Lady Blues

by Aaron Paul Lazar

I pictured the electrons in his brain beating a path to his memory cells. I had a layman’s image of the brain’s inner workings, probably totally wrong, but I imagined pathways flooded with nerves and pockets of cells that held memories of scents, images, scenes, tastes, and more. The original formula of Memorphyl had somehow repaired those paths, secured them, made them stronger. And a faint tracing of their routes might still be there, alive and ready to wake, when affected by the proper chemicals.

  Like those found in the pink pills.

  We stopped at the nurses’ station, and were directed down the hallway to the right. Siegfried led the way, walking as fast as he could without breaking into a run. He disappeared into the room.

  “Should we let him see her in private?” I said.

  Camille slowed down. “Good idea. Let’s wait out here.”

  We collapsed onto the bench in the hallway. The sound of Siegfried’s voice mingled with weak whispers from Lily. I couldn’t make out many of the words, but was glad we gave them the time alone. Camille squeezed my hand and laid her head against my shoulder. I inhaled the scent of her shampoo—vanilla honey—and allowed myself to relax against her, once again thankful for her presence. At times like this it hit me hard, when the memories of my past life with Elsbeth hit me. I’d been so fortunate to meet Camille after four years of lonely depression, and she’d actually returned my affection, which still astounded me.

  My stomach growled.

  “How can you be hungry?” she laughed.

  I looked at my watch. “It’s almost dinnertime, honey. I only ate an apple and two granola bars all day.”

  “Really? Wow. I guess you should be hungry.” She sat up when it quieted in the room. “Want to go in now?”

  We tiptoed in, relieved to see the neighboring bed empty. The drawn curtain screened Lily, but we found a break in it and slid inside.

  Lily lay on top of the sheets with her leg elevated on a foam block, her face pale, her eyes bleary and filled with defeat.

  The soft cast reached from foot to thigh, disappearing beneath her hospital gown. Her toes poked through, purple and swollen. Siegfried sat on the opposite side, away from the IV lines. He leaned down onto her bed, as close as he could get. She gripped his huge hand with her two tiny hands and gazed into his worried blue eyes with an expression of adoration, tinged with what I thought was humiliation.

  They finally noticed us.

  “Ah, Professor. Lily is awake. See?”

  Camille scooted to her side, touched her face and arranged her sheets and gown. Lily’s straight black hair hung listless, uncombed, and her eyes seemed larger than usual.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Camille stared at her swollen toes and the black and blue spot where the IV was taped over her hand. “You poor thing.”

  Siegfried gestured to the other bed behind the curtain. “I can stay here, Ja?”

  “Let me find out, buddy. Be back in a sec.”

  The aroma of hospital meals filled the hallways, followed by the clanking of the dinner cart. I skirted around the lady with the hair net who carried trays into each room, wondering if Lily could eat yet. And of course, Siegfried would need a meal to tide him over the long night, if they let him stay.

  I finally caught one of the nurses who wasn’t hurrying to a patient or answering the phone, and arranged to have Siegfried stay overnight. I mentioned their engagement, which wasn’t too much of a fib, and returned to deliver the good news.

  We filled Siegfried up on cafeteria food, found him pillows and a blanket in the closet, and finally said goodnight. Camille offered to drive.

  After grabbing takeout from the Thai Dragon, we merged with light traffic on 390 South. By the time we’d reached the Thruway exit, my cell phone trilled. Camille and I exchanged worried glances.

  I flipped it open.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Hey, Gus. It’s Doc.”

  I switched the cell phone to my left ear and settled into the seat with traffic whooshing past us on both sides, a maelstrom of tired executives and homeward bound workers. “Doc? What’d you find?”

  “No small talk, huh, Gus? No ‘How are you?’ No ‘How’s the wife?’” He chuckled.

  “Sorry. I thought maybe—”

  “You thought right. I’ve got the results, right here.” Papers shuffled in the background. “Your suspicions were correct. The active ingredients in the pink Memorphyl have been almost eliminated from the yellow pills. There’s barely enough medication to classify them as a drug. Maybe five percent of the original formula.”

  I let it sink in.

  Novacom had purposely bleached the goodness out of the Memorphyl to keep its nursing facilities filled with patients. And they continued to dispense the expensive drug, even though it had been neutered to the point of uselessness.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. Wow is right.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “Already did it. I faxed and emailed copies of this report to every major politician in the country, the FDA, the major news networks, memory-related charities, and families I know who have patients at Bello Mondo. Then I photocopied the test results and mailed them to the surgeon general and myself. I’ve kept the envelope seal intact and saved out a couple of pills for retesting in my safe deposit box.”

  “Must have taken you all day.”

  “Yep. I had to cancel all my appointments. But in the end, I think my patients will understand.”

  “Good. I hope those bastards fry.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. We’ll have to see how long it takes for the other drug companies to jump on the original formula and replicate it. When word breaks about the effectiveness, dare I say, ‘the cure,’ they’ll be fighting to gain rights. They’re going to be rich.”

  “Yeah,” I said, my words laced with sarcasm. “But at least in the process, they’ll make the cure accessible again. And Kip can get his life back.”

  “It’ll probably take months, Gus. Don’t get your hopes up. And the trials will go on for years. But in the end, the Novacom owners will pay.”

  “I sure hope so. The creeps.”

  The sound of children screeching erupted from the background. Doc’s patients were getting rowdy. “Listen, I’ve got evening appointments lined up. I can’t talk long, but I wanted to tell you I tried to see Debbie to discuss this with her. Stopped by Bello Mondo under the pretense of checking in on one of my old patients. I think they’ll need her for a witness, eventually. I asked the lady at the front desk if Debbie was on duty.”

  “The platinum blond with her nose in the air?”

  “No. Someone I’ve never seen before. A redhead with a Southern drawl and long braids. Real pleasant girl. I think she was a temp. Anyway, she said Debbie hadn’t shown up for work for two days.”

  My heartbeat kicked up a notch. Debbie and the receptionist were missing? “What?”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t sound like the devoted nurse you’ve described to me,” he said.

  “I know. Last time I talked to her, she said she had to be super careful not to rock the boat. She didn’t want to get fired, and was being real cautious. I can’t imagine she’d go AWOL.”

  “Do you have her home number?” Doc asked.

  “No. But I think she lives in town. I’ll see if I can find it.” Guilt flooded me when I realized I didn’t even know her last name. “Damn. I’ve gotta call the nursing home to get her last name. I just never thought to ask her. She’s always been…just Debbie.”

  “It’s okay. The nurses don’t always wear their last names on their tags, you know.”

  I said goodbye to Doc and flipped the phone shut. “Debbie’s missing,” I muttered.

  Camille grimaced. “I heard. You’d better find her, Gus.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you think Novacom would do anything to squash her story?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. They struck me as ruthless. Cold-hearted.”

  “Maybe you should call Joe. Just i
n case. He could probably find out where she lives, too. A lot easier than you can.”

  I nodded and stretched my legs. “Good idea. I’ll give him a buzz tonight.”

  I grabbed a blanket from the back seat and folded it into a pillow. “Think I’ll just close my eyes for a sec.” I slumped against the window, quickly overcome by sleep.

  ***

  I woke to the sound of Camille laughing. Her slim pink cell phone peeked out of the top of her blouse pocket, emitting Shelby’s voice, which sounded tinny through the speaker. She still hadn’t synced her phone to the Bluetooth, claiming it was too hard to figure out.

  “What kind of party should we throw for them, Mom?”

  Camille pulled off the highway at the Conaroga exit and took a left, heading for Lakeville-Goodland Road. In the distance, three deer raised their heads in a field of sprouting corn to watch us. The six-inch plants undulated in uniform rows of saturated spring green. “I’m thinking…simple. We have to do it tomorrow, because it’s Sunday and we all have the day off.”

  My groggy brain had a hard time keeping up with the discussion.

  Party? What party?

  “Let’s make a cake, Mom. And Dad can do up something special for dinner. Hey, is he still sleeping?”

  I sat up and shook my head to clear the cobwebs. “No. I’m awake. What are you two plotting, anyway?”

  Camille laughed and braked for the stop sign on Reservoir Road. “We want to celebrate Freddie and Adam’s marriage. Tomorrow. We need some fun for a change, Gus. We’ve had way too many problems.”

  “Yeah, Dad. Can you whip up something special for dinner tomorrow?”

  Exhausted from the morning’s search and rescue, the long siege at the hospital, the discovery of Lily’s horrible secret, the news of Debbie’s apparent disappearance, and my visit with Kip, I slumped inside. How would I summon enough strength to create a feast tomorrow? I’d been thinking of slacking off—seriously slacking off—for the past few hours. Buying pizzas. Spending the day in the garden with my grandkids. Maybe even opening the pool.

  On second thought—no pool opening. That would be too much work.

  “What about tacos?” I said. Although parties were the last thing on my mind, and normally I wouldn’t give it a second’s thought, it seemed the right thing to suggest—especially if it would keep the women in my life happy.

  “I love tacos!” Shelby shouted through the fuzzy speaker. “We could do guacamole, too. I know how to make that.”

  Camille snorted. “You do? Where’d you learn how to make guacamole, Shelby?”

  “From Dad. He showed me how to make it with lime juice.”

  I smiled and rolled down my window. I’d been cooped up far too long. The cool air ruffled my hair. “She’s right. I did.”

  Camille slowed for a tight curve. The sun had begun to sink into the western horizon, casting the countryside with a yellow ochre glow. New leaves rustled in the treetops, and their deep violet shadows grew long.

  “Mrs. Pierce could decorate, if she wants. You know she’s staying home this weekend, right? Maybe she’ll make some of those tissue paper flowers. She does such a nice job.”

  Shelby responded. “And Grandma can make punch. Like the one she made for Christmas.”

  My wife nodded and smiled, apparently pleased with the way the plans were shaping up.

  “Who’ll we invite?” I asked, stifling another yawn.

  Camille answered, “Just family,” at the same time Shelby said, “Everyone.”

  Mother and daughter both laughed.

  Camille took control. “Well, we can talk about it in the morning. But it has to be informal, we’ve got no time for invitations or anything.”

  I sat up. “We might as well have the usual Sunday crowd. They’re already coming, right? And no one has to bring presents or anything. We’ll have Maddy and Joe. Nahum. Oscar and Millie. And maybe Curtis would want to join us. I’ll bet he could use a break.”

  Camille pulled up at the all-way stop sign, turned left, and headed toward the lake. The turnoff for Sullivan Hill Road was just a quarter-mile away. Almost home.

  Shelby argued in favor of inviting some of the parishioners, then capitulated when her mother explained it would be poor manners to invite someone at the last minute. They hung up just as we arrived at the curving gravel drive leading to our house. When we reached the house, Camille pulled in beside Siegfried’s Jeep, hitching up the parking brake.

  I sat for a few minutes, trying to summon my energy.

  It didn’t cooperate.

  “Honey? You coming?” she asked.

  Three children with tousled heads pushed out of the screen door and bounced down the porch steps. I smiled, thrilled to see them. I’d felt incomplete without my grandkids. Accordingly, a small burst of energy sparked within me.

  I got out and prepared to be smothered in love.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  After an evening of reconnecting with my daughter, new son-in-law, and grandchildren, I passed out after reading a half-page in Laurie R. King’s The Art of Detection. Camille joined me a few minutes later, took my glasses and book from me, and turned off the light. I vaguely remembered her sliding into bed, poking me, and saying something about snoring.

  I slept heavily, and awoke to a forest of soft little arms and legs. I felt the hot breath of babies on my face and neck, and the dogs pinning my feet with their warm, heavy bodies. I could barely move. Marion and Celeste had climbed in with us sometime during the night. I vaguely remembered saying, “Sure you can,” and turning over as they both clambered over and between us and snuggled under the covers. Normally it was a tossup who ended up in whose bed. Johnny and his sisters usually tried Freddie’s bed first. She’d hoped to break them of the habit, which usually meant we’d have squirming visitors in our bed. I wondered if Johnny had managed to get in bed with Adam and Freddie, and if she’d be stricter now that she was married.

  Miraculously, I inched out of the bed without waking the girls or Camille, and made my way downstairs to the kitchen. The wooden floorboards on the stairs felt cold this morning—the temperature must have plummeted overnight.

  I checked the thermometer outside the kitchen window. Thirty-five. Pretty cold for almost-May.

  Mrs. Pierce still slept in her room. The door was shut and stuttered snoring came from the other side. I glanced over at the carriage house, thinking it odd that Siegfried wasn’t there since he stayed at the hospital. I wondered how he and poor Lily had done overnight.

  The kitchen clock showed seven forty-five. Knowing hospitals woke their patients early for breakfast, I chanced a phone call to Lily’s room.

  Siegfried answered on the second ring. “Ja? Hallo?” he said in a half whisper.

  “Sig? It’s me. How are you two doing?”

  “She is asleep, Professor. They gave her mush for breakfast, and then medicine. The pills make her very tired.”

  “They’re probably for the pain.”

  “Ja.”

  “Listen, do you want me to come up today? I could bring you some fresh clothes and your toothbrush, or whatever you need.”

  “If you want to, Professor. But the nurses here are very nice. They brought me green pants and a shirt to sleep in, and they gave me a toothbrush, too.”

  “Really? Wow. Very nice of them.” I pictured the six-foot-eight Sig in scrubs. Even if they found an XL pair for him, I imagined them too short for his long legs. The image of Siegfried wearing scrub capris made me stifle a laugh.

  “Lily will be here for a few more days, and then they will put her in a…” He paused as he tried to remember. I heard a nurse’s voice in the background, prompting him. “Ja, a day program.” He said the words as if he didn’t understand them.

  “I think that’s where she goes to a group with other folks who have problems, Sig. Up at a hospital, I imagine. She can talk to therapists to get help. And they do projects together, I think. But she’d come home at night to eat with us and
to sleep at our house.”

  The light dawned. “Ah! Ja, gut. That will be fine. I will drive her. I will learn how to go in the city. Will you help me?”

  “Of course, buddy.”

  “And Professor, you do not have to come to the city today. You rest. I will be fine. They are feeding me, too. I ate two breakfasts today. But maybe tomorrow, Ja?”

  I imagined the nurses falling in love with Siegfried. Women always wanted to mother him.

  “Okay, if you’re sure? Call me if you need anything at all, okay, buddy?”

  “Ja, okay. Danke, Professor.”

  I was about to replace the receiver on the wall when I had a thought. I needed to call Joe and talk about Debbie before the day got away from me. If she really was missing, the police ought to be involved. Maybe they already were?

  I depressed the button to get a dial tone and punched in his number.

  “Russell.”

  “Hey, Joe. It’s me.”

  “Mornin’.” I heard him sipping coffee. “Hey, I heard about Lily. How’s she doing?”

  “The surgery was successful. Lots of pins and plates and things like that. Sig’s with her.”

  “Yeah? They let him stay?”

  “They do that these days. Long as they have the room. Pretty neat, huh?”

  “I’ll say. So what’s up?”

  I plunged right into it and told him all about Bello Mondo, the Novacom reps, and the Memorphyl switch from pink to yellow pills.

  He grunted. “So. The old folks got their memories back, but just for a short time.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, one of the nurses there took special care of Kip. Watched out for him, you know?”

  “Good thing she did. Before he found his son he was pretty much alone, wasn’t he?”

  I opened the cupboards and poked around to figure out what to make for breakfast. “He was. And Debbie was really amazing. I got friendly with her. She’s the one who smuggled the pill samples out to me.” I explained further about the pink versus yellow pills and the results of the analysis.

  “So, she’s kind of a hero, isn’t she?”

  “A brave woman, that’s for sure. But Joe, I’m worried about her.”