by Dianne Drake
“A whole lot of steam. Sometimes it builds up.”
“I know the feeling. I threw a chair through a plate-glass window once,” she said, bending down to pick up his diploma and photos from the shards of broken picture glass. “Meant to do it, too.”
In spite of himself, Ben laughed. “I can picture that.”
“You can?” she said, looking up at him. “Nobody else in my world could. In fact, they were pretty indignant about the whole thing, about how I’d had the audacity to react.”
“React how?”
“In opposition to my family. I was fourteen or fifteen. I had a boyfriend. You know, love of my life and all that. And I wanted to go somewhere with him...don’t remember where.” She laughed. “Don’t even remember his name. But my father refused to let me go because the Brooks family was going to be hosting some kind of event...we always hosted events. So, true to my teenage nature, I threw a tantrum.” She stood and handed the photos and diploma to Ben.
“My tantrums were pretty much overlooked, though, because they were...quiet. No throwing books at the wall and breaking glass. More like a very passive please let me. Except that never got heard. Or if they heard me, they ignored it. So this one time I decided to get their attention. Actually, it was the beginning of several times I tried to get their attention. Other stories for other days because this was the beginning of Shanna, the wayward teenager.”
“Who threw a chair out the window as her prelude.” An image he liked.
“Actually, it was an antique Windsor sidechair worth about fifteen thousand dollars. Broke it to pieces. Dozens of pieces. No way to have it restored.”
The smile on his face widened. “But did you feel better afterward?”
“Did you feel better after you threw the book?” she countered.
“A little,” he admitted.
“A lot,” she admitted. “Probably because that one act got me the first honest reaction I’d ever seen from my father. He was really...mad. Yelled at me. Stood over me when I cleaned up the broken glass. Took away all the privileges a girl that age has. For a month!”
“You liked that?”
“What I liked was knowing that I had the ability to make my father respond.”
“Which you used over and over?”
She shrugged. “Like I said. Stories for another day.”
“So, overall, how did that turn out for you?”
“Don’t know yet. Time will tell, I suppose, because I’m still wayward, or willful, or whatever you want to call it. Look, I’m going to run down the hall and grab a broom and dustpan to get the glass cleaned up. You get to clean it up, though.”
“After which you’re going to suspend my privileges for a month?”
“Only if you want them suspended, Ben.”
She was like a magnet. He couldn’t help himself. As much as he didn’t want to be drawn, he was. “Guess that depends on what’s being suspended, doesn’t it? Like my common sense,” he said. “I’m really sorry about earlier, Shanna. You caught me...off guard.”
“We all have our moments. Don’t worry about it.”
“But you didn’t deserve one of my moments. They’re...”
“Intense?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Only there was nothing mild about his reactions. Most of the time he held them back, but with Shanna...seeing him figuratively bare came close to seeing the worst of part him, the part that still festered. And he couldn’t deal with her seeing that. Just couldn’t deal with it.
“You’ve got a way to go to equal some of mine, Ben.” She smiled. “Like I said, we all have our moments, and a couple of mine really stand out.”
“That bad?” he asked.
She laughed. “Worse.” Spinning, she headed off in the direction of the supply closet, and while he was tempted to step out the door and watch her when she turned and scurried down the hall, he didn’t. An old-fashioned page over the loudspeaker called him to Pediatrics, where Nurse Teresa Vera stopped him just short of entering the ward. “We’ve just readmitted Maritza Costa. She was complaining of another cold, had a little congestion in both lungs. Dr. Francis saw her in Emergency a little while ago and decided to have her stay.”
Maritza Costa, a beautiful little girl with a bad heart. He didn’t have the facilities here yet to treat her the way she needed, and her parents didn’t want to send her to another hospital. Truth was, the child needed surgery very badly. Attempts to seal the hole in her heart through a cardiac cath had failed, and now it was a waiting game. Waiting, and a lot of finger-crossing, because Maritza wasn’t going to get better without the surgery, and their best hope at present was to pray she didn’t get worse. With an extra prayer tossed in that her parents would have a change of heart. No such luck, though. “Any problems other than congestion? Did you run an EKG?”
“EKG showed no significant changes. And no other medical problems except...”
Vera paused, obviously not sure that she should proceed.
“Except what?”
“She hasn’t smiled, Doctor. Not once.”
In most patients that wouldn’t be considered a symptom, but in Maritza it was a huge sign that something else was going on because, no matter what else was happening to the child, Maritza smiled her way through it. It was something everybody at Caridad counted on. “I’ll go and take a look, see if I can figure it out.”
“I promised her ice cream but she says she’s not hungry.”
“Well, bring some anyway, and let’s see what we can do.”
In Pediatrics, Maritza had her own private bed, the one on the end where she could look out the window and watch the main street of the village. “So you’re back again?” Ben said, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to her. Right away he saw it—the listlessness in her eyes. All the brightness usually there had drained away.
Maritza nodded but said nothing.
“Maritza, sweetheart, where don’t you feel good? Can you tell me if something hurts, or just doesn’t feel right?”
She shrugged and looked away. But not out the window. More like, she was staring off into space.
“It’s okay if you don’t answer me, but I’m going to listen to your chest now. I need to figure out what’s making you feel this way.” He placed the stethoscope into his ears then leaned over to have a listen to her chest. Definitely congestion. Wheezing bilaterally. “Could you turn over on your left side just a little?” he asked, then listened again when she did. “That’s good. So, do you have a sore throat?” he asked. “If you do, I understand why you’re not talking. It hurts to talk, doesn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Can I have a look at your throat?” he asked, fishing through his pocket for his penlight. “I’m going to put a tongue depressor in your mouth, Maritza, so you may gag a little bit. But it will only take me a few seconds to look.” Which was what he did. Quick peek, pink throat. Not flaming red, thank heavens. No fever either, according to her chart. But he still had a nagging suspicion...
“Three ice creams,” Shanna said, carrying three bowls to the bedside, one of them so heaped with ice cream it was dripping over the sides. She looked at Maritza and smiled. “He really likes ice cream,” she said, perching herself on the edge of the bed, handing Ben’s bowl to Ben, setting her bowl aside and scooping out a spoonful for Maritza. “All they had in the kitchen was vanilla, but if you have a favorite flavor, I can look for it next time I’m down in the village.”
“Vanilla’s good,” Maritza whispered, then took the spoon from Shanna, looked at it for a moment and finally lifted it to her lips. Took a tiny bite, winced when she swallowed and tried again.
“Maritza’s been with us before,” Ben explained, picking up his bowl of ice cream then standing. He ducked out of the cubicle, gave his ice cream to the only other child in the room today, ten-year-old Nayla, admitted with appendicitis and now excited to be the lucky recipient of the largest bowl of ice cream she’d ever seen in her life. “Ventricula
r septal defect,” he said, stepping back over to Maritza’s bed.
“Repaired?” she asked.
Maritza shook her head as Ben answered, “No. Not yet.”
She addressed the girl. “Have you been to see a dentist lately, Maritza? Someone who looked at your teeth?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Your parents took you?” Ben questioned, picking up Shanna’s bowl of ice cream and simply holding it. Better the ice cream than clenching his fists. But he was angry. Damned angry. He’d specifically told her parents... “Was that when the traveling dentist came through last week?”
Maritza nodded.
He gripped the bowl even tighter. So tight the chill of it, combined with cutting off the blood supply to his fingers, caused a dull ache to set in. “Well, I think maybe I should...” The things he wanted to say to them, and would force himself to hold back, were giving him a headache, especially after he’d specifically given them the list of things Maritza should and should not do. “Should go find some medicine for you. But it’s going to be in an IV, Maritza. You remember what that is, don’t you?” Poor child. She didn’t deserve this.
“Yes,” she whispered as she attempted one more bite of the ice cream, then set the bowl aside and slid down into the bed, ready for a nap.
“Good. You sleep for a while,” Shanna said gently, pulling the sheet up over the child. “As soon as we get some of the medicine into you, you’ll start feeling better.”
Maritza nodded as her eyes fluttered shut, and Ben instinctively laid a hand to her forehead. Definitely a fever now. Too hot. Too sick. “Bacterial endocarditis,” he said gravely. “And she belongs in a hospital that can treat her heart condition as well as... You know, I specifically told them not to take her to the dentist. He comes through every few months, and Maritza’s parents asked me if it would be okay to set up an appointment for her.”
“But they didn’t listen,” Shanna said, sliding off the bed. “Are you okay, Ben?” she asked. “You seem agitated.”
“Try angry,” he said, walking away from the bed. “Enough to throw more than a book, which I’m not going to do.”
Shanna caught up to him and they didn’t speak until they were outside the ward. “Why hasn’t her ventricular septal defect been corrected?” she finally asked.
“Her parents won’t let us send her to one of the hospitals that can perform the surgery. They won’t go very far from the village, won’t let their daughter go very far.”
“But do they know it’s a correctable condition? That the longer they postpone it, the more difficult it’s going to be?”
“They know all that, but they believe that as long as they bring her here she’ll be fine.”
“And pretty sick now, with a heart infection.” Because bacteria had entered her system through a dental procedure. Common and frustrating. “So, can we send her someplace else now? Because this is going to get tricky.”
Ben stopped, leaned against the wall, shut his eyes, trying to mentally will away his headache. “I’ll talk to them again, but I’m not holding out a lot of hope. Amanda and I have tried everything we can think of and so far it’s falling on deaf ears.”
“Or frightened ears,” Shanna said sympathetically, immediately connecting to the pain and fear of Maritza’s parents. “It’s hard to move in a different direction when it scares you to death.”
“But they know they can go to the hospital with her if we transfer her.” He opened his eyes, straightened up. “You’re right, though. I’m sure they’re scared to death. But so am I, because we could lose her.”
“Look, how about you go and talk to her parents since you know them, and I’ll get an IV started in Maritza. Then I’ll get some blood cultures going so we’ll know what we’re dealing with. And, Ben, relax. You’re looking as stressed as Maritza looks sick.”
“Easier said than done,” he said as she walked away. Especially when his stress was about Shanna.
* * *
“Another case of yellow fever admitted.” Shanna caught up with Ben in the corridor between their rooms. “And Maritza’s stable.” It had been a long day and she was ready to be off her feet for a while. “Her fever was elevated this evening, but the antibiotics should kick that pretty quickly.”
“And her parents are still refusing to let me send her somewhere else, so nothing’s changed with that.”
His emotional level over this was much the way hers usually was, and it was interesting to watch because in Ben it didn’t look like a weakness, which was the way she characterized it in herself. “Did they ever tell you why they allowed the dental procedure?”
He leaned back against the wall, folded his arms over his chest. Sighed heavily. “It was a free exam. They were trying to be good parents, and they didn’t think an exam qualified as a procedure.”
Shanna winced. “Scraping one of those dental scalers over my teeth is more than a procedure. It’s torture.”
“Well, procedure or torture, either way that’s what happened. Look, would you like to come in for a drink? Not yerba maté, as I know you don’t like that. But I’ve got some killer fruit juice. Unless you’ve got something else to do.”
“I’d love some killer fruit juice. Can you give me a minute to go...” She had been going to say “slip into something more comfortable,” but that certainly had a sexual connotation, which had no application here whatsoever. “Go change my shoes.”
“I’ll leave my door open. And I promise not to overreact this time.”
In the span of a minute Shanna slipped out of her long cargo pants and oversized camp shirt and into a clean pair of shorts, a fresh T-shirt and a pair of sandals. Now she wouldn’t look so much like Ben, who also wore long cargo pants and a below-the-elbow camp shirt. Sexy look on him. Dreary on her. On her way across the hall she wondered if he might have slipped into something more comfortable, too, but as she pushed through his door she saw the same old Ben in the same old clothes. Oh, well. So much for wishful thinking. “I see you cleaned up my mess from this afternoon.”
“Shall I grovel to you now, tell you how embarrassed I am?”
Laughing, Shanna waved him off as she crossed the room and sat down at his tiny kitchen table for two. “For what it’s worth, I thought you looked...good. Every now and then I enjoy a good look at a guy in his boxers.”
“I take it that’s not on your off-limit topics.”
She shook her head. “A girl appreciates what she appreciates. No reason denying it.”
“And your ex?”
“Definitely didn’t appreciate him in any capacity. On our wedding night I caught him doodling his new last name on a pad of paper. And that was the high point of our marriage.”
“Ouch,” Ben said. “All the hopes and dreams of a new bride dashed to pieces in a doodle.”
“No hopes, no dreams and definitely no dashing. But that’s when I started formulating my divorce plans. It had been a huge mistake, but I didn’t realize it until I said ‘I do,’ and knew I should have said ‘I don’t.’”
“And you got out fast.”
“No, he delayed it. Was afraid he’d have to let go of my family. So it took a while, but in my mind the marriage lasted three months, even though the paperwork said two years.”
“Why did you do it in the first place? Were you really that desperate to get your family’s attention?”
“We all have our flaws. Mine just happens to be trying to please a family who won’t be pleased by me. They’re...hard to deal with sometimes. They thought I should be married, so that’s what I did.”
“That’s rough,” he said. “My father was a very demanding man, kept lots of secrets, told lots of lies, but I don’t think there was a day of my life that I ever had to fight for his attention. I’m sorry you’ve had to do that.”
“You know what they say about how something that doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.” She took a sip of the juice. It was pulpy, thick and cool, sliding down her throa
t. And it took long enough to slide that she hoped in the span of those few seconds their topic of conversation would switch. Talking about her failure to please her family made her seem weak, and she didn’t want Ben to see her that way.
“So, do we talk about the elephant in the room? I know it’s one of your off-limit topics but, Ben...I think we should just get it out of the way. You know, over and done with then move on to the next subject.”
He looked across the table at her, didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Didn’t do anything until he picked up his glass of juice and took a sip. “I was burned,” he said, setting the glass back down. “I was fifteen, got a little sloppy in some car repairs I was doing with my dad, and the result is what you see. Some scars.”
Said much too casually. “How extensive?” she asked.
“Neck, shoulder...” He shrugged, shook his head. “Not worth talking about.”
Because he’d never talked about it? She’d seen him run when caught exposed, she saw the kinds of clothes he wore to cover up. Something told Shanna the real scars weren’t what you could see on the surface. “Maybe not, but I’m sticking to my guns.”
“About what?” he asked, clearly relieved she wasn’t pursuing the matter.
“Men in boxer shorts. I do enjoy a good look every now and then, and you were a good look, scars included. So, on that note...” she scooted the chair back and stood “...thank you for the juice and the company. But now I’m going to grab a couple of hours’ sleep then go back over and sit with Maritza for a while.” Handing the glass to Ben as she passed him, she swept by then paused halfway between him and the door and turned to face him.
“My family is all about exclusion, Ben. That’s what I grew up with, what I got used to. It’s not a good way to have your life develop around you and it’s not a good way to choose your life. Whatever you’ve gone through, whatever else you’ve done, you don’t have to be excluded, and you don’t have to exclude yourself. You’ve proved your place in the world and that accounts for a lot more than...scars.”
He didn’t respond but, then, she hadn’t expected him to. No good-night or parting words of support. He was Ben after all. And the more she knew him, the more she cared. Because with Ben there were no perceptions. He was who he was.