Ashes, Ashes

by Charles Atkins

  She stayed seated and pictured Carla’s final acts, giving her life to save her daughter’s … to save Barrett’s.

  She felt a buzzing through her suit and then her cell rang. It was Hobbs.

  ‘How’s she doing?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s gone,’ Barrett sobbed.

  ‘I’m sorry …’

  Her eyes fixed on Carla’s, she asked, ‘How’s George doing?’ She braced for more bad news.

  ‘It’s looking good. They think his fever was from dehydration and not the bacteria. It’s coming down.’

  ‘Thank God! I’ll see if they’ll let me through,’ she said, referring to the series of decontamination rooms and hastily thrown together procedures the hospital had instituted to handle so many patients in quarantine.

  ‘Tell me you’re OK, Barrett,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘I’m not infected.’

  ‘You took an awful risk,’ he said. ‘You didn’t have to stay with her.’

  ‘I did,’ she said. ‘In that playground someone had to give their life to take down the Glashes. She did.’

  ‘I know … I’ve thought about that a lot,’ he said.

  ‘Me too. She’s the one who ran after him. I didn’t.’

  ‘Neither did I.’

  ‘It was an awful death.’ Her tears ran as she looked at Carla’s ravaged body. ‘I’m so tired of all this. I feel like my brain wants to shut down, to block it all out.’

  She sensed his pause.

  ‘Tell me if this is the wrong time,’ he said, ‘but I imagine they could take care of your little problem …’

  ‘Don’t!’ she said, harsher than she’d intended. ‘We have to talk, but not right now.’

  ‘Barrett …’

  ‘No,’ she said, her teeth beginning to chatter, ‘not now. I need to get through this. Let me see if I can get moved up to your floor. I’ll see if Justine can somehow work it.’

  ‘You know that I love you, Barrett,’ he said. ‘All the time you were with Glash, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and how I wouldn’t be able to take it if he hurt you.’

  She couldn’t take her eyes off Carla; she pictured Ed and then her dead husband. She had loved Ralph, been head over heels for years – even when he’d been unfaithful. As the seconds ticked she knew she had to say something. Had she led Ed on? There was the kiss, all those months ago, before everything had turned to shit. It was too hard to think, to find the right answer. ‘I love you too,’ she said, and knew that she’d have to sort it out later.

  ‘You’re not in love with me, though, are you?’ There was openness in his voice, no hint of anger, just sadness.

  ‘No, I’m not, Ed.’

  ‘Didn’t think so. Had to check. Barrett?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re thinking about keeping that baby, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not certain,’ she lied, her decision clear. ‘We’ll talk when I get up there.’

  Thirty-Five

  For the next month it was as though New York City held its collective breath. Every day The Times and the Post would list the number of suspected plague cases. Tens of thousands of panicked citizens had clogged emergency rooms. All of the children and the counselors from the P.S.85 day camp had been quarantined, as well as 1,400 others who’d potentially had contact with either of the Glashes.

  Barrett was still in quarantine, but along with Hobbs and Houssman she was in the group considered to be out of danger. They were allowed to wander through the locked psychiatric ward, but no further. They’d also not been given a clear discharge date. The various agencies involved in the near-catastrophe were struggling to defend themselves against angry and well-justified criticism over how they’d repeatedly mishandled the incident. It was only now – after the true danger had passed – that they were taking a stance of caution, by extending the quarantine period.

  Ten people, three of them children from the playground, had contracted the fatal illness. Like Cosway, Carla and Glash, they died fast and horribly. But for the last fifteen days no active cases had been reported.

  For Barrett, dressed in pajamas and still required to wear a facemask, it was a forced departure from life as usual. She’d had time to be alone and to think.

  She turned at the sound of a knock.

  Ed and George, dressed in matching brown pajamas with hospital-issue white terrycloth robes, came in. Justine – dressed in green scrubs and a white coat – was right behind. They all wore masks.

  ‘Hi, thanks for coming,’ Barrett said.

  ‘It’s not like we had anywhere else to go,’ Hobbs quipped. His eyes searched out hers and then quickly looked away.

  Barrett looked at Ed, she sighed and thought how much easier this would be if she were in love with him. She searched for the contours of his burn scars, much of them hidden behind the HEPA mask. He almost looked the way he had before the explosion. ‘So, you want to know why I asked you all here?’ she began.

  ‘I think we know,’ Justine said, sitting next to her sister on the bed.

  ‘I’m going to have the baby,’ Barrett blurted out, finding no other way to do this.

  ‘You’re sure?’ Hobbs asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling scrutinized.

  There was silence.

  ‘There’s more,’ Barrett said, ‘and that’s part of why I wanted to talk to all of you. You’re the only three who know the truth – four if you count my obstetrician, but she’s bound by patient confidentiality … I’m going to have this baby … I’m going to say that the father is Ralph.’ She looked at each of them in turn; Justine, Ed and finally George.

  George was nodding his head. ‘You want us to keep this secret.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I realize it’s asking a great deal. I’m having the baby regardless, but this will make it better.’

  ‘I’ll never tell,’ Justine said. ‘But … there are practicalities, Barrett. Ralph was part Latino and Jimmy Martin is as blond as they come.’

  ‘I’ve thought of that, but I have dark hair and … Jimmy’s locked away. He’ll never be released.’

  ‘And if he finds out?’ Hobbs asked.

  ‘I’ll deal with that when and if it happens,’ she said. ‘You see, you’re my best friends and I know that I’ve been keeping things from you … like wanting this baby, not just a little, but I’ve never wanted anything so much. It seems like my entire life – and this isn’t to complain, it’s more a realization – I’ve always made the choice to do the right thing. Even if it wasn’t what I wanted.’

  ‘Like giving up the piano to go to medical school?’ Justine asked.

  ‘Like that, but that’s OK. I made my peace with that a long time ago and I love being a doctor … except of course when my patients are either kidnapping me or …’ She shook her head. ‘This is way too hard.’

  ‘Just say it,’ Ed urged. ‘Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.’

  ‘It’s not bad it’s just … I’ve always pictured myself as having a career and having a family. The career I’ve got, and it’s great.’ She laughed. ‘OK, maybe this isn’t one of the highlights. But I look around and,’ she put a hand on her belly, ‘I want this child so badly. I want to be a mother, and I didn’t think it was going to happen for me. This is one time, and if it sounds selfish I don’t care: I’m having this child because it’s what I want.’

  Justine, ignoring the posted signs that warned against physical contact with the patients, wrapped her arms around Barrett. ‘Sweets,’ she whispered into her ear, ‘this is totally your decision. I will be this baby’s aunt, and I will totally love him or her. But there’s just one thing …’

  ‘What’s that?’ Barrett asked, feeling as though a huge weight had just been lifted.

  ‘I will call you Rosemary.’

 

 

  om.Net