Listed: Volume III (2 page)

She
just wanted to feel better again.

Paul
must have called Dr. Franklin at some point, although Emily wasn’t aware of his
doing so. Her doctor arrived at the apartment at about seven-thirty that
evening and examined her with brisk efficiency.

Emily
did her best to keep her mouth shut during Dr. Franklin’s examination, since
anything she said was rude and uncalled for.

He
hadn’t spoken to her either, except for an initial greeting, but after he’d
done the routine steps, he said, “I’m going to take a little blood, if that’s
all right.”

It
wasn’t all right. Emily felt bad enough already, and she didn’t want to be
poked with a needle. Paul was standing behind Dr. Franklin and watching her
steadily, though, and he’d probably bully her into it if she tried to object.

So
she held out her arm and let the doctor take her blood.

“Thank
you, Mrs. Marino,” Dr. Franklin said, after he was done. “Now I’m going to give
you a new medicine, one that I think will help you feel a little better.”

Emily
turned back to him, feeling a surge of hope. “Really?”

He
nodded and gave her a sympathetic smile. Then he stood up and walked out of the
room with Paul.

Emily
wondered if everyone thought the fever had done something to her ears. Her
hearing worked perfectly well, but everyone had conversations as if she'd gone
deaf.

She
heard Paul and Dr. Franklin talking about her in the hallway.

Dr.
Franklin said, “I know it’s difficult for you to see her suffering, Mr. Marino,
but she seems to be progressing as we expected. I’m afraid this won’t be the
worst.”

“I
know it won’t be the worst,” Paul replied, sounding like he was gritting the
words out through his teeth. “That’s why I've asked for something to help her
tolerate this better.”

“I’m
going to give you something for her. I wouldn’t normally prescribe narcotics
for a fever, but I think, in your wife’s case, the most important thing is to
minimize the symptoms and make her more comfortable. Given her situation, I’m
less worried about the other risks and side effects, and I believe this should
ease much of her discomfort. Don’t leave these next to her bed for her to take
on her own. And don’t give them to her if her condition is manageable with
other methods. And watch her carefully after she takes the first one. If any of
her symptoms grow worse, call me immediately.”

“I
understand. Thank you. Why did you take the blood sample?”

The
voices faded then, as the men must have walked too far away for Emily to hear
them.

She
tossed around in her bed, pushing the covers down to the bottom. She muttered
to herself about Paul, who was too busy chatting with the doctor to remember
his poor, suffering wife and return with her new medication.

*
* *

Emily was able to sleep
for several hours that night. Her fever had gone down a degree or two by the
time it got dark outside, and the pill she’d taken had made her feel fuzzily
comfortable for the first time all day. She hardly noticed Lola, the kindly
nurse who sat with her all night.

When
she woke up at about six in the morning, however, she knew immediately she
still had a fever, even before Paul came in to take her temperature and told
her it was back up to 102.6
⁰
.

Last
time, the fever had only lasted one day, so she’d been counting on feeling
better this morning.

She
wasn’t. She was still sick. She still couldn’t go to court. She still had
another miserable day waiting for her.

And
she was still hot, sweaty, sloppy, and achy in bed, while Paul looked like he’d
stepped off the pages of a magazine.

When
Amy arrived at about seven-thirty, Emily was feeling pretty depressed, but she
tried not to whine as the nurse drew her a lemon-eucalyptus bath and then
helped her change into a clean top and shorts.

While
she was in the bath, Amy changed the sheets on her bed, so it felt and smelled
fresh when she crawled back in.

Paul
came to see her before he left for the courthouse and gave her one of her new
pills to take. He’d been quiet that morning, and a little voice in the back of
her mind pestered Emily, telling her that the trial would be really hard for
him and she needed to somehow help him through it.

But
the fuzziness from the medication hit her almost immediately, and she dozed off
into a restless sleep before she realized he’d even left.

The
next thing she was aware of was a lot of noise from somewhere in the apartment.

She
tried to drag herself out of sleep, but a heavy stupor had settled over her
like a weight. Finally, she managed to open her eyes and turn toward her
bedroom door.

She
was surprised when she saw Ruth, the nice woman who cleaned the apartment,
coming into her bedroom.

“Wha—”
she tried to ask, but her mouth was too dry to form the complete word.

Ruth’s
expression was kind as she walked over, picked up the bottle of lukewarm water,
and helped Emily take a sip. “There’s been an accident,” she explained. “Your
nurse cut herself real bad as she was helping me make you some broth. She had
to go to the emergency room.”

Emily
knew she should be shocked, worried by this news, but her brain couldn’t
function that way. She just stared at Ruth, feeling hot and dazed.

“I
called Mr. Marino, and he’s having the agency send over a new nurse. So I’m
going to sit here with you until the new nurse comes.”

“Thank
you,” Emily managed to say. She was afraid the good pill was starting to wear
off, since her body was beginning to ache dully.

Ruth
took the damp cloth Amy had been using on Emily’s face, got it wet in the bowl
of cold water, wrung it out, and then wiped it over her face. It was too wet
and dripped water all over, but it still felt good.

“I’m
so sorry you’re sickly, Mrs. Marino,” Ruth murmured. “You’ve been so good for him.
I can see the difference so clearly, and I hate to see you both suffer.”

For
some reason, the words and the expression on the older woman’s face made
Emily’s dry eyes burn.

Ruth
didn’t seem to expect a reply. She just kept wiping Emily’s face—not as
efficiently as Amy or as gently as Paul, but as if she meant it. She continued
in a low voice, “I’m so sorry for you both. But I’ve been praying. And I’ll
keep praying for you, dear.”

For
no good reason, tears slipped out of Emily’s eyes and streamed down into her
hair.

“Now,
don’t you cry, dear,” Ruth said, wiping away the tears with the washcloth. “God
is good. God is always good, even when we don't see it. I believe in miracles.”

Emily
had never believed in miracles. She knew she was going to die, and she knew she
was going to suffer horribly before she finally did.

But
Ruth’s deep sympathy—for both her and Paul—meant a lot, just the same.

*
* *

Emily didn’t like the
new nurse.

The
woman looked to be around sixty and had graying hair that was pulled back in a
severe bun. In Emily’s fever-addled brain, she halfway believed the new nurse
was a cruel schoolmarm from an old story, a strict disciplinarian with her
hapless students, pitiless in her harsh pursuit of order and obedience.

She
did everything she was supposed to do—gave Emily her Tylenol, wiped her face
with a cool cloth, and helped her sip water—but she seemed to do it by some
sort of schedule, rather than before Emily knew she needed it the way Amy had.
She never helped Emily in little ways like adjusting her covers or changing her
water out for a colder bottle.

Emily
was sure the woman was a consummate professional, well-trained and
well-experienced. The agency wouldn’t have sent her out to them otherwise.

But
Emily didn’t like her at all.

She
told herself it was only temporary. The new nurse was just a substitute until
Amy was able to return or Lola arrived tonight. Emily managed to keep from moaning
or complaining, since every time she did the new nurse gave her condescending
looks of disapproval.

So
Emily suffered in silence, tossing uncomfortably and waiting impatiently for
the early afternoon, when she could take another one of the good pills and
hopefully doze off.

She’d
dropped off in a hot, restless drowse when the nurse woke her up by saying in a
grating voice, “Your husband is on the telephone and insists that he speak to
you.”

Emily
blinked and tried to process why a phone had been thrust into her limp hand.
For some reason, the nurse’s abruptness was as painful to her as a slap in the
face.

Finally,
Emily managed to get the phone to her ear. Her head was aching terribly again,
and she was sweating so much the phone almost slipped out of her fingers.
“Paul?” she said into the speaker, her voice cracking on the one word.

“How
are you?” Paul voice sounded strange, although there was no way she could make
her mind work enough to unravel why that might be.

“Okay.
Are you okay?”

“I’m
fine. I can’t get home for lunch, but I wanted to make sure you were doing all
right. How is the nurse they sent over? She sounded kind of brusque.”

Emily
swallowed over her dry throat and tried desperately to think. Paul seemed
strange, like he was exhausted or upset or something. He wasn’t coming home for
lunch. Something must be wrong.

A
wave of dizziness washed over her, and there was no way she could pursue the
subject. He wouldn’t tell her what was wrong. She knew it. She barely had the
energy for this conversation—much less an argument about his not sharing things
with her.

But
she wasn’t going to add to his problems. She could deal with an unsympathetic
nurse for one day. If she complained, Paul would probably come home until he
was able to arrange for someone else.

He
didn’t need to deal with that. He had enough on his plate without her whining.

All
this Emily figured out in a few seconds of muddled reflection. “She’s fine. I’m
okay.”

“All
right. Good. I’ll be home by five.”

“Okay.”

Emily
thought Paul would say goodbye and hang up then, but he didn’t. He stayed on
the line and didn’t say anything.

She
was worried about him, and she felt so terrible. She almost started to cry.

“Okay,”
Paul said at last, still sounding so strange.

“Okay,”
Emily repeated.

Her
vision blurred over and a flood of heat overwhelmed her. The phone slipped out
of her hand, but she shifted her head so her ear was still close to it on the
bed.

She
didn’t know when Paul hung up the phone. She never did hear the call disconnect.

She
must have just dozed off, and the new nurse must have come in and picked up the
phone from the bed, because it was gone the next time she was aware enough to
look for it.

*
* *

Emily felt worse and
worse as the afternoon progressed.

She
knew her fever was going up because the world became a hot whirl of noise and
pain. At one-thirty, Emily tried to ask the nurse for one of the new pills Dr.
Franklin had left for her the evening before. She was disconnected and
disoriented, but she was sure it was time for another one. It might not bring
down her fever, but at least it would mask some of the pain with that
fuzziness.

But
the new nurse didn't know where the pills were, since they weren't at her
bedside with everything else, and Emily didn't know where to tell her to look
for them.

So
Emily didn’t get her pill, and her fever kept rising.

Eventually,
her awareness started to blur into a succession of horrifying, surreal images.

She
was burning up in her old house, but for some reason Paul was there with her,
consumed by the blaze before she was. She saw his lean body and handsome face
scorch into blackness.

The
new nurse was a cruel, old-fashioned schoolteacher in a bun, shirtwaist, and
pince-nez
,
making her stand outside the schoolhouse in the scorching sun and lecturing her
about laziness and insubordination.

She
and Paul were Hansel and Gretel who had found the gingerbread house, and the
new nurse was the witch who lived there. She pushed Emily into the oven while
poor Paul had to watch helplessly.

Emily
knew she needed to fight off the witch so she could get back to Paul. She
tried. She
tried
. But she couldn’t.

She
couldn’t get away at all. She couldn’t even move.

When
conscious awareness slammed back into her muddled mind, Emily realized she
still couldn’t move. She was trying to toss and turn but could only lie flat on
sheets damp with her perspiration.

Something
cool and wet was wiping her face, which should have felt good, but her
inability to move sent a flare of panic through her that overwhelmed any
feeling of relief. She cried out for help, her voice cracked and broken.