Coming Attractions (16 page)

“Stomach hurts. Leg hurts here.” She pointed to her right thigh. “Face is itchy.”

“I can remove your facial bandages, but you have to keep the nose piece. We can’t have you breaking it all over again.” Teresa carefully removed the gauze and placed it on the table beside the bed. “Does that feel better?”

“Better.” She touched the dressings on her jaw and neck. “These?”

“They have to stay. You have a nasty injury.”

“Cory?” She turned her head slowly to find her.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Feed…” She took a shallow breath. “…fish.”

Cory kissed her cheek. “I promise.”

Chapter Nineteen

After a week of consciousness, Helen had grown increasingly restless and fed up with patient life. Needles were removed from her arm, which was then stabbed with a replacement. Blood withdrawal or IV, it didn’t matter. Whoever poked her experienced difficulty in finding a good vein, and it hurt like hell.

Lemon ice was on her list of “get that crap away from me.” If she saw another paper cup of frozen yellow in her lifetime, it would be too soon. And broth, although she did appreciate the fresh brew and its miniscule flecks of chicken that floated about. It almost tasted like food. It wasn’t bacon, but it filled her tummy.

Physicians wanted her to get more rest, but the hospital remained noisiest during the night. There was no serenity for the ill and recovering, and she’d had enough. Although her strength improved daily from her meager meals and catnaps, as did her stubbornness, she wanted to be released.

She glared at Teresa. “I’m gonna pass out.”

“Breathe slowly. You’re hyperventilating,” she said in a no-nonsense voice.

Translation: If she didn’t cooperate and cough up on demand, she would require some serious chest stomping from a nasty head nurse. Clear the lungs or drown.

Reluctantly, she took the plastic piece into her mouth. After three breaths, she coughed and immediately grabbed her hurting stomach. Thick phlegm escaped from her throat. She spat it into a plastic bowl.

“That’s disgusting.”

“If you don’t cough it up, you’ll find yourself in deep shit with an oxygen tent.”

Helen narrowed her eyes. “Do you talk to all of your patients like that?”

“Like what?”

“‘Deep shit.’”

Teresa laughed. “No. You were comfortable calling me a bitch, so I can say ‘deep shit’ to you, especially if you’re headed that way.” She put the plastic to Helen’s mouth. “Now, breathe.”

Helen watched the white cylinder rise and fall through her treatment. The required 1,500 milliliters mark was only half an inch away. Or was it milli
meters
? How do they gauge air sucking? No matter. Helen could suck air with the best of them.

She filled her lungs, and the cylinder rose to the maximum 2500 mark. A thimble-like gauge to the left shook and shot to the top. Gotta get the prize.

*

Tinkly sounds of the merry-go-round played in the background as the eight-year-old Helen fired water into her target. The ball moved steadily upward. Gotta have that alligator. Above her target, the furry toy waited.

Wide-eyed with anticipation, she stuck her tongue out past her lips and pulled the trigger tighter. She glanced at her competitors’ targets. Number four gained on her, but number seven fell back. The others were nowhere near. She pulled harder. Five was gaining. Three was on her tail. Now neck and neck. Four came up fast.

Helen squeezed with both hands. Zrrring! went the bell. Her heart stopped. She watched the water drain and she looked up at the man who wore a red-and-white apron.

“What’ll it be, little girl?” he said to her and waved his cane over the shelves of prizes.

The other kids groaned.

Helen squealed and jumped. “Me? The alligator!” She pointed to the fuzzy reptile and claimed her prize.

*

Helen coughed and spat another wad of goo into the bowl. Some prize.

“Good.” Teresa handed her a glass of water. “Do it again tonight. I’ll have the nurse watching, so don’t think you’ll get away without doing it.”

“She can be bought.”

Teresa placed the stethoscope to Helen’s chest. “Take a deep breath and hold. Now out, hard. Sounds good.”

Helen recovered from a cough and gazed out the window. A blue sky hung over New York. She wanted to smell winter’s clean air and feel it chill her lungs. She’d had plenty of friends trooping in and out, stacks of get-well cards, and fresh flowers. Endless attention from a particular female aide amused her. She wanted for nothing, but she was ready for civilian status. A plane passed in the distance. Blair flashed in her mind and Helen turned away from the window.

“When can I go home?”

“In about a week.”

“Unacceptable. It’s already been thirteen days and I’m feeling well enough.”

“You’ve been conscious for only eight of those days.” Teresa smiled.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? It’s a control thing, isn’t it?” Helen’s face grew hot and she flung a pillow. “I damn near blow up my lungs for you and—”

“And what’s this ruckus I heard from all the way down the hall?”

Helen swung her head toward the figure in the doorway. A wonderful sight. Cory joined them at the ringside.

“She won’t let me go home,” the eight-year-old in Helen huffed.

“Wow. No ‘Hello, baby’ or promises of unconditional love?”

“I’m not in the mood for sentimental sweetness.”

Cory raised her eyebrows and glanced at Teresa.

Teresa reached for Helen’s nose brace. “Let’s see what’s behind door number two.”

“Am I going to look like a fighter?” Helen grumbled.

“No, but a raccoon comes to mind.”

“Wonderful. Ow. Jesus!” she yelled when Teresa peeled away the tape.

“Sorry. There. All done.” She placed the piece on the table. “What do you think, Cory?”

Cory motioned with her hands. “I think it leans to the left.”

“What?” Terrified that her nose had healed crooked, Helen crossed her eyes in effort to see the damage.

Cory laughed. “That was lovely.”

“That isn’t funny,” she grumbled. Teresa handed her a mirror. “I do look like a raccoon.”

“You’ll lose the discoloration. Other than that, it’s straight as can be.”

In the mirror, Helen studied the bandages on her neck and jaw. She reached up to her chin. “Can I see what I look like beneath this?”

Teresa removed packaged scissors and tweezers from her pocket. “Yes, and the surgeon has permitted me to remove the sutures. He’s done a nice job and the scar should heal smooth, but right now it’s not very pretty.” She removed the tape and peeled back the white patches.

Helen turned her head to see her injury in the hand mirror. Red and puffy tufts of flesh stretched from her chin, along her jaw, and down to her collarbone. All held together with black stitching. Her personal barbed-wire fence. No, it wasn’t pretty. Makeup would cover the injury, but she couldn’t wear makeup to bed. What would Cory think of her now?

Teresa proceeded to remove the black knots and Helen grabbed Cory’s hand. Cory would be less attracted to her. She’d run off with some other woman. Some other blonde. One without scars. One who would happily feed her fish. One who would cook for her, sniff blindly at her heels, and follow her to Boston. One who would sleep with her. The heifer.

“Hey,” Cory said and moved closer.

Helen looked at her. Go with that blonde, then. Enjoy her Pollyanna complexion. Let her clean up your piles of Rice Krispies. “What?” Helen pouted.

“I love you.”

Helen smiled, triumphant over the heifer. “I know. Will you please kiss me?” Cory looked toward Teresa. “It’s okay. She knows we sleep together.”

Teresa removed the final thread and placed the instruments on the bed table. She laughed and pulled the curtain, separating herself from them. “She’s a mean badger today. You better kiss her, or I will.”

Helen looked sadly at Cory. “I heard the surgeon describe my injuries. How will it be for you to see a map of Florida on my stomach?”

“I thought you wanted a kiss.” Cory leaned into Helen’s mouth.

Helen smiled as Cory’s lips touched hers. Warm and soft. The heifer won’t know what she missed. “I miss you, baby.”

“Then get dressed,” Cory said. “Sam’s waiting with his van.”

Helen grabbed a small piece of the curtain and yanked it open. “Really?” she asked Teresa.

“There are rules,” she said and looked up from Helen’s chart. “Stay in the chair until the ortho surgeon removes the cast. Then it’s off to physical therapy with you.”

“Okay.”

“No sex for now. Touch a little, if you want, but no more. The strain will be too much for your abdomen.”

Helen looked at Cory and grunted something close to “Okay.”

“Stay on a soft diet and graduate to an intake of your regular meals. Your digestive system will tell you what you can handle. Change the dressings on your leg every two days for a week. Then you can take them off completely. I’ll send along a care package of bandages and tapes.” She sat on the bed and took Helen’s hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Helen gave her a smile. She wished it could be more. The woman most responsible for her life deserved—what? Eternal devotion? A lifetime of house cleaning service? The History Channel? What would it take to repay her?

“I’m alive because of you.” Helen hugged her with all the strength of her one healthy arm. “How do I repay that?”

“You just did.” She wrote on her prescription pad, tore the sheet off, and handed it to Helen. “Call this woman. She’s a psychiatrist.”

“A shrink?” Helen handed back the paper. “I don’t need a shrink.”

“Helen.” Teresa paused and looked into Helen’s eyes. “Honey, you’ll experience some degree of emotional trauma. Post-traumatic stress is not a happy place for anyone. I’m told you don’t sleep well.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Cory said.

Helen fidgeted. “I don’t sleep well in strange beds, and the floor personnel are loud at night.”

“Maybe that’s all it is. Hopefully.” Teresa handed the paper to Cory. “Just in case, Carolyn Ingram is among the best.” She squeezed Helen’s hand. “Say you’ll call her if you need to talk.”

“Just in case, then.” Helen turned to Cory. “Take me home, woman.”

*

In the back of Sam’s van, Helen fooled with the motorized wheelchair that he had provided. Not much space to burn rubber, but she got the gist of the controller. She also found that if she held the brake, pressed the joystick forward, then released the brake, she could almost pop a wheelie. She’d be hot on Chamberlain’s heels without tiring. There she went again, chasing a woman.

Horns blared. Tires squealed outside the van. Helen lurched forward, then fell back and against the chair. She closed her eyes, terrified while the fuselage tore open, and tightened her hand on Blair’s shoulder.

Something hit her leg. Helen jumped and opened her eyes. Cory’s hand rested on her knee. Her heart beat wildly while sounds of her New York surroundings came back to her.

It’s over. There’s no plane. No danger.

“Are you all right? Do you want to stop?” Cory asked.

She lied. “I’m okay. Everything feels and sounds new.” She wiped sweat from above her lip. “I’m anxious to get home.”

“One more block,” Sam said.

*

The ride through the hallway clinched Helen’s desire for home. The familiar smells of the Dakota and the scent of Cory’s perfume grew stronger as she approached the apartment. At the hospital, her sense of smell had been limited to clean linen and alcohol swabs. Not to mention bacon.

Sam stopped outside Cory’s door. “I’ll leave you two alone.” He bent down and kissed Helen’s cheek. “Welcome home. I’ll call you in a couple days.”

“Thanks for your help,” Helen said.

“You’re welcome. Call if you need anything.” He hugged Cory. “Take care of my girl.”

“I will,” she said.

Cory opened the door. Helen motored herself in and stopped. Apprehension. Fear. She remembered the same feelings when she submitted her first column to Sam. Was she good enough? Did she belong there?

Helen thought, this is the world of the living, where people laugh and talk and live and walk. A world where planes crash and people die. I didn’t die, or am I spirit? Am I ethereal, refusing to leave a worldly realm? Am I now embracing the living, as I once embraced the dead? Where are the dead if I’m among them?

“They’re looking at you,” Cory said, pointing to the aquarium.

Helen smiled at their aquatic roommates. She wheeled herself toward the aquarium with its blue and green gravel and the mermaid that lounged on top of a bubbling shell. The filter hummed its sleepy song. Yellow and white coral, tucked into one corner, was home to a bashful swordtail. Helen looked closely and saw him there. She touched the glass.

“Come on out, little guy,” she said. He flicked his tail, but Helen knew she’d never get him beyond his fortress. She counted six healthy fish. The new mollies she had bought seemed in their element and swam to Helen’s fingertips.

“Look, baby,” she said, and Cory crouched beside her. “She’s pregnant.” She pointed to the mollie’s swollen belly. “We’ll have to separate her from the others. They’ll eat the babies.” She turned to Cory. “They’re all alive,” she said. I’m alive.

“They missed you. You’re the one who talks to them.”

“You should breakfast with them,” Helen said playfully.

Helen leaned forward and pulled Cory closer. She kissed her. A first kiss, a new kiss. The kiss she would always have Cory feel. A kiss that promised love and life. A kiss that would swell and explode in Cory’s head, suck the breath out of her, and charge her with a powerful current.

Helen pulled her mouth away. “Hello, you lovely woman.”

“Hi,” Cory said, flushed from Helen’s kiss. “You’re here. I don’t believe it.”

Helen tugged at Cory’s jacket. “And I don’t believe you’re in wool. I’m not going far. Get rid of this outfit and come back to me.”

Helen wheeled into the kitchen. Her eyes devoured every plate glass cabinet, every white tile. Maybe one day, a day when Cory was out peddling her talent, Helen would chisel out a block and replace it with a lavender one. It would read: Helen Loves Cory. A Rice Krispie sat alone on the alcove table. Good. She wanted it there, and a few more, if they need be. They were just one of life’s little piss-me-offs that she could grumble about and then thank God she was alive to see them.