Devil's Waltz
Page 6
“Priscilla . . .” Working away. The hippo finally hippolike, but still something wrong . . . the grin venal— the greasy smirk of a carny barker . . . Maybe a dog would have been easier . . .
“Priscilla the prairie dog! Do you believe that!”
“Pilla!”
“Yes, Priscilla!”
“Pilla!”
“Very good, Cass! That’s excellent! Priscilla. Can you say that again?”
Silence.
“Priscilla—Pri-scil-la. You just said it. Here, watch my mouth, Cass.”
Silence.
“Okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Let’s get back to Princess Cassandra Silversparkle, riding Snowflake up into the Shiny Country . . .”
The hippo was finally done. Scarred by smudges and eraser abrasions, but at least it didn’t look as if it had a rap sheet. I placed it on top of the bedcovers.
“Oh, look, Cass. We know what this is, don’t we? A hippopotamus— and he’s holding a . . .”
“A yo-yo,” I said.
“A yo-yo! A hippo with a yo-yo— that is really silly. You know what I think, Cass? I think Dr. Delaware can be pretty silly when he wants to, even though he’s a doctor. What do you think?”
I faced the little girl. Our eyes locked once more. Hers flickered. The rosebud mouth began to pout, lower lip curling. Hard to imagine anyone being capable of hurting her.
I said, “Would you like me to draw some more?”
She looked at her mother and grabbed Cindy’s sleeve.
“Sure,” said Cindy. “Let’s see what other silly things Dr. Delaware can draw, okay?”
Minuscule nod from Cassie. She buried her head in Cindy’s blouse.
Back to the drawing board.
• • •
A mangy hound, a cross-eyed duck, and a spavined horse later, she was tolerating my presence.
I edged the chair closer to the bed, gradually. Chatted with Cindy about games and toys and favorite foods. When Cassie seemed to be taking me for granted, I pushed right up against the mattress and taught Cindy a drawing game— the two of us alternating turning squiggles into objects. Child analyst’s technique for building rapport and getting to the unconscious in a nonthreatening way.
Using Cindy as a go-between even as I studied her.
Investigated her.
I drew an angular squiggle and handed the paper to her. She and Cassie were snuggled together; they could have been a poster for National Bonding Week. Cindy turned the squiggle into a house and handed the paper back, saying, “Not very good, but . . .”
Cassie’s lips turned up a bit. Then down. Her eyes closed and she pressed her face against Cindy’s blouse. Grabbed a breast and squeezed. Cindy lowered the hand gently and placed it in her own lap. I saw the puncture marks on Cassie’s flesh. Black dots, like snakebites.
Cindy made easy, cooing sounds. Cassie nuzzled, shifted position, and gathered a handful of blouse.
Sleepy again. Cindy kissed the top of her head.
I’d been trained to heal, trained to believe in the open, honest therapeutic relationship. Being in this room made me feel like a con man.
Then I thought about raging fevers and bloody diarrhea and convulsions so intense they rattled the crib, remembered a little baby boy who’d died in his crib, and my self-doubts turned stale and crumbled.
• • •
By 10:45, I’d been there for more than half an hour, mostly watching Cassie lie in Cindy’s arms. But she seemed more comfortable with me, even smiling once or twice. Time to pack up and declare success.
I stood. Cassie started to fuss.
Cindy sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and said, “Uh-oh.”
Gently, she rolled Cassie onto her back and changed the little girl’s diaper.
Powdered, patted, and reclothed, Cassie remained restless. Pointing at the floor, she said, “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”
“Out?”
Emphatic nod. “Ahd!”
She got on her knees and tried to stand on the bed, wobbling on the soft mattress. Cindy held her under the arms, lifted her off, and placed her on the floor. “You want to walk around? Let’s get some slippers on you.” The two of them walked to the closet. Cassie’s pajama bottoms were too long for her and they dragged on the floor. Standing, she looked even tinier. But sturdy. Good steady walk, good sense of balance.
I picked up my briefcase.
Kneeling, Cindy put fuzzy pink bunny slippers on Cassie’s feet. These rodents had clear plastic eyes with movable black beads for pupils and each time Cassie moved, her feet hissed.
She tried to jump, barely got off the ground.
Cindy said, “Good jump, Cass.”
The door opened and a man came in.
He looked to be in his late thirties. Six two or so, and very slim. His hair was dark-brown, wavy, and thick, combed straight back and left long enough to curl over his collar. He had a full face at odds with the lanky physique, rounded further by a bushy, cropped brown beard flecked with gray. His features were soft and pleasant. A gold stud pierced his left earlobe. The clothes he had on were loose-fitting but well cut: blue-and-white striped button-down shirt under a gray tweed sport coat; baggy, pleated black cords; black running shoes that looked brand-new.
A coffee cup was in one hand.
“It’s Daddy!” said Cindy.
Cassie held out her arms.
The tall man put the cup down and said, “Morning, ladies.” Kissing Cindy’s cheek, he scooped Cassie up.
The little girl squealed as he held her aloft. He brought her close with one swift, descending motion.
“How’s my baby?” he said, pressing her to his beard. His nose disappeared under her hair and she giggled. “How’s the little grande dame of the diaper set?”
Cassie put both of her hands in his hair and pulled.
“Ouch!”
Giggle. Yank.
“Double ouch!”
Baby-guffaw.
“Ouch-a-roo!”
They played a bit longer; then he pulled away and said, “Whew. You’re too rough for me, Spike!”
Cindy said, “This is Dr. Delaware, honey. The psychologist? Doctor, Cassie’s dad.”
The man turned toward me, holding on to Cassie, and extended his free hand. “Chip Jones. Good to meet you.”
His grip was strong. Cassie was still yanking on his hair, messing it. He seemed impervious.
“I minored in psych,” he said, smiling. “Forgot most of it.” To Cindy: “How’s everything?”
“’Bout the same.”
He frowned. Looked at his wrist. Another Swatch.
Cindy said, “On the run?”
“Unfortunately. Just wanted to see your faces.” He picked up the coffee cup and held it out to her.
“No, thanks.”
“You’re sure?”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“Stomach?”
She touched her abdomen and said, “Just feeling a little woozy. How long can you stay?”
“In and out,” he said. “Got a twelve o’clock class, then meetings for the rest of the day— probably dumb to drive all the way over, but I missed you guys.”
Cindy smiled.
Chip kissed her, then Cassie.
Cindy said, “Daddy can’t stay, Cass. Bummer, huh?”
“Dah-dee.”
Chip gave Cassie’s chin a gentle tweak. She continued playing with his beard. “I’ll try to kick by later this evening. Stay as long as you need me.”
“Great,” said Cindy.
“Dah-dee.”
“Dah-dee,” said Chip. “Dah-dee love you. You cute.” To Cindy: “Not a good idea at all, coming for two minutes. Now I’m really gonna miss you.”
“We miss you too, Daddy.”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he said. “So to speak— this side of the hill, at least.”
“The U?”
“Yup. Library duty.” He turned to me: “I teach over at West Valley C.C. New
campus, not much in terms of reference resources. So when I have some serious research to do, I go over to the university.”
“My alma mater,” I said.
“That so? I went to school back east.” He tickled Cassie’s belly. “Get any sleep at all, Cin?”
“Plenty.”
“Sure?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Want some herb tea? I think I’ve got some chamomile in the car.”
“No, thanks, hon. Dr. Delaware has some techniques to help Cassie deal with the p-a-i-n.”
Chip looked at me while stroking Cassie’s arm. “That would be terrific. This has been an incredible ordeal.” His eyes were slate-blue with a slight droop, very deep-set.
“I know it has,” I said.
Chip and Cindy looked at each other, then at me.
“Well,” I said, “I’ll be shoving off now. Come by to see you tomorrow morning.”
I bent and whispered goodbye to Cassie. She batted her lashes and turned away.
Chip laughed. “What a flirt. It’s inborn, isn’t it?”
Cindy said, “Your techniques. When can we talk about that?”
“Soon,” I said. “First I need to get a rapport with Cassie. I think we did pretty well today.”
“Oh. Sure. We did great. Didn’t we, pudding?”
“Is ten o’clock a good time for you?”
“Sure,” said Cindy. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Chip looked at her and said, “Dr. Eves didn’t say anything about discharge?”
“Not yet. She wants to keep observing.”
He sighed. “Okay.”
I walked to the door.
Chip said, “I’ve got to be running, myself, Doctor. If you can hold on for one sec, I’ll walk out with you.”
“Sure.”
He took his wife’s hand.
I closed the door, walked to the nursing station, and went behind the desk. Vicki Bottomley was back from the gift shop, sitting in the unit clerk’s chair, reading RN. No one else was around. A box wrapped with Western Peds gift-shop paper sat on the counter, next to a coil of catheter tubing and a stack of insurance forms.
She didn’t look up as I lifted Cassie’s chart from the rack and began leafing through. I skimmed through the medical history and came upon Stephanie’s psychosocial history. Wondering about the age difference between Chip and Cindy, I looked up his biographical data.
Charles L. Jones III. Age: 38. Educational level: Master’s degree. Occupation: College professor.
Sensing someone looking at me, I lowered the chart and saw Vicki whipping her head back toward her magazine.
“So,” I said, “how were things down in the gift shop?”
She lowered the journal. “Is there something specific you need from me?”
“Anything that would help me work with Cassie’s anxiety.”
Her pretty eyes narrowed. “Dr. Eves already asked me that. You were right here.”
“Just wondering if something occurred to you in the meantime.”
“Nothing occurred,” she said. “I don’t know anything— I’m just the nurse.”
“The nurse often knows more than anybody.”
“Tell it to the salary committee.” She lifted the magazine high, concealing her face.
I was considering my response when I heard my name called. Chip Jones strode toward me.
“Thanks for waiting.”
The sound of his voice made Vicki stop reading. She straightened her cap and said, “Hi, Dr. Jones.” A sweet smile spread across her face, honey on stale bread.
Chip leaned on the counter, grinned, and shook his head. “There you go again, Vicki, trying to promote me.” To me: “I’m A.B.D.— that’s ‘all but dissertation,’ Vicki— but generous Ms. Bottomley here keeps trying to graduate me before I earn it.”
Vicki managed to work up another dirt-eating smile. “Degree or not, what’s the difference?”
“Well,” said Chip, “it might make quite a difference to someone like Dr. Delaware here, who genuinely earned his.”
“I’m sure it does.”
He heard the acid in her voice and gave her a quizzical look. She got flustered and looked away.
He noticed the gift box. “Vicki. Again?”
“It’s just a little something.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Vicki, but totally unnecessary.”
“I wanted to, Dr. Jones. She’s such an angel.”
“That she is, Vicki.” He smiled. “Another bunny?”
“Well, she likes them, Dr. Jones.”
“Mister, Vicki— if you insist on using a title, how about Herr Professor? It has a nice classical ring to it, wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Delaware?”
“Absolutely.”
He said, “I’m prattling— this place addles me. Thank you again, Vicki. You’re very sweet.”
Bottomley went scarlet.
Chip turned to me. “Ready if you are, Doctor.”
• • •
We walked through the teak doors into the hustle of Five East. A child being wheeled somewhere was crying, a little boy hooked to an I.V. and turbaned with bandages. Chip took it in, frowning but not talking.
As we approached the elevators he shook his head and said, “Good old Vicki. What a shameless brownnoser. But she got kind of uppity with you back there, didn’t she?”
“I’m not her favorite person.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ever have any hassles with her before?”
“Nope. Never met her before.”
He shook his head. “Well, I’m sorry for you, but she seems to be taking really good care of Cassie. And Cindy likes her. I think she reminds Cindy of her aunt— she had an aunt who raised her. Also a nurse, real tough egg.”
After we passed a gaggle of dazed-looking medical students, he said, “It’s probably territorial— Vicki’s reaction to you. Some kind of turf battle, wouldn’t you say?”
“Could be.”
“I notice a lot of that kind of thing around here. Possessiveness over patients. As if they’re commodities.”
“Have you experienced that personally?”
“Oh, sure. Plus, our situation heightens the tension. People think that we’re worth kissing up to, because we’ve got some sort of direct line to the power structure. I assume you know who my dad is.”
I nodded.
He said, “It rubs me the wrong way, being treated differently. I worry about it leading to substandard care for Cassie.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know, nothing specific— I guess I’m just not comfortable with being an exception. I don’t want anyone missing something important because they hung back or broke routine out of fear of offending our family. Not that Dr. Eves isn’t great— I have nothing but respect for her. It’s more the whole system— a feeling I get when I’m here.”
He slowed his pace. “Maybe I’m just talking through my hat. The frustration. Cassie’s been sick with one thing or another for virtually her whole life and no one’s figured out what’s wrong yet, and we also . . . What I’m saying is that this hospital’s a highly formalized structure and whenever the rules change in a formalized structure, you run the risk of structural cracks. That’s my field of interest: Formal Org— Formal Organizations. And let me tell you, this is some organization.”
We reached the elevators. He punched the button and said, “I hope you can help Cassie with the shots— she’s gone through an absolute nightmare. Cindy, too. She’s a fantastic mother, but with this kind of thing, self-doubts are inevitable.”
“Is she blaming herself?” I said.
“Sometimes. Even though it’s totally unjustified. I try to tell her, but . . .”
He shook his head and put his hands together. The knuckles were white. Reaching up, he rotated his earring.
“The strain on her’s been incredible.”
“Must be rough on you, too,” I said.