Seventh Avenue (61 page)

“
We should go now.”

Jay dropped the
hand
,
and the doctor ushered him out of the room.
They walked down the stairs in
silence
,
and their clapping footfalls
made the quiet almost unbearable to Jay.

“
Does a baby have a name in a case like this?”

“
If you’d like to give her a name you can.”

“
Celia. Can you put down Celia?”

“
Yes, I will, but as I explained to you when Mrs. Lawson first
came to me, the baby’s surname must be the mother’s because she
is still married.”

“
I guess it doesn’t matter now. A
girl .
. . I wanted a girl.”

They stood awkwardly by Terry’s
door
,
and Jay turned the doorknob.

“
I’d rather you didn’t go in. Until we’re absolutely
certain
we know
exactly what she’s
got,
she shouldn’t be disturbed.”

“
Can I stay all night?”

“
You can, but there’s really no point. If there’s any change in her
condition
,
they’ll phone me and we’ve got two doctors on duty all
night. You ought to go home and try to sleep. If you come at about
ten in the
morning
,
I’ll be in a better position to give you more information.”

The city was encrusted with another layer of snow in the morning.
A gelid, snarling wind lashed across the high buildings, and the sky
color was a strange medley of
slaty
lead and magenta above the
low-moving
clouds. Jay sat in the back of the car, silent; his mind suspended in an eerie void. He had canceled all his appointments for
the
week,
and although Marty had been sympathetic when Jay
phoned him
,
he couldn’t remember what he had said or why he had
hung up on him. The car headed over the Williamsburg Bridge down
Delancey Street, but all Jay saw was the glass partition and the back
of the chauffeur’s head. He and Neal had hardly spoken to each other
on the ride to Brooklyn, and he was grateful for the boy’s tact and
restraint. The car turned down Second Avenue and Jay recognized
the small catering hall and restaurant where he and Rhoda had met. The name had been
changed
,
and a small banner proclaimed: “
UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT
” and “Completely Air Conditioned.” He
lifted a letter
that
he had not opened out of his briefcase. The return address - J. Parker and Associates - told him that it was from
Mitch’s lawyers. They were probably demanding a meeting: “sit
around a table and discuss this matter sensibly and informally.” The
car turned into Sutton Place, and the chauffeur opened the door for
Jay.

“
The flowers are in the front,” the chauffeur said. “Shall I take
them in?”

“
No, I’ll do it. You can pick Neal up at four o’clock.
I
won’t need
the car.”
Jay took the flowers, three dozen roses, all yellow, her favorite color. He recognized the day nurse at the reception
desk
,
and he forced himself to smile at her.

“
Good morning, Mr. Blackman,” she said jauntily, and he felt
a bit better. The corridor was just as austere and forbidding in
daylight as it had been the previous night. As he followed her white
uniform, he had a desperately shrinking sensation
that
made him
cringe. He saw her white back and the walls,
that
he could not take
in except in peripheral vision, were so white that they dazed him. The
absence of color shocked him. Three men, one of them Dr. Mill,
stood by the door talking in low conspiratorial
voices
,
and he strained
his ears to hear them. Like butchers waiting for the meat to come in,
Jay thought. They stopped talking when they realized he was there.
A short, balding man fingered his stethoscope in a nervous, revealing
way and stared at him rigidly. No one was talking.

“
I
’m Dr. Crane,”
the short,
bald man said.

“
I phoned you at nine this morning, but your hotel said you’d already left,” Mill said. “So there was no way . . .”

“
It’s nine
forty-five” - Jay
brandished his watch – “and you told
me to be here at ten. Nothing’s happened?”

Nobody answered for a
moment,
then the three talked at once.
Crane’s low bass voice cut the others off.

“
At
eight-thirty
this morning
,
Mrs. Lawson became considerably
weaker and I was called. She was having trouble
breathing
,
so we
placed her in an oxygen
tent
and although she responded to it for a
few minutes . . .”

“
Oh no,” Jay gasped. “No, no.”

“
She died at ten minutes to nine,” he continued while the other
two nodded their heads and made clucking sounds with their
tongues. “No one suspected that she might have a blood clot.”

“
Suspected?”

“
An embolism.
A blockage
of the blood supply in the lungs. It’s
very unusual in a case like this, but it does sometimes occur.”

“
It has - !” Jay heard his voice, but he couldn’t believe that it
belonged to him. His head
reeled
,
and the doctors’ white coats had
blood stains on them. He pushed through them and opened the
door to the room. They stood in the
doorway
,
and Mill said:

“
I’ve never had a case like this.”

“
You’ve got to inform her husband,” Crane replied.

“
But
surely .
. .” the other doctor said.

“
The husband has to claim the body.”

“
Blackman has no legal rights.”

“
He’s a doctor as well,” Mill said.

Jay closed the door of the room and went over to the bed. Her
features were distorted by the translucent tent-covering and her head
hung to one side. He lifted the tent
off
,
and it crackled as it slipped
to the floor. He shifted her head and brought it to the center of the
pillow,
then he kissed her on the lips. Her hands were still
warm
,
but
her lips, dry and cracked, were cold. Her forehead
shone
,
and he
rubbed his hand over it. Her skin had that niveous slightly bluish cast
that
he had seen before when his mother was dead. He got up and
went to the
window
,
and his breath fogged it. There were frozen
crystals on the
panes
and on
the small,
faded stone ledge icicles hung
precariously. He turned back to the bed, blinked, and noticed that
when he opened and closed his eyes rapidly, she appeared to move.
He knew that it was useless. She was dead. He picked up her hand
and slipped his gold marriage band on her finger, for she had stopped
wearing one when she left Mitch. The door of the room was pushed
open, and the doctors stared at him.

“
. . . The child last night,” one of them said.

He started to walk through
them
,
and they moved out of the way.

“
We’re all deeply sorry, Mr. Blackman. But there’s the legal position to consider,” Mill said. “We’ve got to contact Dr. Lawson.”

Jay took the lawyer’s letter out of his pocket and handed it to him
and then walked down the corridor. He was conscious of hunching
his shoulders; with a great effort he straightened up. At the front
door
,
he paused and looked into the street. It was snowing again. He
stood watching a little boy pulling his sled across the street.
The metal runners cut furrows in the soft
snow
,
and the boy stopped
on the corner, looked both ways for cars, then crossed over. The road
was empty.

Rhoda wiped her eye with the corner of her handkerchief, and Jay
lit a cigarette then crumpled up the pack and dropped it on the platform. The train pulling out of the station unleashed a sharp gust of
wind which almost blew her hat off.

“
Jay,” she said nervously, “Neal doesn’t hold anything against
me?” She waited for an answer. “He kissed me good-bye and I felt
that he had his heart in it.”

“
You’re his
mother
,
he loves you,” Jay said tonelessly.

“
I’ve done my best. More, nobody can ask. He’ll understand when
he’s older, won’t he? And he’ll get a good education at Carlisle. It’s
the best thing for
him .
. . to be away,” she said, unable to take the
thought any further. Jay started for the staircase, and she trailed him.
When he reached the top, he waited for her to catch up. The enormous groined vault of Pennsylvania Station encased them like a
tomb. The bustling people rushing up and down escalators and the
loud
,
clear train announcements disoriented him. She came alongside him; his arms flailed the
air
,
and she was overcome by panic.
“What’s the matter? You okay?”

“
For years I’ve been moving. Years.” She looked at him uncomprehendingly. “Moving so fast that I never knew where I was. And
now I’ve stopped, I can’t believe it.” He gesticulated wildly. “Is this
where I am? I mean, has everything I’ve done and tried to do with
my
life .
. . brought me to this spot and this situation? Because to
tell you the truth, Rhoda, I don’t know where I am or for that matter
what I’ve done. What’s it all about? Do you know? Have I got what
I deserved?” He began to walk away, taking long rapid
strides
,
and
she chased after him.

In a breathless voice she said:
“You’re a survivor, Jay. We both are.”

She watched his shape recede in the milling throng of rushing
people. They were survivors, but what had happened to their lives?
She couldn’t answer the question.

Published by New Word City LLC, 2014
www.NewWordCity.com

© Norman Bogner

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher.

978-1-61230-832-6