“I knew better,” she said to the picture of Hope and Roger on the opposite wall. “I can’t lie. I thought about asking her before I did it, and I didn’t. But good grief!”
Herbert, what do I do here? You always gave me such good advice. You must be so ashamed of me, the mess my life is in, when you tried so hard to make things easy for me.
Celia stuck her head around the door. “You want somethin’ to drink? I’ve got iced tea and coffee.”
Clarice felt instant blazing heat flash upward. She’d been caught talking to herself. And by Celia, no less.
“What’s the matter? You look funny.”
Clarice thought quickly. “Hot flash. I’m having a hot flash.”
“Aren’t you a little old for hot flashes?” Celia asked, her expression telling Clarice that she wasn’t buying it.
“Coffee, please,” Clarice ignored the question. “No, better make that iced tea.” She picked up a piece of paper and fanned her face.
“You got it.” Celia disappeared.
Coffee sounded so much better, but the caffeine levels of coffee might be one of the things contributing to her insomnia. No more coffee after three. Or switch to decaf. She finished the typing Hope had given her, printed out the pages, and stacked them neatly, ready for signatures and mailing. Now, to start on another drawer. She’d set herself a goal of one drawer a day, to get the office and the reception areas organized enough to lighten the work load. She’d talked to Celia ahead of time and gotten her to agree to change the filing system so that the files were more specific to the contents, thereby making it easier to find things. Surprisingly, Celia had agreed wholeheartedly. Well, maybe not so surprisingly, since Celia didn’t really have a filing system. She had a “stack” system.
It was good to feel useful. She’d loved the old days when she ran the offices for Herbert.
She liked to think that her organizational skills contributed to the company’s growth, from one room to a whole floor, then to an entire building.
“J House,” she said, answering the phone on the first ring. Incoming calls always gave her a tiny thrill of excitement. She never knew what problem or person would be next on the agenda. “I’m sorry, Roger isn’t available right now. May I help you?” She picked up a pen and scooted a message pad around to use. “Yes, Hope is here, but she isn’t taking calls for another week due to medical restrictions. Perhaps I can help you.” The woman on the other end of the line told Clarice why she was calling. “If I may put you on hold, I’ll ask.”
Clarice pushed the Hold button, grabbed her pen and pad, and walked out to the common room, where Hope was congratulating Alphi for correctly answering a math question.
“I have Inez on the line from Social Services. She has a young girl who needs a halfway house. She’s been in juvie for a month.”
“Oh, boy.” Hope closed her eyes for a moment. “We’re full, but … ” When Celia came out with a tray of beverages, she told her the problem. “What do you think? Can we make room?”
“I dunno. It’s pretty tight right now.”
“Clarice, tell Inez that we don’t really have room right now, but we’ll do everything we can to squeeze her in. Say you’ll call back in a half hour and let her know. Then come out and join us so we can discuss what to do.”
Clarice nodded, smiled at the others, and returned to the office, leaving the door open this time. So much for the next drawer. She relayed the message, promised to get right back to Inez, and then rejoined the others.
Celia had gone back to the kitchen and was returning with a plate of ginger cookies that Clarice had baked that morning. There was nothing in her demeanor to indicate the frustration that had made her want to dig holes in the earth.
“How you gonna find room for one more?” Celia asked as she passed around the cookies.
“I could set up a cot somewhere, if we have one, and she could have my bed,” Clarice volunteered.
Hope shook her head. “The only place left is the office. Right now you spend most of your waking time in there, but do you want to sleep in there too?”
“At least then I wouldn’t wake anyone when I can’t sleep.” Clarice sent a smile Celia’s way. “When you get older, you just don’t need as much sleep anymore.”
Evidently, the idea didn’t sit well with Hope, because she shook her head. “Isn’t DeeDee about to leave?” She turned to Celia for the answer. “Would you please pull her file?” Residents were supposed to stay only long enough to get on their feet, but with the new programs Julia had started, none of the girls wanted to leave without the extra training and support.
Celia rolled her eyes. “I don’t know where it is.”
“I’ll get it,” Clarice offered. With all this running back and forth to the office, she was bound to lose a few ounces.
Minutes later Hope found what she was looking for in DeeDee’s file. “We need to help her find a job and get her out of here. She’s ready. Celia, call Mai and ask if she has any more openings at the restaurant, and then, Clarice, you call Inez back and tell her to send her girl over.” She looked back at Clarice. “There’s a cot in the storage room.” Her eyebrows arched. “But only for temporary use.”
Clarice hid a smile. When Hope got on a roll, things happened. The only bad thing about moving out of the dormitory was missing the late-night or middle-of-the-night comfort sessions. But if the girls needed her, someone would point them in the right direction.
Hope yawned, then rubbed her eyes. “Thanks, everyone. I think I’ll go lie down before Celia’s glares melt me into a puddle.”
Celia put a hand to her chest, eyes widened to appear innocent. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.” Hope swung her feet to the floor. “Is it all right if I stop by the john on the way, Madam Warden?”
“We could always get you a wheelchair.”
“Just try it.”
Clarice returned to her office and called Inez. She eyed the corner where she could set up a cot. Perhaps she could find a box, too, to hold a lamp. After Inez had thanked her profusely, Clarice hung up and sucked in an invigorating breath. Feeling useful was a better tonic than molasses in spring. If only they could catch Gregor the jerk and get me back some money. Was that an impossible dream?
Andy flawed down a cab. She would have taken BART, but she had two duffel bags full of clothes for the girls that she had taken from her own closet, a large suitcase full of Lavender Meadows bath and body products for gifts and for testing at the Saturday Market, her portable sewing machine, and her own weekender carry-on.
She hadn’t seen Martin since he’d gone on his business trip. When he called to say he wouldn’t be back on Monday as planned, she bristled and started to say the same things she always said. Then she remembered the promise she’d made to herself, to treat him with kindness and love, and she changed her tone. “I understand,” she said. “I’m disappointed, but if that’s the way it is, then that’s the way it is.” She was equally careful when she told him she would have to go home for a while, that she had things to catch up on, but that she’d be back as soon as possible. He seemed flabbergasted. Obviously, he’d expected a fight. “I love you,” she ended.
She was glad she’d gone home. Her mother and Shari had deliberately not told her about the orders that had come in, probably because they wanted her to enjoy herself. There was another big order from Nordstrom and one from a small chuin store called The Country Woman. At the rate Lavender Meadows was growing, she would have to build a warehouse to hold her inventory. But that was down the line. Way down the line.
In the cab, Andy wondered how Julia had fared with Fluffy. Julia had jumped at the chance to housesit until Martin got home. She said she was sick of staying in a hotel, despite the fact that she didn’t have to cook or clean for herself.
Martin had gotten home Wednesday night, and they’d been in touch constantly by phone and e-mail. He seemed a changed man, perhaps because she’d committed to some changes herself. You should
have looked to your Bible a long time ago, she reminded herself. No matter what the problem, the Bible always had the answers. If one looked for them. Why do I always need reminders? Shouldn’t this be habit by now?
The cabby removed her luggage from the trunk and set it on the sidewalk. She handed him his money, which included a generous tip, and eyed the steps. Good, Martin’s home. His car was in the slot. He can come help me.
Oh, bother, she thought. She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and the handle of the portable sewing machine and started down the steps.
By the time she’d reached their house, she wished she’d thought to pay the cabby to help her. She wasn’t a slouch by any means, but she was no muscleman either.
She opened the door. “Martin?” Still no answer. He must be sleeping or something.
She set her suitcase inside the door, then went back out for the duffel bags. Huffing and puffing, she tossed her stuff inside and walked in to check the bedroom. No Martin. He must be up in the loft, so deep into his work he didn’t hear her. Typically Martin. Not here when I need him. Cancel that thought. That was the old Andy. As she climbed the stairs to the main level, she noticed that the television was on. Had Martin fallen asleep in front of the TV? That wasn’t like him. The view of the bay caught her attention when she reached the top of the stairs, as it always did.
“Martin?”
She turned toward the living room. “Oh, dear God, Martin!”
Her husband lay spread-eagled, flat out on the floor, the cell phone just beyond the tips of his extended fingers.
“Martin!” Andy leaned over him and put her face close to his to see if she could hear him breathing. Martin, please be alive. Please! She laid shaky fingers on the side of his neck to feel for a pulse. Weak, but there. “Oh, thank You, God. He’s alive.” She saw the phone and grabbed it. No dial tone. She pressed the button, held it, then pressed it again. The dial tone sounded. She punched 911.
“You have an emergency?”
“My husband is unconscious. His pulse is really weak. Send an ambulance.” She held Martin’s hand while she gave the address, including cross streets. She wanted to scream for the woman to hurry. “We’re the second house on the right down the Filbert Steps.”
“The ambulance is on the way. Does he have a history of heart problems?”
“No. None.”
“Is he on any medications?”
“No.” A picture of Martin swallowing a pill in their hotel room clicked in her mind. “Wait, I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
All the while she answered questions, prayers flew heavenward. Dear God, help him. Please help him. “Should I be doing something for him?”
“If you have a blanket close by, put that over him.”
Andy dropped the phone and flew across the room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fluffy sitting by Martin’s reading glasses, which had fallen on the floor. She grabbed the throw from the sofa and hurried back. As she was covering him, she saw him move his lips and tried to comfort him. “I’m here, honey. I’m right here. The ambulance is on the way.”
His lips moved again, but no sound came out.
“I can hear the ambulance. They’re almost here.” Please, Martin, please don’t die on me. She snatched up the phone again. “Sorry, I forgot you. I can hear the ambulance.”
“Go open the door for them, and turn your outside light on.”
“Okay.” She picked herself up and raced downstairs. Where would they park? Oh, why don’t they hurry? She flicked the switch several times to signal them, then bit her lip to keep from crying out when the flashing red light was reflected in the windows of the houses across the garden. The moment she heard them park and open their doors, she ran back up to Martin.
“They’re here, honey. They’re going to fix you up.” While it seemed like forever, she could hear the men entering.
“Up here. We’re up here,” she called out.
Two men came up the stairs, laden with equipment. “Okay, ma’am. What can you tell us?”
“I-I came home and found him like this, then called 911.”
“Any history of heart problems?” While they asked her questions, one knelt by Martin with a stethoscope and the other took out a face mask and slipped the elastic over her husband’s head, attaching a line to an oxygen tank.
“Is he taking any medications?”
“I’m not sure. Is it important to know?”
“Yes. Can you find out?”
“I’ll go look through his things,” she said. She hated to leave him, even for a second, but if it would help … She hurried downstairs to their bedroom and made a quick check of the medicine cabinet, then Martin’s bathroom drawers. In the bottom drawer, she found a bottle of 81 milligram aspirin, then behind that a small brown prescription container. She grabbed them both, finished looking through the drawer, then ran back upstairs.
One of the EMTs spoke into a microphone pinned to his collar, repeating what he knew. She handed him the prescription container and the aspirin. “Looks like he’s taking 81 milligram aspirin and 10 milligrams Inderal twice a day. We’re starting an IV.” He looked at her. “What’s your husbands name?”
“Martin, Martin Taylor.”
“Age?”
“Fifty-two.”
“Well be taking him to St. Mary’s if you want to follow us. Be sure to bring his insurance card.”
She nodded. The only thing that kept her from screaming for them to hurry was the knowledge that they didn’t need a hysterical woman on their hands.
Two firemen brought up a collapsible gurney and transferred Martin onto it with the ease of long practice.
“Okay, ma’am, you drive safely. We’re going to be in a hurry, okay?”
Andy bit her lip, fighting tears. “Oh, I don’t know where it … How do I get there?”
He gave her a card with the address printed on it. “Is there anyone who can drive you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She followed them downstairs, out the door, and up the steps, as all four men carried the gurney like a stretcher. Tears cascaded when she saw them slide the gurney into the rear door of the waiting ambulance. Dear God, please, please let him live.
She stood there, frozen, her knuckles against her mouth. “Please don’t let him die,” she whispered.
The doors slammed, and the orange-and-white vehicle rolled down the street.
Back in the house, one of the firemen gathered up all the debris and stopped beside her. “You’ll call someone?”
“Yes, right now. Thank you.”
“He’s in good hands.”
She watched him go downstairs and stared out the window, the ambulance wail an echo of the cry of her heart. Sucking in a deep breath, she dialed J House.
“J House. Clarice speaking.”
Andy gritted her teeth and took another breath.
“Hello, are you there?”
“Clarice, this is Andy.”
“What’s wrong?”
“They—The ambulance just took Martin to the hospital. I—They think he had a heart attack.”
“Let me get Roger. Hang on.”
Andy leaned her forehead against the coolness of the floor-to-ceiling window. What did she need to take along? Martin’s wallet. She glanced over, and sure enough, he’d left keys and wallet on the counter as usual. Martin was nothing if not a man of habit and neatness.
“Andy, are you at home?” Roger’s voice came through the phone, warm and strong.
“Y-yes. I need to go to the hospital, but I don’t know where it is. They gave me a card, but … ”
“I’ll pick you up. Be outside. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Thank you.” She hung up the phone and stared at her hand, as if checking to see that her fingers were indeed at the ends of her palm where they belonged. Shaking herself, she grabbed Martin’s wallet and her purse and started down the stairs. “Oh no. Fluffy.” The door had been open for who knew how long. “God, please, wh
ere is he?”
The meow came from her left. “Fluffy!” He was sitting in the same exact spot he’d been in earlier. She walked over, picked up Martins glasses and Fluffy, snuggling him under her chin. “He’ll be all right. We have to have faith. Be a good boy and take care of things while I’m gone.” She set him down and hurried for the stairs.
Everything seemed to be moving in ultraslow motion. As she waited on the curb for Roger, she realized she didn’t know what kind of car he had. And then a car was stopping and the door was opening, and the man inside was telling her to get in and buckle her seat belt. She handed him the card with the hospital’s name and address, and then put her hands over her face and burst into tears. Roger drove slower than a Sunday driver, or that’s the way it seemed anyway. “Hurry, hurry,” she said, her right foot pressing on the floor board. “No, light, stay green.” She clenched her hands so hard her nails bit into the palms. “Get out of the way, you fools.”
Her mind raced with myriad questions. Had she paid their insurance premium? How much life insurance was Martin carrying? When should she call the children, now, or later after she knew more about what was happening?
Roger pulled the car into the emergency parking lot, flung his door open, and ran around the front of the vehicle to open her door before she could undo her seat belt. “Let me help you,” he said, taking her arm and steadying her.
“I’m so scared,” she said, clinging to him. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“Don’t think like that. Think positive. You have to think positive.”
Andy nodded. He was right. She couldn’t let herself think negative thoughts. Not now. Not ever.
“Julia should be here any second,” Roger said, guiding her through the emergency room doors. “We’ll get through this; you’re not alone.”
“If only I hadn’t gone back to Medford. If only I’d been there for him … ”
“No, don’t play the ‘if only’ game. God is in control, and things happen the way they are supposed to.”
Saturday Morning Page 27