With a weak smile, he began to get ready for bed. I didn’t say a word about doing any reading, since his summer list was as long as my arm and he’d probably already done more than any of his class-mates. And I most certainly didn’t mention the state of affairs between his mother and Mr. Pickens. The child had enough on his plate without adding another concern. That was all I could think of, though, and I couldn’t wait to unload this new worry onto Sam.
When I got back downstairs, I practically flew to Sam on the sofa in the living room. “Oh, Sam, the worst thing in the world has happened. Almost the worst, I mean.”
“Now, Julia,” he said, putting his arm around me. “She didn’t look that bad to me. A little washed out, maybe, and tired, but not
sick
sick. And she’s not in pain, and the doctor hasn’t found anything obvious—he wouldn’t be running screening tests if he had.”
“I know all that, Sam, and of course I’m worried about Hazel Marie’s health, especially that fever. But this is something else.” I patted my chest, realizing that Hazel Marie’s sudden about-face where Mr. Pickens was concerned had truly shaken me.
He put his hand on my throat, then ran it around the back of my neck. I shivered just the slightest little bit. “What else is bothering you?” he asked in that soothing way he had.
“She told me right before I left that she broke her engagement to Mr. Pickens.”
Sam reared back to stare at me. “I didn’t know they were engaged.”
“Well, of course they weren’t.
Officially,
that is. But after several years of seeing no one else and going off to San Francisco together, to say nothing of Mexico, I don’t know what else you would call it. Be that as it may, though, and whatever it was, she’s ended it. Can you believe that? Sweet, go-along-with-anything Hazel Marie just up and told him she wasn’t going to be a girlfriend all her life.”
“Well, my goodness,” Sam said. “That’s a pretty come off.”
“It’s worse than that. Who else is she going to take up with, I ask you. I’m just convinced that Mr. Pickens would have come around eventually, and her being sick could’ve been just the thing to galvanize him into action. But she doesn’t even want him to know she’s sick. She made me promise not to call him.” I grasped Sam’s hand. “And I couldn’t get him anyway because nobody knows where he is. I can’t help but believe if. . . .”
“Julia,” Sam said. “If she doesn’t want him to know, then we can’t call him. It’s not up to us to go against her wishes.”
“Well,” I said carefully, “Lloyd could call him, don’t you think? I mean, it wouldn’t be us doing it. And if Mr. Pickens is still out of touch, he could leave a message. That would be a perfectly normal thing to do, if Lloyd would just think of it on his own.”
“
If
he does,” Sam said, “but not if somebody gives him the idea.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that.” But, I thought, Lillian could, and if I just happened to mention the possibility in her hearing . . .
“Well,” I said, untangling myself from Sam’s arms, “I need to go to bed. I want to be at the hospital early enough in the morning to ask that doctor a few questions. And you know some of them make rounds at the crack of dawn just to avoid being pinned to the wall by family members.”
Sam laughed. “Okay. I’ll get the lights.”
A little while later when Sam and I were in bed, drifting off to sleep wrapped around each other, I thought to myself how comforting it was to have this warm and safe place next to him. It was the best part of being well married. Almost.
The following morning I left Lillian and Sam to get Lloyd off to his tennis clinic and arrived at the hospital a little after seven, only to learn that Dr. McKay had come and gone.
“You mean he’s already been here?” I looked from one nurse to the other as they stood and sat around a desk midway in the hall. “Well, what did he say about Ms. Puckett’s condition?”
One of them, probably the head nurse since the others looked to her, said, “You’ll have to speak to him. We can’t give out that information.”
“Well then, how was her night? Did she sleep well? Is she still throwing up?”
The nurse stared at me for a minute. “We can’t . . .”
“I know, I know,” I said, pursing my mouth and doing an about-face. “It’s all classified information.” And walked off.
I went to Hazel Marie’s room, expecting any moment to be called back and told to wait for visiting hours. But I reached her door without being stopped, tapped on it, and pushed it open. “Hazel Marie?”
She couldn’t answer because she was leaning over a curved basin on the bed, trying to throw up from an empty stomach.
I dashed out to the nurses’ desk and broke into the circle around it. “She’s sick again. Come quick.”
One of the nurses followed me into Hazel Marie’s room. She took a wet washcloth and wiped Hazel Marie’s face, which I could’ve done myself if I hadn’t expected something more therapeutic than that.
Then the nurse told her to lie back down and not move around so much, giving me the eye as she said it. I wanted to tell her that I’d just gotten there and had not been the cause of an upset stomach. I held my peace, though, when the nurse said she’d bring an injection for the nausea.
Hazel Marie lay on the bed, looking exhausted, while I drew up a chair. I wanted to talk to her, wanted to hear more about her decision to cut off Mr. Pickens, but she was in no shape for conversation. When the nurse came back in with a syringe, I turned my face away, not wanting to see the actual procedure.
When the nurse left, Hazel Marie managed to turn her head toward me and murmur, “Lloyd’s all right?”
“He’s worried about you, but other than that, he’s fine.”
She nodded, her eyelids heavy with fatigue, and as the room quieted, she drifted off to sleep.
I stayed so long that I found myself about to nod off, too. But after a while, I got up and looked down at her to be sure she was deeply asleep. Then I tiptoed out and went to Dr. Hargrove’s office.
“I want to see Dr. McKay,” I told the receptionist. “And, no, I don’t have an appointment. I’ll just sit here until he can give me five minutes of his time. I want some answers from him, and I’ll wait all day if that’s what it takes.”
It didn’t take all day, but it did take almost an hour before I was ushered back to Dr. Hargrove’s office, which Dr. McKay had taken over.
“Mrs. Murdoch, is it?” He had the courtesy to stand when I entered and motioned me to a chair in front of the desk. “What can I do for you?”
My mouth tightened at the question. What did he think he could do for me? Did he think I’d just dropped in for a chat? There was a sick woman over in the hospital, and he wanted to know why I was here?
“You can tell me what’s wrong with Hazel Marie,” I said, holding my pocketbook on my lap. “What kind of tests are you conducting on her, and what have you found out about her condition?”
“Well, now,” he said, pulling out a desk drawer and propping his feet on it. He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head in a casual manner that irritated me beyond words. “There’s still a number of tests to be run, so I don’t have anything to tell you at the moment. And frankly, I wouldn’t even if I knew anything. I’d be running into ethical problems if I discussed the case with anyone but the patient herself.” He smiled to take the sting out of his words. “I’m sure you understand.”
“I do understand and I appreciate your high standards. However, Hazel Marie means the world to us, and we feel, in ways of which you are unaware, somewhat responsible for her. I don’t mean to imply,” I quickly added, “that she’s unable to care for herself. In fact, she’s more than able. I’m only wondering if you couldn’t discuss the possibilities, let us say,
in general,
without specifically discussing her case. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the Board of Ethics or whatever.” Actually, I didn’t care if he got in trouble or not. I wanted some answers so I could stop imagining the worst.
“Well, just being speculative and nonspecific,” he said, his eyes roaming around the room before coming back to me. “And if you won’t hold me to anything, I’ll just mention again that a generalized infection or an intestinal parasite of some kind has to be considered when a patient has been out of the country and presents symptoms of severe gastrointestinal involvement. A complete blood workup will help determine that. Also an upper GI series might be called for to rule out a couple of things. Then possibly some allergy tests. That’ll all take time, so we’ll just have to be patient.”
Be patient
! I thought. How could I be patient while she was over there wasting away to nothing?
“Well,” I said, “can you think of anything else in this hypothetical situation we’re talking about? We’re all worried sick, so if you’re completely in the dark, tell us and we’ll take her somewhere else.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he said, suddenly sitting up in his chair.
“Maybe not,” I said, my back so stiff I couldn’t lean back. “But it’s always an option. Dr. Hargrove wouldn’t mind us getting a second opinion, or three or four if that’s what it took, even though we’ve been friends for years. Of course,” I went on, “he never needed any extra help with a diagnosis.”
A slight smile slipped across Dr. McKay’s—pardon me,
Rick’s
—face and he began playing with a pen. “I don’t mind a second opinion, either, and we’ll get one if the tests are inconclusive. But what I’m doing is exactly what any other physician would do. So why don’t we wait for the results, then talk again?”
“Well, can’t you tell me what you
think
it is?” I said, trying my best to get something out of him. “Surely you have some possibilities in mind.”
“Speaking hypothetically, the first thing you think of with vomiting and a low-grade fever is dehydration, which is symptomatic and not particularly indicative. That could be caused by a number of things. Gastric ulcer is one possibility.”
“An ulcer! Why, whatever for? She doesn’t have a worry in the world.” I stopped and reconsidered. Maybe she did. Maybe she was so worried about getting rid of Mr. Pickens that it had begun to eat away at her. But as far as I knew, that had just happened, not long enough to give her physical problems. “How fast does an ulcer come on?”
“Not fast, usually,” he replied. “So without other long-term symptoms, I’m not convinced it’s an ulcer. An allergy of some kind should also be considered.”
“Why, I don’t see how. She rarely ever sneezes unless she has a cold.”
“Could be a food allergy,” he said. “Like from dairy products or certain grains.”
“Well, if that’s what it turns out to be, let’s don’t tell Lillian.” At his frown, I went on. “She’d be devastated if she’d been the unwitting cause of all this trouble. But I’ll tell you frankly that this all sounds like guessing to me. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Well, in a way you’re right,” he said. “At this point, without the test results, it is a matter of guessing. But like I said, we should be getting a few results back later today.”
“We can only hope, can’t we?”
He nodded, looked at his watch, and I knew he wanted me to wrap this up and be gone. So I stood.
“Thank you for seeing me,” I said. “I just wanted you to know that Hazel Marie is precious to us, and that we’ll do whatever it takes to get her well. I’m glad to hear that you’re not thinking in terms of some horrific disease or condition, although your earlier mention of a parasitic infestation has made my skin crawl. On the other hand, I hope you won’t overlook anything that could be worse than ulcers or allergies.” My face flamed for an instant. “Given her age, female trouble should be considered, too, you know.”
At his smile, I turned away and headed for the door. Behind me, he said, “I assure you that I’m not discounting anything at this point. She needs to be rehydrated and that fever brought down, so I’ll keep her in the hospital another night. Then if all goes well and nothing else crops up, I’ll discharge her tomorrow.”
I kept walking out the door, down the hall, and out into the parking lot, knowing little more than when I’d gone in.
Chapter 7
I parked the car in the driveway and went in the back door, as was my wont, knowing that I hadn’t accomplished a thing other than to put Dr. McKay on warning. Maybe that was enough to stir up some action on his part. Frankly, I didn’t think I could stand the anxiety of waiting another several days before knowing something conclusive.
I walked into the clean and shining kitchen, my mouth already open to lay my concerns onto Lillian. But the kitchen was empty. Assuming she was upstairs, I took off my raincoat and proceeded farther into the house, looking for her. Instead, I found Sam in the living room.
“Why, Sam. I thought you’d be at your house, working. Is anything wrong?” If I hadn’t had my mind on other things, I would’ve taken more note of his uncommon presence at home two days running.
“No, sweetheart,” he said with a distracted look. Then he put aside the yellow legal pad he’d been writing on and gave me his full attention. “Just trying to work a few things out.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, hurrying to sit beside him. “What is it? Have you thought of what could be wrong with Hazel Marie? Tell me, Sam, I’m about to lose my mind with worry.”
“Those tests take time, Julia,” he said, holding me close. “You have to allow for that and not get yourself all worked up. I know it’s hard, but for her sake, and Lloyd’s, too, we have to wait it out.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right. I just keep thinking that if Dr. Hargrove were here, we wouldn’t be going through all this. Well, anyway,” I said with a sigh, “I guess we’ll know soon enough. But it doesn’t help that she’s thrown Mr. Pickens over. I’m still so shaken that she sent him packing that I can hardly comprehend it. And she didn’t even tell anybody, not even Lloyd. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with her. She just kept it bottled up so long that it had to come out some other way.”