Becoming Ellen (16 page)

E
llen was cleaning the office supplies section that night. She didn't care much for this area because the entire row was stacked, three huge shelf levels high, with imposing boxes. Though the regular cleaners were only responsible for the lowest level, the only one they could reach, there was something about all that unfathomable technology occupying the air above her that made Ellen feel both apprehensive and ignorant.

The other thing she didn't like was that the Crows had been assigned to the produce section just at the end of her row, a bit too close for Ellen's comfort. Though Ellen was entirely ignored by Kiki and Rosa, who, as usual, were so preoccupied with their gossip that they noticed nothing that wasn't repeat-worthy. Beyond them, Ellen could see Thelma constructing an elaborate, prefab cardboard display for gourmet dried fruit, something Ellen didn't care for—unless it was covered in chocolate.

Even from a dozen yards away, it didn't take long for Ellen to learn from the Crows' carrying banter that Bruno had been taken to the hospital, where X-rays had shown his lower leg was broken in two places and the ligaments around the knee had been torn when the leg had been twisted. The very thought of it made Ellen grimace and reach down to rub her own knee, sore from kneeling while she worked. She also found out that the worker who had hit him, Daniel, had not been found, but the police had discovered drugs in his apartment. Something called methamphetamine.

So, the drugs in the dock men's bathroom ceiling were methamphetamine. Ellen knew next to nothing about it, except for what she'd heard on the radio news, and that wasn't much. She wondered again what she could do, short of telling someone and announcing herself as a witness. The thought of facing “authority” triggered her stomach fluids into a bubbling, acerbic water ballet. Then she thought of Detective Barclay and how brave he had been, taking on a violent aggressor and putting himself in danger to stay and help the injured bus driver. The memory made her grateful that people like him were out there in the world. Somehow it counteracted the faceless entity that was the government—not enough to balance the scales, but it gentled the world somewhat.

She had only been working a half hour when she heard the sound of a heavy machine and turned, expecting to see Johnson and the floor polisher, but it was Eric who was himself driving the forklift tonight. Ellen watched him and the movement of the lift from the corner of her eye, recalling the smell of marijuana smoke as she had passed through the dock on her way in earlier, but Eric seemed to be expert at maneuvering the machine, even fully loaded with double-stacked boxes of printers, secured by strapping. He stopped in the first part of the aisle, just past where Rosa and Kiki were working.

Glancing up, Ellen saw that there was a relatively open space on the very top level of shelving, maybe twenty-five feet up, under the roof supports. Eric set down his load on the floor of the aisle in a clear position, then, with the mandatory
beep beep
sounding, he backed up, jockeying into position to bring down the almost empty pallets on the top shelf.

Both Rosa and Kiki were wiping down shelves at the end of the row of shelving where it opened onto the grocery section. Ellen could only see them through a small space above the stacked reams of paper below the spot where Eric was working. With the teeth of the lift raised to their highest level, he was trying to insert them into the base of the pallet. Judging from the angle of his seat so far below, Ellen could tell that it was probably not an easy thing to do.

She returned to her work, and for a few minutes she heard nothing but the constant maneuvering of the forklift and its beeps. And then, over the din, she heard a shout. Turning to look past the forklift into the produce area beyond, Ellen saw that Thelma was running forward, waving her arms and shouting, though Ellen couldn't make out what she was saying.

Then she looked up.

Jockeying the pallets far above him, Eric was sliding the heavy pallet with the printers into position without realizing that it was pushing against another one behind it, stacked high with large boxes marked
PAPER,
5
REAM
BOXES
, toward the end of the aisle, and it was almost halfway off the end of the shelf, hovering directly over Kiki and Rosa, who were whispering together, completely unaware of the danger in the air above them.

As Thelma ran forward, Eric looked up at her, and Kiki and Rosa both turned to look at the shouting woman. Just before the pallet toppled, Eric, who could not see what was happening on the diagonal, raised one hand and gave Thelma the finger. Thelma wasn't looking at him though, she had her eyes fixed on the threat above. Almost in slow motion, Ellen watched as the crate began to tip. Kiki looked up, screamed, and immediately scrambled to one side, but Rosa was still staring at Thelma in confusion. The pallet and its heavy load began its downward descent. Thelma, in a full-out run, threw herself into the air and tackled the shocked cleaner, carrying both of them clear a split second before the boxes crashed to the floor, exploding in a ticker-tape parade of single sheets of white paper.

Eric shut down the forklift and ran around to the aisle's end to survey the damage. Rosa was lying on her side, moaning and gasping, her hands clutching her chest where she had taken Thelma's shoulder, which had knocked the wind out of her. Ellen slipped quietly up just behind the forklift, where she could see through the shelves.

Kiki was standing over her friend, exclaiming loudly, “Oh my God! Oh my God! We could have been killed. Oh, Rosa, thank God you're all right.” Rosa, still gasping, looked up at the tall, thin woman, and though she had no breath to speak, Ellen was just betting that what she would have liked to say was “No thanks to you!”

“Son of a bi—” Thelma was exclaiming when Eric interrupted her.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he demanded of Thelma. “Why didn't you tell them to stand clear?”

Thelma rose to her feet and stood panting and shaking. “Me?” was all she could manage. “Are you actually trying to blame
me
?”

“Well, I couldn't see them from around the corner, could I?”

“You . . . Then why did you . . .
What
?” Words seemed to fail the produce manager.

But she didn't need any. Kiki was in the tall man's face before he could even formulate a reply.

“How dare you!” she was shrieking. “You almost killed us both, and Thelma saved my friend's life. You say one more word and I will slap that smug righteousness right off your face!” The rant continued but Ellen didn't hear any more of it. Knowing that anyone who witnessed the accident would have to give a report, she had turned and was making her way back to the locker room.

But she was thinking,
Perfect.

It was only a short time later when Rosa limped into the locker room. She was supported by Kiki, who was still ranting in a constant stream. “The nerve of him! I've never lodged a complaint against that man and his behavior before because Jimmy works for him. I know he's your nephew's son, and I was worried Eric would fire Jimmy if we ever said anything against him. Ooh, I'm so mad I could spit!”

Rosa sank onto the bench that surrounded the central lockers in a large U shape and leaned against the wall. “Ouch,” she said, rubbing her chest. “Same here, but I'm going to report him this time! I know I smelled marijuana on him! You think I don't know that smell? My daughter has fifteen-year-old twins!”

Kiki shook herself and made fists out of her calloused, long-fingered hands. “But what if Jimmy loses his job? He's got a baby on the way. Uh!” she groaned. “I suppose you're right, I can't imagine Eric will stay after that, anyway. Did you see Billy's face? He was furious, and six people saw what happened!”

“If he
doesn't
get fired, and messes with me or Jimmy, I'll . . . I'll . . .” Rosa trailed off.

“I know,” Kiki said soberly. “Eric is the kind of guy who might do something crazy, you be careful. But I'll tell you this—I will
never
say another word against Thelma. That woman is a hero! And if I hear anyone else bad-mouth her again, they are going to answer to me!”

After the barrage leveled at Eric that Ellen had just witnessed, she didn't doubt it.

“You just sit tight,” Kiki told her friend. “I'm going to get you a bag of ice.” She hurried off to the break room. Rosa groaned a little and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

Summoning solidity, Ellen said softly, “He's selling drugs.”

Rosa's eyes flew open and she turned toward the darkest corner, where Ellen was sitting, partially blocked by the lockers. “What?” she said.

“Eric. He's selling drugs to the other workers. Maybe if you told him you knew that, he wouldn't fire Jimmy, or make more trouble for you.”

Rosa was peering at Ellen with a shocked curiosity. “How do you know?” she asked.

“I saw him, and I saw the drugs when they came in.”

“Why didn't you tell someone?” Rosa asked breathlessly.

“I . . .” Ellen faltered, almost at the end of her brief episode of bravery. “Because I would have to prove it and . . . because I don't do that. I mean, speak up. I can't.”

Rosa sat absolutely still and unblinking for a moment, and then she nodded. “You're the one who was shot last year. It was you and your friends who helped Irena.” Ellen didn't respond. Rosa seemed to sense her discomfort and dropped her eyes. “I understand,” she said. She leaned forward to smooth her smock and pull her skirt down over her knees.

When she looked back up, Ellen was gone.

Ellen did not return to the scene of the accident. Instead, she moved on to her next assignment and spent a pleasant few hours dusting the books and music section. It amused her to see the titles of the books that were “best sellers.” Occasionally, she would select one and flip it over to read the description on the back. Very few of them interested her. Though she liked the heft and weight of the hardcovers, she'd spent so long reading paperbacks that these seemed unruly. Then she came to a picture book. It had beautiful black-and-white images of old-time movie scenes. She thought of Rupert telling her about the dim and quiet movie house and imagined seeing those images bigger than life and moving, telling the whole story. She flipped the pages, intrigued and curious. The silver photos were so expressive and filled with character. She checked the price. It was on clearance for only $4.99. Ellen slipped a copy underneath the stack of trash bags on her cart and continued working. She saw no more of Rosa or Kiki that night, but would have bet a month's paycheck that Eric, and most likely she herself, were the subject of much discussion.

When the shift ended, Ellen slipped the book into her bag and decided to work off the book next week. This Thursday morning she had something else she needed to do.

E
llen got home and dropped her bag and the mail shortly after seven. Just before eight, she slipped out again and went to wait, hidden in the busy commuter foot traffic of the sidewalk, just at the edge of the alley.

At about eight fifteen, Seth came down the alley, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his too-small coat, and his head bowed against the cold wind. There was a light dusting of snow on the sidewalks, too powdery to stick, that blew into tiny ridges and swirled in the doorways. Seth's nose and cheeks were flushed and red and his breathing was labored. He had the look of someone who was so cold they would never get warm again.

Moving stiffly, he turned left onto the avenue, and then left again at the next corner. Ellen fell into step behind him, letting him keep a long lead because she knew where he was going. Eight chilly blocks later, he stopped in front of a dingy storefront, whose windows had been painted white, and checked an address on an envelope he was holding. Then he went in.

Ellen went slowly to the door and stood waiting until a big man, shabbily dressed with lesions on his face and leaning heavily on a cane, came along and opened it. Past him, Ellen saw a small but busy waiting room. She followed in the large man's wake and slipped into a chair squeezed in a corner to watch. Picking up a magazine, she opened it in front of her. It was dirty and old, some of the pages were torn, and it was in Spanish, but she wasn't going to read it anyway.

Seth was standing at a reception desk that resembled one found in a high-security bank more than in a medical clinic. The harassed woman behind the thick glass was entering information in a computer while Seth shifted his weight from foot to foot and occasionally coughed into his hands.

The woman seemed to be annoyed by this. She leaned forward and said through the low opening, just large enough to pass paperwork through, “Just write your name and take a seat. You need to put this on.” She slipped a cotton mask through the opening and Seth picked it up, looking at the folded white rectangle with elastic straps hanging from both sides without comprehension.

“I just have a message for someone,” he said, passing an envelope through the space. “I'm supposed to wait for a reply,” he told the woman, and then the effort of speaking had him doubled over with coughing. When he finally straightened up again, he was flushed and swaying from lack of oxygen.

The woman behind the desk was watching him with a combination of disgust and concern. “Young man,” she said, “have you seen anyone about that cough?”

Seth shook his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He swayed again, leaned against the counter, and then just melted, his weight slipping like limp goo before he flopped onto the floor in a heap. Ellen stood up, but the receptionist had already rounded the desk and opened the security door. She was kneeling next to Seth on the floor in seconds. Leaning over him, she put one hand to his forehead. Seth's eyes fluttered open and he moaned, then tried to sit up, floundering wildly with his arms as though fending off an imagined attack.

“It's okay. Just lay back,” the woman said. “Beth!” she called out through the door, and two more people appeared. One was a sturdy man Ellen guessed was a nurse, and the other, Ellen was relieved to see, was Beth in a white doctor's coat over green scrubs.

Beth went straight to Seth and began speaking calmly. “Okay there, buddy, let's get you into an examining room and take a look at you.” Seth tried to object, but allowed Beth and the man to help him up. As they started through the door, Beth was already asking questions. “How long have you had this cough? Have you been to a doctor? Do you have someone we can contact to let them know you're here?” Seth was answering as best he could, but at the last question, he shook his head furiously and tried to pull away. Beth just held on tighter. “It's okay, don't worry, we don't have to call anyone if you're afraid, let's just take a look at you.” She and the man led him down a short hallway with a door off each side, and the receptionist closed the security door behind them.

Ellen was amazed at the astuteness with which Beth had recognized and dismissed Seth's fear, but now that she had time, she looked around her. There were no less than three teenage girls there alone and looking terrified, a dowdy woman with a black eye holding an ice pack to a split lip, a young man who pulled a bloodstained bandage from his upper arm to check under it. The round hole on the fleshy outside of his arm looked suspiciously like a bullet wound. It took Ellen five seconds to realize that the majority of work that was done here was done anonymously, or at least unreported to “family” and/or authority, otherwise, these people would not have come.

Ellen expelled a quiet sigh of relief, and when the street door opened to admit a harassed, exhausted woman with two small children and a screaming baby, Ellen slipped out around them.

She made her way to the side of the building, looking for a place to wait until Seth came out. Along the wall of peeling stucco, there were two small, heavily barred windows. They were both hung with dingy vertical blinds, but a few of the slats were damaged or askew, so by standing on an abandoned orange crate, Ellen could see inside through a small space. The first window revealed nothing more than a cluttered office, but the second looked into one of the examining rooms. The window was cracked and a shard was missing from the lower left of the windowpane. Someone had stuffed a wad of fabric in the four-inch space to staunch the flow of cold air from going in. Ellen doubted it worked very well, as it did little to stop the sound from coming out.

Closing one eye and clinging to the cold bars, Ellen positioned herself so that she could see through the narrow slit left exposed by a broken blind to across the room, where Seth was sitting on a rickety examining table. He had his shirt off and his legs were dangling as Beth listened to his chest with a stethoscope. His rib cage and arms were painfully thin, but he had the scrawny, wiry look of a tough little survivor.

Beth listened to his back as well, waiting between coughs, her face tight with concentration. She had given him a white towel and instructed him to hold it over his mouth when he coughed. He seemed to keep forgetting, or maybe the coughing was coming so rapidly that he just didn't have time.

Finally, Beth sat down on a chair across from him and wrote on a pad. “You have bronchitis, young man,” she told him. “You're a step away from pneumonia. You shouldn't be out in this weather, or doing anything but resting. I would put you in the hospital but—” Seth began objecting immediately, so Beth held up a hand. “Let me finish,” she told him. “I'm going to give you a round of antibiotics instead.”

“I don't have money,” Seth wheezed.

“It's free,” Beth told him. She went to a cabinet, and removing a ring of keys from her pocket, she unlocked the formidable-looking latch and pulled down two yellow boxes. “Each of these is a week's dose. You need to take two of these pills a day, one in the morning and one at night, for fourteen days, and then I want to see you again. If the infection has cleared up, good. If not, we'll go from there. Also, if your fever rises over a hundred and three, you need to get yourself to the hospital. Do you have a thermometer?”

Seth shook his head, looking abashed.

“Here.” Beth got up and rooted through a cabinet until she came up with what looked like a pack of disposable thermometers. She handed them to Seth. “Just hold this under your tongue for thirty seconds and then look at these dots. The one that's blue will tell you that your temperature is the corresponding number. Right now you're at a hundred and one. You need to get home and to bed.”

“Okay,” Seth said. “I just have to wait for your answer.”

“My what?” Beth asked.

“It's my job. I do deliveries for a blind lady, and she sent me with a letter for you. I'm supposed to wait for your answer. The lady in the front took it.”

Looking very curious, Beth stood and went out. Seth lay down sideways on the table, curling his knees up to his chest. Ellen could have sworn he was relishing the relative safety and warmth of the clinic, though he must have known it couldn't last. In a minute Beth returned with the folded letter in her hand. She sat back down in the chair and pretended not to notice Seth leaping up and pretending he hadn't moved since she'd left.

“Did you know what was in this?” she asked him.

Seth shook his head.

“It's a request for me to see you and an address where to send a bill if there is one. This is your employer?”

Seth nodded again, more hesitantly this time.

Beth sighed. “Well, she's looking out for you, and a good thing, too. A cough like that can get very nasty if you don't take care of it. Now, I want you to go home and get some soup in you.” Beth was watching Seth. His eyes were now roaming the room.

“You do have a home?” Beth asked.

“Oh, sure,” Seth lied, and Ellen was certain that Beth knew that. She saw the doctor hesitate, considering whether to challenge him or not. Then she stood up. “Well. I tell you what.” She scribbled on a pad and tore off a sheet. “You take this note back to Ms. Bauer, and tell her to get you these things. I'll let you go now if you promise me you will do two things.”

Seth looked back at her expectantly.

“You will come back if this gets worse, or if your fever spikes. And . . . you will come back when you finish the pills so that I can have a listen and make sure that nasty congestion is cleared up. Do we have a deal?”

The boy nodded eagerly, relieved to be allowed to go. But Beth wasn't quite finished. “While I have you here, is there anything else you'd like to talk about? Anything you want to ask me?” The questions were spoken factually, casually even.

“How did you get to be a doctor?” Seth asked.

Beth smiled. “That's not what I meant, but I went to school, and studied really hard.”

“Did you always want to do this?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. I always wanted to help people. Since I was little, I used to set up a clinic with my dolls. Quite a few of them have stitches now where I did a little surgery.” She laughed a bit at the thought.

“I'd like to go to college,” Seth said. “If I was smart, I would.”

Beth regarded him, then she said, “You seem pretty smart to me.”

He shrugged. “I don't do so great in school. Sometimes I have too many other things to do, so I can't go.”

“What other things?” Beth asked.

Head down, Seth shrugged again. “You know, things for . . . work.”

“School is really important,” Beth said, and Ellen had to lean in to hear her.

“So is food,” Seth said, and smiled disarmingly.

Ellen could tell that it was difficult for Beth to keep her expression calm, her mouth twitched a little, but she said, “True enough. Is there anything else wrong you'd like to tell me? Any injuries or concerns?”

“No, just the cough,” Seth said, illustrating this with a long rasping session.

“Is there any possibility you might have a sexually transmitted illness?” Beth asked when he had settled again.

The boy's ears went scarlet but he did not speak. Just twisted the white towel in his thin fingers.

Beth stood up and came around the side of the table so that she was facing Ellen, who stooped lower. Beth put two fingers on Seth's ribs and pressed lightly. “What about these bruises? How did you get these?”

“Oh, uh, I fell down. You know, in the park.”

“It looks like you fell on someone's fist.” Beth lifted one of his arms and began checking over the rest of him, including parting his hair and examining his scalp. “What are these marks on your head?”

“Nothing,” Seth said. “I hit my head in a doorway.”

Beth's eyebrows went up. “Low doorway.”

“Yeah, it's . . . uh, my garage. The door was down halfway. I'm pretty clumsy.”

The doctor finished looking him over and said, “Put your shirt back on.” As Seth slid to the floor and reached for his shirt, Ellen saw his back for the first time. The left side was marked with purple and red bruises, almost like splattered paint, but more mottled. She drew in a breath and felt her nostrils flare.

Beth faced the wall while Seth dressed, and was making notes. She stopped and turned back to him, holding the clipboard against her chest.

“Are you sure there isn't something else you want to tell me?”

“No,” Seth said, staring at the floor.

Beth said nothing, just stood looking down at the top of his head. Then she reached out and put one hand on his shoulder. “Listen . . . Seth, is it?” She glanced at the pad. “I want you to know that you can come back here whenever you need to. We're really busy, as you can see, but if I'm here, and I always am on Thursdays, I'll find time to talk to you. Okay?”

“I'd like to work here,” Seth told her.

Beth seemed taken aback, but pleasantly. “Well, we'll have to see about that. You're a little young yet. But in the meantime, you can come in if you need medical attention or . . .
help
.” Beth stressed the last word quite differently than the others, and Seth's eyes darted up to her face, the hollowness in his eyes revealing, if only for a fraction of a second, that it was desperate to be filled. Then he shrugged off the hopeful weakness and resumed his facade of self-reliance. Beth's face tightened, but Ellen knew she'd seen it before, and understood. “If I'm not here, I want you to take this.” She pulled a card from her clip and handed it to him. “That has my cell number on the back. If you need advice, or just need to talk, you can call me.”

“Thanks,” Seth muttered, and slipped the card, very carefully, Ellen noted, in the back pocket of his loose pants, which were being held up by a short length of rope.

Then he made his way to the door. Beth pretended to be writing again, but Ellen could see that she was watching the boy walk away, her eyes filled with concern. When he'd gone, she set down her work and put her face in her hands. Then, with a little shake and a forcefully exhaled breath, she picked up the clipboard and went to the door, making room for the man in scrubs. He came in and began to wipe down the table, pulling out a fresh sheet of white paper to erase and cover the place where Seth and his infection had been.