A Little Help from Above (6 page)

“Oh, really? How do you know that?”

“Because. Only the good die young. Like in the Billy Joel song. Ask your husband.”

Lauren’s eyes widened. “That is the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard anyone say,” she replied before slamming the door and storming off.

Vintage Lauren. Feel it, think it, never say it. Someone could get hurt. Most likely her. Did I say this wouldn’t work?

As Shelby watched Lauren waddle off in the direction of the hospital’s front doors, all she could think was how fat Lauren looked. Not that this was new news. Her sister had been up and down the scale so often, Weight Watchers created a program just for her. The Perpetuity Plan.

“Maybe it’s not what you’re eating, it’s what’s eating you,” Shelby remembered suggesting upon learning Lauren’s biology term paper was entitled, “Why Women Gain Five Pounds After Eating a Two-pound Box of Chocolates.”

In hindsight, Shelby’s well-meaning diagnosis was more of a turning point for herself than for Lauren. By spring break, Lauren had gained another ten pounds, and Shelby switched her major from psychology to journalism. “Helping crazy people takes too long,” she said, sharing her revelation with her faculty advisor. “It’s much easier to write about them and move on.”

Not that it stopped Shelby from calling Lauren every few months to insist that she try her latest weight loss strategy. Finally, after stomaching an entire week of the no-fail, cabbage-and-lemon diet, Lauren begged for mercy. “Find someone new to torture, Shel. I’m never going to be you, and I’m okay with that. I still have a pretty face.”

Which was Shelby’s point. Lauren could have been a knockout if she didn’t subscribe to Aunt Roz’s, “what’s one little piece of cake going to do?” attitude. Yet even with her weight issues, there were times Shelby was secretly envious of Lauren’s natural attributes. She was the one who’d inherited those big, brown M&M eyes, the lush auburn hair, and the satiny, olive complexion that glowed even on dreary, winter days.

Still, if there really had been a contest, the judges would have declared Shelby the family’s “it” girl. For she was the one fate chose to come in standard-equipped as a long, leggy blonde with a tiny waist
and chiseled cheekbones. But Shelby also knew there was an unspoken truth. Sandy and Roz, two very different-looking sisters, had genetically predisposed the next generation of sisters to the same miscarriage of justice. One could stop traffic, the other wouldn’t get arrested for standing naked in Times Square.

Poor Avi, Shelby thought. He probably met Lauren when she was in one of her svelte, size-ten cycles, never imagining she’d blow up to have an ass shaped like a couch cushion. No wonder he thought I was so hot.

She flipped down the sun visor to reaffirm her stunning good looks in the mirror, then practically jumped out of her own flesh. Gazing back in the reflection was the shadowy image of her mother’s face. Shelby punched the sun visor up and clutched her shirt. Was she so tired she was seeing ghosts? She closed her eyes, hoping to erase the eerie vision in the glass.

It was one thing to have occasional make-believe conversations with Granny Bea Good, her Jiminy Cricket. It was quite another thing to be spooked by your dead mother at the very place where her life had ended.

Suddenly she was reminded of the time Ian McNierney, speak of the devil, handed her a bizarre assignment when she first started working for him. “Find Detroit’s top psychics and clairvoyants, and see what they’re predicting for the nineties.” He’d grinned.

Assuming this was some kind of hell week prank, Shelby submitted her first draft, a piece she cleverly entitled, “Boo!” Never did she expect Ian to attack her for allowing cynicism to seep through the words. “Mock readers, mock me,” he bellowed. “But then I should have guessed you’d be daft on this subject. You’re living proof, education is the bane of enlightenment!”

Shelby had never forgotten Ian’s stinging remark, not because he’d attacked her elite American schooling, which he insisted had left her void of original thought. What had been far more disconcerting was this brilliant man’s unshakable belief that humans could communicate with the dearly departed, and learn about the future from them, too.

Total lunacy was her reaction then and, his little psychedelic trip notwithstanding, now. If it was true those who passed on had the ability to communicate with loved ones, why hadn’t her mother appeared before today? Surely she had to know Shelby still mourned
her loss, still drifted in a sea of uncertainty without her loving presence.

She quickly rolled down the window, flush with neurosis and in desperate need of air. What to do next? Lauren was no longer in her line of sight, so it would be pointless trying to catch up to her. Yet she knew she had to get the hell out of the car, for it was no longer a safe haven.

With her heart racing, she jumped out and began to pace. Should she, could she, walk through those hospital doors? Her rapidly palpitating heart answered no. Nor could she just drive off, either. If she looked in the rearview mirror and saw her mother’s reflection again, she’d surely floor the gas pedal, crash through the brick wall, and hurtle the car in a downward spiral to parking level one.

Then panic set in. What if from now on every time she looked in a mirror, her mother’s ghost appeared? How would she put on makeup? And what was she supposed to say to Ernest at Hair Georgio next time she was due for a trim? “Could you please drape a towel over your mirror?” Even worse, with every workout studio at the gym totally mirrored, would she now have to cancel her membership? She could only imagine the scene if her mother showed up at her spin class. Shelby’s stationary bike might become airborne.

It’ll be a living nightmare. Shelby bit her lip. For as much as it would be nice to know her mother was watching over her, she wasn’t prepared to play peekaboo for the rest of her life. On the other hand, at least this little call from Graveland had occurred when she was alone and not while she was at the office. No doubt her cronies would have toasted her meltdown, for up until now it was only a rumor Shelby Lazarus felt human emotion.

The thought of work suddenly gave her a new, desperately needed focus. She’d only left Chicago this morning, but in the paper trade, every minute you were out of touch was an eternity to the editor trying to reach you. She tore open her pocketbook, reached for her cell phone, and called in for messages.

So much for thinking she was important. The only calls were from David begging to hear how she was managing, and one call from her friend Risa, asking if Shelby was done with David, could she give his number to a friend who was ready to start dating again?

Shelby couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Was the dating
pool so dry that even an overweight, bald guy without a spine was valuable currency? As she looked around the crowded parking lot, it occurred to her the problem with men was they were no different than parking spots. The good ones got snapped up right away, and the only ones left were disabled.

Just as she was about to dial David’s number, a car stopped and a middle-aged man with a bad toupee honked, then pointed at her spot. “You leavin’?” he mouthed.

She was about to blow him off when something stopped her. “Uncle Marty?”

The man rolled down his window, yanked off his sunglasses, and squinted until his sun-drenched eyes adjusted to the dark garage. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Shelby? Look, hon. It’s my niece, Shelby. You remember my wife, Bonnie, don’t you?”

“I certainly do.” Shelby grimaced. More like I’ve spent the past six years trying to forget how my mother’s older brother dumped sweet Aunt Ellen for this stacked, blond-from-the-box shikseh with fake fingernails and an even faker ID. “If she was born in ’61, I’ll eat at McDonald’s,” Shelby whispered to Lauren at their wedding.

Bonnie peeked through the window, snuffed out her Virginia Slim, and waved hello. “Hi, hon.” Her gum snapped. “How you doin’?”

How am I doing, you ask? You fat ignoramus? Excuse me. Aunt Ignoramus? Shelby knew the polite thing would be to walk over, but her legs suddenly turned to Jell-O while a magnet-like force glued her rear end to the car door. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Uncle Marty didn’t seem all that interested in following social graces, either. His hands remained clamped to the steering wheel. “Good for you. You came all this way to donate blood.”

“Excuse me?” With all the garage noise in the background, surely she’d misunderstood.

“We got a call to come over right away. They said your folks needed blood. But you’re definitely the better match. I mean ’cause you got all of your dad and maybe some of Roz.”

Shelby nearly passed out at the thought of having a needle jabbed into her arm. “Nobody said anything about giving blood. I’m just here to support Lauren.”

“From outside? Jeez, Shelby. Don’t tell me you’re still pulling
that stupid, baby crap about not going into hospitals. You’re a grown woman, for Christ’s sake.”

“And you’re a moron if you think my father wants to be injected with the nicotine-filled blood of your shikseh wife who’s wearing a cross so big she could probably be nailed to it!”

“Whad she say?” Bonnie stopped cracking her gum.

“Forget it.” Uncle Marty waved in disgust before speeding off.

Shelby stood motionless, terrified, thinking that some migrant worker who swam here from Cuba was now waiting for her upstairs with a syringe and a basket of empty vials.

I need to collect myself, she thought as she opened the car door and collapsed in the driver’s seat. She turned on the ignition, the radio, and the AC, rolled up the window, and leaned into the headrest. After a short nap she’d be fine. Back to her old self. The tough-minded, volcanic-spewing Shelby, who still believed polite conversation was entirely overrated.

Oy.

“She’s coming to.” A nurse in blue scrubs pulled back the curtain. “Call Dr. G! Stat!”

Shelby’s first conscious thought was she wished she didn’t drool when she slept. Nothing was worse than waking up to a moist cheek on a soggy pillow. Or having to admit drool’s cousin, incontinence, would inevitably be the next member of the Insult family to visit. Her second conscious thought was, what pillow? She didn’t remember there being a pillow in Lauren’s car.

Nor could she readily identify her bland, green surroundings. In fact it was not until she looked up and saw a bag of clear fluid hanging from a pole that it dawned on her she was no longer in Lauren’s VW. Not even German cars came standard equipped with needles that could be lodged in one’s forearm. Did she say needle?

A shrill, earsplitting scream suddenly echoed down the hospital corridor and an army of medical attendants came running. “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.” An intern gently stroked her hand. “Dr. Glavin is on her way.”

“Who?” a bewildered Shelby said, yanking at the white tape holding the needle in place. “Get this thing out of me! Since when do you take blood without getting someone’s permission?”

“No, no, honey.” A nurse with wash-and-wear hair pushed Shelby’s hand away. “We’re not taking blood. We’re giving you fluids intravenously, and we need you to finish the bag.”

“What are you talking about? Get away from me. You have no legal right to touch me without my express, written consent! Wait until you hear from my high-priced attorney…”

“Shelby?”

Shelby looked up to see a striking, tall blonde approaching. Whoever this chick in a lab coat was, she looked like she’d be more at home with her sisters at Kappa Kappa Gamma.

“Hi. I’m Dr. Glavin. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Great. Terrific. Now get this thing out of my arm.” Shelby tugged at the tape.

“I wouldn’t advise that.” Dr. Glavin examined the amount of fluid remaining in the bag. “You were extremely dehydrated when I found you passed out in your car.”

“Passed out? That’s ridiculous. I just dozed off waiting for my sister to come back. Is North Shore so desperate for patients they have to canvass the parking lots…”

“Uh-oh. Looks like she’s on to us. “Dr. Glavin winked at her comrades. “But how about sitting still for another few minutes until one of the residents can examine you?”

“What are you? An actress? ‘Hi. I’m not a doctor, but I play one on TV.’”

Dr. Glavin smiled. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Shelby stopped fidgeting for a moment. This was someone she knew?

“I treated your brother a few years ago when he was in my rehab program. I believe you attended a couple of the family therapy sessions.”

Shelby blinked. Family therapy? If ever good money had chased bad. But yes, she did vaguely remember the perky, blond shrink Eric fantasized about screwing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Shelby held up her hand. “I pass out in a car and they call in a psychiatrist? Isn’t that a tad judgmental? Just because my stepbrother is crazy doesn’t mean…”

“It’s nothing like that, Shelby. As I was pulling into the spot next to yours, I looked over and saw a woman fall over. When I couldn’t unlock the car door, I called for help.”

“So, you didn’t know it was me?”

“Not until they found identification in your purse. Have you eaten anything today?’

“Coffee at the airport.”

“Well no wonder. Can we get Ms. Lazarus a bagel with cream cheese and a large glass of orange juice?” Dr. Glavin asked the nurse.

“No need.” Shelby nearly fainted again at the mere thought of
scoffing down more than a thousand calories in one sitting. “There’s a yogurt with my name on it at home.”

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Lauren charged through the curtain. “What happened, Shelby? Were you driving when you passed out? Is my car okay? This is a nightmare.” She burst into tears. “First Mommy and Daddy get rushed here, then you…”

“The car is fine. I’m fine, too, thanks for asking. I just need to get out of here before they schedule me for a lobotomy…”

“Miss Lazarus?” A wisp of a doctor entered, holding a clipboard bigger than his face. “I’m Dr. Rhouhani. I understand you lost consciousness in your car, and you suffer from anemia?”

“Anemia! Who the hell told you that?”

“I did?” Lauren looked down. “It’s just. I don’t know. You’re so thin…”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. All of you get the hell away from me,” Shelby jumped off the table, finally pulling the IV from her arm. “I’m fine. Okay. Look. I can stand. I can hop. I can fox trot.” She grabbed Dr. Rhouhani’s arm and swung him around.

“Shelby, we’re only trying to help,” Dr. Glavin cut in.

“I don’t need help.” Shelby stopped. “My father needs help. He’s upstairs in distress….”

“Actually, they’ve stabilized him,” Lauren said softly. “But it’s still very touch-and-go.”

“Yes, I heard about the accident.” Dr. Glavin patted Shelby’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. But tell you what. Why don’t you two get something to eat in the cafeteria? Then I’ll come get you the minute the doctors can speak to you.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m heading home.” Shelby looked around for her pocketbook.

“My sister has a whole phobia about this hospital,” Lauren explained to the uninformed members of the group. “Our mother died here, and…”

“I’m fine.” Shelby grabbed Lauren and pierced her with a shut-your-mouth look. “I just need to rest.”

“And eat.” Dr. Glavin winked.

“What are you?” Shelby bellowed. “The Food Police?”

“Come here, miss. I vish to check your vital signs.” Dr. Rhouhani took Shelby’s pulse. “Perhaps I should prescribe something to help you…”

“You want to help me? Find my damn pocketbook and point me to the nearest exit.”

“We know this is very upsetting, dear, but before you can be released we need to follow certain procedures.” The nurse pushed Shelby back onto the table. “Just let Dr. Rhouhani examine you, then you can sign the release form and be on your merry way.”

“That’s what’s wrong with managed care!” Shelby screamed, as a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her arm. “People in dire need of medical attention are left to die, while the perfectly healthy ones are held prisoner in ER’s.”

“Is she always like this?” Dr. Glavin whispered to Lauren, her psychiatric eyes lighting up.

“No. Usually she’s much worse.”

By the time Shelby was finally reunited with her pocketbook and declared free to leave, she was so drained she didn’t have the strength to argue when Lauren grabbed her hand and said they were headed to the cafeteria. There they would eat and await word from Dr. Glavin as soon as the surgeons had news to report. At least for the moment the girls knew their father and aunt remained in critical, but stable condition. Still, no one was guaranteeing their survival. It was simply too soon to tell.

“Are you sure that’s all you want?” Lauren eyed Shelby’s near barren tray as they approached the cashier. “What about a nice muffin or a bagel?”

“There’s no such thing as a nice muffin.” Shelby paid for her apple and yogurt. “They’re high-fat, high-carb, high-calorie time bombs that…”

“…Taste so good, especially with butter and then you nuke them in the microwave…”

“Be my guest. But I, for one, like it when I can zip my pants in the morning.”

“You are so mean.” She jabbed Shelby’s arm. “Why are you so mean?”

“Forget it. Let’s go sit over by the window. In case we decide to jump.”

Look. Shelby’s inside the hospital. Granted it’s only the cafeteria, but it’s still progress. And see how nicely the girls are sitting at the table? They’re not fighting, not stabbing each other with utensils. On the other
hand, they’re not talking, either. Shame is, I know Lauren has so much she wants to say but fears confrontation. Always did. Shelby, of course, thrives on confrontation. And given her lovely behavior with the hospital staff, I don’t blame Lauren for lying low at the moment. Although there is one subject that’s generally considered a safe zone.

“This is the first nice day we’ve had in almost a week.” Lauren smiled at the view of sunlit trees. “It started pouring Monday night, and we thought it would never let up.”

“Really?” Shelby stirred the last bit of yogurt. “Maybe that’s why they were up and out so early.”

“You’re probably right. “Lauren smiled. “The thing is, rain was in the forecast for today, too, but then the sun came out. They must have gotten so excited…”

“…They ran straight out. But, of course, it’s been scientifically proven after heavy rains, the clouds burn off and the sun is extra bright. Sometimes blinding.”

“So the man who hit them,” Lauren bubbled. “It wasn’t really his fault…”

“Are you crazy?” Shelby’s eyes bulged. “Remind me to leave you home when we drag that stupid, son of a bitch into court. Of course he’s responsible. The law says if you get behind the wheel of the car you have to compensate for any and all hazardous conditions regardless of…”

“You want another yogurt, Shel? They also have nice big salads, oh and the French onion soup looked really good. You used to love that.”

Shelby still felt hunger pangs, but made a face so Lauren would see that there were people who eat to live, not live to eat.

“Lauren Streiffler? Shelby Lazarus?”

The girls glanced at each other, then turned around to see who was calling them. An overgrown, baby-faced man in blue surgical scrubs and glasses was searching the room.

Lauren stood up to signal their whereabouts. “Excuse me. Sir? Over here.”

The doctor waved back, then started a quick trot over to their table.

“Who’s he?” Shelby asked.

“I’m not sure. I guess one of the surgeons. You have good instincts. Does his face say good news or bad?”

Shelby, who certainly did pride herself on her ability to read people’s faces, was nonetheless stumped. The man’s expression was neutral. This could go either way.

“Hi, Shelby. How are you?” The unshaven doctor leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Lauren was not nearly as stunned as Shelby. She assumed all men treated her this way.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” He looked at Shelby’s puzzled expression. “Scott Rosenthal? Well, now it’s Dr. Rosenthal. I’m a thoracic surgeon on staff.”

Tic-tac-toe. This was the third time today someone from her past showed up unexpectedly. If only she’d known, she would have chosen her clothes more carefully. On the other hand, unlike Ian and Dr. Glavin, she was clueless as to who this guy was. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“It’s okay. It’s been a lot of years. And I’ve put on a few pounds.” He patted his stomach. “Anyway, when I saw who they’d brought in this morning I felt terrible. I just wanted to come down here and tell you we’re going to do everything we possibly can to help your parents through this terrible ordeal.”

“Thank you.” Lauren smiled. “Do you have time to join us?”

“Of course. Of course.” Dr. Rosenthal pulled out the squeaky chair next to Lauren’s. “So how are you two holding up? You must be going through hell.”

“Longer than you know,” Shelby mumbled. “What can you tell us about their condition?”

“Well, I’ll be honest with you. They both lost a lot of blood, and it’s not that any one injury in particular was catastrophic; it’s the cumulative effect of the multiple injuries that’s putting them at such high risk. I’m sorry to put it this way, but basically it would be a lot easier to put back Humpty Dumpty. If they make it through the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours, I’m not going to say they’re out of the woods, but it would certainly increase their odds of survival. The bad news is then they’re looking at months, if not years, of physical therapy, pain medications, surgery…”

“Are you suggesting they’d be better off dead?” Shelby said icily.

“No, of course not. I just thought you should know the magnitude of the problem.”

“Oh my God,” Lauren began to sob. “This is so scary.”

Dr. Rosenthal rubbed her back. “I know. But the one thing in your favor is we’ve got the best team of surgeons working on them. If anyone can save them, it’s North Shore.”

“Great! It’s déjà vu all over again.” Shelby bit her lip. “Same hospital. Same bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Forget it. So what happens next?” Shelby took a deep breath.

“Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about. We’d like both of you to give blood. It could really make a difference, especially for your mom.”

“She’s not our mother,” Shelby jumped in. “She’s our aunt. I doubt our blood types would even match.”

“Your father married his aunt?” Dr. Rosenthal raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Lauren said. “After our mother died he married her sister. She’s our aunt. Not his.”

“Oh. Well, there’s still a very good chance you’ll be the same blood type as your dad.”

“Sorry,” Shelby examined her new choice of nail color. “I can’t give blood.”

“Why not, Shel?” Lauren pleaded.

“I’m anemic. Remember?”

“No you’re not! I made that up so they’d be sure to take good care of you.”

“You did?” Shelby blinked.

“It’s okay,” Dr. Rosenthal said. “Even if one of you gives, it will be a big help.”

“But what if neither of us can give?” Lauren bit her lip.

“I’m sure there are other family members who…”

“Wait a minute,” Shelby interrupted. “Why can’t you give?”

“Because, Shel. I have…problems, okay? I’m taking all these different prescriptions and I don’t think you can give blood if…”

“Is it those diet pills again? How many times have I told you that stuff is pure speed…”

“Could we not worry about this for the moment?” Dr. Rosenthal said.

“Fine. When can we see them?” Lauren asked, just as her pager sounded. “Shel, you have my beeper. Where is it?”

Shelby reached under her shirt to unclip it from her slacks. At least it hadn’t been ripped off while she lay unconscious in this godforsaken place.

“Shel-bee.” Lauren pressed several buttons. “Why didn’t you tell me I had messages? Avi paged me four times.”

“Sorry. When I’m out cold I’m just not my usual, efficient self.”