Waking Anastasia (14 page)

“Well, that’s one of things we don’t know, and now that you’re awake, I’ll page the doctor. As soon as he arrives at the hospital he’ll come up and ask some questions. Hopefully he’ll even answer a few.”

“Gee, that’d be nice. What time is it?”

“Almost eight in the morning. Why don’t you lie back and relax and I’ll page Dr. Kelly? I’m sure you’re hungry, but we’ll wait to see what the doctor says before we bring in breakfast. He may need you to fast for some tests. Relax. If you need anything, the call button is here on your left.” She held up the call button strapped to the bed frame.

“Sure. Thanks.” He was suddenly exhausted, like someone had cut his strings. “Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a bit, until the Doc gets in.”

“Good idea.” Before Stephanie had finished opening the curtains and shifting the two chairs back from the bed, Jerry was snoring.

EVENTUALLY JERRY DREAMED
, and in his dream Ana pulled on his foot, trying to coax him off of the couch to go for another walk. But even as his dream gave way to reality, the gentle shaking of his foot continued. Crawling up from the dream, Jerry struggled to open his eyes only to find a short, round man somewhere over forty, standing beside the foot of the bed, shaking his foot.

“Hunh?”

“Jerry. Hello. I’m Doctor Izzy Kelly, the neuro-oncologist looking into your problem. I’m sorry to wake you, but Stephanie said you’ve already been awake and alert, and although I’m sure you’d like a bit more sleep, I didn’t want to put this chat off any longer.”

“Hi.”

“How do you feel?”

“‘Stupid’ is the first word that comes to mind.”

“No need to think like that, Jerry. What happened is quite common. What we need to know is how long have you been getting these headaches, how long do they last, is there any numbness associated with the pain, and how bad do they usually get?”

“That’s a lot of questions for first thing in the A.M., Doc. Um, how
bad
do they get?”

“Yes. Do you often lose consciousness, vomit, or experience temporary blindness?”

“And what if I answer ‘yes’ to any or all of these questions?” The line of questioning was starting to worry him. A neurologist wouldn’t be here if the headaches were caused by nitrates in his smoked meat or caffeine in his morning brew.

“Then it gives me an idea of which direction to take with your tests.”

“You have a hunch, don’t you?”

“There’s a shadow on your x-rays that I want a closer look at, so the next thing is an MRI.”

“A shadow? There’s something in my head?”

“That’s what the MRI will help determine. There are a variety of different possibilities and not all are as serious as you’re thinking, so let’s relax, and take it all one step at a time. Now, have you had any memory problems, such as trouble with names of people or places you should absolutely know?”

“I don’t mean to be a smartass, but not that I can remember.”

“Okay. How about confusion, unexplained exhaustion, loss of sense of smell?”

“Well, I’m new to town so I’m often lost or confused; it’s a new job and I just drove three thousand miles to get here, so that probably explains my exhaustion; and when my allergies act up I couldn’t smell a dirty diaper if it was on my dinner plate.”

The neurologist laughed. “I’ve never heard it put quite that way before, but I understand what you’re saying. How are your allergies now?”

“Since I arrived on the coast, they’ve been great. Still no problems with my sniffer, though. Are these all things I should be thinking about, aware of?”

“Simply put, yes. If you or anyone close to you notices changes in any of these areas, they are certainly indicators of a possibly more serious health issue. Also, facial paralysis, double vision, and unusual mood swings. These are all things I want you to be aware of, Jerry.”

“How long am I stuck here, Doc?”

“Noon, at the latest. I’ve got a prescription for you to try, and it should keep any future pain from becoming so debilitating.”

“Thank God. Puking and passing out were fine hobbies in college but I’d like something a bit more constructive to do in my spare time now.”

“Excellent, because I’m a firm believer that a patient’s attitude can affect the speed of their healing.”

“Then call Billy Graham, cuz I’m ready to heal, Brother Izzy.”

The doctor laughed warmly. “Yes, Jerry, I do believe you are.”

TRUE TO HIS
word, Dr. Kelly had Jerry discharged by noon, with the MRI scheduled for the following Wednesday. Strapped into the passenger seat of Manny’s Land Cruiser, Jerry watched the orderly push the wheelchair he’d just vacated back through the hospital’s main doors. Although it was midday, cloud-cover darkened the day, and as Manny moved the vehicle out of the pick-up zone, a light drizzle started. His headache was gone, but Jerry was still exhausted, and he suspected part of it was the fear of what the neurologist might find.

“Don’t take it personally if I doze off, Manny. I really do appreciate all you’re doing. Tell Mika I’m sorry I scared her. Just a bad headache.”

“No worries, Jerr. We’re not far from the loft but you go ahead and get some shut eye. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“Thanks.” He closed his eyes and between the soft intermittent flap of the windshield wipers and the gentle rocking of the Land Cruiser, Jerry was soon asleep, again.

JERRY WOKE UP
just as Manny turned down Broad Street, approaching the loft. He shook the drowsiness off slowly, and was ready to face the world by the time Manny parked the SUV. The rain was pounding down now and Manny made him wait while he came around to the passenger side with a black umbrella huge enough to shelter both of them and a small Fiat as well.

“Carmella would have my hide if I let you get wet and catch pneumonia, lad.”

Jerry laughed, but stayed next to Manny as they strode through the rain. “I’m sure she would. Thanks.”

Manny let Jerry lead the way up the stairs to the loft, and Jerry was hard-pressed not to run up them two at a time. He wanted to make sure he opened the door to warn Ana they had company before the company could actually catch sight of her. He fumbled with the keys to stall their entrance, but Manny was standing back a yard, leaning the closed, wet umbrella up against the balustrade of the stairway. Jerry spoke loudly enough so that Ana might hear him and clue-in that he wasn’t alone.

“So, the staff must think I’m a real girly-boy, fainting on my real first day on the new job.”

“Not at all, Jerr. We all know about headaches, especially over the holidays. The tones I heard were all concern, not mockery—even the ones they didn’t know I could hear.” He smiled mischievously.

They entered the loft and Jerry was relieved to not be greeted by a flying royal ghost. He glanced up and around, trying to search for Ana without letting Manny know he was looking for anything. He checked the ceiling while taking off his coat and hanging it up, but no Ana.

“Thanks for the lift, Manny. Can I offer you a coffee?”

“Glass o’ water’d be just fine, Jerr. Get a bit dry in winter.” Manny hung up his own coat and took a couple steps into the loft.

“This is hardly winter—no snow up to your ass.” Jerry gestured to the sink and then the fridge. “You want tap or filtered?”

“Tap is fine, lad, and I can get it myself.”

“I can get water, Man—” Jerry started around the end of the island but Manny waved him off.

“I’m sure you can, but you aren’t bloody going to. Relax. Doctor’s orders.”

“Everyone keeps telling me to ‘relax’. Really, the headache is gone. I feel great.”

“That’s nice. Now sit down before I knock you down, mate.”

Jerry chuckled, giving up the fight. “Yessir, Boss. I’ll sit my ass down. Is here okay, Boss?” He planted himself on the couch.

“Bloody kids. Do you want one, too?”

“Sure. I’m good with anything caffeine-free, or so says the doc. No ice, though, thanks.”

Manny fetched two glasses from the cupboard, let the cold tap water run for a minute and then filled the two glasses. He brought them over to the sitting area and handed Jerry one of them before lowering himself into a chair.

“Thanks.” Jerry took a distracted sip then put the glass down on a coaster. The book wasn’t where he’d left it on the coffee table. He peeked under the magazines on the table top and then checked under the table itself. When he still had no luck, he slipped off the couch and looked underneath.

“Whatcha looking for, Jerr?”

“A book I was reading this morning.” Not finding it under the couch, he sat back up, looking around, trying to think where it might be.

“I didn’t see any books in the kitchen, Jerr, but I’ll go take another look.” Manny slowly levered his lanky frame up from the chair and looked.

Jerry shook his head, confused. “I was sure it was sitting right here on the table when I left for work yesterday.”

“Not in the kitchen, either. Guess you’ll have to read one of those magazines instead.” He returned to the chair. “At least you don’t live with someone like my Carmella, who puts my crap away before it even hits the coffee table. Your book’ll show up, lad. It’s probably sitting next to the loo.”

“Yeah, maybe.” But not possible, Jerry thought. The one thing he was sure of was that he didn’t take Ana into the bathroom with him, but he got up to check anyway, just in case.

Manny looked under the magazines, too. “Get back—what are you doing?! It’s only a bloody book, mate.”

Jerry came out of the bathroom, shaking his head. “It’s not really my book. Sort of a loaner.”

“Was it in there?”

“No.”

“Maybe you took it to work . . . and don’t even think about going there to look, cuz I’m on my way there and I’ll check your office for you myself. Like I said—it’ll pop up.”

Jerry tried to appear relaxed but was starting to worry. “Yeah, you’re right. Look, I appreciate you picking me up and bringing me home, Manny. I think I should relax. Maybe even have a nap.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Nap, sleep, kick back and watch porn—whatever you do to wind down. I’ll see you after your days off.” He got back out of the chair and retrieved his coat.

“Definitely, Manny. Does porn help you relax?”

“I’m married to an amazing woman, Jerr—I have no need for the likes of pornography.” His expression was neutral but Jerry saw a twinkle in his eyes. He opened the door and stepped into the hall, picking up the still dripping umbrella. “Now rest. I’ll update everyone at work so they don’t keep calling to see how you’re doing.”

“Thanks. Çiao, Manny.” He stood in the doorway and watched as the tall Aussie descended the stairs and exited out into the downpour, popping the umbrella up before stepping onto the sidewalk. As soon as his boss was out of sight, Jerry ducked back into the apartment and locked the door. “Shit, shit, shit!”

@TheTaoOfJerr: “Music produces a kind of pleasure which human nature cannot do without.”

~Confucius

JERRY RAMPED HIS
search up a couple of notches. He moved furniture, yanked off the seat cushions, stripped the bed, and emptied half-filled book shelves in a fruitless effort to find Ana. After an hour, exhausted, he grabbed his jacket and headed out into the rain. He had no idea how she could have left the loft, but he would search until he found her. For all he knew, Ana went for a walk and couldn’t find her way back. He headed straight for the one area he knew Ana knew—the Inner Harbour.

SITTING AT THE
base of the statue of Queen Victoria, Jerry ignored the cold, sporadic drizzle as he numbly stared out at the monstrous private yacht moored in the Inner Harbour. Periodically he took out his iPhone to make sure the ringer volume was turned up. This numbness and phone-checking pattern went on for almost an hour before he decided, in some deep recess of his brain, to keep walking.

So he walked. He walked the path that he and Ana had walked two days ago. Then he walked streets and lanes he had never seen before. After an hour he was still walking, sullen and listless. The rain stopped and a fog rolled in, but Jerry didn’t notice. Even as the fog thickened and the dark, clinging sensation in the air around him was one that would have suited Jack the Ripper, Jerry wandered on autopilot, led by some inner compass. Had anyone stopped and asked him where he was going he would have had no answer. In that mental and physical fog, he didn’t even know where he was or where he’d been, until he was standing on the street in front of The Ipatiev House Antiques.

Recognition dawned slowly and he shuffled forward until his forehead leaned against the glass door of the shop. His breath was long and slow and a little ragged with the cold and damp, and after a minute of leaning, he stumbled away in silence, making for the loft.

Once he left the antique store he found the loft easily enough. There was still no sign of Ana when he dropped his wet coat on the floor, peeled off his damp clothes, and flopped into bed, naked, pulling the covers up tight around him. Somehow he managed to keep the phone with him and it lay on the comforter next to him, a silent sentinel.