You don’t owe me anything, she thought. It is I who owe you. She’d tried over the years to repay what she thought of as her emotional debt. She funded scholarships, corporate and personal. She donated to the poor, both corporately and personally. She donated huge sums of her own money to Greenpeace and to various animal shelters in the state. She’d personally seen to it that the newest batch of Quantrell orphans, as well as the earlier children, were provided with tuition for the colleges and universities of their choice. Just because Nola had turned her back on them didn’t mean Ruby was going to do the same thing. She’d provided for Nola’s parents, too, sending them a twelve-passenger Dodge van to transport all the children in. Twice a year she sent truckloads of toys, clothes, food, and bedding to three orphanages in New Jersey. And always, she sent huge monthly donations of money to St. Andrew’s. She called every other week to speak with the new parish priest, who said he remembered her in his daily prayers. She always felt so good, so wonderful, so up and on top of things when she did something charitable. Maybe she should have done more, given more. Maybe she should have gone back to the Church. Maybemaybemaybe, she thought wearily. You couldn’t second-guess God. If she hadn’t done enough, he would let her know somehow.
She was so tired. Maybe she should go back to the desk and ask where Dixie’s room was. Maybe they’d let her see her. In the middle of the night? Unlikely. Her eyes snapped open when she heard more than one voice say the words to the Hail Mary. Across from her was a family; at least they all looked alike. A mother, a father, and three children, all wide awake with rosaries in their hands. Their voices were soft, almost indistinct. She couldn’t help but wonder who they were praying for. Someone who meant a lot to them. There were tears in the parents’ eyes. She closed her own. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want to get involved in their grief. They looked poor, but neat and clean. That much she did notice.
Like it or not, she was going to hear all about it. The elderly couple sitting behind her were discussing the praying family with another couple sitting next to them. “They’re the three oldest Denzel boys. Twelve, ten, and nine years of age. They were in the family barn with their grandfather. The two older boys were milking cows while the youngest was gathering eggs. The grandfather was forking hay into the stalls. A huge semi, one of those eighteen-wheel things, skidded around a curve and went out of control. It plowed across a snowy field and headed straight into the barn. They’re all in critical condition. And no insurance,” the elderly woman said.
This sounded like one of those slim-to-none chances life doled out Ruby leapt off her chair as if she’d been stung by a bee. She walked aimlessly down one hall after another in search of a bathroom. She looked around the sterile whiteness, hoping to see a chair or stool. It was so quiet here. There was no stool or chair, just a huge trash can with a sloppy-looking plastic bag draped over the side. Ruby pulled out the bag, tied it into a knot, and upended the can. She sat there with her back against the white tile wall, smoking one cigarette after another until six o’clock.
She splashed water on her face, ran a comb through her hair, and brushed lint off her dark sweater before she slipped back into her coat.
She headed straight for the coffee shop, where she ordered breakfast. She wondered what the Denzels were going to do. Children were always hungry. Did they have money for breakfast, or would they go home? The food, when it came, looked appetizing, even tempting, but she couldn’t eat. She nibbled on toast and drank coffee.
The shop was filling up. The elderly couple appeared first, and then some of the others she’d noticed when she bolted off the chair. She looked over her shoulder, through the glass partition. The Denzels were alone, huddled together. The two smallest children were on their parents’ laps.
The poor were always so proud. How could she possibly offer them breakfast?
Ruby called the waitress over to her and spoke in low tones. The woman smiled and nodded. A bill changed hands.
It was a few minutes to seven when Ruby walked up to the nurses’ station to inquire about Dixie.
“She’s been sedated, and she’s being prepped for surgery. I’m sorry, but you can’t go in now. Are you a relative?”
The lie rolled off Ruby’s tongue. “Yes, her sister.”
“Mrs. Sinclaire indicated no one from the family would be here,” the nurse said, puckering her mouth. “If I had known you were here, I would have told her.”
“I wasn’t sure if I could make it,” Ruby said lamely.
“There’s a waiting room down the hall with a television and magazines. We have a coffee shop on the first floor. It’s a very long operation. I do wish you had come sooner. Mrs. Sinclaire was so frightened.”
“When they’re done prepping her, can I see her? She might be ... she might ... or you tell her I’m here. Sedatives don’t
... they won’t knock her out completely ... it would mean so much to me ... to her.”
Ruby’s heart fluttered in her chest as she watched conflicting emotions cross the nurse’s face: the well-being of the patient, the rules, doctor’s orders, the patient’s wishes. The rules won out.
“I’ll tell her you’re here if she’s awake. I’m sorry.”
Ruby waited while the nurse walked down the hallway in her soundless rubber-soled shoes. Nurses’ uniforms didn’t crackle with starch these days. They swished and clung with static.
Ruby wondered where the Denzel children and their grandfather were. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what the family was going through. Did prayer help? “God, if I only knew,” she muttered.
The nurse was back, her face puzzled, the front of her uniform hiking up with static cling. There was something on the market for the condition, but for the life of her Ruby couldn’t remember what it was. You sprayed it. Maybe she would tell the nurse to look for it. The thought popped out of her head. In the scheme of things, it wasn’t up there with death and prayer.
“I’m sorry,” the round-faced nurse said. “For a few seconds I thought she was awake and understood me, but she’s out. She muttered something about giving you her purse. Of course I can’t do that. You understand?” Ruby nodded. “I don’t seem to recall a purse when she checked in. Now, I wonder why that is.” The nurse was still talking to herself when Ruby turned to leave.
Ruby yelped in fright when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
He was tall, six-foot-four, pencil-thin. The battered Stetson pushed far back on his head allowed a nimbus of red-gold curls to dominate the long, angular face, covered by an army of freckles. He had compassionate, soft brown eyes. His eyelashes were thick and double-fringed. The slender body was cloaked in street garb, faded jeans, cowboy boots, and an oversized sweatshirt that had seen far too many washings and proclaimed him a member of the Harley-Davidson Club.
Until she saw his hands, Ruby wondered who the brash young man was. Then she knew. Beautiful hands with long, slender fingers, the nails clipped short. A piano player’s hands or a surgeon’s.
“Sorry,” the man said, stepping back, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Kyle Harvey, Mrs. Sinclaire’s surgeon. Is your name Ruby Blue by any chance?” More than capable. His voice was deep with an underlying chuckle threatening to erupt at any moment.
“That’s me. Yes, yes, I’m Ruby Blue. You don’t look like a doctor. How old are you? Did you ever do an operation like this before? How long is the operation? Will Dixie be all right? You ... you look like Huckleberry Finn. Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just nervous,” she twitted. “I didn’t get much sleep. No hotel vacancies.”
“Let’s see if I can answer in order. I’m thirty-six. I’ve done many operations like the one I’m going to do on Mrs. Sinclaire. Let’s say ten, maybe twelve hours for the operation. I’ve got lots of degrees that say I’m capable of doing surgery, but I imagine the one you’re most interested in is Mrs. Harvey’s testimonial. My mother says I’m the best in my field. As for looking like old Huck, well, I’m flat
tered. I cut my teeth on Tom Sawyer. And although doctors, like lawyers, never commit, there’s every reason to believe Mrs. Sinclaire will be fine after a period of recuperation.”
As long as it took to blink, Dr. Harvey whipped off the shirt he was wearing. Ruby stared at the paper stuck to his chest with adhesive tape. IF ALL ELSE FAILS, I PROMISE TO READ THE INSTRUCTIONS. Ruby burst into tearful laughter.
“I did it as a joke for Mrs. Sinclaire. She laughed. I mean, she really laughed. She was scared out of her wits. I wanted her to drift into sleep with a smile. That’s what’s important to me. I hope you understand.” Ruby nodded. “She had herself worked up pretty good until the nurse came in and said you were here. Then she calmed right down. Nurse Adderly won’t take responsibility for handing over the purse, so I have to sign it out for you. Dixie made me promise to give it to you. All we have to do is find it. Hey, you aren’t going to cave in on me, are you?”
“Probably,” Ruby sniffled.
“Atta girl.” The doctor grinned. “If you’d said anything else, I’d have committed you. Now, let’s find that purse, so when Dixie comes out of recovery I can tell her I gave it to you. It will be the first thing she says because it was the last thing she thought about before conking out.”
Ruby was aware of nurses scurrying to and fro as they searched for Dixie’s handbag. The doctor beamed with pride when he handed it over. “We can do anything around here when we put our minds to it. Why don’t you go down to the waiting room. I’ll find you when it’s all over. Curl up on the sofa and take a nap. I slept for two full days so I’d be rested up to do this.” He grinned.
“I’m glad you’re here. Dixie needs someone. Yesterday I asked her to call you, and do you know what she said?” Ruby shook her head. “She said you’d be here; she didn’t have to call you. I sensed she didn’t believe her own words, that it was more a wish than anything else, but here you are.”
“Dr. Harvey?” It was the doctor who turned this time, the soft brown eyes full of worry he hadn’t had time to mask. “The Denzel family ... I saw ... how, how are the children? Do you know?”
“Sometimes, Ruby Blue,” he said, laying his hand on her shoulder, “we get a miracle around here. In this instance, we need four of them.” All signs of humor were gone, to be replaced with a hopeless look of inadequacy.
“I’ll tell you what, Dr. Harvey, I’ll pray for one. Howzat?” Ruby asked tiredly.
“You got my vote. See you in a bit.”
A bit turned out to be nine hours. Ruby spent them pacing, drinking coffee, and smoking cigarettes. She felt grungy and dirty. Twice she trekked down to the lobby to see if the Denzel family was still there. The children were stretched out on the plastic sofas. The parents were huddled together, the husband’s arm around his wife’s shoulders. Ruby felt like crying.
Ruby found her way to the chapel. How hushed it was. The scent of candle wax was almost overpowering. “Either you do it from the heart or you don’t do it at all, and you never do it for yourself,” she murmured.
Ruby slipped into the polished pew and dropped her head into her hands. The words were stilted at first, because she hadn’t prayed for a very long time. “Listen,” she whispered, “I know You haven’t heard from me in a very long time. I can’t promise I’m going to do this again real soon, either. That crazy-looking doctor up there on the fourth floor said they need four miracles. I’m not in the miracle business, but You are. At first I was going to pray for Dixie, but I know in my gut she’s going to be okay. We’re two of a kind, she and I, and that would be kind of like asking for something for myself. Instead, I’d like it a whole lot if You’d shift into second and direct it all to that little family. I’ll pick up the tab if You do Your part.” She prayed then, all the prayers she’d learned as a child and never forgot.
A long time later, a weary Dr. Harvey found her asleep with her head in her hands and leaning over the pew. He shook her shoulder gently. Startled, she toppled sideways. He reached for her, his surgeon’s hand comforting and strong.
“Is she okay?” Ruby asked groggily.
“The operation itself went well. She’s in I.C.U., down the hall from where we spoke earlier. You can see her in the morning, but only through the glass partition.”
“You look tired, Doctor,” Ruby said softly.
“When I was sixteen and learning to drive, my father made me drive in reverse through his homemade obstacle course for hours on end. When I wanted to quit because I tensed up and you had to be alert, he made me keep at it till I thought I would drop. That’s the kind of tired I am right now.”
“You should get some sleep,” she said, patting his shoulder. Of course, she was wide awake and uncertain what she should do now that the hospital was asleep for the night.
Her travel bag in hand, she said good night to the doctor and headed for the lavatory down the hall, where she gave herself a sponge bath. She changed her underwear and stockings and put on a clean blouse. She brushed her teeth three times. She felt like a new person when she searched out an all-night cafeteria, where she ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of hot chocolate. While she waited for her sandwich, she opened the local newspaper that had been left on one of the tables. The Denzel catastrophe captured the headlines. She read it word for word before she turned to the life-style page and Ann Landers, Heloise, and her helpful hints. She learned that an open can of ground coffee would destroy, ab-so-lute-ly destroy, any kind of odor in a refrigerator or freezer. White vinegar, Heloise said, would open a drain if mixed with baking soda. Everybody in the world knew about white vinegar and baking soda, Ruby snorted. She read on: use toothpaste against the grain of wood to erase nicks and scratches. She’d known that, too. She wondered when the famous lady would come up with something to get the gooey, sticky price labels off glassware and dishes. She put the newspaper down.
Then she remembered Dixie’s purse. Why had her friend given it to her? Was she supposed to open it? Ruby undid the zipper. How neat Dixie’s purse was, so like herself. Her own was a jumble of keys, papers, makeup, loose change, and paper money. A pack rat’s paradise. Dixie’s purse held a wallet with two hundred dollars, a change purse full of quarters, a comb, lipstick, and a small compact along with a sealed envelope bearing Ruby’s name.
Ruby slit the envelope with her nail. The single sheet of paper and the five-dollar bill brought tears to her eyes. She had to read the simple agreement twice and then a third time before she fully comprehended what she held in her hands. Dixie had sold her her shares of the business for five dollars. Ethical, honest Dixie had removed the five-dollar bill that belonged to her from its frame and substituted another to make the deal binding. Dixie had protected her the only way she knew how in case ... in case she didn’t make it. She blinked away her tears. She would not cry.
Ruby’s eyes popped at the array of medical equipment in the I.C.U. Two of the nurses, their eyes on the monitors, were eating chocolate-covered cherries. A smile tugged at the corners of Ruby’s mouth when she saw the sky-blue Mrs. Sugar bag sitting on the end of the desk. She cleared her throat to gain the nurse’s attention.
“Can I see Mrs. Sinclaire? I’m her sister.” The lie was getting easier.
“Only through the glass. She’s sedated. She was awake a few moments ago. Stand directly in front of the bed, and if she’s awake, she’ll acknowledge you. The doctor’s already made rounds, and she’s doing just fine.”
Ruby pressed her face against the glass. How white her face was, how still her hands. Her eyes were closed. Ruby risked a glance over her shoulder at the two nurses who were now devouring the contents of the Mrs. Sugar bag. She tapped lightly on the glass with the tips of her nails. Dixie’s eyelids fluttered and then stilled. Ruby tapped again. She could see her friend struggle to focus her eyes. She tapped again. This time Dixie raised her hand slightly. Ruby almost whooped, but remembered where she was. She offered a thumbs-up, her face splitting into a wide grin. She mouthed the words “You’re okay.” D
ixie’s hand moved a second time to show she understood. Ruby reached into Dixie’s handbag and withdrew the letter. She held it up and nodded her head. Dixie smiled before her eyes closed.
Back at the nurses’ station, Ruby asked if she could write a note, as she had to return to New Jersey. “I’d appreciate it if you’d read it to her when she’s awake. She saw me, so she knows I was here.” The nurse agreed.
“I think you should keep this,” Ruby said, handing over Dixie’s purse minus the letter that was now in her own purse. Of course, she had no intention of keeping Dixie’s half of the business.
On the way to the elevator, she saw the Denzels sitting on a bench in the hallway. She wanted to say something to them, to tell them she knew how hard it was, but she didn’t feel she should intrude on their grief. She did wonder where the rest of their family was, their neighbors and friends. Probably taking care of things back at the farm. Someone must be taking care of the little girls. She smiled at the Denzels, her eyes misty.
Downstairs in the lobby, Ruby looked around at the overhead signs for one that would lead her to the billing office. She followed the arrow.
Checkbook in hand, she approached a middle-aged woman with frosty hair and wire-rimmed glasses. She explained what she wanted to do.
“This is very generous of you, Mrs. Blue. It will lift a heavy financial burden from the family. That’s not to say they’re worrying about it at this time. I’m sure this is more than enough. What should we do with the remainder if there is a remainder?”
“Give it to the Denzels. I’m leaving now for the airport. Is there any way you can find out what ... how ...”
“Of course. I’ll just be a moment.” She was back a minute later. “They’re holding their own. I wish it were better news, but this is ... wonderful things happen here.”
“Someone told me the same thing yesterday. I’ll hold on to that.” Ruby smiled. She knew in her heart the slim-to-none chance had escalated to a more positive outlook.
Seasons of Her Life Page 53