Where Southern Cross the Dog (26 page)

“And you want me to find someone?”

“Could you?”

“I'll try, but I don't know if he'll come out this late. Can it wait till morning?”

“I don't think so. She's never been sick a day in her life, and now she's not eating. She's just lying in bed, telling stories about when she was a little girl. I've never even heard some of them.”

Travis twisted his head toward the top of the stairs where his father stood, arms folded, radiating disapproval. Travis turned back to the telephone. “I'll see what I can do,” he murmured. “Where are you?”

“We're at her house. Five-twenty Sixth street. When can you be here?”

“Let me put some clothes on, and I'll be over right away.”

“Hurry. Please.”

Her voice had taken on a frantic tone, even in the short time they had spoken.

Travis hung up the phone and turned again to his father.

“I've got to go out for a while,” Travis said, starting up the stairs to his room.

“What for?” his father asked, following him.

“Hannah Morgan's grandmother is sick, and she needs a doctor.”

“Why the devil is she calling you?”

“We're friends, and her grandmother wants to see—well, I'm going to stop by Dr. Shelton's.”

“I know you're friends, and it's something I've been meaning to talk to you about.”

Travis met his father's eyes while he buttoned his shirt. “Can it wait until tomorrow, Dad?”

“I don't think so.” Mr. Montgomery leaned against the doorjamb. “There are a few rumors around town concerning you and this Hannah Morgan. Are they true?”

“Depends what they are, I guess.” Travis sat on the bed to put his socks on.

“You know what they are. And you know your mother and I are pretty lenient with you and Rachel—where you go, who you see—but there are some things we don't approve of. And this is one of them.”

“What? Helping someone out.”

His father stepped into Travis's room and closed the door. “It's not the helping that bothers us, it's everything else. I hope I don't have to tell you nothing good can ever come of it, especially for her and her family. Mr. Morgan works hard and makes a good living. Don't be selfish and make it tougher for them. You want to do Hannah and her family a favor, you really want to help them, then stay out of her life. In the long run she'll thank you for it; in fact, a long time from now, she may even love you for it. But you're a man and need to make your own decisions.”

Travis finished tying his shoes and stood up. “I've got to go.”

“Can I stop you?”

“Not this time, Dad.”

“Remember what I said. I'm not the old, antiquated person you think I am.” He opened the door for Travis. “And they can't just call another doctor?”

“Her grandmother won't see one of their doctors. She wants someone like Dr. Shelton.”

Travis quickly headed back down the stairs. “I'm going to take the car. Okay?”

His father looked at him for a moment. “Be careful.”

Travis rapped lightly on Dr. Shelton's front door. He waited a minute but didn't hear any footsteps. He could have telephoned ahead, but he knew that would've made it easier for Shelton to put him off until the next day.

He knocked again a little louder. Still no answer.

Finally, as he was about to knock for the third time, Travis heard footsteps on the stairs. A shadowy figure approached the door.

Travis stepped back. The outside light went on, and Dr. Shelton opened the door. He looked sleepily at Travis.

“Travis?” he said.

“Yes, sir, Dr. Shelton,” Travis said.

“What's wrong?”

“I need your help, sir. Do you know Richard Morgan and his family?”

“Yes. I haven't met him personally, but I know who he is.”

“His mother is quite ill and needs a doctor.”

“I see. But why are you standing on my porch?”

“I'm a friend of his daughter, Hannah. She called me and asked me to help.”

“Don't they have a family doctor?”

“I'm not sure, but I don't think the grandmother wants to use the family doctor. She wants you, Dr. Shelton.”

“Oh, I see.”

“And I know you're fair about these things, sir.”

“Come on in, Travis, and wait just a moment while I get dressed.”

Dr. Shelton was back down in five minutes, fully dressed and clutching his medical bag. “I'll follow in my car.”

Hannah opened the door before Travis could knock. She looked exhausted, and her eyes were red. She grabbed Travis and hugged him tightly for a moment. Startled, he sagged backward under the weight of her body. Travis could feel the tension in the room escalate sharply at Hannah's display of affection.

In an instant, she let go.

The front room was small but nicely decorated with pictures and several paintings. The walls were beige, and an olive-colored rug covered most of the floor. A couch and several chairs were situated closely around a low table where a couple of unfinished cups of coffee and an empty plate sat.

“Dr. Shelton, this is Richard Morgan,” Travis said.

Richard stepped forward. “Hello, Dr. Shelton. Thank you for coming.”

“That's quite all right,” Dr. Shelton said.

Richard quickly introduced Hannah, Hannah's mother, Cora, and Aunt Dot, all of whom exchanged handshakes with the doctor.

“Where's my patient?”

“She's in the bedroom,” Richard said, opening the room's door. The family arranged themselves in a neat column, ready to follow.

The doctor turned and smiled faintly. “I'd like to evaluate her alone, please.”

“Certainly, Dr. Shelton,” Richard said. He ushered Hannah and the others back into the living room, then closed the bedroom door.

“Would you like some coffee?” Hannah asked.

“Please,” Travis said.

Everyone found a seat and waited silently. Travis began to perspire under the gaze of Hannah's father. He thought uneasily of the
man who had once accosted her and now walked with a limp. Hannah's embrace at the door—too brief for Travis even to enjoy—had altered the family's view of him.

It was Aunt Dot who broke the silence. “Travis, we'd like to thank you for bringing Dr. Shelton on such short notice.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“That's quite all right. I'm happy to help, ma'am.”

“I don't know why she won't see the family doctor, but we've all learned not to argue with her.”

Travis smiled, grateful to relax. “Well, she's earned the right to be a little particular.”

“And that she is,” Richard said, chuckling.

Hannah returned from the kitchen with Travis's coffee.

Travis looked at each person's face. It was obvious no one had slept. They made small talk until the bedroom door cracked open and Dr. Shelton emerged. He came into the living room and set down his bag.

“How is she, Dr. Shelton?” Richard asked.

“She's about as good as she can be,” he said.

“Do you know what's wrong with her?” Hannah said.

“It's possible she might have had a mild stroke, but she's still talking, very communicative. Hard to tell. There aren't any clear physical symptoms to indicate a stroke.”

“Then what is it?” Cora asked.

“I don't think it's anything,” he answered gently. “She's getting old, like the rest of us. I'm sorry. She's in no pain. And we really can't make her eat. Just make her comfortable.”

Hannah sat down in her chair, hunching forward with her face in her hands. Her father moved next to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” Dr. Shelton repeated. “At least you've got some time. I know it's of little comfort, but having time to say good-bye is a gift that not all of us get. Appreciate and enjoy it.”

“How much time?” Cora asked.

“Could be days, a week,” he said. “It's hard to tell. And if she starts eating again, then she might just perk back up.”

“We'll hope for the best,” Cora said. “Can we get you anything, Dr. Shelton? Coffee?”

“No, I'm fine, thank you. I've got to be going.” He picked up his bag and walked toward the door.

“How much do we owe you, Dr. Shelton?” Richard said, opening the front door for him.

“Nothing at all. I really didn't do much.”

“Thank you all the same, Dr. Shelton,” Cora said.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Richard repeated.

Richard closed the door behind Dr. Shelton. “Thank you, again, Travis,” he said.

“You're welcome,” Travis said. “I guess I should be heading home as well.”

“Please stay,” said Hannah. Everyone looked at her, but no one spoke up.

Travis looked to Hannah's father for guidance. “You probably couldn't get to sleep anyway after all that coffee,” he said kindly.

“We're taking turns sitting with Gami,” Hannah said. “Everyone else rests while someone sits with her. I think it's my turn. Why don't you help me? I think she'd like that.”

“I don't want to intrude—”

“It's all right,” Hannah said, rising from her chair.

Hannah filled a glass with water from a pitcher on the dining room table, and she and Travis went into her grandmother's bedroom. Hannah closed the door.

“I brought a friend, Gami,” Hannah said. She approached her grandmother's bedside and placed the water on her nightstand. “Do you remember Travis from the picnic?”

“Oh, yes. Hello again, Travis,” the old woman said in a high, thin voice.

“Good evening, ma'am,” Travis said.

“More like good morning.”

“Yes, you're right.”

“I just can't seem to sleep 'cept every once in a while for a few minutes. But never longer than half an hour.”

To Travis, she seemed to be quite aware of her surroundings, and very lucid. She knew exactly what she was doing, and maybe that's what was bothering Hannah the most.

Travis sat in a big chair with an ottoman while Hannah sat next to the bed. She spoke quietly with her grandmother for a few minutes. Finally, Hannah lay her head down on the bed.

Her grandmother rested her hand on Hannah's head. Then she motioned Travis over. “Why don't you put her in that chair?”

Travis picked up Hannah and placed her in the chair. Then he propped her feet up on the ottoman. She never made a sound or opened her eyes. Travis covered her with a blanket and started to walk toward the door.

“Travis,” Hannah's grandmother called.

“Yes, ma'am, can I get you something?”

“Please come sit with me, child.”

Travis felt awkward, but he obeyed, sitting down in the chair next to her bed. He scooted closer and rested his hand on the edge of the mattress.

Travis thought the old woman looked serene, peaceful. Although there was tiredness in her face, it wasn't like the exhaustion Hannah or her father felt. Hers was different; it would not be alleviated by a good night's sleep.

She placed her hand on his. Though her mind was sharp, Travis could tell that her physical strength was waning. It took real effort to lift her arm.

He turned his hand over so that hers rested in his palm, then placed his other hand on top of both of them.

Her hand was cool, and it shook slightly. He gently pressed his hands together.

“Your hands are warm,” she said. Her voice was quiet. She would not wake Hannah.

“Yes, ma'am,” said Travis.

“Travis, you can call me by my first name.”

“What is it, Mrs. Morgan? Hannah's never told me.”

“It's Adeline, but everyone calls me Addie. At least my friends do. Most of the family calls me Gami.”

“That's a pretty name, Addie. I don't think I've ever known an Addie. My mother's name is Margaret and my sister's name is Rachel.”

“I like the name Rachel. Hannah was almost a Rachel, but then my youngest daughter named her fourth child Rachel, so Cora and Richard decided on something else.”

Travis rubbed the back of her hand. Her skin was darker than Hannah's, and it didn't feel at all like his own or Hannah's youthful, taut skin; Addie's seemed loosely attached to the rest of her hand. It resembled black tissue paper, creasing so easily that it looked like it might tear.

Hannah shifted in her chair and made a slight rustling sound, her body unconsciously seeking a more comfortable position. Travis and Addie both looked at her, Travis turning his head slightly and Addie looking in the direction of her feet.

“Hannah's very worried about you, Addie,” Travis said, turning back to catch her shining gaze.

“Well, she's a young girl. She doesn't have much else to worry about yet. But she has to worry about something.” Addie smiled a little, but even that seemed demanding.

“You should be feeling better in a couple of days. Then things will get back to normal, and Hannah will be her old self again.” Travis caught himself being hopeful, not really believing what he
was saying. His eyes met Addie's for a moment. She knew too well and caught him in his faithless thought.

“Travis,” she said, forcing air from her chest to strengthen her voice. “I'm going to tell you something that my mother told me years ago when she was old. I've tried to tell Hannah, but she won't listen. She just talks about tomorrow and what we're going to do and who we're going to see and what we're going to eat. It's not that she doesn't want to listen; it's her youthfulness. She's always getting ready for tomorrow and the next day. Excited and hopeful. It's God's way.”

She motioned for some water, and Travis helped her tip the glass so she could take a sip. He returned the glass to the table and took her hand again.

After a few moments she continued. “My mother told me that when you're born, your heart is pure and clean. Like a baby's skin, free of marks or cuts or bruises. But as we get older, go through life, we love and lose. Give and take. She said that every time we hurt it puts a tiny nick on our heart. Now, that nick heals, like a cut on your hand heals, but it leaves a scar. A scar on your heart, on your soul.”