House Arrest (18 page)

25 ~ Emily

I wedged the telephone receiver between my left ear and neck, scrunching up my shoulder to hold it tight. The yelling from Marge’s office was loud enough to interfere with my conversation, but her closed door obscured the details of the reprimand.

Carmen was describing the stain on Josué’s bandage. “It’s a greenish color, and it smells bad.”

The corner office door opened several inches to reveal the new nurse’s hand clutching the doorknob.

“We have regulations here and they apply to everyone,” Marge said, before the door closed again. I wondered what the new recruit had done, and if she would pack up the framed desk photo of her infant son and never return. Had any of us remembered to orient her to Marge’s obsessions about certain procedures?

I tried to concentrate on Carmen. “Does he have a fever?”

“No, no fever. But the green, does that mean an infection?”

I could hear Josué in the background reassuring her. “No infection, Mamá. Don’t worry.”

We all tried to ignore the muted fury that seeped from Marge’s office. Even Andy, usually the boss’s stalwart defender, turned his back on the racket and rolled his eyes.

“Call the surgeon’s office and let them know,” I suggested to Carmen, pressing my finger against my free ear. “If they want a culture, I’ll stop by after lunch and collect it.”

I checked the clock. Just enough time before Pippa’s ultrasound appointment for my weekly call to the probation office. A question for Nan had been nagging at the back of my brain but I couldn’t quite remember it.

“Malloy.” Even this early, Nan’s voice had an edge of no-nonsense.

“This is Emily Klein. Checking in about Pippa Glenning?”

Ever since Momma’s nightly phone calls with Daddy during his trial, I wasn’t crazy about telephones. But it was better than being in Nan’s office with that painting.

“How is Glenning?” Nan asked. “Any problems?”

I considered briefly the potential adverse effects of wine mixed with peyote cactus powder on a second-trimester fetus. But I doubted that Pippa planned to drink the libation. Not this year, not when she was pregnant. And what about skipping out on work last Wednesday to visit Zoe in the hospital? Strictly speaking, I only knew of that from other people, so that was hearsay. Gossip, really.

“No problems. I’m picking her up in a few minutes for her ultrasound and blood work.”

“Did you see the newspaper yesterday?”

“Yeah. It makes me very nervous.”

There was a pause before Nan responded. “Listen. The D.A. is putting a lot of pressure on the court to put Pippa in jail with her friends. It’s complicated. Two years ago a pregnant woman miscarried in our local jail, and Judge Thomas is determined to avoid something like that again. But then last week in Cambridge, this pregnant bimbo awaiting trial for a B and E, who was under House Arrest to protect her fetus, snuck out and got an abortion and the judge is furious. For the moment, his protect-the-baby philosophy is working in Glenning’s favor, but I can’t promise how long that will continue.”

Miscarriage. Hurt. I remembered my elusive question. “Pippa really wants this baby. She seems to be cooperating fully with the medical plan,” I said. “By the way, what if there’s an emergency? If Pippa starts spotting or goes into premature labor in the middle of the night? What is she supposed to do?”

“Go to the emergency room, of course. But she should call as soon as possible, and let us know where she is and what’s happening. Before these damn federal privacy laws were passed, we could call around to all the E.R.’s to find out if an offender was there. But now with the HIPAA regulations, they won’t say a word. Even to us.” Nan’s laugh sounded bitter. “Privacy laws? How do they expect us to do our job, to protect the public—don’t get me started on that. No, in an emergency, of course we want her to get treatment right away. And then notify us ASAP.”

I tried to choose my words carefully. “But, I mean, if she leaves the house, because she’s sick or something, it’s not a big deal, is it? If it’s for a good reason? For her health or her baby’s well-being?”

“Breaking her house arrest is breaking the law.” Nan’s voice was taut with certainty. “The Conditions of Bail specify that Glenning stays in the house, except when given permission to leave. In advance. By Judge Thomas, or by me. Or except in a true medical emergency. The judge doesn’t give two beans for a higher moral purpose.”

That’s pretty clear, I thought.

“Why?” Nan asked. “Are you worried about her health?”

“No,” I said, trying not to panic. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. “She’s fine. I’m just doing my job, trying to be prepared for anything.” After promising to call again the next Monday, I pushed the disconnect button. I held the phone in my hand, listening as the dial tone changed to the oscillating sounds of the hang-up alarm.

•

Fifteen minutes later my car was idling in front of the Pioneer Street house. I honked a second time. Gray clouds hung low and thick, threatening snow despite the forecast of dry weather. Pippa’s head emerged in the doorway and she held one finger in the air before slipping back inside. I hate being late. I tried slow, cleansing breaths. Anna was taking a class in yoga and meditation. She was trying to convert me to a more serene approach to life, without any noticeable effect. Several minutes later, Pippa hurried down the sidewalk, her yellow hair sticking out every which way even more than usual.

“Sorry.” Pippa fumbled with the seat belt buckle.

“Are you nervous about the ultrasound?” I put on the left turn signal and looked over my shoulder, even though there was no traffic on the narrow residential street. Glancing at Pippa, it struck me. “Or about the hearing tomorrow?”

“No, it’s Bast. He didn’t come home last night. I tried calling him from the back yard just now, one more time.”

“He’ll be back. Did you drink all the water for the ultrasound?”

“Almost done.” Pippa pulled a plastic water bottle from her backpack and took a long swallow.

We arrived at the hospital ultrasound department only a few minutes late. The technician handed Pippa a faded blue hospital johnnie and pointed to the curtained changing area. She directed me to the gray metal chair next to the exam table. “You can have the daddy chair.”

“This had better be quick.” Pippa clutched the cotton gown around her body. “My bladder’s going to burst.”

“That’s what everyone says,” the tech said. “Never happens.” She helped Pippa onto the table and squeezed gray-green gel over the slight mound of her belly. I sat close to Pippa’s head. Together we looked back and forth between the probe making swoops and swirls in the gel, and the indistinct, shadowy images on the computer screen. Even with the tech’s guided tour, the fuzzy shapes were hard to visualize as baby hands and head and knees.

During our regular Sunday dinner with Sam the evening before, my mind had been stuck on ultrasounds. I guess I was worried about Pippa’s appointment. The whole time Anna and I made ziti with tomato sauce, the whole time Sam and Zoe built a fortress on the sun porch with chairs and blankets and construction paper turrets, I wondered what it had been like at Zoe’s ultrasound.

“It’s not a fort,” Zoe announced as we sat down to eat. “It’s a castle restaurant, and tonight’s special is the oatmeal-raisin cookies. Mom and I baked them.” Zoe ate three bites before rushing to the porch to prepare for customers, leaving the three of us at the table.

“Tell me about Zoe’s ultrasound.”

My words hovered in the empty air, shimmered in the silence over the table. I stared at Zoe’s plate, red sauce splashed over white bones of pasta. Neither Sam nor Anna answered. After a few minutes, Anna stood up and started carrying half-empty plates to the sink. I looked at Sam.

“Pearls.” His voice was barely a whisper. “A broken pearl necklace.” Then he stood up too, pushing himself away from the table with his hands flat on the wooden surface, as if he were a much heavier man. He carried the salad bowl to the counter and rummaged in the cupboard for a plastic container for the leftovers. “Isn’t the restaurant open yet?” he called out to Zoe on the porch. “I want cookies.”

When Pippa’s ultrasound tech pointed to the white-gray knobs lined up in a row, I understood what Sam meant by pearls.

“A flawless spine.” The tech’s voice was proud, as if the perfection were her personal accomplishment.

Pippa smiled back. “No spina bifida?”

“Nope.” The tech shook her head and pointed again at the pearls. “See how the backbones are lined up, nice and even?”

Pippa turned her head towards me. “That’s what Zoe has, right?”

I nodded.

“How’s she doing?” Pippa asked. “After her operation?”

“Fine.” I supposed it was good that Pippa could relax, forget for a moment that she hated all this medical intervention. But talking about Zoe was dangerous territory. I turned to the tech. “Are the other organs okay?” Pippa and I watched the technician identify her baby’s beating heart, and bean-shaped kidneys. We got a glimpse of a small appendage wiggling between the baby’s legs. The tech didn’t say anything. She just pointed at it and grinned and gave us a thumbs-up sign. I didn’t know if Pippa noticed, or if wanted to know her baby’s sex, so I kept quiet.

“Now you can pee.” The tech handed Pippa an ultrasound photo of her baby and helped her off the exam table. “When you’re dressed, follow the red line to the lab for your blood work.”

One red stripe was painted at eye-level along the wall, another on the floor. Pippa flashed me a smile and tightrope-walked down the painted line on the floor, her outstretched arms banking through the turns at corridor intersections. She appeared oblivious to the stares from passing staff and visitors. Pippa surprised me sometimes, doing childish things one minute and being so sure of herself the next. What was it the obstetrician had called her? Robust. A funny word for such a small person. But it fit and for a moment I envied her self-confidence. Still, I followed six steps behind, far enough so that it wasn’t clear we were together.

“If it were up to me, I wouldn’t do this triple screen,” she said over her shoulder. “No matter what Dr. Zabernathy says.”

I had been surprised when she agreed to the tests. I couldn’t imagine Isis letting her terminate the pregnancy, even if the blood tests were positive and the amnion showed a malformation. I caught up to her. “Choose your battles, right?”

When Pippa was called into the lab, I studied the other patients in the waiting room, trying to guess their diagnosis. Some were easy, like the wheezing woman in the corner on an oxygen leash, and the bald kid playing with a hand-held computer game while his mother hovered. But the woman across from me could have stepped out of a television exercise equipment commercial. Maybe she had lost two sisters to breast cancer and wanted genetic testing? Nosy girl, I scolded myself. Get back to the business at hand. I fixed my attention on the laminated notice above the woman’s shiny black curls: Please notify us if you have a latex allergy.

“You still get those itchy welts on your ankle?” I asked Pippa when she returned to the waiting room. “Under the ankle strap?”

“Not if I wear a sock between my skin and the strap. Why?”

I pointed to the notice.

“Do you think I’m allergic to my house arrest monitor?” Pippa laughed. “You won’t get any arguments from me about that.”

I made a mental note to examine the skin on Pippa’s ankle. What if it were medically necessary to remove the monitor, for her health? I started to smile at that, until I remembered what Nan had said that morning about the D.A. looking for any excuse to lock Pippa up. But at least I should document Pippa’s rash in the medical record.

Pippa was quieter than usual on the drive back to Pioneer Street. She didn’t ask to stop at the park again, or bring up my testimony at the hearing tomorrow.

“Do you have time for a cup of tea?” Pippa asked as I pulled onto Pioneer Street. “I want to talk to you about something.”

“A quick one,” I said, opening my car door and stepping out. “Talk about what?”

Pippa leaned both elbows on the roof of the car. She looked at me across the frosty green metal.

“Are you going to help me?”

I picked a flake of rust from the roof. I should have seen that coming. Here we were just getting comfortable with each other, and now Pippa had to go and bring up the solstice again. It was a lot to ask and I didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know,” I said. Jiggling my car keys, I started walking toward the front door. A large brown cardboard box sat in the middle of the front porch.

“You’ve got a package.” I pointed at it. “A present?”

Pippa shook her head. “No one sends us anything.”

I climbed onto the porch and examined the box. “There’s no name or address.”

Pippa stood at the bottom of the steps. Her face mirrored the color of the low clouds. Had she looked that pale at the hospital? Maybe I should check her iron, even though the prenatal protocol said not until next week. Or maybe it was the box. I started to feel a little shaky myself. I squatted on the wooden porch next to the package.

“This makes me nervous,” I said.

“It’s not ticking, is it?”

I felt stupid, but I pressed my ear to the cardboard, and listened. “No.”