t feel like eating because I puke.”

  The doctor reviewed the chart, noted the elevated temperature on a monitor, and assured Alex he’d order a medication that was easier on the stomach. “How’s your pain?”

  “Okay, most of the time.”

  “Don’t be a hero. If your leg hurts, ask the nurse for something. I would. Broken bones hurt like the devil, and bone surgery is one of the most painful you can have.”

  Alex gritted his teeth.

  “Where does it hurt?” Dr. Running Bear asked.

  “My chest. It’s hard to breathe. I can’t seem to get any air deep in my lungs. I want to cough, but I’m afraid I’ll puke.” Alex looked for the pan in case he needed it.

  “Go ahead and cough. That’s your brain telling your body it needs to get rid of any gunk in your lungs. I’ll prescribe some medication for the nausea, although that should pass once we get you on a different antibiotic.” Dr. Running Bear had Alex sit up and listened to his lungs. He didn’t say anything. He put his stethoscope away. “Does anyone have any questions?”

  Whip jerked his head toward the door. He, Johnny, and the doctor walked into the hall and nearly out of sight. Emilie plumped the pillows, and I pulled the blanket back up to Alex’s chest. Ducks placed the kidney pan on the bed.

  “Hey, Alex, Mr. Ducks said you could spend your recovery time getting a head start on the next round of lessons. Aren’t you the lucky one?” Emilie teased her brother, who laughed and fell into a coughing fit. “I’m afraid your vacation is over.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. My chest hurts too much.” Alex gagged and pressed his hand to his ribcage.

  I edged closer to the door to watch the hallway conversation. Their words were too low for me to hear, but when I saw Whip smile and shake the doctor’s hand, I relaxed and glanced at Emilie, who was also a little calmer. We’d wait to see how the new medication worked.

  A sandy-haired technician squished into the room.

  “I’m Toby, your happy vampire, here to drain all of your blood. Once we find out what germs are running around in your veins, Dr. Running Bear can zap them.” Toby pointed at Emilie and glared. “You, off the bed.”

  He set a tray on the sheet and wrapped an elastic tourniquet on Alex’s right arm. Smacking the inside of the elbow, he slid a needle into the pumped-up vein and extracted several vials of blood. I looked away.

  Alex crooked his elbow around a cotton pad. Toby put a Band-Aid over the pad, picked up his tray, and left.

  “That chirpy vampire routine is going to get really old, really fast,” I said. “I prefer my technicians competent and silent.”

  “Wonder why he puts on that façade,” Ducks said.$

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WITH WHIP ON the scene, I changed plans once again, leaving Alex in his care for the night. Father and son could use some bonding time; I could use some quality Johnny time.

  On the way out of the medical-surgical ward—or Med-Surg, as the nurses called it—a bustle of activity two doors away shattered the calm. Johnny elbowed me and jerked his head back down the corridor. Orderlies wheeled gurneys into two adjacent rooms. Nurses followed, as did a doctor; Toby the Vampire wasn’t far behind, followed closely by two pairs of parents.

  “Wonder what happened,” Johnny said. He had an almost uncontrollable curiosity about wrecks and ambulances.

  “I don’t know.” Both rooms had been empty—the girl with the rotten appendix was released early in the morning.

  “Maybe we should check.” Ducks half-turned back.

  “Not yet.” Emilie said. “We can’t do anything, because there’s nothing the nurses will be able to tell us.”

  “If it’s anything, we’ll find out tomorrow.” I pinched Johnny’s jean jacket and steered him toward the stairs. “Hey, you guys are on East Coast time. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m starved,” Emilie said. She rushed ahead of the adults and skipped down the stairs.

  “I could eat a horse.” Ducks’ appetite was a match for Johnny and Alex. When I cooked for the family, I increased the food by half again what I thought would fill them. Some days I was still a little short.

  “You’re out of luck, Ducks,” Johnny said with a wink at me. “We ride horses out here. We don’t eat them, but I know a great steakhouse near the ranch. We can be carnivores.”

  “Not Mad Max,” Emilie called over her shoulder. If the men were carnivores, I was the opposite most of the time. While not a vegetarian, I typically ate grains and vegetables with a small amount of meat, preferring chicken or fish over beef and even pork.

  On the way to the steakhouse, Johnny once again played tour guide, providing a running monologue. Ducks swiveled his head to take in as much of the vastness as possible. Emilie locked herself in her special place; I was somewhere in between. I breathed a silent thanks to Johnny for taking our minds off the injured boy we’d left behind.

  We settled into a booth and placed drink orders, alcohol for the adults, iced tea for Emilie. “Okay, guys, thoughts?” Johnny said.

  Ducks and Emilie shared a look that didn’t include Johnny and me. I may have dreamed that Alex was in danger, but that didn’t put me in the same psychic realm as my two spooks. I needed them to warn me if greater danger was present. And Johnny? He was a what-you-see-is-what-there-is kind of guy. He could analyze any situation but wouldn’t go into the “Twilight Zone,” as he called it. “One of us has to be grounded in reality,” he often said.

  “I don’t like Toby,” Emilie said, looking up from her menu. “I didn’t like his fake behavior.”

  “I don’t like him either,” said Ducks. “There’s something odd about him. I can’t decipher it, but I will. He has something to hide. He’s all swishy, but his behavior is too over the top to be real.” Ducks closed his menu.

  “What do you mean?” Johnny asked.

  “He acts effeminate, with the lisp, the limp wrist, and fake swish, but it’s just that—an act. He uses it to be invisible or to be dismissed by people he meets for the first time.”

  “Why?” Johnny set his menu aside.

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. Maybe he thinks if you think he’s gay, you won’t look beyond the façade. His behavior keeps people at a distance.” Ducks took a long pull from his beer glass.

  “And you know this because your gaydar didn’t go off.” I, too, closed my menu, ready to order.

  “Partly,” Ducks said. “I have several friends
whose normal behavior is exactly like Toby’s, but they’re gay like I am. He isn’t.”

  Emilie stared into space. “Why would he pretend?” Ducks also sank deeply into thought.

  Meanwhile, Johnny smiled at the waiter hovering just behind his left elbow. “I’ll have the T-bone.”

  “And how do you want that cooked?”

  “Make it a cow with a fever.”

  The waiter nodded. “Miss?”

  Emilie ordered a filet, medium rare; Ducks picked a New York strip, also medium rare. I was the odd man out as usual.

  “I’ll have the salsa-covered chicken breast.”

  The waiter left. Ducks buttered a warm sourdough roll. “You almost never order beef, Max, unless it’s in stew or burgers. I never asked if you have a particular aversion.”

  “It has nothing to do with cows having faces, if that’s what you’re thinking. Chickens and pigs have faces, and I eat them. I ate too much red meat when I was a kid. We raised milk cows and beef cattle, so we had beef several times a week. One day I woke up and found I’d really lost my taste for it. The steaks smell good, but I want something that once clucked.”

  Our salads arrived, and I dove into mine like a starving refugee. I could have eaten twice as much of the “plants,” as Johnny called greens.

  “Back to Alex—we’ll watch that Toby guy, but I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. When my niece was in here with pneumonia, he treated her really good. He’s been at the hospital for maybe a dozen years. He probably got distracted by your beauty, Max, and wanted to reassure me that he wasn’t a threat,” Johnny said.

  I punched his shoulder and blushed. The man had a way with words that led to a way with me.

  “Mr. Ducks and I will check on Alex from time to time. If anything happens, we’ll know it before Dr. Running Bear does,” Emilie said.

  She leaned across the table and speared carrots from Johnny’s salad. He only ate them under duress, which meant heavy chiding from me. Johnny once told me that he didn’t eat carrots because they had souls.