The Elizas: A Novel(13)
“Please.” I step closer to him, the closest I’ve been to him all day. He smells like a greenhouse. Moss and algae. “Tell me what you know.”
He glances behind him again. The silence seems to close in on us. The sun breaks from behind a cloud, slanting at us sideways, searing the part in my hair. Desmond’s tongue darts from his mouth, pink and minnow-like.
“I think I saw someone running away.”
From The Dots
Even after Dot’s brain tumor was removed and she underwent radiation, her seizures still came weekly. The scariest were when she was at home, away from medical equipment and knowledgeable hands. Dorothy was always present and ready, her arms outstretched to catch Dot’s falls. On their way to the hospital, Dorothy called Dot’s mother. One time, she put her on speakerphone. “Wait, she had another one?” Dot’s mother’s voice squawked through the car. “What the fuck is going on here?”
Dorothy pressed her lips together and quickly disabled the speaker function. When she was done with the call, she glanced at Dot in the backseat. “I’m sure your mother didn’t mean anything by that. She’s just worried.” But Dot felt alarmed. She’d never heard her mother use the word fuck, and certainly not in relation to her.
Her aunt spirited Dot to the hospital, though she chose a different one to bring her to than the place where Dot had had brain surgery: St. Mother Maria’s, located west of the city. “It’s the best of the best,” she told Dot. Dorothy had an encyclopedic knowledge on the best of the best. She knew the best place to get a shoeshine, your spine adjusted, or the perfect banana split; she knew the best restaurants to pick up a fireman or a studio executive. She knew the best ways to fake a car accident—if, perchance, you were in the mood for defrauding your insurance company. She knew the best place to buy greeting cards for very specific occasions—sympathy for botched surgeries, congratulations on your sixth marriage—and where to get false eyelashes stitched into your biological eyelashes. She knew the best place to clean an upholstered couch covered in blood. “Not that I’ve ever had to use their services, but it’s a good resource to have handy,” she said. Dot’s mother didn’t even know the best place in their neighborhood to get pizza.
Dr. Koder, who was assigned Dot’s case, came into Dot’s hospital room one day to talk about her condition. “Look, we just can’t pinpoint what could be causing these seizures. We’d like to keep her in the hospital until we can figure it out.”
Dot’s mother, who was sitting on the bed next to Dot’s feet, bristled. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it her brain tumor that’s causing the seizures?”
“Typically, with surgery and radiation, these types of tumors are completely obliterated, and usually patients are symptom-free. Dot has already gone through those steps, so we’re thinking something else might be at play.”
Dot’s mother scratched a nonexistent stain on her scrubs. “I just don’t understand how it could be something else. I just don’t understand how this keeps happening.”
Dorothy touched her arm. “There’s no need to get worked up.”
Dot’s mother glanced at her. “This has been going on for too long. It’s the twenty-first century. Medicine should be more advanced than this.”
“It would be a much less complicated life if your little girl weren’t sick, wouldn’t it?” Dorothy simpered. Dot’s mother gave her a furious look Dot didn’t understand.
Dr. Koder coughed. “There are lots of avenues to try. We need to make sure it isn’t an environmental issue, for example.”
“An environmental issue?” Dot’s mother repeated. “Are you suggesting our house is full of poison?”
“Of course not.” Dr. Koder stared down at Dot’s file in her hands. A metallic noise clanged in the hall. “I understand your frustration, but we are doing all we can. I promise. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Dorothy gave the doctor a sympathetic smile. “Of course you will.” Her voice was like warm maple syrup.
While Dot was in the hospital, Dorothy rented a hotel room at the Sheraton down the street. She could have gone back to her suite at the Magnolia in Beverly Hills, where she’d been living ever since Dot could remember, but Dorothy said she liked to be close in case anything happened. She even bought a beeper and made the doctors page her before making any decisions. Dot appreciated her aunt’s dedication and perseverance. Only once did Dot ask her if she needed to work on her novel, Riders of Carrowae, instead of spending so much time by her side.
“Pshaw, work,” Dorothy scoffed. “It can wait.”
Meanwhile, Dot’s mother went back to the dentist’s office. She even resumed her regular full-time hours. “I need to keep my job so we keep our insurance,” she explained. But it hurt all the same. Dot winced when she saw her mother walk into the room in the morning in her balloon-printed scrubs, knowing that soon she’d be gone. Sometimes, it seemed as though she left the hospital with a skip in her step. Once, when her mother was in the bathroom, Dorothy rooted through her purse and unearthed an envelope of freshly printed photos. By the looks of it, her mother had taken pictures of a birthday party at the dentist’s office. “Oh, look, they’re having chocolate cake.” Dorothy slapped a rectangular image across Dot’s legs. “And that’s quite a smile your mother’s got on her face, isn’t it? Nice to see someone happy, anyway.”