Authors: Laura Pedersen
S
URE ENOUGH, BERNARD STOCKTON, MY LONGTIME MENTOR AND
summer employer, crawls toward the circle on his hands and knees, panting with exhaustion. Oh no—could there have been another breakup with Gil? They've seemed so happy since getting back together and adopting the two little Chinese girls. Or worse, maybe something terrible has happened to Olivia and Ottavio on their trip to Italy. A plane crash?
Bernard drops to the floor as if he's been crawling through the desert and finally reached an oasis. Covered in a heavy down parka with a scarf wrapped around his neck and carrying a fleece hat in hand, sweat pours off Bernard's face, his eyes are rimmed with red, and he's gasping for air. But something else is odd. Those aren't his usual gabardine wool winter slacks. They're navy blue silk pajama bottoms! Bernard
never
goes out of the house unless he's immaculately dressed and every salt and pepper hair is in place.
“Hallie!”
“Bernard!” Whatever is
he
doing
here
, right
now?
“Heavens to Betsy Bloomingdale.” Bernard begins coughing uncontrollably and pounds his hand on the floor while catching
his breath. “I'm tipsy and tripping and dying of asphyxiation without having imbibed nor inhaled.” Bernard raises his head an inch. “And possibly betrothed—some woman thinks I'm George Clooney and kissed me solidly on the mouth. She has eyes like cherry strudel and appears to be riding high on everything but skates.”
“Kimberly,” everyone says in unison.
Jennifer grabs a T-shirt off the mound of clothes in the center of the circle and covers her bare chest. Otherwise the group doesn't appear bothered by the adult intrusion, at least after making certain it's no one from the dean's office or else the campus police on the prowl for underage drinkers.
“Hallie, I've been searching absolutely
everywhere
for you. Come on—we have to go!” Bernard doesn't so much as say hello to the rest of the kids, which is totally unlike him. “I don't want you to be alarmed,” he says in a voice that suggests I should be very alarmed indeed, “but your father had a heart attack.”
Huh? My dad—a heart attack—impossible! He's young and strong and not even forty! I sit there stunned.
With a certain amount of dramatic huffing and puffing Bernard rises to his feet. “We must go to the hospital
now
!” He enunciates the words as if talking to someone who can only lip read.
Not knowing what to say I stand up and walk toward him like an automaton. It's only when I reach the door that Bernard says, “It's rather chilly outside, you might want to consider pants.”
Josh has anticipated this and dug my jeans from out of the clothing pile. After handing them to me he retrieves my socks and shoes from the corner of the room.
I quickly dress and we head toward the main floor. The entire house is now chock-full of people partying, swaying to music, and propped up against walls, their outstretched legs
blocking the hallways and stairwells. Bernard is
pardonnezmoiing
every step of the way through this obstacle course while towing me along behind him. We finally reach the front door, but it takes another moment to push through a crowd of rowdy women who claim to have paid earlier. The heavyset doorman is effectively blocking their entrance and shouting, “Show me your beavers!”
Bernard looks questioningly at me. “Hand stamp,” I explain. But it's too loud to hear anything, and so I hold mine up to Bernard's face and he nods in understanding.
Once we're outside Bernard continues to yell as if he's still competing with the music. “Gil is waiting in the car with the girls. I've been to so many different parties I don't even know where I am anymore.”
“What did you park in front of?” I holler back, though it's quiet now but for a few shouts coming from a late-night snowball fight across the quad.
“There was a sculpture out front—like a giant toadstool.”
“That's the science building,” I say. “It's supposed to be a molecule or something.”
I hurry Bernard in the correct direction and the fresh air clears my head slightly. “Is it serious?” I ask.
“I'm not sure. Your sister Louise phoned.” We've been jogging for a few minutes, and it's not so easy to catch our breath. “You … can … call her … from … the car.”
I locate the maroon Volvo that Bernard recently traded for his vintage silver Alfa Romeo parked across from the science building with its engine running, the exhaust puffing a cloud of gray smoke into the cold winter air.
The girls are asleep in their car seats in the back and I climb between them while Bernard dives into the passenger side. The moment I pull the door closed Gil shoves a cell phone in my ear and puts the car into gear so that we jump away from the curb.
My sister Louise is frantic on the other end of the line. “Hal-lie? Is that you?”
“Yeah,” I exhale heavily.
“Thank God
they found you!
Please
go to the hospital right away and find out what's going on. I'm stuck here with the kids. Every time the phone rings I practically faint.” Louise sounds as if she's starting to cry, and that it's not for the first time over the past few hours. “I woke up and the paramedics were flying down the stairs with Dad on a stretcher and Mom threw a coat over her nightgown and yelled for me to watch the kids. Reggie's been screaming bloody murder. I finally gave him a bottle of regular milk. It'll probably kill him. Tell Bernard and Gil that I'm sorry to have woken them up, but I didn't know what else to do.”
“No, it's fine.” I'm suddenly feeling incredibly sober.
“I got hold of Eric about an hour ago,” reports Louise. “He's taking a bus from Indiana.”
“I'll go to the hospital, find out what's happening, and then call you right back.” I click off the phone and let my head tip over backward.
“Don't worry,” says Gil. “The new hospital has a terrific cardiac unit—state of the art.”
“How old is your dad?” asks Bernard.
“Both my parents are thirty-nine.” It's easy to remember because I just have to add nineteen to Eric's age.
“Oh, that's
young,”
says Bernard. “He'll be fine. They can do quadruple bypasses and even replace valves with animal parts. We eat too much ham and bacon and then the surgeons give us pig aortas. It's one giant recycling system. If your heart can't be salvaged, then they just throw it away and stitch in a whole new one.”
I certainly hope Bernard is right, but I fear that he's just trying to make me feel better.
W
E QUICKLY DELIVER GIL AND THE GIRLS BACK TO THE STOCK
tons, and then Bernard drives me to the hospital. The big glass doors automatically slide open as if someone is expecting us. When I ask the woman at the desk about my father, she says he was taken to cardiac care, but if I'll take a seat the doctor will come out and speak to me. I ask to go back, insisting that my mother is all alone. The receptionist explains that the cardiac care unit is different and that I'll have to wait.
Bernard and I slump down into the armless blue molded plastic chairs so that our shoulders meet and we're leaning against each other. Having basically moved in with him when I was sixteen, and then worked two summers as a yard person, we've become so close that we can read each other's thoughts most of the time. At least Bernard always seems to get mine exactly right. But since neither of us dare speak what's on both our minds, we say nothing at all.
There's nobody else in the brightly lit room and all the magazines have been arranged into neat stacks on the attached Formica end tables. The beige linoleum floor is spotless but for the gray puddles under our shoes. It's oddly quiet for a hospital. There aren't any gunshot victims or passengers who were just
pried out of car wrecks with gaping wounds hurtling past us on stretchers, nor are sweaty blue-smocked doctors diving at patients with paddles while yelling “clear,” the way one regularly sees on television shows. Cosgrove County is filled with people descended from solid midwestern farming stock who go around declaring they're “fine” until the moment when they are no longer
fine
, but in fact seriously
dead.
If you inquire about someone's chronic pain, they're likely to tell you that it helps pass the time.
“You don't have to wait here with me,” I tell Bernard.
“Don't be ridiculous,” he says.
A tired-looking doctor emerges from the swinging doors wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard. It's like a scene out of a movie. We both rise to our feet as he approaches. The doctor's mouth is expressionless, but his dark brown eyes appear anxious and his furrowed brow telegraphs tragedy.
“Are you Mr. Palmer's brother?” he asks Bernard.
“No, just a friend of the family.” Bernard nods toward me. “Hallie is his oldest daughter.”
The doctor glances down at his clipboard and then back up to Bernard in his blue button-down shirt and neat gray slacks, as if given the choice between the two of us, Bernard is the official representative. Obviously my Lucky Charms T-shirt with the torn jeans does not exactly exude an air of responsibility. But I thought I was only going to a frat party.
“There are ten children?” The doctor asks this as if maybe there's a typo in his notes.
Bernard nods his head up and down. “Eric, the oldest, is twenty, and the twin boys just turned two months old,” he explains in his new capacity as Palmer family spokesperson.
The doctor sighs as if this is going to be worse than he thought. He squints into the fluorescent light and then shifts his
gaze back to me. “I'm very sorry but I have some bad news. Your father succumbed to a massive coronary. And your mother is in a state of shock. We're going to have to keep her here, at least for a day or two.”
It's way too much to comprehend. Life without dad is unfathomable. My mind comes to a crashing halt, suddenly there is no oxygen, and I feel something tear deep inside of me.
“Is there a relative who can help you in the meantime?” asks the doctor.
“Mom has a sister.” I somehow manage to get this out even though my mouth is now the Sahara Desert and my stomach continues to experience an elevator-drop sensation.
“All right then. Why don't you go home and try to get some rest and come back tomorrow to see your mother.”
“Can't I see her now?” I ask.
“I'm afraid it wouldn't be a good idea. We've given her some medication to help her sleep. Come back tomorrow and hopefully she'll be feeling better.” He pats me on the shoulder and turns to leave. On the way out I see him exchange looks with the receptionist that seem to say, “Oh God, is this ever a bad one.” Which is not nearly so reassuring as his gentle tone of voice and comforting pat on my shoulder.
B
ERNARD AND I SLOWLY WALK OUT TO THE CAR. THE SKY IS STILL
dark and snow swirls and spins under the glare of the parking lot lights like bits of lost soul. No one else is on the road and the town is covered in a deep blanket of white. It's as if someone suddenly took the needle off the record player and the world went silent. I open the window on the passenger side and let the cold wet flakes melt on my face.
Bernard turns down Main Street and we pass all the darkened stores locked up for the night. A light glows in the back of the card and stationery store, but that's only because Mrs. Jamison thinks the three live-in cats need it to navigate at night. We pass Bernard's antiques store, The Sweet Buy and Buy, and a silver tea service glints in the display window.
A few houses still have Christmas lights up and plastic Santas on the front lawns. Alongside the curb lie discarded trees with half their needles missing, patiently waiting for the garbagemen to take them away.
Bernard offers to come inside, even to stay overnight if I want. And if he didn't have the girls to look after I might take him up on it. But I tell him that Louise and I can manage. He
gives me a hug and it's at that moment I finally start to cry, heaving big sobs that make me lose my breath.
Bernard switches off the engine and accompanies me into the house after all. The second Louise sees us she knows that dad is dead. Her eyes are already red from crying and her face is blotchy, but the tears come all over again. We hug each other and it feels as if all of our childhood fights and other sibling nonsense was such a long time ago. Another lifetime.
I try to describe what's going on with mom but can't even remember what the doctor said was wrong with her. Bernard is the one who explains to Louise that she's in shock and will probably be okay tomorrow. He goes into the kitchen and, after a few minutes of kitchen noises, returns with two mugs of hot cocoa. As we sit looking at each other across the dining room table it grows cold.
“Eric will be here in a few hours.” Louise finally breaks the silence. “Aunt Lala is flying in from London tomorrow.”
“So what do we do?” I ask Bernard, since he's the full-fledged grown-up. Louise also looks to Bernard for counsel.
“You go to bed,” he states firmly. “When the little ones wake up, your hands will be full. I'll come back tomorrow to help you sort things out.” Before leaving, Bernard gives us both big hugs and kisses, but I notice he doesn't say anything while doing so, such as “Don't worry” or “Everything will be okay.” It's pretty obvious that there's a
lot
to worry about and that everything will
not
be okay.
As Louise and I trudge up the stairs it dawns on me that I no longer have a place to sleep in this house. With eight children still living at home, space is rather at a premium. Darlene now has my bed, Teddy and Davy share a tiny room with bunk beds, and Francie and Lillian have a converted attic space with a sloped roof in which they share a trundle bed. The youngest
twins, Reginald and Rodney, have one crib in Mom and Dad's room and another opposite their bedroom door in the hallway.
“I guess you'd better sleep in Mom and Dad's room,” says Louise.
Before going to bed I check on the babies, who are sound asleep, and quickly realize it's impossible to spend the night in that room. Dad's watch is on the bedside table and his wallet and black pocket comb sit atop the dresser, all waiting for him to get up in the morning. Eventually I grab a blanket out of the linen closet and hunker down on the couch in the living room. There's nothing left to do but sit and try not to think anymore and wait for morning.