“You okay?” Her simple question, forced through a raw voice, encompassed the whole of Nadine. Even with cancer raging, even with smoke-scorched lungs, she worried about me. I wished, I prayed, I might be as selfless as her.
“I need some air.” I kissed her, promised to return in a few minutes.
“Sit down.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Please, Nadine. I can’t.”
“You have to deal with it, Connor. No more running or pretending.” The tone of her voice, raspy and pointed, sounded more like Aida. She said it with an exquisite motherliness. “I’m not going to live forever, and you have to face that at some point.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.”
“You’re not going to die right now. Not today or tomorrow. Not for weeks or months or years.”
“You don’t know that,” she countered.
“Do you believe God spoke to Mason? Our first day here, when I met Mason, he told me if I didn’t write the articles, you’d die. If I did them, he said, you’d be healed.”
I sat next to her, checked the door to make sure no one was coming in. Nadine stared at me. “Of course I thought he was crazy, until Aida called to say she’d taken you to the hospital.
“Later, after writing one or two articles, I decided to quit, to spend the days with you. That’s when you stopped breathing.”
It took me a while to recount the events. My throat seized up, and I had to pause until I could breathe. My shoulder grew damp under Nadine’s cheek. I rested my cheek on the top of her head and spoke with more conviction.
“This room, this hospital, these tests; they’re setbacks. That’s it. It’s a bump in a road, a pothole. We’ll get through this.”
“Connor.”
“You’re going to be fine. You have to be fine, because I’m going to finish these articles, and we’re going to save Hailey. We’re going to save Mason and Aida. And I’m going to save you.”
“Only God can save me.”
“That’s what I meant.”
“But that’s not what you said. I’m in God’s hands. Live or die, it’s by His words, Connor, not yours.”
I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes. “Then why’d He pick me? Why’s He putting this responsibility on me?”
“Maybe you’re not the one doing the saving. Maybe you’re the one being saved.”
* * *
They finally put Nadine in a one-bed room with a window. The vertical blinds were stuck open. Outside, the wind rampaged through the hospital courtyard, bending saplings at forty-five degree angles. She asked for the television to be put on Food Network. Had to be a good sign.
I knew she felt better when she said, “Gives me something to imagine when they bring me dinner.”
Aida came in and told me she’d talked to the doctor. According to the X-rays and MRIs, the cancer hadn’t spread much. In fact, it might have regressed, which the doctor found puzzling. The smoke and heat aggravated the cancer in her lungs. They wanted to keep her for a couple days for observation.
When I hung my head and looked at my feet, Aida said, “Probably for the best anyway.”
“Guess here’s just as good as anywhere else.” I looked her in the eye. “She’ll be safe here?”
“Safer here than anywhere,” Aida said. “I’ll split time between Mason and Nadine; an hour here, an hour there, until you’re back from all your interviews. You can write your articles here, with Nadine. If either of them feels up to a walk, we’ll cruise down to the cafeteria. Not exactly a five-star hotel, but it’ll work for the next few days.”
“I’m guessing they don’t have bunk beds hidden in the janitor’s closet. Where will we sleep?”
“Put a couple chairs together and you’ll feel right at home.”
I ran a hand over Nadine’s shoulder. “Why do I doubt that?”
“Because I’m full of it. You won’t be right at home, but you can catch an hour or two.”
“More strings?”
She nodded. “Hospitals are marionettes. Just got to know what strings to pull.”
“I’ve never been so glad to have a nurse for a sister-in-law.”
“You need to go see Mason. Since you’re not going anywhere for a while, he thought you might interview his roommate.”
If Aida hadn’t brought back such positive news about Nadine’s condition, I’d never have considered leaving her then. But I only had a few interviews to finish, and if I could get them out of the way, I could spend the rest of my time here writing, next to Nadine. We’d be safe here. Nadine could rest while I interviewed Mason’s roommate. And, for once, it’d be nice not to have to worry about psychopathic killers or tornados swooping like owls on mice. “You’ll stay with her?”
“Get out of here.” She kissed my cheek. “You’re doing good work. I’ll take care of Nadine.”
Surprised by her affectionate gesture, I smiled. I’d never imagined Aida capable of such tenderness. I thanked her, kissed Nadine’s forehead, and walked to Mason’s room.
Six hallways and an elevator later, I found Mason propped up in bed with his eyes closed. I knocked gently and stuck my head into the room. “You up?”
Mason mumbled, “Come in.” He didn’t open his eyes.
I walked in past the man in the neck brace and the half-purple face. His left eye had swollen shut. A baby blue blanket covered most of his body, though his casted left leg and casted right arm stuck out. His chest rose slowly—the breathing of the slumbering.
I walked to the pink seats next to the window closest to Mason’s bed and sat down. “How’s it going?”
Outside, the wind howled at the window. “Well as can be expected.” He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Sounds like we don’t have much time left.”
In a strange way, I envied Mason and his roommate. They might be beaten and shot, but at least they slept. How long had it been since I’d had a full night’s sleep? I’d stopped counting the hours of rest I’d had in the past few days. It depressed me. I’d be willing to trade a broken arm for a few more hours of sleep. Instead, I put the thought from my mind.
“How much longer till they spring you?”
“Couple days. Doc wants to make sure I’m healing up right.”
“Did Aida tell you?”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Thank God they got out okay.”
“I did. I thanked Aida while I was at it.”
“She says Nadine’s better than she thought. Smoke and excitement drained all her energy and upset her lungs.”
I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and stared at the floor. “Something like that.”
“Couple days for her, too?”
“So Aida says.”
Mason opened his eyes and checked the television. I hadn’t noticed when I walked in; he’d tuned it to a baseball game. I’d never gotten into sports, but, by virtue of being a man, I’d taken part in enough conversations to recognize the teams. Any other man would call this an exciting game. Three-four, the Padres trailed the Giants. Bottom of the eighth, the Padres had two more chances to pull ahead.
I pointed to the screen. “Didn’t know you were a sports fan.”
“I watch, but I wouldn’t say I’m a fan. Except for football—I love football. But on a Tuesday afternoon, there’s no hope for an NFL game. So I take what’s on.”
“No sound?”
“Alex isn’t supposed to watch sports. Gets him too worked up. Once he dozed off, I flipped it to the game. Thought I’d catch a few minutes before he woke up.”
“So he’s a fan, then? Padres, I assume.”
“Fan isn’t the word I’d use. More of a junkie.”
I turned m
y chair to better face the television. I had no real interest in the outcome of the game, but I found sports made conversations easier at times. It broke the tension and gave us something other than the disheartening facts to focus on.
“That’s why he’s in here to begin with.”
“He plays sports? What’s he play, hockey?”
“Not an athlete.”
“He’s pretty beat up. He talk Yankees in Boston?”
“Worse. Put a few dollars down with a bookie. Made some unwise picks.”
I curled a lip. “Couldn’t cover the cost?”
“Not financially. The bookie was nice enough to forgive the debt after he watched his associate ‘talk business’ with Alex.”
“How benevolent. He’s the one you want me to interview?”
The batter swung hard and tipped it foul.
“This guy,” Mason said. “They call him a hero because he’s hitting .300, but he gets greedy. He wants his homers. He’s not patient, not a team player.” As if he needed to provide me with proof, he said, “Watch. Next pitch will be a breaking ball. He likes those. They look like fast balls, but they come in slower and break at the end. Pitcher’s got a mean sink.
“The guy will swing away again, he’ll be early, and if he’s lucky, tip it away. He’ll probably come over the top of the ball and one-hop it back to the pitcher. Easy out.”
As he finished his prediction, the pitch came in; the batter swung, and the ball bounced near the batter’s feet and ricocheted back to the pitcher. He threw it to first for the last out of the inning.
I crossed my arms. “Impressive, Nostradamus. I hope you don’t misuse your powers of prophecy.”
He closed his eyes again as another commercial came on. “No powers, just logic.”
In the quiet room, Alex’s breathing became heavier. Mason clicked the remote and the channel flipped.
Alex’ voice was hoarse. “Was that the game?”
“Flipping stations is all,” Mason said.
I brought my voice low. “We only have a couple more days, and I need to write three more articles. I want to make sure that the people I’m talking to are going to fit the bill. Some of these stories are going to be tough to spin into something good. You think Alex is good enough?”
Mason didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”
“What’d he do that was so good?”
From the other side of the room, I heard Alex’s raspy voice. “Why not ask me?”
Apparently, the bookie hadn’t harmed his hearing. “Didn’t realize you were listening.”
“You’re Connor, I’m guessing.”
I stood up to better see Alex. “That’s me.”
He wheezed, as his chest rose raggedly. Broken ribs, likely. “Mason’s said you’re doing a human-interest piece on Hailey?”
I nodded. “In a way, yeah.”
Alex smiled. Apparently, the bookie had done some dental work as well. “Real cool. We don’t get a lot of positive press.”
I pulled my chair to his bed and sat down. “That’s why I want to do it. Most people haven’t heard of Hailey, and when they do, the news is never good. I figure, why not show the good parts?”
Alex opened his right eye. The other had swollen shut. “I’m Alex.”
“Pleasure to meet you.”
“Put your feet up, man. This may take a while.”
Chapter 27
ALL IN
Alex Paspaloff spread his arms out wide. “All ours, baby,” he said.
His wife Shelia frowned at the dilapidated mobile home in the center of the desert.
The sun rose over the distant mountains and painted the desert sands orange and yellow. “You disappointed?”
Her frown twisted into a grimace. “No. It’s just not what I had in mind.”
“So you’re disappointed.” He grabbed her hands. “It’s not bad on the inside. There’s a fresh coat of paint and a new carpet. It’s all done up in white and yellow. I swear the whole thing is like living inside a daisy.”
He gently pulled her up the rickety stairs to the astroturfed patio. It creaked in protest. The rail on the wooden steps leaned to either side and only came straight as they walked up them.
“I can fix this,” Alex said. “Won’t take me but a weekend. I’ll have some friends down from Vegas. We’ll have pizza and beer and next thing you know, we’ll have a stable, steady patio.”
She sighed. “Your ‘friends’ are why we’re here in the first place.”
“I’ll make new friends, then. We can extend the patio around the house. It’ll make it seem bigger.”
“Alex, we don’t have enough money for the pizza, much less the patio.”
He smiled. “Sure we do. I rolled it into the loan. We’ve got some fix-it-up cash.” He stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist. “I know it’s not much, but it’s the best we can do right now.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s going to be fine. We’ll get my loans paid off. With my new raise, we can be out of debt in a year and a half.”
She pushed his arms off her and faced him. “If we don’t get into any more debt.”
Alex folded his arms. “I haven’t played a game of poker since I married you. Haven’t placed a bet with a bookie in a year. When are you going to trust me again?”
She touched his cheek. She spoke with penetrating logic, with convicting, unpunishing love. “You’ve already lost us one house. I want to make sure we’re going to be here for a while.”
He spread his arms out and made himself into a human cross, back arched against the sunset.
“The glory of the desert is that there’s nothing around, not for miles. No way for me to get into trouble. No bookies in Hailey, no loan sharks. No trouble at all.”
She smiled and kissed his cheek. “Like living inside a daisy?”
“You’ll feel just like a bee.”
* * *
Alex held Daisy close to him at Shelia’s funeral. He wondered if, at nine years old, she was too young to attend an open casket funeral, especially one for her mother. But, she handled the situation with surprising aplomb and became an example of strength and courage for him to follow. In this way more than any other, she reminded him of Shelia. Both his wife and his daughter had a capacity to love beyond fault, to forgive.
Shelia’s heart attack surprised him. She was far too young for something like that to happen; too young to die, too beautiful, too good. She worked out, ate right, got plenty of sleep. But, the doctors said, none of that can overcome genetics. Like it or not, she was born with a weak heart.
Alex thought it was just the opposite. It was Shelia who had the strong heart and him the weak.
Doctors should have seen it coming, the coroner had said. They should have put her on medication years ago.
Daisy squeezed his hand. “We’ll be okay, Daddy.”
* * *
Seven months after Shelia died, Daisy woke Alex in the middle of the night. Tears wet her cheeks and her hands shook.
“My head hurts.” Her voice was a ragged whisper.
He scrambled out of bed, pulled on whatever clothes he could find in the dark, and scooped her into the car. It was nearly three in the morning before she was seen by a doctor in Newland Community Hospital.
“Sounds like we got a migraine,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.” He studied Daisy’s chart more than her. “We’ll get her a shot of Toradol and have some blood work done.”
Alex put his arm around Daisy as they sat on the exam bed. She put her head on his chest and clung to his shirt.
* * *
Months later, Alex left Daisy with a nurse outside Doctor Biswald’s consultation room. He walked in and shut the door behind him, knowing the
news would be bad. If the news were good, he would have invited Daisy in with Alex instead of asking her to wait outside.
Alex sat uneasily in the chair across the desk from Biswald. His foot bounced like he’d put Flubber on the toe of his shoe.
Biswald’s voice was somewhere between Denzel Washington and James Earl Jones. He wore a gray beard cut close to his chin. Pictures of his children rested under the glass top of his cherrywood desk.
“I’ve been looking over Daisy’s chart here and talking with her a lot lately.” He paused, as if he expected Alex to say something. “Unfortunately, the chemo’s not doing much for her. It’s making her weaker, but that’s about it.”
Alex folded his hands, squeezed his fingers together until he thought they’d snap.
Doctor Biswald put his hand over his mouth as if in deep thought. His eyes twitched. “I spoke with a friend of mine from college. He’s one of the leading authorities in biotech research. He and his team have devised an experimental treatment for leukemia, specifically in children like Daisy. It involves nanotechnology.”
Alex’s voice shuddered, and his body followed suit. He leaned forward in his seat. “Anything, if it will help Daisy.”
“Problem is, it’s expensive and experimental. Insurance won’t cover these types of procedures.”
Alex shook his head. “I don’t have money. None. I’m still paying for Shelia’s funeral.”
“There is an astronomical cost here, Alex, but it’s not impossible. My friend says his foundation can pay for most of it, and with a grant from the hospital, we can get you real close.”
“I hope you’re talking a hundred dollars, because that’s about what I have.”
Biswald sighed. “Do you have family you can borrow money from? A bank maybe?”
“No family, and my credit’s shot. No bank will touch me. My home’s in foreclosure.” Alex trailed off. Tears heated the backs of his eyes, but chilled his cheeks. “I have nothing, Doctor. Nothing.”
“We can get it down to five thousand,” Biswald said. “What about this month’s paycheck, and then maybe you can do a cash advance to live on?”
Alex crumpled and cried without shame. “They fired me. I have a check for two thousand and that’s it. That’s all. Can I do payments or something?”
The Bargain - One man stands between a destitute town and total destruction. Page 24