My own father grew progressively worse. Although work was demanding more and more of my time, I spent what hours I could at Bradford Manor. I saw a lot of Jules, but something was wrong there, too. He seemed more distant every time I saw him. Coolly polite. I preferred the sparks that had electrified our early days. I could feel him pulling back, but from what?
Was it me, I began to wonder? Was I pushing people away?
The one person I was trying to push away, Klee, hung on tenaciously. When he was in town, he found half a dozen excuses a day to come into my office: an invoice he wanted to review; a pending contract that needed changes. He set up unnecessary meetings with Jeff and Sam and me. Sam didn’t protest. We were so busy that it was probably the only time he got to catch his breath. If Jeff complained about the wasted time, it was to someone else, but I doubted he was complaining. After all, Klee was the reason we were so busy, and suddenly outrageously profitable.
Klee’s behavior didn’t qualify as sexual harassment. More like Chinese water torture. I tried to keep our relationship strictly professional, which was what I was doing the afternoon Russ finally called. Klee had brought me a contract to be notarized and a dozen roses. I whipped out my notary seal and brushed the flowers to the floor. “You sign here,” I indicated, pointing.
A smile flickered across his face as he stooped to pick up the roses. “They aren’t a mink coat, you know,” he drawled. “A little something to brighten up your office.”
“I’ll open the blinds,” I said without looking up as I crimped the page.
“Lou, honey—” He broke off as the phone rang.
I scowled up at him as I picked up the phone. “Lou Graham,” I said sharply into the receiver.
“Lou. I—I—” The voice broke off on what sounded like a sob.
Instinctively, I gripped the phone more tightly. “Who is this?”
I heard a long, shuddering breath being drawn in and let out. “Lou,” he began again, and this time I recognized the voice. “It’s Russ. Darren—Darren’s been in an accident.”
“What? When? What kind of accident? How serious is it?”
“Serious,” he said, answering my last question first. “Really serious. The doctor said…Lou, can you come over here?”
I was already reaching for my purse. “Of course I can. Where are you?”
“DeKalb Medical Center.”
“I’m on my way.”
As I jumped up from my desk, I remembered Klee was standing there. “I have to go.”
“Who’s been in an accident?”
“Darren.”
“Let me drive you.”
“No.” I pushed past him, half expecting him to insist.
“I’ll move my car,” he said, hurrying out in front of me. “I’ve got you blocked.”
I stumbled out of the office behind him, not looking from right to left. As I made the ten minute drive, my thoughts were a meaningless jumble. Unanswered questions vied with horrific thoughts as I tried to concentrate on the road. Was it an automobile accident? Darren was an excellent driver, confident and sure. Still, hundreds of accidents happened in the city every day. It’s a wonder I didn’t have one myself on the way to the hospital.
I pulled into the emergency entrance. It took me a moment to realize I couldn’t park there. With mounting frustration at my inability to function, I whipped the car around and headed into the parking lot. I didn’t realize until I hurried through the emergency room doors that Klee was beside me. I was too distracted to be angry, so distracted that I almost ran Russ down. He was inside the double glass doors waiting for me.
He gripped my hands like a life raft. “We can’t see him. The doctor—he said—” He looked at me helplessly.
I hung onto his hands and led him to a chair. The irony of giving comfort to my gay ex-husband’s lover was lost on me right then. Really, really distracted. “Tell me what happened,” I said, once we were sitting.
Russ drew in a long breath. His hands were gripping mine so tightly they were beginning to cramp. “At the jobsite. This afternoon. He fell…fell off the scaffolding. Second floor I think.” His face was gray with pain. He choked, and then tried again. “He managed to call 911 on his cell phone. If he hadn’t—”
By now, he was almost hyperventilating. I began to think I needed to get a doctor for him. I saw a cup of water being pressed in his hand and looked up. Klee stood at his side. I’d forgotten he was there.
Once Russ had recovered enough to talk again, he said, “He fell. I know it’s his—his leg and his back, maybe his head, but I don’t know exactly what…” He gripped my hands harder. “I don’t want to hate him, Lou, but I have to wonder if he pushed him.”
“What do you mean, Russ? If who pushed who?”
“Greg. Pushed him, I think but—”
“What?
“He was there. I mean, at least he was there a few minutes earlier. I called Darren on the jobsite to see when he’d be finished. He said Greg was there and he’d call me back. I waited and waited. When I called him again, there was no answer. No answer—because—”
My ears were ringing. I felt a slight pressure on my arm, and I was being pushed back into a chair. Greg had been there. Greg was here. In town. Greg had pushed—no. That was impossible. Wasn’t it?
Russ was still talking, but I couldn’t make out his words. I felt a firm grip on my shoulder, and looked up to see Klee studying me. I don’t know what he saw in my face, but he pushed my head between my knees.
Slowly, the world began to come back into focus. I heard a television droning in the background. I looked around at the people lining the walls. None was watching the tiny screen mounted high on the wall, but neither were they watching us. They appeared to be lost in their own horrors.
This time, I got the glass of water. I noticed that Russ was taking turns looking at me with concern and staring hard at the double doors that led into the emergency inner sanctum as if sheer concentration would summon someone with news of Darren. Klee was talking quietly on his cell phone. I thought it was hideously cold to be conducting business in an emergency room while my husband—ex-husband, I reminded myself—was in God knew what condition, but I couldn’t be bothered to tell him so.
My stomach clenched. Darren. I couldn’t even think about Greg and what he might or might not have done. My concern was Darren.
Very serious. What did that mean? His back and leg? What about them? What had he fallen on, dirt or concrete? Which jobsite? I thought I’d go mad with not knowing. I sipped my water and gritted my teeth.
“Your mother’s on her way,” Klee said into my ear.
I spun around. “What?”
“I got Sam to call her, and she’s on her way.”
My eyes suddenly burned. “Thank you,” I gulped. My mother. Now I had something to hang onto.
In less than five minutes, she was there. I looked up at her, my eyes wide with fear, barely registering the pink tunic and bells dangling at her ears. She didn’t say a word, just sat beside me and gripped my hands tightly. It was wonderfully comforting.
An hour or so later, my name was announced over the loud speaker. Mother and I walked up to the desk. “This way, Mrs. Graham,” a nurse said. I trembled as I followed her, expecting to be led into a curtained cubicle where Darren lay, broken. Instead, she turned into an office. A doctor sat behind a desk looking at x-rays on a screen behind him. He was a little past middle age, with silver hair and a trim, compact frame. When I came in, he turned and got to his feet. “Mrs. Graham?”
I nodded, relieved. If he was studying x-rays, it meant Darren was alive.
“Dr. Friedman,” he said, shaking my hand. Then he motioned to a chair. “Please. Sit down.”
I perched on the edge.
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Your husband took quite a fall,” he said, putting his glasses back on.
I didn’t bother to correct the “husband.” I think I was waiting for him to say, “…but he’s
going to be fine.”
He had read a different script. “I can’t tell you anything definitive yet. He’s still unconscious. He lost quite a bit of blood from the break.”
“The break?”
The doctor quickly reassessed the level to which I was informed. “His leg is broken in two places. There’s internal bleeding. He’s going into surgery soon. I’ll need you to sign some forms.”
“Of course,” I said weakly.
“The break is severe, but there are other things that concern me.”
I noticed his hands were completely still on the desk blotter. I noticed his fingers were long, his nails trimmed neatly. Then I noticed he wasn’t speaking. I looked up.
I think he was assessing my mental state. I must have failed his test. His manner gentled. “We’re a lot more worried about what might be going on with his spine and his not regaining consciousness. Although he took a severe blow to the head―”
I felt bile rise up into my throat. “A blow?”
He nodded again. “When he fell. I’ve called in a neurologist.” Seeing my blank look, he added, “I’m an orthopedic surgeon. I’ll do the surgery on your husband’s leg. I’ve also done a number of x-rays on his back and an MRI, although I don’t have the results of that yet. I do know that nothing else appears to be broken.”
“Thank God.”
He nodded. “Thank God, indeed. Right now we need to focus on the break and the internal bleeding. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you right now.”
“He’ll be all right though?”
There was a slight hesitation before he spoke. Did they practice those techniques in medical school? “We’re cautiously hopeful, but we’re a long way from knowing everything that’s going on. They’re prepping him for surgery now,” he finished.
I started to rise, but he handed me several pages. “The forms.”
I shook my head. “Oh. Sorry.”
All eyes were on me as I returned to the waiting room. I mean all eyes. It seemed like everyone in the crowded room turned to see who was coming through the double doors. Conversations broke off in mid-word. Most registered resignation when they saw who it was, but three pairs burned into me. Russ was on his feet before I was halfway across the room, and even before that I could feel the fear and hurt coming off him. I wasn’t ready to deal with his feelings. I wasn’t even ready to deal with mine.
“They’re taking him into surgery,” I said.
I told them all what the doctor had said. “He doesn’t know how serious it is. They’re doing tests.”
“You didn’t see him?” from Russ.
I shook my head. “The doctor said he’s still unconscious.”
“I’m going to call Jana and Greg,” Mother said, heading toward the pay phones.
Greg. I looked at Russ, but he was staring at the floor. I don’t think he even heard her.
The hours while Darren was in surgery seemed endless. At some point, Jana and Bob arrived. Greg did not. My mother was talking softly to Jana and Bob. I was incapable of speech. Thought, too, apparently. Although my mind tried to deny the possibility that my son had pushed his father off second floor scaffolding. I could picture it clearly. The argument, the rising voices. The little push. I saw it happen a dozen times on the screen behind my eyes. No. It wasn’t possible.
Klee stayed. He pressed coffee into my hands a couple of times. I don’t know if I thanked him. I may have drunk it. The murmur of conversation rose and fell around us. The paging system droned nonstop, blending into the general noise of voices and television. Twice, the double glass doors leading to the ambulance bay opened and chaos reigned as some new catastrophe was brought in through the waiting room. It seemed barbaric to me that they didn’t have some kind of back entrance these stretchers could come through. The last thing these people—including me—needed to see was a mangled body strapped to a gurney.
The seats that lined the walls grew uncomfortable. Then numbness set in, and they seemed fine. Someone sitting a few seats away tucked into a Big Mac, and my stomach heaved at the smell.
It was growing dark beyond the now-quiet outside doors of the waiting room when Dr. Friedman approached us. Russ was on his feet before I was. The doctor explained in great detail what he had done. Something about pinning the bones and reattaching something. They would treat the spine separately. Darren was in recovery, he explained. Later, he’d be moved to ICU. It would be a while before he could give us a prognosis.
Then he was gone. We all stood without moving. After a few moments of charged silence, my mother took control. “We all needed something to eat,” she announced. “Let’s go to the cafeteria.”
I was shaking my head before the words were out of her mouth. So was Russ. In the end, she ushered Jana and Bob down the corridor.
I could feel the waves of resentment coming off Russ even before he said, “I should have talked to the doctor.”
I turned. His face was gray, dragged down by feelings I wanted to avoid.
“You’d think I’d be used to it by now,” he said bitterly, turning and walking away.
I felt battered, like if one more thing happened to me, I’d crumble into a thousand tiny pieces and no one would ever be able to reassemble me. Klee must have seen it. He put his arm around me, and I gave into a moment of weakness. I rested my forehead against his shoulder.
At that moment, the emergency room doors whooshed open. I turned and looked into Jules Proctor’s face.
I felt like I was moving through molasses as I straightened and took a step toward him. “Jules? My father—”
His mouth opened and closed. “No, not your father. Eleanor called the Manor. She told Gillian about Darren. To tell me why she wouldn’t be at the hospital.”
He seemed to be having as much trouble talking as I was having connecting thoughts. “She’s—uh—she’s in the cafeteria,” I offered lamely. “With Jana and Bob. My daughter and her husband.” I tried to clear my head. “Darren is in the recovery room.”
Neither man was looking at me. Instead they were regarding one another. “Uh—this is Gideon Klee. He works with me. He was there when they called about Darren.” I turned to Klee. “This is Jules Proctor, my father’s doctor.”
The men looked at each other, sizing one another up. Silence. Finally, a stiff handshake.
My shoulders sagged. I simply could not deal with any more. I lowered myself into a chair. They took chairs on either side of me. Hushed conversations surrounded us. The occasional whimper from a weary child. I could relate.
Finally, Jules broke the silence. “What did the doctor say, Lou?”
I told him as much as I knew, which was little. I said nothing about Greg. What could I say?
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Jules said when I fell silent. Still, he seemed loath to leave. “Eleanor’s in the cafeteria?”
I looked from man to immobile man and nodded. “I think I’ll go join her.”
I seemed to be coming back to myself. I turned to Klee. “Thank you for coming with me. I’ll call the office as soon as I know anything.”
Klee’s face muscles worked. “Sure you don’t want me to stay, sugar? I’d be happy to.”
I was too weary to correct him. “No. Thank you, Klee. I’ll be with my family.”
With one last shake of his head, one last hang-dog look, Klee stood. He offered his hand to Jules. “You take care of my girl, you hear? She’s been through a lot.”
Despite the dislike that appeared on Jules face, good manners won out. Jules shook his hand, and finally Klee was gone.
We sat in silence for a long moment. I stared at the floor, unable to raise my eyes. I didn’t look at Jules. “Klee is someone I work with. He’s—uh—a partner in the firm. He followed me here.”
“Come on,” Jules said. “I’ll walk you to the cafeteria.”
“It’s all right,” I said, struggling to my feet. “I know where it is.”
Jules walked alongside me as if I hadn’t spok
en. The silence was heavy, burdensome. It crossed my mind that this man walking beside me was the kind of man you could lean on, really lean on, and still stay on your feet. Unfortunately, he seemed determined to maintain at least an arm’s-length distance from me.
“I’m not his girl,” I blurted out. Then I felt my face burn. “He meant his girl like his employee. His bookkeeper. Not like….”
Jules glanced over at me. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
I had the sinking feeling that I did, but not the energy to do it.
Mother was ensconced with Jana and Bob at a Formica table in the corner. Her face lit up when she saw Jules. He held my chair for me and gave her shoulder a squeeze before he disappeared into the nether regions of the hospital in search of information.
They each had a plate in front of them. I could tell the food had been moved around, but I didn’t imagine the quantities had been significantly reduced.
My mother sat trying to read my face and then seemed to give up. Jana was no longer sniffling, but her eyes looked like alien beacons shining out of her face, red and liquid. “I tried to reach Greg at Diane’s,” she said to me. “I left a message on the answering machine.”
Jana knew Greg was in town? Was I the only one who didn’t know? My mother’s next words answered my question.
“Greg is in town?” She turned to me. “I left a message on his machine in California. You didn’t say anything about his being here.”
“I didn’t know.” I have never been one who could hide my thoughts or feelings behind an implacable exterior. They must have been etched across my face, because I could see her read them, digest their meaning, and come to her own conclusion.
An Irreconcilable Difference Page 22