What Grows in Your Garden

by Carolyn P Schriber

  “Oatmeal’s wonderful. You think of everything.”

  “I told you I’ve had lots of practice. Your clean clothes are there on the chair. I even got the blood out of your jacket. Oh, and you have a phone message from Chief Durrell.”

  Sarah froze, eyes wide with fear.

  “No, no. It’s nothing bad. It’s very good, as a matter of fact. He told me not to wake you and to tell you to take your time in getting back to the hospital. Your David is awake and is being moved to the ICU, which apparently will take some time because of all the equipment he needs. The chief said he wouldn’t be ready for visitors until at least eleven o’clock.”

  “Intensive Care?”

  “Yes, but in this case, all that means is that the braces on his repaired shoulder require more care than he could get in a regular room, so he’ll be in the ICU for several days. That unit has stringent visiting rules, but the chief and the doctor have left instructions at the desk. They will allow you in to see him whenever you arrive. I gather that permission does not apply to the rest of his family, so you are to avoid the ICU Waiting Room and go to the nurses’ station. Mrs. Cohen has been raising a ruckus about the rules, so you’ll want to stay out of her way.”

  “I know little about hospitals. What are the rules?”

  “They allow only two visitors in each room at a time, and they limit their visits to five minutes every hour, on the hour—so, for example, 11:00 to 11:05. So that’s the period for you to make yourself invisible. Once the family has returned to the waiting room, you will be welcome.”

  “No wonder she’s upset. It’s restrictive.”

  “I gather that David is in favor of limiting them right now because his mother has been screaming and threatening lawsuits.”

  “Oh, dear. What a problem for him to deal with.”

  “I suspect he’s looking forward to seeing you, so finish your oatmeal, get dressed, and we’ll pay him a visit. On second thought, we’ll have time to go by your apartment and round up your cat first. Then you can spend as much time as necessary for the two of you to deal with what has happened.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Healing Process

  May 2, 2009

  At the apartment, the crime scene tape had disappeared, but there were still signs of a police presence. A fine residue of powder covered all the surfaces the investigators had checked for fingerprints. They had moved objects and furniture out of position, leaving pressure marks in the carpet. Someone had left a half-empty coffee container on the kitchen counter.

  Sarah checked the garage area where she had last seen the shadowy figure of a cat, but Elijah did not appear. She wandered out to the central garden area and called for him. No response. As she grew more desperate, she cried out, “Oh, Elijah, please come home. I can’t lose both David and you, too!”

  The door to apartment five opened, and Ginny emerged with the cat in her arms. “He’s here, Sarah, and, thank God, you are here, too. No one knew what had taken place last night. We heard the gunshots and the truck speeding away. Then police cars arrived, and they wouldn’t tell us what had happened. I saw your back door standing open and knew the commotion would terrify your cat. I came outside and looked around. I found him crouched under a bush out back. He recognized me and let me pick him up. He spent the night with me, but he’s still upset. I tried to feed him, but he wouldn’t eat. Is everything all right?”

  “It’s getting better, now that I’ve found Elijah.” She lifted the little cat into her arms, and he crawled to her shoulder, put his paws around her neck, and nuzzled his nose under her chin. “David’s in the hospital with some serious injuries, but he’s recovering. I’ll tell you more about what happened sometime, but I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Thanks for taking care of my roomie. He can come home now. He’ll have some dinner and settle into his familiar surroundings, while I head back to the hospital.”

  Sarah carried the cat inside, crooning to him and receiving some loving nose licks in return. Martha was making herself useful, dusting away the fingerprint powder and shoving furniture back into place.

  “You needn’t do that, but thank you for all your help. I appreciate all you’ve done, but I can handle things from here on. Once I feed Elijah, I'll drive back to the hospital.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you for a while longer?”

  “No. I need to feel that I’m back in control.”

  “All right. Please keep me informed of what’s happening. And if you need to take a few days off, I can arrange that with the dean.”

  “No, I’ll be back at work on Monday. Work is therapeutic.”

  Sarah made her way to the hospital’s third floor, stopping at the reception desk to ask if there was another way into the ICU. The nurse squinted at her and asked for identification.

  “Oh, you’re Doctor Chomsky! The answer to your question is no. The ICU is at the end of a hallway, situated to control traffic in and out. They are expecting you, however. Just go down the hall past the waiting room and head for the nurses’ station. They’ll direct you from there.”

  Sarah kept her head down as she passed the windows of the waiting room. She did not see Mrs. Cohen coming out of the restroom in the hall until a familiar voice caught her attention.

  “Just where do you think you’re going?”

  “Oh, uh, . . . They told me there’s a message for me at the nurses’ station.”

  “Well, if there is, I can save you a trip by telling you what it says. You are to stay far away from my son! He doesn’t need another encounter with the woman who caused this horrible accident.”

  “What? Mrs. Cohen, wait. You must have misunderstood. I am not to blame for what happened to him.”

  “But you are! He wouldn’t have been at that location if it weren’t for you. If you had gone home alone, that woman would have shot you instead of him—and that might have been beneficial for all concerned. I refuse to let you have anything more to do with him.”

  Sarah reacted with two separate emotions. Anger swept through her as she tried to push past David’s mother, but she also feared the red-faced woman was right. Was this all her fault? A nurse bustled out of the waiting room to grasp Mrs. Cohen’s arm.

  “Please keep your voice down. We have very sick people up here, and their loved ones are grieving and praying. You must respect their need for peace and privacy.” Then she turned to Sarah. “If you’re Doctor Chomsky, they are waiting for you inside. Go ahead.”

  David looked tiny in the oversized hospital bed with his right side encased in a framework of metal supports, pulleys, and bandages. All around his head, metal equipment poles delivered vital fluids through tubes that ran under the sheets to unseen destinations, while computer screens beeped their rhythmic charting of breath rate, heartbeats, and various other measurements. He still had an oxygen tube running into his nose, and only his left arm rested on top of the sheets and blankets that encased him.

  Sarah gasped as she stared at his unmoving body. Then he opened his eyes, smiled his old smile, and lifted his left hand toward her. His voice sounded normal as he spoke.

  “It’s about time you showed up. Were you sleeping in because it’s Saturday?”

  “Go around to the far side of the bed, where he can reach you,” the nurse urged. “And take your time. We have instructions to let you stay as long as you like.”

  “Oh, David. I’m so sorry about all of this.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, woman! They tell me you saved my life last night by staunching the blood flow and getting me here without delay. I’m the one who should apologize to you for all I put you through. Tell me. Is it true that you drove the police cruiser?”

  Sarah smiled though her tears. “They tell me I did—apparently with lights and sirens blaring. I don’t remember doing it—not until they had to pry my hands off the steering wheel. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except that you’re still alive and chatting as if nothing . . .” />
  “Nothing has changed. I will be fine once they let me out of this contraption. And the case is settled, too, the chief tells me. Have you talked to him?” He hesitated and cringed. “Did he tell you . . . do you know . . .?”

  “About Cassie? Yes, I was there when Sergeant Marzetti came in with news of the wreck.”

  “I know her death makes you sad. You cared about her and her problems.”

  “I did, and I still worry about her child who will now grow up without a mother.”

  “That's understandable, but I’m not sure she would have been any better off with a mother in prison. Cassie would have been facing multiple charges with heavy prison sentences—not just for shooting a cop, but for breaking and entering, attempted murder, manufacturing lethal substances, poisoning local wildlife, resisting arrest—should I go on?”

  “No. I get the idea, although I haven’t heard about some of these . . .”

  “Right. Well, thanks to the chief, I can fill you in about several of the charges. When the poison control people got a look at those flower bouquets, they sent a team out to the McGehee farm. Their experts identified a whole catalogue of dangerous plants, and other controlled substances in that cold cellar she told you about.”

  “I thought that was salves and other home remedies.”

  “A lot of it was, but in a mortar and pestle on the table, someone had been grinding castor beans into a fine white powder. Remember the incidents back in 2003 when people received letters and envelopes containing a white powder? Several of the ones sent to the White House and to Senate office buildings proved to contain ricin, which is a lethal toxin in its powdered form. That’s what Cassie was making, although we don’t know how she planned to use it.”

  “Oy vey!”

  “Oy vey, indeed. And as for the animals, that path where the mule died was full of jimson weed. That’s a narcotic species related to belladonna. It has spread from Central America into western states, where it is a constant problem for cattle ranchers, but it doesn’t yet grow here unless someone plants it. It attracts animals to its foliage, and if they graze on it, they are likely to die. That’s what our dead mule had been eating. And remember the dog I told you about, the one wallowing in the dust and not even bothering to bark at me when I visited the farm? By the time the poison control folks got there, that dog was dead, too.”

  “What will happen to the farm? People shouldn’t live there.”

  “It’s being detoxified. A controlled burn will destroy the poisonous plants. I understand that the county may need to pave that path because jimson weed poisons the ground it has grown in. The chief also tells me that Charley McGehee and little Lizzie have moved in with his parents. The authorities will destroy the farm buildings because of the danger of long-term contamination.”

  “So much change . . . so many people affected . . . in so short a time. I can’t wrap my mind around it. Maybe your mother is right.”

  “My mother? What has she to do with it, outside of the fact that she’s mad as hell right now? And when did you talk to her?”

  “On my way here. I ran into her in the hallway by accident, and she lashed out at me, telling me to stay away from you.”

  “Oh, Sarah. I’m sorry. I apologize for her. She’s been acting like a mother bear defending her cub ever since she and my father arrived at the hospital this morning. I suspect this is the first time she has faced the reality that my being a cop means I will often be in danger. She’s been trying to defend my choice, but now she can’t bear to think that she encouraged me to join the police force. She’s angry—most of all at herself.”

  “But she has a point. If you didn't know me, you wouldn’t have been there last night, and Cassie wouldn’t have shot you.”

  “No, she might have shot you instead. Would that be better?”

  “In some ways, yes, because much of this is my fault. Cassie’s been trying to tell me about her involvement in witchcraft ever since last Halloween—remember? Every time she brought it up, I cut her off. I didn’t listen. And I didn’t help her. So maybe I could have avoided the whole mess if I had been paying attention to her needs rather than worrying about my cat.”

  “They pay you to teach, not cure your student of a mental illness.”

  “But . . .”

  “No, I won’t have it! I won’t listen to you blame yourself, any more than I intend to listen to my mother when she says it is her fault that I became a policeman.”

  “We’re more alike than you will admit—your mother and I. We both love you. We both fear for you when you find yourself in danger. And we both blame ourselves for not protecting you.”

  “Wait. Say that again.”

  “Say what?”

  “That you love me.”

  “You must already have known that.”

  “No, I didn’t.” He reached for her hand and pressed it to his cheek.

  “I do love you, David, but . . .”

  “I don’t want to hear any ‘buts’ after that declaration. The danger is over, now. We’ve survived.”

  “No, it will never be over for me. Can you understand this from my view? That was the first time I ever heard a gunshot, other than on TV or in a movie. It was real for the first time. And like your mother, I now understand that you will always be in danger because of your job. Because you are such a decent human being, you will always be out in front, protecting someone else by putting your life on the line. I can’t bear to think about that.”

  “If it’s any comfort, they don’t let a wounded policeman back out on the streets for a year or more afterwards. I’ll be riding a desk job, whether or not I like it.”

  “But, I would always know . . .”

  David let go of her hand, and his smile faded. “What are you saying, Sarah?”

  “That your mother is right. This incident was my fault. At the moment, that realization won't let me be what you want me to be. A policeman’s woman can't be a coward. I can’t smile and tell you that I’m ready for whatever life brings us, because I’m terrified. I’m not even strong enough to watch you go through the struggles that lie ahead for you as you try to regain the use of your arm. The responsibility for your injuries haunts me.”

  “You’re stronger than you realize. You proved that last night.”

  Sarah hesitated for a moment, and her eyes had a far-away look. “There was a woman in the classics department at Columbia a few years ago. When she interviewed candidates for a job opening there, she always told the women the same thing: ‘You can’t have it all. You can’t be a scholar, an academic, and a college professor at the same time as you are a wife, a mother, a socialite, an activist, or whatever else you have in mind.’ I heard her veto the perfect fit for our ancient history position because the candidate had a husband and a teenaged son. At the time I didn’t understand. Now I do. I can’t have it all, either. I’ve trained all my life to be an academic. That’s what I am, and it will have to be enough.”

  “You’re getting ready to walk out of here?”

  “I am. For your good, and for mine. That ‘nice Jewish girl’ will turn up one of these days, someone who will please your whole family, including you.”

  She walked down the hall, her head held high while tears streamed down her cheeks. At the waiting room door, she looked straight at Mrs. Cohen. “You win. He’s all yours.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Outcomes

  May 3–8, 2009

  On Sunday morning, Sarah hesitated to open the newspaper. She had expected the paper to feature the events of Friday night on the front page, but there was no mention of them. On the Obituaries page, she found one brief paragraph:

  Student Dies in Crash

  A graduate student at Smoky Mountain University at the Falls died Friday in a one-vehicle accident near the viaduct. The Dodge Ram stuck the bridge abutment at high speed, flipped end to end, and fell over the bridge into the ravine where it ended upside down under the falls. The driver, Mrs. Cassandra Jer
nigan McGehee, 23, of this city, died upon impact. Survivors include her husband Charles and her three-year-old daughter Elizabeth. Services will be private.

  Under Local News, another short paragraph reported a police incident:

  Burglaries

  Police Lieutenant David Cohen suffered injuries over the weekend when he interrupted a house burglary in progress. An unknown assailant fired several shots and then fled the premises. Lieutenant Cohen is undergoing treatment in a local hospital and will make a full recovery. The police remind all residents in the Riverside Gardens neighborhood to lock doors and windows when leaving their homes.

  The reporters made no connections between the two incidents, nor did they connect either to a third bulletin under the heading of The Week Ahead:

  Traffic

  The State Highway Department reports the temporary closure of Rural Route 22 between Birch Falls and the Township of Deliverance. Discovery of an infestation of fast-growing, noxious weeds along the roadway has posed an imminent danger to pets, farm animals, and wildlife in the area. Poison control officers will uproot the plants and destroy them in a controlled burn. They also plan to apply a powerful weed killer to prevent any further spread of the species. Resulting smoke and airborne particles will not be a long-term danger to humans, but we advise everyone to avoid the area until further notice. Traffic will proceed via exits 347 and 349 on I-40.

  Sarah wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved that the incident had not attracted greater notice or to resent the fact that the rest of the community cared so little about something that had changed her life. She clipped the three articles and tossed the rest of the paper.