Coal Black Blues (8 page)

“Neil, what’s the matter?” Caroline found her feet and approached him with caution.

“I’m so hot,” he cried. “I’m on fire.”

She hadn’t expected another flashback so soon and wondered what to do. Touch him? Rouse him? In the other episode, her emotion had reached him but he had been confined with a seat belt. He paced forward a few steps, then back. A violent coughing attack brought him to a halt, racking his body hard. Before Caroline could reach him, he began to shake with chills.

“Neil?”

He grasped her hand and she gasped. His skin scalded her. “Carrie, I’m burning.”

Acting on instinct, she pressed her hand to his forehead and touched his cheeks.

“You have a fever.”

Neil narrowed his eyes, but they remained unfocused. “Carrie?”

“Yes.” She grasped him by one arm, appalled at the heat radiating from him even as he trembled. His shirt remained damp. “You’re not having a flashback. You’re sick, sweetheart. Come sit down.”

He stilled and she steered him toward the couch. When he reached it, he sat down automatically and put his head between his hands. Caroline parked beside him and put one hand against his back. He’d become so ill, so fast, she was worried. Without a thermometer in the house she had no idea how high his temperature might be but she guessed over 101 degrees. She hoped he wasn’t delirious.

“Neil, talk to me, baby. Tell me what’s happening.”

With a shudder, he lifted his head. “Probably bronchitis or pneumonia,” he said in a hoarse croak. “I’ve had both before.”

Thankful he sounded coherent, she sighed. “You should have told me you didn’t feel well.”

His shoulders hitched in a shrug. “I’ve been tired, coughing some but hell, I usually am worn out and I cough a lot. I’m sorry if I scared you, screaming and hollering.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, not really. But when I woke up so hot, I thought…”

The words broke into another round of coughing.

“I know,” Caroline said. “I understand why you’d think, still half-asleep, you were back in Afghanistan. First thing, you need to get out of that damp shirt.”

Neil tried to rise. “I’ve got a few clothes out in the truck.”

Caroline put her hand on his shoulder. “Stay right there. I’ll go get them.”

As soon as he had on a dry T-shirt with a flannel shirt worn over it, buttons open, he had another chill. Caroline gave him some ibuprofen and a glass of water to wash the tablets down. She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. “I think your temperature is rising, Neil. How do you feel?”

He shot her an annoyed look. “Like death warmed over.”

“You should be in bed. Come on.”

She tugged his hand and he resisted. “Carrie, I can go home. You don’t need me laid up here, underfoot and in the way. I ain’t gonna be much company.”

Stubborn, she thought, stubborn as an old hickory tree growing out of solid rock on the mountain. “You’re staying, Neil McCullough. You’re very sick and you don’t need to be alone in some rattletrap trailer in the middle of nowhere.”

“I been sick before, had nobody to take care of me.” His voice deepened with belligerence and if she hadn’t known him forever, his words might have hurt.

“Well, I’m here now. Let’s go upstairs.”

“Carrie…”

“Neil, I love you,” she said, exasperated enough to raise her voice. “Stop fussing.”

He stared at her, eyes bright with fever, and then he gave her a weak grin. “All right, woman, all right. You’re gonna spoil me, then do it.”

In the bedroom, she pulled off his jeans and boots. Then Caroline tucked him into bed and plumped the pillows beneath his head. He wiggled a lot and griped a little, but he settled down into what must be a comfortable position. She pulled the quilt over him and sat down in her Granny’s old rocker, watching over him and waiting until morning when she could seek medical help for her man.

Chapter Nine

Neil slept fitful, waking often to cough. When he did sleep, his breath rattled deep in his chest in a way that concerned Caroline. She thought his fever had diminished a little, but he remained much too hot so she put cool compresses on his burning forehead. She coaxed him to drink a little water when he awoke and deep into the night, she gave him another round of ibuprofen. In between, Caroline dozed in the rocker, still dressed with a quilt wrapped around her shoulders. Near morning, she woke to the steady sound of sleet ticking against the windows.

The old house lacked central heat and by now, the fire must have burned low. Caroline shivered as she checked on Neil. He murmured unintelligibly in restless sleep and when she brushed her fingers against his face, his skin still radiated fever heat. He stirred at her touch, however, and opened bleary eyes.

“What’s the matter?” His voice emerged cracked and hoarse.

“You’re sick. It’s cold so I need to get you downstairs before you freeze or get worse. And you need to go to the doctor today.”

Neil shoved the covers away and sat up. “Can’t.”

She ignored his response. “I doubt there’s a doctor in Coaltown so I suppose we’ll have to go to Charleston. Who’s your doctor?”

He hunched over in a fit of coughing. “I go to the VA clinic.”

Caroline put her hand on his back to offer comfort. “Okay. What time do they open?”

With one hand on his chest, he shook his head. “They don’t, not on Saturday. Lord, I feel terrible.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. That’s why we need to get you to a doctor.”

Neil shook his head and she ignored it. “I’m not arguing with you. You’re too sick and I don’t have the patience for it today.”

“I want to lie back down.”

“It’s too chilly up here. We’re going to the living room, get you warmed up and then we’re going to Charleston. The VA may be closed but I’m sure there’s some kind of clinic or doctor’s office open. If not, I’ll take you to the ER.”

It took a struggle, but Caroline managed to get Neil out of bed, into a pair of sweatpants, and downstairs. Putting on his boots took too much effort but she would try again, later. The narrow stairs seemed to constrict as she maneuvered Neil down them, with him leaning on her for support. He had to stop in the kitchen and sit down long enough to catch his breath. The way he wheezed frightened her, and when he had another coughing spell, he choked up yellow mucous along with hard white chunks, no bigger than a pea. Whatever they were, Caroline thought, they couldn’t be good. His mucous and the chunks both had a foul odor and she suspected they might mean infection in his lungs.

Once he recovered his breath, Neil managed to make the short distance into the living room and collapse into the recliner. She covered him with the quilt and noticed he clutched it to his chest. Caroline stirred up the still live embers and added wood. By the time she brewed a pot of lemon tea, the fire cracked within the stove and the room warmed.

“Try to drink this,” she said and held the cup to his lips.

Neil tasted it and made a face. “That’s not coffee.”

“No, it’s tea with lemon. It’ll help.”

He took the mug from her hands and cupped it between his. He sipped it while she watched. Once he finished, she gave him some ibuprofen, washed down with water.

“Do you want more tea?”

“Uh-uh. I don’t think I could drink it.” His voice sounded both muted and rough.

Caroline poured a refill for herself. “I don’t suppose you want anything to eat.”

Neil’s fever-bright eyes glared at her and he shook his head.

She sighed. “Well, Granny always said feed a cold and starve a fever so I won’t push it. I’m going to make some toast and then I’ll try to get your boots on your feet. Then we’ll go.”

The boots proved impossible. Caroline couldn’t manage to slide them in place, not when Neil appeared to be unable to make any effort to help. If either the tea or ibuprofen had helped, she couldn’t tell. She found an ancient pair of worn corduroy slippers in a closet upstairs that must have belonged to her grandfather and got them onto Neil’s feet. Ten minutes after that, they were on the road leading to the interstate.

Neil said little on the way, but he suffered several rounds of heavy coughing. Each one sapped his strength more and by the time they reached Charleston, he had become lethargic. Before leaving, Caroline had called the store to tell them she wouldn’t be around on Sunday and probably not on Monday. Then she had researched the addresses for a couple of walk-in clinics along with a few hospitals, just in case.

As she drove across the bridge over the Kanawha River, Caroline glanced at Neil.

“Hey, sugar, we’re here.”

He roused and turned his head. “Where’s here?”

Caroline made her tone light to hide her worry. “Charleston.”

“I don’t think I’m up to barbecue today.”

Fear sliced through her heart.
Is he confused or joking?
Caroline had no idea which.

“Me either,” she said. “After you see a doctor, we’re picking up any medications he prescribes, then we’re heading home.”

Slumped in the seat, he mumbled, “Okay. I don’t feel so great. I’m hot.”

“Neil, you’ve got a fever.”

At the next stoplight, she reached out to take his hand to offer reassurance. His skin remained very hot. Caroline used her phone’s GPS to find the nearest walk-in clinic. Although it was just after eight thirty, the small waiting room had just a few seats remaining. She dumped Neil into a seat and bellied up to the counter. A middle-aged woman with dark hair just beginning to show gray glanced up.

“Caroline Reaburn!”

Caught unaware, she nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”

“You probably don’t remember me, honey, but when you were a little thing still in grade school, I taught the primary Sunday school classes. I was just married myself, back then.”

Caroline took a closer look. Subtract the laugh and sun lines, color the hair black and she did remember. “Mrs. Gregory. I do remember.”

“You were cute as a button and always with that Neil McCullough. I heard you came home, child, and opened up the store. Is it going well?”

“It is, thanks for asking.”

“What brings you here today? You don’t look a bit sick.”

“I’m not.” She’d love to reminisce but another time, when Neil didn’t have a high fever and a bluish look around his lips, something she had just noticed. “It’s Neil. He’s very ill.”

Mrs. Gregory craned her neck to catch a better look. “You know, I thought it looked like him. So he’s down sick. I need him to fill out these papers, and if he has insurance, I need to make a copy of the card.”

One look at Neil, coughing so hard his body shook, and Caroline dismissed the notion. “Can I fill those out for him?”

“Sure, you can.”

The clipboard the older woman thrust into her hands held a sheaf of papers. She filled out what she could without his help then roused him to complete it. He answered most of her questions but with effort. Carrie pulled his insurance card from his wallet and gleaned what she needed before returning the paperwork to Mrs. Gregory.

“How long do you think we’ll have to wait?”

Both women surveyed the full waiting room. “I’m afraid it’s going to be awhile, child.”

Caroline doubted Neil could wait long without collapsing into the floor or falling into a stupor. “How long is awhile?”

Mrs. Gregory twisted her lips into a bow. “I’d say two hours, minimum.”

Neil roused and spoke for the first time since they’d entered the clinic. “Hot, hot, hot,” he said with a moan in his voice. “Don’t wanna die.”

His words shot a chill through Caroline’s heart. While she didn’t believe he would die, she hated hearing them. “You’re not going to, Neil,” she said, in a firm voice.

“Gonna burn, though, burning. Oh, Christ, it’s like hell. I might be dead already.”

Every person waiting turned their attention to him, some with avid interest, others with annoyed expressions. If Caroline failed to comfort or shut Neil down, he would launch into a full scale PTSD episode, the last thing anyone present needed. “Neil, listen to me. You’re sick, very sick, but you’ll be fine. You’re at the doctor’s now.”

“Need to be medevaced,” he mumbled.

“Is he delirious?” Mrs. Gregory asked. She had risen from her seat to gawk at him with a concerned expression.

“Maybe a little,” Caroline said. She didn’t know. “But it’s definitely a flashback. He has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

“I remember he went off to the service, but I had no idea. Maybe Dr. Tommy will see him next.”

“Dr. Tommy?”

Mrs. Gregory smiled. “It’s Dr. Thompson but everyone calls him ‘Tommy’. He served in Vietnam and he understands PTSD, so I think he will. Let me go ask.”

In less than five minutes, a mother and child exited and Mrs. Gregory motioned them back. A nurse took Neil’s vitals and exited moments before the doctor entered the small exam room. Caroline revised her expectations of a traditional doctor wearing a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. Dr. Tommy resembled a hippie more than a physician. His shoulder-length hair, steel gray, had been pulled back into a ponytail with a leather thong. He wore faded blue jeans with embroidery on the wide bell bottoms, topped with a chambray work shirt. She liked him on sight and the tight coil of tension in her chest eased a little.

Dr. Tommy addressed Neil. “I understand you’re sick, feverous, and have some heavy coughing. Is that right?”

Neil teetered on the edge of the exam table with Caroline hovering so he wouldn’t topple to the floor. He lifted his head. “Yeah, I’m on fire.”

“I imagine it does feel that way.” Dr. Tommy listened to Neil’s chest, then his back. “You have a lot of congestion and some crackle in the lungs. I’d say you have a bad case of pneumonia.”

When Neil made no answer to that or several more questions, the doctor shifted his attention.

“How long has he been ill?”

Once Caroline realized the question had been addressed to her, she answered. “He’s been coughing all week and tired but he usually is worn out. He works in the mines.”

Dr. Tommy nodded. “Yes, I noticed the coal tattoo.”

He referred to the black coal dust ingrained into Neil’s skin, the black patterns in place forever.

“This is a bacterial pneumonia, one I can treat with antibiotics. Working in the mines may not have caused it but it contributed to it. We can do X-rays if necessary, although I’m certain it’s pneumonia, but they would likely show coal dust in his lungs. Has he worked in the mines long?”

Caroline nodded. “Yes, he has ever since he came back from his military service in Afghanistan.”

“Ah, yes. That’s the source of his PTSD.”

“It is.”

“And you are?”

It took her a few extra seconds to realize what he asked. “I’m Caroline Reaburn. Neil and I have been friends since kindergarten.”

“Are you his wife?”

Maybe someday.
“We’re together,” she said. It probably sounded lame, but Dr. Tommy’s expression didn’t change. “We’re not married.”

Dr. Tommy never ceased examining Neil as he spoke. “Do you live together or does he live alone?”

Uncertain how to answer, she made her answer simple. “He has his own place.”

“Then he should be admitted to the hospital. His lungs are very congested and I suspect he has COPD as well, the result of working in the mines. I can’t rule out black lung disease and I would say emphysema is likely for the future, especially if he doesn’t get out of the mines. I really shouldn’t tell you all of this, unless he gives permission but he’s rather out of it at the moment. Do you think he has a hospital preference? There are several here in Charleston…”

Neil sat up and glared at the doctor. In a hoarse, ragged voice, he roared, “No hospital. I want to go home.”

Caroline wondered if he knew the where or when of the moment, but one mention of a hospital and he roused. She put a gentle hand on his arm. “Neil, you really need to be where you can get care.”

He shook his head back and forth. “Had all the hospitals I want. Take me home.”

His eyes met hers, open and brimming with emotion. And Caroline experienced the same pull. She thought of her cozy house, filled with memories and possibilities until she wanted it too.

“Could I?” she asked Dr. Tommy. “I know he hates hospitals and he’ll fight it all the way. He’s stubborn. I’d bring him home with me, to my house. It’s old, but warm, and I could take care of him.”

The doctor frowned. “I don’t suppose you have any medical training? You’re not a nurse or CNA by chance?”

“No, I’m not but I could tend to Neil.”

With a sigh, he tilted his head and considered her, gazing at Caroline as if he hadn’t paid close attention until now. “Is it a question of money? Because if it…”

She interrupted his blunt words. “It’s not only money. I’m thinking of Neil’s wellbeing.”

“So am I,” Dr. Tommy said. “But, if that’s what you both want, I’m not going to force him into the hospital. But I’ll warn you that if he doesn’t improve within forty-eight hours, give or take a little, or if he becomes much worse, you must bring him to the nearest emergency room.”