Cracks in the Sidewalk(19)

“No, thanks.” Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

“How about a bagel? With cream cheese?”

“Unh-unh.”

Before Claire could suggest Taylor ham on a roll, the breakfast tray arrived: orange juice, oatmeal, and runny eggs. Elizabeth pushed it away.

“Eat something,” Claire said. “You’ve got to keep up your strength.” She opened the napkin and handed it to her daughter. “Maybe a little bit? Just a bite or two?”

“Later.” Elizabeth dropped the napkin onto the tray, leaned back, and closed her eyes. “There is one thing I’d like. Would you call JT and ask him to bring the kids to see me?”

“Sure,” Claire answered, although she knew how he would answer. What to do, she wondered—ease away from the issue or let her daughter be disappointed as she’d been disappointed so many times before?

“Actually,” Claire said, “you’re in the acute care wing now, and in this area they have strict rules about not allowing children to visit.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth slumped deeper into her pillow.

“But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes and smiled, just a slight curve on the right side of her mouth.

Moments later the nurse came to take her to Radiology.



Two days after the third radiation treatment, Cyndi, the day nurse who had just started her shift, noticed Elizabeth’s skin glistening with perspiration, yet to the touch she felt cool, clammy almost.

“Are you warm?” Cyndi asked.

Struggling to slow her breathing, Elizabeth shook her head.

“Any pain?”

Elizabeth nodded and placed her hand on her chest.

Within minutes she was on her way back to the radiology department, where they found a blood clot snaking its way toward her heart. Elizabeth’s last memory came as a blur of faces hovering over her and the sound of a faraway voice calling for oxygen.

When she awoke Elizabeth was in a cavernous room with bright lights glaring against white walls. A monitor beeped as neon green lines rose and fell with her heartbeat. There was no television, no chair for visitors. The only sounds came from the whirring and whooshing of machines, the click of heels against a tile floor, and the drone of muffled voices.

Elizabeth lifted the oxygen mask from her face. “Where am I?” she asked Lucinda, the nurse next to her bed.

“The Intensive Care Unit,” Lucinda answered and continued writing on Elizabeth’s chart. “You’ve got to leave this on,” she added and carefully replaced the oxygen mask.

With her right hand Elizabeth lifted the bottom edge of the mask. “What happened?” she asked, then replaced the mask.

“You suffered a pulmonary embolism.”

Elizabeth’s blue eyes began to fill as she mouthed, “What now?”

Lucinda tenderly touched Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Doctor Sari found the clot before it had time to do any real damage. He’s got you on blood thinners to prevent a recurrence.”

She adjusted the IV drip, then smiled. “Your job is just to relax and get some rest. We’ll take care of everything else.”

~

For the eight days Elizabeth remained in the Intensive Care Unit, Claire was the only visitor. She arrived early and held her daughter’s hand for the full twenty minutes visitors were allowed. Then she left the ICU, sat in one of the gray plastic chairs lining the hallway, and waited for two hours until the next visiting session. Claire was the first visitor to enter the Intensive Care Unit in the morning, and she stayed until the ICU doors closed at night.

“Daddy said to tell you he loves you,” she whispered into Liz’s ear. “JT knows what’s happened and he’s promised to come, as soon as he can find someone to watch the store.” Claire lied about JT coming to visit, but she said it to encourage Liz and lift her spirits.

She’d driven to the house to tell Jeffrey of Liz’s condition. When no one answered the door, she penned a quick note and left it in the mailbox. So what she’d said wasn’t a complete lie. Claire thought that once Jeffrey learned the seriousness of Elizabeth’s condition, he’d visit.

It never happened.



On the very same day as Elizabeth’s pulmonary embolism a sheriff’s deputy delivered a summons notifying JT he was being sued for non-payment of rent. He had sixty days to come up with eight-thousand dollars. If he didn’t, the door of Caruthers Couture would be closed.

For weeks JT had suspected this might happen, so he’d begun to cart home some of the merchandise—velvet dresses, satin shawls, fringed evening gowns, even a large jewelry display case. He had no idea what he might do with those things but figured they were better off in his possession than with a pack of bill collectors. When he finally received the summons his guestroom already held racks of clothing, dozens of sequined purses, and a trunk full of glittery rhinestone jewelry.

Once the threat of losing his store became a probability, JT sunk into the blackest mood imaginable. Day after day he’d leave the children with Maria Ramirez, then hurry into Caruthers Couture to wait for cash-carrying customers. Every day grew longer than the one preceding it. Since he had little to do, he focused on his growing hatred of Charlie McDermott and counted the days until his store would be padlocked.