Sweetie's Diamonds (3 page)

They had new ice to sell.

***

The nun at Saint Mary's Convalescent Home looked up from her computer and noticed the attractive blonde standing before her.
 

“Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in,” she said.
 
“How are you today?”

“I'm fine, thank you,” the blonde woman replied.
 
“I want to make a payment so I need to see your billing person.”

“You can pay me if you'd like.”

“No, I want to do this in person.
 
It's a cash transaction.
 
My name is Diane Boston.”
 

“Just a moment.”
 
The receptionist picked up the phone and punched an extension.
 
“Julie?
 
I have a Diane Boston at the front desk that wants to make a payment to you personally.
 
Yes.
 
That's right.
 
Okay.”

She hung up and said, “Sister Fletcher will see you.
 
Do you know where her office is?”

“Yes, I've done this before,” Diane said.
 
“You're new here?”

“Uh huh, I started two weeks ago,” the receptionist said.

“Can you tell me if Sister Jarrett is in?”

“I believe she is.”

“Do you think I might have five minutes with her?”

“I can find out for you.
 
Why don't you go on in to see Sister Fletcher and I'll let you know.”

“Thank you.”
 
Diane moved past the reception desk and went through the double doors leading to the rest of the facility.

Saint Mary's was not a hospital.
 
It was a two-story private nursing home for a small number of seriously handicapped and invalid patients.
 
It also served as a rehabilitation clinic for patients that had suffered spinal cord injuries, burn trauma, and other severe problems.
 
There were no doctors on staff but physicians from surrounding areas volunteered their time at the facility.
 
Patient care was performed entirely by the nuns.
 

Although Diane was not a Catholic, there was something soothing and serene about the way the nuns ran the place.
 
She felt guilty that she didn't get down to central Illinois as often as she should, but at least when she did come to visit it was a pleasant experience.
 
Unlike what it might have been at a hospital.

She walked into Sister Fletcher's office—the one with the door marked “Billing”—and said hello.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Boston,” Sister Fletcher said.
 
“Nice to see you again.”
 
She was a nun in her fifties, already developing skin spots on her hands.
 

Diane sat in front of the desk and said, “I need to make a payment.
 
It's for the next four months.”

“I see,” Sister Fletcher said.
 
“Let me just pull the file.
 
I take it that you're paying in cash again?”

“Yes.”

Sister Fletcher shook her head slightly.
 
She didn't approve of having so much cash lying around.
 
It meant that she would have to run by the bank before it closed and deposit the money.
 

Diane removed the envelope from her handbag and slid it across the desk.
 

Sister Fletcher picked it up, opened it, and pulled out the thick stack of hundred dollar bills.
 
She shook her head again and began to count.
 
Diane sat quietly, staring at her lap.
 

“Sixteen thousand,” Sister Fletcher announced.
 
“Just sign here and I'll give you a receipt.”
 
She handed over a ledger and the blonde woman signed it with a flourish.

The phone buzzed.
 
Sister Fletcher picked it up.
 
“Yes?
 
Oh.
 
All right, I'll tell her.”
 
She hung up and said, “Sister Jarrett is waiting for you in her office.”

“Thank you.
 
Is that all?”

“That will do it.”

Diane stood and walked out of the office.
 
Sister Fletcher shook her head once more and considered that the lady was one of the more mysterious people she had ever dealt with.

Sister Jarrett, the administrator of the home, welcomed the blonde woman warmly.
 
“How are you doing today, Mrs. Boston?”

“I'm fine,” she answered.
 
“And you?”

“Very well, thank you.
 
Come in and sit down.”

She entered the small space and sat.
 
The nun closed the door and went behind her desk.
 
“What can I do for you?”

“How is she doing?” Diane asked.

Sister Jarrett shrugged.
 
“The same.
 
No change whatsoever.
 
Doctor Patterson was here yesterday to have a look at her.”

Diane hadn't expected otherwise yet she sighed with disappointment just the same.
 

“Have you thought more about what we discussed last time?” the nun asked her.
 

“Yes, I've thought about it a lot.”

“And?”

“I don't know what to do,” she said.
 
“I just… I just can't pull the plug on my own sister.”

“I understand.
 
But let me ask you this.
 
How long has she been here?”

“Twenty-four years.”

“That's right.
 
Twenty-four years
.
 
That's a long time to be in a state of permanent unconsciousness.
 
There have been extremely few cases in which patients recover from a coma of that duration.”

“But it's happened.”

“Rarely.
 
One in a million.”

“Then there's a chance.”

The nun leaned back in her chair.
 
“Yes, of course.
 
Prayer and faith go a long way.
 
We will care for her as long as you tell us to do so.
 
Mind you, it is not the Church's policy to condone euthanasia.
 
But this is a special case and the Lord makes exceptions for easing interminable torment.
 
As I explained to you when you first brought your sister in here, we at Saint Mary's like to think of ourselves as progressive.
 
That's why we're privately funded and that's why we're located here in the middle of nowhere.”

Even though Diane smiled at the nun's attempt at humor, she knew that Sister Jarrett was also speaking the truth.
 
Saint Mary's was located off the beaten path, in a remote site nearly three hours away from Chicago.
 
The woman had chosen the facility because these particular nuns were liberal-minded, and most importantly, discreet.

Sister Jarrett looked at her papers.
 
“I see that you did enact the Health Surrogate Act three years ago.”

“Yes.
 
Just to give me the right to make the legal decisions regarding her care.”

“Since that act was passed in Illinois, it's made the process so much easier.”
 
The nun looked at Diane and said, “You know, you could make the decision terminate life support and end this ordeal for you—and her.
 
It
is
an ordeal, isn't it?
 
Our Savior suffered enough for us.
 
There is no reason for you to go on suffering.”

“She's my sister.
 
And I'm not suffering.”

“Very well.
 
I'm only saying that it's an option.
 
We will gladly care for your sister as long as her body is alive if that is your wish.
 
I'm sure that Christ admires your strength.
 
There are not many people who would have held on to hope for so long.”
 

Diane nodded but then turned away so that the nun would not see the tears well up in her eyes.
 
“Can I see her?” she asked.

The nun answered, “Of course.”
 

Diane allowed Sister Jarrett to escort her out of the office and down the hall to the room where the patient lay.
 

Sister Jarrett stopped at the door and said, “I'll let you visit with her alone.”

“Thank you,” Diane said.

The patient was another woman the same age as Diane.
 
She appeared to be asleep, but dozens of wires and tubes were hooked up to her body.
 
A heart monitor by the bed beeped rhythmically.
 
The patient breathed slowly and deeply.
 
Her blonde hair had grown out over the side of her skull where they had operated long ago.
 

Diane stepped to the bed and put her hand on the patient's arm.
 
She squeezed it and said, “I promised I wouldn't let you die, Sweetie, isn't that right?”

The patient gave no sign that she had heard.
 

Diane stood by the bed for several more minutes and then, without saying another word, turned around and left the building.

T
he final bell rang and the students bolted from their desks.
 

“Don't forget to read chapter seventeen and be ready for a quiz!” Diane shouted above the chaos.
 

The eleventh graders hustled out of the room and were gone within seconds.
 
One student remained and Diane knew what to expect from him.
 
Carl Dunaway was a timid but good-looking kid whose crush on his teacher was terribly apparent.
 
Diane had noticed him looking at her longingly in class and once found her name scribbled on his notes.
 

“Yes, Carl?”

“Uhm, I just wanted to ask you about making up my grade on that last quiz?” he asked, swallowing hard.
 

“You know the policy, Carl.
 
What are you willing to do to raise your grade?”

“Well, I'll be happy to come over and mow your lawn, or help you clean out your garage, or something.
 
You got any weeds to pull?”

Diane almost laughed.
 
“Carl, I appreciate the offer, but that's not what I meant.
 
Students are supposed to do some kind of extra work related to
American History
—an essay on something we've discussed, a book report on one of our topics—that sort of thing.”
 

“Yeah, I know.
 
I just thought I'd offer.”

“Well, you think about it and let me know on Monday.
 
Okay?”

“Okay.”
 
He smiled broadly and headed for the door.
 
His mission was accomplished.
 
He had spoken one-on-one with the love of his life.
 
Diane didn't want to think about what he would do at home with his private fantasy.

She gathered her things and prepared to leave.
 
It had been a long week and she was glad it was Friday.
 
However, she was not looking forward to the task at hand for the weekend.

Diane glanced at the inter-office phone in her room and saw that the message light was blinking.
 
She picked up the receiver, punched in her code, and listened.
 

“Mom, it's me,” said her son David.
 
“Dad wants to know if I can go see the Cubs with him on Sunday.
 
Let me know as soon as you can.
 
Bye.”