Invisible (26 page)

No, the hospital can notify her if I croak.

An attendant comes to take Mr. Romano to his room.

For almost sixty seconds the ER is quiet, until I hear Raspberry in the hallway. “I'll take full responsibility for the mental-health patient. Just put him in #6. Now!”

Busy day at the ER. Tension levels seem high.

Wait, they're putting the mental-health patient in Mr. Romano's room? Next to me?
Now I wish I'd had Miles stay.

Did he leave? Or did he say he'd wait? I can't remember. I shift on the gurney and the dull ache I felt in my chest earlier returns and settles between my shoulder blades and the merry-go-round takes off again. I close my eyes, but that makes the spinning pick up speed. I open my eyes and take a deep breath—at least as deep as my aching chest will allow.

Another nurse pokes her head through the curtains. “Have they done an ultrasound or chest X-ray yet?”

“An ultrasound or X-ray? No.” The words come out in a hoarse whisper. I put my hand on my chest.

“Are you okay?”

“I . . . I don't think so.”

The nurse comes into my cubicle. “I'm Nita, what are your symptoms?” She glances at the computerized screen that registers my blood pressure and blood oxygen levels.

“Pain between my shoulder blades. Chest heavy. And I'm so dizzy.”

“When did the dizziness start? That's new.”

“It's not new.”

Nita moves behind my bed and rustles around a bit, and then she comes back and puts tubing into my nostrils to administer oxygen and puts a clip thingy on my index finger that registers . . . something to do with oxygen levels.

Nita looks toward the curtain. “Mel, I need you in here.”

It sounds as though Mel is getting the mental-health patient settled, but in a few moments she comes around and sticks her head through the opening in the curtain from the hallway. “What's up?”

“She needs that ultrasound now.”

Melanie, aka Raspberry, disappears again.

My chest tightens and each breath I take becomes a chore.

Lord, is this really happening?

A snicker from Room #6 breaks into my thoughts. Then a low rumble of laughter that rises in pitch to the point of hysteria sends a shiver through me.

My new neighbor.

The mental-health patient.

“Really? That's awesome!” His laughter is interrupted only by his own comments.

“Hey, Diego, keep it down in there.” Melanie's voice, from the hallway.

Nita is decorating me with electrodes again, but my skin, dampened again with sweat, isn't cooperating.

A wave of nausea comes over me and I roll my head to the side. The sudden movement causes the gurney and curtained cubicle to move round and round and round. Spinning faster and faster. I grab the side rails and hold on. All the while Diego laughs, hyena-like.

Black spots begin dotting the curtains and then my vision blurs. I try to sit up—to stop the spinning. Please, let me get up.

“Mel!”

Nita's voice seems distant. Did she leave? I look around, careful this time. No she's still here, putting electrodes on my ankles.

The hyena cackles.

Then just as everything begins to go black again, Diego stops laughing.

“What? Dude, really? The secret of life has changed? What's the new secret?”

Who's voice is he listening to? Who does he hear in his head? Is it Earl?

A dark curtain closes around me.

“That's the new secret? Dude, that is so cool!”

Maybe he's listening to God.

The curtain suffocates.

I can't see. Can't breathe. Can't feel.

Diego ushers me into a place of silence. But I try to speak, “Wait . . .”

“Don't try to talk.” A voice from afar instructs. “Just relax.”

“But—” As the laughter fades, I try again. “Wait—” I . . . I need to . . . know.

What's the . . . new . . . secret?

What . . . is it?

I have to . . . know.

The laughter stops.

And finally.

Finally.

As all goes black . . .

I'm at peace.

My groaning is witness that I am displeased with myself.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Thirty-Five

Sabina

I ponder Miles's words
about putting himself on the same plane as God. Is that what I've done with Ashley's death? By allowing the burden of her choice to rest on my shoulders, have I put myself in God's place?

No.

I put myself in God's place long before Ashley's death . . .

It was after Jazzy died.

I stand up—a sudden flourish of movement. I look down at Miles. “I'm sorry. I don't wait well. I'm going to walk around. May I bring you something? Coffee or a soda?”

“No, thank you.”

“May I give you my cell phone number, that way if you hear something you could let me know?”

“Sure.”

We exchange numbers, and then I turn and walk back toward the doors that lead to the parking lot—the ones I came in not long ago. I need the slap of the cold wind against my face, but as I exit the building I see the sun is still shining.

How dare it.

I walk through the parking lot to the street and then through the neighborhood surrounding the hospital.
If You let anything happen to Ellyn, I swear . . .
I leave my threat dangling. What good would it do?
You do what You want, regardless of my prayers.

A lump of emotion lodges in my throat. I wish I'd brought my iPod with me so I could listen to music as I walk. I need a distraction.

I do not want to consider God.

Nor do I want to think about Ashley.

I slow my pace.

And Jazzy. A tear slips down my cheek. Oh, Jazzy.

No. I can't—I won't let those memories control me. I turn back toward the hospital, but then I stop. A scream rises in my chest. I want to shake my fist at God and demand answers. Jazzy, Ashley, and now possibly Ellyn?

Why?

Ellyn. The first friend I've allowed myself in years. And now she's lying in a hospital.

Hot tears fall. I reach in my purse for a tissue and wipe my eyes and nose. As I do, a car passes by. How must I look walking down the street, crying? I look like the fool I am. A fool who's demanding answers from a God she no longer believes in.

Antwone, Ellyn, and Miles can have their God.

But something nags. Antwone, Ellyn, and Miles are intelligent people—people I respect. And my mama believed in God more than in the air she breathed. She was a woman to reckon with. If she'd ever heard me denounce my belief in God, she'd . . . well, she'd have walloped me. Such a choice from me would have wounded her in the deepest part of her soul.

So how do I reconcile my respect for others who believe? Maybe they just don't get it. But my mama? Oh, she got it. And Miles? He seemed to understand. Why is it they've moved on with their lives and I'm stuck?

The answer seems obvious.

And that makes me even more angry.

Miracles are not contrary to nature, but only contrary to what we know about nature.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Thirty-Six

Miles

After Sabina comes back,
we sit in silence.

I check in with the receptionist again, but learn nothing new. I pace the waiting room and the parking lot, and then sit again. After almost three hours, Dr. Nguyen comes looking for me. When I see him coming, I stand and meet him across the waiting room. I want a medical report without Sabina next to me.

I shake Dr. Nguyen's hand. “So?”

“Her potassium level is low—2.7.”

I nod. “That accounts for some of her symptoms.”

“Yes, and the flattened T waves on the second EKG concur with the low potassium. But take a look at this. This is the first EKG.”

He hands me a piece of paper from the file he holds. It reads like a seismic encounter with its peaks and valleys. I look at the waves and now understand his hesitation. “Pulmonary embolism? That's consistent with her symptoms.”

“Exactly. But the ultrasound was negative. As was the chest X-ray. Her blood oxygen level has returned to 9.8, and the dizziness and chest pains have subsided, as has the ache in her leg.”

“Huh, interesting. Maybe the first was a false reading?”

“Maybe.”

“But her symptoms . . .” I stop.

“One of those medical mysteries, I guess.” Dr. Nguyen takes the EKG results back. “I won't keep her. We gave her some potassium and she's feeling better. I told her not to take the HCTZ she's been taking for her blood pressure and to call Dr. Norman tomorrow to schedule a follow-up appointment.”

I nod and listen as he looks at her charts and repeats her current stats. “She says she lives alone. I'd like someone with her for the rest of today and tonight, just in case.”

“Good. Thank you.” I put out my hand to shake his again and then he turns to go, but stops.

“Oh, Dr. Becker, she'd like to see you. Go on back.”

She'd like to see me? His words or hers? Oh, I hope they were hers.

“Thanks.”

“Hi.” The curtain is
open and Ellyn is sitting up. “I hear you're feeling better?”

She nods. “What . . . happened? Dr. Nguyen explained it, but I don't understand.”

“He doesn't really understand either.” Her color has returned. That's good.

“What do you mean?”

I motion to a chair. “May I?”

“Oh. Sure.”

I scoot the chair to the side of the gurney and sit, stretch my legs out, and run my hand through my hair. “Well, the symptoms you were experiencing when I met you at the bike shop were indicative of a couple of things, but one of them is what's called a pulmonary embolism—a blood clot that's dislodged and moved to the lungs. The first EKG reading substantiated that diagnosis, which is why the ultrasound and chest X-ray were ordered.”

“I have a blood clot?”

I lean forward to reach for her hand, but stop myself. “No. Nothing showed up on the tests.” I see her chest rise and fall. “Your labs showed a low potassium level, but nothing else. The second EKG reading concurred with the low level of potassium.”

“Did he read the first EKG wrong?”

“No, I saw it myself.”

“So it just was wrong?”

“We don't know if it was wrong. It was consistent with your symptoms—”

“Miles! Just tell me what happened.” She takes a deep breath and exhales. “I'm sorry. I'm just . . . I'm tired.”

“I know, gal. I'm not sure what happened. But the end result is this: Your potassium level was low, most likely from the HCTZ you take for your blood pressure. It's a diuretic, and low potassium can be one of the side effects. Some of your symptoms were consistent with a low level of potassium.” I lift my hands, palms up. “The rest, we're not sure. Dr. Nguyen called it a medical mystery.”

She hesitates. “What . . . do you call it?”

“God's intervention.”

She tilts her head to one side and I see the doubt on her face.

“Not only did Rosa call me to pick you up, but when I let her know you were here, she let others know and asked for their prayers—Pia, Paco, your pastor. I called and asked Nerissa to pray and to ask Twila to do the same. And Sabina, though I don't know that she's praying, is sitting vigil in the waiting room.”

“She's here?”

I nod. “In fact, I should go and let her come back and see you—if you're up to it?” I stand.

“Sure. But Miles, wait . . .” Her voice softens. “I . . . I want to apologize for . . . you know, what happened the other night. I overreacted. I'm . . . so sorry for the way I treated you. I didn't mean to . . . I don't want to hurt you. I'm just not cut out for
that
type of relationship.”

The façade I've worked to keep in place cracks. I clear my throat. “Ellyn, I overstepped a boundary you set. You were clear with me from the beginning. I'm the one who needs to apologize. I'm sorry.”