Mother of Prevention (18 page)

I didn’t speak the words out loud, afraid of being overheard, but I needed answers. My life had spun out of control and I needed to know why.

What did I ever do, God, to make You so angry? Why did You tear up my life this way?

I waited, but no answer came. Silently I raged,
Listen to me. Don’t turn away—not now. I want to understand. I need to know.

Maybe I was approaching this in the wrong manner. I remembered Job demanding answers and God replying, “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?”

Good question.

Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s start over. I’m not demanding answers, but I would like to know.

Nothing.

I knew my Bible. There had been a time when I read it every night. So I knew that God hadn’t abandoned me. He’d promised to be there always, and deep down, past the hurt, I knew He kept His promises. I had walked away. Still, a deep gulch separated us from the intimate relationship I’d once known, and I didn’t know where to find the bridge. I was wandering in the darkness, too lost to see the light.

I knew my excess baggage. I was angry at God, angry over Neil’s death. But closer to home, I was angry at Madge. How dare she criticize Mazi, calling her a drunk? Mazi had been the one person to see me through endless dark days. How could I take Madge’s false accusations seriously?

When I finally left the pew, I felt no better than when I’d arrived, but I figured it wouldn’t be long until the group in the basement broke up and left. Having distanced myself from the church lately, I didn’t want to be discovered sitting in the back of the building crying.

My life was a mess and I couldn’t see any way to fix it. My problems had turned into a bottomless pit with no way out. I had just been fooling myself when I thought I was learning to cope. Madge had seen through my feeble facade and zeroed in on the real problem. I was not capable of making the right decisions for my daughters’ welfare. What I saw as progress she made me see was just treading water. Maybe I should move the girls to Vermont, but what had been something to look forward to with Neil now sounded like a prison sentence. I started the car and drove home, dreading having to face Madge in this mood.

Saturday we took Madge and Harry to Chinatown. They were fascinated, of course. Who wouldn’t be? They bought gifts for the girls and Kris talked them into buying kites, wildly colored, fanciful shapes that would look great soaring against a blue sky.

Harry bought them each a doll—round-faced cherubs with straight black hair and elaborate silk costumes. Harry
loved the streetlights, but Madge thought they would be hard to clean.

As if she might be called on to bring the Windex and paper towels the next time she visited.

Why is it that some people always look for the fly in the custard, and if it’s not there, they’ll catch one and install it. Madge always managed to find something to fuss over even if she had to create it. The trait made me mad. There was enough turmoil in the world to go around; nobody had to look for it.

Kelli told her about the Chinese New Year parade. She made it sound like something extremely exotic, which it probably was, but Madge wasn’t buying it.

“Firecrackers? Wasn’t that dangerous?”

Since her remark was addressed to me, I immediately turned defensive. Never mind I had felt the same way—she was questioning my care of the girls.

“We didn’t go. Maybe next year.”

“Just the same, what if someone throws one into the crowd?”

“We’ll worry about that when it happens.” I was ashamed of the shortness of my answer, but she was even more prone to worry than I was. The girls had begun outgrowing the fears I had instilled in them and I was trying hard not to inflict them with my new worries, but Madge was turning them into a quivering mass of nerves.

Kelli looked anxious. “Is Chinatown dangerous?”

I resisted the impulse to tell her any place was dangerous given the proper circumstances. She needed reassuring. I shook my head. “Chinatown’s all right. We don’t have to worry.”

She relaxed. “Okay.” I noticed she held tightly to Harry’s hand the rest of the way.

Kris was quiet, clutching the bag that held the kites. I smiled at her and she gave me a half smile. I sighed. Think Tuesday, Kate. The day the in-laws were slated to go home.

Madge bought souvenirs for her friends, and Harry found a wooden back-scratcher he had to have. I tried it and liked it so much I bought one for myself and a second for Mazi.

Harry nodded. “I like Chinatown. Something different. I get tired of maple syrup all the time.”

Madge rolled her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. I was on his side.

“I know what you mean, Harry. We all need a new experience once in a while.”

“Keeps a body from becoming bilious,” he agreed.

Well, I might not have put it exactly that way, but I knew what he meant. We stopped for pizza on the way home, and for once Madge didn’t find anything to complain about. Taking the good with the bad; it had been a passable day.

Monday noon a thick, gray, soupy fog rolled in, turning San Francisco into a twilight zone. Familiar landmarks and street signs vanished. I got lost twice trying to get home. Streetlights barely penetrated the gloom.

The airport was socked in.

No flights out, no idea when the fog would clear. I kept the girls home from school Tuesday. Since I had already decided to take Tuesday off so I could deliver Madge and Harry to the airport, and since all of our clients canceled because of the weather, I stayed home.

Actually it would have been better if I’d gone to work, even if there was a fairly good chance I might have driven off a pier into the ocean. Madge, for some unfathomable reason, decided to clean out the freezer.

If she had asked, I would have admitted things probably needed rearranging, but not today. We were all on edge from the fog and the canceled departure date.

Mounds of frozen peas and corn littered the kitchen floor. The sink overflowed with cartons of melting ice cream and popsicles. One good thing—she had unearthed
a forgotten container of lasagna, which I slid into the oven for lunch.

“Madge, I appreciate all the work you’re doing,” I said. “But really, it’s so unnecessary.”

“Don’t say another word, Kate. I’d never forgive myself if I hadn’t done what I could to help you get this disaster straightened out.”

Disaster?

She placed her hand on my arm, staring deep into my eyes. “Trust me, Kate. I only want to help.”

“How come you never clean our freezer?” Harry asked.

Madge sent him a steely look. “I do clean our freezer.”

He turned surly. I figured the fog was getting to him, too. “We’ve had that freezer since Neil was little, and it has so much ice inside you could hold the Iditarod dogsled race in there if you had room.”

The doorbell rang and I gratefully left to answer it. This day was rapidly going downhill, dragging me with it. I opened the door to find an enormous bouquet of flowers. All I could see of the deliveryman was a pair of legs extending below the mass of blossoms.

“Kate Madison?” a disembodied voice asked.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Flowers for you.”

I helped him place the arrangement on a table and he left, looking relieved to be rid of the enormous weight. I stepped back to examine the bouquet, the heavenly scent penetrating the room. Who on earth would send me flowers? A card peeked from between delicate yellow roses and bird-of-paradise blooms. I carefully opened the envelope and read the message.

“The flowers are for your friend. I hope you enjoy your home here in our lovely city. Thank you again for your act of kindness.”

Attached to the note was a simple letter from my mortgage company. It said “The outstanding loan on your home has
been reduced by $110,000.00. Official notice of this arrangement has been sent to you via the U.S. Postal Service. Congratulations.”

It was signed by the president of the company.

My heart stopped. I actually felt it. It stopped. Although fog still blanketed my windows, sunshine burst out in my heart. I read the message again, hardly daring to believe.

That amounted to half the mortgage.

No name on the note, but I knew who the flowers were from. The stranger in the long black limousine.

My life had been turned upside down for the second time in five months.

O
dd how priorities change.

Once I would have immediately run to Mom to share my still-unbelievable good fortune. Now all I could think about was Mazi; I wanted to tell Mazi about the incredible news.

Slipping into a light jacket, I paused at the back door and listened. The television was blaring. That meant Harry had persuaded the girls to switch to
Judge Judy.
Ordinarily I would storm the compound and demand more suitable children’s programming, but not this afternoon. This afternoon I was so full of sheer joy that nothing could spoil my mood. Not even
Judge Judy.

Hefting the tall bouquet, I left the house, pulling the back door closed behind me with my right foot. Hundreds of thoughts sifted through my mind as I carried the monstrous floral offering down the walk and stepped over the low box elder hedge. For so long I had been blind to everything God
had
been doing in my life. When I couldn’t fly, He had provided a different venue. True, California had yet to feel like home, but He’d given me a house that I adored though I couldn’t afford. It was my lack of faith that kept me in a perpetual financial mess. So far I’d met my mortgage payments and utility bills and still fed my children.

And now this had happened. I’d performed a simple act of kindness and in return God had sent a Good Samaritan to pay down my mortgage. This happened only in books and movies. Not real life.

I stopped long enough to pinch myself.

Ouch!

I wasn’t dreaming. Elation bubbled over. I was wide-awake!

“Mazi!” I balanced the vase on my knee, turned the back doorknob and let myself into the house. Weeks ago we’d dispensed with formality. Now we both came and went in each other’s homes when we liked. It wasn’t unusual for me to come home from work and find a complete meal in my refrigerator, compliments of “Chef Mazi.”

“Mazi!” I called. “You’ll never guess what just happened!” I rid myself of the bouquet, setting the heavy vase on the kitchen table before I walked through the silent house, flipping on lights. Gray light filtered through the slanted blinds.

“Hey, Maz!”

Don’t tell me she’s off on a shopping trip, I thought. Not now—not today when I needed so desperately to sort through my revelations and share my incredible news.

I cleared the formal dining area, where a long walnut table and six sage-green upholstered chairs sat. The window treatments were of the same sage hue, elegantly framed by white crown molding. A large cabinet holding Mazi’s china collection sat against the north wall.

I switched on a living-room lamp and paused, allowing time for my eyes to adjust. Where— My breath caught when I saw
my friend lying on the sofa, wrapped in a brown throw. I immediately lowered my voice. “Hey, Maz, are you sick?”

Mazi wasn’t one to nap, especially this hour of the day. In the time that I’d known her, I’d never seen her take an afternoon nap. She slept late, mostly because she didn’t shut down until the wee hours of the morning.

When the figure on the sofa didn’t stir, I thought about quietly backing out of the room and phoning later. It was the only courteous thing to do.

But my news was too good to keep.

I crept closer. “Hey, sleepyhead. Wake up. Have I got news for you. Smell that heavenly aroma? There’s a bouquet of flowers on the kitchen table from an admirer—”

The form on the sofa never moved.

Puzzled, I knelt beside the sofa and gently shook her. Maybe she’d been out shopping and worn herself out. When I couldn’t get a response, my heart began to bump.

“Mazi?” I stood up, my eyes scanning the prostrate form. She was unconscious. I could detect shallow breathing, but I knew this was no ordinary sleep.

I shook her, hard this time, so hard her straight brown bob fell across her pale features. Still no response. By now my heart was beating like a hummingbird’s.

Dear God, no—please.
I felt sick to my stomach.

I bolted out of the room, raced to the kitchen phone and dialed 911. My fingers shook so badly I could barely hit the keypad. A thin sheen of perspiration dotted my forehead.

I managed to give the address before I dropped the receiver and raced back to Mazi. I could hear the faint thump as the phone swung back and forth, hitting the wall.

She was lying deathly still, the throw still cast aside from my efforts to revive her.

In the short time it took for an ambulance and paramedics to arrive, I called Madge and Harry and told them I was riding to the hospital with Mazi.

“It’s alcohol, isn’t it, dear?”

I wanted to smack Madge Madison.

“It isn’t alcohol. I don’t know what it is.”

“Well, don’t worry. Harry and I will look after the children. You help your friend.”

I hung up and returned to Mazi’s side. There were no signs of alcohol—no telltale bottle present, no half-filled glass. Since I didn’t drink I didn’t know if all alcohols were detectable—but Mazi wasn’t a silent drinker. I’d bet my life on that. Yet I couldn’t help but recall her odder moments. Generally she was sunny and happy-go-lucky, but other times she had a detectable irritability. Sometimes she had complained of depression, but I’d figured who wouldn’t be depressed with a husband like Warren?

One day she’d nearly fainted. I’d helped her out of the stuffy dressing room and we’d laughed, saying it had finally happened: she’d overdosed on shopping.

I thought about how she’d clean the house while the neighborhood slept. At times her energy seemed limitless, but did that mean she was a drunk?

My heart resisted the thought. I would have known; we were best friends, together more than not. I would have noticed signs. Mazi would have shared that part of her life with me.

In the distance a low wail signaled the ambulance’s approach. I hurriedly wrapped the throw around Mazi and straightened her appearance. I didn’t want anyone to see her in this condition—inert, mouth slightly open.

When the knock sounded at the door I was there to admit the paramedics. “She’s in here.”

The three men bore a variety of medical paraphernalia, which they carried to the living room and put on the floor. Then they immediately set to work.

“When did you find her?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes ago.” I stood back, eyes glued to their actions. If anything happened to Mazi… I couldn’t finish the unthinkable.

Dear God, please don’t let me lose her, too. Surround her with Your grace.

The men talked back and forth as they attempted to stabilize my friend. When I caught the phrase “stabilize and transport” I knew she was still alive.

Or so I desperately prayed.

“May I ride with her?” I asked when the attendants lifted Mazi off the sofa and onto a stretcher.

“Are you family?”

“No. Close friend. Her husband’s out of state.”

The men nodded and proceeded to wheel the gurney through the dining room.

I hurriedly pulled the front door closed behind us and trotted after the men to the waiting ambulance. Seconds later they’d loaded Mazi. I scrambled in behind.

When the emergency vehicle pulled away from the curb, lights flashing and siren blaring, I caught a brief glimpse of Madge, Harry and the girls peering out the front-room window. Throughout the neighborhood, drapes were pulled back and people watched the spectacle.

The attendant continued to work on Mazi. I reached over and took her free hand and held it tightly. I was so scared my breath came in irregular puffs. If anything happened to her I couldn’t bear it. She was closer than a sister now.

The attendant hooked an IV into his patient’s arm and set the drip. So far nobody had speculated about what might be wrong. I caught words like blood pressure 170 over 93. Heart arrhythmia. Shallow breathing.

“Is it her heart?” I ventured.

The young paramedic remained detached. “We won’t know anything until the doctor sees her, ma’am.” He gave me a warm smile. “She’s stable for the moment.”

Stable for the moment; I didn’t like the sound of that. I tightened my grip on her hand and leaned closer to whisper to a lifeless Mazi, “You’re causing quite a stir, you know.”

I knew she would love it.

For the time being, I’d forgotten my happy news. Right now I prayed for Mazi. Funny how one moment you can be on top of the mountain and the next moment all of your priorities are rearranged. Friendships matter; love matters. Money is only a tool in this world.

Was that odd or was that God?

I think I believed the latter.

I sat in the empty waiting room, staring at the CNN news reporter on the overhead television. The president was making a speech; there had been another drive-by shooting in Ohio.

Mazi had been in the emergency room for over an hour, and no one had been out to speak to me. I wondered about Warren. Should I call him now or wait until I knew more details?

What if Mazi was this minute dying? Wouldn’t Warren want to be here? I racked my brain, trying to remember where the missing husband was working this week. Ohio? Mississippi? Arkansas. Little Rock. I’d been with her so little this week I didn’t recall her mentioning Warren’s location. No matter. He couldn’t just appear in the emergency room. He’d have to book a flight….

A blue-coated doctor emerged from behind the double doors and I sprang to my feet. When he sailed by without comment, I sank back to the hard chair. Should I wait and call Warren when I knew more? What if I alarmed him for nothing? Then again…

Over the next half hour I repeated the action twice before a physician headed in my direction. His name tag read “Dr. Phil Harding.”

“Are you with Mrs. Hollingsworth?”

“Yes.” Inside my chest my heart thumped like a three-sided tire.

The graying doctor consulted his chart. “She’s had a mild cardiac episode. She’s awake but confused.”

Heart problems? Mazi? “But she’s so young for heart problems.”

I was so relieved that he hadn’t said alcohol, but I was totally unprepared for his next words.

He shook his head. “When will women learn? Diet pills can be a dangerous drug—even the over-the-counter ones.”

I stared back at him blankly. “Diet pills?”

He glanced up, meeting my rattled gaze. “You didn’t know she used diet pills on a regular basis?”

Numbly I shook my head.

He frowned. “She told me she has for years. The abuse has finally caught up with her.”

Vaguely his words penetrated my shocked senses. Suddenly threads of Mazi’s somewhat bizarre behavior started to make sense. Diet pills were responsible.

“I’m so sorry. I’m her closest friend, and I had no idea.”

“She probably didn’t want you to know.” He scribbled a notation on the chart before he looked up. “Diet pills are as addictive as alcohol. Once a woman gets hooked on them, either by prescription or with over-the-counter products, she’s powerless to stop usage. She’s driven by motivation and the hope of a quick fix—the constant fear that she might regain any weight that she’s managed to starve off. The behavior becomes an endless cycle once a woman buys into the idea of being ultrathin.”

I bit back the urge to cry. For the past few months Mazi had been my anchor, my emotional foundation. In that time I had not once stopped to ask about her problems. I was so absorbed in my own worries that I had lost sight of others.

The sun rose and set on Kate Madison.

Had this blind self-absorption bled over into my children? My family? Certainly my friends. I was so ashamed.

“Will there be any lasting damage?”

“There could be. There’s always the risk of liver injury. She’s lucky. Strokes and renal failure can be side effects of diet pills.
Of course we’ll run tests. I’ll want to keep her here for a couple of days, but my guess is that this is her wake-up call.” He gave me a stern look. “I hope, as her friend, that you encourage her to heed the warning. This is not an easy habit to kick.”

Snapping the chart shut, he strode briskly back through the double doors.

Mazi took diet pills.

I sank back into my chair trying to let the moment sink in. Why had she never told me? There had been numerous times she could have mentioned her dilemma, shared her struggle. How many times had we split entrées, ordered one dessert and two spoons? Had drunk skinny lattes with sugar-free vanilla syrup, avoided cookies while mall shopping and split a whole-wheat pretzel instead?

Why hadn’t I noticed her battle?

I knew she liked to nibble, but who didn’t nibble occasionally? And show me the person who didn’t adore peanut or almond M&M’s. Mazi could eat a whole bag, but the next day she’d drink diet soda and eat lettuce and fat-free cheese all day for penance.

My heart ached for my loyal friend. I felt incredibly selfish and self-centered. I had not once noticed what lay behind Mazi’s frequent bouts of stomach complaints and insomnia.

Warren. I had to call Warren and tell him what had happened. After a vain search for quarters, I walked to the hospital gift shop for change. I spotted a phone on the far wall and headed for it. Mazi had once insisted that I take her husband’s cell number in case of emergency.

Had she known then that she was playing with fire, that it was only a matter of time before her self-destructive habit would overcome her?

I rummaged through my purse and located the small address book I carried. Phone numbers were noted after each entry.

The phone rang three times before a man answered. I’d spoken to Warren so infrequently I wasn’t sure I had the right party.

“Warren?”

“Yes? Who’s this?”

“It’s Kate. Kate Madison.”

When the name failed to register I tried again. “Your next-door neighbor. In San Francisco.” Lest he forgot where home was.

“Oh—Kate. Yes. Is something wrong?” I could hear a television playing low in the background.

“Warren, I’m sorry to have to call, but Mazi’s in the hospital.”

“Oh?”

The response indicated little more emotion than if I’d just informed him that his shoe was untied. What sort of cold fish had Mazi pledged her life to?

I repeated my statement. “Mazi’s in the hospital. They say it was a cardiac incident. She seems to be fine now, but the doctor wants to keep her here a couple of days for tests.”