Water from Stone - a Novel (3 page)

“Ay, ay, ay ay ay!” They shoot through another intersection. They are closing in on the hospital and the cabby stomps the accelerator. “Hold on lady, no baby, we’re there, we’re there.” They swerve around a meter maid’s cart and just miss a man in the middle of a crosswalk. The man jumps back and flips them the bird. As Lindsey watches in horror, the cabby pushes out the window, his own finger raised, and he yells back, “You stupid, you stupid!”

“Watch out!” Lindsey screams.

The driver swivels forward, but it is too late to stop. He spins the wheel to the left. They narrowly avoid a front-end impact with a cement truck. He slams on the brakes. Rather than stopping, the car begins a long, graceful slide into the intersection. They pass a bus disgorging its passengers, miss a stretch limo that speeds up to make the light, and, just as it seems the car will come to a safe stop halfway down the block from where it began its pilot-less adventure, another car, speeding in from the opposite direction, clips the cab’s front bumper, but enough, just enough, to send the car spinning violently and uncontrollably off into a new direction. Screaming, the cabby throws his arms up into the air.

Lindsey’s water ruptures as she is propelled into the Plexiglas partition that separates the front seat from the back.

Two

Jack.

Jack squares his shoulders and steps back into the courtroom. The judge delayed the start of the trial for an hour while they waited for Elena to arrive with the Lanski tape. And then Judge Gordon called both attorneys into his chambers to hear the tape and to argue about what to do. Krillov’s attorney, of course, wanted a mistrial. Jack wanted a delay. The judge listened to both arguments and told the attorneys to return in two hours while he considered.

Jack takes his place at the Plaintiff’s table and sits. His second chair, Leonard Duncan, leans in. “Well?”

“He said…”

“All rise for the Honorable Judge Gordon,” the bailiff calls from the front of the courtroom.

Jack barely listens as the judge repeats his decision. They will have just twenty-four hours to find Lanski. If Jack can’t produce him, the judge will declare a mistrial. This is about the worst news Jack can imagine. Sure, Judge Gordon threw him a bone, but there is little chance of finding Lanski in such a short time. And even if he does find him, Jack will have to convince Lanski to come to court and face the man who terrorized his child. The gallery, which is filled to capacity with reporters and the families of the wronged, erupts in pandemonium at the judge’s news.

“Jackson?” the voice is tentative, as is the hand on his arm. It is the moment Jack has dreaded, having to face a client whose case is going to hell. He is too honest to paste a fake smile on his face, but nor does he want this woman to worry. Well, to worry even more.

Jack turns to her. Mrs. Sergeyevich was the first to sue Krillov. Her only son, Pasha, had done something to really piss off the man. A year after Pasha emigrated to the States, Krillov followed him, found him and punished him. Not content to simply torture the guy and kill him quickly, Krillov had forced him to drink gallons of tainted cow’s blood. For the next couple of years, Mrs. Sergeyevich had cared for her son while prions turned his brain to mush. “I’ve nothing left to live for,” she’d enunciated each word carefully at their first meeting.

In her polished low heels, she is barely five feet tall, more than a foot shorter than Jack. He takes her hands in his and bends so that she does not have to look up so far. “It’s not great news,” he says. “But it will be OK.”

She studies his face for a long moment. In her faded eyes, Jack sees pain, but behind that, resolution. “You will make it good?”

Jack nods. “I will make it good.”

It takes a long while for the courtroom to clear. Several more clients want to talk to Jack and, though he feels the mounting pressure of time slipping away, he reassures them.  When they are gone, he drops back into his chair at the Plaintiff’s table and looks over the boxes of files that Leonard has packed up. “We good to go?”

“Yeah. Amy’s coming up and Joe’s with her,” Leonard says, referring to two of their trial assistants. “If you want to head back to the office, we’ll take care of the files.” 

Jack senses the man before he looks up. Krillov. He ignores the manicured hand that Krillov has stretched out to him.

“Well,” Krillov says. “So be it.”

Krillov’s eyes are the color of concrete and just as dull. As Jack returns their stare, the hairs on the back of his neck rise and his lip twitches with the primitive urge to bare his teeth. As if sensing his effect, Krillov smiles. It is not a reassuring look. He gestures to the boxes of files. “Such an idealistic man,” Krillov says. “You Americans place so much value on idealism.”

“What do you want, Krillov?”

“What do I want? Well, for one thing, I want to extend my condolences to your client as I doubt I will be seeing him any time soon. Such a pity when children are forced to play at adult games.”

Behind Jack, Leonard drops a box of files and Jack shifts instinctively to block him from launching across the table. He meets Krillov’s stare. “We’ll see you tomorrow,” Jack says and begins lifting the boxes to the table.

But Krillov won’t leave. He watches Jack stack another box and then says, “Yes, tomorrow. But for today, let me be the first to congratulate you on the birth of your child.”

The box in Jack’s hands thumps to the table. “What did you say?”

“I see you have not yet heard the good news.” Krillov’s teeth are perfectly white, perfectly straight. He has a movie star’s smile, yet on him the effect is all wrong. “Your wife left for the hospital hours ago.”

Jack’s hands grip the handles of the banker’s box. He knows Krillov is fucking with him, but he does not want the man to even mention Lindsey.

“And here I thought it was a happy event,” Krillov says. “Good day, Counselor.”

***

As the gate swings behind Krillov, Jack digs through his briefcase for his cell phone. “Come on, come on, come on,” he says while he waits for it to boot up. “Leonard, get Elena on your phone. Come on, Lindsey, pick up.”

Jack lets the call go into voice mail and then tries her number again. She doesn’t answer but, beside him, Leonard is talking to Elena. Jack snaps his phone shut and grabs Leonard’s. “Here, call Sy,” he says, tossing Leonard his phone. “He’s in the contact list. Lainie? Talk to me.”

“I just got back from lunch and there’s a message here to get hold of you. She left for the hospital more than an hour ago.”

Jack closes his eyes and he inhales deeply, mentally shifting through all that needs to happen in too short a time. “OK, look,” he begins.

***

Jack slips through the back corridors of the courthouse, leaving Leonard to talk to the reporters who will be waiting for a statement, and hopes he can find a cab on the side street.

The humidity sucker-punches him as he pushes through the courthouse doors. Sweat gathers at his temples and under his arms. He scans the traffic but doesn’t see a cab. At the curb, he shrugs out of his suit coat and jogs toward the next avenue, arm raised.

“Mr. Westfield.” Jack turns at the sound of his name. “Over here.”

Joseph, the driver he hired for Lindsey, is standing alongside the Town Car on the opposite side of the street. Jack’s first thought is that Lindsey must have sent the car for him after she was dropped off at the hospital. Thankful, he weaves through the stalled traffic to the car.  “She make it to the hospital OK?” he asks.

Joseph has the back door open for Jack. He shakes his head. “Who? What?”

“My wife, didn’t you take her to the hospital?”

“No, I’ve been waiting here. For you.”

“But you’re supposed to be available for my wife. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Joseph says. “You just said to bring you here. I thought I was supposed to wait for you.”

Jack tries to remember if he told the man to go or to wait. He’d been on the phone with Lainie and Sy the entire ride to the courthouse. He knows he intended to send Joseph right back to the apartment building, but he can’t remember if he’d actually said the words. Now he realizes that not only hadn’t he been with Lindsey for the ride to the hospital, as he’d promised her he’d be, but she’d had to find her own way there. “Get me to the hospital,” he says as he throws his briefcase and jacket across the seat. “I don’t care if you have to drive on the sidewalk, just get me there quickly.”

***

Jack reaches under the glass partition and disconnects the receptionist’s phone.

“What the hell?” she says.

“I’ve been waiting ten minutes. I’m looking for my wife.”

The receptionist, a meaty blonde with a hairlip scar, punches at her phone. “And you’re gonna be waiting a lot longer,” she says.

Jack entered the hospital through the general admissions door. There, he’d been redirected to the Emergency Room. Tension tightens his chest. “Look, I’m just trying to find my wife. Lindsey Westfield? She’s having a baby.”

But the receptionist waves at him to be quiet as she takes another phone call.

“Jack!”

Jack turns. Naomi, Lindsey’s best friend, waves to him across the crowded waiting room. Above the din of Emergency Room drama, he hears the punctuated clack-clack of her heels as she hurries to him. “Oh, Jesus, Jack,” Naomi says. The fear in her bottle-green eyes is contagious. 

Jack grips her arms and holds her away from him. “Naomi? Where’s Lindsey? What’s going on?”

“There’s been an accident,” she says. “Lindsey, she’s hurt.”

Hurt can mean so many things. “What? How?”

“Mr. Westfield?”

Jack turns at the sound of his name. A nurse, in full surgical scrubs, including a cap and mask, holds one side of the double swinging doors open. Her uniform is spotted with blood. He looks back at Naomi, uncomprehending, but her skin has lost all color and she is shaking her head, no.

“Is there a Mr. Westfield here?” the nurse calls. “Jack Westfield?”

The Emergency Room is filled with sick and injured people. Jack steps over the feet of a slumbering man whose splayed legs block the aisle between rows of hard plastic chairs. “I’m Jack Westfield,” he says. “Do you know where my wife is?

“Please follow me.” The nurse turns as soon as Jack reaches her and hurries down a wide corridor. Jack and Naomi take off after her.

“Wait!” Jack lunges and grabs the nurse’s arm, stopping her. “What’s going on? Where’s my wife?” He tightens his grip and holds her in place, forcing her to look at him.

“She’s in the operating room. Please, sir, Dr. Harding wants to speak with you.” She pulls her arm free and hurries away. Around another corner, they come to E.O.R. #4. The nurse pushes the door open with her shoulder and calls, “He’s here.”

Jack pushes past the nurse into the scrub room. On the other side of the glass partition, a mob of scrubs-clad bodies surround an operating table. Jack freezes. “Lindsey,” he says. The nurse tugs at his arm, but Jack feels the draw of his wife. He pushes through the double swinging doors into the operating room. His voice is strangled as he calls again, “Lindsey?”

“Get him the hell out of here,” a voice barks and Jack feels himself being pulled away.

“Please, let me see her,” he begs. He stumbles backward as he is pulled out to the corridor.

“You can’t go in there,” the nurse says and blocks the doors. “Please. The doctor will be right out.”

Short of knocking her over, Jack is forced to wait. He paces.
What could have gone wrong?
He rounds on the nurse. “Look, just tell me, what was the accident? What happened?”

“There was a car crash.” She shakes her head. “That’s all I know.”

“Ah, Christ.” He knows instantly that this, whatever this is, is his fault. Naomi reaches for him, but Jack pushes her away. “I took the car,” he tells her. “I took the fucking car.”

“Jack.”

He turns. Dr. Harding is pulling the mask from her face. Her scrubs, too, have blood on them. Jack wonders whose blood it is.

“Sara, what’s going on? How’s Lindsey?”

Dr. Harding, a long-time friend of the family, reaches up and captures Jack’s arms in her strong hands. “Jack,” she insists, her eyes searching for his. “Listen, you can’t fall apart right now. I need your undivided attention. Can you give it to me?”

The urgency in her voice sobers him. He inhales deeply and nods.

“Lindsey was in a car accident. It was pretty bad and when she arrived here, she was unconscious. We think there’s hemorrhaging somewhere in her brain, but we can’t know where until we can do a scan.”

“So? What’s the problem? Do it!” His eyes search her face.

“What about the baby?” Naomi asks. “How’s the baby?”

Sara’s eyes never leave Jack’s. “The baby’s in severe distress and I need to do an immediate C-section, or she could die.” Her voice gentles, “The problem is, that we can’t do both at once. The baby can’t wait for the brain scan, and the scan can’t wait for the baby.”

The horror of her words unravels in his mind. “What are you saying?”

“You’re her Health Care Surrogate. We need you to direct us.”

Jack shakes his head, trying to deny what he thinks she is saying. “Are you kidding me?” he manages.

“I’m sorry, Jack, but that’s what she indicated on her health care directive. If she somehow becomes incapacitated, she wanted you to make all medical decisions for her.”

He flashes back to the trust they’d set up when they’d first gotten married, the Health Care Directives they’d signed appointing each other as surrogate. A copy of that form would be in Lindsey’s pre-admittance package in the maternity ward. His body goes cold, his focus narrowing to one simple truth. “I need Lindsey,” he says.

Sara’s eyes probe his and then her grip on his arms loosens. She appears disappointed, but nods, once, and turns to leave.

“Wait!” Naomi stops her. “What do you suggest? What do you think is best? You’re her doctor.”

“No, no.” Jack pushes Sara toward the doors. “Go!”

“Dammit, Jack, think! Lindsey’ll never forgive you if you let anything happen to that baby! Sara, tell him.”

Dr. Harding’s voice drops, “Jack, I think I can save the baby. If I go back there right now.”

“And Lindsey?” Naomi says. “Please, can you save Lindsey?”

“I don’t know.” But Sara is shaking her head, no. “Jack?”

Pain grips his chest as her message reaches him.

“Jack?” Sara snaps. “I’m sorry, but I need an answer.”

He turns to Naomi but she is shaking her head and he knows that she, too, understands Sara’s underlying message. “I can’t, Jack. I’m sorry.”

“Jack, I have to go back in there. Now.”

I want eight kids, Lindsey once told him. We’ll have two, and then we’ll adopt six more. That’s a lot of kids, Jack had replied. Well, I’ve got a lot of love, she’d said, and after that Jack had accepted that they’d have eight kids. “Save her baby,” he says. “Lindsey wants her baby.”

***

Jack and Naomi are not alone in the small waiting room off of the Emergency Operating Rooms. A young couple waits for their son to have a Lego removed from his nose. A woman and her four adult children and their spouses wait for word of her husband. Jack understands that they are the taxi driver’s family, but they know as little about the accident as he does, so he ignores them as he paces. He looks up when his name is called. Lindsey’s parents, Amanda and Stan, hurry through the waiting room doors. He takes a deep breath and moves to them.

“Jack?” Amanda reaches for him and Jack gathers Lindsey’s mother in a hug. She is shaking.

“She’s a fighter,” Jack whispers into Amanda’s hair. “She’s a fighter.”