by Hanson
“Why don't you go upstairs for now, and we’ll talk more later.”
“You’re sending me to my room for asking a simple question?”
“No, I’m just suggesting that you’re too upset to talk about it now.”
“Like you’ll change your mind later!” Brooke stomped off, still looking small and vulnerable. She’d taken her father's death very hard, not even speaking for two months. Now, after helpful counseling and the passage of time, her heart had mended. She was still very much the pretty blonde-haired, blue-eyed daughter that Dean had adored; but her mood swings sometimes taxed her mother's patience.
Candace watched her, feeling deflated and ineffective. When had her adorable little girl turned into a hostile adolescent? For a split second, a flash of grief for Dean came over her. He always had a gift for making Brooke laugh and forget her anger when something upset her. What would he do about a party with boys? She doubted that he would approve, but he would know how to say no without provoking their daughter's anger.
“Ah, I thought I heard you come home,” her mother said, coming up from the lower level of the house. “I just hand-washed Brooke's pink sweater and laid it out on a towel downstairs. I hope it will dry so she can wear it to church tomorrow. She especially wants to.”
“If not, she has other sweaters just as nice.”
“Yes, but you know how children are when they hit the teens.” Janet smiled. “Every little setback is a major tragedy.”
“Were Susan and I hard to get along with then?”
“Well, your sister was three years older, so she was over her adolescent moodiness by the time you hit your teens. But I have to admit, you were always pretty even-tempered.”
“Brooke wants boys at her birthday party. I’m not sure that I’m ready to handle a mixed group. She's in such a hurry to grow up.”
“Children do seem to grow up faster than when I was a girl,” Janet mused. “I guess each generation has to find its own way, but sometimes I think things were easier then. We didn't have so many organized activities, but we were pretty good at finding fun on our own.”
“Do you think I should let her have boys at the party?”
“That's a decision you’ll have to make,” her mother said with a smile. “I’m glad I don't have to decide.”
Chapter Seven
ELENA WATCHED HER GRANDDAUGHTER PREEN IN front of the full-length mirror. She loved to dress up, and this morning she was wearing her second-best Sunday school outfit, an emerald green jumper with a white knit top and white tights. It looked special with a long strand of green, yellow, and white beads that her father had given her. Izzy always took special pleasure in any gift from Rafael.
“I hope that bad boy doesn't break my necklace,” she said.
“I’m sure he won’t,” Elena assured her, although there was a little rascal in her Sunday school class who seemed to delight in teasing Izzy.
“He’d better not. I’ll tell him he’d better watch out because Grandfather is a policeman.”
Elena had to smile. Izzy was going through a phase where she carefully pronounced grandfather, instead of calling Cesar by her toddler name for him, Tito, short for the Spanish word for grandfather. Some days she also insisted on being called Isabel, although Cesar liked to tease her by calling her Miss Isabel.
Izzy brought sunshine and happiness into their home. Even though Elena had been heartbroken when Sarah deserted Rafael and their baby—which, she realized, now felt like ages ago—she knew how blessed she had been to be able to watch her granddaughter grow up. At six—or six and a half as Isabel sometimes corrected her elders—she was a beautiful miniature woman with waist-length, curly black hair that she didn't want to cut. Her delicate features were dominated by striking gray eyes and a ready smile.
Elena wondered if Rosa Acuna was anywhere near as beautiful as Izzy. Maria had shown Elena a photograph of Rosa when she’d handed over the pile of dress pattern pieces. Rosa had a warm smile and long dark hair, but it was hard to tell much from a small picture. Elena had her measurements, and fortunately she knew a woman who had a dress form that could be adjusted to use in fitting the gown.
Cesar, as Elena expected, had been full of questions when he learned of Elena's plans to help Maria sew the dress, most of which involved whether she had time to make another commitment. He understood why she’d taken it on, but he wasn't happy about it.
“I’m ready, Buela,” Izzy said, still calling her by a shortened form of the Spanish word for grandmother. Elena didn't even want to think that there would come a time when Izzy felt too grown-up for the endearment.
“Okay, let's get our coats,” she said shooing her granddaughter ahead of her. “Be quiet now. Daddy’s still sleeping.”
Rafael's band had played late into the night, but Elena knew that he probably wouldn't have gone with them to church even if he’d gotten to bed early. Cesar, too, seldom went to church. Meanwhile, she took Izzy to Sunday school, delighted in the interest she showed in Bible stories.
“Do I have to go to church?” Izzy asked when they were in the car.
Some Sundays she was happy to sit through the service at Holy Trinity that followed Sunday school, but Elena didn't pressure her. She wanted her granddaughter to love church, not see the service as an ordeal. Fortunately there was time to drive her home and get back in time.
Izzy was old enough to be dropped off at the entrance to the Sunday school wing at the back of the church, but most Sundays Elena liked to walk to the classroom with her. She liked seeing what the lesson was, and she enjoyed the colorful child-friendly room with low tables and chairs. Her granddaughter was still too young to object to being escorted there, and she held Elena's hand and happily chatted while they walked into the building.
Elena waited while Izzy hung her bright pink winter jacket on a low rack in the hallway and went into the classroom. She was going to leave then, but a large poster on the bulletin board caught her eye. The church offered classes from time to time, and the theme of the new series sounded particularly worthwhile: The Call to Follow. Unlike her Wednesday night Bible class which met throughout the year, the new classes would only run for ten weeks. They were open to all members of the congregation, while the Wednesday classes were usually attended by women only.
Although she usually went to Sunday school herself, she decided to go home instead this morning. Izzy would be perfectly all right, and she could get back well before her class was over. She hadn't seen her husband nearly enough lately.
A few minutes later she was seated across the kitchen table from Cesar. There was something comforting about seeing her husband in his pajamas and dark red robe. Time had been kind to him. As a mature adult approaching fifty, he was even more attractive than the young man she’d married. Like all marriages, theirs had had its ups and downs, but she couldn't imagine life without him.
It was a concern for Elena that Rafael didn't yet have the kind of stable relationship that his parents did. He was as handsome as his father, with eyes so dark they seemed to be black and black hair that framed a fine-boned and pleasing face. Certainly young women were attracted to him. He always seemed to find girlfriends, including a short romance with the band's backup singer, but he didn't seem ready for commitment.
Elena never doubted that her son had been deeply in love with Sarah. Even after she deserted him, he kept alive the hope that she would beat her addiction and return to him. But years passed and he couldn't hide his disappointment from his mother. Fortunately his newfound interest in becoming a police officer like his father had lifted his spirits and given him an incentive to excel in his community college classes.
Cesar had made a fried egg and charred toast for his breakfast. They often joked that cooking his own breakfast was his penance for not going to church, but Elena scarcely noticed the remains on his plate this morning.
“What's on your mind?” he asked, too well attuned to her moods to ignore the look on her face.
“There's something I’d really like to do.”
Cesar was quiet for a moment, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
“Well, are you going to tell me?” he asked with a trace of impatience.
“Pastor Flynn is offering a new class at church. It looks especially interesting.”
“You already go to Bible study every Wednesday evening.”
“This is different. It only runs for ten sessions on Sunday evenings. It's a great chance to explore the reason for following the Lord.”
“Sunday evening? That's the one night we usually have to ourselves.”
“You could go with me,” Elena suggested.
He sighed and rolled his eyes—not a good sign.
“It's only an hour or so. You might actually like going.” Elena greatly regretted that Cesar didn't share her recently rediscovered faith. She hung on to the hope that someday he would hear the Word of the Lord and believe, but she knew from experience that it wouldn't help to push him. “Will you think about it?”
“I suppose.”
He got up to clear his place at the table, and Elena said a silent prayer that the class wouldn't become an issue between them. It was something she really wanted to do.
After church the day went quietly. When Cesar was upset, he busied himself with household chores and avoided Elena. She was glad that he changed the furnace filter and installed the new showerhead that they’d bought several weeks ago, but she was a person who liked to talk through issues. Still, she knew it was best to keep silent until he was in a better mood.
She reluctantly put aside the spring dress she was making for Izzy and turned her attention to the box of dress pieces Mrs. Acuna had given her. The tissue paper pattern was still pinned on, and Maria had started to mark the darts with thread. Elena was glad she hadn't tried to mark the delicate fabric with dressmaker's chalk. It showed that she had the skill and patience to make a beautiful quinceañera gown. Elena hoped she could do justice to it, although it would test her skill to the limit.
She’d planned to make fried chicken for dinner, a favorite with her family, but instead she breaded the pieces and put them in the oven to bake, saving time to continue working on the dress. It hadn't taken her long to realize she would have to baste the bodice by hand and fit it on the dress dummy before attempting to sew it on the machine. The silk lining was slippery and hard to handle. Fortunately, she liked a challenge, but she didn't even want to think about how much time this project was going to take.
Chapter Eight
I MAY BE LATE STARTING DINNER,” ELENA SAID AS SHE put Cesar's breakfast in front of him Monday morning.“The task force is meeting again when my shift ends.”
“How's that coming?” he asked, spearing one of the little sausages on his plate. “Hopefully your part will be winding down soon.”
“Not yet. I’ll know more after today's meeting.”
“So what exactly are you doing?” he asked a bit gruffly.
“I’ll be doing something with communications, working with Maxine Newman, the county health nurse. She's very professional, but she's also good with people. I think Penny Risser would like to be in charge, but Maxine has a way of reining her in without putting her down.”
“You have a good group working on it, don't you?” he said, his tone softening a little. “I remember you mentioned James is in charge of hospital preparedness.”
“Yes, and Anabelle’s working on the vaccines with Dr. Hamilton. There aren't going to be nearly enough shots for everyone who might want them if an epidemic hits. I’m glad I don't have to help decide who gets them. Candace is on the task force too.”
“You’ve got the fabulous four working,” he said in a sardonic tone. “I never expected your job to take more time than mine.”
“Only temporarily,” she assured him.
“Any second thoughts about taking that Sunday evening class?”
“It's only an hour or two a week for ten weeks.” She didn't ask him again to join her, but they knew each other so well that sometimes words weren't necessary.
“I don't want to go,” he said, “but I’ll think about giving it a try—only because it looks like the only way I’ll get to spend some time with my wife.”
“Thank you, Cesar,” she said softly.
“Just the first session—that's all I’m promising to consider.”
She stood behind him and leaned around to plant a kiss on his forehead. “I have to leave,” she said, dashing off before he could change his mind.
When Elena arrived at the nurses’ station in ICU, she made a conscious effort to put thoughts about her busy schedule out of her mind. She firmly believed that her patients deserved her full attention. Anything less was unprofessional and unfair to the seriously ill people in her charge. Her first concern was the coma patient who was still in their unit.
Gloria Main, the night nurse, filled her in on the patients but didn't mention the unidentified one.
“What about our coma patient?” Elena asked. “Any sign that she might wake up?”
“No, everything is the same as it was last Friday. We still don't have a clue who she is.”
“Someone must miss her. People don't disappear without anyone noticing. Newspapers could pile up on her doorstep. Neighbors might notice that she hasn't taken her car out for days. This isn't Chicago. People in Deerford know their neighbors and look out for them.”
“True,” Gloria said sadly, shaking her head. “I went through her clothing again and the pockets were empty except for some tissues and a house key. Her sweats are good quality, not what you’d expect to see on a homeless person. And her shoes are expensive, maybe a hundred dollars or more.”
“She doesn't look much older than fifty,” Elena mused. “You would expect that she has a job if she lives on her own. Her boss should check on her if she doesn't come to work or call.”
“You’d think so,” Gloria said, “but the poor thing is lying there all alone. I imagine they’ll move her to a long-term facility if she doesn't wake up pretty soon.”
Elena drummed her fingers on the counter that surrounded the nurse supervisor's desk.
“I wish I could do something.”
“I know,” Gloria said sympathetically. “The worst cases are the ones where we can't do anything to help.”
As soon as she had a chance, Elena looked in on their mystery patient. She looked terribly frail and helpless in her cocoon of tubes and monitors, and Elena tried to will her to wake up. It was hopeless, of course. Doctors had no idea when or if she’d ever recover consciousness.
Being alone made the woman's situation even worse. She didn't have anyone to hold her hand and talk to her. Elena was convinced, on instinct alone, that coma patients could hear what was said to them. She always carried on a one-sided conversation, regardless of whether a patient could respond.
“I’m sure someone must be missing you,” she said. “It's too bad you didn't carry a cell phone. Then we could trace some of your friends. But don't worry. We have some very clever people on our police force. I know because my husband is one of them. I’m sure they’ll learn something about you soon.”
Before she left the room, Elena took another hard look at the patient. There was something vaguely familiar about her round, pale face. She looked like a friendly person, but, of course, that was only speculation. Her blonde hair was graying at the temples, but the mix was probably attractive when her hair was nicely shampooed and styled. In fact, she had a good haircut. Elena guessed that it had been recently cut.
“Have I seen you somewhere before?” she asked the unresponsive patient. “Where do you buy groceries? Do you have a doctor or dentist in Deerford? Do you shop at Once Upon a Time or the Chocolate Garden?” She left the room still wondering how long it would be before someone reported the woman missing. At least there wasn't any shortage of relatives waiting to hear about other patients in the ICU. They had one terminal patient and another who wasn't doing as well as expected af
ter surgery. Visitation was strictly limited, but sometimes it broke Elena's heart to see the anxious, tearful faces of those waiting for news.
By the end of her shift Elena felt more like taking a nap than going to a task force meeting, but it was too important to miss. She got on the elevator just as Anabelle was hurrying toward it and held the door for her friend.
“How was your day?” Elena asked.
“Busy. I know how important the task force is, but I hope the meeting doesn't last too long. I’m eager to get home to Cam. I’m a little worried about what he’ll make for dinner.”
“I thought he was turning into a pretty good cook. I’d love to have Cesar fix dinner, but that's not going to happen.”
Anabelle smiled at Elena's feigned exasperation. “Cam does well, but he has to watch what he eats for the first time in his life. He just found out that he has high blood pressure.”
Elena frowned. “That's a shame. I can't imagine Cam on a diet. He's always been so slender.”
The elevator door slid open, and Elena excused herself for a moment to run into the gift shop. She wanted to get a package of grape-flavored gum for Izzy, and this was the only place she knew that sold it.
On the way out, she saw Candace coming out of the cafeteria carrying a take-out cup.
“Oh good,” the petite younger woman said. “You’re not at the meeting yet, so I won't be the last one. I couldn't resist picking up some iced tea on the way.”
Elena touched Candace's arm. “I heard a rumor that the hospital admitted an obstetrics patient with flu symptoms. I hope it's not true.”
“I’m afraid it is,” Candace said with a worried expression. “Her husband ignored the registration desk and brought her right to the Birthing Unit. We sent her down to Emergency, of course, but it showed how vulnerable our patients are. I haven't heard how her tests came out. During an epidemic, I guess we’d have to close our unit to all outsiders, maybe even husbands.”
“I’m sure James will come up with a comprehensive plan. My question is, will the hospital board second-guess all his recommendations? Does he have the authority to insist on preventive measures?”