Better to Trust

by Frimmer, Heather

  When the music started playing, Emma skated forward on the eighth beat and launched into an intricate footwork series, her feet moving too fast for Sadie’s eyes to keep up. Though Sadie knew the routine, she couldn’t make herself do it. Her feet felt like they were frozen to the ice.

  “Kaplan, Go.” Coach motioned with her hand.

  Sadie sat down on the ice and buried her face in her knees. The tears started flowing down her cheeks, wetting her practice dress, and Coach Volkov’s voice and the music faded away. All she could hear was the sound of her own sobs.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Grant

  March 15, 2019

  AFTER ALISON’S SURGERY, Grant stopped in the locker room to make himself look presentable before talking to Michael. If he showed up in the family waiting room all sweaty and disheveled, he definitely wouldn’t inspire confidence. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d turned the surgery around. When he had closed the dura and fit the bone flap back in place, the bleeding was well controlled and everything seemed okay. The nurses and techs had even given him an ovation, calling him a hero. Lucky bastard was more like it.

  Standing at the sink, he splashed water on his face and washed his hands, drying them with a paper towel. You can do this, he told himself. This wasn’t the first time he would speak with a family member after a challenging surgery, but it was the first time the patient was his own family member.

  When he got to the family waiting room, Michael was alone; all the other operations had finished hours ago. Michael looked up, his eyes bloodshot and a day’s stubble shadowing his cheeks.

  “Grant,” he said, standing up. “What’s going on? I was starting to worry.”

  “Everything’s fine,” Grant reached for Michael’s shoulder, guiding him to sit back down.

  “She’s okay? What happened?” With the look of fear in Michael’s eyes, Grant felt his heart speeding up. Keep it together, he told himself. After salvaging the surgery, he could make it through this conversation.

  “It took a little longer than expected,” he said. “The malformation was quite large, but I was able to take a good portion out.”

  “That’s good?”

  “Yes. She did have a bit of bleeding which prolonged the surgery time.” It was more than a bit of bleeding, more like a fucking tsunami, but Michael didn’t need to know that. Nothing good would come from sharing that information.

  “And now it’s stopped?”

  “Yes. She’s on her way to the ICU. The nurses will come and get you when she’s ready for visitors.”

  “Can I go now? I need to see her.”

  “In a half hour or so,” Grant said. “But she’ll remain unconscious tonight. I need to give her brain some rest, so she’ll be getting sedatives to keep her comfortable.” He put his hand over Michael’s for a moment, trying to reassure him that everything was under control, but then he wondered if Michael would notice the clamminess of his palm. He took his hand back and stood up.

  “I’ll come back in a few hours and check on her,” he said, turning and walking back to the locker room.

  He opened his locker and checked his phone. He’d missed a call from Sadie’s skating coach. That was odd. She usually contacted Cynthia about the logistics of skating practice. He texted Cynthia that everything went fine, saying he would fill her in over dinner. He had suggested she would be more comfortable waiting at home rather than sitting amongst all the other anxious family members in the surgical waiting room. Really, he needed her out of his hair. He peeled off his scrubs and threw on his street clothes.

  On the drive home, he couldn’t help thinking about the day’s events. While he knew the rapid heart rate, sweating, and panicky feeling were probably related to the extra Adderall he’d taken this morning, he couldn’t understand what had happened in the locker room. Wendy said she had paged him over the intercom, but he hadn’t heard a thing. Could he have actually passed out? Syncope wasn’t a side effect of Adderall as far as he knew, but he would have to take a closer look at the package insert. He couldn’t make a habit of blacking out during operations. That would certainly earn him an interrogation by the screwed-up doctor committee, the one Vik was currently chairing. That interview would prove awkward, to say the least.

  Turning the car off the Mass Pike at exit sixteen, he got another call from Coach Volkov. What did this woman want? He decided to answer so she wouldn’t keep calling him.

  “Dr. Kaplan?”

  “What’s going on, Coach?”

  “I tried Mrs. Kaplan first, but I couldn’t get her.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to let you know about something that happened at practice today.”

  “Is Sadie okay?” Grant didn’t have the mental reserve to deal with any more crises. One near miss with a family member was enough for one day.

  “I think so,” Coach said. “She had a bit of a breakdown at practice. She and Emma were about to start their routine and Sadie sat down on the ice and started crying.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “I got her into my office and tried to figure out what was bothering her. She just kept saying she was fine. I couldn’t get her to share anything else.”

  “Maybe she’s stressed out about the upcoming competition.”

  “I don’t know. I want to make sure everything is okay at home.”

  “Fine,” Grant said. He wasn’t about to tell the coach more than she needed to know. “Absolutely fine. I’ll sit down with Sadie when I get home.”

  He hung up. He didn’t know what was going on with Sadie, but there had to be a logical explanation. When he entered the house, the smell of cooked onions made his stomach grumble. On days when he had long surgeries, he ate a small breakfast and then waited to eat again until he got home. If he stopped to snack in the middle, it threw off his rhythm.

  “What’s cooking?” he yelled as he took off his jacket.

  “Brisket,” Cynthia came into the mudroom, a wild look in her eyes. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

  “It’s not Passover,” Grant said. “Is it some other obscure holiday I forgot about?” He’d never known Cynthia to make a brisket just for the hell of it. She barely cooked at all anymore. “It smells delicious.”

  “Enough about the food, Grant. Tell me about my sister.”

  “Everything went as planned.” His heart sped up as he told this lie. “Couldn’t have gone better.”

  “Really?” Could she tell he was hiding something? She was an expert at reading him after all these years together.

  “Yes, really.” He tried to say the words with as much confidence as possible. “She’s on her way to the ICU.”

  Cynthia released a long breath. “You don’t know what I’ve gone through sitting here all day by myself. I thought I would go insane.”

  “Where’s Sadie?” Grant followed Cynthia into the kitchen.

  “She wanted to shower before dinner.” Cynthia made a face as he came closer. “Something you could use right about now.”

  Grant lifted his armpit and took a whiff. He was smelling a bit rank after all those hours sweating it out under the OR lights. He’d have to take a quick shower before heading back to the hospital. Cynthia dished out three helpings of meat, potatoes, and carrots and brought the plates to the table.

  “I just got a strange call from the skating coach.” Grant sat down. “She said that Sadie cried at practice.”

  “She didn’t mention anything to me.”

  “Why didn’t you take the coach’s call?”

  Cynthia picked up her phone. “I must have been in the bathroom.” She checked to see if she had any other missed calls and then started scrolling through her emails.

  “Put the phone down Cynthia. We need to figure this out.”

  Cynthia placed it face down on the table. “What else did Coach say?”

  “Not much, just that Sadie lost her shit at practice and that she wouldn’t explain why.”

&n
bsp; “Maybe she’s taking this all harder than we think. We’ll talk to her when she comes down.”

  “I don’t want her to get lost in all this,” Grant said. “No matter how mature she is, she’s still a teenager.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Cynthia said. “Tell me more about the surgery.”

  “I was able to resect more than I’d thought I could.” When Grant brought a bite to his mouth, he felt a sudden wave of nausea. The food had smelled good at first, but now the thought of putting anything in his stomach made him ill.

  “Can I see her?”

  “Tomorrow,” Grant said. He didn’t want Cynthia to see Alison until he knew she had woken up with all of her faculties intact. Plus, he hadn’t had a chance to speak with Wendy yet. The last thing he needed was for Wendy to say something in front of Cynthia about his episode in the OR. “She’s still intubated and groggy from the anesthesia.”

  “Are you going back tonight?”

  “After dinner.” Grant put his fork down on his plate.

  “I’m coming, too,” she said. “You make me stay home while you cut my sister open and then you expect me to sit here watching Naked and Afraid while you go back to see her? No way.”

  “I never said you had to stay home.”

  “No, not exactly. You said the operation would take a long time and that I might be better off waiting at home.”

  “The decision was yours. You can’t blame everything on me.”

  “I’m not, Grant. I’m just scared.” Grant felt sweat starting to bead up at his temples. The Adderall was wearing off by now and he would definitely have to take a few Oxy to chill him out before he headed back to the hospital.

  “I know this is stressful,” Grant said softly, hoping his gentle tone might convince her to stay put. “She’s getting the best care possible, I promise.”

  “I won’t be able to sleep until I see her.”

  “I’m not sure seeing her now is a good idea, Cyn. After major surgery people don’t look like their normal selves.” He had to think of a way to convince her to stay home. He felt confident that he’d salvaged the surgery—stopped the bleeding and resected as much of the AVM as possible— but there was always the chance of an unexpected complication. What if she woke up with slurred speech or weakness in her fingers? The last thing he needed was Cynthia breathing down his neck while he performed the exam.

  “Please,” she said. “I need to go. I can handle it.”

  “I’m not sure you can.”

  “I’m not an idiot, Grant. I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions.” This wasn’t looking good. He wasn’t sure what other roadblocks he could put in her way.

  “I’m the surgeon of record,” he said, trying the only other tactic he could think of. “I decide who can and can’t see my patient.”

  “Like hell you can,” Cynthia stood up. “I can’t sit here anymore. I need to see her with my own eyes.”

  Grant knew by Cynthia’s tone that he had to give in. He was tired of fighting with her. It seemed like every conversation they had these days quickly turned into an argument.

  “Fine,” he said. “But Sadie doesn’t come. I’ll go up and check on her before we go.” He wanted to make sure she was okay, and it would give him a chance to take his pills before they left.

  Cynthia cleared the dishes from the table, covering Sadie’s plate with foil. Grant noticed Cynthia’s portion hadn’t been touched either. She scraped the food into the garbage and piled the dishes in the sink.

  As Grant climbed the stairs, he didn’t hear the shower running. The light in Sadie’s room was off. When he opened the door, Sadie was in her bed, bundled under her purple comforter. Stepping closer to the bed, he could see the rise and fall with her breath. She was okay. The discussion about what had happened at practice would have to wait until later.

  “I want to make sure you know what to expect,” Grant said in the elevator on the way to the ICU. “She still has a breathing tube and—”

  “I know Grant,” Cynthia said. “You already told me several times in the car. I know.”

  “I just want to make sure you understand.” The elevator doors opened and Grant stepped out first. He had to figure out a way to check out the situation in advance. He walked down the hallway with Cynthia following behind him, waved to the clerk and stopped at the family waiting room.

  “You can wait in here while I check to make sure everything’s good.”

  “Like hell I will.” She stormed ahead of him through the automatic sliding doors of the ICU. He should have expected it wouldn’t be so easy to brush her aside.

  After he passed through the doors, Wendy made eye contact with him from behind the nurses’ station. “Dr. Kaplan, can we speak for a minute?” she asked.

  “Not a good time.” Grant picked up his pace to reach Alison’s room before Cynthia. When he got to her assigned room, he was pleased the ICU staff had been efficient getting her settled. Alison rested peacefully on the bed with her eyes closed, the monitor beeping regularly, the EKG on the monitor at the bedside in normal sinus rhythm. He heard Cynthia gasp behind him.

  “She looks so swollen,” Cynthia said. “And her hair.” Grant knew the swelling of the left side of Alison’s face and the bandaging wrapped around her head would come as a shock, but she hadn’t wanted to listen. Also, the whoosh and click of the ventilator reassured Grant, but he knew it sounded scary to most people.

  “I know.” Michael came over to hug them both. “I had the same reaction.”

  How are you holding up?” Grant asked.

  “I’m okay,” Michael said. “I want to thank you for what you’ve done, Grant.”

  “It’s too early to thank me,” Grant said. “Let’s make sure she’s out of the woods before I accept any thanks.” He stepped up to the bed and took his penlight out of his pocket. Lifting Alison’s eyelids with his fingers, first one and then the other, he shined the light to make sure her pupils were equal and reactive to light. The rest of the neurologic exam would have to wait until she woke up and could follow commands.

  “When will we know she’s okay?” Michael asked.

  “Tomorrow. After such a long surgery, we need to let her brain recover. When we take out the breathing tube and she wakes up, we’ll get a better sense of what’s going on.

  “The surgery went well?” Michael asked, again.

  “As well as I could have hoped.” Grant felt guilty repeating the same lies, but he had no choice. There was no way he could come clean with Michael or Cynthia about the complications during surgery. “It wasn’t easy, but I removed a lot of the AVM, as much as I could. Now, we’ll use stereotactic radiation to treat the remaining parts.”

  Cynthia kneeled down at the bedside and laid her face down on Alison’s chest. Grant watched Cynthia’s head rise and fall with each whir of the ventilator.

  “What are you doing, Cyn?”

  “Praying,” she said without raising her head.

  “You don’t pray,” he said. Grant couldn’t remember Cynthia ever praying before. Even at Sadie’s bat mitzvah, she had been obsessed with planning the party, the meaning of the religious ceremony completely lost on her.

  She ignored him.

  “I’m sure her prayers will be heard,” Michael said. “It can’t hurt. Right now, Alison can use whatever help she can get.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Alison

  September 17, 2019

  IN BECCA’S CAR, Alison closed her eyes and inhaled the smell of sweat mixed with the scent from the vanilla air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, the familiar combination immediately calming her. Michael stood at the bottom of the ramp right next to the car, but she couldn’t look at him. She deserved to feel elated right now and the hang-dog look on his face would ruin the moment for her.

  Becca sat down in the driver’s seat and turned to talk. Alison shook her head. “Go,” she said. She couldn’t have a conversation with Michael staring her down.


  “He looks pretty dejected,” Becca said, pulling away down the street. “How did it happen?”

  “I just … I said it,” Alison said.

  “You just came right out with it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say? Is he angry?” Becca turned off Alison’s street and stopped in a quiet cul-de-sac well past a row of houses, the bushes outside the window wild and overgrown.

  “Sort of,” Alison said. His reaction had been mixed, but it had seemed more sad than angry. Wounded. Like a deer who had no idea it was being hunted until the bullet pierced its chest, a look of shock in its eyes.

  “Do you think he’s going to fight for you?” she asked.

  Alison paused to think about her question. Michael had never been a fighter, though he certainly had been standing up against Grant and Cynthia. He’d coasted through life, always opting for the path of least resistance, and she knew that tendency would never change. She couldn’t allow her life to slip idly past anymore. Even if he did fight for her, Alison knew she’d said yes for the wrong reasons. He was looking for someone to play the part of doting wife, and she couldn’t pretend to be someone she wasn’t any longer.

  “No,” Alison said.

  “He’ll just let you slip away?” Becca reached over to take her hand. “He doesn’t appreciate what he’s losing. I can’t believe you did it.” A squirrel ran across the road into the bushes.

  “I know.” Alison couldn’t believe it either. She had been thinking about getting out of this marriage for so long, and now that it was happening, it felt surreal. When she leaned over to kiss Becca’s cheek, her skin tasted salty and familiar, like when they used to rush to Becca’s bed after the gym. On the treadmill, Alison had felt herself getting turned on and she could tell by the look in Becca’s eyes she was feeling the same way. Stopping to shower was out of the question. They would run from the car and make a beeline for Becca’s bed, all tongues and fingers and open legs. Remembering that now, Alison thought about the early days with Michael and how sex had never been as urgent and undeniable with him.