Suture Self (2 page)

Joe shook his head. “Never. You're an only child, and your father died fairly young. You're all your mother has, and she'll never completely let go. The same's true with Renie. Look how your Aunt Deb pulls Renie around like she's on a string.”

“True,” Judith allowed. “What I meant was that even if Mother resented you at first, after I married Dan on the rebound, and he turned out to be such a…flop,
you'd figure that Mother would be glad to see me married to somebody with a real job and a sense of responsibility and a girth considerably less than fifty-four inches. Dan's pants looked like the sails on the
Britannia
.”

Joe grinned and the gold flecks danced in his green eyes. “Your mother didn't want a replacement or an improvement. She wanted
you,
back home, under her wing.”

“She got it,” Judith said with a rueful laugh. “After Dan died, Mike and I couldn't go on living in that rental dump out on Thurlow Street. The rats were so big they were setting traps for
us
.”

It was only a slight exaggeration. After losing one house to the IRS for back taxes, defaulting on another, and getting evicted twice, Judith, Dan, and Mike had ended up, as Grandpa Grover would have put it, “in Queer Street.” Dan had stopped working altogether by then, and Judith's two jobs barely paid for the basics.

The Thurlow rental was a wreck, the neighborhood disreputable. After Dan died, Judith and her only son moved back into the family home on Heraldsgate Hill. Her mother had protested at first when Judith came up with her scheme to turn the big house into a B&B. Eventually, Gertrude had given in, if only because she and Judith and Mike had to eat. But when Joe reappeared in Judith's life during the homicide investigation of a guest, the old lady had balked. If Judith married Joe, Gertrude announced, she wouldn't live under the same roof with him. Thus, the toolshed had been converted into a small apartment, and Gertrude took her belongings and her umbrage out to the backyard.

She complained constantly, but refused to budge.
Judith pictured her mother in the old brown mohair chair, eating her “supper,” watching TV, and cursing Joe Flynn. Gertrude would never change her mind about her son-in-law, not even now in her dotage. But at least some sort of truce was in effect, which made life a little easier at Hillside Manor.

Shortly after seven, Judith called Renie back to get the details on her cousin's surgery. Neither of them knew exactly what time their operations would be scheduled and wouldn't find out until Friday afternoon. Judith hunkered down and tried to be patient. It wasn't easy: Even in the wheelchair, she experienced a considerable amount of pain and, due to the recent news reports, it was accompanied by an unexpected apprehension. Still, Judith could do little more than wait.

The tedium was broken Friday morning when Mike called from his current posting as a forest ranger up on the close-in mountain pass.

“Guess what,” he said in his most cheerful voice.

“What?” Judith asked.

“Guess.”

The first thing that came to mind was that Mike had been promoted. Which, she thought with plunging spirits, might mean a transfer to anywhere in the fifty states.

“Don't keep me in suspense,” Judith said. “I'm an invalid, remember?”

“Mom…” Mike chuckled. “It's only temporary. Which is good, because you're going to have to be up and running by the time your next grandchild gets here around the Fourth of July.”

“Oh!” Judith's smile was huge and satisfying. “That's terrific! How is Kristin feeling?”

“Great,” Mike replied. “You know my girl, she's a hardy honey.”

“Hardy” wasn't quite the word Judith would have chosen. “Robust,” perhaps, or even “brawny.” Kristin McMonigle was a Viking, or maybe a Valkyrie. Mike's wife was big, blonde, and beautiful. She was also constrained, conscientious, and capable. Almost too capable, it seemed to Judith. Kristin could repair a transmission, build a cabinet, bake a Viennese torte, shingle a roof, and balance a checkbook to the penny. Indeed, Judith sometimes found her daughter-in-law intimidating.

“I'm so thrilled,” Judith enthused. “I can't wait to tell Joe. And Granny.”

“That reminds me,” Mike said, “could you call Grandma Effie, too? I don't like making out-of-state calls on the phone in the office. I'd call her from the cabin tonight, but I'm putting on a slide show for some zoologists.”

“Of course,” Judith said with only a slight hesitation. “I'll call right now.”

“Thanks, Mom. Got to run. By the way, good luck Monday if I don't talk to you before you go to the hospital.”

Judith clicked the phone off and reached for her address book on the kitchen counter. She ought to know Effie McMonigle's number by heart, but she didn't. Ever since Dan's death eleven years earlier, Judith had called his mother once a month. But somehow the number wouldn't stick in her brain. Maybe it was like Gertrude not speaking directly to Joe; maybe Judith hoped that if she kept forgetting Effie's number, her former mother-in-law would go away, too, and take all the unhappy memories of Dan with her.

Effie was home. She usually was. A nurse by profession, she resided in a retirement community outside Phoenix. In the nineteen years that Judith and Dan had been married, Effie had visited only three times—once for the wedding, once when Mike was born, and once for Dan's funeral. Effie was a sun-worshiper. She couldn't stand the Pacific Northwest's gray skies and rainy days. She claimed to become depressed. But Judith felt Effie was always depressed—and depressing. Sunshine didn't seem to improve her pessimistic attitude.

“Another baby?” Effie exclaimed when Judith relayed the news. “So soon? Oh, what bad planning!”

“But Mac will be two in June,” Judith put in. “The children will be close enough in age to be playmates and companions.”

“They'll fight,” Effie declared in her mournful voice. “Especially if it's another boy.”

“Siblings always fight,” Judith countered. “I guess.” She had to admit to herself that she really didn't know. Judith and Renie had both been only children, and while they occasionally quarreled in their youth, they had grown to be as close, if not closer, than sisters.

“When are they coming to see me?” Effie demanded. “Mike and Kristy have only been here twice since Mac was born.”

“It's Kristin,” Judith said wearily. “I'm not sure when they'll be able to travel. With the new baby on the way, they'll probably wait.”

“Oh, sure.” Effie emitted a sour snort. “I haven't had a new picture of Mac in ages. I'm not even sure what he looks like these days.”

“I thought Mike and Kristin sent you a picture of the whole family at Christmastime.”

“They did?” Effie paused. “Oh,
that
picture. It wasn't very good of any of them. I can't see the slightest resemblance to my darling Dan in either Mike or Mac. If they both didn't have my red hair, I'd have to wonder.”

As well you might,
Judith thought, and was ashamed of the spite she felt inside. “Mac doesn't look like me, either,” she said in an attempt to make amends.

“When are you coming down to see me?” Effie queried.

“Not for a while,” Judith admitted. Indeed, she was ashamed of herself for not having paid Effie a visit since the year after Dan died. “It's so hard for me to get away with the B&B, and now I'm facing surgery Monday.”

“For what?” Effie sounded very cross.

“A hip replacement,” Judith said, gritting her teeth. “I told you about it on the phone a couple of weeks ago. I wrote it in my Christmas letter. I think I mentioned it in my Thanksgiving card.”

“Oh,
that
hip replacement,” Effie sniffed. “I thought you'd already had it. What's taking you so long?”

“It's the surgery scheduling,” Judith responded patiently. “They have to book so far ahead. You know how it is. You used to work in a hospital.”

“Hunh. It was different then. Doctors didn't try to squeeze in so many procedures or squeeze so much money out of their patients,” Effie asserted. “Medical practice today is a scandal. You'll be lucky if you get out alive.”

Judith glanced at the morning paper on the kitchen table. It contained a brief item about an autopsy being performed on Joan Fremont. In the sports section, there was a story about possible trades to replace the
Seafarers' ace pitcher, Joaquin Somosa. At last Effie McMonigle had said something that Judith didn't feel like contradicting.

Some people weren't lucky. They didn't get out of the hospital alive.

All Judith could hope was that she and Renie wouldn't be among the unlucky ones.

J
UDITH
'
S SURGERY WAS
scheduled for eight-thirty on Monday. Renie's was set for nine-fifteen. Joe and Bill delivered their wives to admitting at the same time. The cousins had worn out the phone lines over the weekend encouraging each other and trying to make light of any potential dangers.

Their husbands chimed in. “Hey, Bill,” Joe said, “we could have hurried this up by driving together and dumping the old, crippled broads from a speeding car.”

“You already called the girls?” Bill said with a straight face.

“You bet,” Joe replied. “Chesty and Miss Bottoms. They're rarin' to go.”

“Not funny,” Judith muttered.

“Nothing's funny this early in the morning,” snarled Renie, who usually didn't get up until ten o'clock.

Nor did Good Cheer Hospital's forbidding exterior live up to its name. Built shortly after the turn of the last century, the large, dark redbrick edifice with its looming dome and wrought-iron fences looked more like a medieval castle than a haven for healing. Judith half expected to wait for a draw
bridge to come down before driving over a moat into the patient drop-off area.

Renie, who was bundled up in a purple hooded coat, shuddered as she got out of the Joneses' Toyota Camry. “Why couldn't we go to our HMO's hospital? This place looks like a morgue.”

“Don't say that,” Judith retorted as Joe helped her into the wheelchair. To make matters worse, it was a damp, dark morning with the rain coming down in straight, steady sheets. “You know why we're here. Our HMO doesn't do orthopedic surgeries anymore. All the hospitals are consolidating their services to save money.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Renie said with an ominous glance at the double doors that automatically opened upon their approach. “It just looks so gloomy. And bleak.”

“It's still a Catholic hospital,” Bill Jones pointed out as he helped Renie through the entrance. “That should be some consolation.”

“Why?” Renie shot back. “The pope's not going to operate on my shoulder.”

Bill wore his familiar beleaguered expression when dealing with his sometimes unreasonable wife, but said nothing as they waited for Joe to wheel Judith inside. The hospital's interior looked almost as old as its exterior. Over the years, the Sisters of Good Cheer had put all their money into equipment and staff. As long as the building was structurally sound and hygienically safe, the nuns saw no reason to waste funds on cosmetic improvements. Thus, great lengths of pipes were exposed, door frames were the original solid stained wood, and though the walls had been repainted many times, the color remained the same institutional shade of bilious green that long-dead patients and staff had endured almost a hundred years before.

There was no one around to meet the Flynns and the Joneses. A wooden sign with flaking gold lettering and an arrow pointed to admitting, on their right. They turned the corner and almost collided with a robot that was sending off loud beeping signals.

“That's new,” Judith remarked. “I wonder what it does.”

“My name is Robbie,” the robot said in a mechanical voice. One metal arm reached out as if to snatch Renie's big black handbag.

“Watch it, Robbie, or I'll FedEx you to the scrap heap,” Renie threatened.

“My name is Robbie,” the robot repeated. The steel creature kept moving, giving and asking no quarter.

“I hope he's not one of the surgeons,” Judith said.

“We should ask if he's covered for malpractice,” Joe said as they approached the admitting desk.

A nurse in traditional uniform and white cap sat next to a nun in a modified habit that consisted of a navy blue suit, white blouse, and navy and white veil and coif. The Sisters of Good Cheer were relatively conservative in their attitude toward apparel. As long as they wore habits, the nurses who worked for them would wear uniforms. “May we help you?” the nurse inquired with a strained smile.

“Let's hope so,” Joe replied. “We're checking our wives in.” He gestured at Judith and Renie.

“Jones,” said Bill. “Serena. Rotator cuff surgery.” He pointed to the carefully lettered yellow Post-it note on Renie's sweater. Overcautious as ever, Bill had written, “Serena Jones, right shoulder, allergic to nuts, peanuts, and morphine, inclined to complain.”

“Flynn,” said Joe. “Judith. Right-hip replacement.” He cast a worried look at Judith's side. Maybe, she thought, he was wishing he'd stuck a note on her, too.

Renie nudged Judith. “I guess we checked our voices at the door.”

The nun looked at a computer screen. “They're right,” she said to the nurse. “Jones and Flynn, Drs. Ming and Alfonso.”

“Whew,” Renie said facetiously. “I'm sure glad we're the right people.”

Bill poked her in the ribs. “Don't say anything. Let them do their jobs.”

Renie scowled at Bill. “I was only trying to lighten the—”

Bill poked her again, and Renie shut up.

The nurse handed several forms to Joe and Bill. “Have your wives fill these out over in the reception area. We'll call their names when the doctors are ready.”

“What are these?” Renie asked, despite the glower from Bill.

“Medical information,” the nurse responded. “Consent forms. Releases.”

“Release from what?” Renie inquired, resisting Bill's efforts to propel her away from the desk.

“Consent to the procedure,” the nurse said, looking impatient. “Releasing the hospital from responsibility in case you expire.”

“Expire?” Renie blanched. “As in…croak?”

“Let's go,” Bill muttered, his jaw set.

Joe had already wheeled Judith into the waiting area. “Did Renie say ‘croak'?” she asked her husband.

“It sounded like ‘croak,'” Joe answered in his breeziest manner. “Of course, it might have been ‘joke' or ‘Coke' or ‘cloak.'”

Judith looked down at the forms that Joe had put in her lap. “She said ‘croak.' If I croak, it's not their fault.
I wonder how Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont feel about that? I mean, I wonder how their families feel?”

“Glum,” Joe replied. “Just fill the damned things out and let's get on with it.”

“Aren't you and Bill being a bit callous?” Judith demanded.

“No,” Joe asserted. “Those were flukes. Didn't the newspaper hint that Joan Fremont had been doing some drugs? She was an actress, Somosa was an athlete. I once worked in Vice. I know how that goes. It's all show biz, and a lot of those people get involved in drugs, both legal and otherwise.”

Judith wasn't reassured, but she stopped arguing. Renie had also gone silent, laboriously trying to sign the forms with her crippled right arm. The cousins had just finished when they were joined by a tall, handsome, middle-aged man and a wispy blonde woman about the same age. The man looked vaguely familiar to Judith.

Bill, who had an excellent memory for faces, caught her curious glance. “Bob Randall,” he said in a low voice. “Former Sea Auk quarterback.”

“Ramblin' Randall,” Joe murmured, with an admiring glance for the three-time all-pro. “I'll be damned. Maybe I'll shake his—”

“Judith Flynn?” a plump young nurse called out.

“Here,” Judith responded. “I think.”

“We're ready for you.” The nurse smiled, then nodded at Joe. “Is this Mr. Flynn? He can come along, if he likes.”

“He does,” Judith said firmly.

Joe lingered. “Can I catch up with you in a minute? I'd like to introduce myself to—”

“Joe!” Judith cried as the nurse began wheeling her away. “I really need you!”

Reluctantly, Joe trudged after his wife. Judith arrived at a large room with several curtained partitions. It looked like a busy day at Good Cheer. At least four other patients were already being prepared for surgery. Directly across the way from Judith's cubicle, an elderly woman was making her confession to an equally elderly priest. Judith's spirits plunged.

“I should have had Father Hoyle anoint me or something,” she murmured. “Is it too late?”

“You mean before that old duffer keels over?” Joe responded with a nod in the priest's direction. “I don't know. He could go at any minute.”

Judith scowled at Joe. “I'm serious. Go ask him to come here when he's done with that woman's confession.”

The nurse began to take Judith's vital signs. Another nurse arrived to draw her blood. A third nurse showed up with a hospital gown, a paper hat, and a pair of socks with treads on the bottom. The first nurse asked Judith if she had voided.

“Voided?” Judith echoed in alarm. “Voided what?”

“Have you gone to the bathroom recently?” the nurse inquired with a gentle smile.

“Oh. Yes, just before I left home.”

Judith tried to relax, but it wasn't easy with all the poking and probing. She had just put on the gown, the hat, and the socks when the anesthesiologist arrived.

“I'm Dr. Bunn,” said the young man, who looked too young to be on his own without his mother. “Here's what we're going to do…”

The curtains had been opened again after Judith changed. She could see Joe strolling casually up and down the floor, still waiting for the elderly woman to finish her confession. Judith wondered if the old girl
was recounting every sin since childhood. Finally the priest appeared to be giving absolution. Judith sighed with relief.

At that moment, Bob Randall entered, supporting the wispy woman with his famous right arm. His wife, Judith thought vaguely. The poor woman looked as if she were about to meet the Grim Reaper. Maybe she was. Judith said a quick prayer for Mrs. Randall.

Dr. Bunn had finished his explanation, which Judith had only half heard. The priest was standing up. Well, Judith noted, at least he was
trying
to stand up. The poor man looked very unsteady.

Judith turned to see if Joe had noticed. He was nowhere in sight. Then, on the other side of the curtain, she heard her husband's voice.

“Bob,” said Joe, sounding unusually hearty, “excuse me, but I want to thank you for all the years of pleasure and excitement you gave us when you quarterbacked the…”

The priest was tottering away. Judith heard Bob Randall's booming voice in reply: “Flynn, eh? Great to meet you. After fifteen years out of the league, you sometimes think nobody remembers…”

Dr. Bunn had stepped aside as one of the nurses began an IV in Judith's left hand. “Doctor,” Judith said in a plaintive voice, “could you get my husband from the next cubicle?”

“Hold on there,” Dr. Bunn said in a soothing voice. “He'll be right along. At the moment, he'd be in the way.”

“But I wanted to…” Judith began, then heard Joe bidding Bob Randall good-bye.

“Good luck with the knee,” Joe said, and suddenly appeared from the other side of the curtain. “Hey,
Jude-girl, Bob Randall's having knee surgery this morning. You know how it is with quarterbacks. The knees always seem to give out. He's a really great guy.”

Judith felt for Joe's hand. “I thought his wife was the one who…” Judith felt drowsy. “Joe, can you find that…”

Judith felt nothing.

 

She awoke nearly seven hours later in the recovery room, staring at Renie. “Coz,” Judith said thickly. “Hi.”

“Unh,” Renie replied and blinked twice.

“We're…alive,” Judith said, her voice sounding very strange.

“So far,” Renie replied, also unlike herself.

Judith's eyes came into focus. Her gaze traveled to the end of the bed. Joe was standing there, along with a nurse Judith didn't recognize.

“Hi,” Joe said. He sounded different, too, almost shy. Judith concentrated harder on his face. He looked pale. She looked in Renie's direction. Bill was by her bed, also looking pale. Both Joe and Bill had ruddy complexions. Could they actually have been worried about their wives?

“How do you feel, Mrs. Flynn?” the gray-haired nurse inquired.

“Okay,” Judith replied, despite the fact that she was too woozy to know. “Hi, Joe.”

With a quick glance at the nurse, Joe came around to the side of the bed, almost bumping into Bill. “You're going to be fine,” he said, taking her hand. “I've already seen Dr. Alfonso.”

“Good,” Judith sighed, wishing she could feel relieved, but not feeling much of anything.

Across the aisle, Dr. Ming was hovering over Renie. Judith tried to hear what he was saying, but couldn't. A moment later, Renie was being rolled out of the recovery room, with Bill trailing an orderly, a nurse, and Dr. Ming.

“Where's she gone?” Judith asked in alarm.

“To her room,” Joe replied. “Renie's surgery was only three and a half hours. Yours was almost six, plus it was after nine before they actually started.”

“Ohmigod!” Judith shut her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Does it matter?” Joe smiled. “It's going on four o'clock. Here.” He proffered a plastic cup. “Drink some water.”

Judith had trouble getting her lips around the straw. “It's hard,” she moaned.

Dr. Alfonso, looking as exhausted as Judith, approached the bed. Or was it a gurney? Judith couldn't tell; didn't care.

“You'll be up and dancing soon,” he said with the hint of a twinkle in his dark eyes.

“Hunh,” said Judith.

“I've talked to your husband and given him all the details,” Dr. Alfonso went on, pushing a swatch of silver hair under the shower-cap-like hat he still wore. His blue scrubs were spattered with blood; Judith involuntarily shuddered when she realized the stains probably came from her. “I'm taking a lunch break now,” the doctor said, “but I'll be in to see you before I go off duty.” Dr. Alfonso jabbed at the plastic cup. “Keep drinking as much as you can. You need plenty of fluids to keep from becoming dehydrated.”