For the Rest of My Life

by Harry Kraus

  In a few minutes, she got up and shut the doors to the house before walking back down the dark hallway. That’s when it first struck her. The house was quiet. There was no Wally noise, no whistling of his legs on his sheets or the thumping of his arms or legs against the rails.

  Claire crawled into bed, fighting another wave of nausea. There, she shed tears for her father and for the disaster her own life had become. Then, quietly in the darkness, she began to pray.

  “Help Daddy to adjust to his new home . . .”

  Claire was up at two and four leaning over the toilet with dry heaves, an action her twin Clay had always described as “hugging the porcelain Buick.” She slept until seven, rising slowly so as not to jar her abdomen. She edged her feet along the floor doing her own version of what OB/GYN residents call the PID shuffle. She’d never had pelvic inflammatory disease, but she thought she’d walk like this if she ever did.

  The pain was constant now, centered in her lower abdomen. Her throat was parched, but she didn’t want to drink for fear of more rounds with the Buick. She walked up the hall while cupping her hand to her mouth to see if her breath was as stinky as most of her patients she evaluated for belly pain. It was a futile test. No one with halitosis ever knows they have it.

  She phoned Lucy and told her she wouldn’t make it in. Lucy insisted on coming by. Claire didn’t dissuade her. She needed another clinician to confirm her suspicions.

  Twenty minutes later she lay on the couch while Lucy palpated Claire’s abdomen. “Your mom sure picked a good time to be gone,” Lucy commented.

  “Ouch.”

  Lucy moved her hand to the right lower quadrant.

  “Ow!” Claire moaned. “You’re on it now.”

  “You need a surgeon.”

  “Appendicitis, huh?”

  “That’s my bet. When did you get sick?”

  “I didn’t feel so good leaving the office yesterday, but it was more just in the middle, a feeling of cramps or indigestion.” Claire shook her head.

  “I’ve been kind of stressed out lately.”

  “Kind of?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.” Claire paused. “I thought it might just be the stress or the flu we’ve been seeing.”

  “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

  “Hey, symptoms aren’t exactly classic for anything until the pain localizes.”

  Lucy conceded. “Let me pack you a bag. You’re going to be gone for a few days.”

  Claire started to get up, but met a forceful protest from her nurse.

  “I’ll get it. Stay put.”

  Claire sighed. “My gym bag is on the floor. Pack my sweats or something without a heavy waistband. If we’re right, I don’t want to have to squeeze into my jeans after surgery.”

  Lucy disappeared back down the hall, but kept talking. “I’ll tell Lisa to reschedule the office for the rest of the week. Do you mind if I see a few folks for suture removal?”

  “Of course not. Give flu shots. Do blood pressure checks. Draw blood for the patients on Coumadin scheduled for PT checks.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Have you called John?”

  “He’s out of town. I’ll call him later.”

  “Should I do it?”

  Claire didn’t want to explain. “I’ll do it. I want to call him,” she said, emphasizing the “I’ll” and “I.”

  A few minutes later, Lucy came back with the gym bag. “I presumed the only toothbrush in the bathroom was yours.”

  Claire nodded. “Let’s go,” she said, rising up to a position bent at the waist. “Now I know why all my appendicitis patients walk this way. It’s murder to stand up straight.”

  The ride to the hospital in Carlisle was fine for Claire once they were beyond their pot-holed gravel lane. Until she felt every bump, she hadn’t noticed just how badly her parents’ driveway had deteriorated. As they drove, Lucy insisted on calling ahead to Dr. Branum. He would meet them in the ER. Lucy also promised to call Claire’s sister Margo and agreed not to try and call Della. The last thing Claire wanted was to mess up her mother’s first vacation in years. It was only an appendectomy. Nothing bad was going to happen. Let her mom enjoy herself without worrying about her baby girl.

  Once they were checked in, things moved rapidly. Dr. Branum gave his assent to Lucy’s diagnosis and told Claire never to let her nurse retire.

  An IV was started, antibiotics given, a consent signed, and Claire was whisked into surgery in front of Dr. Branum’s elective patient schedule for the day.

  Perfect. While everyone is fresh. And an experienced surgeon without a medical student to hold the laparoscopic camera and make everyone ill as he weaves around trying to find the surgeon’s instruments. She thought of her first experience “running the camera” on a laparoscopic case. As the team focused on the video screen, Claire had tried in vain to hold the camera steady, but the surgeon moved so fast that occasionally she would drift back and forth in an effort to find him. She remembered the snide comments. “Anyone else getting motion sickness? Where’s the Scopalamine patches when I need them?”

  In a minute, Claire was lying on a stretcher outside an OR. She looked up to see a female in scrub attire. The only deviation from standard dress was her hat, a homemade one sewn out of cloth covered with lighthouses. “I’m Dr. Guererro. I’ll be putting you to sleep.” She smiled and put her hand on Claire’s shoulder.

  Claire answered a dozen questions about her past medical history, and then, anticipating the questions she’d heard in Boston during her internship, she added, “And I last ate or drank last night at ten-thirty, a few sips of Diet Pepsi. And I don’t have any caps or false teeth for you to worry about during intubation.”

  The anesthesiologist’s eyes narrowed. “Are you one of our floor nurses?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t need to vocalize a response as Dr. Branum intervened.

  “Dr. McCall runs a clinic in Stoney Creek. Just like you, she’s one of the new breed of women breaking into sub-specialty medical fields that have been dominated by men. She finished her surgical internship in Boston in June and took off for a year to help care for her father, who has latter-stage Huntington’s.”

  Dr. Guererro shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t believe I assumed—me of all people, uh, well, you know, everybody always calls me nurse and I hate it. Especially men, they always think I’m here just to take their temperature or something.”

  Claire touched her female comrade’s hand. “Forget it.” Then she smiled and looked at Dr. Branum and continued, “Men!”

  Dr. Guererro began to push the stretcher forward into the OR. “Arrogant men.”

  Dr. Branum cleared his throat. “Careful, ladies,” he grumbled.

  “I’m giving you some Versed.”

  She remembered being positioned on a cool, padded table . . . a rubber mask over her mouth . . . the taste of garlic . . . the face of a man with a mask . . . a flash of fear . . .

  Aman with medium build and curly hair with a surgical mask. Pain in her lower abdomen. “Stop. Somebody help me!”

  Fight for air. Fight for air. Get this tube out of my throat. Astrong grip on her wrist. The rapist. I’m being choked!

  “He’s here. Why doesn’t somebody help me!”

  Blackness. Am I blind? Something over my eyes. Night vision. I need John’s goggles. John? Are you here to help me?

  The rapist is here! Sharp pain in her lower abdomen right above ...Get your hands off me. “Help!”

  Claire fought to awake from the post-anesthetic fog.

  “Let me get that tube out of your throat.”

  A female voice. “You’re okay, honey. Settle down. You’re in the recovery room.”

  Another female. “Look at her. She’s terrified.”

  “Hold her wrist! She’s going to pull out her IV. Dr. Guererro!”

  “Here, that should hold her.”

  Bright lights. Atouch on my forehead. I’
m drooling. Someone is cleaning up my chin.

  Claire heard a female voice. “Little Joe, look at your arm!”

  “I know. She did it! She had a death grip on me. I’m glad she keeps her nails short.”

  “Oooh. Look at that. You can feel the indentations.”

  “She’s a fighter.”

  What is going on? Where am I?

  Aman with asurgical mask. The rapist!

  “Lie down, Claire. You’re okay!”

  Someone help me. He’s forcing me down!

  “Joe, give me a hand over here.”

  Help me! Help me!

  “Whoa, honey. Easy! You just had surgery.”

  That’s when he attacks! The rapist!

  Hands are cupping my face. He’s going to suffocate me! The hands are tightening their grip.

  “Claire! Open your eyes, honey. You’re in the recovery room. Try to relax!”

  The recovery room?

  “Claire! Look at me. You’re okay! Take a deep breath!”

  Claire opened her eyes. Bright images were blurred.

  “Here. Let me wipe your eyes. It’s just some protective salve.”

  I had surgery.

  “Try to relax, honey.”

  Claire pinched her eyelids shut again.

  I had surgery. Relax? Yeah, right!

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Billy Ray pulled his truck up behind the clinic building and stopped. He wanted to see Dr. McCall. If everything went according to his plan, she could be counted on to shift some of the mounting suspicions about him in a different direction. At this point, things were getting too hot for him. Something needed to change, and he wanted to know if Dr. McCall had acted like he’d asked.

  He looked around the near-empty lot. This wasn’t typical for a weekday. What’s going on? Maybe Dr. McCall ran away like ascared little girl.

  The lot was empty except for a pickup truck with a trailer holding a lawn tractor. He looked toward the clinic building where a man knelt in the mulch, pulling weeds. The jerk I met the first time Dr. McCall treated Lena.

  The man stood up. “Can I help you?”

  “I just came by to talk to Dr. McCall.”

  “The clinic’s closed. Try back next week.”

  “The doc take a vacation or something?”

  Billy Ray watched as the man sized him from top to bottom. “Something like that.”

  “Maybe I’ll try her at home.”

  “She’s in the hospital.”

  “Hospital? I just saw her yesterday.”

  The man shrugged. “Emergency surgery. She had appendicitis. Don’t that beat all? The doctor gets sick. Nobody thinks about that.”

  “Hmm.”

  “She’ll be home in a day or two.” The man knelt again to continue his work.

  Billy Ray turned. Now ain’t that an interesting twist. The doctor becomes the patient. She’ll be hurtin’ for a while. She’ll get a little taste of what her patients experience.

  He walked back to his truck, humming a country song and wondering if the cops were smart enough to figure it all out by themselves.

  That afternoon, Claire was asleep in a private room when her first visitor came. She opened her eyes to a touch on her shoulder. “Hey, little sis.”

  “Hey, Margo.” Claire looked at the baby in her arms. “Hi, Kristin.”

  Margo lifted the baby’s hand. “Say hi to Aunt Claire.”

  The baby pulled back the corner of her mouth. A smile? Claire knew better. It was probably just gas.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “A lot better than I did last night. I’m just tired.”

  “Lucy called me this morning. You could have called me, you know. I’d have picked you up.”

  “I know. But you have the girls.”

  Margo didn’t argue. She sat down, cradling little Kristin in her arms. “You know, if you’d get your own place, I’d come to see you more.”

  Claire didn’t want to get into it. She didn’t think she’d ever see eye to eye with Margo about Wally. Margo held tightly to her stubborn belief that Wally was responsible for most of her problems in life, including her own decision to marry young, and her husband’s decision to run off with a college coed when he heard that Margo was in line for Huntington’s disease. That, of course, didn’t last, and Kyle crawled back to his family after Margo tested negative for the HD gene.

  Claire sighed. “Dad’s in Pleasant View now, so it’s not an issue.”

  “True. Mom told me.” She sat quietly combing Kristin’s fine hair with her hand for a moment before adding, “She told me about John.” She looked up. “Claire, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m beginning to think it’s for the best myself.” She pushed the electronic control to raise the head of her bed. Once she was in the seated position, she continued. “I guess you’ve heard about the rapes.”

  “I’ve read the papers. Why?”

  Claire slowly reiterated the facts as she understood them, the similarity of the cases, the masks, the phone conversation with Tony, John’s father, the night-vision goggles, the ring that must have fallen from John’s pocket outside Lena’s house, and her latest findings about Billy Ray’s infertility and her conversation with John on the mountain and his angry response.

  Margo sat with her jaw slackened. “You actually accused him of being a rapist? Are you out of your mind? What were you thinking? What if you were right? He could have killed you!”

  “Margo, slow down! I didn’t exactly accuse him of being a rapist. I just asked him why the deputy would ask about him, that’s all.” She looked down. “I never really believed it. I just had a nagging question in my gut and I had to ask.”

  “It was stupid, Claire. If you have a gut check about something, it’s called intuition. You put your life in jeopardy because of your compulsion to ask.”

  Claire looked at her sister. Leave it to a flesh-and-blood sibling to be blunt. She nodded. “It was stupid, I guess.” She hesitated. “But all of this seems so out of character for John. I’ve known him for years. He—”

  “Claire, think about it, would you? You give the man a hint about your doubts and he suddenly thinks he needs some space in your relationship.”

  “He just told Mom he needed to get away from Stoney Creek for a while.”

  “Duh! Of course he needs to get away. What would you do if you were guilty and someone was starting to ask questions?”

  Claire looked up. She didn’t want to believe it. “Leave town,” she said quietly before shaking her head. “There has to be some other explanation.”

  Her sister huffed. “Do I need to remind you of your track record with men? You’re not exactly a stellar judge of a man’s character. Who was that psychopath you dated who scrawled threats on your door in Boston and killed our brother?”

  “He didn’t exactly kill Clay. It was an accident.”

  “You’re hopeless.” Margo stood up. “Have you told the detective about this stuff?”

  “All but the stuff I learned yesterday about Billy Ray’s infertility and my engagement ring.”

  “Claire!”

  “I just found out last night, Margo. I was going to call him, but I needed emergency surgery! Give me a break!”

  Margo backed down. “I’m sorry.” She took a step forward. “I’m just worried about you.”

  Claire nodded. She understood. Margo always called it as she saw it. Claire didn’t always agree with her, but she knew she could count on Margo to say exactly what was on her mind.

  “Does Della know you’re here?”

  “I didn’t want to bother her. Besides, she was flying today. I didn’t know how to reach her.”

  “You’d better tell her. Moms likes to know these things.”

  “It’s the first vacation she’s had in years. I don’t want to ruin it by making her worry about me.”

  “She gave me a number for her time-share. I think I’d better at least tell her what happened and that everythin
g is okay. I’ll tell her not to worry.”

  “She’ll worry about Wally. I promised I’d visit him every day. She’s counting on it.”

  “Wally will be fine. Do you think the man can actually remember from day to day who visits?”

  Claire felt her dander rising. And most folks in Stoney Creek knew it wasn’t a pretty sight to see a country woman with her dander up. She took a deep breath and controlled her response. “Yes, Wally does know it.” As if you care. Claire didn’t want to argue. “If Mom knows I’m not following through to visit Daddy, it will ruin her vacation.”

  “And if I don’t tell her that her baby girl is in the hospital, she’ll be mad at me!”

  There was a sharp knock at the door. She turned to see a familiar face, a petite Japanese man, Mr. Sugimoto, who was carrying a large bouquet of flowers.

  “Mr. Sugimoto! What a surprise! How did you know I was here?”

  “I called your office to talk to you this morning. Lucy told me where I could find you.”

  Claire held her hand up to her sister. “Mr. Sugimoto, this is my sister, Margo. Margo, this gentleman is working on some business with Uncle Leon.”

  Margo shook his hand and raised her eyebrows. She looked at Claire. “You amaze me. You’re always in the middle of everything.”

  “I’m not.”

  Margo shook her head and addressed Mr. Sugimoto. “Don’t let her fool you. If she becomes a surgeon, she’ll be the first one not to think that the world revolves around her.”

  “I’ve got to run, sis.”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Not at all,” Margo said. “I had already stood to leave.” She looked back at Claire. “Any idea when they’ll let you out of here?”

  “Probably tonight. Dr. Branum hopes to get me out in under twenty-four hours.”

  “So much for compassion.”

  Claire didn’t want to admit that she’d begged Dr. Branum to get her out as soon as possible. Because of her at-risk status for HD, she’d been unable to get a reasonably priced medical insurance policy, so she was officially uninsured since leaving the Layfayette Surgery Residency. Besides, she’d made a promise to Della she intended to keep.