“Hmm. That’s what I thought.”
We sat down on a bench near a clearing Byron thought might work for kite flying, although I was worried about snagging it on the trees nearby.
I shrugged when he ignored me, and nonchalantly plucked a lemon-filled donut out of the bag, grabbing a milk carton. Like a man half-starved, I began to savor the gooey confection. “Elsbeth would kill me,” I mumbled. Powdered sugar dusted my clothes and hands.
Byron started, taking a bite of a jelly-filled cruller. “What she doesn’t know...”
“…she always finds out,” I said. “Elsbeth has her ways,” I laughed, thinking of my food-police sweetheart. Although I honestly enjoyed the natural diet she encouraged, every once in a while I needed a real sugar fix.
The lemon filling was perfect. Sweet, tangy, and smooth, I sucked it out of the donut with relish. I finished the first one, downed my pint of milk, and reached for another donut. I chose a honey-dipped this time, opened the second pint of milk, and chewed happily, enjoying the hot sun beating down on my head and shoulders.
The park was relatively quiet. Mondays were back-to-school or back-to-work days for most of the natives. A few hippies had gathered in the distance, an elderly couple sat across from us, scattering corn to the pigeons, and a warm breeze ruffled my hair.
Pages from an errant newspaper scuttled across the pathway and flew up in the air. They fluttered and flapped and were quickly caught in the branches of a stately elm.
“See? There’s a bloody good breeze this morning,” Byron mumbled, working on his second donut.
I nodded, drained the second milk carton, and thought about eating a third donut.
As I pondered the weighty issue, I spotted a quick movement out of the corner of my eye.
I turned toward it, expecting to see a child or dog running across the grass, but was surprised at the site of a man who’d stopped to stare at me. He spun around to run in the opposite direction.
It was Nate, the simian-looking thug we’d dubbed the monkey man.
“Oh God,” I said. “It can’t be.”
“What?” Byron said, looking around the park with curiosity.
I jumped up and started after him, yelling to Byron over my shoulder. “It’s that mobster who almost raped Valerie. We thought he was dead.”
Byron dropped the kite and donuts onto the bench and sprinted after me.
Nate looked back over his shoulder, seemed stunned to see two men chasing him, and bent down to redouble his efforts. He ran across the park like a long-armed orangutan, hovering low to the ground, scrambling wildly around people. He ducked across Park Street, but we gained on him. Closer and closer, our legs gobbled the ground.
When we were only twenty yards behind him, just about to cross Park St. to close in on him, it happened.
A scrawny boy sped down the sidewalk on his skateboard. Without warning, a bulldog darted in front of him, leash flapping in the breeze.
His owner yelled, chasing after him. “Bruno!”
The kid tried to avoid the dog, jumped off the board, and landed on his backside on the sidewalk. The skateboard kept right on rolling, straight into my shins.
It hit me harder than I could’ve imagined, and I flew backwards through the air into a row of prickly shrubs lining the sidewalk.
I tried to get up to keep chasing after Nate, but the pain on my shin was overwhelming. Instead, I sat on the sidewalk and watched a purple bruise rise under my skin.
“Dash it all, that looks bad. Are you all right?” Byron said. “Do you want me to keep after that bloke?”
“No. Let him go.” I said, stifling a moan. “But if I had my choice, I’d like to beat the crap out of him for what he tried to do to Valerie, then drag him to the police station. He deserves to be locked up, especially if he’s still involved in that slavery operation.”
I realized I couldn’t actually do that without implicating Porter in some very serious charges, but it felt good to say it, anyway.
“Bloody bastard,” Byron said. “I wonder how many other chicks he’s assaulted?”
I stifled a groan and hobbled to a nearby bench, watching Nate lurch around a corner and disappear.
“If he’s still involved in that slavery ring, I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes advantage of all the girls. Who’s gonna stop him?”
Byron’s deep brown eyes stared into mine. “We really ought to put some ice on that. Sling your arm around my shoulder. That’s right. Let’s get you home.”
I did as I was told and hopped across the park toward the apartment. Byron assumed the role of physician, tending to my injuries effectively. I thanked him and lay down to rest until Elsbeth returned.
Chapter 36
“Gus?” Elsbeth shook me awake. She stood at my bedside with two shopping bags in one hand and the phone in the other.
I opened my eyes, confused. What time was it? What day? The homemade ice pack had melted and soaked the sheet beneath my leg, reminding me of the annoying skateboard collision.
“Gus, it’s your mother.” She frowned with worry and handed me the phone.
I sat up quickly, wincing when the covers rubbed against my throbbing shin. I rushed the words. “Mum? What’s wrong?”
“Hi, son. I’m sorry to bother you. But it’s your Grandma Odette, honey. She’s in the hospital. I thought you should know.”
“Impossible,” I said automatically. My grandmother was a woman of steel. She’d never been sick a day in her life—couldn’t be bothered with such things. She was trim and active, with a strong back and an even stronger personality.
My grandfather’s second heart attack had been a bad one. In order to nurse him back to health, she’d temporarily shut down the fishing resort they ran—Loon Harbor— and had moved him back home to East Goodland with us. She’d tended to him assiduously, but when the third attack had hit, he’d died, just after Christmas. She decided to stay with us for a while, and let the camp in Maine stay closed for the season.
“Mum? What’s wrong with her?”
Elsbeth sat down beside me and put her hand on my shoulder.
My mother answered hesitantly. “They found fluid in her lungs, Gus. She’s having trouble breathing. The doctors said it might be pneumonia...they’re, uh... still doing tests.”
A tremor of fear rumbled in my stomach. There was something troublesome about my mother’s tone of voice. She wasn’t telling me everything.
“Mum?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Is it serious?”
She paused. Her silence was more disturbing than an honest answer. “I think you’d better come home, Gustave. Soon.”
My heart skipped a beat and I glanced down at my watch. It was almost three in the afternoon. “I’ll gas up the car and be there in seven hours. I should make it by eleven, at the latest.”
“Go straight to the Rochester Memorial ER, honey. That’s where we’ll be.”
“Okay. Love you, Mum.”
Her voice cracked when she answered me. “Love you, too, son. See you soon.”
I stared at the phone after we hung up.
Elsbeth sat beside me, her eyes wide with fear. “Grandma Odette?”
I nodded and swallowed hard. “I think it’s bad. Real bad. Otherwise they wouldn’t want me home.”
Elsbeth blanched. “Oh, Gus. I just realized, I can’t go with you! The Pops concert is Thursday night. We have rehearsals every night this week. Oh, honey, should I cancel?”
I shook my head vehemently. “Hell, no. You’re the featured virtuoso. It’s the Boston Pops, for crying out loud. You can’t cancel that. Besides, this is the big one. This is the performance that could launch your career. I just hope I can make it back in time to see you.”
“Me, too. But what matters most is your grandma and your folks. You have to be there for her, honey.”
“I’m sure I’ll be home in time,” I said, trying to avoid the thought that insistently knocked up against my brain.
My grandm
other’s dying.
Elsbeth wrapped her arms around me and hugged hard. “Call me the second you get there, you hear?”
I nodded and stood up. My shin hurt like hell, and I thanked God the bruise was on my left leg. The old Valiant was automatic, so I’d have no problems driving. “I’ll have to use the credit card,” I said through gritted teeth. “I spent the last of my cash last night.”
“It’s okay, honey. That’s what we got it for, emergencies just like this.” Elsbeth bent down and examined my leg. “Byron said it was bad. Wow,” she whistled, running her finger lightly over the bruise. “You ought to put more ice on it.”
“No time, now. Can you throw some clothes in a bag for me?”
She hopped up, grabbed a knapsack from the closet, and began to stuff socks and underwear into it. “I’ll put enough in here for three days. Then, if you need to stay longer, you can wash them at your mom’s house.”
“Okay.”
She packed a clean pair of jeans, some shirts, shorts, my sneakers, and a lightweight jacket, zipping up the bag. “What else?” she said, stuffing the book I’d been reading into the outside pocket.
“Could you make me a few sandwiches?”
“Of course! I’ll put a sack together for you. Get your toothbrush and razor, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
Within fifteen minutes, she and Byron had helped me hobble to the car with my stuff. Within twenty-five, I was plucking the ticket from the tollbooth dispenser on the Mass Pike on-ramp. Elsbeth had packed three sandwiches, a stack of peanut butter and jelly filled graham crackers, two apples, three bottles of unfiltered apple juice, and a bag of rice cakes.
I drove fast. Fear welled inside my chest and spurious thoughts about my grandfather’s recent death raced through my brain.
Please let her be okay. Please. Please. Please, God.
The drive was torture. I reached Albany by seven-thirty. At Syracuse, I was pulled over for speeding, but the cop took pity on me when I told him about my grandmother. He believed me, much to my surprise, and let me go with a warning. I zoomed back onto the Thruway, holding the old Valiant to a more reasonable speed. Finally, by ten-fifty-five, I pulled into the parking garage of the Rochester Memorial Hospital.
Chapter 37
The attendant at the desk cocked her head to one side, pursed her lips in a sad pout, and clucked at me. “LeGarde? Of course. You go right in, honey, they’re just inside those doors. Room...” She consulted her chart. “Room 3. On your right.”
The sympathetic way she looked at me set off alarms in my head. I broke into a cold sweat and limped through the double doors into the madhouse beyond.
Please, God. Please.
Doctors and nurses in scrubs zoomed across the hallway, ducking in and out of the little curtained rooms. Several patients on hospital beds were out in the open against the walls, waiting for a space to open up. I squeezed past them and felt queasy.
Second time in a week I’ve been in a hospital.
I searched for Room 3. Finally, I asked a nurse who pointed to a curtained room. The white board on the wall had “3” scrawled on it.
Outside the curtain, I froze. The noise of the emergency room was overwhelming. An old man called out in pain and sputtered a wet cough. An infant wailed in the distance. Tinny-sounding wall speakers crackled with names of Doctor This and Doctor That. Stat. Code Blue.
I wanted to run. The curtain opened and I stared into the strained face of my father.
“Gus?” he mumbled thickly. “What are you—”
“I called him. Remember, dear?” My mother, who had been sitting in a metal fold-up chair by my grandmother’s side, leapt up and threw her arms around my neck.
Grandma Odette lay on the bed in the corner with an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. Her eyes were closed and her hands still. An IV was attached through the back of her hand, covered with a white bandage and swabbed with a dark orange antiseptic.
Her chest rose and fell, slowly.
My mother hugged me as if she didn’t want to let go. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here. Your dad really needs you.”
My father beckoned us out of her room and sighed. “They said she might not make it.”
“What?” I said, as if the horrible thought hadn’t been pounding against my skull for the past seven hours. “Of course she’ll make it. Gram’s tough. She can beat anything.”
We walked back inside and stood watching her. The woman of steel looked anything but tough. Her face was gray. She looked... frail.
My father laughed and hiccupped at the same time. For a moment, I thought he would lose it. But he reeled in the emotion like a ten-ton fish, took a deep, shaky breath, and walked back to his mother’s side. “Of course. You’re right Gus. She’s never given in before. No reason to think—”
An alarm went off from the monitor on the wall.
A doctor pushed past us and hovered over my grandmother, rearranging some wires and listening to her heart. “Sorry. False alarm. New equipment does that sometimes.” He placed the stethoscope on her chest and listened again. “The prednisone is doing its job. She’s breathing easier now.”
I let go of the breath I’d been holding and reached for my father’s hand.
The doctor turned to my parents. “Mr. and Mrs. LeGarde, you need rest. Your mother is in good hands. And you, son. Didn’t you just drive all the way from Boston to get here?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, then. Why don’t all three of you go home, get some sleep, and come back in the morning?”
My father drew in a quick breath. “But what if...”
“She’s sleeping. Heavily sedated. She won’t need you until morning, I guarantee it. Won’t even know you’re gone. So, please listen to the doctor’s orders, and get some rest,” he said. “You’ll be better able to help her tomorrow when you’ve taken care of yourself.”
My father nodded woodenly. “I guess.”
I went to my grandmother’s side and let my parents discuss the options.
She breathed steadily inside the mask. Her eyelids twitched slightly, strangely reminiscent of our dog, Shadow, when he slept. His legs spasmed and he’d howl softly. We always believed he dreamed of trailing rabbits in the woods.
I wondered if my grandmother was dreaming about dancing with my grandfather, baking her famous grape pie, or greeting guests as they pulled into Loon Harbor.
I pulled up a chair, slid close to her, and whispered in her ear. “Hi Gram. It’s me.”
She lay still under the thin blanket. I took a deep breath and spilled the beans. I had to tell her. “Elsbeth and I got married, Gram. We held the ceremony on the beach. It was so beautiful.”
I took her free hand in mine. To my surprise, she squeezed once, briefly, to signal she’d heard me.
“You have to get better, Gram. Okay? We need you.”
Her gray eyes fluttered open and she looked into mine with a familiar, intense love. There was moisture on the inside of the green plastic mask through which she breathed. I knew she couldn’t speak, but her eyes told me what I already knew. She squeezed again.
“I know, Gram. I love you, too,” I whispered, choking back the tears.
Chapter 38
We headed home in a two-car wagon train on the lonely dark highway. My father drove under the speed limit in his old Buick. I realized he had to be totally exhausted and was probably taking extra care to get home in one piece. What we didn’t need was another person in the hospital because he didn’t see a deer run out in front of him or failed to make a turn.
When we finally reached the familiar sight of our farmhouse on Sullivan Hill, I was able to relax. It was almost one o’clock in the morning when we rolled up the gravel driveway and parked in front of the barn.
Shadow greeted us in the yellow hue of the porch light. The beagle was eleven now, with a graying muzzle. He rose stiffly, wagging his tail, and met us at the top of the wooden porch steps. We hadn’t seen e
ach other in several months, so I dropped down beside him.
“Hey buddy, how ya doin’?” He licked my face and hands and climbed onto my lap. His round, fat body wiggled with joy. I wished I could explain to him where I’d been, why I had deserted him. Yet he accepted me with no judgment, welcomed me with unconditional love.
“I missed you, too,” I said.
He shoved his snout under my arm and wagged his tail fiercely.
“C’mon, boy. Let’s go inside.”
For a brief moment, I recaptured a fleeting sensation of happiness. The few moments alone with my dog were restorative. But when I went inside, I caught my father sitting at the kitchen table with a forlorn expression. He’d been the same way when his father died, and it had been very unsettling to see my hero in such a weakened state back then. Now it seemed just as odd, and it scared me a little.
“Are you sure she’ll be okay, Gloria, all alone at the hospital?” Dad said.
“She’ll be sleeping through the night.” My mother poured him a cup of warm milk and smiled at me. “Now, André, drink this. It will help you sleep, too, sweetheart.”
I pulled up a chair beside my father and accepted a mug of the same from my mother. “It’ll be okay, Dad. Just try to get some rest. We can go back up in the morning.”
He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time that night. “What? Oh, Gus. I’m sorry. I feel as if I should be strong. Squared shoulders and all, but for some reason I can’t summon it tonight. I’m sorry, son.”
“Dad. It’s okay. You’re the strongest man I know. It’s normal to be upset when someone’s sick, especially when it’s your own mother.” I put my hand on his forearm and squeezed. “You should listen to Mom. Finish up your milk. There you go.”
He looked at me with sad eyes and flashed a weak smile. “Thanks, son.”
My mother exchanged a secretive glance with me. We’d worked together to help Dad through the death of his own father. In spite of my own crushing grief, I’d sensed the agony in his eyes and had known how much he needed me for the first time in my life when his father became ill and passed away just six months ago. It strengthened our relationship, changed it somehow. Our bond grew stronger, and I’d nurtured him instead of the opposite.
Spirit Me Away Page 13