Not Perfect: A Novel

by Elizabeth Laban

  They waited what seemed like a very long time, when in fact it was only about fifteen minutes. The doorman called up, and Tabitha went to the door to let Holly in. She wanted to hug her, but she was too afraid of doing the wrong thing and pushing her away, or making her regret her decision to come over to help.

  “Where is she?” Holly asked cheerfully as she walked through the door. She wore a black-and-red fall dress with heels, and Tabitha wondered if she had pulled her away from a party or an early dinner or something, and that she hadn’t been going to the grocery store at all. But she didn’t ask.

  “Over here,” Tabitha said, spotting Toby’s chair in the hall. She grabbed it and pulled it inside, tucking it into the corner of the foyer.

  She expected Fern to perk up once Holly arrived, but she didn’t, which worried her. Holly talked to her, and felt around gently. Then she stepped back and motioned to Tabitha to follow her into the kitchen.

  “So, it is really hard for me to tell what’s going on inside her knee,” Holly said kindly. “I was hoping it would be something more obvious, but without a definite injury that you guys are aware of, and considering the fact that she is in such pain, I think you might as well go get it checked out. An X-ray might tell us a lot.”

  Tabitha started to cry. She didn’t mean to. She meant to be strong. But she kept thinking about how she was going to get Fern out the door, and for some reason that made her feel helpless.

  “Okay,” Tabitha said. “Thank you. I know you’re right.”

  “Hey, is there anyone here to help you?” Holly asked. The fact that she didn’t ask about Stuart made Tabitha think that people might be talking. People must have noticed he hadn’t been around at all.

  “No, not really,” Tabitha said. “But I’ll figure it out.”

  “I can call ahead for you,” Holly said. “It might not help too much, but it can’t hurt.”

  Tabitha nodded, she couldn’t stop crying.

  “Is there . . . something else going on?” Holly asked.

  “No . . . yes . . . no,” Tabitha said. “I’ve just put this off so long, I feel terrible. I just kept hoping it would get better and it hasn’t and I could have probably avoided this situation.”

  “We all do that. Did you know that the time Evie broke that bone in her foot we kept telling her it was fine? She had to limp around for two days, and someone had to suggest we get it looked at—and we’re both doctors! We all want it to be not so bad, and usually it isn’t, but sometimes you do need help.”

  Tabitha was crying harder now. She wondered if she had ever cried this hard in her entire life. Probably, when she was a baby. That’s what it felt like. She didn’t want the kids to know. She had to get control. She took deep breaths, but it didn’t help.

  “I can help you get her there,” Holly said. “Let me just call Mitch and make sure he and Evie are okay.”

  “No! Really! I can do this,” Tabitha said. “I think they might actually have a building wheelchair. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. Let me call the doorman.”

  “Mom!” Levi called from the other room. “What are we doing?”

  “We’re going,” Tabitha called back, but her voice cracked, and it sent her into another bought of crying. Her eyes hurt. To Holly she said, “I am so sorry. I am just really, really sorry.”

  “Let me go get the wheelchair,” Holly offered. Tabitha was tempted to let her, but she didn’t want to use up all her goodwill. She might need her again, and more than that, she liked the idea of her being a friend.

  “No, really, thank you so much for coming,” Tabitha said. “You made me feel . . . not so alone.”

  “Okay, I’ll get going, but please don’t hesitate to call if you need me,” Holly said. “And please let me know what they say about Fern. I’ll call as soon as I leave to let them know you’re coming. Call your pediatrician—or at least the on-call number—and let them know, too. The insurance companies sometimes want the okay from the pediatrician. I don’t know you that well, but I have a feeling there are things you aren’t telling me. I wish I could help more, but if I could just offer you a tiny bit of wisdom that I tell myself over and over again when I’m struggling with something—it’s that most things that seem terrible at the time rarely stay terrible. Of course, there are exceptions to that, but I hope in your case it will be true, with Fern’s knee and whatever else is going on.”

  Tabitha took another series of deep breaths and touched Holly on the forearm.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

  When Holly left, Tabitha called down to the front desk. She was elated, if that was possible at a time like this, when Mort answered. He was filling in because Robert called in sick. Tabitha didn’t much like Robert, he never would have done anything extra. But Mort? Thank goodness for Mort. Yes, they did have a wheelchair, which he brought up, along with two cherry Blow Pops which he gave to Fern. Tabitha thought for a minute that he had nothing for Levi but he did, a Snickers bar. Just having Mort around perked Fern up a bit; he was her favorite, and she wanted him to wheel her out. He had a cab waiting, and he helped them get in, instructing Tabitha to wait in the car with Fern while Levi ran in for a wheelchair when they arrived. He gave Levi the thumbs-up, as if to say, “You can handle this, man,” and Levi gave him the thumbs-up back. They took the short ride over the South Street Bridge. Levi quickly and easily got a wheelchair when they arrived, and the cab driver said the fare had been paid for. Tabitha would have to remember to write Mort on her list when she got home.

  The hospital was expecting them, and despite the crowded waiting room, Fern was triaged quickly, and then they were taken back to a small private room. There was a television, two chairs, and they were asked if they needed anything. Tabitha thought of the man at The Family Meal who said that he considered a trip to the emergency room for the sole purpose of getting a meal.

  “I wondered,” Tabitha began hesitantly. “Are there any snacks or anything I can give to Fern’s brother? With all the commotion, he hasn’t eaten.”

  “Sure,” the nurse said. “We have turkey sandwiches. Would you like one, too?”

  “That would be great,” Tabitha said.

  “Unfortunately, the little lady will have to hold off until we do some tests,” the nurse said.

  Tabitha felt bad about that, but accepted the sandwiches, which were in plastic baggies, along with small cans of ginger ale and packets of graham crackers.

  “Hey, Levi, do we have to go back to The Family Meal anytime soon?” Tabitha asked. Fern was sitting on the gurney. She had calmed down, but she was clearly still in pain. Tabitha took a quick bite, then dropped her sandwich into her bag.

  “I don’t want to go anymore,” he said. “I don’t want to do any of it. I don’t want to have a bar mitzvah.”

  Before Tabitha had a chance to take in what he just said, there was a light knock on the glass door, it slid to the side, and a lady walked in pushing a computer on a stand.

  “Good evening,” she said. “I’m from registration.”

  “Hi,” Tabitha said to her, but what she wanted to do was turn to Levi and say, What do you mean?

  “Are you Mom?” the lady asked. The words No, I’m Pocahontas ran through Tabitha’s mind, but she sighed and said yes.

  “I’m sorry you’re not feeling good,” she said to Fern, and Tabitha immediately felt bad that she was annoyed by this lady. Maybe she could get a job doing this, it must not require any medical expertise. But she would have to do it at a hospital far away, or else she would be sure to run into people she knew.

  “Thanks,” Fern said sweetly.

  “So, what I need from you, Mom, is your insurance card, and I’ll need you to sign a few things on the screen.”

  “Okay,” Tabitha said. She dug around in her purse for her insurance card and handed it over, hoping for the best. The lady put it through a scanner of some sort and handed it back. She waited, but there was n
o discussion about whether it was good or not.

  “Now, please read this and sign,” the lady said. Tabitha scanned the screen, barely acknowledging what it said, and signed. “And here,” the lady said. Tabitha did it again. Really, for all she knew it could have said that if her insurance company didn’t pay up that she’d owe the hospital her kids, but she just couldn’t focus.

  “Thank you,” the lady said, pushing the cart out. Before she closed the door she turned back to Fern. “I hope you feel better, honey.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t want to have a bar mitzvah?” Tabitha said, sounding much angrier than she felt. Why did she even care? This was always, always Stuart’s thing. But no, it had become their thing—and it was supposed to be Levi’s thing. It was still important—with or without Stuart.

  “I just don’t,” he said sulkily.

  “But,” Tabitha said. But what? You have to? It’s the right thing to do? Tabitha didn’t even know.

  They sat in silence. Tabitha was so happy to be the one waiting for a decision to be made, to not be the one in charge, that she didn’t mind any of it, except Fern’s pain. Finally, a doctor came in who ordered blood work and an X-ray. Levi sat and looked at his phone the whole time, asking for two more sandwiches, and Tabitha was glad. She had thought briefly about leaving him at home—it would have been okay—but he seemed so worked up about Fern, and now he had gotten plenty to eat. When they finally gave Fern pain medication, she perked up considerably. The tests didn’t show anything, which was mostly good, because they were able to rule out some of the worst possible things, but bad because they still didn’t know what was causing this. They said she could go home and ordered a series of other tests for the week ahead. With the pain medication, Fern was able to walk, though very slowly. They took a cab back to the apartment, which Tabitha paid for with her Visa—this definitely counted as an emergency—and the kids went right to bed. Even though it wasn’t actually very late, it felt late. Tabitha sent Holly a text, filling her in and thanking her again. Holly sent back a smiley face.

  As Tabitha took off the fleece jacket she’d been wearing all day, she remembered the slip of paper with the phone number on it. She reached into the pocket and pulled it out. The phone number was there, clear as day, but there was nothing else, no name or initials, nothing on the back. She held it in her hand as she hung the coat up in the front closet. She thought Stuart might have been wearing the jacket on the last night he was home. Yes, she was sure of it, because it was an unusually chilly night in August, almost unheard of, and also, she remembered thinking it was on the casual side for work. Her first idea was to add it to the list of clues, she wasn’t quite ready to actually explore it. It wasn’t until she got to her room and reached for the side table drawer that she remembered she had gotten rid of the list. She pictured it ripped up and soggy at the bottom of the sewer, or stuck to the insides of her pipes. That would be somehow fitting.

  Fine, she thought, I’m just going to call. She was so tired of not finding answers; she wanted to actually get some. Although she didn’t dare hope for much—it could simply lead her to a local law office or maybe the miners’ union office. It was Saturday, so unlikely that anyone would answer, anyway. But she needed to try, and this was practically handed to her on a platter. She picked up the house phone so the number would be blocked, just in case, and dialed. It was answered right away.

  “Marquette General,” a gruff man said.

  Tabitha hung up. Once again, she had that terrible feeling that she’d been caught at something. It took her a minute to catch her breath. She called back. The gruff man answered the same way, but sounded even gruffer this time.

  “Did you say, ‘Marquette General’?” Tabitha asked, trying to disguise her voice, which she knew was ridiculous. “As in, ‘Marquette General Hospital’?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and suddenly he didn’t sound so gruff at all.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for a patient,” she said. She didn’t want to blow this chance, now that she had finally reached someone. On the spot like that, she could think of only one person to ask for. “His name is Stuart Brewer. I’m not sure where he is. Has he been brought to your hospital?”

  “One minute, ma’am,” he said. “Let me just check the computer. Did you say ‘Brewer,’ as in B-r-e-w-e-r?”

  “Yes,” she said, breathless again. Was he finding something?

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “There is no patient by the name of Brewer here.”

  “Oh, okay, thank you,” Tabitha said slowly. She didn’t want to let him go.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Can you, um, can you see if he was a patient there at one time?”

  The man hesitated. “I can see, yes,” he said slowly. “But I’m really only supposed to give out information about current patients.”

  “My husband has been missing for over two months,” she blurted out. She couldn’t believe she was saying this. “He left, and he hasn’t come home or called. I am at my wit’s end. My daughter is sick. My son wants to cancel his bar mitzvah. Please, can you just look?”

  She wasn’t even sure what she would do with the information. It would be one thing if he were in the hospital now, if he had fallen over a cliff and hit his head while he was looking at the Pictured Rocks, maybe during a romantic hike with Abigail, and been in a coma all this time. But if he had been there and was now gone, that wouldn’t really help her much.

  “I looked quickly, ma’am,” the man said, bringing her back to the phone call. She sensed a slight hesitation in his voice. “And there is no record that a Mr. Stuart Brewer was a patient here at any time in the last two years. That’s as far as these records go back—after that we have to check a whole other database.”

  “Thank you,” Tabitha said. “Thank you so much.”

  “I’m sorry your husband is missing, ma’am,” he said, and the words felt so strange to her ears, since she had tried so hard to not let a single other human being know what was going on, except, of course, for Marlon at the grocery store. “Have you tried calling the police?”

  “That’s my next call,” she lied. “Thank you again. Um, can I ask you about another possible patient?”

  There was no response, and she worried she had lost him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said after a long pause.

  “Is there a patient there named Abigail Golding?”

  She heard a click-click-click of computer keys.

  “Not at the moment, ma’am,” he said in such a way that she knew.

  “Was she a patient there? At one time?”

  “Again, ma’am, I’m not supposed to disclose anything but the current patient list,” he said.

  “Please?” she said.

  “There was a Miss Abigail Golding here. I can see she had numerous hospital stays over the last two years. I count seven. The last one was the third week in September.”

  “And?” Tabitha prompted. Her heart was beating so fast that it was uncomfortable.

  “That is the last stay I have on record.”

  “And she was discharged?” Tabitha asked. She was finally getting her answer. Stuart was with Abigail, which was really not a surprise, not after everything, not after their fight the night before he left. Hadn’t she known it all along?

  “No, ma’am,” the man said. “She died.”

  Tabitha had been sitting up straight on the edge of the bed, but now she stood.

  “Died?’ she said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “And since I could lose my job for this, I might as well tell you everything I know. The other name you gave me—your husband’s name, I assume—it came up on her visitor list.”

  “For September?” Tabitha asked, but her voice sounded strangled. “Was he on the list in late August and September?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the man said. “And before that. As far a
s I can tell, he was always on it.”

  “Always?” Tabitha asked. She could hear another phone ringing.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Well, for as long as this record goes back. I’m so sorry, but I have to take this.”

  “Thank you,” Tabitha said, so quietly it was possible he didn’t hear her. She thought about calling back to say good-bye again, and to say she hoped he wouldn’t lose his job, and to ask if she had heard that right, but she couldn’t move.

  After they had eaten the cherry chicken that August night, Stuart offered to help clean up, something that was so out of their normal way of doing things that Tabitha started to wonder if he was sick. Was he trying to do things for her while he still could? She had said, “No, thank you,” and he had gone into his study.

  She cleaned up, got the kids to sleep, and went to bed. She was reading a Liane Moriarty book about a woman who had lost her memory and didn’t know herself in the present—she thought it was ten years before and that she was newly married and pregnant with her first child, when in fact, she had three children and her marriage was unraveling. Tabitha was thinking about that—what it would be like to go back ten years—who was she then? Who were they as a couple? Levi would have been two, and Fern was just on the way. It was a time when happiness still seemed possible, when she still hoped she would settle in and stop feeling like she was getting into bed with a near stranger each night.

  And then Stuart appeared. He had a look on his face that she couldn’t identify. Maybe he really was sick, and he was going to tell her. He came and sat next to her, on her side of the bed. He put his hand on her thigh and looked like he was about to say something, and the words that ran through her head were: I don’t want to know. She still wasn’t sure why. So instead of letting him talk, she leaned in and kissed him, and he smelled good. Suddenly she craved him, they had barely touched in weeks. And he responded. For the briefest few moments, she didn’t think about anything but his body and their pleasure. When it was over, she leaned back in bed, thinking something had shifted, something good. Maybe he was finally coming around, maybe that’s what he had wanted to talk to her about earlier.