The small room was full of medical equipment and two narrow, adjustable beds. A curtain ran on a track suspended above his bed. On the wall to the left was a colour chart describing a five-point coma-scale. Someone had pulled the curtain half-shut, obscuring points four and five.
While Kyle wasn’t comatose, his face was pinched, his mouth a flat line that made his lips white. He clutched at the blanket covering his waist. Lesley moved to his bedside and took his hand, squeezing gently. He had long, beautiful fingers, just like Dominic.
The boy squeezed her hand back, half sobbing.
Lesley understood the process of triage in the ER. Two minutes after they’d arrived, a woman with chest pains was wheeled in. It made sense that patients with life-threatening symptoms took precedence, but there was no need for Kyle’s discomfort to continue while they waited their turn. Witnessing suffering bothered Lesley more than the cold barf sticking to her breasts. ‘Where do you think your dad might be? I’ve tried him at home, but all I got was the machine. I left a few messages.’
‘Oh. I forgot. He went to see a friend in Española,’ Kyle grunted. ‘His phone’s always on, but the cell coverage down in the valley is crap. The signal bounces off everything. Oh. Oh. Oooooh...’
‘What time is he coming home?’
‘I don’t know.’ Kyle sucked in air through his nose and squeezed her hand again, harder than before.
‘Do you know his friend’s home number?’
‘No. It’s on speed dial at home. I never look.’ he grimaced.
‘This is ridiculous. I’ll be right back.’
He closed his eyes and nodded, reluctantly letting go of her hand.
TV shows always made the ER look like a bustling hub of non-stop activity, but the place was dead. The only person Lesley saw was a middle-aged guy with a big gut sitting in the tiny waiting room, watching a flickering picture of a baseball game on an old TV. It took a minute to find someone on staff. There was a little office just outside one of the small exam rooms. The door was half-closed. A nurse sat at an ancient metal desk inside, drinking a cup of coffee, nibbling on a piece of coffee cake while flipping through People.
‘Excuse me,’ Lesley said, pushing the door open.
Gary Dixon, R.N. looked up from his magazine, his brown eyes just as beady as the mother packrat Lesley had tried to kill with a sledgehammer. Bristly dark hairs poked out of his flaring nostrils, his face pock-marked by acne scars. He eyed her with distaste.
Until he gave her that demeaning little gaze, Lesley had almost – almost – forgotten about of the green chile cheeseburger Kyle had upchucked all over her in during the ride in the ambulance.
‘What?’ Dixon said.
‘Hi. I know they brought in a woman in serious distress, but I just wanted to make sure nobody forgot us back there. The boy in room three is in a lot of pain. I was wondering if you could take a look at him and maybe give him something.’
The nurse sighed. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Kyle Brennan.’
Nurse Dixon tapped on a computer keyboard, scanned the screen, and shuffled through a few papers on the desk. ‘Oh, here he is. How old is he?’
The last time Lesley had seen Kyle, before these last few days, he was a screaming, blotchy-faced newborn in the arms of a stony-faced grandmother. Based on that, she calculated his age, give or take a few months. ‘Sixteen,’ she said hesitantly.
‘I can give him a couple of Tylenol until the doctor can see him.’
‘Tylenol? He’s got a broken arm. He needs stitches and Percocet, not butterfly bandages and Tylenol!’
With a yawn, Dixon ignored her outrage and pretended to read through Kyle’s paperwork. ‘Is he allergic to anything, penicillin, eggs, nuts?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When was his last tetanus booster?’
‘I don’t know. What’s it say on that chart you have in your hand?’
‘Are you his mother?’ Nurse Dixon regarded her, his rodent eyes narrowing slightly.
His mother. Lesley hadn’t thought about Stefanie in well over a decade. While they hadn’t exactly been friends, they had shared a kind of solidarity as outer planets in the Brennan solar system. Strangely enough, while Lesley had been resigned to being Uranus, Pluto Stefanie had envied Lesley’s position of daughter-in-law, believing that being Terry’s wife meant she was one step closer to the Sun that was Peggy Brennan. Daughter-in-law or not, Lesley had always thought being mother to a Brennan grandchild would have changed the order, but now Pluto wasn’t even considered a planet and Stefanie had slipped into a black hole. ‘No,’ Lesley said, ‘I’m not his mother.’
‘What’s your relation to the boy?’
‘He works for me.’
Huffing impatiently, the nurse grumbled something like melodramatic pissant under his breath. ‘Where are his parents?’
‘I don’t know. What difference does it make? You’ve got to give him something stronger than Tylenol! You have to make him comfortable!’
Irritation seeped into the nurse’s eyes and he sighed, ruffling back through papers. ‘This is just great. Now I have to find next of kin. Why didn’t you say anything when you came in? We need consent for anything stronger.’
‘He’s lucid. You have his consent.’
‘He’s a minor. We need adult consent.’
‘OK, you have my consent.’
‘You’re not family.’
‘I used to be his aunt.’
‘Used to be doesn’t make you family.’ Dixon’s nose twitched, his little nostril hairs long enough to be whisker-like, added a little more rattiness to his features. ‘Until a family member arrives, or the doctor says otherwise, I can give the boy Tylenol.’
Lesley wished she had a sledgehammer. ‘Get the doctor, you pathetic sadist. Right now.’
‘Tylenol,’ Dixon said, popping a bite of coffee cake into his thin-lipped mouth, ‘take it or leave it.’
She shook her head. ‘You know the old saying, squeaky wheel gets the grease?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Squeaky is the wrong adjective.’ Lesley took a deep breath and screamed.
Chapter 4
The nurse had set up a drip, given him a dose of strong painkiller, and set out the items necessary to stitch up the gash under Kyle’s chin. Kyle kept his eyes fixed on Lesley when the nurse fiddled with the cannula stuck in the back of his right hand. ‘You don’t like my dad much, do you?’
‘Well, sweetie, believe it or not, I don’t have anything against him,’ she said, rubbing her eyes, ‘I think it’s more your father doesn’t like me.’
‘Because you remind him of my mother.’
‘Is that what he told you?’ she chuckled.
‘No, he doesn’t like to talk about her, but I know that’s why.’
Lesley pushed hair out of her face. ‘I suppose that could be a reason.’
‘You were friends with her, weren’t you?’
‘In a way, I guess.’
‘You were married to my Uncle Terry, weren’t you?’
‘Sort of.’ Lesley shot the nurse a withering look.
‘Should I call you Aunt Lesley?’
The nurse sneered and slammed a drawer shut.
‘Lesley’s just fine.’
Kyle yawned wide, exposing the rawness of the tongue he had bitten. Next, he ran the tip of it over his teeth, checking to make sure they were all there. He sighed. ‘Nobody thinks I know what happened, but I do. Jeez, my grandmother hates you.’
‘Well, like mother, like son, I guess.’ Lesley frowned for a moment and gathered her gingery blonde hair, smoothing it back into a neater ponytail, securing it with an elastic band. ‘I can’t seem to reach your dad.’ She was tired and knew there were shadows under her eyes, which Kyle had told her were a nice shade of green. ‘Your grandparents still live in Tesuque, don’t they?’ she said.
He nodded, yawning again. ‘Grandma does.’
‘Well, she’s on her way now.�
�
Kyle started laughing. ‘Isn’t this gonna be fun!’
‘You’ve got a warped sense of humour, Kyle. I’ll be right back. I’m going to try your dad again.’ She turned and started to pull back the curtain.
‘Lesley?’ Kyle lay still as the nurse started to wipe antiseptic on his chin.
She looked back over her shoulder. He didn’t even have to ask. She smiled, moved back to the other side of the bed and took his hand.
Nurse Dixon pulled the tape from the boy’s chin. When he finished cleaning the wound, he shifted and wheeled a narrow table beside the bed. Various medical supplies sat atop a blue liner on the stainless steel tray-top. After he snagged a stool with his foot, Dixon perched on it beside the table and began to unwrap his tools.
‘Um, I don’t think I’m going to be able to work for you for a while,’ Kyle said, glancing at the needle the nurse was tapping. He squeezed Lesley’s hand and glued his eyes to her face when the anaesthetic was injected under his chin.
She squeezed back.
A second later it was over and the nurse had moved on to fiddling with dark blue thread to stitch up the gash.
‘Don’t worry about the work, Kyle,’ Lesley said.
‘Sorry. It was fun. Way better than delivering stuff. Can I come by now and again to see how things are going?’
‘Sure.’
Kyle yawned again and rubbed his ear. A little grin formed on his mouth. ‘What’s your partner’s name?’
‘Kelly.’
‘Kelly. Kelly. Kel-lee,’ he mumbled before sighing. ‘Do you like being a lesbian?
Lesley burst out laughing. ‘Oh Lord, what is it, the power tools, the cowboy boots, or my motorcycle?’
Kyle’s head lolled on the pillow and he smiled up at her sweetly, dopily. ‘Stacey’s MILF has got it milfing on,’ he half-sang in a sleepy giggle. ‘You know, Lesley,’ he muttered, ‘you and Uncle Terry are the family’s biggest scandal, even worse than my mom running out on my dad when I was a baby. They weren’t married. I know all about that too, but with you it’s not quite the same kind of skeleton.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Mm-hm. Every Thanksgiving, Grandma bows her head and gives thanks that her baby survived the dyke.’
Nurse Dixon dropped the roll of blue thread and started snickering.
Lesley’s mouth fell open.
Once Dominic’s tantrum had abated, Fabian took away the beer, brought out the lemonade, and pulled out his father’s old high school yearbook.
As they flipped through the pages, looking at photos of Santa Fe High School’s drama club, Dominic wondered why was it that seventeen year-old high school kids in the 40s looked like they were in their forties. Fabian’s dad, like the rest of the males in the graduation class of 1948, sported white shirts and black ties. Their hair was short and neat, their faces grooved with expression lines of men, not boys.
Maybe if Kyle looked more like that, if his face didn’t have that bloom of youth, Dominic wouldn’t worry. The worrying thing was new and he wasn’t handling it well. It didn’t take a whole hell of lot of Fabian’s pseudo-psychological prodding. It was clear seeing Lesley had triggered reminders of a past hell and certain obligations he still felt, but it was bizarre it had manifested itself into stressing over Kyle growing up and getting a car.
It had to happen sometime. Things had been going along so smoothly he never saw the change coming. Sure, he was aware it would happen, but he just didn’t expect it was something he’d have to wrestle so instantly. Until today, he hadn’t realised he’d had such a tight grip on his son’s boyhood. Kyle had to grow up, which meant the father had to let go at some point.
He’d always considered himself a pretty laid back sort of guy, but maybe he’d been fooling himself. He wondered how Fabian had managed to let go of his daughter so easily. The day Callie left to start her freshman year at Texas A&M, Fabian had kissed her on the cheek, handed her the keys to a Toyota Prius, and watched her drive off. How had he been so casual about it?
Dominic drove home, heading west towards Los Alamos, the lights of Pojoaque and Santa Fe lighting up the valley in his rear view mirror. It hit him all at once; this anxiety about Kyle was payback for all the bullshit he’d put his parents through when he’d been a teenager. For a moment, he had a sudden feeling of an ulcer forming in the pit of his gut.
Then again, it might have just been mixing beer with lemonade on an empty stomach. Either way, he started laughing. He chuckled as he steered around the twisting, treacherous curves going up The Hill, snickered while he made his way past the library on Central, snorted when he dove out along the length of Los Pueblos on Otowi Mesa and pulled the Trujillo’s delivery truck into his driveway. He didn’t stop laughing at himself until he listened to the messages Lesley left on the answering machine at home.
Then Dominic wanted to throw up.
The adrenaline that had jolted her to act as a medic in a parking lot had finally worn off. Weariness that went clear to the marrow of her bones threatened to sack her. Her knees felt gelatinous. Her hands were lead weights. Mouth an impolite, open cavern, Lesley yawned and nodded along to the instructions a handsome Indian doctor named Prakash gave her.
The good looking doc handed her a prescription for Kyle and said something else, but she didn’t really hear him. With darkly-tanned skin, curly-hair and smoky topaz eyes, Prakash was mighty attractive, but not as attractive as Dominic. Dominic was taller and smelled really good. He’d smelled amazing. As aggravating as he’d been, she’d prefer a big noseful of Doctor Brennan to the scent of hospital, and Kyle’s barf.
Lesley suddenly thought of popcorn.
Wonderful. Now another food was ruined forever. Popcorn was now linked to a Brennan, just like pasta was to Enzo’s little Il Duce.
Dead on her feet, she thanked Dr. Prakash and made her way out of the little office outside the exam rooms. She ducked into the ladies room and peeled off her smelly, soiled tank top, washing her mucky breasts, pulling on the oversized green hospital scrub shirt the doctor had given her. After she dumped her dirty top into a plastic bag meant for feminine hygiene products, she shuffled back down the hall to Kyle’s bedside.
The kid was doped up on some kind of narcotic that loosened his lips like scopolamine had for WWII spies. All sorts of Brennan family secrets had come out; none of them nearly as interesting as the fact everyone in the clan believed she was gay. She didn’t care about a person’s sexual preference. As far as she was concerned love was love, attraction was attraction and homophobes, racists and religious fanatics were small-minded. She sometimes wondered if that sort of prejudice made her small-mined, but in this case, her intolerance, her umbrage, was with liars: nasty, spiteful liars. If she hadn’t been so tired, she would have been pretty pissed off. Twenty-two kilotons of Lesley would have detonated like Fat Man and Little Boy, the two nuclear bombs built right there in Los Alamos, but fatigue had a funny way of curbing nuclear fusion.
That wasn’t to say something didn’t blow up. When the chain reaction started, she was behind a blast door of sorts. While it was made of cloth and hung suspended from metal rings that slid along a curved track, it was enough cover to shield her.
Nurse Dixon was not so lucky. He took the brunt of the explosion. The pinched look of agony on his face turned him from rat to mouse-with-his-testicles-caught-in-a-trap. From her position just outside the drapes, Lesley had a clear shot of the expression on his face, and it wasn’t pretty. But it was funny. In her current sleepwalk-like state, she considered it his reward for his earlier lackadaisical behaviour. It was amusing to see someone else on the receiving end and her yawn collapsed into a smile she couldn’t help.
Dressed in a tiered, Navajo-print skirt, the seventy-one year-old former art teacher had her back to the curtain. Her hair, now a silvery blonde, was swept into a long braid. Tall, imposing like her eldest son, she took a step towards Dixon, who shrank back. ‘Who taught you to stitch, a butcher?’ While she immerse
d herself in Southwest style, Peggy Brennan had never quite lost her Noo Yawk accent. ‘Gawd! Did you even go to nursing school? Look at this child! He’s going to have a scaw, a scaw because you sewed him up like you were closin’ a stuffed Cornish game hen! What are you doing this for anyway? You’re a nurse, a nurse, you take temperatures and empty bedpans!’
‘Grandma?’
‘Just a second precious, Grandma’s talking,’ Peggy waved her hand at Kyle, a three-carat diamond glittering off the fluorescent lights overhead, silver and turquoise bangles sliding up her arm. ‘So you, go be a nurse. If my grandson is done here, get me a doctor so I can sign out and take him home.’
‘You uh…you can…you can uh…’
‘I can uh what? Out with it!’
Dixon swallowed. ‘You can go. She’s back with the prescription.’
Lesley should have run when she had the chance, when she realised who was berating Dixon. Instead, she stood outside the curtain listening, heavy-eyed and yawning, all good sense quashed by a high altitude lack of oxygen, lack of sleep and lack of energy. Once Peggy turned around, opening and closing her mouth with an audible snap, Lesley knew she was doomed.
She hoped this time she could avoid the spit.
Sheer, desperate, heart-in-your mouth panic was something Dominic had only experienced twice in his life. The first had been when he’d flipped his ‘68 Mustang up near the Valle Grande and trapped a bleeding Fabian inside. The second came when Stefanie told him about Kyle.
This, Dominic decided, was worse than those times put together.
He was choking on his heart. Blood thundered in his head. His hands were slick with sweat. He had no recollection of driving to the hospital, and the only thing that told him he hadn’t left the truck running in the parking bays outside the ER were the keys gripped in his fist. The door he tried to jerk open refused to budge and he yanked it frantically before he saw the sign saying Push. He kicked it in and bolted into a hall smelling of rubbing alcohol and band-aids. His pounding feet echoed on the linoleum tiles.
A Basic Renovation Page 7