Going to Bend

by Diane Hammond

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying much attention. Has anything changed?”

  “With Larry? I don’t know, I haven’t called again. I decided to just come down.”

  They walked into the hospital lobby in silence and made straight for the second-floor waiting room. Everyone who’d lived in Hubbard for long had been inside the small hospital for a birth, an operation, a false alarm, a visit. Old Man had died there. Ryan and Loose had been born in the three-bed obstetrics ward, and there had been countless visits since for stitches. Now the elevator stopped on the second floor and Petie and Schiff turned left without missing a beat. Alone in the tiny waiting room at the end of the hall, Marge sat with her back to them, looking out the window.

  Petie put her hand softly on Marge’s shoulder as she came around the ugly plastic couch.

  “Oh, honey,” Marge said, showing the full wreckage of her face. “You wouldn’t believe what’s happened.”

  Petie pulled up a chair opposite Marge, and put one hand on Marge’s knee. “I know. Schiff told me. He’s called DeeDee and Frank and Bobby. They’re on their way.”

  “You know, I believe he’s going to be all right. They aren’t saying that, of course, but I believe it anyway. Me and Larry, we know things about each other. Honey, he’s fighting, I can feel it. Can’t you feel it?”

  Petie looked Marge full in the face. “No,” she said. “But I don’t have to, as long as you can.”

  Marge patted Petie’s knee absently, deafened by the din inside her own head. “You know, when he was in the hospital over in the Valley, when he had his first heart attack, they thought he would die then, but Larry, he fooled them. He showed them then, didn’t he?” She looked beseechingly at Petie and Schiff, who stood behind Petie’s chair. “It’s not his time yet. If it was, I’d know. Wouldn’t I?”

  “Let me get you something to eat,” Petie said. “Can you think of anything you’d like?”

  “Oh, no, honey, I couldn’t eat a thing.”

  “Coffee, then. Or tea. You need to keep up your strength.”

  Schiff leaned over to Petie. “I’ll go. You stay here.”

  “Why, isn’t that nice of him,” Marge said, watching Schiff walk away. She leaned in closer to Petie and said, “He’s always been a little forward for me, if you know what I mean, but I’m glad he’s here just the same.” She sat back and ran a fluttering hand over her hair. “I must look so bad, honey. I didn’t even shower this morning. Larry, he said to me he wasn’t feeling good and I know him, he doesn’t say that unless it’s serious. That’s when I called you, honey. He passed out coming over the cape, did I tell you? I was so scared. I was just so scared. Oh, honey.” She started to cry. “The doctors, they don’t know if Larry can get through this. They just don’t know.”

  Petie moved over to sit beside Marge so she could put her arm around her shoulder. She had learned very early that there are times when words are as useless as a broken umbrella, and this was one of them. The rain had to fall; the best you could do was huddle together until it passed. In a little while Marge gathered herself and pushed off from Petie to sit up on her own. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said.

  “Do you want me to talk to the doctors for you?” Petie said.

  “Oh, no. I know they’re real busy with Larry. They’ll come see us after a while. Do you know they won’t let me see him except for fifteen minutes an hour? Now, I don’t see the point of that.” She looked indignantly at Petie. “I might just try to walk in there and see if they’ll make me leave. Larry has no secrets from me.”

  “I don’t think it’s secrets they’re worried about. I think they just want him to have all the quiet he needs to get his strength back,” Petie soothed. “Once he’s stronger, they’ll let you stay with him more, I’m sure.”

  “Well,” Marge said, and drifted away on a current of thought.

  Petie sat quietly for a minute or two, but when it became unbearable she stood and paced. There was no sign of Schiff. She walked down the hall to the nurses’ station and got the attention of a nurse she didn’t recognize. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I’m a friend of Marge and Larry Hopkins. I’ll stay here with Marge until their kids get here from Arizona and California. How is Larry doing?”

  “You’re a close family friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll be blunt. Mr. Hopkins had a stroke during surgery, and there’s been extensive damage. His kidneys have also begun to fail.”

  Petie nodded. “Is there any possibility of his pulling out of this?”

  The nurse looked at Petie kindly. “I’m sorry. It’s really only a question of how quickly he’ll die.”

  “Have the doctors told Marge that?”

  “Yes, but I don’t believe she heard them.”

  “No,” Petie said. “I could tell that. Is Larry in any pain? Does he know what’s happening?”

  The nurse shook her head. “He’s in no pain, we’re making sure of that. As far as how aware he is, that’s harder to answer. He’s in a deep coma, and there’s been extensive brain injury. I would encourage you and Mrs. Hopkins to talk to him when you’re with him, in case it brings him comfort, but frankly, I think he’s already gone.”

  “Do you know how much time he has?”

  “No. Maybe one day, maybe several. He’s on life support now, so how quickly he passes away will be partly up to the family. There should be enough time to say goodbye.”

  “But there’s no hope.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you,” Petie said, and turned away and muttered under her breath, “Jesus Christ.”

  At the other end of the hall, Schiff had returned and was sitting with Marge, encouraging her to drink the coffee he’d brought up in foam cups. Petie caught his eye. He stood and came over to her, where they could talk out of range. Marge didn’t seem to notice.

  “He’s dying,” Petie said.

  “Does she know?”

  “They’ve told her, but no, she doesn’t know.”

  Schiff nodded. “Look. Why don’t you go back to Hubbard and pack some things for her? They’ll let her sleep here tonight if there’s an empty room. I’ll stay with her until you get back.”

  “Can you do that? Don’t you have to get back to work?”

  “I’m the boss,” Schiff said. “I’ve given myself the afternoon off.”

  “You don’t even really know these people. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Get going.”

  “Hey, Schiff?”

  “Go. Go. Shoo.” He turned his back on her and returned to the waiting room at the end of the hall. It was as great an act of courage as Petie had ever seen.

  PETIE MADE the drive over the headland and into Hubbard in record time, preparing a mental packing list: medicines, hairbrush, toothbrush and other toiletries; a pair of knit slacks and a matching top; a change of shoes and socks; a jacket, nightgown, robe and slippers. It was only when she got back to the hospital that she realized she hadn’t made even a token effort to bring anything for Larry. She’d pretend to Marge that his things were in the trunk of her car until he needed them.

  Schiff must have seen her drive up. He met her at the second-floor elevator and lightly laid his hand on the small of her back. “Breathe deep,” he said. “She’s starting to get it.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-huh. It’s not pretty. They’ve sedated her a little to keep her together, but it’s been touch-and-go a couple times. Screaming, sobbing, like that.” Schiff ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

  “How’s Larry? Has anything changed?”

  “No. Look, I should take care of one or two things in the office, but I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  “No, don’t come back. I can stay now until their kids start showing up. What time is it? DeeDee should be here in another few hours. Has Marge eaten anything? If they’re drugging her I’ve got to get her to eat.”

  Schiff shook his keys free of the change i
n his pocket. “Okay, look. I’ll be near the phone if you need anything. If I don’t pick up, tell Bev to get my ass out of the bathroom. I won’t be any farther away than that. After five just call me at home.”

  Petie lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, right.”

  “Look, I’ll explain the situation to Carla.”

  “Hell will freeze over before I’d ever call you at home,” Petie said. “Call me in the morning and I’ll fill you in.”

  “Jesus, princess, you’re a scrappy little thing, aren’t you?”

  “That’s me,” said Petie, turning on her heel and walking away.

  PETIE SET the suitcase with Marge’s things beside the sofa in the waiting room. Marge herself was gone, so Petie walked back down the hall and looked through the door into the intensive care unit. At the end of the ward, partially obscured by a curtain, she could see Marge standing beside what must be Larry’s bed. Petie couldn’t hear her, but she could see that Marge was talking a mile a minute. That Marge, she’s a talker, Larry liked to say. Don’t matter if she has anything to tell you or not—hell, she can spend half an hour telling you there’s nothing new. Then he’d pat her arm lovingly, and she would blush and dimple even though she’d heard him say the same thing a million times.

  The nurse Petie had talked to earlier spotted her at the door and, misunderstanding, beckoned her inside. When Petie reached her, she whispered, “I’ll let you go in, but just for a few minutes. We’ve given Mrs. Hopkins a mild sedative, by the way, to see if we can keep her calm. She’d been getting agitated, and that’s no help to anyone.”

  “I don’t really need to see him.”

  “No, go ahead. Just don’t stay long.”

  With dread Petie approached in silence. She could hear Marge saying, “Darlin’, you do what you have to do. I’d keep you here forever and ever, you know that, but if the good Lord is asking you back to His table for supper, why, that’s an honor you can’t turn down. You go on ahead, honey, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. You just ask Him to keep my dinner warm.”

  Petie willed herself to walk the last few steps, willed her face to take on a gentle expression instead of the horror she felt. When she touched Marge on the shoulder, Marge twitched away, and Petie backed up again. Larry looked like a wax effigy, a botched job with lips too narrow and eyes too deep and ears the size of saucers. Beneath the light sheet covering him she knew he’d been laid open from breastbone to navel, but there was no evidence of pain or spoilage. On the other hand, there was also no evidence of life.

  The nurse swept by Petie and stood at Marge’s side. “Why don’t you get off the ward for a few minutes, Mrs. Hopkins? I have some nursing things to do for your husband. Your friend is here now, and it would do you good to walk a little. We’ll page you if anything changes.”

  “It’s a good idea, Marge,” Petie said. “Come downstairs with me and let me find you something to eat. Larry would never forgive me if I let you go hungry.”

  Marge turned her ruined face to Petie and nodded. “All right, honey,” she said. “All right.” She allowed Petie to steer her downstairs to the tiny cafeteria and buy a club sandwich that she doctored with mayonnaise and abandoned. They were back on the ward in ten minutes flat, and that only because Petie had done her best to stall.

  DeeDee, Larry and Marge’s daughter, swept onto the ward half an hour later, while Marge was at Larry’s bedside. Petie recognized her instantly. She was bosomy and moon-faced and loud, and Petie had only met her once before, when she brought her husband and two kids up from Tempe and they all got food poisoning at the Snack Shack. That had been two years ago, and in Petie’s opinion DeeDee looked even worse now than she had after vomiting for twenty-four hours.

  “Oh Lord,” she said to Petie in greeting, “I cannot believe what’s happening. I get a call at work from some man I’ve never heard of, and the next thing I know I’ve stuck my kids with the neighbor and I’m sobbing on a damn airplane. I’m surprised I didn’t drive into a tree on the way down here from Portland. Look at my eyes! They’re going to be swollen completely shut by morning.”

  “They might have Murine down at the gift shop,” Petie said.

  DeeDee waved away the problem. “Tell me first about Mother. Is she all right?”

  “No, but they’ve given her a mild tranquilizer and she’s managing. It’ll be easier for her now that you’re here.”

  “And Daddy?”

  “Look, DeeDee, I don’t do these things well, so I’ll just say it. He’s in a coma. His kidneys are shutting down. The nurse on duty told me that it’s the way a lot of doctors want to die, because it doesn’t hurt. You just slip away.”

  “Does Mother know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “With Larry.” Petie led her to Larry’s bedside, where Marge and DeeDee clung together in something between a bear hug and mutual collapse. Finally Marge held her daughter at arm’s length and looked her over.

  “Oh, your poor eyes! Baby, they’ll be swollen shut by morning. We’ll have to get you some Murine. They probably have things like that in the gift shop downstairs.”

  DeeDee smiled wanly and nodded in Petie’s direction. “That’s exactly what she said.”

  “She’s allergic to her own tears,” Marge explained to Petie. “Always has been, poor thing.” To DeeDee she said, “You remember Petie, honey, who helps Daddy and me out sometimes at the motel?”

  DeeDee nodded, but her thoughts had clearly moved on. “Isn’t there something else they can do? I have to say, Mother, that he’d be much better off in Portland at a real hospital.”

  “There wasn’t any time, honey. And now it’s too late.” Marge drew a shaky breath. “You know Daddy’s only holding on to say goodbye to you all.”

  “I don’t believe this,” DeeDee said.

  “Do you know when your brothers will get here?” Petie asked her.

  “Sometime this evening. They were catching the same flight out of San Francisco.”

  Petie touched Marge’s arm. “Now that DeeDee’s here and the others are on the way, it’s time for me to go home. I’d like to say goodbye to Larry before I go, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Of course, honey, he’d never forgive you if you didn’t. You go on ahead. DeeDee and me will just be down the hall.”

  When Petie approached Larry’s bed it seemed to her that Larry had diminished, was actually, measurably, smaller than he’d been just a few hours ago—as though by morning he might dwindle away completely, not so much in death as through evaporation. She laid her hand on his lightly, outside the covers, and his eyes moved under the lids for a minute. She turned and walked away without saying a word. Her back was straight, her gaze steady, and she remained dry-eyed all the way to Hubbard. She hadn’t wept for either Paula Tyler or Old Man, and she didn’t intend to weep now. Instead, without having planned it, she pulled into the Wayside, bellied up to the bar and ordered a beer. To her relief, the place was empty except for a young couple she didn’t recognize and Dooley Burden sitting in the corner doing a crosstik. Roy was bartending.

  “Hey, Petie,” he said in greeting. “We heard about Larry.”

  “Yeah,” Petie said.

  “Any chance of him pulling out of it?”

  “No.”

  Roy shook his head and polished up a glass. “So how’s Marge?”

  Petie shrugged. “Better than she’s going to be in a few days. Her kids are coming in, though.”

  “Shit,” Roy said sympathetically.

  “Yeah. Has Schiff been in?”

  Roy’s eyebrows went up but he kept his expression neutral. “Haven’t seen him.”

  Petie ran her thumb over the old bar, all the cuts and nicks and fork bites Hubbard’s finest had been laying down in that oak slab for more than thirty years. Old Man, alone, had been responsible for a set of knife cuts twelve inches long and nearly half an inch deep at a stretch of the bar he’d held up from the time he was old enough
to order his first beer to the day he died.

  “Well, speak of the devil,” Roy said to Petie, and lifted his chin in their direction as Schiff and Carla walked through the Wayside door. Carla was dressed in a tarty dress with little X’s and O’s all over it and had the long jaw and beaky nose of a born nag. She glared at Petie and chose a corner table as far from her as she could get. Schiff came and stood by Petie’s barstool with his back to Carla, though it may not have been intentional.

  “I called the hospital a few minutes ago but they wouldn’t tell me anything,” he said. “How’s Larry?”

  Petie ran her hand over her face to quiet her heart. God, but it had been a long day. She felt suddenly like her skin had been peeled away. “No change. DeeDee got there about an hour ago. The other two are due in this evening.”

  “And Marge?”

  Petie looked at Schiff. When she spoke, it came out as a sob. “She told him”—she faltered, and drew a deep breath—“she told him if the Lord was calling him home, it was okay for him to go.”

  “Jesus,” he said, but Carla was waiting and the Wayside was all ears. “Look, Petie. You take care.”

  And he turned and walked away.

  Later they heard that the whole family had assembled at Larry’s bedside by mid-evening. They stayed with him until he died peacefully at five forty-five the next afternoon—recalled, as Marge would tell it, to the gracious table of our Lord.

  Chapter 13

  EULA COOLBAUGH always said there was something happy about lemons, their cheerful color and their firm, tidy shape. Petie had never seen a lemon close up until she moved to Eula’s house, where there were always lemons in a wire basket hanging over the sink. Honey, to me a lemon is like a pretty girl who believes she’s plain, she used to say to Petie. The lemon doesn’t make a lot of fuss the way a mango or a papaya does, flashing all those cheap bright colors around for everyone to see. But when you gussy her up with a little sugar, why you realize she’s a beauty. You and that lemon, honey, you have an awful lot in common.