Better to Trust

by Frimmer, Heather

  Becca reached her hand around the back of Alison’s neck, the tickle of her fingertips sending shivers up her scalp. Alison’s heart pounded as her own fingers itched to reach out and touch.

  “You’re free,” Becca whispered, her breath hot in Alison’s ear.

  Alison’s heart stuttered for a moment. Was she? Her head filled with questions again, the blissful silence when she walked out of the house suddenly gone. She felt like she still had a mountain to climb. When she’d imagined this day, her mind had never allowed her to get beyond the divorce conversation. Now, when she heard the word “free” she felt the weight of all the unknowns. She’d told Michael it was over, but what came next? Should she stay with Becca? How did divorce work? She’d never thought about lawyers and mediation and the logistics of untangling their lives. Now that she was on the other side, she needed to figure out her next move. She felt her shoulders tense with the weight of these decisions. When Becca leaned in, her kiss was soft and gentle, filling Alison with relief. Maybe the questions and decisions could wait. Something Cynthia had said came to her mind. She couldn’t change the past. But Alison had just changed her future and that was a major step. She allowed herself to push her concerns aside and relish the moment.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Grant

  March 16, 2019

  “TO VIK,” GRANT SAID, raising his wine glass for a toast. “Happy birthday man, and welcome to the mid-forties.” The two couples clinked their glasses together. Grant took a healthy sip of wine and leaned back against the cushy banquet.

  “Happy birthday,” Cynthia said. “I’m so glad we made this work.”

  “Yes,” Meera said, leaning over to give her husband a kiss. “It’s an important tradition.”

  The four of them always made it a priority to celebrate birthdays together, but with Alison’s situation, he hadn’t been sure it would happen this time. Grant had checked on her this afternoon, and she was doing even better than he’d expected for the day after surgery. The respiratory therapist had removed her endotracheal tube, her labs looked good, and the intensive care team was keeping a close eye on her. He’d decided a night out was exactly what he needed.

  “You’re getting up there, old friend,” Grant said with a smile.

  “Uh, pot—meet kettle.” Vik pointed his thumb at Grant and then back at himself. “And I beg to differ. Forty-four is not mid-forties. I’m clinging to my early forties as long as humanly possible.”

  “That’s your prerogative,” Cynthia said. She actually looked almost hot tonight in a black dress that camouflaged the rolls of fat on her back. When it was just the two of them, she put in minimum effort—no make-up, old jeans and a baggy sweater—but when they had plans with another couple, she put on lipstick and a sexy dress. He wondered if all married couples stopped trying after twenty years, or if maybe it was the sign of an unhealthy marriage. He hoped not. Cynthia could be annoying at times, but most days he still loved her, and he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

  “Before you know it, we’ll be collecting social security,” Meera said.

  “We can reserve adjacent rooms in assisted living,” Cynthia said.

  “And neighboring cemetery plots,” Vik added.

  They all laughed, and Grant noticed the cute crinkles at the corners of Cynthia’s eyes. They only appeared when she thought something was truly funny. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said something that brought them out.

  “Now we’re getting morbid,” Grant said. “This is supposed to be a celebration.”

  Vik raised his glass again. “And to Grant for a successful surgery. To thinking on your feet and putting your knowledge to the test.”

  Grant looked over to see if Cynthia had picked up the comment, but she seemed pleasantly oblivious, having a side conversation with Meera. When he took a sip of his wine, he could feel the warmth travel down his esophagus into his stomach. He was so relieved that Alison was doing well that he’d only taken one Oxy tonight. He leaned back in his seat and sighed. This was going to be a good night.

  “There aren’t many people in the world who could have done what you did yesterday, Grant,” Vik said. “Your surgical skills are a wonder to behold.”

  What the hell? You’d never guess from this conversation that Vik was one of the smartest guys Grant knew. His intelligence certainly wasn’t on display right now.

  Cynthia broke from her conversation with Meera. “What are you talking about, Vik?”

  “You really came back from behind on that one,” Vik added.

  “Came from behind?” Cynthia said. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing,” Grant said. “He just means that the surgery was more difficult than expected.”

  “You told me everything went well.” Cynthia said. Grant could tell she sensed she wasn’t being told the whole story, and knowing her, she wouldn’t let the topic go until she’d beat the dead horse to a second gruesome death.

  “Okay, enough with the toasts already.” Meera said. “With the size of your egos, there won’t be room left for us at the table.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Cynthia looked at Grant and Vik who both remained silent.

  Grant shrugged his shoulders, pretending not to understand the question. “We’re celebrating, Cyn. Try to enjoy this one night.”

  “To be continued,” she said, giving Grant a stern look. He’d have to figure out how to explain himself later.

  “Absolutely.” Grant was glad Cynthia had already downed her glass of wine or she wouldn’t have let him off the hook so easily.

  “What are the twins up to these days?” Cynthia asked. “Did they enjoy Mexico?”

  The waitress arrived with their appetizers and Grant dug into his grilled octopus over arugula.

  “They never wanted to leave,” Meera said. “Rohan spent the whole time on the flying trapeze and Risha had a crush on one of the counselors at the kids club.”

  “You better watch that girl,” Cynthia said. “She might be trouble.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Meera said. “I like to pretend the teen years will never come.”

  Grant reached for the bread basket and put a piece on his plate. “We had a rude awakening a few weeks ago.”

  “Not Sadie,” Meera said. “She’s such a good girl.”

  “That’s what we thought,” Grant said. “But you have to stay on top of them. Just a little freedom and they go down the wrong path.”

  “What happened?” Vik asked.

  “Nothing,” Cynthia said.

  “She went and got a tattoo,” Grant said.

  She shot him a look. He knew she hated airing their dirty laundry, but he’d decided to do it anyway. If they couldn’t be honest with their best friends, then who could they be honest with?

  “Really?” Vik said. “That’s so unlike her.”

  “I told you she was becoming a real teenager,” Grant said. “The black clothes and makeup was one thing, but the tattoo takes her rebellion to a whole different level.”

  The hostess tapped Grant on the shoulder and said there was a phone call for him at the desk. He found his phone in his jacket and noticed a missed call from Cal, along with a text from him that said, CALL ME ASAP. He hadn’t heard the ringtone in the noisy restaurant. Since Cal was on call for the practice, Grant had told him where they were eating in case something came up with Alison, but he’d never expected Cal to actually call.

  Grant started over to the hostess stand.

  “What’s going on?” Cynthia asked.

  “Is everything okay?” Meera said.

  Vik stood up to follow, but Grant motioned for everyone to sit down and stay calm. His heart was threatening to escape his chest, but he didn’t want everyone else to get alarmed. As Grant walked across the crowded restaurant to the hostess stand, the din of multiple conversations sounded louder than it had a few moments earlier, and the smell of garlic wafting from the kitchen made his stomach churn.

  H
e reached the stand and accepted the receiver from the hostess.

  “Hello?”

  “Grant, we need you here, pronto,” Cal said. “You picked a great time to ignore your cell phone.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Alison. She was doing great. Sitting up, talking, and even drinking clear liquids—”

  “What happened, Cal?”

  “All of a sudden she said she had the worst headache of her life. Started slurring her words.”

  “Fuck,” Grant said. He felt his stomach drop. In neurosurgery, when a patient reported the “worst headache of their life,” it was never a good sign, inevitably a huge brain bleed of some sort.

  “We rushed her down for a stat head CT. It’s bad, Grant. There’s a bleed in the operative cavity.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “The whole cavity is filled with blood. There’s some midline shift.”

  Grant thought he had cauterized all of the visible vessels really well. If the bleed was so big that it was causing the brain to get pushed across to the other side, he might need to take her back to the OR to drain the hemorrhage and prevent the pressure from damaging her normal brain tissue.

  “How fast can you get your ass in here?” Cal asked.

  Grant played the night back in his head. He would have no problem functioning on just one tablet of Oxy and a glass of wine. Had the waitress refilled his wine glass while he was downing his appetizer? He couldn’t remember.

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “I can bring her back to the OR now if you want.”

  Grant wondered if Cal could hear something in his voice that made him concerned, something that told him Grant wasn’t fit to perform surgery right now.

  “Not necessary,” he said. “You know I finish what I start.” There was an unspoken understanding in the group that each guy took care of their own patients. The only time he’d let Cal deal with an epidural abscess on one of his post-operative patients had been when he and Cynthia were on a cruise in the Greek islands.

  He hung up and stood at the desk for a moment, trying to figure out how to excuse himself from the birthday dinner without sending Cynthia into panic mode. As he walked back, the tables in the restaurant felt much closer together, and everyone seemed to be staring at him. Was he not walking straight? He tried to focus his thoughts and erase the worsening sense of paranoia. He had to get himself together to take care of Alison. Nothing else mattered right now. When he arrived at the table, Grant decided to sit back down for a second so Cynthia would be less likely to jump to conclusions.

  “What’s going on, Grant?” Cynthia asked as soon as he took his seat.

  “Was it Cal?” Vik asked.

  “Yes. It seems Alison’s hit a bit of a speed bump. I’m going to run over and check on her.” So many thoughts raced through his head, but the one he couldn’t dismiss was that this must be his fault. He’d been so relieved to finish the operation, he must have gotten careless with bleeding control. He definitely could have spent more time making sure none of the vessels would give way after he’d closed up.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Vik held up his glass of wine. “I’ve only had a few sips.”

  “I’m really fine. I don’t want to completely ruin your birthday celebration. At least you and Meera can still enjoy your meal.”

  Cynthia stood up and put on her jacket. Grant would rather Vik and Meera drive her home after dinner, but he couldn’t think of how to make her stay, especially after the argument they’d had yesterday.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on,” Cynthia said as they walked to the car. “You said the surgery went well. Is this normal? What are you planning to do now?” Her rambling continued as they got in the car and started driving. Grant wished she would just shut up so he could concentrate on the road and plan how he would evacuate the hematoma. He hoped he’d get there in time so the slurred speech wouldn’t become a permanent deficit.

  Fuzzy haloes around the streetlights and the headlights of the oncoming cars sent off streaky starbursts. He shut his eyes tight, trying to clear the lingering spots from his retinas. When he opened his eyes, he noticed flashes of red and blue in his rearview mirror. Someone must be in trouble tonight, Grant thought. He pulled his car over to the right shoulder to let the police car pass, but the cruiser came to a stop behind him.

  Cynthia closed her mouth and looked over her shoulder. “What did you do, Grant?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Maybe my tail light is out.”

  The officer approached Grant’s door and made a motion for him to roll down the window. Grant could tell by his uniform—the blue button-down shirt and wide-brimmed navy hat—that this was a state trooper instead of a local Boston cop. These guys were known to be particularly tough. Fumbling with the buttons on the door, Grant finally found the one that lowered the window.

  “Were you aware you were swerving?” the officer asked.

  “No, sir,” Grant said. “If I was, I apologize. We’re in a bit of a rush.” He’d been distracted by the lights and Cynthia’s incessant chattering, but Grant didn’t think he’d been swerving. Maybe the officer was trying to reach his quota of traffic stops for the night, make a little money for the state budget.

  “Where are you rushing to?” the officer asked.

  “To the hospital,” Cynthia said. “There’s been a complication.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “I’m on the medical staff.” Grant opened the storage compartment between the front seats, took out his hospital ID, and showed it to the officer.

  The officer took the ID and examined it. “Dr. Kaplan, Neurosurgery,” the office said. “Impressive. Are you going on official business or as a visitor?”

  “Business, sir. I need to take a patient back to the operating room.” As Grant spoke, his cell phone rang and he saw Cal’s name on the screen. He wanted to pick up, but he didn’t think he could answer with the officer standing over him.

  “You need to take that?” the officer asked.

  “Thank you,” Grant said and pressed Accept. “Cal? What’s going on.”

  “Where are you? It’s been more than twenty minutes.”

  “I’ve been delayed.” Grant could feel the officer’s eyes on him.

  “What do you mean delayed? That isn’t funny.”

  “It’s not a joke.”

  “She’s worse. Her speech is harder to understand, and she’s getting weak on her right side. Get here quick.”

  Grant’s skin felt flushed, probably from the combination of the Oxy and red wine, and he could feel the warmth of the officer’s breath on his face. He told himself to calm down. If he started getting worked up, he’d never make it to the hospital.

  “I’ll do my best.” Grant pressed End and put his phone in the cup holder between the seats.

  “Is there something you need to take care of, Dr. Kaplan?” the officer asked.

  “My patient is in trouble. She’s bleeding into her brain.”

  “Sounds serious. We’ll just do a quick field sobriety test, and I’ll send you on your way.”

  Grant had hoped the officer would take pity on him and forgo the breathalyzer and walking in a straight-line crap, that he would sense the gravity of the situation and give him a pass. No such luck.

  When Grant stepped out of the car, the cars whizzing by felt much too close to the shoulder. The officer told Grant to stand on the white line along the side of the road behind the car.

  “I’d like you to walk heel to toe for me, like this,” the officer said, demonstrating the way he wanted Grant to walk.

  Grant wasn’t sure he would be able to walk this way. When they’d left the restaurant, he’d been sure he was sober, but now he wasn’t feeling so well. The octopus appetizer and red wine swirled around in his stomach, and he felt acid rising in his throat. As he stepped on to the line and began to walk, the officer watching his every move, Grant heard a painful keening noi
se, like the sound of a dying animal. What the hell was that? Maybe they’d run something over as they were pulling over? He looked back at the car and saw Cynthia opening the passenger door, her mouth wide open, the horrible sound coming from her.

  “Ma’am, stay in the car please.” The officer walked toward her.

  “Officer, you don’t understand,” she said, stepping out of the car.

  “If you stay in the car, I’ll get you on your way soon.”

  “My husband is the only one who can save her,” she said between gasps. “He’s one of the best neurosurgeons in the country. He’s a Boston Magazine best doctor every year.”

  Grant could see the look on the officer’s face softening with each of Cynthia’s pleas. At first, he thought she would only delay them further, but now it looked like it might work. If Cynthia got them out of this mess, it would be the first time her hysterics were in any way productive.

  The officer turned back to Grant. “We’ll just do a quick breathalyzer and you’ll be out of here.”

  Cynthia wailed again, even louder than the first time. “If we don’t get there soon, my sister could die!”

  The officer abandoned Grant and walked over to deal with Cynthia. He took her hand and helped her back into the passenger seat. “This sounds more serious than I thought,” he said. “Your sister is the patient?”

  “My only sister.” Cynthia took a gasping breath. “She’s bleeding, and it doesn’t look good. My husband needs to get there to help her.”

  “It’ll only take a few minutes and I’ll get you right back on the road.” He turned his attention back to the field sobriety test.

  “Officer,” Cynthia said, “My sister may not have a few minutes.”