Lights of the Heart

by Nat Burns

  I took a deep breath and smiled reassuringly. “So, Danny, what we’re going to do is give you a prescription. This drug should knock them out of you and kill all the parasites. You’re gonna have to take it every twelve hours for about ten days.”

  I pulled out my old-fashioned prescription pad and started writing.

  “The worst part of all this is you can have absolutely no alcohol for ten days, not even a beer.” I glanced sideways at him. “Can you do that?”

  He looked eager. “Sure, sure, I can, Doc. If it’ll kill those things. Oh, yeah, I sure can.”

  “Okay, good. I’ve got Ella printing some stuff out for you and Anna.” I turned and looked at him square on. “She can get this, you know, so you’ve got to be really careful for a while, especially as you’ll be expelling the cysts. Most will be dead but, well, we just want to be really careful. Wash your hands a lot, and use bleach to clean the toilet every day. I’ll see you back here in two weeks, and we’ll see where we are then, okay?”

  I stood and shook his hand again. “Get dressed now and head to the front. I’ll have your chart right up there.”

  I closed the door on his profuse thanks and hurried to my office. I set his folder on my desk and walked into my bathroom. I washed my hands slowly, relishing the sleek feel of the soap on my hands. I imagined it was Ella’s smooth breast I was touching, and my breathing deepened as my body became fully aroused. I switched off the water and buried my face in a wad of paper towels.

  Chapter Eight

  Ella

  “God, I’m gonna miss her,” Sandy said.

  I looked at her with surprise, but I had to concur.

  We’d just helped load Abby into her mother’s car, and both of us were feeling the sadness about her obvious decline. She was a fragile outline of what she had been before. Her failure to eat had brought her and her mother in to see Doctor Maddie, and her thinness had given her a translucent quality. Abby and Caroline’s sad departure told us way too much.

  Doctor Maddie stood at the receiving desk, making notes in a file. She glanced up at me briefly, and I saw that her eyes were red. Compassion swelling within me, I laid my palm against her back for a handful of seconds as I followed Sandy to our stations at the receiving desk. I felt her back stiffen and quickly removed my hand, worried that my touch had been too familiar. I had enjoyed the brief connection, wishing it could have lasted longer.

  I took my seat between Sandy and Doctor Maddie, but just as I settled in, there was a commotion at the outside door.

  “Oh, God, Doc, you’ve gotta help him,” Blazeon Hughes cried out as she pulled her son, Chris, through the doorway. Even from behind the glass, I could see the blood darkening the T-shirt around his midsection. Doctor Maddie leapt into action and raced into the waiting room.

  “Lift his legs,” she barked out, causing Blazeon to recoil and obey. As a trio of horrified patients watched, Doctor Maddie lifted Chris under the arms and moved the three of them through the interior hallway and into the closest exam room. Sandy and I followed, and Sandy jumped into action, using surgical scissors to cut Chris’s T-shirt off. I took Blazeon by the shoulders and led her to an out-of-the-way corner of the room. She was breathing heavily, sobbing, her breath a loud bellows of sound.

  “Oh, Christ!” Doctor Maddie muttered as she saw the wound. “What the hell happened, Blazeon?”

  “He was stabbed,” she cried out, sobbing.

  “I can see that,” Doctor Maddie said with uncharacteristic sarcasm. “Ella, call a transport. He needs to go in.”

  I nodded and fished my cell from my pocket.

  Chris was flailing his arms, hovering at the edge of consciousness. Doctor Maddie evaded his grasp, reached into an upper cabinet and drew out a surgical kit. Sandy wiped the abdomen with large surgical gauze squares to clean off some of the blood and then doused the area with dark brown iodine solution. Doctor Maddie ripped open the kit, drew on the nitrile gloves and opened a smaller suturing kit.

  Blazeon whimpered, and I tried to get my arms around her. She was a large, tall woman, formidable to try to hold. “Shh, we’ll help him,” I said.

  Doctor Maddie peered into the wound and then extended the surgical thread with a hemostat clicked onto the curved needle. “Hand me the benzocaine,” she instructed Sandy.

  Sandy fetched the already prepped syringe from a top cabinet and passed it to Doctor Maddie. Doc glanced at Chris’s face and then inserted the numbing agent at several points around the three nasty-looking wounds. I winced, amazed anew at the things Maddie could do in the course of her job. As we watched, she examined the wounds closely again and then slowly sutured each one. On the lowest one, closest to the waist, she sewed two layers of tissue before inserting a length of pink rubber tubing from the kit and loosely stitching it in as a drain. With a final snip of the scissors, she stood back and straightened her spine. “Well,” she said. “I guess that will do, if they give him a round of IV antibiotics and plenty of time to heal. Sandy, make him comfortable until the ambulance gets here.”

  She turned those brown eyes on Blazeon as she pulled off her gloves. “You! Come with me.”

  Chris moaned loudly.

  “No, no. I can’t leave him,” Blazeon said, struggling back toward the exam table. Sandy, who was covering Chris with a blanket, soothed him. I tried to hold on to Blazeon and lead her from the room.

  Doctor Maddie took Blazeon’s arm, and together we wrestled her into the doc’s office. I fell back against the wall beside the door, panting, as Doctor Maddie gently pushed Blazeon into a chair.

  She sat behind her desk and sighed. “All right, Blazeon, tell me what happened.”

  Blazeon lifted her flowered polyester shirt and pushed it against her eyes. Doctor Maddie handed her a tissue, and she used it to blow her nose. “I heard them fighting up in the bedroom. It was over that Lynette girl. Both them boys been after that girl, and I tol’ them she’s no good. But do they listen? Hmph!” A heavy scowl settled on her broad chestnut features.

  A short silence fell.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay, Doctor?” She had now changed tack and was pleading and fearful.

  “Yes, I think so. So someone stabbed him while they were fighting? Who was it?”

  To my surprise, Blazeon began to wail, rocking back and forth as if keening at a wake. I glanced at Doctor Maddie, and our eyes locked. For just a moment, the mother’s grief fell into a very faint background as I felt myself caught completely in Maddie’s gaze. In that too-brief moment of connection, nothing else existed except one another and the energy between us. I saw her eyes widen with the same realization, and I wanted so badly to go to her. As if hearing the same silent signal, we dropped our eyes.

  “Who was it, Blazeon?” she said firmly.

  “Please, Doctor, don’t have him arrested. It’s my sister Fiercey’s son. He’s a good boy. A good boy. I know he didn’t mean to hurt Chris, just…” She closed her eyelids, and tears cascaded along her cheeks. “He done stabbed Chris with my boy’s own pocketknife his daddy gave him for Christmas.”

  Doctor Maddie thoughtfully steepled her fingers under her chin. She watched the woman sorrowfully. “You know I am bound to report any stabbings or shootings, Blazeon. It’s the law here in Alabama. I’m sorry.”

  Blazeon mopped at her face again, but she sat straighter in the chair. “I know,” she said. “Lord, I know.”

  I heard voices in the hall and slid out the door, trusting that Blazeon would stay calm. The transport ambulance had arrived, so I led them to the exam room. Soon they had Chris on a stretcher, and I tapped on the doctor’s office door.

  “Blazeon? They’re ready. I’m assuming you want to follow them in to the hospital?”

  Blazeon leapt to her feet. “Yes! Oh, Gawd. I just remembered. I left my car running out front!”

  She hurried from the room, and Doctor Maddie lifted her brows in question. I shrugged.

  “Are you okay, Maddie?” I asked quietly. I moved clo
ser to her desk. “It’s been a rough day.”

  “Yeah. Heck of a way to end the week,” she said, her fingers flipping at the edge of her paper desk calendar. She looked up at me. “Are you doing all right?”

  I smiled to put her at ease. “Oh, yeah. I’m just glad Chris will be okay.”

  She studied me a moment, her mocha eyes unreadable. “Me too. I hate that I have to report it, though. Stupid kids.”

  I nodded and took a deep breath. “I guess I’ll go clean up exam one. Call if you need me.”

  Maddie said my name and, with my back to her, I closed my eyes to savor the sound. “Yes?” I said as I turned back.

  “Is it okay if I pick you up at home Sunday? About eleven? We can stop for a bite on the way. It’s Tropical Towers, right?”

  I blinked. Oh my God. “Y—yes. That would be perfect. Apartment one ten.”

  A silence fell, but I felt no need to fill it. Instead, I smiled at her and left the room.

  Chapter Nine

  Maddie

  The Baldwin County Elder Care facility sat on the east side of town, situated in such a way that the residents could see the ocean inlet when they relaxed on the screened-in patio. My mother sat on this patio Saturday morning, but I wasn’t sure whether or not she enjoyed the view. I stood in the doorway a few minutes studying her. I never knew from one week to the next where her mood or memory would take us, so I was mentally preparing myself. It wasn’t an easy task always to expect the unexpected where your mother was concerned.

  Two other residents were enjoying the patio, and they stared at me curiously. I nodded and smiled at them as I approached my mother.

  “Hola, Mami, como estás?” I said in my somewhat rusty Spanish. I didn’t lean to kiss or touch her, though I wanted to. Instead, I sat across from her and rubbed my palms against my denim-clad knees. I watched her closely and saw her dim, often blank eyes brighten somewhat. She started speaking, and sadness filled me. Her Spanish had deteriorated as her Alzheimer’s progressed, and I often could not understand her. I crooned to her in English, hoping she would respond in kind.

  “Mami, are you well? Do you feel okay?”

  “The food is bad, malo,” she spat out in a heavy accent. “Why can’t they move the blinds to let the sun in to warm it?”

  Warm the food? I doubted it.

  “Are you sure, Mami? Or is it sunlight for you?”

  I waited a long time, but there was no answer. I started talking, telling her about my week. Our visits usually went this way. Most of her rambling these days made little sense, and instead of trying to interpret, which was frustrating at best, I would vent much as I had as a child. Back then, I would crawl into her lap in the evenings when my homework was done and tell her about the troubles of my day. She’d been sympathetic then, even empathetic, and I’d always felt whole again upon leaving her side. Those days were gone, I knew, but still…She was my Mami. As I talked, I moved closer and eventually took her hand in mine, caressing it with my thumb. She allowed it, which pleased me greatly. I was cautious, knowing one consequence of her illness was that her moods could shift suddenly. She could withdraw inside completely, or often she would become angry and paranoid, and those days left me painfully drained. Today was nice, holding her hand and sharing my life with her.

  “She’s not really any better,” I told my Aunt Florida just two hours later. “But not any worse, which I guess we can be thankful for.”

  Aunt Florida’s house was located twenty miles west of Maypearl in a little corner of the Alabama bayou. I’d stayed with her a few weeks during summers while still in school. And although I hadn’t been there too many times or for any real length of time, the small pier-and-beam house that she and Uncle Thomas had shared for forty years felt like home. Especially now that Uncle Thomas and my father, his brother, had passed away and my mother had been moved out of our original home in New York.

  Aunt Florida, who had gained in girth during the years since Uncle Thomas’s death, lowered herself into a creaking kitchen chair and settled a glass of iced tea in front of her on the enameled table. “And you know she won’t get any better, Corinthia.”

  I smiled out the kitchen window. No matter how many times I’d asked her to call me by my nickname, she still used my given name, saying that it was too pretty not to use. I remembered suddenly how my mother had said that name, with her particular inflection, and my gut twisted with loss.

  “I know, Tia,” I said with a sigh as I seated myself at the table. I lifted my own tea and took a deep sip. She liked it sweet, and it was a pleasant change from the unsweetened iced tea I usually drank.

  “Did I tell you Esme from the church went by to visit? She told your mama a joke and even got a smile from her.”

  “Really?” I was impressed. “Must have been a good joke.”

  “Yeah, something about a turkey crossing a road to prove it wasn’t chicken.”

  I grinned. “Oh, Lordy.”

  We fell silent, lost in our own thoughts. The bayou enveloped us in a warm cocoon of sound and movement. Summer frogs practiced in several barbershop quartets outside the open windows. I always understood why Florida stayed in this home, even though she was now alone and could go just about anywhere. I had married cousins in Mississippi. She could have gone there to be closer to her grandchildren. I think the mysterious inlets of the bayou country held her, and so many others, captive.

  “You know,” I said finally. “That’s the worst part. Thinking that she might be in there. Just trapped somehow. Not able to respond. That’s heartbreaking to me.”

  Florida looked at me quizzically. “And here I thought you had a medical degree,” she scoffed.

  “Hey, don’t give me that crap. None of us know what protein folding does to the brain. All kinds of stuff could be going on up there in her brain matter.”

  “Hmph!” Florida raised one eyebrow and lifted her glass. “So tell me, how is that new gal working out for you?”

  I choked on my own saliva and coughed until tears sprouted. “Ella? She’s…she’s good.”

  Florida laughed, a deep, rolling chuckle that swelled from inside and emerged to echo in the room. “Aw, hell, you got it sooo bad. What in the world are you going to do with yourself?”

  I tried on indignance. “What do you mean?” She just stared at me, her blue eyes shining with amusement. Her head tilted to one side, and the fingers of my right hand picked at the cuticles of my left. “Yeah,” I conceded. “But nothing can come of it. I told you, she works for me.”

  “Well, that’s easy,” she advised, leaning toward me. “Fire her and then date her.”

  “You make it sound easy,” I said wistfully.

  “It can be.” She leaned back again.

  “I have to speak at a conference over in Dothan Monday,” I said.

  Aunt Florida, used to rolling with my disparate changes in conversation, nodded encouragement.

  I blurted the information. “Sandy usually goes with me, but she can’t. So Ella’s going.” I lifted my eyes to hers. I was sure she could see how torn I was.

  “Well, well,” she muttered. “Are you gonna be okay?”

  “Yes.” I sighed and practiced steeling myself. “I am a professional, and I plan to act like one.”

  “Yep.” She sighed loudly. “That old road to hell is just paved with good intentions.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ella

  Luckily, I’d been to a lot of conferences during various training courses, and that meant I knew how to dress—lots of layers so I could peel them off as temperatures varied. Sometimes hotels were brutally cold, and sometimes others were more like a steam bath. I knew exactly what to expect outside the hotel. That was easy: steam and more steam. I also knew that a sharp blazer over anything could dress it up to business—well, business casual, at least—and could be removed outside or if the conference rooms were warm.

  I stood in front of my closet and examined the contents. It was boring, but I had a few g
ood pieces, standards that would be acceptable. The majority of them hadn’t been worn a lot, because they were mostly outfits bought for one specific occasion. I’d spent the past three years wearing some variation on hospital scrub gear or jeans and casual blouses. I hadn’t dressed up much.

  Sighing, I lifted my smartphone and dialed my sister. She was a fashionista and would certainly be able to help.

  “It’s me,” I said when she answered.

  “How’s life treating you, El?” Her tone was always pleasant and accepting. She had been my anchor and supporter when my parents had given me grief about my life choices.

  “Good, though the doc is still resisting my advances,” I said in a teasing tone.

  “Advances! Pish. I told you, you need to tell her how you feel. Not everybody is as clever as you are, you know. Maybe she’s just obtuse and isn’t picking up on any of your sly moves.”

  I laughed. Clever—oh, yeah. “So, guess what I’m doing tomorrow.”

  She chewed loudly a moment. Celery and peanut butter—it was her weakness. “Ummm, paddling the bayou again?”

  “Oh, hell no. The mosquitos almost carried me off that day. The DEET kept them from biting, but oh man, they wanted me.”

  Jess laughed aloud. “Guess you learned a valuable lesson.”

  “I guess so. Between the bugs and the alligators, we just aren’t supposed to be there in the backwater. It’s a different world.”

  “You know, Brian was down there in Alabama on a job once. He was so glad to get back home to Virginia.”

  “Like Virginia has a lot to offer,” I scoffed. I’d been to Virginia. It was green, wooded and pretty, but southwestern Virginia just didn’t fit me somehow.

  “Yeah, well, it’s got my hubby and my two kids. Good enough for me.”

  “How are the kids?” Shane was fourteen now, a strapping young athlete, and his younger sister, Westie, was a shy, bookish type.