“She in recovery room about one hour, and then they take her to second floor. You can see her then,” he said as the look of seriousness eased from his face. “She strong girl. She lucky she not worse. She have scar where bone come through skin once we take off cast, but that not too bad.”
“I’m so relieved,” Joan said with a big sigh. “An hour or so… second floor,” she said, repeating Doctor Nguyen’s words.
Father Jones dropped his hands to his sides, pulled his pants up an inch or so by the belt, and let out a breath of air. He didn’t realize that he’d been holding his breath while the doctor spoke. “Thank you, Doc. God bless you and the work you do. I’ll show her where the second floor is,” he said.
“Yes, thank you,” Joan said as she stuck her right hand out again.
Doctor Nguyen met Joan’s hand with his and shook it again weakly. “Welcome,” he said. “I check on Colleen this afternoon… about five or five thutty. See how she doing.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then,” said Joan.
“Always a pleasure, Doc,” said Father Jones with a firm handshake.
“Frank,” the doctor said with a wink. “You still cause too much trouble. Now I go back to suj-ry. That make two broken leg today. Man walk down street, break leg. Always on Sunday,” he said, winking exaggeratedly before heading for the lobby doors.
Father Jones turned toward Joan. “That’s great news, don’t you think?” he said, putting his hands on his hips.
“Yes, thank God,” Joan replied.
“That’s the spirit! You want me to hang around for a while? Keep you company for an hour or so?”
“I need to make some calls and update everyone,” said Joan. “Our foreman is probably worried sick.” She gathered the rest of the spent tissues and stuffed them in her pockets.
Father Jones checked his own pockets, imitating Joan. “Okay then. Keep your chin up, and I’ll stop by her room from time to time to see if you need anything.”
“You’ve already done so much, Father. I can’t thank you enough.” Joan offered her hand again.
The priest shook her hand with both of his, and then took the opportunity to sign again. “Bless you, Joan Caldwell.”
“Bless you, Father,” Joan said for the first time in her life.
†
The bell mounted on the pole near the bath stall rang loudly as Carlos closed the gate to Camorrista’s stall. The ancient rotary phone in the paddock clicked repeatedly in tandem with the ringing outside.
“Triple C… Carlos,” he droned as he lifted the receiver to his ear.
“It’s me,” said Joan. “I’m in the lobby, so I might lose you. I get shit for signal in here.”
Carlos’s eyes began to well up. “How is she?”
“She’ll be fine, Carlos. Really she will. She has a broken bone or two, but she’ll be okay.”
“It’s my fault,” said Carlos. His voice crackled and he swallowed hard.
“What is?” asked Joan.
“It’s my fault that she—”
“That’s ridiculous,” Joan interrupted in a motherly tone. “How can it be your fault?”
“The gate…” Carlos stammered. “I… Camorrista… she…”
“Who?” asked Joan, confused.
“Camorrista…” replied Carlos. “That’s what we named the filly that Colleen…”
“Camorrista? Well, it’s appropriate, but it’s not your fault she spooked. We knew she was trouble even before you loaded her up. Colleen knew what she was in for. She would tell you the same and you know it.”
“I… forgot… the face… of my father…” Carlos crackled as a tear ran down his face.
“That’s bullshit,” said Joan. “Your father would be proud of you whether you think so or not.”
“You spoke to Colleen?” Carlos asked as he wiped away the tear with his sleeve.
“Not yet,” said Joan. “Doc says I should be able to soon. He did surgery on the leg. We’re on our own for a while.”
“No problem,” Carlos bucked up in a more confident tone. “We’ll manage.”
“Never doubted that for a second, my old friend,” said Joan. “How is… Camorrista?”
“She’s settled down. Hosed her down and looked her over. She’s tired, but sound.”
“Good,” said Joan. “You think George might keep her calm, then?” George was the oldest of the many goats used as stable mates at the Triple C.
“I think so,” said Carlos. “He won’t take any of her shit.”
“What needs to be done today? Was there anything special planned?”
“No,” said Carlos. “I’ll leave the feeding to Jesus and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Good. Get cleaned up and come down when you can,” said Joan.
“Will do,” said Carlos.
“Oh hey…” Joan said hurriedly. “Any sign of the… cowboy?”
Carlos paused for a second and said, “I found his knife. Well, I assume it’s his knife… but there’s nothing else.”
“Huh…” said Joan. “Well… I’m sure he’ll turn up sometime.”
“Jesus isn’t so sure of that,” said Carlos. “He thinks he’s a… fantasma.”
“A ghost?” Joan chuckled.
“Yeah.”
“Now I’ve heard everything today,” Joan added. “Just tell Jesus to keep an eye out for him in case he does come back.”
“Okay,” Carlos replied. “I’ll finish up here and come down when I can.”
“Sounds good. See you soon.”
Carlos hung up the phone and leaned against the wooden beam that held the old rotary-style phone. He nudged the front of his straw hat, rubbed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh.
Joan dialed her Nokia with fingers that were steadier than they had been all morning. She called her best friend Mae, wife of Ventura County Sheriff Lewis Pennelton Lohr, who for some reason was called “Jeff.”
“Sheriff’s office, this is MaeBelle,” said the chubby, sixty-two year old.
“It’s Joan.”
“Joan! What’s going on?” Mae said with urgency. “I heard the ambulance call on the scanner! What happened?”
“Colleen was… trampled. The new filly.”
“Oh my God!” Mae gasped. “Is she all right?”
“Well,” said Joan. “She was beat up pretty good. Busted her leg… and her collarbone,”
“Oh, shit!”
“It was horrible, Mae,” said Joan. “Her leg was all bloody and the bone was sticking out,” Joan said with a swallow.
“Ick!” Mae proclaimed. “I heard them say ‘fib protrusion’ on the scanner. I assume that’s what they meant by that.”
“I guess so.”
“Is she gonna be okay? Jeff’s on his way there, by the way,” she said before Joan could answer.
“She’ll be fine,” Joan said with confidence. “If you know a tougher cowgirl than Colleen, I’m not sure I would wanna meet her.”
“No such thing,” chuckled Mae. “I get off at four. Call me after Jeff leaves.”
“Will do,” said Joan.
“Don’t worry, Joanie,” Mae offered. “She’ll be up and around in no time.”
“It’ll be a while this time… but we’ll manage,” said Joan. “We always do. Besides… Carlos has everything under control,” she added.
“Of course,” reassured Mae. “He’s one of a kind… but I don’t have to tell you that, do I? Wink wink.”
“No… you don’t,” said Joan, blushing. “I’ll call you after while.”
“Okay. Talk to you later. Buh-bye.”
“Bye,” replied Joan, who mashed the wrong button on her Nokia with her thumb. A long beep emanated from the clunky black phone in a low, annoying tone. Joan hated cell phones. She read somewhere that the invention of the cell phone was the greatest invention of the modern era. And the worst.
“Stupid piece of shit,” she said as she angled it every which way so that she could see the buttons m
ore clearly. She found the button she needed to hang up, and then started dialing again. She heard a series of clicks and frowned. She contemplated hanging up and trying again.
“Y—Yello?” the raspy female voice answered sleepily.
“Hello?” said Joan, confused.
“Hello?” the voice said again.
“Is this Sheila?”
“Yeah,” Colleen’s best friend Sheila Jones said with a yawn.
“Did I wake you up?”
“That’s okay,” said Sheila. Another long yawn. “Who is this?”
“It’s Joan… Joan Caldwell.”
“Oh… hey. How are you?”
“I’m… well… my nerves are about shot.”
Joan told Sheila all about the accident. Sheila sat up in bed with the phone wedged between her head and shoulder and tried to concentrate. Her head was still pounding from the previous night’s outing. Sheila, Colleen, and two others referred to themselves as The Four Musketeers. As children they had been inseparable. Over the last thirty years together, whatever challenges befell one of them, they all faced together.
“I’ll call the others,” said Sheila.
“Thanks, Sheila. Sorry to wake you up.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Sheila. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay. See you soon,” Joan said and then hung up.
†
Carlos sat on the bench with his back turned to the old bunk house table. The rickety old planks had countless games of cards, checkers, and chess to their credit. The inscribed initials from past workers at the Triple C covered its old, nicotine-stained splinters. Some were written in pen and some were written in marker, but the ones that were carved into the table’s dull finish were the respected ones. They made up a sort of plaque with the names of the hands that worked hard and left with honor and respect. The last ones permanently carved amongst the cigarette burns and coffee rings were “C.C.” in honor of Chase Caldwell.
Carlos sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He thought about whether his initials would one day join the others who will never be forgotten. The Guzman name never knew the dishonor that Carlos felt as he raised his head and began wringing his hands with worry.
Joan sat in the waiting area across from the elevators that led to the second and third floors of the hospital. She stared into space and hugged her knees to her chest.
“Joan… Caldwell is it?” a young female voice said as she leaned over to make eye contact.
“Yes?” Joan said as she broke her hypnosis and looked up at the young girl, who was holding a white clipboard.
“Hi, Ms. Caldwell, I’m a volunteer here,” said the young girl who looked the ripe old age of sixteen.
“Okay…” said Joan. She searched the young brunette for any sign of familiarity and saw a white badge with the hospital logo and the name “Jamie” printed on it.
“I just got a call from the second floor, and they said you can see Colleen now.”
“Oh… wonderful!” said Joan as she gathered her purse.
“She’s in room two fifty-eight, on the north side,” Jamie said as she hugged her clipboard to her chest. “Just take the elevator, get off on the second floor, and take a right. Her room is down the hallway. If you can’t find it, just stop at the nurse’s station and they’ll show you where it is,” she said with a smile.
“Two fifty-eight,” Joan repeated. “North side. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Jamie replied, and then headed back around the corner toward the volunteer desk.
Joan slung her purse over her shoulder, stepped up to the elevators and punched the button with her thumb repeatedly. She noticed a thin Asian nurse of about thirty standing in front of the elevator marked Employees Only. She was wearing white uniform slacks and a yellow scrub top that had Tigger and Winnie the Pooh all over. The woman watched Joan’s relentless assault on the elevator button with interest.
“Sorry,” Joan said. “Nervous habit.”
“That okay,” the nurse said with an accent much like Doctor Nguyen’s.
The employee elevator opened and the nurse stepped inside. Joan hit the button one more time for good measure and stepped back, waiting for her doors to open.
“You can use this one,” said the nurse.
“Oh… okay,” Joan said as she stepped to her left and joined her.
“What floor?”
“Two… please,” replied Joan.
“Okay. I go to three.”
“Thank you,” said Joan. The elevator door closed. “I like your top.”
“Thank you,” said the nurse, looking down at her scrub top. “My son like Tigger because he bounce all the time.”
“Cute,” Joan said with a smile. “How old is your son?”
“He’s four,” said the nurse, whose badge identified her as “Xia.”
The elevator stopped, and Joan heard a dull “ding” as the door opened. “Have a good day,” Joan said.
“You too.”
Joan stepped off the elevator and looked to her left and right. She started down the hall to the right as the young volunteer instructed. The room numbers were all in the two hundreds, but she didn’t see any that were close to two fifty-eight. The hallway was lined with all different kinds of machinery and carts foreign to Joan’s eyes. Larger pieces of equipment were draped in dull beige-gray covers, while others looked like computer terminals on rolling carts.
She walked slowly and glanced at each patient room’s door. Moaning sounds came from inside some of the rooms, and a series of mechanical beeps came from others. She passed four or five doors until she saw the nurse’s station and looked for some kind of reception window. As she passed the open doorway, she saw a line of large windows with wire mesh embedded in the glass. A few nurses were sitting in chairs, staring at monitors in the crowded, brightly-lit room beyond.
“Can I help you?” asked a voice from behind her.
“Yes… I’m looking for room two fifty-eight,” Joan said as she turned around to see a nurse with reddish-brown hair.
“It’s down the hall and around the corner to the right,” said the nurse. “I can show you where it is.”
Joan followed her down the hall. The nurse looked to be in her late thirties, and had a Las Palmas security badge like everyone else, but it was turned backward so Joan couldn’t read the name.
“What’s the patient’s name?” the nurse asked without looking back as they turned the corner.
Joan figured that she asked for security purposes. She read in the newspaper over the last year that a few celebrities had been patients there, and there had been several breeches in security and privacy. Several employees and news hounds gained access to personal information and sold it to the highest bidder.
“Colleen Caldwell,” replied Joan.
“Are you family?” asked the nurse as they approached room 258.
“I’m… Colleen’s mother. In-law, actually. Joan Caldwell.”
“I’m Leah,” the nurse said. “Colleen’s nurse.”
“Oh,” said Joan. “Nice to meet you.”
The door was closed. Leah knocked lightly, opened the door and stuck her head inside. She said something to someone in the room, but Joan couldn’t hear her. She swung the door open and turned back toward Joan as she put one hand in her scrub top pocket and motioned her in with the other. “You can go right in,” she said.
“Thank you.” Joan took a deep breath and paused where she stood for a second. She thought to herself that she couldn’t remember the last time she thanked so many people in one day. She stepped slowly through the open doorway as Leah held the door like a doorman at a five-star hotel.
†
Colleen was surrounded by plastic tubes, machines with digital readouts and hanging IV bags. A tall nurse with straight dark hair in a ponytail hovered over Colleen on the opposite side of the bed. Colleen’s left leg looked like something from a science fiction movie, with shiny m
etal pins joined together by a thin metal bar on both sides. Her knee was elevated by a pillow and the rest of her leg was wrapped in a series of dark beige bandages.
“Hello. Are you Colleen’s mother?” said the nurse.
Joan put her hands to her mouth. She was shocked at how frail Colleen looked in her hospital gown. Her beautiful blonde hair was still dirty with show ring dust, and her left arm was in a blue sling.
“Yes,” Joan said through her fingers. Tears filled her eyes again as she saw the IV stuck to the top of Colleen’s hand with surgical tape. The thin tubing led to two boxes mounted on the shiny pole with two bags of clear fluid hanging at the top. One was a large bulging rectangular bag and the other was a flatter square one. A light gray clothespin-like device with a long cord was clipped to her index finger. Another gray cord ran from under Colleen’s hand, and was also connected to one of the boxes on the pole.
“She’s been asking for you,” said the nurse. “Come on over and say hello.”
“Ma?” Colleen said weakly without opening her eyes.
Joan lost it. The closer she got to Colleen’s bed the worse she felt. She stopped and held her breath in an attempt to stifle her cries. The nurse walked around the foot of the bed and paused in front of Joan.
“It’s okay,” the nurse said reassuringly. “I’ll be right back.”
Joan walked slowly to the other side of the bed where the nurse stood a few seconds before. Colleen’s upper body was slightly elevated, and she had a navy blue blood pressure cuff around her upper arm. Black tubes ran from the cuff to a monitor that had all kinds of lines and numbers on it.
“Col—” Joan started, and then stopped with a hard swallow.
“Ma?” Colleen said again and raised her right hand a few inches.
Joan leaned over and gently took Colleen’s hand in both of hers. Colleen’s hand was swollen, and her knuckles had red, ropelike welts on them. She leaned farther forward and kissed the top of Colleen’s hand.
“I’m right here,” Joan whispered with a meek, stifled voice. Joan touched Colleen’s forehead and brushed back her dirty locks.
“Ma…” Colleen repeated again.
“Shhh…” Joan whispered as she moved closer to Colleen’s face.
Remembering August (Triple C Ranch Saga) Page 4