“Fine,” she says, letting her head fall into a more normal position. She hauls her walker around with surprising agility and heads for my hearse. “Put me in the damned death car. I’m halfway there already.” She makes it to the car, opens the door, and settles in on the passenger side. Then she sits there, her walker keeping her from shutting the door and too big for her to manhandle into the car. She folds her arms over her chest and glares at me.
I take the walker, collapse it, and load it into the back of the hearse. By the time I’m done, Sylvie has shut her door and she’s seated facing front, arms again folded over her chest. Dom is heading inside, and after one more look to make sure he still appears to be coping okay, I settle in behind the wheel.
“Put your seat belt on, Sylvie,” I say, pulling my own over and latching it in place.
“Seat belt, schmeat belt,” Sylvie grumbles. “So what if I die? I’m in the perfect place, yes?”
I start the engine but before I shift it into gear, I turn and glare at her. “Either you put your seat belt on or I’m going to come over there, pick you up out of your seat, carry you over to my seat, and put you behind the wheel. Then I’m going to sit on you, put my seat belt on, and drive us to the hospital.”
She stares me down, her defiance and anger glaring. Our eyes lock for an interminable number of seconds in a game of chicken. “Fine. Have it your way,” I say, undoing my seat belt, my eyes still locked on hers.
She blinks . . . and then her face crumples and she looks away. With one sticklike arm, she reaches for the belt. “You big girls,” she snarls. “You t’ink you can boss people around.” She snaps the belt into place with a vicious jab and then folds her hands in her lap and stares out the front window.
She looks so frail and frightened all of a sudden that all my anger dissipates. I realize she’s scared, and I feel myself softening toward her. I shift the car into gear and turn it around, heading down the driveway. “He’s going to be okay, Sylvie,” I say as I pull out onto the road.
I pray to God I’m right.
CHAPTER 7
The hospital is only five minutes away. I pull up into the circular drive in front of the ER entrance and stop to let Sylvie out. An elderly male volunteer is manning the door; normally, he would scurry out to my car and offer me valet parking service. But the sight of the hearse throws him and he stands in the doorway, gaping at us.
I get out and walk around to open the back and take out Sylvie’s walker. After unfolding it, I set it by the passenger-side door. Sylvie has her door open already and she’s struggling to haul herself out of the car. The volunteer finally snaps to attention and walks over to assist us.
“Her son is in the emergency room,” I tell the volunteer. “Will you please escort her there while I park?”
He appears relieved to discover he won’t have to be parking the hearse and a walker is the only thing I dragged out of the back of it. With a smile and a little nod, he says, “Right this way, ma’am,” and walks over to hold the entrance door for Sylvie.
I hop back in the hearse and head for the parking lot, my thoughts at this point fully focused on Izzy. I snag the closest space I can find, and then jog into the hospital. By the time I reach the ER waiting area, Sylvie is just arriving there, too, her volunteer escort beside her.
The girl behind the registration desk is someone new, someone I don’t know. I curse, knowing things would go much easier if there was someone here I knew.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m Mattie Winston. I used to work here as a nurse. This lady’s son was just brought in by ambulance with a heart attack. It’s Dr. Rybarceski.”
The girl nods, consults her computer, and says, “Hold on a minute.” She picks up her phone and punches in a number. “I have Dr. Rybarceski’s mother here to see him,” she says to whoever answered on the other end. After listening for a few seconds, she says, “Okay,” and hangs up.
“If you’ll take a seat, someone will come out and let you know when you can go back. They’re working on him right now.”
The term “working on him” strikes fear in my heart. It’s a term I know ER staff sometimes use when they’re coding someone who has gone into cardiac arrest. I’m about to object to our instructions to take a seat when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Mattie? Is that you?”
I whirl around, breathing a sigh of relief. It’s one of the ER nurses—Phyllis, nicknamed “Syph” by those of us who used to work with her—a fifteen-year veteran in the ER.
“Syph!” I say. “Thank goodness. Izzy is in the ER. He’s having an MI. This is his mother, Sylvie,” I add, pointing to her. “Can you get us in the back?”
“Of course,” she says, and I see the receptionist make a face. Her authority has been usurped and she doesn’t like it.
We follow Syph around a corner and through a badge-controlled door into the main ER area. She stops at the desk, tells me to wait a minute, and asks the clerk seated behind the desk what room Izzy is in.
“Room two,” she says. “But they’re pretty busy in there right now. The helicopter is on the way.”
Knowing a helicopter is en route both frightens and reassures me. It frightens me because it symbolizes how serious Izzy’s condition is. It reassures me because I know it’s the fastest way to get him to a cath lab, something our hospital doesn’t have. In cases like this, patients are routinely med-flighted to one of the bigger hospitals in Madison or Milwaukee.
“Helicopter?” Sylvie says, looking confused.
Syph says, “Let me go poke my head in. I’ll be right back.”
As she heads for Izzy’s room, I explain the need for the helicopter to Sylvie.
Her only response is “Izzy always wanted to ride in a helicopter.”
It’s a bizarre segue, but probably the only one her mind can handle at the moment.
Syph returns and says, “He’s stable for the moment. They have a couple of IVs going, he’s had some meds, and they’re getting him ready for transport. His pain is under control right now, so that’s a good sign.”
“Blood pressure?” I ask, recalling how low it was earlier.
Syph grimaces. It’s quick, fleeting, but I see it. I know her too well. “It’s on the low side, but for now he’s holding his own.”
“Can we go in and see him?”
“Sure.” She leads us into the room and Sylvie moves faster than usual with her walker. As she approaches the bedside, Izzy looks over at her and makes a face.
“You should be resting, Mom,” he says. “I’m fine.” He looks at me then and adds, “Mattie, can you please take her home?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sylvie says in a tone that brooks no objections. “At least not until you leave.” She looks up at the other nurse in the room, someone I don’t know. Her name tag reads PENNY. “Where are you sending him?”
Penny gives us the name of a hospital in Madison; then Sylvie turns around and looks at me. “Are they good?”
“They are,” I say. “They have some of the best stats in the country for their heart catheterization lab. Izzy will be in good hands.”
“Will you take me up there?” Sylvie asks.
“Of course, but you’re going to have to ride in the death car.”
She clucks at this and shakes her head. Then she turns her attention back to her son. “I’m not surprised this happened,” she says. “I told you our sins come back to bite us in the ass.”
“Sylvie!” I say. “Really? This is so not the time for this.” I hear the distant percussion of the helicopter blades and know our time with Izzy is running short.
Penny has heard it, too, and she says, “I’m going to have to send you back out to the waiting room for now. The helicopter crew will be here in a minute and things are going to get tight in this room. I’ll come and get you right before they wheel him out, okay?”
Sylvie looks like she wants to protest, so I lean over and whisper in her ear. “Don’t be the cause of any delays,
Sylvie. Time is of the essence right now.”
With a sigh, she steps forward, pushes the walker to one side, and clutches the bed rail. Then she bends down and kisses Izzy on his forehead. “You better not die on me,” she says. Then she grabs her walker and clip-clops out of the room.
I walk up to the head of the bed and give Izzy a smile. “You doing okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he says, but there is a hint of hesitancy in his voice that tells me he’s a little scared.
“You best listen to your mother,” I tell him. “Dom will never survive her without you to run defense.”
Izzy starts to smile, but it fades quickly. “Speaking of which, where is Dom?”
I frown, realizing he should have been here by now. “He was coming right behind us. He said he had to go inside and grab a diaper bag for Juliana, but then he was going to come straight away.”
Izzy’s brow furrows with worry, making me curse to myself. The last thing he needs right now is more stress.
“Let me see if I can find him.” I lean over and kiss him on the forehead the same way Sylvie did, and then hurry back to the waiting room, passing the helicopter crew along the way. It won’t be long now before Izzy is in the air, but there’s no sign of Dom. I walk to the front entrance and scan what I can see of the parking lot. Nothing. I take out my cell phone and dial his number. When it flips over to voice mail, my heart lurches in my chest. Has something happened to Dom? Has he been in an accident?
By the time I get back to the waiting area, Penny has come to fetch Sylvie for one last good-bye. I tell her to go ahead and I’ll catch up with her later. Then I go back to the front entrance, praying Dom will appear at the last second and have a chance to see Izzy before he goes.
Time ticks by as I mentally urge Dom to hurry. But the next thing I know, Sylvie is at my side and Dom is nowhere to be seen.
“You’re looking for . . . him,” she says, spitting out the last word with obvious distaste. “I told Izzy he was making a big mistake hooking up with that boy. He should settle down with a nice lady, someone a little younger maybe, so she won’t mind taking care of Juliana.”
I give Sylvie a look of impatience and almost start to argue the point with her, but realize it will be a waste of time and breath. “Come on,” I tell her. “I need to go back to the house and see where Dom is, make sure he and Juliana are all right.”
We walk outside and I tell Sylvie to wait while I get the car. Our ride back is made in total silence and I tell Sylvie to sit tight while I go inside to see if Dom is there. I see her shiver, so I leave the engine running and turn the heat on low, aiming the vents at her. I enter through the garage, using a punch code to get in. When I see both Dom’s and Izzy’s cars inside, my fear and worry turn to confusion. When I enter the kitchen, I’m stunned. Dom is sitting at the table with Juliana in a seat on top of it, and he’s calmly feeding her from a jar of baby food fruit.
“Dom? What the hell? Why are you still here?” He doesn’t look at me, nor does he answer, but I see tears welling in his eyes. I walk over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dom, what’s going on?”
“Is Izzy okay?” He freezes as he asks this, the spoon halfway between the bowl and Juliana. He is as still as a statue as he waits on my answer.
“For the moment. They med-flighted him up to Madison. He needs a cardiac catheterization.”
Dom drops the spoon into the bowl with a clatter and buries his face in his hands. “This is all my fault,” he sobs. “I did this to him.”
“That’s crazy talk. You are not responsible for Izzy’s heart attack.”
He drops his hands and looks up at me with a pathetic, tearstained expression. “Yes, I am. You told me, he told me, everybody told me it was crazy to adopt a kid, that the stress of raising a child would be too much on him at his age. But I kept pushing for it until Izzy caved. And now look what’s happened.”
“Dom, trust me. If Izzy felt that strongly about the kid thing, he never would have caved. You know that.”
He shakes his head and sobs some more.
“He asked for you at the hospital. He was hurt you weren’t there.”
“I couldn’t do it,” Dom answers, sobbing. “I can’t face him. He knows this is my fault. And what if he doesn’t . . . what if he . . .” He can’t complete the thought.
“I don’t know for sure how this is going to turn out,” I say. “But I do know one thing. If things go badly and Izzy dies without knowing the man he loves was there for him, it would be a damned shame. How are you going to live with that?”
Dom sniffs back a sob, but says nothing.
“Plus, you’re giving Sylvie more fuel for her fire. For heaven’s sake, Dom, do you love Izzy?”
“More than anything.” He chokes back another sob.
“Then prove it. Get your ass to that hospital in Madison and let your face be the first one he sees when he comes out of that cath lab. If you want, I’ll keep Juliana for the night so you can stay there.”
I see Dom’s mental wheels turning, so I toss out one last gambit. “And just so you know, Izzy told me a couple of weeks ago that bringing Juliana into his life has given him more joy than he ever imagined was possible.”
Dom eyes me with skepticism. “Did he really say that? Or are you just telling me what I want to hear?”
Izzy did say it, more or less, just not exactly the way I said it to Dom. What Izzy actually said was that Juliana brought a lot of chaos and change into their lives initially, and he felt disconnected from her at first. But with each passing day, he could see more and more of her personality emerging and he was surprised by how much joy each revelation brought him. I figure my interpretation is close enough. “Yes, he really said that. Now go pack a bag and get your butt to the hospital. I’ll take care of Juliana.”
Dom nods slowly, his eyes looking distant momentarily. Then he pushes back his chair and stands. “Okay,” he says, heading for the stairs. “Thanks.”
Crisis One averted. Now all I have to do is figure out what to do with Crisis Two: Sylvie.
CHAPTER 8
I take Juliana from her infant seat and carry her outside. Sylvie is where I left her and I breathe a sigh of relief. The thought had crossed my mind that she might slide behind the wheel and take the “death car” off to Madison on her own. Sylvie doesn’t drive anymore, but it wasn’t a privilege she gave up easily. I empathized with her, knowing I wouldn’t want to give up the freedom and independence a set of wheels provides, either. But safety had to rule over independence and Sylvie caved only after Izzy insisted, which he did after her fourth accident in as many months. The accidents were all minor ones—she sideswiped a car in the grocery store parking lot, took out a postal box while trying to parallel park downtown, backed over the flower bed in her previous neighbor’s yard, and hit a stop sign while trying to make a right turn. At first, Izzy was worried Sylvie’s mind was going, but the woman is sharp as a tack and misses nothing—in every sense of the word when it comes to her driving. It turns out her problem is her eyesight. It’s so bad she can’t read the large-print books and magazines anymore, and her depth perception is almost nonexistent.
A visit to the eye doctor and some new specs helped some, but she was unable to pass the eye test at the DMV, so her license was revoked. The lenses in her new eyeglasses are so thick they make her eyes look three times bigger than they are. Her thinning hair, which is currently a shade of whitish yellow, has been the same ever since I’ve known her. She favors a short little bob that probably looked chic back in the day, but now looks like tufts of silk on an ear of corn. With the vents in the car blowing on her face, two little strands of hair are standing almost straight up from her forehead, one on either side. This, combined with the giant eyes, makes her look like a bug. The irritated expression on her face doesn’t help, but then a minor miracle happens. When she sees I’m carrying Juliana, her expression morphs into one of sheer delight.
I walk over to the passenger window
and wait for Sylvie to open it.
“Dom is going to Madison to be with Izzy,” I tell her. “They need some time alone.” I stare at her, daring her to object or make one of her typical judgmental comments. “I’m going to take care of Juliana for now. I’m heading to my house so I can take care of my son as well. Would you like to come along?”
I can tell from the various muscle twitches in her face as she weighs my offer that she really doesn’t want to go with me. I understand. More than anything, I want to be in Madison right now and I’m betting she feels the same way. But Dom is the one who needs to be there, and the last thing Izzy needs is more stress. As Sylvie sits there, weighing her options, the garage door opens and Dom backs his car out. With a little maneuvering, he backs up beside my hearse and rolls his window down.
“Give Izzy a kiss and a hug for me,” I say, and I hear Sylvie cluck behind me. “And please call as soon as you have any kind of update.” I glance at my watch. “Izzy should be in the cath lab by now, so by the time you get there, you should be able to find out how everything went.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything,” Dom says. He looks past me to Sylvie. “Are you going to be with Mattie or here? I want to make sure you stay informed.”
If Sylvie is impressed by Dom’s deference to her, it doesn’t show. “I haven’t made up my mind yet,” she says, punctuating it with a little harrumph.
Juliana, who is awake, has so far been content to be held. But she begins to squirm and fuss a little, and a telling smell informs me her diaper is in need of changing. Tiring of Sylvie’s games, I look at Dom and say, “I’ll take Juliana to my house and wait there until I hear something from you. Sylvie will be with me.” Another harrumph emanates from the hearse, but she voices no objection.
“Let me give Juliana a kiss,” Dom says, leaning out the window. I hold his daughter out for him and he gives her a big swack on the cheek. This makes her smile and kick her legs about, which makes Dom beam. “Love you, baby girl,” he says. He gives me one last look and then pulls himself back inside the car and continues backing around. A moment later, he’s gone.
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