by M. G Scott
“Hopefully you will,” Getty snickered.
“That’s enough Getty,” Blogg barked at him.
Sabrina’s anger stormed through her spine. “Have it your way,” she sneered. She threw her empty soda can at Getty and stormed out of the office. She paused in the bright sun and realized she needed to let off some steam or she would regret her actions. She headed across the street toward the coffee shop.
“Sabrina!” Blogg yelled after her.
She ignored her name as she landed on the other side of the street but then thought better of it. She spun around and almost bumped into him. He was panting and looked uncomfortable at the same time, and it couldn’t have been from the hard sun.
“What is it?” she replied sharply.
He paused, as if searching for words. “Look, we’ve got to keep our readers happy.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Do you honestly think we could support a staff of four when we only have thirty thousand readers?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “No way.”
“So what are you saying?”
He leaned up against the building. “Our largest donor is a widowed woman in her sixties who’s tough as nails. Without her philanthropy, we’re a dead man walking.”
She cycled through what he was saying. “I would assume that’s a good thing.”
“Well, yes, if you don’t piss her off with what you’re writing.”
“And are we?”
“Not right now. She wanted you and that’s why you’re here—to write features and entertain the town. Catch my drift? Your article on the Little Johnny statue is gonna tickle her to death.”
She looked toward the coffee shop window. She was being told what to write because this woman was paying her check. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to understand why Getty’s ticked off.”
“I see.” It was becoming all too clear. He used to be the top dog at the paper and now the lady who calls the shots has a new favorite. “What if I sniffed around on my own time? Who would that hurt?”
He peered at her. “I see where you’re going with this and that’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? The lumberjack doesn’t have to know.”
He laughed. “Lumberjack? The answer’s a no. Like I said, our donations will go down the toilet if she knows you’re working hard stuff.”
I’ve already opened that door, she thought. “What if I disguised it as a feature?”
He shook his head. “You’re a persistent one, aren’t you?”
“I guess I was just born that way.”
“The answer is still no. I don’t want any of my employees going behind my back. If you want to get on my bad side, that’s a damn good way to do it.”
She was getting nowhere and all she had was a hunch that his death was no accident. There was also no way she could go to bed at night knowing a killer was possibly out there. How could she?
“If I investigate his death on my own time—”
He threw up his hands. “Just get the damn Johnny photo.” He turned and walked back across the street and into the office.
In her mind, that might almost have been a yes.
Chapter 5
Gina looked around the waiting room and half-smiled at the various beiges covering the walls and chairs. Doctor’s offices always seemed to be doing whatever they could to make their waiting rooms more enticing to the patients. The only thing they couldn’t overcome was the fact that nobody every truly wanted to be there.
She looked at the bandage and cotton wrapped around the inside of her elbow. An hour earlier, her internist had requested a blood draw to get to the bottom of her symptoms—the nausea, fatigue, and lightheadedness she felt—and now she was waiting to see Dr. Engle for the second time today, which hopefully would put an end to the questions.
Gina thought back to the other day when she had passed out on her bed. She thought the anger and stress she felt about her ex caused her to faint but now she wasn’t so sure—she had definitely gained weight over the past few months but she just thought it was all related.
“Ms. Hyde?” one of the doctor’s assistants called.
Gina perked up and waved. “Yes.” She hurried up to the assistant who led her down a hallway and into an examination room.
“Dr. Engle will be with you in a few minutes,” the assistance said as she pointed to the examination table. She closed the door, leaving Gina to ponder what the doctor was going to say.
After a few minutes, there was a tap on the door and then it opened. A short, middle-aged woman stepped into the cramped room and sat down on a stool. She patted one of Gina’s hands before saying, “How are you feeling now?”
“I feel pretty good. No nausea or lightheadedness, but I’m still a bit tired.”
Dr. Engle smiled. “That’s understandable.” She cracked open the laptop sitting on the desk and started typing on the keyboard.
Gina wasn’t quite sure what she meant by “that’s understandable”, but she figured she’d know in a few minutes regardless. “I do appreciate you seeing me again today. I’m sure you’ve got a hectic schedule.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Dr. Engle said as she continued typing, “to make you feel well.”
Wondering if Dr. Engle might have a prognosis, Gina blurted out, “Did you find anything?”
“Mmm,” she replied. She turned the laptop screen toward Gina and pointed at a graph. “This graph shows your hCG count. Do you know what that is?”
Gina nodded as a knot started to form in her stomach. “It’s a hormone that women create when they’re pregnant.”
“That’s right. It stands for human chorionic gonadotropin. And do you see how the line I’ve mapped against your count goes up…week after week … then tails off?”
A slow nod.
“Well, right now your hCG level is at a hundred and five thousand international units per liter. Based on the levels, I’m estimating you’re at fourteen weeks.”
Gina could feel her eyes bouncing from side to side. She was freaking out. Who was the father? How was she going to pay for it? How could she support herself, let alone a child?
“Do you remember missing your periods?”
Gina heard her say something, but her mind was racing with so many other thoughts.
“Gina?” Dr. Engle said. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” She buried her head into her hands. “I don’t know what I am.”
Dr. Engle caressed her back. “I know. If you weren’t expecting it, it can be quite traumatic and maybe it feels like the whole world is on your shoulders. I do want you to know, though, there are options.”
Options? There aren’t any options. She didn’t have money to take care of the baby, and she certainly didn’t have money nor did she feel comfortable having an abortion. Gina picked her face up and stared at her doctor. “I don’t know what I can do.”
Dr. Engle reached in and wiped a tear from her face. “Well, I think you need some time to think about it. It may come as a shock today, but you may gain a different perspective tomorrow.” She turned toward her desk and picked up a pen. “I tell you what. I’m going to write the name of a very reasonable clinic on the north side of the city. It’s a private clinic affiliated with the BioHumanity corporation. If you feel like that’s your best option, I’ve heard nothing but good things from other patients who have gone there.”
Gina eyed the yellow note Dr. Engle gave her and read it aloud, “Humanity North Planned Parenting.”
Dr. Engle nodded. “All I ask is you don’t do anything on emotions alone. Think about it and make a rational decision. Can you promise me that?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Okay.” A small smile worked across the doctor’s lips. “In the meantime, I’d like to see you back here in a week for a checkup.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Gina left the examination room and headed back the way she came. N
ear the office entrance was a small courtyard that led to the hospital. A strange curiosity crossed her mind: Was Gregory telling the truth about his sister Blair? Could she be here now if Gregory was telling the truth?
She didn’t know, but investigating sure took her mind off the shock of being pregnant. She headed into the hospital. “Excuse me,” Gina said to a broad, gray-haired lady sitting behind the welcoming desk.
“Yes, dear?” the woman replied in a perky voice and a smile to match.
“I was looking for Blair Archer’s room. Do you by chance know which one it is?”
“Well, let me see here.” The woman typed a few strokes into the computer and then put on a set of reading glasses. “Archer,” she said softly. “Ah, here it is. She’s in room 2950. That’s the Heart Center located in the west wing on the second floor,” she said as she pointed over her right shoulder.
“Thank you,” Gina replied softly as she headed toward the elevator. So Gregory was telling the truth for once in his life. For a moment, she felt terrible at how she behaved. Then her stubbornness quickly returned. How was she supposed to know after all the lies he told over the years?
She reached the second floor and headed toward the Heart Hospital’s main entrance. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to say to Blair but she made up her mind she had to see her.
Besides, Gregory had to be the father. It was the only possible explanation. That also meant Blair would be the baby’s aunt and Gina would become a part of the Archer family.
That is, if she decided to keep the baby.
After announcing herself to the nurses, the hospital’s wide doors opened and a nurse directed her to a room along the left wall. Gina peered into the open door, praying that Gregory wasn’t there. He wasn’t. Blair was resting alone, watching a small panel TV that hung from the ceiling.
“Hi. Blair?” Gina said softly.
The female voice startled Blair as she rolled over. “Gina. I’m so surprised to see you. I didn’t even know you knew I was in the hospital.”
“Of course, dear. Your brother told me on the phone yesterday.”
“Oh.”
An awkward pause followed as Gina sensed Blair knew they had split but didn’t want to bring it up. Gina quickly changed the subject. “How are you feeling?”
The small smile quickly changed to a sullen sigh. “I’m okay, considering.”
“When did you find out?”
“About a week ago I was having trouble breathing. I didn’t think much of it—thought it was maybe my asthma returning. After the doctor ran a few tests, he came back with the news that I had cardiomyopathy. To top it off, it was the worst kind.”
Gina moved to the bed. “What does that all mean?”
“Well, it means my heart is really, really weak. If I don’t get a transplant soon, then I’ll go into cardiac arrest with very little chance of coming out of it.”
“How soon?”
“The doctors are telling me no more than a month or two.”
Gina touched her hand. “I’m so sorry, Blair.”
“All I can do is hope for a donor—stay optimistic that somebody else’s tragedy will become my second chance at life.”
“I’ll be there right with you Blair … hoping as well.” Gina eyed the monitors set up around her bed. “How’s Gregory feeling today? He didn’t seem to be doing too good the last time we talked.”
“Not well. But he’s also a lot more optimistic than I am. We’re just so close as siblings… I just don’t know how he’s going to survive without me. I mean our mom died when we were young. I was a teenager at the time, but he was only ten and I’ve been almost like a mom to him ever since.”
Gina brushed a tear away. “I had no idea.”
Blair sighed. “Not many people do. But does it matter now?” She pointed to a piece of paper on her tray. “He keeps trying. Just this morning, he stopped by with an excited look on his face. He said he found a possible cure and then pushed this printout in front of me.”
“Can I have a look?”
“Of course.”
It was from an article describing a heart transplant center in Acapulco. As Gina read through it, she became more confused. “I don’t get it. This says the center can do heart transplants without your body rejecting it and it’s open to anybody. Where are they getting the organ donations from?”
"That’s why Gregory’s so excited. The center figured out a way to grow a new heart from stem cells that my body will accept. It’ll be all mine with no possibility of rejection.”
"Wow.” It sounded too good to be true but Gina didn’t want to deflate Blair’s optimism. “Why only Acapulco? Why hasn’t it been approved here?”
“It’s the bureaucracy of the FDA. It’s still experimental which is why they’re doing it in Mexico away from the nose of the U.S. government.” Blair paused, then said optimistically, “The success rate is around eighty-five percent. They want to get it up to ninety-five before they apply for FDA approval. It should pass through easily then. … Of course, when people are desperate and there’s no alternative and the government’s moving too slow, anybody’s willing to go anywhere.”
Gina always admired Blair’s intellect. She was a medical journalist who researched everything before writing about it but Gina could also sense the resentment. Blair knew story upon story of people dying because their government had let them down. Now she may be one of them. “If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”
Blair took her hand. “There is one thing.”
“Of course.”
“If something happens to me, will you please take care of my brother?”
Gina closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Anything but that, she thought.
Chapter 6
The sun slowly neared the horizon, signaling the end of the day for a small group of tourists.
But Sabrina’s day was nowhere near finished. Squinting from the remnants of the sun, she trudged, camera in hand, along the Neskowin beachfront toward the Little Johnny statue. As it came into view just beyond one of the downtown sand dunes, she caught the greenish outline of the copper glistening in the late afternoon sun.
Sabrina stepped around its backside, startling a woman who had slumped against the foot of the statue. She eyed Sabrina with sadness, her apathetic eyes glossing casually over Sabrina’s frame. An awkward minute passed. “I’m sorry … didn’t mean to disturb you,” Sabrina finally said.
The woman waved her off. “No, no,” she replied softly. “I’m done.” She took a small breath, and forced her crumpled body from her perch.
Sabrina moved closer. The woman was hunched over, but she still couldn’t be more than five feet tall. “Can I help you get somewhere?” she asked, extending a hand.
The woman waved her off as she straightened. “I’m on my own now so I might as well get used to it.”
Now that she was fully upright, Sabrina studied her features: She had wiry black hair that seemed forgotten—as if she usually kept it tied back but lost the desire. She was thin, almost unhealthily so, and her long narrow face was void of any emotion. But underneath it all, she still held the body of someone barely older than Sabrina—maybe thirty-five at the most.
Sabrina eyed an open bench just to the right of the statue. “Why don’t you take a seat? You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Compassion filled the woman’s eyes, which in an ironic way, Sabrina wasn’t all that used to. “Thank you,” the woman replied.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Sabrina asked as they both dropped onto the weathered bench wood.
The woman touched the base of the statue. “This boy—he seemed to grab my attention. And I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the look of innocence.”
Sabrina eyed the five foot statue of the boy facing land, one hand over his eyes as if protecting them from the sun. The sculptor had molded him in knickers and a vest, perfectly suiting him for the wear of the day. Ma
ybe it was his favorite outfit. “I think a lot of people feel that way, even today,” Sabrina replied.
“Do you know what happened?”
A nod. “From what I could gather, a careless nun let a candle burn out of control in one of the reading rooms on the first floor. The house’s wooden frame then went up in a flurry of flame. But, somehow, due to the bravery of the young man, fifteen of the twenty girls were saved.”
The woman replied, “And did he make it?”
Sabrina shook her head. “He went in to save two more girls. They made it out, but he was never heard from again.”
A sigh. “Such a sad story.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”
The woman looked away. She opened her mouth but then decided against it.
Sabrina coaxed her. “It’s okay. Tell me what you want. Maybe if I had properly introduced myself, you wouldn’t feel like you were talking to a stranger.” She let out a little grin. “My name’s Sabrina Katz.”
The woman looked down at her trembling hands. “I’m Carla Sanchez, although that may not be my last name for very much longer.”
“Why?” Sabrina put her hand on Carla’s hand.
“Why?” the woman repeated. “Because my husband died.”
“I’m so sorry.” Sabrina felt speechless. She didn’t know what else to say.
Carla sat up straight and stared at the sun-drenched water lapping onto the white-brown sand. Sabrina could tell there was emotion behind her face, but she just couldn’t release it.
“He was the one that washed up on the beach here,” she stated in a monotone voice.
Sabrina’s heart leaped. “You…you’re…” Sabrina responded, stuttering. Suddenly, the floodgates to Sabrina’s psyche opened and she had a dozen questions to ask. Problem was, this wasn’t the time to be asking them.
“I am,” Carla replied, seeming to understand her. “He was such a beautiful man. He was tall, blonde and oh so cute.” She bunched her hands on her lap. “I’m not sure if we truly deserved to be together, but it was a match that seemed to work without the usual strife most marriages go through.”