She missed him more than she would have believed possible. Nights alone were agony, so she filled them with packing as much as she could ahead of time. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she was sure she was going to go.
Almost every Saturday she interviewed for jobs. After a preliminary meeting during which she conferred with the placement agency’s representative, she was presented with a description of open positions as they became available. Since she was willing to go anywhere and also to take a cut in salary, these were more numerous than she had expected If she and the prospective employer were both interested, the agency set up a meeting. Twice she flew out-of-town, but most often she was interviewed by someone from the company who happened to be in Philadelphia or New York.
The schedule was exhausting. Jennifer was beginning to feel better, the nausea had almost disappeared, but she spent most Saturdays dressing up, trying to make a good impression on strangers, and trekking back and forth to and from hotel suites or luncheon appointments. On Sundays, she crashed. She almost relished the constant activity, however. It didn’t give her much time to think about other things.
Thanksgiving was almost upon her before she found the job she wanted. She was beginning to think she never would, but just when she was giving up, the placement representative contacted her with the ideal position. It was similar to the one she presently had, but with much wider ranging responsibilities, for less money, with the Tampa Bay Bengals, in Florida. Travel and moving expenses would be paid as part of the package. She met with the personnel vice-president in New York and accepted the offer the same day it was made.
Her next task was composing a letter of resignation for Harold Salamone. By the time she finished, her living room was littered with scrap paper. Dolores typed it the next day, and Jennifer asked for an appointment to see him.
He was shocked and tried to talk her out of her decision. Jennifer was adamant but understood his puzzlement. Her statement that the reason for her move was “personal” hardly explained her actions. He insisted that she contact him if she ever needed work in the future, and she promised that she would.
The Saturday before Thanksgiving Jennifer tuned in to the Freedom’s home game from force of habit. It was not televised in the local area, so she listened to it on the radio. There was some small comfort in hearing Lee’s exploits described. She couldn’t help feeling a certain pride in his accomplishments. She was sorting dishes for the moving company to wrap and pack, washing the ones she was planning to take, and putting the rest in a box for storage.
The announcer was describing a pass from Joe Thornridge to Lee when he suddenly broke off, and then resumed with a strong undercurrent of repressed excitement in his voice.
“Lee Youngson is down, hit hard by number 31, Melvin Banks. Youngson was reaching for that Thornridge pass when he was tackled by the 6’ 4” 250-pound Banks, and you can bet Lee must be smarting from that one, folks.” Jennifer paused, alerted.
“Lee Youngson is hurt!” the announcer caroled. “He is motionless on the ground, and the officials are calling for a stretcher. No way to tell the extent of his injuries, of course, but he appears to be unconscious and is about to be carried off the field.”
The dishtowel Jennifer was holding slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.
“The word here in the booth is that an ambulance is on the way to take the injured man directly to Center City Hospital. To repeat, Lee Youngson is being carried, unconscious, off the field and is being taken to—”
Jennifer snapped off the radio with trembling fingers. Mechanically, she went to the closet and got her coat, then picked up her purse and keys.
Her only thought was to get to Lee as soon as possible.
* * * *
Jennifer remembered nothing of the drive to the hospital. She obeyed traffic signals and negotiated city streets in a daze. She wasn’t sure she could get in to see Lee when she arrived, but she knew she had to try.
There was a crush of reporters in the lobby of the hospital, and she pushed past them impatiently. A hospital spokesman was dealing with them, handing out the usual party line about “resting comfortably” and “everything possible being done.” Jennifer knew the truth was to be found elsewhere.
But she soon discovered that no one would tell her anything. She wasn’t a member of the family, or part of the team’s staff, and she couldn’t even find out what floor Lee was on. She was standing in the reception area, terrified, frustrated, when she saw Joe Thornridge speeding in a side door, dodging the press, his face hunched into his collar. They were listening to the administrator and didn’t see him.
Jennifer wanted to shout for him but feared attracting attention. She waited until he had turned down one of the corridors and then scurried after him as fast as she could.
He jumped when she grabbed his arm, whirling to face her.
“Joe, it’s me.”
His eyes widened. “Jenny! Why’d you pounce on me like that?”
“I didn’t want the reporters to see you. How is he?”
Joe’s plain face darkened with concern. “Not good, sugar, not good. He’s still out, and these doctors here can’t seem to figger why.”
The knot forming in Jennifer’s stomach lightened another notch. “What happened?” she asked.
“I screwed up, is what happened,” Joe said miserably. “I overshot him by a mile, but you know he’s always got to try for ‘em, even if they’re twenty feet over his head. Banks never woulda been able to nail him like that if he hadn’t been reachin’ for the moon.”
“Where is he?”
“Third floor. Intensive care.”
“Intensive care?” Jennifer repeated faintly. Suddenly she didn’t feel very well. She stopped abruptly and put her hand to her throat Air seemed to be in short supply.
Joe put his arm around her and steadied her against his side. “Hey, hey, li’l lady, take it easy.” He turned her to face him and put his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just studied her expression. Then he stepped back and took her hand. “C’mon, sugar,” he said quietly. “We’ll go up and see what the story is.”
The ride on the elevator seemed endless. Jennifer clutched Joe’s hand as if it were a life preserver.
The scene outside intensive care was grim. Roy O’Grady and Coach Rankin sat on one of the visitors’ benches, furiously puffing cigarettes and whispering. They reminded Jennifer of French films from the sixties in which everyone smoked constantly and conversed in low, intent voices through a carcinogenic cloud. Dawn sat apart from them, her customary composure undisturbed, watching Jennifer’s approach calmly. Carl Danbury and his wife, a statuesque beauty with a curly Afro, stood off to one side. They didn’t look happy.
Mrs. Danbury took one look at Jennifer and said to Joe, “Get this woman a glass of water.”
Joe obliged, walking to a water cooler at the end of the hall, and Mrs. Danbury extended her hand. “You must be Jennifer. My husband told me about you. I’m Rita Danbury.”
Jennifer shook hands, wondering what Carl had said.
Mrs. Danbury led her to a seat next to Dawn and then sat herself, putting Jennifer in the middle between the two other women. Joe came back and silently handed Jennifer her drink.
“Did you call Sal Barbetti back?” Rita asked him.
Joe nodded.
“Is that the man who owns the restaurant?” Jennifer asked.
Joe nodded again.
“When I was there with Lee, he said something about a favor Lee did for his son. Do you know what that was?”
“Oh, his kid got into some trouble with the police when he was out to see his cousin Angelo. Lee vouched for the kid to the cops, took him in to live with him while the kid was on probation, saved him from a juvenile home, certain. Sal would do anythin’ for Lee.”
So would I, Jennifer thought, but that isn’t helping right now.
A doctor emerged from the private roo
m, and everybody stood. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. He’s still unconscious.”
Everybody sat down again, dispiritedly. Rita Danbury patted Jennifer’s knee.
Dawn spoke up. “May I see him, Doctor?”
The doctor nodded. “Just for a minute,” he said. “Since you’re family.”
Jennifer turned to her, surprised.
Dawn met her glance. “I am a distant cousin,” she said. “But since the rest of Lee’s relatives are in Montana, I am taking responsibility.” She followed the doctor into the room.
Jennifer put her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
When Dawn came out again after a short interval she said, “Would you let this young lady see him, please?” She indicated Jennifer. “Miss Gardiner is a close friend of Lee’s, and I would appreciate it.”
The doctor hesitated, and then agreed, reluctantly. “All right. But be quick about it.”
Jennifer pressed Dawn’s hand for a moment in gratitude and walked past the doctor into the antiseptic cubicle.
She paused at the foot of the bed, as the doctor gently pulled the door closed. At first glance Lee looked asleep, but closer examination revealed an unhealthy pallor beneath his coppery skin. His black hair was like an ink stain against the stark whiteness of the pillow. Traces of the blackout he had worn during the game remained under his eyes, making the sockets appear hollowed and sunken. His big hands, which could play Chopin, catch a football from any angle, and make love to Jennifer so expertly, lay curled on the sheet, relaxed and lifeless.
Jennifer stood looking for a few moments, and then went to the side of the bed, pushing back the lock of hair that always fell across his forehead.
“I love you,” she said, because she knew he couldn’t hear it. “Please wake up, and get well.”
Then she marched out of the room and down the hall to the lounge, pushing through the swinging door and walking straight to the window overlooking the parking lot. She cried silently, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
She turned at a slight sound behind her. Joe was standing against the wall, his hands in his pockets, watching her. He held out his arms, and she ran into them.
“Oh, Joe,” Jennifer sobbed, “he isn’t going to die, is he?”
“No, no,” Joe murmured soothingly, rubbing her back as if he were burping a baby. “Course not, course not Need more’n a li’l ol’ bump on the head to take that Injun out.” Joe’s drawl was becoming more pronounced as the evening wore on. But it came and went, like the tide.
“But he looks so...still,” Jennifer said.
“Why, sure he does. That’s just because you’re not used to seein’ him stayin’ in one position that long. He’s always runnin’ aroun’ like his tail was on fire, and so now the comparison is scary, that’s all.” He pushed her hair out of her face and said, “C’mon back, now, with the others. You shouldn’t be alone in here.”
Jennifer followed him slowly back to the group.
* * * *
They kept vigil all night long. Rita Danbury went out for coffee at about 3 AM., and Joe called his wife twice, for moral support, since there was nothing to report. Jennifer fell asleep for an hour huddled under Carl’s coat and had just awakened when a nurse came out of Lee’s room, grinning from ear to ear. All eyes turned to her, and she pointed to the intern behind her, who announced smilingly, “He just regained consciousness for a few seconds.”
Carl punched Joe on the shoulder. Rita gestured to the rising sun through the window, and said, “Amen. Joy cometh in the morning.”
“What did he say?” Jennifer asked.
The intern rolled his eyes. “He said, ‘Am I in a hospital?’ I told him that he was, and he said, ‘Get me out of here.’”
Carl burst out laughing. “Sounds like our boy is on the road to recovery,” he said.
The doctor held up a hand. “Well, he’s not out of the woods yet by a long shot, but it’s a very good sign. My guess is that he’ll be with us for a while; we’ll have to run quite a few tests to make sure there was no damage before we can let him play again.” He surveyed the bedraggled company. “I suggest all you good people go home. I have your number, Miss Blacktree, and I’ll call you if there’s any change. You can visit him during the regularly scheduled hours.”
Buoyed by relief, the group began to assemble personal belongings in preparation for departure. Joe put his arm around Jennifer.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” he said. “My wife will make breakfast for us; you’ll feel better.”
Jennifer shook her head. “I’m fine, Joe. I just want to go home and get some sleep.”
Joe nodded. “All right.” He hesitated. “Jen, I...” He stopped and sighed. “He’s the stubbornest cuss I ever met. Why is it that he can’t see ...”
Jennifer interrupted him. “We’re both dead tired, Joe. I don’t think we should talk about this now.”
He looked mulish. “Not now. But sometime. I mean it, this is not my last word on the subject.”
Yes, it is, Joe, Jennifer thought. I won’t be around to hear any more.
Jennifer stopped on her way out to thank Dawn. “It was kind of you to think of me, to let me see him,” she said to the Indian girl. “Isn’t it wonderful that he came out of it?”
“Just as the sun rose,” Dawn said. “It was the power of his totem.”
“Take care of him,” Jennifer said.
Dawn did not miss the finality of Jennifer’s words. “You will not be back to visit him?”
“No.”
“Shall I tell him anything for you?”
“No.”
Dawn inclined her head, accepting Jennifer’s decision.
Jennifer walked out to her car, buttoning her jacket against the chill of the crisp November morning.
* * * *
Jennifer spent Thanksgiving with her father and his wife, breaking the news of her move to Florida. She said nothing of the coming baby, considering it best to let him absorb the shocks in small doses. He seemed concerned, but apparently regarded the relocation as a career choice, and Jennifer let him think that. He was too busy riding herd on his three teen-age stepchildren to worry about it much anyway.
She had previously contacted a real estate agency that handled rentals in the Tampa area, and the day after Thanksgiving she flew to Florida to look for an apartment. A very patient agent spent a long time with her, and she finally found something close to the Bengals’ office that was in good repair and that she could afford. It was still occupied, but Jennifer was promised it would be vacant by the time she needed it. She flew back to Philadelphia tired but satisfied with her efficiency. She was handling everything very well.
Her last few days with the Freedom were occupied with putting things in order for her departure, and saying goodbye to everyone, especially Dolores, who was proving to be very emotional. After promising hourly that she would write and telephone whenever she could, she heard herself inviting Dolores down over the Christmas holidays. This finally placated her, and she concentrated on helping Jennifer get ready to go.
Lee was still in the hospital. Joe kept her posted on his condition, which was steadily improving, but he wasn’t ready for discharge yet. They were keeping him there for “observation,” whatever that meant, but he was ambulatory and demanding to be released. Jennifer said nothing to Joe of her impending move; she would be gone before he realized it, as he was still playing and busy with the team.
Jennifer decided to take her car with her and drive down, rather than sell it and buy another when she got there. Marilyn helped her load it with a few final things after the movers had left, and she and Mrs. Mason took turns crying and warning her about the hazards of a woman traveling such a distance alone.
Jennifer was worn out by the time she finally got on the road. She had planned what stops she would make and telephoned ahead for reservations, but Marilyn and Mrs. Mason had convinced her that disaster awaited at every turn. Twin Cassandra
s, prophesying doom, they had set the tone for the trip, and Jennifer couldn’t shake off the feeling that they knew something she didn’t. She pulled onto the interstate with a heavy heart.
* * * *
The move to Florida was a nightmare from start to finish. Jennifer promised herself that when, or if, she recovered from it she was going to set her two friends up in the fortune-telling business. They would all make a mint.
Her car broke down in Georgia in some tiny hamlet with one service station, and it took her two days to get it fixed. She spent her time reading magazines purchased at the general store. They were several months out of date and on subjects that did not fascinate. When she started on Popular Mechanics for the second time, she knew she was in trouble. To make matters worse, she hadn’t been able to reach the Holiday Inn where she had reserved a room and so she had to stay at a dilapidated “rooming house” inhabited by a bunch of escapees from the Li’l Abner comic strip. They overcharged her shamelessly at the service station, but she paid the price gladly in order to get going once more.
She thought she had it made when she hit Florida, but discovered that she was wrong again. She got lost. She hadn’t realized before that everything in central Florida looks like everything else in central Florida. Nothing but citrus groves and trailer parks for endless miles on either side of a straight ribbon of sandy, dusty road. When she at last got directions she could understand from a state trooper, she had wasted almost a day wandering aimlessly among the orange trees.
She drove into Tampa at night, and its lights and beautiful bay looked like the Promised Land to her. But not for long. When she called the real estate agency in the morning, she was told that her apartment was not empty yet—there had been a slight delay. And as there was no place for the movers to put her furniture, it went into storage in the company’s warehouse in Spring Hill, an hour’s drive away. And, oh yes, there would be a slight storage charge.
Medicine Man's Affair Page 14