Suture Self (9 page)

“This,” said Renie, holding out her left arm, “is not a restful place. On TV I've seen war zones in Bosnia that were more peaceful. Speaking of TV, what's the interview down the hall all about?”

“I'm not sure,” Heather answered a bit nervously. “I gather Mrs. Van Boeck has taken it upon herself to speak out on the hospital's behalf.”

“In defense of Good Cheer, huh?” Renie said before the nurse popped the thermometer in her mouth.

“Something like that,” Heather replied.

“Is Blanche Van Boeck on the hospital's board of directors?” Judith inquired.

“No,” Heather responded. “Since Dr. Van Boeck is chief of staff, that would be a conflict of interest.”

“How long has Dr. Van Boeck held that position?” Judith asked.

Heather cocked her head to one side. “Mmm…Nine years? I trained at this hospital, and he was chief of staff when I started seven years ago.”

Raised voices could be heard in the hall. Heather turned toward the door, her forehead furrowed in apprehension.

“…no right to speak out on this issue,” an angry male voice shouted. “I'll take this before the board.”

A woman's shrill laugh cut through the air like jagged glass. “Don't be silly, Peter. As a member of the city council, I have a right to speak out.”

Judith's eyes widened as the backs of the sable coat and gold turban filled the door. Apparently, the confrontation was taking place just a few feet away.

Heather had removed the thermometer from Renie's mouth and started for the door. Grabbing the nurse's wrist with her good left hand, Renie shot her a warning look.

“Don't even think about closing that door,” Renie ordered.

“Mrs. Jones, you mustn't use physical force,” Heather reprimanded.

“Yes, I must,” Renie declared. “Now shut up.”

The nurse gave Renie a helpless look as the wrangling between Blanche Van Boeck and her unseen male opponent continued.

“…that you're on TV?” Blanche said in her strident voice. “Don't be a fool, Peter. You're not irreplaceable.”

“Garnett?” Judith mouthed at Heather.

The nurse gave a brief, single nod. The sound of a struggle followed next, then what sounded like something breaking. Renie let go of Heather and hurried as fast as she could to the door. She was nearly there when Blanche Van Boeck stumbled backwards into the cousins' room, almost colliding with Renie.

“You'll regret this, Peter,” she shouted as she caught herself on Judith's visitor's chair and her turban fell off onto the commode. Blanche whirled on Renie. “You clumsy idiot, you almost killed me!”

“Gee,” Renie said, eyes wide, “I must be a real failure by Good Cheer standards. Usually, you come to this place, you end up dead.”

“How dare you!” Blanche slammed the door behind her, narrowly missing Dr. Garnett, who was standing on the threshold. “See here, you little twerp, you have no right to cast aspersions on this fine institution. Nurse, put this creature back to bed.”

Heather placed a tentative hand on Renie's left arm. “Mrs. Jones, would you…?”

“No, I wouldn't,” Renie snapped, shaking off Heather's hand. “Listen, Mrs. Big Shot, are you trying to tell me that I can't criticize a hospital where perfectly healthy people die within twenty-four hours after surgery? Or some poor guy gets run down before my very eyes?”

“
You
saw that?” Blanche was taken aback. “Well, he's still alive, isn't he?” She snatched the turban from the commode and jammed it back on her platinum hair.

“Addison Kirby may still be alive,” Renie shot back, “but his wife, Joan, isn't.”

“That was tragic,” Blanche allowed, regaining her composure. “Drugs are a terrible curse.” She spun around toward the door. “As for Mr. Kirby, it's too bad his wife died instead of him. Nobody likes snoopy reporters. Or snoopy patients, either.” With a hand on the doorknob, she threw one last warning glance at Renie and Judith. “I suggest you two keep your so-called suspicions to yourselves.”

Blanche stormed out of the room as Renie glanced at Judith. “Was that a threat?” Renie asked.

Judith winced. “Yes. All things considered, maybe we should take Blanche seriously.”

“I would,” Heather said quietly.

The statement carried more weight than a loaded gun.

T
EN MINUTES LATER
, Dr. Garnett surprised the cousins with a professional visit. “Dr. Ming and Dr. Alfonso are in surgery this afternoon. They asked me to look in on you two.”

Peter Garnett wasn't a true double for Ronald Colman, but he did have the film actor's distinguished air, along with silver hair, a neat mustache, and a debonair manner.

“I think,” Judith said in her pleasantest voice, “we could get more rest if it wasn't so noisy around here. It's been a very hectic day.”

Dr. Garnett was checking Judith's dressing. “Yes…that looks just fine. Can you stand up?”

“Not very well,” Judith said.

“Let's try,” Dr. Garnett said, smiling with encouragement. “Here, sit up and swing around to the edge of the bed, then take hold of me.”

Painfully, Judith obeyed. The doctor eased her slowly into a sitting position. “Now just take some breaths,” he said, still smiling. “Good. Here we go. Easy does it.”

Awkwardly, agonizingly, and unsteadily, Judith found herself rising from the bed. At last, with Dr.
Garnett's firm grasp to support her, she managed to get on her feet. Briefly.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, swaying a bit before sitting down again. “I did it!”

“Of course.” The doctor patted her arm. “You're very weak, you've lost a great deal of blood. Tomorrow we'll see if you can take a few steps.”

“About that noise,” Renie said as Dr. Garnett moved to her bedside, “what was that last to-do about with the KLIP-TV people?”

Dr. Garnett's smile evaporated. “Didn't I see you out in the hall earlier?”

“Probably,” Renie said. “I'm the designated observer. What gives with the TV crew?”

The doctor frowned. “Such nonsense. A hospital ward is no place for the media. It should have been handled in the lobby. Unfortunately, Mrs. Van Boeck decided to act coy, so our patients and staff ended up in the middle of a disruptive situation.”

“Isn't it strange,” Judith queried, “for Mrs. Van Boeck to be speaking on the hospital's behalf?”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Garnett responded as he studied Renie's incision. “However, I must admit that she was instrumental in getting the local hospitals to merge their specialty fields. Still, since her husband's in charge here at Good Cheer, it would have been better to let him do the interview.”

“Oink, oink. Blanche Van Boeck is a publicity hog,” Renie declared.

Dr. Garnett didn't respond to the comment. Instead, he reaffixed Renie's bandage and smiled rather grimly. “You're coming along, Mrs. Jones. You lost a lot of blood, too. You shouldn't be on your feet so much. I
understand you'll start physical therapy Friday morning, before you're discharged.”

“Oh?” Renie looked surprised. “I didn't know when they planned to release me.”

Gently, Dr. Garnett flexed the fingers on Renie's right hand. “That's what Dr. Ming told me. This is Tuesday, you've only got two more full days to go.”

“What about me?” Judith asked from her place on the pillows where she'd finally stopped quivering from exertion.

“You're another matter, Mrs. Flynn,” Dr. Garnett said, his smile more genuine. “Saturday at the earliest, Monday if we think you need some extra time.”

“Oh, dear.” Judith made a face, then tried to smile. “Of course our house has a lot of stairs, so maybe it's just as well.”

The doctor patted Judith's feet where they poked up under the covers. “We don't want to rush things. Besides, it's starting to snow.”

Both Judith and Renie looked out the window. Big, fluffy flakes were sifting past in the gathering twilight.

“You girls behave yourselves,” Dr. Garnett said, moving toward the door. “By the way, what did Mrs. Van Boeck say when she was in your room a while ago?”

Judith grimaced. “She was rather rude.”

“She was a jerk,” Renie put in. “She threatened us.”

“Really?” Dr. Garnett's expression was ambiguous. “That's terrible. Mrs. Van Boeck has no right to intimidate patients. I must speak to Dr. Van Boeck and Sister Jacqueline about her behavior. You're certain it was a threat?”

Judith nodded. “She also said that it was too bad that Joan Fremont died instead of her husband, Addison
Kirby. Mrs. Van Boeck remarked that nobody liked snoopy reporters, especially her, I guess.”

“Yes.” Dr. Garnett seemed to be trying not to look pleased at the cousins' revelations. “I believe that Mr. Kirby has been covering city government for many years. He has been quite critical of Blanche Van Boeck in some of his articles.”

“Maybe,” Renie said, “that's where I got a poor impression of her.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Garnett said in a noncommittal tone.

“Is she dangerous?” Judith asked, feeling rather foolish for asking such a melodramatic question.

But Dr. Garnett seemed to take Judith seriously. “Let's put it this way—Blanche Van Boeck is a very determined, ambitious woman. She has little patience with anyone who stands in her way.”

The doctor's assessment didn't bring any comfort to the cousins.

 

Renie was on the phone with her mother. Somehow Aunt Deb, perhaps threatened by her grandchildren to have the telephone surgically removed from her ear, hadn't yet called her only daughter.

“Yes, Mom,” Renie was saying after the first ten minutes, “I promise not to let the doctors take advantage of me when I'm in this helpless condition…No, I don't have the window open…Yes, I realize it's snowing…Of course it's warm in here…No, I'm not going to wear three pairs of bed socks. One's enough…Really? I'd no idea Mrs. Parker's brother-in-law got frostbite…
After
he was admitted to Norway General? That
is
unusual…”

Judith tried to turn a deaf ear, but the conversation painfully reminded her of not having talked to
Gertrude since she was admitted. Not that her mother would mind; she hated the telephone as much as her sister-in-law adored it. Still, Judith felt guilty for not having called. In her heart of hearts, she missed the old girl, and assumed that the feeling was mutual.

She was about to dial the number in the toolshed when the phone rang under her hand. To her surprise, the caller was Effie McMonigle.

“I don't much like paying these daytime long distance rates,” Judith's mother-in-law declared in a cranky voice, “but I have to go out tonight to the Elks Club with Myron.”

Myron was Effie's long-time companion, a weather-beaten old wrangler with a wooden leg. His tall tales of life in the saddle smacked of romance to Effie, but Judith had always wondered if the closest he'd ever gotten to a horse was taking his grandkids for a ride on the merry-go-round at the county fair.

“It's very sweet of you to call,” Judith said. “How's Myron doing?”

“As best he can,” Effie replied. “Which isn't all that good. Say, I got to thinking, how come you never had an autopsy performed on Dan? He was pretty darned young to pop off like that. I've always wondered.”

“You have?” Judith made a face at Renie, but her cousin was absorbed in trying to explain to Aunt Deb why it wouldn't be a good idea for her to visit at the hospital. “Well, you know,” Judith said in a strained voice, “Dan was quite a bit overweight and he hadn't been well for a long time.”

“He looked fine to me the last I saw of him about six months before he died,” Effie asserted. “'Course he couldn't work, he was too delicate.”

Delicate.
Judith held her head. “Actually, Dan was—”

“So how come?” Effie barked.

“How come what?” Judith responded with a little jump.

“No autopsy.” There was an ominous pause. “I used to be a nurse, remember? Autopsies are routine in such cases.”

The truth was that Judith had been asked if she would like to have an autopsy performed on Dan. She had refused. What was the point? Dan was over four hundred pounds and lived on a diet of Ding-Dongs and grape juice laced with vodka, so it hadn't surprised her in the least when he had expired.

“I wanted to spare him that,” Judith said, though her thoughts were more complicated:
I wanted to spare me that. I just wanted it all to be over. Nineteen years is a long time to be miserable.

“Hunh,” Effie snorted. “It's been on my mind.”

“It shouldn't be,” Judith said, trying not to sound annoyed. “It's been a long time. What good would it have done?”

“I was thinking about Mac and the one on the way,” Effie said, suddenly subdued. “What if Dan had some hereditary disease? Shouldn't Mike and Krissy know about it?”

“Kristin,” Judith corrected. Effie had a point, except in Dan's case, it didn't apply to Mike or little Mac. “It's too late now.”

“Too bad,” Effie said. “These pediatricians today can nip things in the bud.”

“I don't think Dan had anything he could pass on,” Judith said, sounding weary. “Really, it's pointless to fret over something that happened more than ten years ago.”

“Easy for you to say,” Effie shot back. “All I have to do is sit here and think.”

“I thought you were going to the Elks Club with Myron,” Judith said as Renie finally plunked the phone down in its cradle and rubbed her ear.

“Once a month, big thrill,” Effie said with a sharp laugh. “I'm not like you, out running around all over the place and doing as I please.”

“Effie, I'm in the hospital.”

“What?” There was a pause. “Oh—so you are. Well, you know what I mean. Think about what I said, in case Dan had something hereditary. It'll help kill time. Thinking helps me keep occupied. I'd better hang up. This phone bill is going to put me in the poorhouse.”

“Lord help me.” Judith sighed, gazing at Renie, who was lying back on the pillows looking exhausted. “You, too?”

“At least I love my mother,” Renie said in a wan voice, “but having seen you break out into a cold sweat indicated you were talking to Effie McMonigle.”

“That's right,” Judith said. “She wonders why I didn't have an autopsy done on Dan.”

“Before he died? It might have been a smart idea. Maybe you could have figured out what made him tick.”

“Sheesh.” Judith rubbed her neck, trying to undo the kinks that had accumulated. “To think I was putting off calling Mother.”

The door, which had been left ajar, was slowly pushed open. Jim Randall, dusted with snow and carrying a slightly incongruous spring bouquet, stepped into the room and stopped abruptly.

“Oh! Sorry.” He pushed his thick glasses up higher on his nose. “Wrong room.” He left.

“What was that all about?” Renie asked.

“I don't know,” Judith replied, sitting up a bit.

But Jim reappeared a moment later, looking flustered. “There's someone in there,” he said, gesturing at the room that had been occupied by his late brother. “How can that be?”

“It's Mr. Kirby,” Judith said. “The hospital is very crowded. I guess they had to use your…the empty room.”

“Oh.” Jim looked in every direction, cradling the bouquet against his chest. Then, in a jerky motion, he thrust the flowers in Judith's direction. “Would you like these? I don't know what to do with them. I was going to put them on Bob's bed. You know, in remembrance.”

“Ah…” Judith stared at the yellow tulips, the red carnations, the purple freesia, and the baby's breath. “They're very pretty. Wouldn't Mrs. Randall—Margie—like them?”

“Margie?” Jim's eyes looked enormous behind the thick lenses. “Yes, maybe that's a good idea. Where is she?” He peered around the room, as if the cousins might be hiding his sister-in-law in some darkened corner.

“We heard she'd collapsed,” Judith replied. “They must have taken her home by now. The children, that is. They were here earlier.”

Jim's face suddenly became almost stern. “How early?”

“Well…It was an hour or so after your brother…passed away,” Judith said. “Noon, maybe? I really don't remember.”

Jim's expression grew troubled. “Were they here before Bob was taken?”

“Taken where?” Renie broke in. “We heard he killed himself.”

“Oh!” Jim recoiled in horror at Renie's blunt speech. “That's not true! He wouldn't! He couldn't! Oh!”

“Hospital gossip,” Judith said soothingly. “Please, Mr. Randall, don't get upset.”

“How can I not be upset?” Jim Randall was close to tears. “Bob was my twin. We were just like brothers. I mean, we
were
brothers, but even closer…Gosh, he saved my life when we were kids. I fell into a lake, I couldn't swim, but Bob was an excellent swimmer, and he rescued me…. If he didn't kill himself, what happened? I mean, I'd understand if he did. I've felt suicidal sometimes, too. There've been days when I wished Bob had never saved me from drowning. But Bob wasn't the type to take his own life. He had everything to live for, that is.” Jim fought for composure. “Nancy…Bob Jr…. Did they…?”

“Did they what?” Judith prodded.

“Never mind.” Jim gave himself a good shake, shedding some of the moisture from his baggy raincoat. “I should have been here, with Bob. I should have kept watch over him. I'll never forgive myself.”

“Where were you?” Renie asked, popping a piece of cantaloupe into her mouth.

Jim raised his right arm and used his sleeve to wipe off some melted snow from his forehead. “That's the irony. I was here, in this very hospital, having an MRI.”

“Goodness,” Judith remarked, “that's a shame. I mean, that both you and your brother had medical problems at the same time.”

Flexing his left leg, Jim gave the cousins a self-deprecating smile. “It was to be expected. You see, Bob and I are—were—mirror twins. It's a fairly rare phenomenon.
We faced each other in the womb, so everything about us is opposite. Bob was right-handed, I'm left-handed; he was good at numbers, I'm not. And he's been lucky with his health over the years, except for the kinds of injuries athletes suffer in their playing days. Nothing serious, though. But unlike Bob, my constitution's not strong. I've had my share of medical problems. An MRI, a CAT scan, an ultrasound—you name it, I've had them all.”