by Lois Winston
“Wow! No wonder you suddenly like her.”
“I have never not liked Victoria,” Lila sniffed. “It’s just that due to this experience, I’ve had an opportunity to see her true character. She is a loving and thoughtful young woman.”
“Weird hats, though,” I remarked, drinking some lukewarm tea.
Lila took a breath and closed her eyes. “Putting her hats aside…”
“If only one could.”
“Liana!” My mother sharply rebuked me.
I started and spilled tea down the front of my hospital gown. I found a paper napkin and dried myself off as best I could.
“Let’s stick to the germane issues, shall we?” Mom asked.
“Okay, Mom. Go on. So you located the car.”
“Yes. I met Maggie…”
“Is she great or what?” I interrupted.
“She was very helpful. You seem to have made a favorable impression on her, too. She likes you very much. She told me about seeing your camcorder on the counter. That’s when I knew we had to get into the trunk of your car to listen to everything that had taken place. You’re always so good about recording everything.”
She allowed herself to smile at me. I smiled back.
“Hey, I’ve been trained by the best.”
“Once we located the receiver, we knew right away what had happened and where you were. I notified the various police agencies, including the Coast Guard, and asked Officer Brown if he knew anyone with a speedboat or the like, so I could help find you myself.”
“And, that’s where Captain Fred Anderson and the Molly Belle comes into the story.”
“Yes, once he agreed to let us use his charter boat, which has been altered into something of a speedboat, we caught up with the two ships. By that time, the Coast Guard had boarded and done its initial search of the Feng Shen. They didn’t find you the first go-round.” Mom’s voice caught suddenly, and I looked up from my Jell-O.
“The only reason the Commander let me come aboard was because of your father, but once there, I was able to implore the crew to let me know where you were. I don’t think anyone else could have gotten through to them.
“Even with an interpreter, I could tell they were a hardened lot, surly and unyielding. All except this one small man, the man who had helped to bring you onboard and hide you…” She stopped talking and put her hand to her throat.
My eyes filled and the Jell-O felt hot in my throat. “You don’t have to go on, Mom. Really,” I whispered.
She brushed at her eyes quickly, got up, and came to me. “Of course, I’ll go on. You have a right to know. When I begged the men to help me, he was the only one who said he would, despite his fear of that horrid man, Captain Chen. Then he took us—some officers, a medic and me—down below to the engine room. It was a squalid, filthy place, and there you were, hidden under the floorboards, all drawn up in a fetal position. So pale and still…” She broke off speaking.
I grabbed her arm. “Mom, it’s okay. You found me, and I’m okay. It’s all over now.”
“Yes, it is. It is.” She embraced me, and I clung to her like never before.
Then Lila Hamilton Alvarez started to cry, and I started to cry, and we both were having a good one, when all of a sudden my head began to throb. I must have moaned a little because she released me and scrutinized my face.
“You look terrible. All puffy and red.”
“Well, some of us don’t cry like you,” I retorted. You just glisten when you cry. I get all puffy and red. Besides, I’m getting a headache.”
Within seconds, Lila grabbed a towel from the bathroom, took some ice out of the water carafe, wrapped the ice in the towel, and applied it to my forehead.
“Ahhh! That feels so good,” I said, as I closed my eyes.
“You lie still and get some rest,” she said, as she kissed my cheek. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I muttered. “Thanks for making me feel like your little girl again.”
“You’ll always be my little girl,” I heard her say, as she wafted out of the room.
FIFTEEN
UnGeneral Hospital
Two days later, I lay in my bed staring at the white smock of my doctor and the clipboard he held directly in front of his face. This was not the first time the doc had been in on his rounds, but I didn’t think he would actually know who I was if he fell over me.
Interns, nurses and orderlies chatted with me throughout the day, but whenever the man who saved my life dropped by, he spent his time reading my chart or talking to everybody else. I couldn’t remember him actually saying one direct word to me, and I was feeling a tad left out because of it.
Dr. Vernon Parsley was well named, as he did have a slight greenish hue. He was a tall, ageless man with faded, thin blond hair and a weak chin but supposedly a dynamo in the operating room. He was quite methodical in his movements and seemed to enjoy saying “hmmmmmm” a lot.
“Hmmmmmmm, Miss Alvarez,” he said now into the chart, so his words were slightly masked. “I see here that you are making excellent progress.”
During the past two days, I had begun to feel more myself. The headaches had subsided, and I took short walks around the room.
My family was visiting so often and watching my every move so intently I began to understand what it must be like to be a celebrity haunted by the paparazzi. That afternoon was going to be the first time I was allowed regular visitors.
What would that be like? I mean, what does a star say after she’s survived an exotic disease? Does she say to the masses ‘I’m feeling much better, thanks? Let’s move on?’ Or do you give a blow-by-blow description of each excruciating minute because inquiring minds want to know? Whoops. I’m having one of those mental wanderings again. I need to work on that.
I focused my attention on the doctor again or, rather, the back of his clipboard.
“Have I made excellent progress?” I repeated politely. “How so?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied, dropping the chart for a nano-second before covering his face with it again.
“I was quite alarmed when they brought you in several days ago.” Doctor Parsley reflected for a moment. “This has been an interesting case. I originally thought, at the very least, we might have to put a shunt in your head to drain the fluid from the swelling of your brain. Possibly for the rest of your life, but no.”
He sighed. I wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not. He then proceeded to give me a very detailed rundown on his initial findings and the appropriate measures that followed, all of which were said in unfathomable medical terms. I felt my eyes glaze over.
At the end of the lecture, I was more than relieved when he began to write on his chart again. He carefully read back to himself what he wrote, before speaking again.
“To put this in layman’s terms…”
“Oh, thank you. I have no idea what you said before.”
“No?” His tone of voice indicated he thought I probably had the mental processes of a blade of grass.
“Well, plainly put, we were fortunate you were placed in an inch or so of cold water because that helped to keep your brain from swelling more than it did. The low temperature of the water retarded your entire circulatory system, which was quite a good thing. I was pleased about that.”
He dropped the chart for the moment and, for the first time, I saw he had hazel eyes. He stared out in reverie. “I have never before encountered that specific situation, although it has been written up in journals. Most gratifying.” He didn’t exactly break into a jig over this, but I could tell he was very close to it.
“Of course,” he continued, frowning somewhat, “the hypothermia was not good for the rest of your body, sent it into shock, but we didn’t care about that. We managed to get it under control after awhile. It’s the brain that interests us, is it not? What did you say?” He queried, finally looking at me, as I made slight sucking sounds with my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I sai
d. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Dr. Parsley. Got the hiccups.”
I smiled my Miss America smile and only wished I’d had my chart to throw at him.
“Right,” he responded. “In any event, we sewed up all the cuts once we removed the glass slivers from your scalp. I believe there were seventeen of them. Cuts, not slivers,” he clarified.
“There were hundreds of those,” he remembered, with an odd fondness. “And, of course, the wound from the blunt instrument was amazingly long. It required nearly forty-five stitches.” He chuckled and then sobered for a moment.
“Sorry about your hair. We had to get it off as quickly as possible, and I’m afraid it’s a little short. Actually, it’s very short.”
“My hair?” I echoed, biting my lower lip. I had been afraid to ask about it but knew the bandage was not as bulky as it would have been if it had been added to a full head of hair.
“Yes, your mother was upset at how much we had to remove, but after all, we’re not a beauty salon, are we?”
“No, indeedie,” I managed to say.
“Anyway,” he added sagely, “it will grow back, and the important thing was to get those wounds sewed up as quickly as possible.” I had little response to this logic and merely touched the top of my bandaged head with my hand.
“Day after tomorrow, we’ll remove the bandages permanently,” he continued. “I think you’ll see there will be a minimum of scarring, and your hair, which I remember as quite thick, will hide any remaining scars. What a mess you were when they first brought you in.”
He returned the chart to the foot of my bed and stared at me. “I didn’t know if you would ever come out of the coma. If there had been any further delay in getting you in here...” He stopped speaking and shook his head, once again, in fond remembrance.
“But there’s no brain damage, no seizures, not even a grand mal. The MRIs have confirmed that. We are very lucky because it could have been so much worse. As I said, I’ve never quite encountered this particular situation before, but aren’t we glad it turned out the way it did?”
“You betcha!” I responded with true enthusiasm.
“The way things are going, you’ll be able to go home in a couple of days.”
He returned the pen to the lapel pocket of his crisp, white smock. “See you tomorrow.” He grinned as he left the room in a whirl, possibly eager to visit his next chart.
I took a moment to compose myself, focusing on my private room. It was light and airy, painted a pale blue with white trim.
The walls held copies of seascape paintings, unfortunately. One I found particularly nauseating was a palate work of a harbor with small, white boats basking in the sun. I never wanted to see a boat, a harbor, or a body of water again in my life. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if I could face a bathtub full of H2O.
Flowers and get-well cards filled the table and the sill of the window, which faced a parking lot but let in a great deal of sun.
A large vase of flowers, complete with an enormous, handmade card, came from Maggie and Hank. This was my favorite even though it was filled with names I didn’t recognize.
It would be so like Maggie to make everyone leaving the diner sign the card, whether they knew me or not. I felt ashamed of myself for thinking of Princeton-by-the-Sea as a “backwater” town.
It’s really a charming place filled with warm, caring people.
I waxed sentimental while I glanced at the abundant arrangement. I suspected the flowers came from someone’s winter garden, maybe a few gardens, and that made them all the more touching.
Even Ed, the repairman from the gas station, had towed my car free of charge to a body shop in San Mateo, so the trunk could be repaired. As soon as I could, I would have to drop by and thank him, maybe even slip him another fifty.
I might even look up this Captain Fred Anderson. Anyone who made Lila roll her eyes and Richard finds “cool,” I had to meet.
The door opened and Mom came sailing into the room. She was dressed for work and looked spectacular, as usual, in a moss green, double-breasted suit with matching overcoat. Her eyes sparkled even though her mouth was set in a grim line.
“Liana, I can’t stay long because there are a million things to do at work. I just wanted to bring you some things.”
With that, she dumped the contents of a large Nordstrom’s shopping bag at the foot of the bed.
“Oh, thanks, Mom,” I said a little taken aback at the fast pace and energy exuding from the woman. I had to constantly remind myself the world still went on as I lay in bed recuperating.
“It’s freezing outside,” commented Lila, shivering a little and removing her coat.
Underneath the jacket, she wore her favorite long-sleeved, white chiffon blouse. The usual pearl pin decorated the neckline. She looked fabulous, and it wasn’t even seven-thirty in the morning.
“Now, I’ve made arrangements for Enrico to come and style your hair the day after tomorrow at around eight in the morning.”
“Oh, that’s great because...” I began with a smile.
“I hope you’re prepared for how short it is. I ran into the doctor outside, and he told me he told you,” said Lila, interrupting me as she arranged the contents of the shopping bag on the bed.
“Never mind though, because I have a feeling you will look quite gamine with short, wispy hair.”
“Gamine?”
“By the way,” Mom went on. “Now that visitors can drop by to see you, I’ve brought some choices in bed jackets and short robes for you. I like this one,” she stated, holding up a royal blue chenille bed jacket decorated at the neck with green and pink flowers.
“It suits your coloring. I also brought your make-up kit and several scarves, in case you want to put one over the hideous bandage on your head.”
I had been reaching out for the bed jacket, but as her last words struck me, I put my hands to my head. I was beginning to feel overwhelmed.
What do I have, a mother or a whirling dervish?
“Mom! Can we slow down? I can’t keep up with you this morning.”
“Oh, I’d love to, darling, but I can’t,” she responded as she glanced at her wristwatch. “It took me forever to get here—I left at six-thirty—and I have to rush back for a nine a.m. appointment with Ms. Davidson.”
Lila stressed the woman’s name, especially the word ‘Ms’. I felt the tightness start in my stomach.
“You remember the merger? It’s all going to take place in three months time, providing a couple of allegations can be cleared up. We’ve got two agents on it, plus Richard. It’s been chaotic.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you from your merger,” I said peevishly, kicking at the scarves and bed jackets at the bottom of the bed. I lay back and crossed my arms over my chest. Mom looked at me in surprise.
“You know, I’m short one valuable agent, so I have a lot of extra work to do,” she said, touching one of my feet with her hand lightly. “That’s in addition to having my daughter in here.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mom,” I said in a frustrated tone. “But I feel the world rushing by, and I’m here stuck in this bed.”
I smiled or, rather, tried to. My mother leaned forward, and I smelled Bal a Versailles as she brushed a kiss on my cheek and sat down on the side of the bed. She studied my face and reached some sort of decision.
“Liana, I know that this is a difficult time for you, but let me tell you, it has not been easy for your family, either. Mateo is not a young man. Aside from the obvious stress of what happened on that horrible night, the poor man had to have several stitches in his right hand from forcing the trunk of your car open so we could get at the receiver. He has also been taking care of that stupid cat of yours as if it were the Virgin Mary.”
“Mom, I…”
“Let me finish,” Lila said, obviously just warming up. “Your brother has been functioning on three or four hours sleep a night. He comes here each evening, while carrying a sixteen to eighteen hour workday. T
his is after having been up for over twenty-four hours at your bedside in the first place. I don’t think he’s ever made up that lost sleep.”
“I know, Mom. I…”
“I don’t need to tell you what it’s done to me or do I?” Lila went on as if I had not spoken.
“If you hadn’t gone off like that, risking your very life, none of this would have happened in the first place, and you wouldn’t be in here behaving like a spoiled brat!” she added, as the grand finale to her speech.
“Mom, everything you say is true,” I admitted meekly. “I can be a spoiled brat sometimes. I’m really sorry, and you’re right. All of this is my fault,” I added.
“Well see that it doesn’t happen again. I lost one of my best pairs of shoes when I climbed up the side of the Feng Shen, not to mention having a brand new blouse completely ruined!”
She then winked at me and burst out laughing.
“Your face, Liana, your beautiful face, so serious, so contrite. My impetuous, exasperating, beautiful daughter, what am I going to do with you? But how can I ever stay mad at you when I love you so much?”
She bent down and hugged me hard. I held onto her gratefully.
“I was only trying to do what I felt was right. He died on my watch, Mom. Mr. Wyler died, and maybe it was because I didn’t do enough. I’ll never know,”
I whispered into her soft hair. I broke free, glanced into her eyes, and then looked away, ashamed of the admission.
“We all feel that way sometimes, Liana, as we try to get through life. ‘Should I have done that? Should I have done this? Did I do enough? What would I do differently if I had it to do over again?’ It comes under the heading of ‘what might have been.’ It can tear you apart or you live with it, and you go on. But you don’t do stupid things to compound it, understand?”
I nodded and lay back suddenly feeling a lot older but not very much wiser.