Cracks in the Sidewalk(11)

A short time later the fragmented family went to the nursery. JT pushed the wheelchair, David beside it and Kimberly scampering ahead. The pediatric nurse lifted Christian from his incubator and held him to the window. Although small, red-faced, and wrinkled, they all agreed he was the cutest baby there. When they returned to Elizabeth’s room, the kids said goodbye. Just before leaving JT bent and kissed his wife’s mouth, something he had not done in many months.

That day was one of Elizabeth’s last good days. One she tried to hold in her memory during the months to come.



The following day Elizabeth was scheduled for a CT scan. Claire arrived at the hospital long before the breakfast cart came around.

“I thought you might appreciate some moral support,” she said, sitting beside her daughter.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Moments later a transport aide shuffled her off to Radiology.

Claire sat in the chair and waited. Minutes seemed like hours, hours like days. She checked her wristwatch. Liz had been gone less than twenty minutes. She clicked on the television and flipped through channel after channel. Soap operas with tragedies. People trying to win refrigerators by spinning a wheel. Frivolous endeavors for those with nothing better to do. Claire switched it off, stood, walked to the end of the hall and back again, checked her wristwatch. Twenty-five minutes.

Why so long, she wondered. Wasn’t a CT scan like an X-ray, which took only minutes? Claire removed her watch and held it to her ear. Tick, tick, tick. It worked. She fastened the watch onto her wrist again.

Almost two hours later Elizabeth returned to the room, her skin flushed, glistening with beads of perspiration.

“Are you okay?” Claire asked, alarmed.

After a long moment Elizabeth answered, “I’m just very tired.” She leaned back into the pillow and closed her eyes.

“Sleep,” Claire replied, “it’ll be good for you.”

Long after the last visitors’ gong sounded Claire remained by her daughter’s bedside, listening for the fragile sound of air passing through Elizabeth’s lungs. She stayed, trying to will the doctor to walk through the door with the results of the CT scan. She wanted to hear that Liz would be okay. That despite any treatment needed, Liz would, in time, return to her old self. When the sounds in the hospital corridor became the whispered hush of evening, Claire realized Doctor Sorenson wouldn’t come.

The clock read almost nine when Claire arrived home. Charlie had abandoned hope of any supper long ago and sat at the kitchen table with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“How’s Elizabeth?” he asked before she was halfway through the door.

Claire gave a weary shrug. “Okay, I guess. Nothing new.”

“Did they do the CT scan?”

She nodded. “This morning, but we haven’t seen the doctor yet so I don’t know what the results were.”

“Oh.” Charlie pushed back the half-eaten sandwich.

“I can fix you an omelet,” Claire volunteered, “or a grilled cheese and tomato.”

He shook his head. “I’m not all that hungry.”

Claire watched as he slid the salt shaker first to the left side of the table and then to the right. After nearly thirty years of being married, Claire knew when Charlie was avoiding something that had to be said. He fidgeted with things—adjusted his belt buckle, shined his watch crystal, polished the fork lying in front of him, anything to keep his fingers moving so his mouth didn’t have to.

After Charlie had moved the salt shaker a number of times, she asked if he had something to say.

“You’re not gonna like this,” he warned. “JT stopped by my office today looking for more money. He claims the store is on the verge of bankruptcy. He’s four months behind on the rent and overextended with vendors.”

“I hope you reminded him we’re already taking care of Liz’s hospital bill!”

“What good would that do?”

“It’s his responsibility,” Claire said bitterly. “Elizabeth is his wife! Instead of worrying about his miserable business, he should be thinking about her.” The muscles in Claire’s throat began to quiver. “He should care what happens to her, but he doesn’t. He hardly ever comes to visit. He won’t even let me bring the kids to see her. He won’t—”

Charlie wrapped his arms around Claire as she began to sob. After a while he said, “Aren’t you going to ask what my answer was?”

She held back the remainder of her tears and looked up at him.

“I said no. I told him we couldn’t spare any more money.”

“How’d he take it?”

“Not well. This was the worst I’ve seen him. He was like a crazy man.” Charlie shook his head sorrowfully. “I feel bad for JT, with all the problems he’s got, but I sure never thought he’d behave the way he did today.”

“What’d he do?”

“Called me a son-of-a-bitch, punched the wall, knocked over a chair. He said if we’re not willing to help out when he’s down on his luck, he’s through with us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Probably nothing. I think he’s just desperate right now. Once he calms down enough to think things through—”

The telephone rang and Charlie answered it. He listened for a minute then asked, “At Saint Barnabas?”