SYMPATHY
for Sandra Boles Ballas
Settling back on the sofa, luxuriating in its softness, she spread the warm throw, fresh out of the dryer, over her knees. Perfect for a chilly, overcast fall day. She’d recorded Bringing Up Baby on TCM. The boy was off playing basketball. Freddie and his older brother Ben had gone to another of their horror-movie Saturday matinees. Ben’s wife was visiting with her mother in Nashville or she would be here, enjoying the laziness of a Saturday afternoon. Well, Faith would say she missed her, watching Cary Grant chase after the little spotted dog while being pursued by the leopard.
But her phone jangled and broke the spell.
At first, she didn’t recognize the voice. Janice Keener, the chain-smoking nurse friend with whom she had not spoken in at least a month. “Honey, want me to come get you?”
“Pardon?”
“I’m at the hospital. I just started my shift, but I can come get you.”
“Janice?”
“He’s in ICU.”
“Who’s in ICU?”
“You don’t—Faith, I—Freddie’s—Freddie. Freddie’s in ICU.”
“He’s—he went to a movie.”
“Honey, he was brought in here five minutes ago—I thought he came from you. I asked where you were. I looked for you but then realized you were probably too upset.”
“What’s happened?”
“I’m so sorry, honey. I waited for you. He was out cold. Some kind of seizure. They were working on him. I thought heart attack right away. He didn’t—you weren’t with him?”
“Janice, he went to a movie. With his brother Ben.”
“Oh, honey—I want you to know I’ll be here if you—I mean—I’ll—I’m here. I’ll be—I’ll take time off if I have to. If you need me to come get you.”
“A heart attack? Did you say heart attack?”
“They’re checking for it, working on him. He was out cold.”
“Yes,” said Faith. “But he’s had low blood sugar before. And passed out.”
“Well—he—he was breathing all right. That much I know. That’s probably all it is, then. And, honey, I’m here for you no matter what.”
She remembered that Janice was prone to catastrophic imaginings and conclusions. “Well, what happened? Did they get into an accident?”
“Nobody said anything. I just saw him—I saw—you know, he was out cold. He could’ve taken a fall in the—he could’ve hit his head or something.”
“You say he was breathing all right, though?”
“One of the medics said that, yes.”
“Then it’s probably the low blood sugar. Was his brother with him? You know, Ben?”
“I just saw Freddie. And he was out cold and they whisked him into the corridor and away.”
“People pass out for all sorts of reasons, Janice.”
“Hypoglycemia, I know.”
“I’ll be right there,” Faith said.
—
SHE DRESSED QUICKLY, HAPHAZARDLY, hands shaking, twice having to sit on the bed to get her breath. What if it was something awful? But Freddie’s father and mother were healthy and fine. The old nurse, as Freddie called her, was always prone to panic about things. But there had been something else in her shaking voice, that cigarette-thick voice.
She ran a brush across her hair, grabbed her purse, and drove to the basketball courts. The boy was in a game. She called to him, and everybody stopped playing. He trotted over. Fifteen years old and selfish, like so many boys that age. Freddie was his stepfather, and they had lately not been getting along. She was between them all the time, and this morning, as was often the case, she had sided with Freddie.
“What’s going on?” the boy said, looking annoyed.
She drew in the breath to tell him, but then stopped herself. If it was just the hypoglycemia, there was no reason to say anything. She said, “I’ve got to be out for a while. I didn’t want you to come home and find me gone.”
“I won’t be home for hours.”
“Okay.”
“What is it?”
“It’s fine, Louie. Go play your game.”
He trotted back to the edge of the court and said something to the others. She couldn’t distinguish the words. She saw him shrug. They gave him the basketball and looked past him at her; there was nothing friendly in their faces. He bounced the ball and only glanced back, then tossed it and went on with his game.
Driving down Poplar on the way to the hospital, she found herself considering him as a stranger might: this slack boy with his pimples and his bad attitude and sullen ways, barely getting by in school, seldom bathing, a smelly, lazy, unfriendly little shit sometimes, who spent too many hours playing video games and texting his PlayStation buddies. Casually intolerant of anybody’s authority.
Heart attack, Janice had said.
Fifty-one years old. But Freddie took such good care of himself. His work with Ben as a contractor kept him active and in shape, and he also lifted weights. He was obsessive about it. In fact, this morning’s argument had started with a remark Louie made concerning the weight lifting, that Freddie might be interesting if he could carry a conversation instead of a barbell.
Not long ago, talking to Janice, who was older, Faith had heard herself say that she loved her son without liking him very much.
“That’s common for the early teens,” Janice told her.
“You should hear the way he talks to Freddie. And me. His own mother.”
“Very much part of the normal pattern. Really.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Whoever said it was supposed to be easy? It’ll all come back. You’ll love him to pieces in a year or so, and you’ll like him, too. You might even be best buds for a little while. And then he’ll leave you again in a different way.”
“Yeah, I know all that. But it doesn’t help, knowing all that.”
This conversation was another reason she had backed away from Janice, who along with her dire expectations about all the world around her was inclined to lecturing about raising children. Janice had brought up three boys, who were far out of state now—one in California and two on the other coast: New York and Boston. They never came to Tennessee anymore.
—
AT THE ER, she walked through the automatic door into the outer room, which contained a row of gray plastic chairs against the left wall. Three people sat there—a man holding a bloody washrag over his elbow; a boy looking too white, rocking slowly and moaning with something that was hurting him internally; and a woman, probably his mother, who was gripping his knee with one hand and patting his back with the other. At the far end of the room, behind a small window with a metal push-out tray like a ledge at the bottom, stood a young man in a blue uniform.
“Freddie Hayes,” Faith said. “I’m Faith Hayes. Is Janice Keener here?”
The man held up a hand and then moved out of sight. A second later, a door opened to the right of where she stood. She walked in and the young man closed it behind her. Here was Janice, rising from a chair against the wall. Beyond her were cubicles. Faith saw part of a gurney, feet under a blanket.
“This way, honey,” Janice said, shaking, leading her around to double doors, into a more open space. A wide hallway with rooms along either side. A few feet away, a doctor stood. He started toward them, giving Janice a harried, faintly disapproving look. Another doctor, a thin, droop-faced blond woman, walked over from another doorway. Both were sallow, frowning. Nightmare shapes and colors.
“You’re Mrs. Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“You called the ambulance?”
Confused, Faith looked at Janice, who shook her head, eyebrows knitted in the middle of her forehead—that look of distress which used to be something to laugh at. She turned back to the doctor and saw his name tag. “No, Dr. Weil, I didn’t—I didn’t call the ambulance.”
Now the blond woman spoke. Her name tag was unreadable—a long Slavic name. �
��But you were with him.” It was not a question.
Faith simply stared, aghast, back at them.
“Mrs. Hayes,” the droop-faced woman said. “This attack happened—”
Dr. Weil interrupted. “Uh, look. Mrs. Hayes—we’ve already done an angioplasty to open the artery, but he’s going to require more extensive treatment. There are four arteries that need attention. I’m talking about bypass surgery.”
“All right,” Faith said.
“Unfortunately, he’s developed a fever, so we’re going to have to wait a little. We’ve given him some medicine to reduce the fever. And it also helps with clotting.”
“I—” Faith turned to Janice and, in the fog that was descending in her mind, said, “Where’s Ben?”
Janice had that eyebrows-knitted expression on her face.
Dr. Weil spoke again: “I’m afraid for now we have to keep him stable and hope things calm down enough to do what needs doing.”
“Okay,” Faith said through the thinnest column of breathable air. “But he’ll be all right? He’s had low blood sugar.”
“The only thing to do right now is keep him as stable as possible. But if you’ll just go back through there now and fill out some paperwork we need to admit him.”
“Can I see my husband?”
“Well, very briefly.”
He led them to the third door on the left, which was open. Lying on the gurney inside was Freddie, with tubes in his nostrils and something like a mask over his mouth, other tubes leading into that. More tubes from an apparatus in the corner fed into his arm. A machine next to where he lay made a sound like artificial breathing. At the center of that, a small television screen beeped erratically, a miniature comet of electric light trailing across it.
“Oh, God,” Faith said, too loud.
Janice helped her out to the waiting room. There wasn’t anyone else there now. Something beeped in the walls, and an indecipherable voice spoke over the intercom beyond the room. There was no answer on Ben’s phone. Janice guided her through double doors and down a corridor, where she sat at one of four desks and was given paperwork to fill out. Freddie’s health insurance. She filled out everything and then went back to the waiting room. Janice was outside smoking a cigarette. She put it out and came back through the sliding door.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, sitting next to Faith.
Faith sighed. “Stop saying that. Please.” She tried to call Ben’s wife. Nothing but message machines. “Where is Ben?”
“Ben wasn’t with him, honey. Why don’t you try Mallory?”
“I just did. Mallory’s in Nashville, though.”
They said nothing for a few moments.
“He went off to the movies with Ben. So where is Ben?”
“Did you see them go?”
“No—he went over there. They were going to this stupid alien flick.”
“You can’t trust them,” Janice said suddenly. “I bet mine cheats because his father did.”
“What?”
“Well, but I can’t just say that. I don’t know. He’s gone a lot and he’s not interested in me anymore, that’s for sure. And I gave him three wonderful boys.”
Faith said, “What’re you talking about?”
The other stared, then seemed to gather herself. “Faith. He—he was naked. They brought him in naked. I thought he came from you.” There was barely suppressed animation in Janice’s voice. Janice was part of the drama now. Janice, who loved gossip.
Faith couldn’t speak.
“I’m so sorry. I should’ve—I thought—”
It seemed now, in the half trance she was in, that she’d understood as the droop-faced woman doctor with the clustered letters on the name tag spoke. Something in the voice: judgment. “Oh, please,” she said to Janice now. “Please, please, leave me alone, can’t you?”
“I’m just trying to be here for you. Should I go get Louie? I took the day off.”
“Just—maybe, yes.”
But Janice didn’t move. They were quiet for a long time. Others came through the entrance and made their way to the window. One was a man complaining of chest pain.
“I shouldn’t’ve said all that about Jack,” Janice said, low. “I was trying to commiserate with you. Jack’s never cheated on me once.”
Faith looked at the man with the chest pain as he was helped through the door. He was many years older than Freddie. Another patient was a young woman who paced slowly, holding her wrist. Soon the door opened to her as well.
“What’re you thinking?” Janice asked.
“Nothing.”
“I’d be so mad at him—and—and afraid for him at the same time, I guess.”
“You were going to go get Louie.”
“Well, you know, I’m—I feel so bad—I kept thinking what it must’ve been for you—I thought—”
“I know what you thought, Janice. I get it now, okay? Jesus.”
“I’m sorry.”
They sat there in the sounds of the hospital. One by one the others went through the door into the treatment area.
“Where do I go to pick Louie up?”
“Overton Park. The basketball courts.”
“You’ll be all right here? There’s no one else you want me to call?”
“No one else close enough.”
Faith watched her go bustling out, and thought about all the people Janice knew, all the ones Janice would talk to. Then she was thinking about what she herself would say or do when the time came. She hadn’t entertained the slightest suspicion. The man who was her husband—oh, God. And Ben, the brothers, what had they agreed on together concerning her? They were going—weren’t they?—to those horror flicks she and Mallory never wanted to see. Serial murderers, zombies, vampires, snakes, ghosts, entities, aliens. Seeing those movies was like going to a football game for them. They teased Mallory and Faith about not being good sports fans. And they talked about the movies with Mallory, too. What did Ben say to Mallory? Was Mallory in on it? Mallory, her friend? She couldn’t be sure, now, that the whole matinee horror-movie habit hadn’t been an elaborate lie.
Anyway, it had been a lie today.
Where was Ben? Why didn’t Mallory answer? She tried their house again. Nothing. Then she called Ben’s cell, and this time she left a message. “Ben, where are you. Freddie’s in ICU with a heart attack. Were you part of this lie about today’s movie?”
—
AN HOUR PASSED. Janice came back with Louie, and it was clear that she had told him about his stepfather’s condition. Faith put her arms around him to calm him, and then broke down herself. “I didn’t say anything before because I thought it was just his hypoglycemia.”
“I didn’t cause this,” he said, low. “Did I?”
“You didn’t—this—this sort of thing builds up over time. And it doesn’t have to be anything you eat or anything you did.”
“He’s not gonna die, right?”
“I don’t know,” Faith said.
“God. I wish it was last week.”
She led him to the chairs, but he couldn’t sit still, and started pacing back and forth.
She went and sat next to Janice. “I have to call the parents. I can’t get Ben or Mallory. Ben should be the one to call.”
“Do you think you’ll tell them—you know—”
“I’ll leave that up to everybody else.”
“I haven’t said a word.”
Another of the reasons she’d let things lapse with Janice was that the woman was so dense. Faith felt the cruelty of the thought, experiencing in the same moment a tremendous need to be kindly now. She touched the other’s shoulder. “Thanks for being here.” The words sounded empty, completely meaningless. Just noise.
“You don’t need me talking about all that,” Janice went on, looking like she might begin to cry, too. “I’m so stupid.”
Louie was sniffling and wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. He had walked all the way to the automati
c sliding door, and when it opened he jumped back, startled.
Faith heard herself say, “I don’t understand.” It was as if she were answering someone.
Presently the entrance doorway slid open again, and a woman entered, carrying a clear plastic bag with clothes in it—you could see the shadow-shape of a shoe and the sleeve of a jacket. She moved uncertainly to the window, concentrating only on that. She looked terrible: pale features, red eyes, blotches on her cheeks. At the window, she leaned on the little bottom ledge of it and, with effort that seemed to deprive her of the strength to stand without support, murmured, “Freddie Hayes. I have his things.”
Janice grabbed Faith’s elbow.
Faith watched the woman waiting, one hand on the frame of the door, which presently opened. A young nurse took the bag. Everyone in the hospital must know. The nurse closed the door, and the woman turned, slowly. She went to a chair a few feet farther along the wall and sat down, hands folded tightly over her knees.
Faith saw the look on Louie’s face.
“Son?” she said.
He took a gasping breath. “What’s she doing here?”
Before Faith could say anything, Dr. Weil came in. “May I speak to you?”
She signaled for Louie to follow with her into the other room. When Dr. Weil turned, his gaunt face caught the light. She saw a line of scar tissue near his hairline. He glanced at Louie, and then paused.
Living in the Weather of the World Page 7