Life Support

by Tess Gerritsen

  “Only until the next case of CJD shows up,” she said.

  He turned and gave her one last, pitying look. “Dr. Harper, can I give you some advice?”

  “What advice?”

  “Get a life.”

  I have a life, thought Toby as she angrily gulped coffee in the ER staff room. Goddammit, I do have a life. Maybe it was not the life she’d visualized as a young doctor in training, not the life she would have chosen. But sometimes one could not choose, sometimes one was handed difficult circumstances. Duties, obligations.

  Ellen.

  Toby drained her coffee and poured another, hot and black. It was like tossing more acid into her stomach, but she desperately needed the caffeine. Robbie’s funeral had cut into her usual sleep schedule, and she had managed to catch only a few hours of rest before coming to work last evening. It was now six in the morning and she was functioning purely on automatic reflexes and occasional bursts of primitive emotion. Anger. Frustration. She was feeling both at the moment, knowing that even when this shift was over, when she finally did walk out the hospital doors in an hour and a half, it would be to walk into another set of responsibilities and worries.

  Get a life, he’d said. And this was the life she happened to have, the one that had been placed on her shoulders.

  Yesterday evening, as she’d gotten dressed for work, she’d looked in the mirror and realized some of her hairs were not blond, but white. When had that happened? When had she passed over from youth into the frontiers of middle age? Even though no one else would have noticed those hairs, she had plucked them out, knowing they would grow back just as white. Dead melanocytes don’t regenerate. There is no fountain of youth.

  At seven-thirty, she finally stepped out the ER doors and paused to inhale a breath of morning air. Air that didn’t smell of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant and stale coffee. It looked like it would be a fair day. Already the mist was thinning, revealing faint patches of blue sky. It made her feel better, just to see that. She had the next four days off to catch up on her sleep. And next month, she had two weeks’ vacation scheduled. Maybe she could leave Ellen with Vickie, make it a real vacation. A hotel on a beach. Cold drinks and hot sand. Perhaps even a fling at romance. It had been a long time since she’d slept with a man. She’d hoped it would happen with Dvorak. She’d been thinking about him a lot lately, in ways that could bring an unexpected flush to her cheeks. Since their one and only lunch, they’d spoken on the phone twice, but their conflicting schedules made it hard to meet.

  And the last time they’d talked, he’d sounded distant. Distracted. Have I scared him off so quickly, then?

  She forced Dvorak out of her mind. It was back to thinking about fantasy men and tropical destinations.

  She crossed the parking lot and got into her car. I’ll call Vickie this afternoon, she thought as she drove home. If she can’t or won’t watch Mom, then I’ll hire someone for the week. To hell with the cost. For years Toby had faithfully set aside money for her retirement. It was time to start spending it now, enjoying it now.

  She turned onto her street and felt her heart suddenly do a flip-flop of panic.

  An ambulance and a police car were parked in front of her house.

  Before she could turn into her own driveway, the ambulance drove off with lights flashing and sped away down the street. Toby parked the car and ran into the house.

  There was a uniformed cop standing in her living room, writing in a spiral notebook.

  “What happened?” said Toby.

  The cop looked at her. “Your name, Ma’am?”

  “This is my house. What are you doing here? Where’s my mother?”

  “They just took her to Springer Hospital.”

  “Was there an accident?”

  Jane’s voice said, “There was no accident.”

  Toby turned to see Jane standing in the kitchen doorway. “I couldn’t wake her up,” said Jane. “So I called the ambulance.”

  “You couldn’t wake her? Did she respond at all?”

  “She couldn’t seem to move. Or speak.” Jane and the policeman exchanged glances, a look that Toby couldn’t interpret. Only then did the question occur to her: Why was a policeman in her house?

  She was wasting time here. She turned to leave, to follow the ambulance to Springer.

  “Ma’am?” the cop said. “If you’ll wait, someone’ll be here to talk to you—”

  Toby ignored him and walked out of the house.

  By the time she pulled into the Springer Hospital parking lot, she’d already imagined the worst. A heart attack. A stroke. Ellen comatose and on a ventilator.

  One of the day shift nurses met her at the front desk. “Dr. Harper—”

  “Where’s my mother? An ambulance was bringing her in.”

  “She’s in room two. We’re stabilizing her now. Wait, don’t go in yet—”

  Toby pushed past the front desk and opened the door to room two.

  Ellen’s face was hidden from view by the crowd of medical personnel working around the gurney. Paul Hawkins had just finished intubating. A nurse was hanging a fresh IV bottle, another was juggling blood tubes.

  “What happened?” said Toby.

  Paul glanced up. “Toby, can you wait outside?”

  “What happened?”

  “She just stopped breathing. We had severe bradycardia, but the pulse is back up—”

  “An MI?”

  “Can’t see it on EKG. We’re still waiting for cardiac enzyme results.”

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. . .” Toby squeezed forward to the gurney and took her mother’s hand. “Mom, it’s me.”

  Ellen didn’t open her eyes, but her hand moved, as though to pull away.

  “Mom, it’s going to be all right. They’re going to take good care of you.”

  Now Ellen’s other hand began to move, thrashing against the mattress. A nurse quickly snatched Ellen’s wrist and looped a restraint around it. The sight of that frail hand trapped and struggling against the cloth cuff was more than Toby could bear. “Does it have to be so tight?” she snapped. “You’ve already made a bruise—”

  “We’ll lose the IV.”

  “You’re cutting off her circulation!”

  “Toby,” said Paul, “I want you to wait outside. We’ve got everything under control.”

  “Mom doesn’t know any of you—”

  “You’re not letting us do our job. You have to leave.”

  Toby took a step back from the gurney and saw that they were all looking at her. She realized Paul was right; she was getting in the way, making it difficult for them to make the necessary decisions. When she was the physician in charge of a critical case, she never allowed the patient’s family to remain in the room. Neither should Paul.

  She said, softly, “I’ll be outside,” and she walked out.

  In the hallway, a man was waiting for her. Early forties, unsmiling. A monk’s haircut. “Dr. Harper?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  Something about the way he approached her, the way he seemed to be sizing her up, told her this was a cop. He confirmed it by showing her his badge. “Detective Alpren. May I ask you about your mother?”

  “I want to ask you a few questions. Why was a cop in my house? Who called you people?”

  “Ms. Nolan did.”

  “Why would she call the police for a medical emergency?”

  Detective Alpren pointed toward an empty exam room. “Let’s step in there,” he said.

  Bewildered, she followed Alpren into the room. He closed the door.

  “How long has your mother been ill?” he asked.

  “Are you referring to her Alzheimer’s?”

  “I mean her current illness. The reason she’s here right now.”

  Toby shook her head. “I don’t even know what’s wrong with her yet. . .”

  “Does she have any chronic illnesses other than the Alzheimer’s?”

  “Why are you asking me these questions?”


  “I understand your mother’s been ill for the last week. Lethargy. Nausea.”

  “She’s seemed a little tired. I assumed it was a virus. Some sort of gastrointestinal upset—”

  “A virus, Dr. Harper? That’s not what Ms. Nolan thinks.”

  She stared at him, not understanding any of this. “What did Jane tell you? You said she called you—”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to talk to her. Where is she?”

  He ignored the question. “Ms. Nolan mentioned certain injuries. She said your mother complained about burns on her hands.”

  “They healed weeks ago. I told Jane what happened.”

  “And the bruises on her thigh? How did she get those?”

  “What bruises? I’m not aware of any bruises.”

  “Ms. Nolan says she asked you about them two days ago. That you couldn’t explain them.”

  “What?”

  “Can you explain the bruises?”

  “I want to know why the hell she’s saying these things,” said Toby. “Where is she?”

  Alpern studied her for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Given the circumstances, Dr. Harper,” he said, “Ms. Nolan doesn’t wish to be contacted.”

  * * *

  After the CT scan, Ellen was admitted to a bed in the medical ICU, and Toby was allowed to visit her again. The first thing she did was peel back the sheets and look for the bruises. There were four of them, small, irregular blotches on the outer left thigh. She stared at them in disbelief, silently railing at herself for being so blind. How and when did this happen? Did Ellen injure herself? Or were those the marks left by someone else’s hand, repeatedly pinching that fragile skin? She covered her mother’s legs with the sheet and for a long time stood gripping the siderail in silent fury, trying not to let rage cloud her judgment. But she couldn’t suppress the thought: If Jane did this, I’m going to kill her.

  There was a tap on the window, and Vickie came in. She didn’t say anything as she took her place across from Toby.

  “She’s in a coma,” said Toby. “They just did the head scan. It appears she’s had a massive intracerebral bleed. Nothing they can drain. We just have to watch. And wait.”

  Vickie remained silent.

  “Everything’s been so crazy this morning,” said Toby. “They noticed bruises on Mom’s thigh. Jane’s telling the police I did it. She’s actually got them thinking—”

  “Yes, she told me.”

  Toby stared at her, dismayed by the flatness of her sister’s voice. “Vickie—”

  “Last week, I told you Mom was sick. I told you she was throwing up. But you didn’t seem at all concerned.”

  “I thought it was a virus—”

  “You never took her to a doctor, did you?” Vickie looked at her as though studying a creature she’d never seen before. “I didn’t tell you, but Jane called me yesterday. She asked me not to mention it to you. But she was worried.”

  “What did she say? Vickie, what did she say?”

  “She said. . .” Vickie released a shaky breath. “She said she was concerned about what was happening. When she first took the job, she noticed bruises on Mom’s arms, as if she’d been grabbed. Shaken around. Those bruises faded, but then this week, new ones appeared, on the thighs. Did you see them?”

  “Jane’s been the one bathing her every day—”

  “So you didn’t see them? You don’t even know about them?”

  “She never asked me about them!”

  “And the burns? What about the burns on Mom’s hands?”

  “That happened weeks ago! Mom picked up a hot dish from the stove.”

  “So there was a burn.”

  “It was an accident! Bryan was there when it happened.”

  “Are you saying Bryan’s responsible?”

  “No. No, that’s not what I’m saying—”

  “Then who is responsible, Toby?” The two sisters stared at each other across Ellen’s sleeping form.

  “I’m your sister,” said Toby. “You know me. How can you believe a complete stranger?”

  “I don’t know.” Vickie ran her hand through her hair. “I don’t know what to believe. I just want you to tell me what really happened. I know Mom’s hard to deal with. She’s worse than a child sometimes, and it’s not easy to—”

  “What do you know about it? You’ve never offered to help.”

  “I have a family.”

  “Mom is family. Something your husband and kids can’t seem to grasp.”

  Vickie’s chin lifted. “You’re turning it into another one of your guilt trips, the way you always do. Who suffers the most, who’s most deserving of sainthood. Saint Toby.”

  “Don’t.”

  “So when did you lose your temper? When did you finally crack and start hitting her?”

  Toby jerked back, too shocked to speak, too angry to trust anything she did say.

  Vickie’s mouth was trembling. Her eyes filling with tears, she said, “Oh, God. I didn’t mean that.”

  Toby turned and walked out of the cubicle. She didn’t stop until she’d left the building and crossed the parking lot to her car.

  The find place she drove was to Jane Nolan’s house. She had her address book in her purse, and she looked up the entry for Jane. It was in Brookline, east of Springer Hospital.

  A four-mile drive brought her to the address, a green-shingled duplex on a sterile, treeless street. There were planters on the front porch with hard-baked soil and a few dying weeds. The curtains were closed over the windows, shutting off all view of the interior.

  Toby rang the bell. No one answered. She knocked, then pounded on the door. Open up, damn you. Tell me why you’re doing this to me!

  “Jane!” she yelled.

  The next-door neighbor’s door opened and a woman cautiously poked her head out.

  “I’m looking for Jane Nolan,” said Toby.

  “Well stop pounding. She’s not there.”

  “When will she be back?”

  “Who’re you?”

  “I just want to know when Jane will be back.”

  “How should I know? I haven’t seen her in days.” The woman shut the door.

  Toby felt like hurling a rock through Jane’s window. She gave the door one last pound of her fist, then got back into her car.

  That’s when it all crashed down on her. Ellen in a coma. Vickie turning into a spiteful stranger. She rocked forward and struggled not to cry, not to shatter. It was the blare of her own car horn that snapped her back up. She’d leaned too heavily on the steering wheel. A mailman, passing by on the street, stopped to stare at her.

  She drove away. Where do I go? Where do I go?

  She headed for Bryan’s house. He would back her up. He had been there the day Ellen burned her hand; he’d be her character witness, the one person who knew how devoted she’d been to Ellen.

  But Bryan wasn’t home; he’d be at work until four-thirty, according to his companion, Noel, who answered the door. Would Toby like to come in for coffee? A drink? You look like you need to sit down.

  What he meant was she looked like hell.

  She refused the offer. For want of any other destination, she drove home.

  The police car was gone. Three of her neighbors stood conversing on the sidewalk in front of her house. As Toby’s car approached, they turned and stared at her. By the time she pulled into her driveway, they had walked off in three different directions. Cowards. Why didn’t they just ask her to her face if she’d beaten up her own mother?

  She stormed into the house and slammed the door shut.

  Silence. No Ellen. No one wandering in the garden, no one watching the morning cartoons.

  She sat down on the couch and dropped her head in her hands.

  15

  “Mine’s a baby girl,” said Annie, her fingers skimming over the bedcovers, caressing her belly. “I want her to be a girl, ’cause I wouldn’t know what to do with a boy. Wouldn’t know how to
make him turn out right. Hardly meet a man these days who’s turned out right.”

  They were lying side by side in the darkness on Annie’s bed. The only light was the glow of the streetlamp outside the window. Every so often there’d be moving fragments of light from a passing car, and Molly would catch a glimpse of Annie’s face, head resting on the pillow as she serenely gazed up at the ceiling. It was warm in the bed with Annie. They had put on fresh sheets today, had sat together in the laundromat giggling and leafing through old magazines while the linens had spun round and round in the dryer. Now whenever Molly turned, she smelled that clean scent of laundry soap. And Annie’s scent as well.

  “How can you tell if it’s a girl?” asked Molly.

  “Well, a doctor can tell for sure.”

  “Did you see a doctor?”

  “I didn’t want to go back to that one. Didn’t like that place.”

  “So how do you know it is a girl?”

  Annie’s hands began to move over her abdomen again. “I just know. This nurse I met, she told me that when a mother gets to feeling like that, a real strong feeling, she’s never wrong. This one’s a girl.”

  “I don’t have no feeling ’bout mine.”

  “Maybe it’s too early for yours, Molly.”

  “I don’t have no feeling ’bout it one way or the other. See, it doesn’t seem like a person yet. It seems like just a lot of fat poochin’ out here. Shouldn’t I be feeling love or somethin’? I mean, isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?” She turned and looked at Annie’s face, silhouetted against the window’s glow.

  “You must feel something for it,” said Annie softly. “Why else would you be keeping it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Molly felt Annie’s hand reach for hers under the covers. They lay with fingers entwined, their breathing in perfect synchrony.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m doing it,” said Molly. “I kind of got all mixed up. And then, when Romy knocked me around, I got so pissed at him I wasn’t gonna do nothin’ he told me to do. So I didn’t go to that place.” She paused and looked at Annie again. “How do they do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Get rid of it?”