by Demaree Iles
For a moment, he shook uncontrollably. It was frightening and a blessing all at the same time. It was release.
Isabelle held his hand until the crushing waves had calmed again.
****
“No more spots?” Dr. Rubin asked, checking his pupil reaction.
“No,” Charlie said. It came out more like a grunt and he grimaced at the pain.
“Easy, Mr. LaRue.” The physician lifted Charlie’s chin and motioned with a tongue depressor. Charlie opened up and the man continued. “So your vision’s clearing…good. Your voice will come back, too. Just give it a little time.”
“I’ve only told him about the coma, Doctor,” Isabelle said from her chair. “Nothing else.”
“Oh. Well, then,” he said, and retrieved the folder he’d brought in with him.
An intern on duty had done the initial check of Charlie’s vitals, but as Chief of Thoracic Surgery, Dr. Rubin took an interest and came down himself. It wasn’t every day that a patient came out of a coma—especially one that had gone on for a year.
He helped himself to a corner of Charlie’s hospital bed and flipped to a particular page. “You’ve been through quite a bit, Mr. LaRue. You suffered a heart attack, but it—”
“Charlie,” Isabelle interjected.
“Charlie,” the doctor said. “Excuse me. The surgeon that handled your case when you were brought in did a pretty impressive job. Once your heart rhythm was restored, the reason for the infarction wasn’t immediately clear. No notable blockages could be found in your coronary arteries and there seemed to be no malformed valves, but with the help of a neurosurgeon on staff, he was successful in tracing the problem to its source.”
Charlie took another sip of water and winced as it went down.
“I’ll give you something for the pain,” the doctor said. “Anyway, the sore throat’s from more than just a long sleep. Turns out you had a tumor at the brainstem. He had to go through the throat to remove it.”
“Tuma…” Charlie got out. “Bwain?”
“Brainstem. According to these records, the mass was just smaller than a tennis ball…” He flipped a page. “…right between the medulla and pons.”
Charlie’s face was blank.
“The medulla regulates several things in the body, Mister, um, I mean…Charlie—namely respiration and heart rate. The tumor was constricting the medulla.” He closed the folder. “Much of how such things influence the central nervous system is still a mystery, but if your heart rate was strongly affected, it could have made your heart work too hard for too long. That would explain the size of your heart muscle.”
“Vig?” Charlie asked.
“Huge. The overall size of your heart is a good half-size larger than it should be. That tumor had to have been growing and affecting your medulla for years.”
“What about the other part?” Isabelle asked.
“I’m sorry? Oh, the pons…well, he had to cut it away from that, too.”
As if reading Charlie’s face, Isabelle said, “What does that affect?”
“Sleep patterns, I believe,” he said, scratching his head. “Some say it may also govern the gray area between the conscious and the unconscious. There’s still a lot of stuff we don’t really know for sure.”
“Blackouts,” she asked. “Would it have caused those?”
The doctor flipped through the folder again. “Oh…did he have those?” He turned to Charlie.
“No,” she said, flashing a knowing look to Charlie as the doctor checked his notes again. “I was just curious.”
The doctor looked up again. “Well, I suppose it’s possible.”
Finally, Charlie thought. After all these years, an answer. Maybe the blackouts were finally over. And it only took almost dying to fix it. Thank you, God.
He expected a sarcastic response from Inner Dad, but there was none. It occurred to him that the phantom of his father may have been tossed out with the tumor. No more blackouts and Dad resting quietly at Mount Hope…could he really be that lucky?
The doctor flipped to the rear of the file and found a signed form.
“Yep, there it is. Just so you know, your daughter gave permission for us to perform the procedures. We induced the coma—also with her consent—but it was necessary to allow your body time to heal from all the trauma. We just never expected it to go on for so long.”
“Ruby,” Charlie muttered to himself. It came out sounding more like Wooby.
He suddenly remembered the power of attorney documents he and Pearl had drawn up years ago. He wondered if Ruby knew about the will. Or rather the addendum to the will.
“The good news is he got it all,” the doctor added, “and follow-up MRIs showed no renewed growth, so the coma probably saved your life. The scarring of the throat will, I’m sorry to say, be permanent. Your speech will improve, though, and the swallowing should get easier.”
He pointed at the nearby water pitcher on Charlie’s little bedside table. “Just keep at it.”
“He will,” Isabelle said, refilling Charlie’s cup.
“Well,” the doctor said, patting Charlie’s hand and rising from the bed, “I can see you’re in good hands with the missus.”
He walked to the door, not seeing the look exchanged between woman and patient. Turning back, he said, “Get plenty of rest. You’re going to be a busy man tomorrow, and you’ve got a good bit of catching up to do.”
The doctor walked out, and as Isabelle watched the door close behind him, it was her turn to feel the warmth of an unexpected touch. Charlie had leaned over from the bed and his hand enveloped hers. She turned in surprise and he smiled. “He’s wight,” Charlie’s froggy throat allowed. “Lotta catchin’ up.”
Isabelle’s eyes lit up. She touched his face. “First thing we’re going to do,” she said, “is give you a shave.”
It hurt Charlie to laugh. And it also felt great.
Chapter Twenty
It had taken a while, but Ruby made some decent cash from a lot of the stuff her parents had kept. The day her mother died and her father had turned into a useless vegetable had been a tragedy, but it had paid-off some bills and covered many trips to the casino for her and Randall. She was just glad that was all behind her now.
In fact, it was the evening of their first anniversary—and Ruby wasn’t going to let it go by without some serious playtime. Randall had been working longer hours lately and ignoring her at home. She swore that wouldn’t happen tonight.
Besides, she had good news. Every time sheʼd called, Larry had told her she had a valid case—she just needed to be patient. She had control of the LaRue home and all other assets. It didnʼt matter that that Kathy woman had been named sole beneficiary of The Baker’s Dozen. Today heʼd called to say he believed heʼd finally found the precedent he needed to successfully challenge the will and make sure Ruby got everything. ʼBout time, too, as between the hospital bills and all his “researchingˮ she was damn near being bled dry.
Damn, Daddy. What the hell were you thinking leaving the bakery to that bitch? She ain’t even family.
Well at least it’d be over soon. Larry was petitioning for a court date and once the will was corrected to her satisfaction, she could finally pull the plug on dear old Dad. She had the legal right to do so and besides—she deserved every bit of what she had coming to her.
To Randall’s credit, he’d managed to make it home a little earlier this evening and had taken her out to a nice dinner at that fancy new seafood place. He’d even sat through a romantic comedy at the Bijou and seemed to enjoy it, but they were home now and she had a plan.
First thing was to turn his cell phone off. She looked at her own phone, saw that while she was in the shower the damned hospital had called again—morons!—then turned off her phone, too. She even went so far as to unplug the landline and answering machine. Tonight was her night. The rest of the world could go to hell.
While Randall grabbed a shower, Ruby snuck into the bedroom and put on her sexiest night
y. He came out of the bathroom a few minutes later rubbing a towel over his head when she approached him with her hands behind her back, wearing nothing but skimpy red satin and lace.
“You like?”
“Uhh…yeah. What’s not to like?”
Ruby stepped close. “I have another surprise for you,” she said, and brought her hands around front. From a small plate, she raised a forkful to his mouth. He accepted the bite without hesitation and savored the taste.
“Mmm, that’s incredible,” Randall said. “What is it?”
“Vanilla-raspberry. Top layer. The only part of our cake that survived.” She took a bite for herself. “Your mom managed to save it for us and I kept it frozen—just for this occasion.”
Randall took the fork from her hand and helped himself to another bite.
“Hey, save some for me, ya know?” she said, guiding a forkful of cake into her own mouth and then snatching another piece with her hand. He licked the icing from her fingers.
The cake didn’t last long. The empty plate ended up on the floor as she suddenly dove on him and they fell onto the bed together. With any luck, he’d have an expensive surprise for her later. Some jewelry maybe, or a trip. They could use a good vacation.
They made love furiously. Once it was over, they relaxed in each other’s arms. Ruby began to feel that their year-long marriage was somehow being renewed. A new start, she thought, and things would only get better from there.
That’s when her stomach began to feel a little queasy. Must’ve been the shrimp at dinner, she thought. Maybe a little undercooked.
No big deal; that’s what antacids were for. She’d been planning this little shindig all week, and doggone it, this was going to be her night. Nothing and nobody was going to stop her from having her fun.
****
The winter of that year had been a long and cold one, with temps breaking the record books in Louisiana, but it turned out to be one of the best seasons ever for The Baker’s Dozen. Hot, fresh-baked goods typically do well during the cold months, but the reputation of the bakery had grown far beyond the city limits of Ransom and all of Bossier County. Founded by the legendary Charlie LaRue, it had since become the busiest and most beloved bakery in the state.
The shop was still so busy come springtime that the season of new birds and blossoms flew by like whispered gossip. Daily temps began to climb and Louisianans faced the approach of another humid summer in the South.
Charlie was gone, but the woman heʼd left to run it continued producing the tastiest pastries and serving them with the same pride and gratitude. Folks in Ransom thought the world of Kathy Cable and said she was so much like the original proprietor that she had to be the illegitimate daughter of Charlie himself. There was even talk of the business one day going national.
But that was all talk for now. This particular day had been a long one for Kathy, and tomorrow—the last day before Memorial Day weekend—would be even longer. She was tired.
She shut off the lights and locked up thinking of a small, light salad and a glass or two of wine before bed. Maybe a long, hot bath to boot.
She walked out to the car and was settling into the driver’s seat when she sighed. The day’s mail still needed to be picked up. Damn.
Grateful that the post office was only a block away and was still open, she started the car and pulled out. She made it with fifteen minutes to spare and was pulling up to the curb when her cell rang.
“Hey, bud,” Kathy said, shutting off the engine and getting out. “What’s up?” Lord, please tell me he’s still coming.
“Just makin’ sure you still wan me come in da moanin’, Mizz Cable.”
“Now Levi, how many times do I need to tell you to call me Kathy?”
“Yes’m. You still gone need me?”
Levi was barely out of high school, but he was a good Cajun kid with no immediate plans for the future and could use some direction in life. Besides, Kathy needed the help. The Baker’s Dozen always sold a ton of doughnuts during the holiday weekend and she was going to be busier than all hell.
“You kidding?” she said with the phone to her ear as she walked into the post office. She waved at the clerk as she grabbed the contents from the box. “I could use two of you.”
“Okay, den,” he said, not sure if that was a yes or no. “So should I…?”
“Yes, Levi, please come,” she said with a chuckle.
Several students had been by the shop vying for part-time work, but he was the only one who could be counted on. What’s more, the boy loved to bake. He was very much a younger version of the man who had made her a better baker and who’d left her the very business they both had adored.
I will not get misty, she told herself.
She flipped through the mail as she headed back out to the car. Nothing but fliers for events she’d never have time to go to, things she’d never want to buy, and more bills. She tossed everything but the bills into the wastebasket.
“What time you wan me dere, Mizz Kaffy?” Levi asked in her ear.
Kathy didn’t hear him. Something caught her eye and she stopped at the door. Stuck to the back of the electric bill was a postcard. It was addressed by hand in a beautiful feminine script, but when she flipped it over and saw the superimposed photograph, her face lit up like Christmas morning.
The return address was somewhere on Kauai in the Hawaiian Islands. The picture was taken by an observer—likely a neighbor or friend; taken at sunset from a spot overlooking the beach. The picture centered on an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand through the evening surf.
Pants legs rolled up and smiling, the pair had been waving at the photographer and Kathy recognized the thinning hair and smile of the man right away. Behind the happy couple, keeping to the dry sand and far away from the water, strolled a cat. Its four white socks stood out against the shadowy beach.
The caption below the picture was a classic, but Kathy felt the sincerity of the message.
Wish you were here!
“Mizz Kaffy?” Levi said.
“Huh?
“I say what time you wan me come?”
She smiled, dropping the bills into her purse before lifting the phone to her ear again. “First thing,” she said. “Think you can make it by four-thirty?”
“I be dere.”
“Good. Thanks, Levi.”
“No prob’em. Thank ya foda job.”
“You’re welcome. Just make sure you get some good sleep, okay?”
She walked out of the post office just in time to see the early evening sky ablaze with oranges and reds. It was almost as pretty a sunset as the one in the postcard she carried.
“Remember,” she said, smiling, “a baker’s day starts early.”
“Yes’m.”
Kathy ended the call and walked on to the car. She was more than tired, but she was a baker, by God—with a capital B. The sky had gone lavender by the time she reached the highway and she thought about Charlie with his toes in the sand. The image made her laugh, and her mood brightened even more.
Gorgeous George would get extra treats tonight, she decided, and she’d toast her old boss with a glass or two of wine before turning in. After all, she thought as she pulled away from the curb and headed for home, it had been Charlie who’d given her the life she loved. As her old mentor would surely have said—what she did with it was up to her.
****
Over four thousand miles away, afternoon stretched out to early evening along a quiet stretch of Kauai beach. They had taken a long stroll along the ridge road that looked out over the western shore to walk off a late lunch of mahi and vegetables. He still loved holding her hand.
“How’re you feeling?” Isabelle asked, squeezing his in return.
Charlie took a deep breath of the cool, salty air and smiled. “Never better, hon.”
The thick green foliage of dense trees and ferns lining the hillside withdrew on their left as the house came into view. A bungalow really; the invit
ing little structure lay nestled half-hidden behind palm trees, red ginger, and white plumeria. To a passer-by, it looked like a great Hawaiian vacation cabin, but to them it was home.
Leaving the road, they both kicked off their flip-flops and walked barefoot through the front lawn to the door. Isabelle turned to him at the porch. “Okay, buster. Spill.”
Charlie stopped and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Come on,” she said. “Youʼre turning seventy-one next week and you’ve been a little on edge lately. What gives?” She stepped closer and kissed him on the nose. “Still worried about getting older?”
Charlie laughed; a good, hearty laugh that had only been rediscovered over the last year with this wonderful woman. He drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “Lady, any fear of aging disappeared long ago from just being around you.”
Isabelle opened the door and he followed her in, giving her a little pat on the rear. It was her turn to stop and cock an eyebrow. A sly smile came with it.
“Besides,” Charlie added, “it takes a young man to keep up with the likes of you, and you’ve got me getting younger by the day.”
In the living room, Sebastian raised his head from the ottoman he’d been napping on. Finding nothing of particular interest and no treat being offered, the cat rolled away from them and was soon snoring again.
Isabelle headed to the kitchen and returned with two bottles of water. “But that still doesn’t tell me what’s on your mind. You’re restless.”
He took a bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took a drink. “It’s nothing, really.”
“Charlie…” She gave him her patented look. The look—combined with her sly way of saying his name—was Charlie’s kryptonite. He didn’t mind at all.
“I love our life here,” he said, taking her hand again, “and I love you more than I can say, but—”
“But?”
“—but I just feel like I…I need…”
“More to do?”
He nodded and Isabelle chuckled. “I understand. Living here in paradise, I’ve been reduced to making healing tonics for the locals and writing fertility spells for our flower bushes.” She placed a hand on his chest. “Okay. I guess there’s only so much lovemaking, luaus, and walks on the beach a guy can handle. So what do you want to do?”