by Brian Bakos
8. Revelation
The boys ran ahead of Laila and Debbie like a couple of obnoxious, high-spirited puppies, laughing and kicking a paper cup between them along the floor. Patients and staff members looked on with disapproval.
“Boys!” Debbie called after them, but her effort at control was ignored.
They passed a rather dour looking RN at the nurses’ station and took the elevator down. In the lobby, they had to wait for a group of visitors to get through the exit doors ahead of them. The visitors accompanied a wheelchair bound patient hooked up to an oxygen tank.
Not to be delayed, the boys rushed onward, cutting rudely ahead of the other people and out the door.
“I’m so sorry,” Debbie said. “They’re a bit rambunctious today.”
The visitors scowled; the patient snorted around his oxygen tube. The group proceeded through the door and took up station on the concrete expanse outside. Laila and Debbie followed them out and walked on into the parking lot. The boys ran on ahead.
“Watch out for cars!” Debbie yelled.
Laila inhaled the fresh air gratefully. Getting away from the Armstrong clan was akin to exiting a pressure cooker. Thank God she’d gotten out of there before the knives really came out.
The boys came to a grassy median with trees shading the cars lucky enough to grab the adjacent spaces. They started running about in it, playing rough-house tag. The two adults continued on towards Debbie’s car. Debbie’s face wore a tense and angry expression, she bit her lower lip.
“Honestly, Laila,” she said. “I don’t know how ... ”
“Yes?” Laila said.
“I’d better keep my mouth shut.”
“Go ahead, please,” Laila said. “Finish what you were going to say.”
Debbie glanced off toward her kids, then back at Laila.
“All right ... I don’t know how you put up with this family, Laila. You get no respect.”
“You’ve noticed that, huh?” Laila said.
“I could have strangled Henry back there!” Debbie said. “And Frank – well, I don’t think he appreciates what he has. It’s all about money and power with him.”
Laila kept her eyes fixed on the pavement.
“You can get mad at me for saying that, but it’s true,” Debbie said.
“I’m not mad,” Laila said.
They walked in silence the rest of the way to the car. Debbie fumbled out her keys, hesitated, looked off toward her kids again. She came to a decision.
“There’s something going on between Henry and Frank,” she said.
“Oh?”
A cold finger of apprehension traced down Laila’s spine.
“I don’t know what it is,” Debbie said, “but I think it concerns you.”
The words hung dead and frightening in the afternoon air. Laila struggled to retain her poise.
“Thanks for telling me, Debbie,” she said.
Debbie’s mouth was tight little line. She embraced Laila.
“You take care, now.”
“I will,” Laila said.
Debbie turned toward her kids. “Let’s go, damn it!”
The boys looked up, surprised.
“You want me to leave you out here?” Debbie said.
Her bellicose tone silenced the two brats. They returned from the median and climbed into the back seat, ignoring Laila as they did so. Debbie fired up the engine and pulled out of the parking space. Laila watched them drive off, exchanging a slight wave with Debbie.
Then she hurried back toward the hospital. Outside the door, the visitors stood around smoking cigarettes and chatting with the wheelchair bound patient, who also smoked a cigarette between tokes off his oxygen tank. Laila walked quickly past them and entered the lobby.
“That lady’s in a hurry,” the patient rasped.
$$$
Laila tried to slip past the nurses’ station on Frank’s floor, but she wasn’t quick enough to avoid the attention of the stern-looking RN. She looked up from her reports and fixed Laila with a withering gaze.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Oh ... no thank you,” Laila said. “I just forgot something in my husband’s room.”
The RN nodded. “Very well.”
Laila felt oddly diminished as she made her way to the Millionaire’s Row corridor with its private rooms gaping on both sides like crypts at a mausoleum. She always felt insecure in Frank’s world of wealth and privilege.
She approached the doorway to Frank’s room, creeping the last few steps and looking anxiously around for any observers. A patient walking by looked at her quizzically. Laila gave him a weak little smile. She took up position just outside Frank’s open door ...
Inside the room Henry and Patricia leaned together conspiratorially as they conferred with their father, who was sitting up in his adjustable bed like some Eastern potentate. Henry was just finishing his presentation.
“And that’s how it works,” he said, “pretty simple, really.”
A heavy fog of quiet settled on the room.
“This makes a lot of sense, Dad,” Patricia said. “I think you should consider it.”
Frank adjusted his position uncomfortably atop his hospital bed throne.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “If I go through with this offshore, presto-chango reorganization thing, the tax benefits will be substantial?”
“Absolutely,” Henry said.
“It’s the smart move, Dad,” Patricia said.
“It also looks like my wife will be cut out of the action,” Frank said.
“Well, yeah – in a manner of speaking,” Henry said.
Out in the corridor, Laila flinched and uttered a muffled gasp. Fortunately, some noise farther down the hall partially covered for her. Inside the room, Henry turned curiously toward the door. He was on the verge of getting up to investigate when Frank spoke again.
“So, when I’m gone, my wife gets nothing?” he said.
Henry settled back into his chair.
“Not directly,” he said. “The trustees will take care of her.”
“And you’d be the head trustee, right?” Frank said.
“That would work best,” Henry said. “Keep it in the family.”
“Blood is thicker than water,” Patricia chimed in.
Laila’s blood felt cold as ice now. Powerful emotion assailed her, and she gripped the wall for support. Those inside the room continued their conversation, unaware of her acute distress.
“Why did you wait til I’m half dead to bring this up?” Frank said.
“I called you earlier today,” Henry said. “Shortly before the accident.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Frank said. “You’ve got a wonderful sense of timing.”
He stretched himself irritably.
“Damn pain medication’s wearing off,” he said. “I feel like God awful hell. We’ll talk about this later.”
Henry tried to protest. “But – ”
“Okay, Dad,” Patricia interrupted.
She stood and gave Frank a kiss on his hard, impassive cheek.
“You just rest up for a while,” she said. “I’ll come see you again tomorrow.”
“If I’m still kicking, you mean,” Frank said.
Henry wanted to reopen the discussion, but a withering glance from Patricia silenced him.
“Shall we go, Henry?” she asked.
Henry nodded reluctantly and got to his feet.
“Take care, Dad.” He shook Frank’s left hand awkwardly. “Good luck with the tests.”
“Yeah, sure,” Frank said. “They’ll probably keep me here another month.”
Laila was surprised by the abrupt ending of the visit; she’d been too busy trying to deal with her raging emotions to understand what was happening. She beat a hasty retreat down the hall and ducked into a narrow janitor’s closet just as Henry and Patricia exited their father’s room.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Henry said. “I feel like I�
�m being watched.”
“Relax, Bro,” Patricia said. “You’ve been looking at too many reality shows.”
Inside the janitor’s closet, Laila pressed herself against the wall, trying to avoid being spotted through the window in the door. Henry and Patricia walked past her hiding place. If they’d turned their heads, they would have spotted her.
“Why did you stop me?” Henry said. “I almost had him convinced.”
“You know how Dad is,” Patricia said. “He’ll resist any kind of pressure – especially when he’s feeling bad.”
“Yeah, well ...”
“Don’t worry, he’ll come around soon enough,” Patricia said.
She wanted Henry to think she was fully on his side, even though that could never be the case. At least she’d heard the full story now – not a bad piece of work at first glance, but where did it leave her in the long term? The cocktail waitress might not be the only one being cut out of the action.
Would Henry be stupid enough to try to elbow his sister aside? Maybe, but then why did he let her in on the plot? Was there a method to his madness, was he trying to keep his enemies closer than his friends? Patricia had a lot to think over; she needed to consult her own lawyers about this reorganization plan before she could settle on a course of action.
She already had her own plan for disposing of the gold digger, but, like everything else in her life, she’d been letting it slide. Maybe it was time to put it back on the front burner.
She and Henry disappeared through the elevator doors and back into their self-absorbed worlds. After an agonizing period of waiting, Laila emerged from the closet and scanned the hall furtively. An aide walking past her jerked with surprise.
“Are you looking for someone?” she asked.
“Uh ... no,” Laila said. “I just took a wrong turn – thank you.”
She made an embarrassed, fumbling exit, smiling awkwardly at the RN sitting at the desk. The nurse turned to watch Laila get on an elevator. She shook her head disdainfully.
“Rich people!”