Stopped Cold

by Pallotta, Gail;

  Ray brought our food. “Here ya go.”

  “Thanks, Ray,” I said.

  Starving, I devoured large bites of my chili cheeseburger and fries while Emily munched dainty nibbles of grapefruit and orange wedges. So like her.

  “Thanks for listening about Owen.” She spoke in a soft, lyrical voice.

  “It’s cool you’re going out with him.” No psychologist, I’d only guessed at Owen’s sincerity, a small part of a person’s character, but I was glad I’d finally heard about Emily’s new boyfriend. I’d never mentioned my fascination with Jimmy to her. What would I tell her? He stared at me. How long could we discuss that? Anyway, today wasn’t the time to talk about him with the problems between Dad and Sean pressing on my mind.

  She sipped her soda. “How’d you do on your lit test?”

  “OK.”

  Emily’s thin lips parted into a grin. “Yeah, right. You did better than that. Like literature’s not your best subject.”

  “Margaret, you have a call.” Ray called out and pointed to the receiver on the counter in front of the cash register. “You can take it there.”

  Surprise ran through me as I yanked my cell phone out of my purse. It was off. With all that was going on between Dad and Sean, apparently I’d forgotten to turn it on. Who would call me here? I bounded out of my seat with Emily on my heels.

  “Margaret!” Mom’s voice sounded upset, strained.

  I’d never heard her so choked up. My palms grew sweaty.

  “Something’s happened to Sean.”

  Everything around me blurred. The room swayed as Emily helped me to a chair.

  “Sit down. What’s wrong? Who was that?” she asked.

  “It was Mom. Sean’s at Mistville General Hospital. Can you take me?”

  “Definitely. What about your bike?”

  “Leave it. Dad can get it later. Can we go?”

  “Yeah, we’re leaving.”

  The concern written on Emily’s face barely registered with me as I stood, and we rushed to a scene I didn’t want to face.

  2

  With every step I took I swayed back and forth. Emily held onto my arm as we plodded through the crowded restaurant winding our way between tables of our co-eds laughing and sipping soft drinks. Finally, we reached Emily’s car. She opened the passenger door and guided me into the front seat. Venting to Emily about the coach replacing Sean as first-string quarterback, letting someone know how upset he was would help me. But the words stuck in my throat.

  As brothers go, Sean was the best. Last fall he went with Dad, Mom, and me to Charlotte, North Carolina, to a mid-level championship swim meet. Sean joined me as I climbed out of the pool after winning the hundred-yard butterfly event.

  “How’d you do that?” He had balled his large hands into fists and pounded them on his chest as swimmers milled around us. “Me, Margaret. I have broad shoulders and strong muscles to make me swim fast. Way to go.” Pride had rung in his voice.

  He knew firsthand what it felt like to live up to someone’s expectations, or not. In the dark moments of competition, when I dove in too slow, missed my flip turn, or lagged behind my opponent, Sean cheered me up.

  Not long ago, Dad had gotten lost on the way to a meet at Apple Valley State College. We arrived too late for warm-up, but just in time for my fifty-yard freestyle event. The starter’s whistle blew as I sprang onto the starting block. I dove in and swam with all my might, kicking my feet as hard as I could.

  The bottom and sides of the pool matched the water. Where were the black tiles? The black timing pads? I estimated the location of the wall and went into my flip-turn. My heart sank. There was nothing to push off on. I’d be disqualified.

  No whistle sounded. I finished my swim, grabbed hold of the bars on the starting block and pulled out. The official missed my goof-up, but I could only imagine what Dad would say. Tears filled my eyes as Sean darted to me.

  “Margaret, you hold the forty-nine-yard freestyle record at this pool.” Of course, there wasn’t any such event. I had laughed so hard.

  If Sean wasn’t going to be OK, I couldn’t bear it. Rolling down the window, I took deep breaths of fresh mountain air and swallowed the urge to tell Emily to go faster. It seemed hours passed, but it probably only took twenty minutes to arrive at the hospital.

  Emily glanced at me with sympathetic, dark eyes. “Go ahead. I’ll park and then come in.”

  I entered the huge lobby.

  A dark-haired woman sat at the receptionist’s desk situated in the middle of a room filled with stuffed chairs and sofas.

  “Sean McWhorter, I’m his sister. Where can I find him?”

  She peered at her computer. “He’ll be in 101. Take a left. It’s on the right.”

  I walked so fast I almost broke into a run. The antiseptic smell mixed with the stale odor of sickness nearly suffocated me as I proceeded to Sean’s room.

  Dad slumped in a black vinyl chair in the corner.

  Mom sat beside him, nearly all the color drained from her olive complexion. “Mom?”

  She dabbed a tissue at the corners of her sad eyes. “Sean’s—” Her voice cracked.

  Emily entered gasping for air as though she’d sprinted inside.

  “Sean’s had a stroke.” Dad spoke in a monotone.

  Every fiber of my being weakened as I doubled over to keep from falling. I sank onto the edge of the bed, grasped the light blue spread, and squeezed it hard. He was fine earlier this morning. “He’s only eighteen. How could that happen?”

  Dad gestured with his large hand. “He came down the steps and collapsed in the foyer.”

  My stomach churned like a washing machine.

  “We brought him to the emergency room. That’s the last we’ve seen of him.” Dad’s blank grayish blue eyes stared into space.

  A man wearing a white jacket entered. “Hello, I’m Dr. Salis.” He shook my parents’ hands then talked about Sean as though he delivered a speech or gave a weather report. “Sean’s stroke was a mild one. I don’t believe he’ll have permanent damage, but he may need therapy for his left arm.”

  Anger, sorrow, and disbelief over Sean’s illness swirled in my head like a tornado. How could this happen?

  “Sean’s never had a health problem. He’s an athlete. What caused this?” Mom asked.

  “I’m sorry to tell you, but we found stanozolol in Sean’s system.” A hint of compassion rang in Dr. Salis’s official-sounding tone.

  Mom’s gaze grew distant. “What’s that?”

  “It’s an anabolic steroid that carries many adverse side effects, including kidney and liver dysfunction. In some people there’s a risk of heart attack or stroke. It was originally used in veterinary medicine and is currently banned by the International Association of Athletics Federations and other sporting bodies.” Dr. Salis spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Why would anyone take it?” Mom’s questioning voice trailed off.

  Dr. Salis took a deep sigh. “It enhances athletic performance.”

  “In what way? I can’t imagine Sean taking something like that.” Mom spoke softly.

  Dr. Salis raised his gray eyebrows. “Steroids build muscle mass and shorten the recovery time needed after strenuous workouts. Jocks who use them grow stronger and can practice more often.”

  Mom’s eyes snapped open.

  Was she thinking of the pressure Dad put on Sean?

  “I don’t feel well. Margaret, would you bring me some water?” Dad asked.

  He was as white as Mistville’s winter snow. So fit, so strong, he rarely grew sick, weak, or pale.

  I bounded off the bed, grabbed one of the paper cups out of the dispenser beside the sink, and filled it.

  He took a sip, collected drops from the side of the container, and wiped his forehead. Some color returned to his face.

  “Where would Sean get steroids?” Dad gazed helplessly at Mom.

  Nothing made any sense to me. Not the questions. Not the answers.

>   Two uniformed policemen came in. The older man with dark hair and brown eyes extended his right hand to Dad. “I’m Sergeant Jones. This is Detective Joe Garrett.”

  Dad knitted his brows. “What are you doing here? Has the hospital announced that my son’s in here because he took steroids? What about the patient’s privacy act?”

  Sergeant Jones rested his hand at his side. “Of course, the hospital has made no such announcement. There have been a number of kids checking in with drug-related problems, especially from stanozolol. The drug’s illegal without a doctor’s prescription, and none of them have had one. We suspect criminal activity. The privacy act can be waived for the purposes of identifying certain classes of persons. In this case, that would be drug dealers. With your help we want to catch these people.”

  “What can we do?” Dad snapped.

  “We need to know about Sean’s most recent activity, especially anything that led to his drug use.”

  How dare Sergeant Jones accuse Sean of being an addict! Sean was president of the student council. He was a straight A student in one of the most difficult schools in the country. He was a Christian. He—I couldn’t even think now, and I couldn’t keep tears from rolling down my cheeks.

  Dad shook hands with the cops, but he didn’t smile. He looked as if someone had slapped him.

  Detective Garrett appeared young. Was he a drug expert? Maybe he used to take them. My stomach rolled as I twisted the button on my blouse. Sean wasn’t on drugs. He played football because Dad wanted him to. Did Sean want to please him bad enough to take steroids? If he did, he wouldn’t have done it often. Maybe it was just this one time.

  Emily’s dark eyes grew wide, horror showing in them. She tapped me on the arm. “I better get home. Mom will be worried.” She walked towards the door.

  “Miss, I need your name, address, and phone number,” Detective Garrett called out.

  She gave him the information, hugged me, and left.

  Dad glared at Detective Garrett. “Why haven’t you done something about this? Will you let these criminals destroy Mistville’s young people? How long have you been a detective?”

  Sergeant Jones clenched his jaw and took a step forward. “Detective Garrett is a recent graduate from the academy. He finished at the top of the class. He knows how to do his job.”

  Detective Garrett ran his hand through his long black hair. “It’s OK, John.” His voice sounded understanding as though he knew Dad’s heart had burst into a million pieces. He looked Dad in the eyes. “I’m already working closely with Dr. Salis and have been assigned to Sean’s case. I’d like your help and cooperation. First of all, please keep my involvement to yourselves.”

  Two aides wheeled Sean in the room on a stretcher. His dark, slicked-back hair, which usually fluffed across his forehead, appeared damp. He looked pale and sick, as though he was barely alive.

  Anger I’d never experienced before rumbled in my gut. My breathing grew ragged. The room spun. Something made me want to hit the person nearest me. My arm twitched as I controlled the urge. My insides raced like a raging bull. I hated someone I didn’t even know. I would find the people who sold Sean steroids. If I didn’t, I couldn’t live with myself. What were the cops saying?

  “Can I question him now?” Detective Garrett was looking at Dr. Salis.

  “You can try.”

  How in the world could Detective Garrett think of such a thing with Sean lying there so ill? The sight of the policeman would probably frighten Sean. Inside I screamed: No!

  Detective Garrett had a determined, serious look. “Son, can you tell us where you obtained steroids?”

  Sean said nothing.

  “Can he talk?” Mom’s shrill, alarmed voice pierced the silence in the room.

  “He may be unable to temporarily, but as I said, I see no indication of permanent damage.” Dr. Salis glanced down at Sean.

  I pinned my faith on the doctor’s every word.

  “The nurses will take over from here. Excuse me.” Dr. Salis turned and left.

  To him Sean was just another case. We had no choice but to trust the expertise of this man who was on his way somewhere else.

  Detective Garrett pulled a small, brown notebook from his pants pocket. “I need your names, address, and phone numbers.” As Dad gave him the information he wrote on the pad, flipped a page, and gazed up. “Where was Sean last night?”

  I scooted to the edge of my seat. “At a party.”

  “Where was the party?”

  The room grew silent as two orderlies transferred Sean from the stretcher to the bed, then left.

  “Does anyone know the location of the party?” Aggravation filled Detective Garrett’s voice.

  Did he think we didn’t care about Sean? I read my own guilt into his statement because now I wished I’d been with Sean last night.

  “Sean attends a private school. As long as he tells us he’s with someone from Meriwether, we never worry about whose house he visits.” Mom’s tone had an edge to it as she bristled.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t mean to upset you. I’m simply trying to find out what happened.”

  Mom blinked. “Last night before Sean went out he said, ‘Bye, Mom. I love you.’ I went to bed early and slept late this morning, so I didn’t see him unti… until—”

  Dad stood and patted Mom’s shoulder. He took in a deep breath then exhaled. “Unfortunately, we had an unpleasant conversation. He told me this guy, Gravitts, who moved here from Greenstown, took over his position as starting quarterback. You know how it is with sons. You’re so proud of them. It was upsetting.”

  My blood boiled at Dad’s words. No, Detective Garrett didn’t know how it was with Dad and his son. My resentment toward Dad and rage toward the drug dealers were making me sick, but they had become a part of me.

  The detective nodded and made notes. Then he looked at me.

  Angry tears welled up in my eyes. I needed to help Detective Garrett but talking about Sean and his conversation with Dad hurt too much. I choked. Was it pain or hate taking control of me?

  Detective Garrett peered at me as though he thought I was uncooperative.

  “You can’t remember the last thing you and Sean talked about?”

  “It’s so sad.”

  Now Mom and Dad turned their heads simultaneously and stared at me.

  “What?” Dad asked.

  “He said he was glad his shortcoming affected only him.”

  Mom dabbed at the corners of her misty eyes with her knuckle. “What does that mean?”

  “He was upset because he’d been replaced as first-string quarterback.” I couldn’t hold my tongue. “Sean’s so smart. He could be a doctor or a biochemist. He probably could find the cure for cancer. Who knows what he might do if he wakes up?” I wiped my tears.

  Dad frowned.

  Mom’s eyes widened.

  Detective Garrett pressed his lips tight. “I see.”

  “He will get well.” Mom drew out her words, confidence not ringing true in her tone.

  “Yes ma’am and we WILL find the people who sold him that drug.” Detective Garrett reached in his T-shirt pocket, pulled out three business cards, and handed one to each of us. “Please call if you think of any information that might help the case. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  His words hit me like lightning striking every nerve in my body. My awesome brother bought illegal steroids and nearly died. I grasped the card and crushed it in my hand as he left.

  Mom looked as though someone had beaten her nearly to death. Dad had another blank stare. They were no more prepared to deal with this than I was. Dad’s eyes grew moist as he left Mom’s side and sat down.

  I hugged them both.

  Mom sat straight up in her seat. “We’ll do whatever it takes to make Sean healthy.”

  Mom told me at an early age to depend on God. She looked at the world as an imperfect place where decent people, as well as criminals, endured horrible things. She denied God cau
sed the atrocities, which anyone with any sense could see happened. Of course, in many instances, “we reap what we sow,” she claimed, but she refused to believe God stood over us, waiting for us to make a mistake, so He could strike. Instead, Mom claimed God guided and comforted us if we asked Him to.

  Why hadn’t He kept this from happening? Mom would say I didn’t need to understand. She’d say I had limited vision.

  I’d never thought about the limits of my insight until Dad lost his job as a radio announcer. He’d gone to the same place five days a week for twenty years. He’d seemed confused when they let him go.

  During that time Mom held our family together until Dad landed employment at Micro World. She kept telling us God was in control, and He knew everything while we only saw what was right in front of us. “People live their lives like beachcombers looking at a horizon not knowing what’s on the other side. That’s where faith comes in.” She’d repeated the same viewpoint over and over.

  Then I wasn’t sure what she meant. Now I started to understand. If this hadn’t happened, maybe something worse would have. I hardly could bring myself to think it, but what if this wasn’t the only time Sean took the drug? Was there an outside chance this kept him from taking even more of it? I shivered. I needed to stop the anger. Mom wouldn’t approve. She could never hate anybody. I wanted God’s help, and my faith needed to be strong. If I let go of my fury, would He make everything new again, or had He abandoned Sean?

  Dear God, please make Sean well. I’ll try really hard not to hate the drug dealers or be angry with Dad, if I can just have back my brother. I ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

  My muscles relaxed as the rage inside me diminished. Would God make Sean well?

  Mom moved to the edge of her seat and turned her gaze on me. “Margaret, honey, you look so tired. You need to go home and rest. Bullet will take you.”

  Seeing Sean lying so still and quiet tore out my heart and sapped every ounce of strength from me. I hugged her and left with Dad.

  We walked down the hospital hall, quiet as a tomb except for a cart squeaking in the distance. Without talking we continued through the lobby and out to the parking lot to Dad’s car. The silence on the thirty-minute drive home screamed at me.