by John Saul
“Can’t you go any faster?” she asked Russell, her voice taking on an urgency she hoped Molly wouldn’t understand.
“We’ll be there in less than a minute,” Russell told her. “Someone will have called ahead to let Dr. Filmore know we’re coming. Molly’s going to be all right.”
“But what’s happening to her?” Karen asked. “She’s been stung by bees before. She’s—”
“I don’t know any more than you do, honey,” Russell told her. The town was still a quarter of a mile away when he hit the brakes and swerved off the road into the parking lot of the small clinic that had been finished just a year ago, built with funds raised by the townspeople over a period of almost a decade. As Russell had promised, the front door opened as they approached it, and a woman of about thirty-five held it wide as Karen, still clutching Molly in her arms, hurried inside.
“Take her straight through that door,” the woman instructed, indicating one of the two doors at the back of the waiting area.
Karen lurched through the door, surprised to find the room empty. A wave of panic threatening to strangle her, she twisted her head back toward the woman who’d met them at the door. “Where’s Dr. Filmore?” she asked. “Russell said—”
“I’m Ellen Filmore,” the woman announced. “Let’s get some of those clothes off her.” While Karen supported Molly’s weight, Ellen Filmore, whose prematurely graying hair framed a pretty, oval face highlighted by warm brown eyes, expertly unfastened the row of buttons that ran down the back of Molly’s dress, then pulled the little girl’s arms free of the sleeves. “All right, let’s lay her down.”
Gently, Karen lowered Molly onto the examining table. Molly’s breathing was becoming more and more labored, and the color in her face was changing from the bright red it had been a few moments before to a pale bluish tinge. “Oh, God,” Karen cried. “She can’t breathe! You have to—”
But Ellen Filmore, a strange-looking plastic object in her hands, was already pushing her firmly aside, and now a young man clad in white pants and a pale green smock had appeared at the other side of the table. “Do you want to give her a sedative?” the man asked.
“I don’t think she needs it,” the doctor said. Speaking quickly, she explained to Karen what she was doing as she began working the object, which consisted of two tubes, divided in the center by a large plastic plate, into Molly’s mouth. “Her throat’s swelling, blocking her trachea. If we can get this airway in …” The doctor’s voice died away as she focused all her concentration on her task. The nurse held Molly’s mouth open and used a depressor to move the little girl’s tongue aside. Karen winced as the plastic tube began to slide into Molly’s throat, causing her daughter to gag, but a moment later Molly’s chest suddenly expanded as she drew a deep breath of air into her lungs. Soon, the bluish tinge to Molly’s face gave way, but the unnatural redness remained. “Don’t worry too much about her color,” Ellen Filmore said. “It means she’s getting air again. With any luck, the worst of it’s already over.” Her attention shifted to the nurse. “Let’s give her a shot of epinephrine, Roberto.”
Russell, who was hovering just inside the door, spoke just as the nurse started out of the room. “I already used epinephrine. It didn’t seem to have any effect at all.”
Frowning, Ellen Filmore looked up from Molly, onto whose arm she was wrapping a sphygmomanometer cuff. “You’re sure you gave her the shot from the bee kit, not the snake kit?” she asked as she pumped the cuff. Molly’s blood pressure was perilously low.
“I gave her the right shot,” Russell declared. “And it’s fresh, too. I just replaced it a month ago.”
“Then we have a problem.” Ellen’s frown deepened as she began jotting notes on a blank chart. “We’re going to have to get her over to San Luis Obispo.”
Karen felt her growing fear begin to give way to panic. She reached out to lay a protective hand on her daughter, who, mercifully, no longer seemed able to hear what was being said. “San Luis Obispo?” she echoed. “Why can’t you treat her here?”
Ellen Filmore ignored Karen’s question, turning instead to Russell. “Was Carl Henderson at the wedding?”
Russell nodded.
“Good. Call your house and ask him if we can use his plane. If he’s already left, find him.” As Russell strode out of the examining room, Dr. Filmore turned her attention to Karen, talking as she began setting up an IV in Molly’s right forearm. “I’m going to try another shot of epinephrine, just in case, but if she still doesn’t respond, then we have a problem,” she repeated.
“A problem?” Karen echoed, immediately thinking the worst. “Oh, God, Molly’s not going to—” She cut off her words, unwilling to let Molly hear her even utter the word “die.”
Ellen Filmore, though, understood exactly what Karen was trying to ask, and shook her head firmly. “We’re a long way from even thinking about that,” she assured Karen. “Has your daughter ever been allergic to bee stings before?”
Karen shook her head, repeating what she’d told Russell in the car. “Lord knows, she’s stepped on her share of bees, but all she’s ever done is cry while I’ve pulled out the stinger, then gone right on with whatever she was doing. She’s never even swelled up before.” She looked down into Molly’s pain-contorted face, and her eyes flooded with the tears she’d been struggling to control.
As the nurse came back into the room with a hypodermic needle, Ellen Filmore took it, administered the shot, then watched for any sign of a reaction from Molly.
There was none.
“Stay with her, Roberto,” the doctor instructed. “She seems stable for the moment, but if there’s any change, call me immediately.” She led Karen out of the room, closing the door behind her. “It appears that your daughter has developed an allergy,” she explained. “It happens sometimes—people go along for years with no reaction to bee venom at all, and then, wham! With some people it seems to be a cumulative effect. But what bothers me,” she went on, her eyes clouding with worry, “is that she isn’t responding to the epinephrine. Unless what stung her is a different strain of bee from what we’re used to, it should have pulled her out of the reaction.”
For a moment Karen didn’t grasp what the doctor was saying, but then she remembered all the stories she’d seen in the Los Angeles papers over the last couple of years, and the meaning of the doctor’s words finally sank in. “You mean, killer bees?” she whispered, her face paling slightly.
“I didn’t say that,” Ellen replied. “In fact, I’d be very surprised if that’s what it is. The African strain hasn’t reached this far north as far as anyone knows, and even if it has, this isn’t what it does. It’s more aggressive than our bees, but individually, it’s no more dangerous. It almost seems as though something else must have stung Molly.”
Before Karen could say anything more, Russell came in from the reception area. “I talked to Carl—he’s on his way to the airport now. We’ll meet him there.”
“All right,” Ellen Filmore said. She led them back into the examining room, and Russell stared at the IV in Molly’s arm. Even to his unpracticed eyes, he could see that the swelling had grown worse, and though she was still able to breathe through the airway, she was struggling for each lungful of air. Could she even survive the flight?
“How—” he began, but his voice choked as he gazed at the helpless child, and all he could do was gesture toward the array of equipment that was keeping Molly alive.
“It’ll be okay,” Ellen told him. “We’ll take the van to the airport, and I’ll fly over to San Luis Obispo with you. Carl has a cellular phone in the plane, so I can talk to the hospital on the way. He can radio ahead for an ambulance to meet us. Let’s go.”
Issuing instructions as she began transferring Molly, who was now barely conscious, to a gurney, the doctor showed Russell how to regulate the oxygen that was feeding into Molly’s breathing tube, and explained to Karen how to regulate the IV. “Neither of you should actually have to do a
nything at all,” she said as she began wheeling the gurney toward the main door. “But if her condition should change while we’re in the air, I might not have time to tell you what to do. The important thing is to keep the bottle higher than Molly, so the fluid keeps dripping into her arm. And if I tell you to turn it off, do it with the valve. What we don’t want to do is detach the tube from the bottle or the needle, and absolutely we don’t want to let the needle come out of her arm. Ready?”
Working as a team, with Ellen Filmore and Roberto Muñoz guiding the gurney while Russell carried the oxygen canister and Karen the IV bottle, they moved out of the clinic to the parking lot. Within minutes they had Molly loaded into the van, Russell cradling the little girl in his arms. Ten minutes later they arrived at the airport, where Carl Henderson already had the tie-downs off his plane and the engine warming.
They maneuvered Molly into the plane, stretched out on the middle of the three cramped rows of seats. As Russell climbed into the co-pilot’s seat, he looked back at Karen, who was crouched in the backseat with Ellen Filmore.
“Will you look at us?” he asked, forcing a smile he didn’t feel at all. “We’re going to be the best-dressed parents the hospital in Obispo’s ever seen.”
Karen tried to return the smile, but when Molly shuddered in her stupor, she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out.
Don’t let her die, she prayed silently. Please, God, don’t let her die.
Julie hung up the phone in the kitchen. Beyond the closed door to the dining room she could hear the murmur of the few guests who were still at the farm, waiting to hear if Molly would live. Steeling herself to answer their questions, she opened the door and began moving as quickly as she could through the small group of her stepfather’s best friends. “It doesn’t sound like they’re coming home today,” she told Maddy Brewer, whose name was one of the few she could remember. “Molly’s really sick, and Mom sounds scared.” Catching sight of Kevin on the front porch, Julie moved quickly to the front door and stepped outside, gratefully sucking the fresh air into her lungs. “Mom just called,” she reported. “They’ve taken Molly to the hospital in San Luis Obispo, and she isn’t sure when they’re going to be able to get home. Maybe tomorrow, but maybe not until the next day.”
Kevin sighed heavily, uncertain what to say. The memory of the pain he’d seen in Molly’s eyes an hour ago tore at his guts, and as he tried to ask Julie how she was, a knot formed in his throat that choked the words off. So instead of exposing the deep fear he was feeling for Molly, he tried to act a lot braver than he was feeling, and forced his mouth into a wry smile. “Some wedding, huh? I guess we better tell everyone who’s left that they might as well go home.” He glanced back into the house, where tables were laden with food. “Kind of a waste, isn’t it?”
Julie stared at him. “Is that all you care about? A bunch of food? What about my sister?” What did Kevin think? That Molly had deliberately gotten stung? “She didn’t do it on purpose!”
“Who said she did?” Kevin replied, stunned by Julie’s flare of anger. What the hell was going on? Why was she all of a sudden so pissed off? “All I said was—”
“I heard what you said,” Julie shot back, cutting him off. “And it sounded like you think Molly deliberately tried to—”
“I didn’t say anything about Molly at all!” Kevin protested, his own voice rising now.
The screen door banged open and Otto Owen stepped out, scowling at both of them. “What’s going on out here?”
Before Kevin could say a word, Julie blurted out her accusation.
“Well, he’s right,” Otto grumbled. “If you kids and your mother had stayed where you belonged, your sister wouldn’ta gotten stung, now would she?”
Julie’s mouth dropped open with mute astonishment and she burst into tears. Covering her face with her hands, she stumbled down the steps and ran across the yard toward the barn.
Kevin glared at his grandfather. “Jeez, Grandpa!”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” the old man snapped. “They don’t belong here!”
Kevin’s temper erupted. “Dad and Karen are married, Grandpa! He loves her! And I like her, too.” His words came faster and faster, tumbling from his mouth. “She’s not my mom, but so what? Mom’s dead, and nothing’s going to change that! And I like Julie and Molly, too! If Molly dies, I don’t know what I’ll do! She’s just like my little sister. So just cut it out, Grandpa! Okay?” Before Otto had a chance to reply, Kevin turned, took the steps to the ground in one leap, and set off after Julie.
Otto’s jaw tightened and a vein in his forehead started to throb. He took a tentative step after Kevin, but then stopped, wheeled around and went back into the house, pushing his way through the cluster of guests until he came to the punch bowl on the dining room table. He started to pour himself a cup, then changed his mind and stalked to the sideboard where several bottles of liquor stood. Pouring himself a generous shot of Jack Daniel’s, he drained it, then poured another.
Kids! What the hell were they coming to? If he’d ever spoken to his grandfather the way Kevin had just spoken to him, his father would have given him a licking he’d never forget.
Knocking back the second shot of whiskey as quickly as the first, he refilled the glass once more.
Maybe he’d just get drunk.
And maybe he’d just give Kevin the whipping he deserved, too!
“Julie?” Kevin stepped into the shadows of the barn, pausing to let his eyes adjust from the bright sun outside. “Julie?” he called again. “Where are you?” He listened carefully, but at first heard nothing other than the normal sounds of the barn. In their stalls, the horses were snorting softly, and a few chickens were scratching at the planks as they searched the floor for stray grains of food. Then, from the loft, Kevin heard another sound.
A sob.
Going to the foot of the ladder, he started to mount it, but stopped short when he heard Julie’s voice from above.
“Don’t come up!” she called, her words strangled by the sob he could hear in her throat. “Just leave me alone!”
Kevin hesitated on the ladder, then climbed up until he could see into the loft. Julie was sitting on a bale of hay fifteen feet from the top of the ladder, and as Kevin’s head and shoulders came through the hatchway, she turned her back to him, her shoulders hunching defensively. “Didn’t I just tell you not to come up?” she demanded.
“I came anyway,” Kevin told her. He climbed into the loft and moved tentatively toward her. “I just wanted to—I don’t know …” He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and stared at his feet. “I guess I just want to apologize,” he mumbled. “I mean, I never meant I thought Molly wanted to wreck the wedding, and I guess it was a really dumb thing to say. Jeez! I like Molly. She’s really neat. And Grandpa shouldn’t have said what he did, either. I don’t know why he says things like that.”
“Well, maybe he’s right,” Julie said, still not turning around, but shifting slightly as her shoulders relaxed. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come. It sure wasn’t my idea.”
Though the pain in her voice caused Kevin’s stomach to tighten, he resisted his sudden urge to move closer to her. Instead he sat down cross-legged on the floor of the loft and picked up a piece of straw, which he twirled nervously between his fingers as he spoke. “You mean you didn’t want to come here?”
“Why would I?” Julie demanded, still not looking at him. “Why would I want to leave all my friends and change schools to come here? I mean, do you know how boring this town is?”
Kevin’s jaw tightened, and if Julie had been looking at him, she would have seen—just for an instant—an eerie resemblance to Otto. But then Kevin carefully checked his anger. “I—I guess I never thought about it,” he admitted, choosing his words carefully, not wanting to make Julie any more miserable than she already was. “I guess just because I love it here, I thought everyone else did, too. That was kind of stupid, huh?”
Julie nodded, bu
t said nothing.
“Well, anyway, I’m sorry,” Kevin said. “I’m sorry Molly got stung, and I’m really sorry she has to stay in the hospital. And I’m sorry Dad and Karen’s party got wrecked, too.” He hesitated. “And I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He waited a moment, hoping Julie might say something. When she didn’t, he got to his feet, embarrassed at having exposed his feelings, and started back down the ladder. “I guess I was just really stupid, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk to me.” His head was about to disappear through the hatchway when Julie turned around.
“Kevin?”
He paused on the ladder, waiting.
Running the fingers of her right hand through her long dark hair, Julie tried to smile. “I—I guess—I don’t know—it’s just that everything’s different here, and I don’t have any friends, and—”
Quickly, Kevin climbed back into the loft and went to her, crouching down on the floor next to the hay bale on which she sat. “You’ve only been here a few days,” he told her. “And I know lots of kids. I was going to introduce you to them at the party, but you were hiding in the kitchen.”
Julie felt herself blushing. “I—I was worried about Molly,” she stammered. “What if she dies?”
Kevin took her hands in his own. “She’s not going to die, Julie. People don’t die of bee stings. They’ll just give her a shot and she’ll be fine. You’ll see. Now come on. Let’s go meet some people.”
Still Julie hesitated.
Her worry about Molly hadn’t been the only thing that had kept her in the kitchen.
First there had been Carl Henderson. She had caught him staring at her at least three times before he’d left to fly Molly to the hospital, and each time she’d felt even more disturbed by the intensity of his gaze. Should she ask Kevin about him? But she already knew he was a good friend of her new stepfather’s. If she asked if he was some kind of pervert or something, Kevin would just think she was trying to make trouble.