by Robin Cain
Breathe.
Breathe.
Tick. Tock.
Sadie was hyperventilating—breathing too fast and becoming lightheaded. Recalling that a nurse once put a paper bag over her mouth when she had almost passed out while donating blood, she put her hands over her mouth to simulate the bag.
In.
Out.
Breathe.
Slower.
Slower.
Concentrate.
She turned away from the clock, trying to focus on something else in the room. The flickering candles caught her eye as they swayed in an unseen breeze, dancing to the strains of the sorrowful flute playing in the background. She felt the wet perspiration on her neck and the dead clammy feeling of her hands.
Breathe.
Concentrate.
Her heart, once powerfully hammering inside her chest, was now gradually slowing.
Breathe.
The anxiety was passing.
I need some water.
She forced herself to stand and found that her body ached from the effort. She took one last look at Jesus on the cross.
Please help me.
She walked over and opened the chapel door, nearly colliding with a woman walking in. Sadie recognized her as the woman she had seen with the man at the front desk saying their daughter had been in a car accident. Citra’s mother.
The distraught, disheveled woman moved aside and let Sadie pass. The husband, in his own wrinkled clothes and miss-buttoned shirt, followed slowly behind. His watery, bloodshot eyes were magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses. Lost in their own variety of heartache, neither of them acknowledged Sadie’s presence.
Sadie turned and headed down the hallway, realizing now that it truly didn’t matter anymore. She walked in search of something to make her feel better.
Seven long hours later, Frank finally opened his eyes. Waking from a bad dream, he recoiled from the memory of screeching tires, twisting metal, broken glass and a thunderous roar. His head now throbbing, he blinked his eyes several times to clear his vision and blot out the pain. Only seeing shadows and light, he tried to swallow. His tongue, swollen and dry, was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Something was very wrong but, unable to make sense of it, he gave up the struggle and allowed his eyes to close. As the light faded and the shadows slowly engulfed him, the pounding in his head began to recede.
Frank’s nurse was alerted by a monitor at the central nurse’s station that her patient’s heart rate had increased slightly. She walked into his room just as his eyes were closing. The surgery had lasted six hours and he had been brought into recovery some time ago. Though it would be awhile before he was fully alert, he had made it through with no additional complications. His leg had been set with a rod inserted to support the femur, and his lacerations had been stitched up. The damage to his L3 had been cleaned out and assessed. X-rays and further examination confirmed both the fracture and damage to the nerves, but the doctors wouldn’t know to what extent until after Frank began to heal. The initial swelling had caused pressure and what his doctors hoped was only temporary paralysis. For now, the patient had no sensory response below the hips. Time would tell how much, if any, of the feeling and/or movement would return.
The nurse checked all the monitors, making notes in her patient’s chart as she moved around his bed. Frank woke again, drowsy and thick-tongued.
“Argh.... wha ‘appen?”
Stepping over to the side of the bed, the nurse laid her hand on her patient’s. “Mr. Campelletti, you’ve been in a car accident and you’ve just come out of surgery,” she told him, touching his arm to let him know it was all going to be okay. The words, she knew, wouldn’t yet make sense to him, but her touch would be felt. It was important to let the patient know everything was going to be alright.
Frank recognized she was wearing a nurse’s uniform but remained uncertain as to why. He looked into her eyes, trying to make sense of what he had just heard.
“Try not to talk. Just relax. You’re doing just fine.”
“My head,” he managed to utter.
“Are you having pain?”
Frank could only nod. Talking required too much effort.
“I will let your doctor know you are awake and have her come see you.” The nurse patted Frank’s hand and watched as his eyes drifted shut again. Glancing one more time at his monitors, she walked around the curtain dividing him from the others in recovery. She headed to the central bank of workstations and made a note of his complaint of head pain on the electronic tablet she carried. This information would be transmitted to the data bank that the attending medical staff referenced from their own electronic tablets. In addition, she would page Dr. Celestina and Dr. Williams to let them personally know the patient was now coming around.
In a nearby waiting room down another hall, Sadie sat, trying to make sense of and retain what Frank’s surgeons had just briefed her on. He had zero response below his hips. There was nerve damage. His femur had been set and there was now a pin in his leg. That, they said, was of no real concern; his leg would heal fine. They were more worried about spinal damage. The next twenty-four hours would be crucial in accessing his progress. They had told her she should prepare for the worst.
Frank may never walk again.
She should call someone, or tell someone at MineWare what had happened to Frank. Her first thought was Janie. She’d be the one to call. She’d know what to do next. She walked until she located a private room down the hall from the nurse’s station. Closing the door, she took a deep breath and sat down.
MineWare’s perky switchboard operator answered the phone. Sadie didn’t identify herself and asked to speak to Frank’s assistant. Moments later Janie came on the line.
“Frank Campelletti’s office. This is Janie Mitchell.”
The words poured out of Sadie’s mouth, “Frank has been in a car accident and he’s paralyzed.”
“Sadie?” Janie said, trying to grasp what the caller was saying.
“It’s Frank. He’s been in an accident. He’s at Mercy General. So am I. He’s had surgery. They don’t think he’ll walk again.”
“Oh my God! What have you done now?” Janie exclaimed.
“What? I was at home and the police came to tell me,” Sadie said. Janie wasn’t making sense. Nothing was making sense. “I just got back from Sullivan. He wasn’t home. I don’t know where he was.” She realized she was rambling and she could now hear Janie crying on the other end of the line.
“Oh my God. Poor Frankie,” Janie said through her sobs.
“We’re at Mercy General Hospital. I thought someone should know. I haven’t called anyone yet.”
“I will take care of it,” Janie said and quickly hung up.
Sadie sat with the receiver in her hand, wondering what to do next. She closed her bloodshot eyes; the lingering question of culpability gnawed at her conscience and, like bile rising in her throat, the doubt began to choke her.
Was all of this punishment for sin?
Unable to fathom any God, or any higher power, capable of this kind of cruelty, she was unprepared to face the truth.
Sadie had left Sullivan less than twenty-four hours ago, believing her marriage was just a facade. Fear and uncertainty now consumed what had once been her contented heart. She told herself it was time to bargain with her demons. It was now time to offer her soul in trade.
Now or never.
Sadie dialed Tyler’s number and the sound of his voice, the blissful expectancy she heard in his simple hello, brought her to a place she now realized she’d likely never see again. Once again she began to weep.
“Sadie? Is that you?”
“Y-yes, it’s me.” It was all she could manage to say.
“Sadie, Sadie, stop crying. I can barely understand you. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Frank. He’s... he’s been in an accident.”
It was a moment before Tyler spoke. “Is he okay?”
“No, he’s not.” The lin
e went silent for a moment. “He can’t move his legs. They think he’s paralyzed.”
“Oh my God; I’m sorry, Sadie.” Tyler’s gentle voice reached across the miles, trying to comfort her.
“It happened last night, sometime while I was gone. They came and woke me up. He needed surgery. I’ve been with him ever since.”
“Oh, Sadie. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“N-no, I’m not.”
“Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come down there?”
“Yes. Uh... n-no, you can’t. I just couldn’t. I need to just get through this. I just need to get him through this.” Her words rambled between her tears, lost amongst everything else clamoring for space in her brain.
“I want to be there for you.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I just wanted to let you know what happened. I didn’t want you... I didn’t want you worrying. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, I understand. But please let me come soon. I miss you. I want to help you through this.”
“I don’t think anything can help this... I miss you too.” Sensing his pain, Sadie began to cry harder. The words were too difficult to say. “I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.”
“I love you,” Tyler said.
Sadie hung up before he could say anything more. She put her hands to her face and sobbed, unable to bear the pain of his unspoken questions. It was at this moment that she knew her promise would be broken.
fifteen
LATER the very same morning in Sullivan, Tyler stopped at a Starbucks on a break between job sites. As he stood waiting in line for his coffee, he didn’t notice the girl with the long, stringy, badly-dyed, blonde hair sitting at a nearby table right away or that she gave off a tough, living-on-the-streets look. Certainly unfitting in the midst of this yuppie enclave of a coffee shop, she was easy to dismiss as one of the many runaways and homeless junkies in town. But her beautiful smile, posed almost in the form a question, eventually caught his eye.
“Grande Americano,” the clerk behind the counter called out to the waiting customers in line. Tyler looked away from the smiling girl and stepped forward, took the steaming cup the clerk had left on the counter, stopped to grab his requisite three packs of sugar and prepared his coffee to go. His intention was not to stay, since he had a job to get to and people waiting for him, but the thought of just sitting in the warm coffee shop for a minute to clear his head was appealing. The news he’d gotten from Sadie had tossed him upside down.
He turned to look for a vacant table and saw most were full. The stringy blonde, sitting all alone, made eye contact.
“Hello. Mind if I sit down?” he asked her. “Seems to be a popular place this morning.”
The girl gestured to the extra chair at her table without saying a word. Tyler pulled the chair out and sat down, placing his hot cup next to hers.
“Hi. I’m Tyler.”
“I’m Samantha, but my friends call me Sam.”
“Well, I’ll call you Sam then. You live around here?”
“Uh, no. Just visiting. Well, actually, I just got into town and I am staying with a friend for awhile.” There was uncertainty in her tone.
“Well, where are you from?”
“I’m from the East Coast,” Sam replied, reaching out for a discarded straw wrapper that sat between them. Her hands, slightly shaking, weren’t very clean, as if the days were all piled up in layers on them. She saw Tyler looking at her hands and quickly hid them in her lap.
“So, how long are you staying?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to try and find some work, maybe try to find a place of my own.”
“What kind of job are you looking for?” he asked. Sam was actually a very pretty girl, with sparkly hazel eyes. She had good teeth, too. Tyler liked women with good teeth.
“I don’t know, maybe waitressing or something.”
“Well, there are lots of jobs around here, that’s for sure. You shouldn’t have any problem.”
Sam didn’t say anything after that and Tyler wasn’t sure what to say next. She seemed sad and lost. He took a sip of his coffee and she smiled at him again—part happy, part sad. He wondered what her real story was, but he was probably better off not knowing. He had his own problems. He decided he had better get going.
“Well, I have to get back to work, Sam. Thanks for letting me share your table.” As he stood to go, Sam reached out and touched his hand.
“Hey? By any chance do you have five bucks you could lend me? I’m in kind of a jam.”
She asked so softly that Tyler wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. A street kid asking for handouts was a common occurrence in this town, but the idea of Sam asking had caught him off guard.
“Uh, sure. I’ve got a few bucks. What’s the deal, though? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
Tyler had had his own issues with money and bad decisions in the not-so-distant past, so he felt he was pretty good at reading the signs of those looking for their next high. But Sam didn’t appear that way. Despite her obvious lack of cleanliness, she seemed to have it together. So many junkies were usually jacked up, nervous and twitchy. He could spot their desperation a mile away.
“N-no trouble,” she stuttered. “Just in a bind at the moment. I’ll pay you back. Really, I will.” She sounded sincere enough.
“You need a lift somewhere?” He was pretty sure five bucks wasn’t going to solve any of her problems.
“No. No... I’m okay. If you give me your number or something, I swear I will find you and pay you back. I promise.” The look in her eyes was so sad and helpless, he found himself unable to turn her down. She needed something and five bucks wasn’t going to break him. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty.
“Here you go, Sam. Consider it a gift.”
“No, I will pay you back. I promise. How do I get a hold of you?”
A woman at another table glanced their way after having heard parts of the conversation. She shook her head in disgust. With two toddlers loaded into a Cadillac of a stroller, wrists and fingers weighed down with jewels, she most likely had little understanding of need.
“I live right in town, off Water Street. It’s the big, two-story, tan house at the corner of Water and Park. You can’t miss it. I rent the guesthouse in the back.” Wondering why he was telling her where he lived, he realized too late he should have just given her his phone number.
“Okay, I promise to drop by. Just give me a few days.”
“No worries.” After a moment, he added, “Well, you take care, huh?”
“You too. And thanks. Thanks so much.”
Tyler picked up his coffee and turned to go. After he maneuvered through the crowded tables and reached the door, he glanced back and saw Sam holding his twenty in one hand, wiping her eyes with the other.
Poor girl. Hope she makes it.
He opened the door and the not-yet-warm, rainy August morning air rushed in to greet him. Pulling his windbreaker tighter, he headed toward his truck. He was already thinking about the job-site activity that awaited him.
A week later, Tyler had finally finished working seven twelve-hour days in a row and, by late Thursday afternoon, he was done for the day. Thanks to Sadie’s coaching, he had decided to be his own boss and start a construction business. Now on his third project, the schedule was beginning to take its toll on his body. He was exhausted and planned to take the next day off and make it a long weekend. He glanced in the rearview mirror and caught sight of the gray at his temples. He softly swore under his breath.
Damn, twenty-eight years old and I’m already starting to look like an old man.
No doubt he was putting in too many days and too many hours, but there was nothing he could do about it. For his business to really take off, Tyler had to make it while there was business to be had. Town was booming, with money and jobs for the taking. Finding good help was turning out to be his biggest challenge. With everyone wanting everything built right now, there was on
ly so much labor to go around. He had hired three guys he had to constantly shadow— correcting their mistakes and watching to make sure they were doing it the way it should be done. Tyler just couldn’t afford to make mistakes. Reputation in this business was everything.
As he drove down Maple Avenue, Tyler worked on mentally checking things off his to-do list. Traffic was bad, as it always seemed to be these days, and his mind wandered as he suffered through the relentless stop-and-go. He lit what must have been his hundredth Marlboro of the day and stopped for a red light. He noticed a girl sitting on the bench in the pouring rain up ahead at the bus stop. It was Sam, the girl at the Starbucks last week and now, soaking wet, she didn’t look much better than she had the last time he saw her.
Oh hell, this traffic isn’t going anywhere.
When the light turned green, Tyler turned the wheel to maneuver his truck out of line. He pulled up to the bus stop, tapped the horn and rolled down the passenger-side window. Sam was busy with her thoughts and didn’t notice him. She was also just trying to keep warm.
“Sam! Hey, Sam! Remember me?” Tyler yelled out the window. Sam finally looked up and smiled.
“Hey.... yes, Starbucks,” she said and walked over to the open truck window.
“Need a ride somewhere? C’mon, get in. Buses around here take forever and it’s too cold and wet outside to wait.”
Her hand already on the door handle, she asked, “Uh... are you sure? You don’t mind?”
“You got a job,” Tyler said when he saw she was wearing some kind of uniform.
Sam climbed into the truck, put her bags down in front of her and fumbled with the seat belt. She was having difficulty getting it latched.
“Here, let me help you,” Tyler said, leaning over to assist. The buckle snapped into place. “Must be your cold hands, girl.”
“Yes, it’s pretty cold out there with all this rain,” she agreed, rubbing her chilled hands together. She was shivering. “I got a job waitressing down the street at Ernie’s. Had to work the early shift today.”
“How long have you been out here waiting?”