Cracks in the Sidewalk(12)

“Is that Doctor Sorenson?” Claire whispered.

He nodded. “Okay, I understand. Ten-thirty, right?” He replaced the receiver.

“Doctor Sorenson said she has the results,” Charlie said, “but would prefer to discuss them with the entire family. She’s already spoken to Jeffrey, and he’s going to meet us at the hospital.”

A washboard of wrinkles appeared on Claire’s forehead.

“Don’t worry,” Charlie said. “I’m certain everything is all right.”

Claire might have believed him, had she not noticed the way he picked at his belt buckle.





Saint Barnabas Hospital


Jeffrey planned to be on time for the meeting with Doctor Sorenson. After her phone call, he drove back to the store and taped a hand-lettered sign to the door. It read, “Caruthers Couture closed until noon.”

But at 8:47 the next morning, a power surge sizzled through the downtown area of Westfield and triggered fourteen store alarms. The first call came from the security company minutes after Maria Ramirez walked through the door.

“Can you get that?” JT called from upstairs.

“A-llo,” Maria said, wrestling herself from the arm of her coat. She listened for a half-minute then dropped the receiver and ran up the stairs.

“Policia! Policia!” she screamed. “The store, she’s been robbed!”

“Robbed?” JT echoed. With his left shoe still untied, he flew down the stairs and jumped into the car. As he gunned the motor and roared out of the driveway, the tires kicked up a swirl of gravel that sprayed the mailbox.

Maria Ramirez charged only half what another babysitter would, but she sometimes listened with only one ear and was prone to hysteria, so she only caught one part of the recording that stated, “The alarm at Caruthers Couture has been triggered by an electrical overload. There has been no breakin. Please reset your alarm system as soon as possible.”

Believing his store had been burglarized, JT rounded the corner at Elm Street without slowing and smashed into the rear fender of Ruth Kessler’s Pontiac as she backed out of her driveway. Ruth, who prided herself on strict adherence to the proper way of doing things, insisted they call the police and fill out an accident report before any evidence was removed. She also insisted on taking photographs and documenting every spoken word, which was why at ten-thirty that morning Jeffrey Caruthers stood on the corner of Elm Street, instead of in his wife’s hospital room.

At ten-thirty-seven, Doctor Sorenson entered Elizabeth’s room with an armful of X-rays and a clipboard of notes. She placed them on the table and came toward Elizabeth. “How are you feeling? Any pain in that left arm? Dizziness? Headaches? Nausea?”

“I’m still having the headaches,” Elizabeth answered. “Maybe I’m watching too much television.”

Doctor Sorenson offered a sympathetic smile as she pressed her fingers to Elizabeth’s wrist for a pulse count.

“I’m afraid that’s to be expected,” she said. “It’s all part of this problem.” She turned to Claire and Charles. “I’d like to review the results of our tests. Is Mister Caruthers here?”

“Not yet,” Charlie said.

“A shame.” Doctor Sorenson clipped a large X-ray to the wall-mounted viewer. “I know he’s not much for visiting, but I’d hoped he would at least participate in this meeting.” She glanced at her watch. “I suppose we should move ahead.”

“He’ll be here,” Elizabeth said, looking toward the door. “Can’t we wait five minutes?” she pleaded.

“Okay, five minutes.”

Relief swept across Elizabeth’s face. “He’ll be here, I know he will.”

But five minutes stretched into ten and then into twenty. Finally Doctor Sorenson said, “I’m sorry, but I really must get started.”

Claire moved closer to Elizabeth and wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “Jeffrey’s probably stuck in traffic,” she said. “Morning traffic’s the worst.”

Claire called upon the lie often but had stopped believing it. The more likely scenario was that JT had blown off this promise, just as he’d blown off so many others. But Liz didn’t need to hear the truth, especially not now.

“Elizabeth, I wish I had better news for you and your parents,” Doctor Sorenson said, her voice solemn and strained.

Her left eye suddenly began twitching like a rapid heartbeat. “Sorry.” She paused a moment, rubbed the back of her hand across her eye, then continued.

“Unfortunately, the CT scan shows a growth in the area of your brain behind the hypothalamus. It’s the pressure from this growth that’s causing your memory loss, the headaches, and the excessive weight gain.

“The hypothalamus, located here in the middle of the base of your brain” —she pointed to a section of the X-ray film—“is virtually the brain’s control box. Think of it as command central. It sends messages to your body so that you know when to eat, when to drink, and a lot of other functions we consider normal.

“The growth, this dark area here”—she slid her fingertip ever so slightly to the left—“is pressing on the back side of your hypothalamus. Because of this pressure, your pituitary gland is malfunctioning.”