Kathleen's Story (12 page)

“I’ll knock his lights out.”

The car’s interior was dark and the moon had slipped behind a cloud. “Not for
me
. For
you.”

He lifted her chin. “There’s no one else I want. How many times do I have to say it?”

She took a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to bring up Stephanie, then noticed
something beyond him on her front porch. “That’s odd.”

“What?”

“The porch light’s off. Mom always leaves it on for me.”

“Tell me about it. Maybe the bulb’s burned out.”

“I don’t think so.” Kathleen got out of the car and went up the walk and onto the porch. The whole house was dark.

By now, Carson was beside her. “Maybe she went to bed early.”

“We usually leave some lights on all night in case she needs me,” Kathleen explained, fumbling in her purse for her key.

Kathleen unlocked the door and thrust it open. The house was eerily quiet. She quashed the urge to yell for her mother. Carson might be right about her being asleep. She’d been so tired lately, she often went to bed right after supper.

Kathleen hurried toward the kitchen and her mother’s room. In the kitchen, only the small light over the stove was shining. It cast long shadows, but in its feeble light, she saw her mother curled up on the floor in a fetal position, her wheelchair tipped against the wall.

Kathleen screamed.

C
ARSON HIT THE
light switch, bounded across the kitchen and dropped to his knees beside Mary Ellen. He shouted, “Kathleen, call 911!”

But Kathleen was frozen in place, thrown backward in time to when she was eight. She was standing in this very kitchen, looking up into her daddy’s face. She saw his smile, actually felt the pressure of her arms around his neck, the smoothness of his just-shaved cheek against hers, caught the smell of his aftershave, heard her little girl voice say,
“I love you, Daddy. Bring me a present.”

“Of course, princess. You be good for the sitter. Daddy loves you.”

“Kathleen! Call 911!” Carson’s shout brought her back to the present, but she was paralyzed, unable to make her legs and hands obey his orders. She heard long-ago voices saying, “Your daddy’s dead,” and heard her mother sobbing in a hospital bed. Yet she also saw Carson bending
over her mother’s body, feeling for a pulse in her mother’s neck.

“No pulse.” Carson turned Mary Ellen flat on the floor and began chest compressions.

Kathleen watched, stupefied by fear. The past and the present were like a river flowing through her head and she couldn’t move out of the swiftly rising current of dread.

Carson puffed air into Mary Ellen’s mouth, pushed on her chest again and felt for a pulse. “I got it!” he yelled. “She’s back!”

The words penetrated Kathleen’s stupor, galvanizing her into action. She ran to the phone on the wall, punched in 911 and when the operator answered, cried, “My mother’s unconscious!” She was able to give her address, all the while watching Carson rub her mother’s hands and legs to keep the circulation going. She hung up the phone, dropped to her knees beside her mother’s body across from Carson and wrapped her arms around herself.

She felt icy cold, her hands and fingers numb. “Wh-what should I do?” She hardly recognized her own voice.

“Get me a blanket.” He kept feeling for her mother’s pulse, ready to begin compressions again if necessary.

She hurried to grab a quilt off the sofa and returned. Carson covered Mary Ellen. Her eyes didn’t open and she didn’t make a sound.

“Don’t let her die,” Kathleen whimpered.

She heard a racket at the front door and looked up to see three paramedics rush into the kitchen. One said, “I’ve got it, son.” Carson moved back and the man went to work putting a blood pressure cuff on Mary Ellen and breaking open an IV pack. Another man took Kathleen’s elbow and gently helped her up. “Stand over here, miss.”

Kathleen saw Carson talking to one of the EMTs, telling him how they had discovered Mary Ellen, what he’d done to help her. He moved over to Kathleen, who shivered uncontrollably, and slipped his arms around her.

Kathleen watched the paramedics set up an IV, hook up electrodes to a portable heart monitor and slip an oxygen mask on Mary Ellen’s face. They lifted her onto a stretcher. Kathleen’s weeks in the volunteer program had made the trappings of medicine look commonplace, and she was oddly comforted by the sight of them because she knew that every piece was intended to save lives. With Carson’s arms around her, the cold, hard knot of fear in her stomach began to loosen.

When it was time to leave, she and Carson followed the men and the rolling stretcher out of the house. She was surprised to see her neighbors, dressed in bathrobes and nightclothes, standing on her front lawn, some looking curious, others
worried. The whirling red light from the ambulance spread over them, turning their clothes and skin bloodred. She fended off questions and got into Carson’s car quickly. He backed out of the driveway, fell in behind the ambulance that held her mother’s life, and followed the blaring siren all the way to the hospital.

In the emergency room, Kathleen wasn’t allowed into the triage area with her mother. She filled out forms while Carson made calls on his cell phone. When they were both finished, they sat and waited. He asked, “You okay?”

She didn’t answer his question but asked, “Did she have a heart attack?”

“Hard to say.”

“Do you think she’ll be all right?”

“We got her help pretty fast.”

How could he know that? How long had her mother been unconscious? How long had she lain helpless on the floor? Had she been in pain? “Why don’t they tell me something?”

He took her hand. “Listen, I called my father. He’s coming to take a look at her.”

“But she has a doctor. The nurse called Dr. Sanders.”

“I know, but my dad knows hearts. I thought he should check her out.”

She felt overwhelming gratitude. If he hadn’t been with her, if he hadn’t taken control—she
started shaking. “I—I should call someone,” she said.

“Who? A relative?”

Dismayed, she realized there was no one to call. Her father’s parents lived in California and although they saw Kathleen occasionally, they weren’t close to her and Mary Ellen. Her mother’s mother, who lived in Indiana, wasn’t well and her grandfather had died years before. “I—I don’t know,” she said, feeling more miserable. “Maybe Raina and Holly.” She looked at the clock and saw that it was one-thirty. “I—I guess I should wait.” Her voice caught.

“Do you want anything? Cola? Coffee?”

He was trying to distract her. “No. Nothing.”

“I’m going to get myself a soda,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded numbly.

At two-forty-five, the doors of the triage area swung open and Carson’s father walked out. Kathleen and Carson were instantly on their feet. “My mother—”

“She’s stable and conscious,” Dr. Kiefer said.

Relief made Kathleen’s knees go weak. “Can I see her?”

“In a minute. I want to talk to you first.” She and Carson followed Dr. Kiefer to a small room with a table and chairs. Without preamble, he said, “I’m admitting her to the heart unit upstairs, to critical care.”

“Was it a heart attack?” Kathleen’s own heart was hammering so hard that it felt as if it would leap from her chest.

“Not exactly. We’ve got to run some tests, but I suspect that she’s got a faulty valve in her heart.”

“The MS?”

“Actually, I believe it’s a congenital defect that’s just now presenting. Has she been tired lately? Maybe short of breath?”

Kathleen nodded. All this time she’d thought her mother was just using exhaustion as an excuse to not help herself.

“Carson told me that even after he got her heart beating, her lips and nail beds looked blue, which means she wasn’t getting enough oxygen in her blood. That’s common with this kind of valve problem.”

“Can…can you fix the valve?” Kathleen’s voice trembled.

“We can replace it,” Dr. Kiefer said. “It’s major open-heart surgery and having MS isn’t to her benefit—but,” he added when Kathleen’s eyes filled with tears, “I believe we can do it.”

Tears spilled down Kathleen’s cheeks. “Please save my mother, Dr. Kiefer. Please, don’t let her die.”

He patted her hand and turned to his son. “I’ll get Mrs. McKensie settled, then you bring Kathleen up.”

Carson nodded.

“The EMT said you performed CPR and got her heart started.”

“I did.”

“Hopefully she wasn’t unconscious for long.”

“I don’t think she was,” Carson said. “She responded pretty quickly.”

“Yes, she’s responding well.” Dr. Kiefer left the room.

“Why is that important?” Kathleen asked.

“Brain damage can occur if someone’s too long without a heartbeat. The brain needs oxygen,” he told her gently.

A new fear turned Kathleen icy cold.

“But don’t think about that,” Carson said. “She’s alive and that’s what matters.”

Kathleen shut her eyes, wishing that this terrible night would end.

“I’ll stay with you for the rest of the night,” Carson said.

She was grateful. More than anything, she didn’t want to be alone.

They were standing near the elevator when the automatic doors of the emergency room opened and a group exploded into the waiting area. Kathleen saw Raina and her mother, Vicki, and Holly and Hunter and their parents heading straight for her. She looked up at Carson.

“I called them,” he said. “I think you need them.”

The group swarmed around her, firing questions. Mike Harrison shushed them all and opened his arms. Tearfully she stepped into the welcoming embrace of a father’s arms. The others encircled them like a pride of lions protecting one of its own.

“Mom says you can stay with us until this is over,” Holly said.

“My mom told me the same thing,” Raina said.

They were sitting with Kathleen in the hospital cafeteria the next morning. Mary Ellen was settled in the heart unit and resting comfortably. Raina and Holly had remained with Kathleen for the rest of the night. Carson had gone home at seven, promising to return after lunchtime. Kathleen felt tired but much less apprehensive. “That’s nice of you,” she told both her friends. “I don’t know what I’m going to do later on, but if I’m not here, then I want to stay at home. Maybe after the surgery…” The sentence trailed off as tears welled in her eyes.

“Has it been scheduled?”

“Dr. Kiefer said it might be as early as Wednesday, maybe Thursday. It depends on what the tests show.”

Raina said, “Well, according to my mom, he’s the best heart surgeon around.”

“I know,” Kathleen said. “Open-heart surgery is just so scary. What if she’s not strong enough?”

“Don’t think that way,” Raina said.

Kathleen sniffled.

“I have an idea,” Holly said. “Why don’t I go home with you and stay while you take a nap.”

“I don’t have a car here.”

“I do,” Raina said. “Mom and I came in separate cars.”

“Can I drive her home?” Holly asked, perking up considerably.

“No way,” Raina said. “I’ll take Kathleen home and you go explain to Connie why three of her best Pink Angels won’t be reporting for duty today.”

Kathleen hesitated. “I don’t want to leave Mom.”

“Come on,” Raina said, urging her up. “Go home, take a hot shower, wash your hair, pack a few things and drive the van back here so you’ll have wheels when you want them.”

Of course, Raina’s suggestion made perfect sense. Sometimes it was good having a take-charge kind of friend.

Kathleen’s house seemed unbearably sad and lonely. It was all she could do to walk through the place. The sight of her mother’s empty wheelchair in the kitchen, of the debris left behind by the
paramedics and of the quilt Carson had used to cover her mother made her cry. The memory of Mary Ellen’s body on the floor was a wound carved in her mind and heart. Raina said, “Go take your shower. I’ll clean up and put things away.”

Kathleen did as she was told, but once she was showered and changed she told Raina she could leave, that she was going to take a short nap and then return to the hospital. Raina didn’t argue and as soon as she drove off, Kathleen went straight to her mother’s room. She hoped being in the room would comfort her, make her feel safe again. But the empty bed, the lingering scent of her mother’s perfume, even the slant of sunlight through the drapes left a terrible aching heaviness inside her.

Beside the bed stood a tall stack of books, all with bookmarks, meaning none had been read to the end. On a long table under a window lay Mary Ellen’s scrapbook projects, with partly designed pages, colored-paper cutouts, stickers, a stack of photos, various marking pens, rulers and scissors. A row of low-hanging pegs along one wall kept Mary Ellen’s nightgown, robe and a few articles of clothing within easy reach of her wheelchair. Directly across from the bed hung a formal portrait of Mary Ellen and Jim McKensie from their wedding day, eighteen years before. How young they looked! How happy.

Kathleen might have fallen apart except that
the front doorbell rang. Thinking it must be an inquisitive neighbor, she ignored it. She wanted to be alone. The persistent ringing didn’t stop. Kathleen clamped her hands over her ears. Minutes later, she heard rapping on the kitchen door. Resenting the intrusion but realizing that the person wasn’t going away, she went to the back door and saw Carson through the glass panes, looking worried.

She yanked open the door. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was you ringing the bell.”

“Holly said you’d come home.” He stepped inside.

“I’m taking a few of Mom’s things to her.”

“Let me help.”

They returned to the bedroom and Kathleen went about haphazardly gathering items that might bring her mother comfort in the hospital. She began stuffing the items into an old duffel bag. “I know she can’t have this stuff now while she’s in ICU, but—but…” Her voice broke.

Carson was by her side in an instant. “You can take them later.” He gently took a framed photo that she was clutching and set it on a dresser. “Your dad?”

Kathleen nodded, tears trickling down her cheeks. “She’ll want him with her.”

He led her to the bed and eased her onto the coverlet. He propped himself against the headboard and urged her down beside him.

Kathleen didn’t resist.

Carson cradled her head against his chest and, smoothing her still-damp, tangled red hair with his fingers, held her against his heart until she cried herself to sleep.