Household Gods (80 page)

Read Household Gods Online

Authors: Judith Tarr

BOOK: Household Gods
5.63Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
You have no idea how true that is.
It was just as in Carnuntum: no one else understood the irony of the situation, and no one could know. It was too crazy. “Wherever I was,” she said, “I'm back. Have you ever seen a case like mine before?”
“Complete loss of consciousness without apparent causation?” Rather to Nicole's surprise, Dr. Feldman nodded. “Once, years ago,” she said. “I was just completing my residency. We ran every possible test. We never did find out why he … just stopped. I kept track of him after I began my own practice. Two years later, he simply died. We never knew why, or how. It happened, that was all.”
She didn't like it, either, though she clearly tried to be objective. No scientist was fond of uncertainties.
Nicole shivered. If she'd been killed in Carnuntum, what would have happened to her here? Would she have gone on indefinitely in that vegetative state?
And where was Umma? Had she been here? Had she awakened and, finding herself in a different body, in a world so strange as to be incomprehensible, simply gone catatonic?
It wasn't likely Nicole would ever learn the answer to that. She couldn't afford to dwell on it. Not in front of this dangerously perceptive woman. She put on a brisk front. “Since I am here and conscious again, how do I go about getting out?” she asked.
Dr. Feldman frowned. “You'll stay for at least another day or two. We'll want to run more tests on you, to make sure there is no risk of a recurrence.”
“How do you propose to do that, when you don't know what caused the trouble in the first place?” Nicole wanted to know.
The doctor looked stubborn. Nicole's teeth clicked together. The last thing she needed was for Dr. Feldman to think she was questioning anybody's competence. And—if Nicole hadn't known what had happened to her, she would have been demanding tests, not complaining about them.
“All right,” she said. “I suppose you'd better. But could I
have some breakfast first? And I'll want to get on the phone, let people know I'm okay.”
“I don't see either of those things being a problem,” Dr. Feldman said. She looked pleased with herself, now that she'd got her own way, and subtly reassured, now that Nicole was acting like what she was: a brisk young lawyer and single mother. “I'm going to order you the soft breakfast, since you've been on intravenous fluids since your admission. If you handle it without upset, you can have a normal lunch. Let me phone Dietary, and it should be up in half an hour or so. It's very good to have you back with us.”
“It's very good to be back,” Nicole said, most sincerely.
The neurologist prodded her and poked her and listened to her heart and checked her reflexes and peered into her eyes and nose and mouth and ears. “Everything seems to check out,” she said, sounding almost reluctant to admit it. “But if everything is as normal as it looks, what happened to you?”
“I haven't the faintest idea,” Nicole said. Breakfast came up just then, right on the half-hour: oatmeal, a medium-boiled egg, and a square of blue hospital gelatin, industrial strength like the sheets, thicker and tougher than she would ever have made at home. Nicole had no idea what flavor it was supposed to be. She didn't care. She inhaled it. She inhaled every scrap on that white plastic plate, and would have inhaled the plate if she could have got away with it. There was only one bobble: forgetting, and trying to eat with her fingers. She covered for it quickly, picked up the spoon and dove into the oatmeal.
Dr. Feldman watched her with a good measure of bemusement. “How does that feel?” she asked.
“Wonderful!” she answered, wiping her mouth—on the napkin, at the last instant, and not on her arm. She felt like asking for another tray just like this one. But she didn't think Dr. Feldman would let her have it. She'd been this hungry in Carnuntum, and more. She kept quiet.
Dr. Feldman said, “I'm going to set up another CAT scan and MRI and some more diagnostic procedures for you, Ms.
Gunther-Perrin. While I'm doing that, you can go ahead and use the telephone.”
In the way doctors have, she spoke as if she were granting a great boon. Which she was. She had no idea how great it was. She took it all, all the technology, the tests, the telephone, completely for granted. Nicole didn't, not anymore. How long would it be, she wondered, before the novelty palled?
Dr. Feldman went out as she'd come in, brisk, bright, and competent. With a sigh of pure pleasure, Nicole picked up the phone. Its smooth plastic was cool in her hand, its shape familiar, its weight, the buzz of the dial tone as she held it to her ear.
 
She sat for a long while with the receiver to her ear. Number—what was the number? She held down panic. It was somewhere in her mind, unused, filed away. But she hadn't forgotten it. Of course she hadn't.
There. There it was, right in her fingertips. She punched in the numbers, and held her breath. If she'd remembered it wrong, or forgotten it altogether, and had to ask—they'd start doubting her sanity again. She couldn't have that. She'd never slipped up enough to get in real trouble, back in Carnuntum. There was no way she was going to slip up here.
The first ring startled her half out of her skin. Her fingers clenched on the receiver before she dropped it.
The ringing went on. After the fourth ring, the answering machine would pick up. But just at the end of number four, the ring broke off. A breathless female voice said, “Hello?”
Nicole's mouth twisted. She'd been expecting Frank, if she didn't just get the machine. But of course it would be Dawn.
Well, no help for it. “Dawn?” she said. “Dawn, this is Nicole. I'm calling from the hospital.”
“Nicole!” Of all the things Nicole had expected, she hadn't expected this rush of gratitude and relief. “I'm so glad to hear your voice. How
are
you?”
She really did sound glad, and not just, or not entirely,
because if Nicole was awake and making sense, it got her off the hook with the kids. A homewrecker without a mean bone in her body? A girlfriend who honestly cared that the first wife was all right? Nicole would have laughed at the thought, six days or a year and a half or eighteen centuries ago.
Actually, she sounded a great deal like Julia. The same kind of voice, breathy and light, the kind men went for and women tended to regard with disgust. A Marilyn Monroe sort of voice. The sound of it stabbed Nicole with guilt so sudden she almost gasped. She'd never apologize to Julia now for being so childishly unreasonable. She'd never make it up to Julia. Julia was lost at the other end of time.
That stab of guilt was like a shaft of sun in a dark place. She could see something she'd never have seen before, or wanted to see. Julia had been, not to put too fine a point on it, a slut, but she'd never been either stupid or mean. And neither, Nicole admitted to herself, was Dawn.
She'd think the rest of it through later, when she wasn't supposed to be holding up one end of a tense and rather awkward phone conversation. “I'm all right,” she said. “At least I think I am. Nobody has a clue as to what happened to me.”
Except me.
But she wouldn't say that. “How are the kids?”
“They're doing all right,” Dawn answered. “They miss you. They keep asking when you'll be coming back. I haven't known what to tell them.”
“If I check out all right, it'll be another day or two,” Nicole said. An entirely different and even more powerful wave of guilt washed over her. She'd done far worse than let her last words to Julia be the end of a quarrel. She'd abandoned her life, her family, her kids—No time now. She had to be glad that she'd only been gone six days. Still, she said something she never would have said if she'd truly been gone for less than a week: “I'm sorry I messed up your trip.”
Yes, she was having trouble working up a good head of loathing for Dawn. Perspective? Maybe just distance? It just didn't seem to matter as much as it used to. After war,
plague, and famine, a little adultery seemed almost unremarkable.
“Don't worry about our trip,” Dawn said cheerfully, as unperturbed by the ways of the world as ever. “We'll get away again soon.” Maybe, Nicole reflected, that talent for letting things be explained how she put up with Frank. Why she did was another question, but Nicole wasn't likely to get an answer for that.
And speaking of Frank … She braced herself. “Let me talk to Frank, would you please?”
“Why, sure,” Dawn said. Her voice faded as if she'd turned away from the phone. “Frank? It's your ex. She's awake.”
And, fainter yet, a male voice, with sarcasm that came through loud and clear: “I never would have guessed.”
Nicole's own thoughts were running on much too similar lines.
If I weren't awake, would I have called?
She caught herself with a snap. She
wasn't
that much like Frank. Was she?
Then his voice came on the line, with the sarcasm carefully screened out of it. “Nicole? How are you doing?” Was he actually diffident, or was he just playing at it?
She decided to play it calm, be polite, and see if that shocked him. “I think I'm all right,” she said. “I woke up this morning, that's all, just as I always have.”
At this end of time, that is.
“The doctor's still trying to figure out what happened.”
“Yeah, I talked with the neurologist,” Frank said in that faintly snotty tone that always pissed her off. If for any reason he'd been unsure of himself, he'd got his equilibrium back. “No, she has no idea what it was. When I got the call in Cancún, I thought you were so pissed at me, you'd OD'ed on pills just to screw up my vacation. But she says you didn't. So you didn't. I'm glad you're feeling better.”
Good old Frank, just as charming as ever, and just as convinced the world revolved around him. It was like him to make sure she knew what he'd thought, but it was also like
him to believe Dr. Feldman when she'd told him it wasn't so. Nicole had to give him that much.
Now, if he'd just give her what she had coming to her … But this was not the time. It would come, she promised herself, but not yet. First things first.
“Let me talk to the kids,” she said. “I want them to know I'm all right.”
“I'll get them,” Frank said. “I haven't known what to tell them. I've said you're sick, that's all, and I hoped you'd be well soon.”
That was adequate, Nicole thought. She started to say something more, it didn't matter what—
Good-bye
or
Thanks
or
Just put the kids on, will you?
But before she could begin, Kimberley's voice shrieked in her ear:
“Mommy!”
And, close enough behind it to make it a chorus:
“Mommy-mommy-mommy!”
Justin must have been swinging on the phone cord, from the way his voice came and went.
Telephone conversations with preschoolers range from incoherent to downright surreal, but Nicole managed to assure both Kimberley and Justin—fighting at top volume over who got the phone—that she loved them, that she was feeling better, and that she would see them soon. Her throat kept locking up, which was annoying. As fond as she'd become of Lucius and Aurelia, as much as she'd mourned Aurelia's death, these were
her
babies.
Her
children. If she'd had any chance at all of getting away with it, she'd have left the hospital right then and there, and gone straight home, and hugged them both so tight they squealed in protest. Even their shrieking, which she'd done her best to train out of them—God, she hated screaming kids—was a blessed thing, because it was theirs.
She hated to let them go, but they were getting overexcited. She heard Dawn round them up, a soft murmur that sounded more than ever like Julia taking Lucius and Aurelia in hand. Then Frank came on the line. “How soon are they letting you out?” he demanded.
Trust Frank not to miss the essentials. “Another day or two,” she answered, “if everything looks good.” Something
tugged at her awareness. Something she should be remembering. Some crucial thing about the kids.
Yes. That awful day on top of too many awful days, when she'd prayed to Liber and Libera, and to her lasting amazement, been answered, there'd been one crisis that she couldn't let slip from her mind. “I'm going to have to look for a new daycare provider,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “I've heard all about Josefina—the good, the bad, and the ugly. I've been looking for someone to replace her.”
“You have?” Nicole was flat astonished. Frank, exerting himself for anything of that relentlessly mundane sort?
Well. Frank was an asshole, but he wasn't stupid. If Nicole was going to be incapacitated for some unspecified time, he'd want to get on with his life. He'd been perfectly happy to kick back and let her handle the kids. If they were suddenly thrown into his lap—
cold-bloodedly efficient
was the term that came to mind. “Any luck finding a new provider?” she asked.

Other books

Pitch Black by Leslie A. Kelly
Living in Harmony by Mary Ellis
Critical thinking for Students by Roy van den Brink-Budgen
El profesor by Frank McCourt
Starlight Peninsula by Grimshaw, Charlotte