A Little Help from Above

by Saralee Rosenberg

  “Not anymore! He’s in Hollywood now. He lost like a hundred pounds and changed his name to Darin something. He was on The Young and the Restless for a while. Or one of those.”

  “Wow. That’s amazing. Okay, good. I’ll give Abby a call. What’s her last name now?”

  “Rosenthal.”

  “Oh God. You’re kidding,” Shelby cried. “Is she married to Scott Rosenthal?”

  “Yes, but he was a year behind us so I wasn’t sure if you’d remember him.”

  “Oh, I remember him,” Shelby rolled her eyes. “In fact, believe it or not, he’s one of the doctors on my father and stepmother’s surgical team.”

  “Really? I heard about the accident of course,” Stacy said sadly. “How are they doing?”

  “It’s touch-and-go,” Shelby said matter-of-factly. “We’re taking it day to day…Oh no.”

  “What?” Stacy jumped.

  “Nothing. Just my pager again. Our housekeeper thinks I’m her personal messenger.” She shook her head as she reached under her T-shirt to read the critical message. Then she cried out.

  “What is it?” Stacy reached over the watermelons for Shelby’s hand.

  “Oh my God.” Shelby used her other hand to cover her mouth.

  “Is everything okay?” Stacy panicked.

  “Daddy’s out of the coma,” Shelby slowly repeated the message that blipped across the tiny screen, a ticker tape of vital information. “I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s a miracle.” Stacy came around to hug Shelby, tears streaming down her eyes. “Maybe that means he’s going to be fine. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Why are you crying, Mommy?” Alex looked up.

  “Because my friend Shelby just got some wonderful news.”

  This is so bizarre; Shelby looked at Stacy’s wet face. A woman I haven’t seen in over twenty years is crying for joy about a man she never met, while I’m feeling…nothing?

  “I really have to get going, but good luck with everything.” Stacy waved good-bye. “And, I hope you find Matty Lieberman.”

  “Me too,” Shelby whispered. Me too.

  It’s so funny. Here I am trying to use what limited powers I have to straighten out my daughter’s errant, misguided life, and then without any tinkering on my part, she runs into a former classmate at Waldbaum’s who just happened to remember Shelby once spoke lovingly of motherhood. Sometimes I get the feeling there’s a grander plan than I’m privy to.

  But if that’s true, what’s the holdup getting Shelby and Matty back together? I suppose it’s that whole karma, timing thing. We choose rebirth in order to learn tough lessons. And sometimes the hardest lesson of all is learning to trust the wisdom of the universe. Not questioning what comes our way.

  It’s quite an eye-opener coming to terms with the fact the universe works on its own blessed timetable, and no amount of hoping and wanting will speed up the process. It’s very frustrating, of course, but it probably seems whenever there’s something you desperately want, something you’re completely obsessed with, you can pretty much guarantee it’s not going to happen at that time.

  Later, when you’ve calmed down, opened your mind to other possibilities, lo and behold, the head banging ends, and doors magically open. Not necessarily the way you originally envisioned, and maybe not quite exactly as you hoped, yet somehow the circumstances seem right. Then you hear yourself saying, “It’s amazing how everything worked out for the best.”

  Welcome to Universal Law 101. You can plan, plan, plan, but only that which is meant to happen, only that which is God’s will, ever does. It doesn’t explain why the people you hate most seem to have all the luck, but trust me, everyone has to pay their bill before checkout time.

  As for Larry’s miraculous turnaround? You see how powerful the unconscious mind is? Even in a comatose state, one can make the decision they want to live. God bless free will.

  Shelby raced out of Waldbaum’s parking lot, not because she was in a hurry, but because the rapid acceleration of Aunt Roz’s new Lexus had her doing fifty-five before she was back on the street. Hopefully that shopping cart in her path hadn’t made too much of a dent in the trunk. But there was one dent she had to admit was growing deeper. The dent in her heart.

  How else to explain she was driving in the direction of North Shore instead of the house? It would have made so much more sense to go home, put the groceries away, then speak to Lauren by phone. So why was she driving in the opposite direction? It was a good question. Unfortunately, the driver behind her did not care to join her in thought, as he viewed the green light as his signal to lay on the horn.

  I’ll just run in for a minute, find out what the story is, then go home, she thought as she pulled into the infamous hospital parking lot. I wonder if any of those old essays from Miss Oberlin’s class are still in those boxes in my room?

  But the instant Shelby walked through the front doors with the other throng of visitors, she was whisked away by Mrs. Weiner.

  “Lauren hoped you were on your way over.” She held Shelby’s hand as they made their way to the elevator. “It’s an absolute miracle what’s happening. No one can quite believe the turnaround. Your father is fully alert, lucid, has all his faculties…”

  “Where are you taking me?” Shelby stopped. She was not a collie on a leash.

  “I just thought we could go up to the waiting area to speak to the doctors. It’s not anywhere close to the ICU.”

  “No.” Shelby shook her head. “No. I don’t do third floors. I’ll wait in the cafeteria.”

  “Shelby, it’s okay. I’ll be with you the whole time. Don’t you think it would be incredibly helpful if your father knew you were nearby?”

  “No! My father would totally understand why I can’t be up there. Who do you think drove me twenty miles to another hospital when I fell off a horse and broke my arm? He did. Believe me, it’ll be enough for him just to know I’m back in New York.”

  “All right then.” Mrs. Weiner sighed. “But I really think you’d be fine if you just tried. You’re not a child anymore.”

  “Thanks for pointing out the obvious.” Shelby led them to the cafeteria. “But maybe you could explain something I don’t understand. Why do you and every other do-gooder think you have to be the next Annie Sullivan before you can live with yourselves? Why is it you can’t rest until you’ve found a social specimen you can write about in some psychobabble journal so the experts on human delineation can ooh and ahh over the findings at the annual convention in Cleveland?

  Mrs. Weiner laughed. “You make a very good point, dear. I promise to omit your story at next year’s symposium on head cases. But if I don’t get nominated for best social worker of the year, it’ll be on your conscience, not mine.”

  “Fine.” Shelby found her safe-space table in the cafeteria and threw down her pocketbook and keys to reserve the territory. “I’m getting their lousy coffee? You want?”

  Minutes later Lauren ran in, her face swollen from tears. “Can you believe it?” She hugged Shelby. “The doctors are calling him Miracle Man. They’ve never seen anyone come through a trauma like his in such a short time. And there’s no sign of any brain damage.”

  “Have you seen him?” Shelby bit her lip.

  “Seen him? I was right there! I was just rubbing his arm, talking to him about a million things, when I happened to mention the idea of you helping me have a baby, and…”

  “You did what?” Shelby jumped up. “Why are you telling people that?”

  “He’s not people, Shel. He’s Daddy. I mean, don’t you think it’s a miracle he heard your name and suddenly his fingers moved ever so slightly?”

  “The only miracle will be if I don’t kill you in your sleep…”

  “Well I’m sorry if you can’t appreciate what an awesome moment it was.” Lauren turned to Mrs. Weiner. “At first I thought I was imagining it, but when I repeated Shelby’s name, and his hand flinched, I screamed so loud, the nurses came running. They were
scared to death.”

  “Isn’t that something?” Mrs. Weiner clasped her hands in prayer formation.

  “How could you say I was having a baby for you?” Shelby remained frozen in her tracks.

  “Oh relax.” Mrs. Weiner pulled Shelby back to her seat. “You can just deny it if he asks. “

  “Yes, but you said you were going to talk to her,” Lauren whispered to Mrs. Weiner.

  “Not now, dear,” she returned the whisper. “Let’s focus on your father’s recovery.”

  “Oh my God,” Shelby yelled out to no one in particular. “Call Oliver Stone. We have a little conspiracy thing going on here.”

  “Shelby, calm down. There’s no conspiracy. Lauren just happened to mention her idea about your being a surrogate mother, and I told her I’d be happy to share what I know about the process. I didn’t say I would try to talk you into it.”

  “Yes, but you said you’d tell her why you thought it was a good idea,” Lauren nudged her.

  “We are changing the subject.” Shelby banged on the table. “I will never, ever carry anyone’s baby…other than my own.” Had she really once said she wanted seven children, one for every day of the week? What the hell was that about? “This matter is not open for discussion!”

  “Fine. You’ve made your point.” Mrs. Weiner patted her on the back. “Now let’s find out what else Lauren knows about your dad. Has your mother seen him?”

  “No, she was down in X-ray, but they said she burst into tears when they told her, which was not a good thing because she has this fractured orbit in her eye…”

  “Did you tell Daddy I was here?” Shelby interrupted, not interested in Aunt Roz’s condition.

  “Yes.”

  “And? What did he say?”

  “Nothing really. But that doesn’t mean anything. No one really knows how much he hears or understands. All we know is when Dr. Rosenthal asked him his name, he said, ‘Larry.’”

  “Larry,” Mrs. Weiner repeated. “This is so great.”

  “Wait. It gets even better. With all the excitement about Daddy, I didn’t get a chance to tell you Mommy’s good news. The orthopedic team cannot believe how incredible she’s doing, too. They said they’ve never seen anyone practically heal themselves before. It’s as if somebody up above is orchestrating the recovery of the century.”

  “Isn’t this wonderful news, Shelby?” Mrs. Weiner clapped.

  “You betcha.” Shelby examined her dry cuticles. She desperately needed a manicure.

  “But here’s the best news.” Lauren was practically singing. “Even though Mommy’s bandaged from head to toe, the nurses said we could wheel her into the solarium to have lunch.”

  “When?” Shelby’s neck hair suddenly felt moist.

  “Today. Now.” Lauren smiled eagerly.

  “But it’s not visiting hours yet,” Shelby stammered. “And it’s such short notice for her. She probably needs time to get ready.”

  “Are you nuts? She’s never been more ready for anything. She’s dying to see you, Shel.”

  “Gee, I don’t know. I was planning to run over to Frederico’s to get my nails done.”

  “Oh please? You could do that anytime. I want you to be there to have the honors.”

  “What honors?” Shelby gulped.

  “Feeding her, of course. It’s going to be a while before she can eat on her own.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Well duh, Shel. The poor woman’s got a broken jaw, both arms in casts, and a face that’s all bandaged except for her right eye. They thought maybe we could start by spoon-feeding her some applesauce.”

  Spoon-feeding her? Shelby laid her head down and groaned. The last time she saw her aunt they’d had a vicious exchange of words, and Shelby polished off the fight by screaming, “Why don’t you go shove a spoon in that big fat mouth of yours so no one has to listen to you?” Was this some kind of sick, cosmic joke that two years later she would be given the chance to insert said spoon?

  Worse still, she shuddered at the prospect of Aunt Roz being helpless, as everyone would expect her to act the part of the dutiful daughter. To wipe her drool, wipe her brow, wipe her ass. Shelby would rather binge on a Big Mac than conjure up that image in her head!

  Truly, the only way she would survive a face-to-face meeting with Aunt Roz was if she had enough time to build up the courage. Yes, that was it. She just needed an adjustment period, an opportunity to go through reentry, like when the astronauts returned to earth after a long mission.

  On the other hand, maybe she was blowing this first meeting out of proportion. After all, it was just lunch. Like the dating service. Her only obligation would be to engage in polite conversation and decide if she could stomach the person enough to see them again.

  Too bad there wasn’t a special service that brought adult children together with their estranged parents, she thought. They could call it, “Just a Nosh.” Forget the stress of making it from drinks through dessert. All one had to do was maintain civil conversation through coffee and cake. If they survived that, the next stop was early-bird brunch. Separate checks, of course.

  “So? What do you think, Shel?” Lauren nudged her arm. “Should we go have lunch?”

  “What floor is she on?”

  “Fifth floor,” Lauren and Mrs. Weiner said in unison.

  “You’ve never been up there, dear,” Mrs. Weiner winked. “It’s a new wing.”

  “I don’t know.” Shelby started to sweat. “I’m not ready. I need more time. It’s too soon…”

  “Pretty please.” Lauren reached for her hand. “I promise we’ll stick to you like Velcro.”

  “Yes, and maybe we could even stop by to say hello to Dr. Weiner. He’s on the same floor, and I’m sure he’d love the company.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Shelby sprang up as if there were coils under her shoes. “He’s the last person I want to see right now!”

  “You’re right,” Mrs. Weiner stood up. “Bad idea. Perhaps another time.”

  “Only if it’s to pull the plug on his life support,” Shelby groaned, as Lauren and Mrs. Weiner locked arms with her.

  “We’re off to see the Wizard,” a giggling Lauren sang, as they skipped to the elevator, their terrified prisoner in tow.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shelby didn’t care if today was the grand opening of this hospital wing. Between the antiseptic-scented walls, and the floor’s ammonia odor, it still smelled like good old North Shore. But mostly it still sounded like North Shore, what with the medicinal clatter accosting her the moment she stepped off the crowded elevator; the nurses’ squeaky, rubber-soled footsteps, the endlessly disruptive pages blaring over the hospital PA system, and the off-key symphony of endless heart monitors. This was the reunion of sounds she’d hoped never to hear again.

  But the one eerily familiar noise that truly brought Shelby back was the clanking of food carts rolling down the halls. How she dreaded hearing the orderlies’ approach, knowing they would fly in to her mother’s room with a tray full of bland, lukewarm mush under metal covers. Mush that would lie untouched until some indifferent attendant had time to take it away.

  “See?” Lauren wiggled Shelby’s hand. “It’s not scary up here.”

  “And everything’s different.” Mrs. Weiner held on tight. “Right?”

  “The only difference I see is all the WMJDs are gone.”

  “The who, dear?”

  “The white, male, Jewish doctors,” Shelby said, as a turban-headed Pakistani doctor rushed past. “Look around. The place is run by foreigners now. Incidentally, how do you pronounce names with six consecutive consonants?”

  “I’m surprised to hear you speak that way.” Mrs. Weiner held on to Shelby’s arm as they power-walked the long corridors. “Shouldn’t you have a reporter’s objectivity?”

  “I’m sure she’s very objective when she writes a story,” Lauren said in her defense.

  “Let her carry on,” Mrs. Weiner whisp
ered. “As long as we just keep moving.”

  “Irma! Is that you?” a hoarse voice cried out from a room on the right.

  “Yes, dear.” Mrs. Weiner continued her fast pace. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Irma,” the man cried out again. “Get in here. Now!”

  Mrs. Weiner stopped abruptly, a knee-jerk reaction to her days as the obedient wife. “Hold on, dear.” She patted Shelby’s hand. “I’ll be just a minute.”

  “Uh-oh.” Lauren glanced at Shelby. “And we were doing so good.”

  “Relax.” Shelby patted her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I think I can do this.”

  “Really?” Lauren resumed breathing.

  “Sure. We’re just going to say hello to her, feed her, then call the nurses to bring her back to her room. I can still have my hands in a bowl of marbles and suds in less than an hour.”

  “Shelby? Lauren?” Mrs. Weiner called from the room. “Could you please come in here?”

  They looked at each other and gulped. Now it was time for both of them to panic.

  “Come in for a minute, girls.” Mrs. Weiner returned to the hall. “Dr. Weiner won’t bite. He’d just like to say hello.”

  “Like hell I’m going in there,” Shelby whispered. “I hate that son of a bitch!”

  But before Shelby could choose the best getaway route, she and Lauren were ushered into the dying man’s private room. Her first thought was how embarrassed she’d be if she hurled from the familiar, tainted smell of sickness.

  “Hullo.” The pale, thin patient waved shakily. “Thank you for stoppink by.”

  “Like we had a choice?” Shelby glared at Mrs. Weiner. This was such an incredibly bad idea. Yet she couldn’t help but be thrown by the man’s thick, German accent. For a person she’d spent a lifetime hating, ironically she knew very little about him.

  “Here’s who you were looking for, Shelby.” Mrs. Weiner smiled, ignoring Shelby’s puss.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Here’s your WMJD. Although he was also foreign-born, so he might not meet your stringent qualifications.”