Finding Bluefield (19 page)

Paul laughed. “I kept falling.”

“You should have seen what you looked like when I carried you in. Bloody shirt, hands all scraped, hair covered with dust. Nicky was going to kill me.”

“But Mom still made me go to the pet snake show in town,” Paul said.

“I remember that,” Barbara said. “I never knew so many people kept snakes for pets.”

“Do you think we should tell my father that Mom is sick?”

*

Paul and Barbara rode the elevator to Nicky’s floor. The nurse behind the desk stopped Barbara and Paul as they came out of the elevator.

“We’re going to see my Mom,” Paul said.

“Three eleven B, Nicky Stewart,” Barbara added.

The nurse looked down on the chart. “Are you a relative? Only immediate family.”

“This is her son.”

“And you?”

“Dr. Phillips.” Barbara didn’t wait for acknowledgment. She turned and led Paul to the room. She was certain she heard the nurse mutter the word “dykes” under her breath as they walked away. It was hard to control herself, but these nurses were taking care of Nicky and she wanted them to treat her well. For now, that would have to wait.

Nicky was sitting up when they entered her room. “Hey, kid,” she said to Paul, “how was school?” She swung out of bed and hugged Paul.

“We have a play on Friday.”

“Barbara will come to that one,” Nicky said.

“I already told him I want to come,” Barbara said.

“I want you to come,” Paul said to Nicky.

“I won’t be out of this place yet, honey.” Nicky reached for her bag. “Hey, I got you some baseball cards. Want to open them with me?”

Paul jumped up on Nicky’s bed.

Barbara excused herself and stepped out of the room. She walked back to the nurses’ station and leaned on the counter.

The nurse looked up at Barbara. “Can I help you?” she said.

“You can help yourself by keeping your comments to yourself.”

“Now listen here, Miss—”

“Doctor. My name is Dr. Phillips, and you listen to me.” Barbara looked around to see if anyone was listening. “I don’t know what your problem is, and frankly, I’m not interested. But if I hear one complaint from Miss Stewart about her care then I will be your problem, and I’ll have you off the floor and floating by the end of the day. Do you understand me?” Barbara turned and went back to visit with Nicky.

“Who’s hungry?” Barbara said. “Suddenly, I have an appetite.” Nicky and Paul had the baseball cards spread out on the bed.

“We ate—” Paul started to say.

“Don’t say it,” Barbara interrupted.

“What?” Nicky said to Paul.

“Don’t do it,” Barbara said. “Don’t tell her.”

“We had Oreos in the car,” Paul said.

“You didn’t,” Barbara said.

“In my car?” Nicky asked as she tickled Paul.

“Barbara’s.”

“Okay,” Nicky said. “Did you save me any?”

“I was hungry,” Paul said.

“Look,” Nicky said, “you got a Hank Aaron. And a Tom Seaver.”

“I was thinking of getting some food in the cafeteria,” Barbara said. “Anyone want me to bring back anything?”

“Is it the one where you get to slide your tray along?” Paul said to Barbara.

“It is,” Barbara said. “But it’s still hospital food.”

“I want to go with you,” Paul said.

Barbara looked at Nicky.

“Go ahead,” Nicky said. “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Barbara and Paul returned with their trays. Nicky made a place for Paul to sit.

“Macaroni and cheese,” Nicky said to Paul, “fries with gravy, pudding. You got all the best stuff.”

“You can have some,” Paul said.

“I’m not supposed to eat anything,” Nicky said.

Paul took a big bite of macaroni and cheese.

“Good?” Nicky asked.

“Yeah,” Paul said, “but not as good as yours.”

Nicky rubbed Paul’s hair. “You’re getting so big, so beautiful.”

“He’s almost as tall as me,” Barbara said. “By his next birthday I bet he’s taller.”

After dinner, Barbara called in to her answering service. Nicky and Paul flipped baseball cards. A nurse came around with medication. Susan and Abe called to say hello. At eight o’clock the guard started to knock on doors and send people home.

“I love this boy,” Nicky said as she hugged Paul.

“I want you to come home,” Paul said.

“I’ll be home real soon,” Nicky said.

Barbara kissed Nicky. “I’ll be back in the morning. Susan’s going to come over and get Paul ready for the bus.”

“Good evening, Dr. Phillips,” the nurse said as they passed the station.

“I like when people call you Dr. Phillips,” Paul said in the elevator.

“You’d make a fine doctor.” With the sun down, the air felt cool and Barbara shivered as she unlocked the car for her and Paul to get in.

“If Mom died would I be able to stay with you?” he asked.

“What?” Barbara said as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“Because we’re not really legally related so they might try and take me from you.”

“Who are they? And who told you?”

“The courts. I read about it in the bath.”

“The bath?”

“It was in one of Mom’s magazines.”

“We should never have taught you how to read,” Barbara said. “So exactly what did you read?”

“It was about custody,” Paul said. “Did you adopt me?”

“I can’t adopt you. You have a mother. But I have legal custody now and, well, it’s also in Mom’s will. But nothing is going to happen to Mom or me, and no one is taking you away from me. You can be sure of that.”

“What if both of you died? Who would I live with then?” Paul asked.

“No one is dying.” Barbara realized she was crying and hoped it was too dark in the car for Paul to see.

“What would I do?”

“You’ll be old enough by then and living on your own,” Barbara said.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

“You will never be alone.”

“Would I live with my father?” Paul asked.

“No, honey, you wouldn’t. Because he doesn’t know you, so he couldn’t take you in.”

“Remember when you went to Europe with Mom?” Paul asked.

“Yeah.”

“You said you and Mom weren’t on the same plane because they didn’t have room. But Josh said it was because you didn’t want to be on the same plane in case one of them crashed. He said his parents do the same thing, so that he and his brother and sister wouldn’t be alone.”

“You’re killing me here, Paul,” Barbara said. “You’re right, but we have to change the subject cause you’re killing me here.”

*

With Paul tucked in and asleep, Barbara took a glass of wine into the living room. She picked up the lighter from the mantel and squeezed it tightly in her left palm. The last four days had been such a blur of decisions, tasks, errands that she hadn’t had time to feel. She held the lighter up to her nose and tried to smell Nicky, but all she smelled was lighter fluid.

Barbara arranged some newspapers and kindling in the fireplace. She crouched, knees resting on the hearth, and tried to spark the lighter by hitting it against her jeans the way Nicky liked to do. She’d never been able to get the rhythm of it so she used her thumb instead. It was Nicky’s favorite lighter, the one she had with her at the doctor’s office that day he mentioned cancer. It was Nicky’s favorite lighter, not because it was beautiful or even valuable, but simply because Nicky had managed to hold on to it for so many years. Nicky had placed the lighter on the mantel with the pottery they had picked up in South Dakota several years earlier.

I hate this fucking lighter, Barbara thought, as she held its flame to the newspapers. She wanted to throw it in the fire, but it had Nicky’s sweat, her palm oils, and the groove her forefinger had worn out. Damn you, Nicky, for doing this to yourself, for not listening. Barbara sat on the hearth and took off her glasses. She rubbed her face, her brow, her eyes, the marks on her nose where her glasses rested, and fruitlessly pushed back her hair. She let out a long breath. The day had been full of waiting. The next day promised to be worse.

When the kindling caught and the blaze reached up for the chimney, Barbara placed three logs in the fireplace, grunted, and pushed herself up. She sat on the couch and moved the photo album that she had brought up from the basement, the one with pictures of the pond. Nicky didn’t like having them around. Barbara lifted her wine with her ringless fingers and sipped cautiously. She was scared. Scared for Nicky and for Paul. Scared of being alone. When she was younger, no one could have ever convinced her that she would spend her life with the same woman and that they would raise a child together. Then, in just a blink, here they were, together for almost fifteen years. Barbara had gotten so that she relied on Nicky to make things happen, to throw things off-kilter, and not let them all get too comfortable. Like that summer when Nicky found out about the medical volunteer program in a clinic in South Dakota and practically signed Barbara up for it on her own. Practicing without most of the conveniences of her office and the easy access to a hospital and with a constant lack of supplies changed the way Barbara approached medicine. She knew that even if she could parent Paul on her own, he needed Nicky. She needed Nicky. And she knew everything could be taken away quickly.

*

Barbara didn’t sleep at all that night. Didn’t even try. When Susan came over before sunrise, Barbara was eager to get to the hospital and see Nicky while she was still awake. After the nurses took Nicky to prepare her for surgery, Barbara planted herself in Ellwell Women’s cafeteria. She was nursing her third cup of coffee when she saw a chaplain sit down across the room. If I knew how, she thought, I would pray. Many of her patients prayed. She knew it was not for lack of confidence in her ability, but an acknowledgment of medical limitations. If I knew to what or to whom, I would pray right now. I would pray. I would beg. I would make a deal. What am I supposed to bargain with? I have nothing. Am I supposed to ask for special attention, for favors from God? I never asked anyone for anything. I got what I wanted through hard work coupled with some luck, and some good genes. But as a doctor, she knew there was more to treating patients than just diagnosing illness and administering therapies and drugs. She had seen disease leave and arrive on its own terms, as if her intervention was an afterthought. Why and how an illness affected someone was so hard to predict, impossible to justify. A good attitude helped, but it wasn’t a prescription, and it certainly wasn’t a guarantee. Luck, grace, karma, history, the planets, they were all part of the deal, but couldn’t be counted on. But she had even less faith in who or what dealt out life and then took it away. That was not something Barbara had much hope in coming to Nicky’s aid.

What the hell, Barbara said to herself, almost out loud, Nicky would do it. She crossed the room to where the chaplain was carefully dunking a Danish into his coffee. The chaplain looked up at her.

“May I sit?” Barbara asked.

“Please.”

“What do you pray for?” Barbara said.

“Do you have a loved one who is ill?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll pray for him to be well.”

“What do I pray for?” Barbara said.

“The same thing.”

“I’ve never prayed. I don’t know how,” Barbara said. “Am I just supposed to ask for what I want?”

“What we want is not always what’s in God’s plan. You should also pray for the strength to face adversity.”

“If there’s already a plan, why pray?”

“We might not be able to change the plan, but we can change ourselves, and how we react to what unfolds around us.”

Barbara heard herself being paged. “Pray for me,” she said, “I’m being paged.”

Barbara ran to the phone where a member of the surgical team told her that the surgery had gone well. Both breasts had been removed and they were closing up. Nicky was doing fine and would be out of the OR in another forty-five minutes. Barbara was told she would get another call when Nicky was in recovery and Barbara would be allowed to see her then.

She hung up the phone and bought a fresh cup of coffee and a slice of pumpkin pie—she really didn’t expect them to have blackberry.

As she sat down, the chaplain approached her table.

“Is everything okay?” he said.

“Good news,” Barbara said.

“Praying may not change things, but it will change you,” he said. “Good luck.”

After he left, Barbara returned to waiting. She knew how to wait. Didn’t matter that just being there all morning didn’t help anything, didn’t change anything. She just knew there was nowhere else she would want to be and nothing else she wanted to be doing. She needed the boredom of waiting, the singularity of focus. She needed to not be doing what she usually did while someone was removing parts of Nicky. And, well, then there was the
in case
, the just in case. She decided not to finish that thought.