by Cathryn Fox
As she drove across the narrow road that led off the peninsula, her cell phone rang. A quick check revealed it was Laura.
“Rox, I’m glad I caught you. I’m calling to beg a tremendous favor from you.”
“Let me guess. You want me to cover for you at the emergency room about the little girl they brought in this morning. You’re a little late. I’m on my way. Who’s handling the media now?”
“No one. I’ve been fielding calls at the office. I couldn’t bring myself to go down there. I…kept putting them off. Please?” Laura sounded desperate. There was no way Roxanne would turn her down.
“Okay. But Laura, someday you’re going to have to face this. I know this isn’t the time to discuss the problem, but promise me we will?” Roxanne kept her voice gentle.
“I know. You’re right. I promise.” Laura’s relief was obvious.
“So let’s hear the details.” Roxanne felt good about helping her friend.
“You saw it on the news so you know the basics. Very high profile situation…”
“High profile? I had the sound turned down on the TV. I don’t know who…”
“Oh. Rox…I thought you knew…”
“What? Who is the girl?”
“The little girl is Lindy Dennis,” Laura said and then was silent.
Barry Dennis’s daughter. Roxanne swerved the car, but that was nothing compared to what was going on in her gut. Horns beeped at her. She needed to pull over.
“Rox? You okay? I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“You need to know…a few things. Paul Paris came in with her. His wife, Lindy’s mother…is dead.” Laura paused again. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
Roxanne swerved into a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot and turned off the ignition, still holding the cell phone to her ear, and still not speaking. She realized she was breathing rapidly and took a deep breath.
“Rox? You there? Can you do this?” Laura’s voice changed to a high pitch now.
“Yes. Yes, I’m… I’m taking it all in. What about Barry?”
“The police haven’t reached him yet. I tried calling too, but there’s no answer at his home. Paul didn’t want to call him and neither did his ex-wife’s family and I didn’t have his cell number.” Laura rushed her words.
Roxanne was silent in her car. She shook her head to bring herself fully to attention. That poor pathetic little girl was Barry Dennis’s daughter. The enormity of what Laura asked her to do hit her. She wanted Roxanne to call Barry Dennis and tell him his daughter was critically injured and his ex-wife was dead.
Laura couldn’t do it, so Roxanne had to deal with the situation. “Okay, Laura. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll call Barry.” She hoped she reached him before the police knocked on his door. The purposefulness in her own tone of voice helped buoy her into professional mode and she listened to the details.
Barry was out of town for a game, or on his way. After she clicked off the phone with Laura, she called the Celtics front office. She cut through the formalities and got right to the point. “Barry Dennis’s daughter and ex-wife have been involved in an accident. There was a gas explosion. Fire Department thinks it was the stove. His daughter has been brought into emergency at CMH with severe burns. His ex-wife wasn’t so lucky.” Roxanne listened to herself say the words as if it was someone else speaking. Of course the stunned man said he’d deliver the urgent message. The team was at the airport now and he wasn’t sure if they’d taken off yet.
She knew she made the right choice in having the message delivered through the team. The team was like his family after all.
At the hospital, Roxanne headed straight to the emergency room. She was already late for a meeting. Her heels clicked mercilessly on the tiles of the freshly waxed floor. Her quick pace matched that of the people around her. Nurses and doctors scurried around in all. Few visitors were around at this time of the morning and it was one of the small windows of time that Roxanne had throughout the day to talk with the doctors as she occasionally did.
Double-checking her Rolex, she realized how late she was. After a quick check with the nurse’s station in acute care, she found out that the team of doctors that she was supposed to be meeting with were all in the emergency ward conferring over the new patient, Lindy Dennis. Roxanne headed there immediately. This was the kind of tragic, sensational story reporters longed for, she thought.
She approached the area fast, only slowing after passing a bloodied gurney. It was a reminder of the reason Laura always avoided this part of the hospital. Turning a corner, she wasn’t surprised to see the television cameras still around from the earlier reports, and she carefully stepped through the tangle of cables. They would be expecting someone to hold a press conference shortly, supplying them with as much detail as they were allowed. They were also probably waiting for a glimpse of Barry Dennis himself. So was she.
Familiar faces greeted her when she got close and she was about to engage in conversation with one of the reporters when the voice of Dr. Oki turned her around.
“It’s about time we had someone who looks good on camera to help us out here.” The doctor gave Roxanne his sad smile of relief.
“Looks like everybody’s at this party.” She surveyed the area and spotted three of the six doctors she was supposed to be meeting with, conferring with various nurses. Then she spotted Dr. Dais talking with a man that looked like Paul Paris.
“I’m considering this new patient for possible admission into one of our experimental treatment projects. That’s her father there,” Dr. Oki said. Roxanne was again impressed with the seeming lack of emotion in Paul Paris’s demeanor.
“No, Doc. That’s her stepfather. Her father is Barry Dennis. It might take him a while to get here.” She glanced away from Paul toward the doctor to see him shake his head with surprise.
She walked toward Paul Paris to do her job—or rather to do Laura’s job. Dr. Davis saw her and greeted her with a sigh of relief.
“Mr. Paris’s daughter’s condition has been stabilized. Fifty per cent of her body is burned, mostly the lower extremities. We’ve done several escharotomies.” He turned to Paul Paris to explain, “Those are the lengthwise incisions along the burn wounds necessary to allow room for the swelling of muscle and skin tissue. Her wounds have been dressed and she’s on massive doses of IV fluid now.” It was part of Roxanne’s job to help provide information to the press and though she listened attentively, she shuddered inwardly, and tried to repress the heartbreaking image of the little girl.
Before Roxanne had a chance to ask any questions, a door was opened and a gurney surrounded by a team of people came through. It rolled to a stop beside them. On it lay the same small six or seven-year-old girl she’d seen on the news. Lindy Dennis had looked hopelessly injured on television, but here Roxanne saw a small light in the child’s eyes when she gazed up at her stepfather. Paul did not move toward her, but only tried to reassure her in a dispassionate voice. The little girl looked at Roxanne and met her eyes directly.
“Mommy?” Lindy barely whispered, but Roxanne had not mistaken the word. Her mouth dropped and she reached her hand out to touch the child. Lindy smiled then, and closed her eyes.
The attendants and doctors moved the stretcher forward, mumbling something about her being in shock. Dr. Davis went with them. Roxanne knew the routine. They were bringing Lindy to the burn center to rest before her surgery in the morning when they would remove the burned tissue. They would also then remove one-inch strips of an infinitesimally thin layer of skin from another part of her body in order to grow a culture for skin grafts. This procedure would have to be repeated many times. She would be placed in a Bacteria Controlled Nursing Unit—a BCNU. It was basically a plastic tent-like cube, completely enclosed and through which sterilized air constantly flowed from the ceiling through to the floor. It would protect her from infection, a burn victim’s number one enemy.
Paul Paris was l
eft standing there. Roxanne could not bring herself to look at the man. She was afraid her tears would show. She had the urge to shake him. But then she realized he might be suffering from a kind of shock himself.
When she looked up, she saw him stare blankly down the hall after the receding gurney bearing the child’s bandaged body. The teardrops escaped from her eyes this time without her caring now, and Roxanne turned to Paul and took his arm. She said nothing, but he eventually looked down at her, then shook his head as if trying to bring himself back from his fog.
“Have you slept, Mr. Paris? Let me have a doctor look at you. Maybe you could use a sedative.” She led Paul easily to one of the doctors on duty and he was duly accompanied into a room for treatment.
A while later, after pacing at least a mile along the hallway near the emergency room, she wondered how long she could stall the press conference while she waited for Barry. She headed for the door to get some air and spotted his tall frame jog toward her down the hall from the other direction. He had come in through the front door away from the emergency entrance. Smart man. She steeled herself as he approached. Do not cry.
“How is she? Can I see her?” He stopped directly in front of her, taking her by the arms and squeezing. “I took a helicopter from the airport to get here as soon as I could.”
“The best medical team they have at CMH is taking care of her. They’re bringing her to rest now. You might be able to catch her before she goes out.”
She directed him down the hall and they sped along the path where the gurney had gone, mindful only of getting him a glimpse of his daughter—and getting the little girl a glimpse of her father. Unfortunately they didn’t escape the attention of some reporters who’d come inside and saw them heading off. The reporters followed at a trot to catch up.
“Mr. Dennis, how do you feel about your ex-wife’s death?”
“Are you going to take permanent custody of your daughter now? How will all this affect your game?”
Barry ignored the harangue of questions, so she figured she should too, although it killed her not to slap one of them. He rushed ahead of them now, dragging her along. But there was one last question hurled at their backs.
“Hey Barry, did you win last night?”
Barry turned, stopped moving and said, “Of course we won. And I performed the way I always do, the way everyone fucking expects. Now get the hell out of here and leave me alone.” He would have turned back, but a number of them caught up and one of them jumped in front of Barry and took a picture.
Barry shoved the man aside, and none too gently. He grabbed Roxanne by the arm and dragged her with him as they swiftly aimed at the door at the end of the corridor. She hadn’t been sure how he’d react, or what kind of relationship he had with his daughter, but from what she’d seen so far, he was exhibiting all the symptoms of a typical parent under the circumstances. The relief that came to her at this realization surprised her. But it didn’t matter now. They’d arrived at the room where Lindy had been brought.
He couldn’t believe how fast his heart was beating. He put his hand to his chest in an unconscious gesture as if to slow it down, before they entered the room where they brought his little girl. He pushed through the door.
“Jesus.” He breathed the word as he saw her lying there bandaged, connected to tubes and contraptions and surrounded by concerned-looking doctors and nurses. One of the white-coated men turned to him.
“Mr. Dennis, she’s sleeping now. She’s been stabilized.” The man beckoned him to approach the bed. He was afraid to look too closely, and his stomach churned, but he forced himself. Her face still held the angelic look he’d come to cherish. But he’d never spent enough time with her. He always told himself it didn’t matter because she’d been happy living with her mother…
“Jesus, he repeated. He put his hand to his face and swiped at the beads of sweat that had formed. Lindy had no mother anymore. He was all she had now. His stomach thundered its revolt at this sudden realization.
Then Paul Paris walked in the room. He glanced at the man without a greeting. She had Paul too, Barry supposed. He turned to the doctor. Taking a deep breath, he asked. “How bad is she, doctor?” Roxanne had told him only the general picture, saying he should get the details from the doctors. He heard it now and blanched at the long and painful treatment and recovery prognosis described to him. Skin grafts. BCNU. Months in the hospital.
“And most important of all to the patient’s recovery will be family love and support. Especially under the circumstances here. She’s not only suffering physical loss with all its impact, but there’s also the emotional impact of the loss of her mother to deal with. We’ll have a child psychologist and counselors working with her and the family of course, but…” Doctor Davis turned from him to Paul Paris and back. The man didn’t know whom to address as the family, Barry thought.
“But what?” It was Paul who prompted the doctor. Barry looked at him sharply.
“But we normally have the parents involved in day-to-day care.” The doctor eyed them both. He seemed skeptical. And why not? What had he ever done for her really?
“I’m sure we’ll do our best to handle the situation, Doctor. At least I know I will,” Paul said and turned to him.
Barry felt like he’d been slapped with a white glove. The sting of shame felt more vivid than the challenge to rise to the occasion. He had to say something. He was no monster. He was a good father to Lindy and he could be better.
“I’m sure Barry shares your sentiment Mr. Paris,” Roxanne began in his defense.
“Damn right. You have something you’d like to say to me, Paris?” His voice was quiet, but he shifted further away from the sleeping child. He didn’t feel quiet. Emotions stormed within him and he needed to give them vent. He kept his eyes on Paris who suddenly seemed threatening to him, like his own conscience brought to life. And he reacted defensively, instinctively, like any red-blooded Marlboro man would, challenging him to a fight. He knew it was all wrong, but he didn’t give a crap at the moment.
“Yes I do, as a matter of fact, and it concerns that little girl over there. You’ll have to pardon me if I’m skeptical about you showing up every day when you haven’t even spent what little time with her that you were supposed to in the past.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I never canceled one single visit with my daughter. Ever.” His voice was still quiet. He felt Roxanne’s eyes on him.
“What about last Saturday? You were supposed to spend the day with her then?” Paul lifted his chin belligerently. The others in the room hadn’t said a word yet, but Barry felt their growing anxiety.
Still, Barry had to do it. He had to meet the challenge, fully aware that this wasn’t the time or place. “Your wife canceled that visit, not me. I guess she failed to mention that to you.”
Surprise showed on Paul’s face. Then the man turned red and scowled.
“Look, none of this matters now,” Roxanne said, tugging on Barry’s arm to lead him toward the door. But he stood firm to take whatever Paul Paris wanted to dish out.
“You’re lying,” Paul said and stepped closer to him.
“No. Your wife is the liar,” Barry said it automatically, without a thought.
“You fucking bastard!” Paul lurched forward and grabbed Barry’s shirt. “She’s dead, man, dead! And you’re every bit the bastard she always said you were.” Paul’s voice verged on hysterical as Dr. Davis tried to pull him away. But Paul refused to release his grip.
The choice was his now. Did he want to have it out with Paul Paris here? The man was clearly broken. It wouldn’t be fair. Holding the flood of anger he felt pushing to let loose, Barry decided to let it go. He attempted to remove the man’s hands from his shirt instead. He didn’t get far.
Paul shoved him backwards into Roxanne and against a cart filled with vials. Everyone jumped at the sound of rattling glass.
And Barry forgot about holding back. The instinct to fight rushed b
ack in a flash of memories from his boyhood on the streets. He lunged back with the quickness he was more noted for on basketball courts. No longer having qualms about taking advantage of a smaller man, he ruthlessly grabbed Paul by the collar with both hands, spun him around and slammed him back against the wall with a sobering thud.
Staring into the man’s eyes, only inches away, he saw no fear. But neither did he see the expected hate and anger. The dark shadowed eyes that returned his stare unblinkingly were filled with despair, bitterness and an endless, fathomless pain.
“Don’t start with me, Paris,” he bit out. He turned from the already crushed man with disgust. He wasn’t sure if the disgust was with himself or Paul. He flung his arms away, releasing the man with as much abruptness as when he’d grabbed him.
Before he had a chance to say or do another thing, not that he would have known what to say to the staring, not quite condemning, but certainly not pleased crowd, Roxanne took his arm. This time he let her lead him from the room.
They rushed toward a lounge area. Barry tried desperately not to break down. The whole thing was reminiscent of his past experiences with death: his uncle, then his father, and worst of all, his mother. But he shut that thought out before the sinking emotions could take hold. Roxanne took him to a couch and forced him to sit with her for the short time before the press conference. She was a reminder of life, not death, and for that Barry was grateful.
With the press conference wrapped up, Roxanne collected her notes from the podium and stepped down from the platform that she’d shared with numerous hospital staff and Barry. She listened to the newscasters wrap up the story in front of their cameras. Barry and Paul stood separated by several doctors in a group being questioned by the print media.
The Channel 7 newscaster stood near them and she walked in that direction. As she approached, she heard the man’s comments to the rolling camera.
“This is a sad day for the Boston sports community as well. The Celtics stand to lose the services of Barry Dennis indefinitely. It’s questionable whether Paul Paris will be able to rejoin the Red Sox for spring training.”