Over the Waters (13 page)

M
ax rapped on the door of the tidy little cottage on the corner of Hope House's property. Almost immediately, as though she'd been waiting for his knock, Betty Greene opened the door. Her shoulders were hunched and, behind her large glasses, dark smudges framed her eyes. She'd aged ten years since that day in the market last week.

But she welcomed him with a smile. "Dr. Jordan. Please come in. Thank you so much for coming. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Thank you, but Sarah fixed us lemonade after we finished with the clinic."

"Oh, good. Did everything go well?"

"Yes. I think it did. Overall, the children seem quite healthy. You're doing an excellent job with them...under the circumstances."

"We do the best we can. Thank you." She lifted her shoulders and let out a businesslike breath. "Well, I don't want to waste your time, but I would certainly feel better if you could see Phil."

"How is he this afternoon?"

Her lips tightened into a firm line and she shook her head. "Not good...but he's ornery as ever. Come. He's in bed." She led the way to the small, cozy bedroom.

"Phil?" She shook her husband's shoulder gently. "Wake up, sweetheart. The doctor is here to see you."

The old man's eyelids fluttered open and he looked around the room as though disoriented. But when his eyes lit on his wife's face, he brightened. "What time is it?"

"Almost six-thirty. How are you feeling?" She pressed a palm to his weathered cheek, then felt his forehead with the back of her hand. "Dr. Jordan has come by to take a look at you, Phil."

He struggled to push himself up in the bed, resting his weight on his elbows. His eyes roved the room until they focused on Max. "Well, it's the good doctor," he said with a frail smile. "Thank you for coming by, but you don't need to waste your time with an old man like me. I'll be fine."

"Well, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to have a look," Max said, sensing the man's hesitancy, and not wanting to upset him. He put his medical bag on the nightstand and pulled out his stethoscope. "Let's have a listen."

Betty hurried around to the other side of the bed and unfastened the top buttons on her husband's pajamas. He didn't protest, so Max proceeded to examine him briefly. He took his pulse, noting the cool and clammy skin beneath his fingers. Tapping on his chest revealed evidence of edema, and on auscultation, the telltale crackling through the stethoscope told him what he'd already suspected. Philip Greene did indeed suffer from congestive heart failure.

"What medications are you taking now?"

The pastor shook his head and smiled weakly. "You'll have to ask her," he said, gesturing in his wife's direction. "She's in charge of all that. I just do what I'm told."

"He's been taking nitroglycerin," Betty Greene offered.

"And Diucardin when we can get it. But I don't know that it helps much."

Pastor Greene scooted up farther in the bed. "The last doctor I saw wanted to put me on four hundred dollars' worth of medicine every month. I'd like to know who can afford that! And even if we could, it'd have taken a whole extra suitcase just for someone to bring a year's worth of those prescriptions to us. And half of what they want me on has to be refrigerated. I'd like to know what that man was thinking." He trailed off with a low growl.

"You really should be on a diuretic all the time," Max told him. "I'm not a cardiologist, but I don't like what I'm hearing in there. I think you'd be wise to make a trip back to the States and get this checked out."

Phil Greene's head was wagging before Max even finished his sentence. "I'm fine. A couple days of bed rest and I'll be back on my feet. This has happened before and I've always bounced back." He turned to his wife. "Haven't I, dear?"

"Phil, I think it's a little worse this time. Maybe we should consider--"

Phil Greene interrupted her with another emphatic wag of his head. "I've already considered it. It would be harder on me to make a trip out of here than just to put up with this. If you want to try another medicine, I'll do my best to keep it down, but I'm not going to go flying all over the world trying to find a cure for an almost eighty-year-old heart."

Max tried to think what he could say that might convince him. In truth, the pastor probably needed surgery. Max didn't relish lecturing a stubborn old man, but as limited as his knowledge of heart medicine was, he knew there were options that would probably seem like a miracle cure to someone who'd put up with the symptoms of CHF for so long.

He opted to stall, putting a hand on the pastor's shoulder. "I'll tell you what, let me talk to one of my colleagues who knows a little more about this than I do and I'll get back with you. Maybe there's something we can do from this end."

Betty Greene buttoned her husband's pajamas back up and smoothed the sheets over his shoulders. "You get some rest now. I'll show Dr. Jordan out and start some soup for your supper."

"Don't trouble yourself, sweet pea. I'm not hungry." Pastor Phil looked at his wife with eyes so full of love that it made Max ache to watch. The old man made a kissing motion in his wife's direction, then turned to Max. The outline of his hand lifted beneath the sheets in a feeble wave. "Thanks for coming, Doc."

"I'll get back to you," Max promised him before following Betty back to the small living area.

"He's a stubborn one," she said, shedding the cheerful mask she'd put on in her husband's presence. "I don't know how to make him mind."

"Let me check on some things. I'll see if I can get on the Internet back at Madame Duval's tonight and find some information."

Betty clutched at the collar of her blouse. "Thank you, Dr. Jordan. I appreciate you seeing him. But don't waste your time looking for a way to get him back to the States." Tears sprang to her eyes. "The only way you'll do that is...in a casket."

He drew back, unable to hide his shock at her frank words.

She shook her head and lowered her voice. "He can't go back to the States."

"Oh?"

"He could go to Europe, perhaps, although I don't know how we'd afford surgery."

"But why not the U.S.?"

Betty Greene bent her gray head toward him. Max thought he saw real fear in her eyes.

Finally she sighed and looked up at him with tired eyes. "It's not my story to tell, Dr. Jordan. But going back to the United States is not an option for my husband. Nor will it ever be."

M
ax stared at Betty Greene, intrigued, wanting to ask more questions. But he refrained, and touched her arm instead, trying to offer comfort. "I'll talk to my colleagues and let you know what I find out."

She grabbed his hand and gripped it as though her life depended on it. "Thank you, Dr. Jordan. God bless you."

He left the cottage deep in thought. Congestive heart failure was progressive, no cure, but there was little doubt that Philip Greene could be made more comfortable--possibly extend his life by years--if he were to get medical care outside of the country. But the obstacles were great. Money, time, the man's own stubbornness. And whatever the mysterious reason he had for not being able to go back to the U.S.

Samantha had already returned to Madame Duval's, but he would ask her tonight if she knew of a facility in Port-au-Prince that might be able to treat a heart condition. He wasn't optimistic about that.

He crossed the compound in search of Valerie. Perhaps she could relieve some of the burden from Betty Greene, either at the orphanage or by staying with Pastor Greene during the day.

He found her in the courtyard holding one end of a jump rope for three little girls in bright summer dresses. They sang out a syncopated ditty in Creole, their smiles as vivid as the sun that was quickly sinking behind the whitewashed concrete wall.

Valerie looked up, missing a beat when she saw him. The two girls jumping rope put their heads together and giggled, pointing at him and nattering behind cupped hands. He couldn't understand them, but their bright expressions said they recognized him from the clinic today. He singled out one word,
siret.
It was what Valerie had called the hard peppermint candy she doled out.

"Hello," she said, handing her end of the jump rope to one of the girls with a quickly whispered explanation. She came to meet him. "I thought you'd already gone back to Madame Duval's. Is Samantha still here, too?"

"No. She left earlier. I went to look in on Pastor Phil."

"Oh, I'm so glad. I know Madame Phil has been worried about him."

"Yes, I know. I did a brief examination, and--" he paused and glanced at her, remembering her discomfiture at learning of his specialty "--well, I'm no cardiologist, but I'm fairly certain he's suffering from congestive heart failure."

Her face clouded. "That sounds serious."

"It can be. Without the proper care it can be fatal. He's probably suffered from it for some time but at his age it needs to be watched carefully."

"Will he have to be hospitalized?"

The scene Samantha had painted of Josh's death in a Haitian hospital sprang, unbidden, into his mind. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "I...I'd be leery about putting anyone in the hospital over here. Madame Duval seems to have the same attitude."

"For good reason from what I've heard in the short time I've been here," Valerie offered.

He nodded. "And according to Betty, it doesn't sound like it's an option to send him back to the States."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure. She was evasive. Said it was his story to tell."

Valerie's hazel eyes narrowed. "That's strange. I wonder what that's all about."

He stopped and scuffed his shoe in one of the many patches of dust that scarred the grass struggling to grow in the courtyard lawn. "I told Betty I'd try to do some research on the Internet tonight and see what I can find out. There may be something I can do from here, if I only knew what it was. I'm just not up on the latest heart research." He glanced away and gave a feeble laugh. "Now if he was in for a tummy tuck or brow lift, I'd be your man."

He couldn't quite read the look she shot him, but he hoped it was amusement.

"Is there anything I can do?"

He smiled, then turned serious. "I was hoping you'd ask."

She was quiet, her eyes eager and intent on his face.

"I'm almost as worried about Betty as I am about Pastor Phil."

"Oh, I know," Valerie said, her voice thick with compassion. "She's hardly left his side since he took to bed."

"I wonder if maybe...Would you have time to just go sit with Pastor Phil? Even if Betty insists on staying there, too, at least she'd have someone to talk to...someone to share the burden with her."

"Oh, of course. I've tried to help out with the children since she's been spending so much time with Pastor Phil. But--" she inspected a hangnail "--I should have thought about her needing moral support through all this."

"I know you've been doing everything you can. I didn't mean to imply otherwise."

"I know," she said, reaching out to touch his arm lightly.

"I'd be glad to spend more time with her."

"I can't imagine how this orphanage could continue without the Greenes, but I'm afraid at the rate they're going, they are going to die trying to keep things together."

Valerie nodded. "I think that's exactly what they intend to do." She stared off into the distance, and when she spoke again, it was as though she were speaking to herself. "But I'm not willing to let them go yet."

"Is there anyone who could handle things here, assuming I can talk them into going back to the States for surgery?"

"I haven't been here long enough to know," she said, "but the orphanage really does seem to run pretty smoothly. They have the older children help with the younger ones and even the preschoolers have chores. And of course there's Henri--the watchman--and some other men who do maintenance and yard work." She thought for a minute. "But as far as any real authority, it does seem like Pastor and Madame Phil are pretty much it."

"That's what Madame Duval said. It would be nice if they had a nurse like Samantha here. We were lucky to have her today. I asked Samantha if she might be able to help out regularly here, but she said she can barely keep up at Madame Duval's."

"I'm sure that's true. There are more children at Duval's even than here." Frowning, she shook her head. "I don't know how this country survives."

"I'm not sure I'd call this survival." He spread an arm toward the horizon.

She clucked her agreement, then brightened. "Hey, you said you can get online at Duval's?"

"Well, it's not exactly blazing high speed, but I've managed to stay connected for a few minutes each evening before I get kicked off. Long enough to check my e-mail and--" He'd started to mention checking his stocks, but thought better of it. He doubted that would impress her. He was glad when she filled his sudden silence.

"So, you have access to e-mail?"

"I do."

"Could I ask a huge favor?"

"Sure."

"If I gave you my sister's e-mail address would you be willing to send her a short note...just to let her know everything is going okay here? I thought I'd be able to get through to her on my cell phone, but apparently there's something wrong with it. And I hated to bother Madame Phil..."

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his phone and powered it on. "Here. Try mine. Your cell just probably doesn't have a strong enough signal."

She reached eagerly for the phone, then drew back, shooting him an uncertain glance. "You're sure you don't mind? I don't want to use up all your minutes."

He put the phone in her hand. "I've got plenty."

"Oh, thank you." She beamed her gratitude. "That would be great."

He warmed under her smile and wondered what the man who'd broken this girl's heart had been thinking. Fool.

"I know Beth is probably worried sick," Valerie said. "She wasn't real crazy about me coming here in the first place."

Ah, so she did have someone worrying about her at home. Somehow the fact made him feel somewhat vindicated for his anger at Joshua.

"You said your sister lives in Chicago?"

"Yes. In Willowbrook."

"Really? I'm in Winnetka. Just an hour or so up the road. Well--" he motioned toward the phone in her hand "--give her a call."

She studied the keypad. "I'll just be a minute."

The rope-skippers had started another high-pitched chant and Max put a hand on Valerie's elbow and steered her away from the noise. "Why don't we move someplace quieter?"

"Good idea." She followed him down toward the gate, punching in numbers on the keypad as they walked. She put the phone to her ear. "Beth is just going to die. Oh! It's ringing!" Smiling broadly, she mouthed another "thank you."

He felt strangely pleased at being able to offer her this small favor.

"It's ringing," she said again, sounding as excited as if she'd just rang through to the White House. Her eyes widened and she spoke excitedly into the phone. "Beth? It's Val! No, no, I'm still in Haiti. I've been trying to get through since I got here, but my phone's signal apparently isn't strong enough." She looked up and offered Max another smile of gratitude. "A doctor here let me use his phone. This is so weird. It sounds like you're right next door!"

She listened for a few seconds, a wide smile splitting her face. "It's going great," she told her sister. "Even though I still haven't gotten my luggage." Max could hear the sister's shriek of disbelief from where he stood. Valerie laughed into the phone and winked at Max. "Oh, it's probably at the airport by now, but Pastor Phil hasn't been feeling well and no one has had a chance to get to the airport. It's okay...it's not that big of a deal. I had a few things in my carry-on. You'd be impressed with how well I've gotten along without makeup though."

While she chattered into the phone, Max watched Valerie. The love she felt for her sister was obvious in the way her face brightened and her voice climbed an octave.

"It's beautiful here, Beth," she was saying. "Not a tropical paradise or anything, but the people are wonderful and everyone has been so nice. It's really been amazing."

Max was stunned to hear her glowing description of the country and its people. He stared at the desolate landscape outside the fence. Was Valerie Austin talking about the same wretched place he'd been staying the past ten days? Even when she described their terrifying moments in the marketplace, there was an undeniable exhilaration in her voice.

"You just wouldn't believe it, Beth. It was like being in a movie."

A horror film, maybe. Max didn't realize he was actually shaking his head in disbelief until Valerie put a thumb over the tiny receiver and looked up at him. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Go ahead." He waggled his head. "I was just...Never mind..."

She quirked her lips in an expression of confusion, but resumed her conversation with her sister. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and he found himself mentally trolling for an excuse to stay and talk to her after she hung up.

She reminded him of someone.

Joshua.

The realization was startling. But it was true. Valerie possessed that same zest for life and the ability to make the best of a situation that he'd envied in his son. Valerie and Josh would surely have been kindred spirits had they been given a chance to know one another. They were probably very near the same age.

The thoughts buoying his spirits suddenly deflated. He studied the woman standing in front of him and realized with disturbing certainty that he was probably almost old enough to be her father.