The Bargain - One man stands between a destitute town and total destruction.

by Aaron D. Gansky

  “This is going to sound insane, but I promise everything I tell you is true.” He paused. “Are you familiar with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah?”

  “A Bible story. Refresh my memory really fast.”

  “Four thousand years ago, God told Abraham He was going to destroy an evil town called Sodom. But, because God loved Abraham, He sent an angel to tell Abraham of His plans.

  “Abraham bargained with God. Essentially, he argued that God shouldn’t destroy the righteous with the wicked. God agreed not to destroy the town if Abraham could find ten righteous Sodomites. Abraham couldn’t even find one, and God made good on His promise. Burned the whole town until virtually nothing remained.”

  Paranoid delusional. I made a note to call the cops on my way out. I’d met crazy people before, but Mason was a whole other kind of insane. “So Hailey is Sodom, and you’re Abraham.”

  “If you want to look at it like that. Luckily, I only have to find five.”

  “Why ten articles then?”

  “Insurance. You don’t know Hailey’s people. Finding righteousness here is a lot like finding diamonds. You gotta go through the blackest coal to find them, but most of the time all you get is messy.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. His rambling gave me a headache. I needed to move, to get out of this dump of a house, but his paper-thin story somehow sucked me in. Maybe I just wanted to stay to poke holes in his ideas, to show him how insane he was. “Since you know this town so well, why aren’t you the one writing the articles? It’d be cheaper.”

  “I know the people, yes, but I’m not the writer.”

  “And God told you this? What does God need articles for?”

  “An angel actually, but he spoke for God, yes.”

  I smiled. If nothing else, his story entertained me. I prepared my next line, ready to point out his logical fallacies, to ridicule his little faith, but my phone rang. I recognized the number.

  “Hey Aida.” Static muddied her words, but I put enough words together to get the message. “Newland Community Hospital,” and “Nadine,” and “coughing blood.”

  The line went dead.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Chapter 2

  Wednesday, September 2nd

  “Nadine?” Mason asked.

  “I—How do I get to Newland Community Hospital? Please.”

  “You’re in no shape to drive. Give me your keys.”

  While my mind moved slowly, wrapped up in worry for Nadine, Mason moved quickly. He took charge, grabbed my keys and, before I knew it, had me in the passenger seat of my Impala. He slunk behind the wheel and played the part of Mario Andretti. The desert landscape sped by, an endless sea of sand. The car was quiet—I was too worried to speak.

  Mason downshifted and floored it up the incline of I-25 as it moved toward Newland. The engine roared, an animal on another planet. This couldn’t be my car, couldn’t be happening. The desert stretched on, hill after hill, valley after valley. Creosotes flashed by.

  How long had we been driving? Minutes? An hour?

  Mason shifted back into fifth, scanned the desert before us. “Fifteen more minutes.”

  Concern creased his face. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought it was his wife in the hospital. I immediately regretted the way I treated him in his home. Embarrassed and humiliated, terrified and helpless, I searched for something to say, something to do. I hated being powerless, at the mercy of others, at the mercy of God.

  I swallowed, folded my hands in my lap. I leaned forward, as if it’d somehow make us go faster. I cleared my throat, studied Mason from the corner of my eye.

  No doubt, worry had him as bad as it had me. “Back at the house—”

  “Forget it,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  We pulled into the hospital exactly fourteen minutes later. Mason slipped out of the car as if he’d been driving it his whole life. “Follow me. They’ll be in the ER.”

  I struggled to keep up with him. Fear slacked my knees. My breath came in uneven heaves. I worked hard to keep my breakfast down. “I never should’ve left.”

  He charged through the ER doors, walked to the front nursing station, mentioned my wife’s name, and asked for information.

  The nurse in pink scrubs looked him over dubiously. “Family?”

  He pointed to me. “Her husband.”

  Pink Scrubs nodded. “She’s been admitted.”

  Mason looked as surprised as I felt. How long had Nadine and Aida been at the hospital? ERs were anything but quick. Nausea welled inside me. I tasted sour bile and told myself not to panic.

  Mason moved quickly, like a doctor who worked here daily. He hardly checked signs en route to take me to my wife.

  How quickly everything changed. Less than an hour ago, I threw this man across the floor of his house, stood over him ready to crush his face. Now, I followed him, a frightened dog tailing his master. He might be crazy, but he’d stepped up when the situation called for it. He took charge in a way no insane man could. I’d misjudged him. There must be more to Mason Becker than he let on.

  “Here.” Mason pointed to the room and took a step back. “Go ahead. I’m going to talk to the nurses.”

  I nodded and stepped into the room. Heavy drapes obscured the bright desert sun. Nadine was in bed, covered with a thin blue blanket. Her skin paled to the color of ash, her eyes sealed shut. She lay on her side, facing the door.

  The room felt like dark water, like I’d fallen from a ship in a torrential storm. I needed to see the light above, needed the hope of a salvation, but water filled my lungs, and I couldn’t breathe. Safety slipped away. My lungs burned in a quiet, wet fire.

  This is how she dies, I thought. This is how our life ends.

  Aida rubbed her back. “Breathe, Connor. Sit down. You’re going to pass out.”

  I inhaled, felt my knees weakening again. I found the closest chair and sat. I took her hand in mine. So cold, my heart froze.

  Aida said, “You got here quick. Mason must have been driving.”

  “Is she sleeping?”

  “I think so.”

  I put my other hand on hers, squeezed gently to warm it.

  I wanted to ask what the doctors said, wanted to know everything. The lack of information terrified me, but I worried the answers I so desperately desired might not be the ones I wanted. Steeling my nerves, I asked Aida, “How is she?”

  In the dark, Aida seemed pale. “She’s in good spirits. Made jokes most of the time until she fell asleep.”

  “Sounds like her.”

  “I think she’s scared.”

  “We all are.”

  She moved her hands in small circles over Nadine’s back, like she was washing a car. “We’re waiting on a couple of x-rays and blood tests.”

  “How did you get admitted so quickly?”

  “I called Dr. Singh on our way down. He’s got a friend here at Newland Community and made a call. When we got here, they were expecting us. It was a bit of a whirlwind. No waiting. They took some blood, snapped a few x-rays, and wheeled her to this room.”

  A year ago, Dr. Singh diagnosed Nadine with ovarian cancer. He’d walked us through the process step-by-step. He had an incredible bedside manner; even put me at ease. I wished he were here now to comfort me, to spin some doctor-speak and make me believe Nadine would pull through.

  “Dr. Singh had a thing for Nadine. He’d flirt with her. She ever tell you that? Right there in front of me.”

  Aida laughed. “Isn’t he eighty years old?”

  I grinned. “Not sure he’s that old, but yeah. Old enough to be her father, at least.” I paused for a moment. A heavy fear sat on my chest. I took another breath, forced myself not to cry. “He’d call her beautiful, or a song, or
a princess. Before we left, he started calling her Xena. ‘You’re a warrior,’ he’d say.”

  Aida laughed again. “You have the worst North Indian accent. It’s almost offensive.”

  “He was right, though.” I held her hand tighter. It’d warmed, but now my palms ran cold. “She’s the strongest woman I know. Kinda makes you wonder how she ended up with me, doesn’t it?”

  “Not really. She’s a fixer, and you’re about as broke as they come.”

  In any other situation, I’d have prickled at Aida’s dig. But here, holding my wife’s hand, expecting the worst news of my life, I actually agreed with her. I kissed Nadine’s limp fingers.

  She checked Nadine’s IV and sat down again. After a lengthy silence, Aida continued. “Take your degrees and awards off your walls, and what do you have left?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Nadine.” By the look of surprise on Aida’s face, I guessed it wasn’t the answer she expected. “She’s all I really have. Even with the degrees and awards, I’m nothing without her.”

  Aida stopped rubbing Nadine’s back for a minute. She stared at me and went back to the slow, circular motion. “Connor, it doesn’t look good. I’ve worked around death and disease so long, it’s like we know each other.”

  I swallowed hard. The lump in my throat didn’t go away. I closed my eyes, gripped Nadine’s hand harder. “You’re not a doctor.”

  “I’m a nurse, and she was coughing up blood. Doesn’t take an MD to know that cancer and coughing up blood is not a good mix.”

  “The cancer’s in her ovaries.”

  “It can spread, Connor. I think hers may have gone to her lungs.”

  The room started to spin. I leaned back, put my hands on my head. “You’re wrong. You can be wrong. You’re not a doctor.”

  She frowned. “I wanted you to be prepared for the worst when the doctor comes in. If that makes you mad, so be it.”

  Anger loves a target, normally the closest person. I’d learned that early in my life. I’d used it to protect my mother. Whenever I stepped between her and her drunk boyfriends, they’d turn their attention—and their fists—to me.

  When I got older, I learned to hit back.

  Now Aida interposed herself between me and God, so she could be the target of my wrath.

  From behind me, Mason said, “Don’t give up hope. I’ve seen miracles happen before, and I’m sure God will work a miracle with Nadine as well.”

  I stood and clenched my fists. “You mean the same God that’s going to destroy Hailey? He’s going to kill all those people but let Nadine live?”

  He pressed his fingers together until the knuckles cracked. “Let’s not talk about that now.”

  Aida stood up, her hand on Nadine’s shoulder. “What’s he talking about, Mason?”

  “It’s about time for lunch,” he said. “What can we bring you, Connor?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Aida turned on Mason. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  Mason spoke calmly, still clearly in charge. “I’ll rephrase. We’re getting lunch, Aida and I. I’m guessing you want to stay here with Nadine. The tests they’re running are going to take some time, even though Dr. Singh put a rush on them. We won’t have answers for another few hours. In the meantime, you should eat.”

  I unclenched my fist and sat back down. “I want nothing you’re offering.”

  “Arby’s it is,” he said. “C’mon, Aida.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers. I want to know what Connor was talking about.”

  Mason sighed and took Aida’s arm. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “Don’t you sigh at me.” She grabbed her purse on the way out. “I’ll not be sighed at, Mason Becker.” They disappeared down the hall.

  I took Aida’s spot behind Nadine. I put my hand on her back and rubbed the way Aida had. The muscles of her back went slack, then tightened. She must be freezing. I moved my hands in circles, my forehead on the bed, breathing in rhythm with her. A single word played over and again in my mind: God.

  * * *

  When Mason and Aida returned, I sat in the same seat, my hands running laps over Nadine’s back. I moved to her neck, slid my fingers through her thin, short hair. She’d refused to wear a wig during chemo, something Dr. Singh admired in her. And though he told her it’d be a couple of years before she could get her hair back to the same length, she’d somehow managed to grow nearly six inches back in a matter of months.

  They hadn’t argued since their return. I’m not sure what Mason told Aida, but it’d miraculously appeased her, had tamed the wild beast. They flipped the television on and kept the volume low. Mason pulled out a deck of cards and played solitaire. Aida told him stories of when she and Nadine were kids.

  I didn’t say anything. Never thanked them for the food they’d bought for me, never asked questions about inside jokes or how Mason’s business was doing. I didn’t like small talk, and I liked the company even less.

  The sun set, and the room darkened. Mason started grumbling about dinner shortly before the doctor finally walked in. Aida muted the television and sat at attention.

  The doctor’s long black hair and fair skin made me think of Snow White. How young was she? Had she even finished med school?

  She introduced herself as Dr. Umberson, a friend of Dr. Singh’s, and spoke with a southern accent.

  “Sorry for the delay. I know y’all have been waiting some time for these results.” She spoke like a waitress apologizing for a long wait at a restaurant. “You must be the husband.”

  I wondered what gave me away. The slumped shoulders? The creases of fatigue and worry etched on my face? My hands persistently fidgeting with Nadine’s hair, neck, shoulders, back, hands?

  “Give us the good news,” Mason said.

  “I wish I could. When she came in, my fear was that the cancer had metastasized.”

  The word punched me in the gut, left me breathless.

  “These tests confirm that.”

  Mason put a hand on Aida’s knee. “Her lungs?”

  “And lymph nodes. Cancer of the lymph nodes spreads throughout the rest of the body pretty quickly. We’d have to run a few more tests to find all of it.”

  I inhaled slowly, held the oxygen in my lungs. “So, what, more chemo?”

  Dr. Umberson shook her head. “We can make her comfortable. That’s about it. People with cancer like Nadine’s …” She paused. “They don’t make it very long.”

  “What are we talking about here? A year? Two?”

  Aida whispered from the corner of the bleak room, “If we’re lucky, months. Realistically, days.”

  Chapter 3

  Wednesday, September 2nd

  “Home is in Denver. We just drove down yesterday. Sixteen hours. Now you want me to take her back? Won’t that kill her?”

  Dr. Umberson shook her head. “You want her to be comfortable. She’d be most comfortable at home. The travel shouldn’t be an issue for her health.”

  Aida spoke up. “Stay with me. Only place cleaner than my house is a hospital. Plus, my house isn’t filled with sick people.”

  Nadine breathed a little easier, though each breath came with a rattling echo.

  World News Weekly paid me, in part, for my ability to make quick decisions. They sent me to war-torn Darfur. On September 12th 2001, I packed a car and drove to Ground Zero. My plane to New Orleans followed on the heels of Katrina. Often, my ability to survive and remain calm in the bleakest of situations trumped my ability to write. I’d learned to survive, to push through, by putting emotional distance between myself and those whom tragedy overcame.

  No matter how bad the situation, I had a flight scheduled out of it, a flight back to safety, a flight to Nadine. Now, I didn’t hav
e that comfort, could not separate myself from the tragedy, could not console myself that I’d only be in pain for a short time. Without Nadine, there was no time.

  In sickness and in health.

  I nodded. “Whatever’s best for her. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

  Nadine murmured. “Aida’s. Stay at Aida’s.” She exhaled, her eyes still closed. How long had she been awake and quiet? How much had she heard?

  I knelt beside her and kissed her forehead. No matter how weak, her voice comforted me. It’d been too long since I’d heard it. “Won’t you be more comfortable at home?”

  She didn’t respond. Too painful?

  Aida nodded. “It’ll be easier for her.”

  “What do you know?”

  “I’m her sister. Known her all my life. And I’m a nurse. I think I’m qualified to say what might be best for her.”

  Guilt punched me hard. I’d lost my temper, and Nadine had heard me. What would she say if she could speak? How disappointed would she be? “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

  Nadine’s lips pulled tight, a deliberate but weak smile.

  * * *

  Nadine’s jeans swallowed her emaciated waist. Two sizes too big, easy. When I bought them for her a few years ago, they were too small. In the last few months she’d lost close to forty pounds. My hand rested on her knee as she lay back in the passenger seat of the car. The hospital had released her a few hours after we decided to take her back to Aida’s, when she felt strong enough to sit up and eat.

  “Is it the drive? Dr. Umberson said we could fly to Denver. I’m sure Aida would drive the car up. Then she could stay with us a few days.”

  “I’m staying at Aida’s.” The cancer, the coughing up blood, destroyed her voice, robbed it of the melodic wispiness I’d fallen in love with in the food court of Cherry Creek Shopping Center nine years ago. She’d been playing piano, a Norah Jones number, while I worked on my article about the Indian Ocean Tsunami and its effect on the people of Sri Lanka.

  “Why?” Night in the Mojave was dark. No street lights illuminated Highway 29. I followed Aida’s taillights like a beacon.