Family Be Mine (19 page)

“S
O HOW'S THE TRIP?
A
RE YOU
ready to abandon your consulting business and New Jersey for the Berkshires and making goat cheese and knitting socks, or whatever people do up in New England?” Sarah asked Katarina.

Sarah adjusted the phone at her ear and leaned back in her office chair, glancing at her watch. It was a little after nine o'clock, and Rufus was running late. She'd make sure to give him grief.

Earlier, she'd walked to work by herself. She hadn't bothered to knock on Hunt's bedroom door when she went down to the kitchen. Just as well, since she didn't feel like justifying her behavior. She knew he would tell her it was foolish. But Sarah had needed to get out on her own, clear her mind, recharge her soul.

She wanted to hate Hunt for forcing her to confront her demons, but in the light of a new day, and in the solitude of a brisk walk on a fall morning, she couldn't. Because it turned out that her demons really weren't so demonic.

What she had needed to face was her own expectations, her own insecurities, and her own sense of self-worth. In the end, she had gone running to Mommy. No, that wasn't true. She had called for sympathy and for unqualified love. But she had also called for reassurance
from one individual to another that even though life was sometimes messy, it would get better.

At least until the next bout of messiness.

So where did Hunt fit into all this? Was he the problem or was he the answer?

“Remind me never to book a B and B again,” Katarina went on, oblivious to the big thoughts bumping around in Sarah's brain. “Ben's just too big. Whichever way he turns there's some knickknack waiting for him to run into, and I can't tell you how many times he's hit his head on the crossbeams.”

Sarah heard a ringing in the background and what sounded like Ben answering another phone.

“And all the froufrou—it's definitely upping his level of surliness,” Katarina continued. “Wait a minute. Ben's trying to get my attention.”

Sarah fiddled with her cup of herbal tea and wished she had packed some of the chocolate cookies she'd baked during the night.

“Sorry about that.” Katarina was back. “That's Hunt calling Ben on his cell. He asked for
Babi
cka
's phone number. Do you have any idea why he'd want it?”

“Not really. We've had a little excitement, Hunt and I, but nothing to bother her with.”

“The baby? Are you all right?”

“Fine. We're all fine.” Sarah waved her hand. “It's slightly complicated. I'll tell you about it when you get back. In the meantime, enjoy yourself. Don't think about any of us.”

“I'll try not to, though it's hard with everyone calling all the time.”

“I don't call
all
the time!” Sarah protested.

“No, I don't mean you. I guess I was speaking of
my grandmother. Listen, you've got to hear the latest bombshell. She called me last night wanting to know what I thought about Wanda moving in with her.”

“Wanda? Move in with your grandmother? I know they're good friends, but…”

“She tells me it would be her personal version of an assisted-living facility. The two of them would pool their money and help each other out. That way, even on fixed incomes, they'd both have more flexibility. Naturally, I said Ben and I would be glad to help out if it was just a question of money, but she rejected that immediately. To make a long story short, I promised to get together with the two of them when I get back and run the numbers.”

Sarah heard some loud swearing in the background.

“Oops! I got to go,” Katarina said quickly. “Ben just managed to get a shirt button caught on a curtain tieback.”

 

J
ULIE STRODE THROUGH
the Emergency Room. She turned her head from side to side, acknowledging the nurses at the station, the huddle of medical students trailing the E.R. docs, and the patients filling the rooms and hallway gurneys. Business was certainly brisk, especially for a Tuesday.

She was the obstetrician on call from noon to midnight, and since there were no immediate emergencies, her first stop was the cafeteria followed by sleep. She'd been up the night before with a protracted delivery, and after seeing several patients early in the morning, she was ready for some shut-eye.

With a purposeful, long gait, she traversed the E.R.
and was close to the double doors that led to the rest of the hospital when a well-worn Docksider boat shoe caught her attention—plus the fact that it was attached to a long, male leg in loose sweatpants. The man's face was hidden behind a pillow so she couldn't tell who it was. But the pillow was definitely familiar. It was one Julie had needlepointed and given to Sarah.

“Hunt? Hunt Phox?” She stopped next to the gurney he was lying on in the hallway. When the E.R. was overflowing, they put patients wherever there was space.

She placed a hand gently on his knee. “Hunt? Is that you?”

Hunt slowly removed the pillow, and Julie immediately saw the extreme redness and swelling. She also recognized the obvious pain. She leaned closer. “What's going on?” she asked in a well-schooled, calm voice.

Hunt swallowed. “It seems I've got an infection. I thought I had a reaction to a bug bite on my face, but they found a scratch on my ear, probably one of the dogs in the obedience class got me by accident. Anyway, it looks like it's gotten infected—cellu—cellu—something.” He closed the eye on the side of his head that was grossly distorted.

“Cellulitis,” Julie clarified. “You told them about the Hodgkin's and that your immune system is suppressed after chemo, right?”

“Yeah, first thing. That seemed to get their attention.” Hunt shifted to face her. “I'm supposed to be getting some morphine for the pain, and I think they're going to start an antibiotic drip. A nurse already put in a line.” He raised his arm to show her. “One of the doctor's mentioned something about a CATscan of my head and neck—just to be on the safe side.”

“Who's seen you? The E.R. doctor?”

“Yeah, a resident. An ear, nose and throat person is supposed to be coming to look me over, too.” Hunt winced with pain.

“Did you call your oncologist?” she asked.

“I will when I find out what's going on. Besides, he's in New York,” he said. Hunt brought the pillow up next to his head again and pressed it against his ear. “Until they get me the morphine, this helps. Let me tell you. I've become a big fan of your needlepoint.”

“How long have you been waiting?”

“I got here about nine-thirty.”

She glanced up at the wall clock. It was almost eleven forty-five. “What the hell!”

Hunt waved his hand. “It seems there was a car wreck involving a van of nuns and a semi. That's not a bad joke, but the actual truth. Apparently, I'm way down on the list.”

“Not on my list.” Julie marched off to the nurses' desk.

Less than a minute later a young nurse came over and injected the morphine and hooked up an IV bottle.

Julie thanked her. She turned to Hunt. “How you feeling now? Any more pain?”

“Pain? What pain? Wow! This stuff is great! A sudden rush to the extremities, then total La La Land.”

Julie patted him on the arm. “We aim to please. When did the symptoms start, anyway?”

He gave her a brief rundown of the headaches, the swelling and redness, and the excruciating pain.

She nodded. “Listen, I've got some other things to do, but I promise to check in on you later. Who's your
doctor in New York, anyway? I don't think I ever got the name.”

He fumbled for his cell phone in the side pocket of his sweats. “His name's Marvin Zimmerli. Unfortunately, I can't wear my glasses with all this swelling, so maybe you can find it in the Contact list.”

“Sure, no problem.” She deftly scrolled through his phone, and entered it into her own. She handed it back. “Get some sleep, lover boy, while you can before they start poking and prodding you some more. Let me tell you—the med students are going to lo-o-ove your case.”

“Lucky me,” he said.

“Lucky you.” She gave him a wink.

She hit the button to swing open the double doors. As soon as they swished shut, she was on the phone to his oncologist.

 

B
Y THE TIME
S
ARAH LET
herself into Hunt's house it had been more than a full day. Instead of calling him for a lift, she had walked with her last patient who was going to the Chinese restaurant on Main Street. From there it was only two blocks.

She savored the fresh air. Hunt was probably thinking she was still sulking when she hadn't called at the end of the day. Well, she
had
texted. She couldn't help it if he hadn't bothered to reply.

She pushed open the door and immediately heard the sound of Fred's nails clipping down the stairway to the ground floor foyer. He did his customary waggles and nervous bounds, landing his front paws gently on her in a doggy hug.

“Down, Fred,” she said but continued to rub his ears
and neck. Finally, she pushed him off, gave him a treat, and forced herself to trudge up the stairs instead of using the elevator.

“Hunt,” she called out when she reached the living room. She didn't get any response. She went up the next flight of stairs, expecting to find him in the study or maybe lying down in his bedroom. But the place was empty.

Empty and quiet. Except for Fred following her every step of the way. He sniffed at Hunt's desk before trotting down the hallway and making a flying leap onto his unmade bed.

She walked in the room and was surprised the blinds were still drawn.

Fred stood alert in the middle of the bunched-up duvet and looked purposefully at Sarah. When she didn't react immediately, he sprang around and grabbed the corner of one of the pillows. He shook it back and forth, then flicked it with his head. It landed across the room.

Sarah walked over and picked it up, intending to put it back on the bed. But she found herself hugging it to her chest. The smell from the pillow slip wafted to her nose. It reminded her of him. Citrusy. Clean, but male.

She sat on the side of the bed, the pillow still in her arms. Then she flopped back, sinking onto the covers. Fred came over and sniffed her face. When she didn't react, he turned a few exploratory circles and collapsed next to her, Hunt's pillow squished between them.

“So where's your lord and master, Fred?” She stroked his belly.

Fred rolled over on his back, shamelessly exposing himself.

“I suppose he left a note on the kitchen counter. We'll
have to go check, I suppose, but in a minute.” It felt absolutely heavenly to get off her feet and let her muscles relax and her vertebrae stretch out. She closed her eyes. “I could stay like this forever except I know that I'll have to pee any minute.”

She continued to scratch the dog's stomach. There was something highly satisfying about scratching a dog, she realized. Then she shifted her head sideways to check the clock on the bedside table and noticed a pile of books. They had bar codes from the library, and they were about pregnancy and childbirth. She felt a sudden tightness in the back of her throat. Tears threatened.

Her phone sounded and she wiped her eyes and fished it out of her warm-up jacket. It was Julie.

“Hey, Julie, what's up?”

“So you haven't heard? He hasn't called you?”

“What haven't I heard, and who hasn't called me?”

“Hunt.”

Sarah planted her elbow on the bed and levered herself up. “Hunt? What about Hunt?”

“He's in the hospital.”

The baby kicked. Sarah tensed. She tossed aside the pillow and grabbed her abdomen. “What's wrong? The lymphoma hasn't come back, has it?”

“No, it looks like a scratch or something on his ear got infected and he's got a skin infection—cellulitis.”

“How did that happen?”

“Probably because of his weakened immune system. By the time he got to the E.R. this morning, it had already traveled from his ear to the side of his face and his parotid gland and lymph nodes. Luckily, he got treatment before it had time to reach his brain and cause meningitis. These infections are nasty. They come on
fast and are very dangerous. I've been in touch with his oncologist in New York—”

“Is he coming down?” Sarah sat rigid on the side of the bed. Fred had flipped over and wiggled on his belly. He pressed his nose in her hand.

“No, he didn't think he needs to. He's been in contact with the E.R. doc, the ENT specialist, and an infectious disease person they brought in from New Brunswick. He also contacted one of the local oncologists who was a former student of his. They've all been faxing and emailing him the blood work and the CT scan results.”

“What about taking him in an ambulance to New York?”

“Hunt's getting very good care, and it's probably better not to move him. Listen, Sarah, this is a bad news/good news scenario. Yes, this was potentially life threatening, but the good news is that Hunt promptly got to the hospital. They're pumping him full of megaweight antibiotics, which seems to be handling the infection. He's still on morphine, but I think tonight or tomorrow they'll probably switch him to something less powerful.”