Homing (7 page)

Her attention caught by the strange sound, Julie glanced at her sister, gasped, -then clutched at her mother's arm.

Startled, Karen pulled away from Russell and looked down. "Honey-?" she began. Then Kevin broke in and told her what had happened.

"She's having an allergic reaction to a bee sting," he said. "I'll get the kit."

As Karen knelt beside her young daughter, whose breathing was quickly dissolving into labored gasps, Kevin darted into the house, returning almost instantly with a first-aid kit. Taking the kit from his son, Russell opened it, found an Epi-Pen, and quickly injected a dose of epinephrine into the muscle of Molly's thigh.

A moment later, as Molly's breathing took on a terrifying feathery quality, Russell picked her up. "Come on," he told Karen. "She's going into shock and the shot isn't working. We've got to get her to the clinic. Fast!"

With Molly whimpering helplessly in his arms, he pushed his way through the crowd, Karen following close behind him, Julie, stunned by how quickly it had all happened, tried to follow her mother and sister through the crowd, but before she could catch up her stepfather had gotten them into a car and was already heading down the driveway.

Feeling totally useless, Julie could only watch them go.

"It's all right, Molly," Karen crooned. "It's going to be fine." But as she held her daughter in her arms, she wondered if her words were true. Molly's leg kept swelling, and her knee-which she could no longer bend at all-had practically disappeared into her puffy flesh. The little girl's breathing seemed to be getting worse by the second, and her skin was bright red all over.

"Can't you go any faster?" she asked Russell, her voice taking on an urgency she hoped Molly wouldn't understand.

"We'll be there in less than a minute," Russell told her.

"Someone will have called ahead to let Dr. Filmore know we're coming. Molly's going to be all right."

"But what's happening to her?" Karen asked. "She's been stung by bees before. She's-"

"I don't know any more than you do, honey," Russell told her. The town was still a quarter of a mile away when he hit the brakes and swerved off the road into the parking lot of the small clinic that had been finished just a year ago, built with funds raised by the townspeople over a period of almost a decade. As Russell had promised, the front door opened as they approached it, and a woman of' about thirty-five held it wide as Karen, still clutching Molly in her arms, hurried inside.

"Take her straight through that door," the woman instructed, indicating one of the two doors at the back of the waiting area.

Karen lurched through the door, surprised to find the room empty. A wave of panic threatening to strangle her, she twisted her head back toward the woman who'd met them at the door. "Where's Dr. Filmore?" she asked. "Russell said."

"I'm Ellen Filmore," the woman announced. "Let's get some of those clothes off her." While Karen supported Molly's weight, Ellen Filmore, whose prematurely graying hair framed a pretty, oval face highlighted by warm brown eyes, expertly unfastened the row of buttons that ran down the back of Molly's dress, then pulled the little girl's arms free of the sleeves. "All right, let's lay her down."

Gently, Karen lowered Molly onto the examining table.

Molly's breathing was becoming more and more labored, and the color in her face was changing from the bright red it had been a few moments before to a pale bluish tinge.

"Oh, God," Karen cried. "She can't breathe! You have to" But Ellen Filmore, a strange-looking plastic object in her hands, was already pushing her firmly aside, and now a young man clad in white pants and a pale green smock had appeared at the other side of the table. "Do you want to give her a sedative?" the man asked.

"I don't think she needs it," the doctor said. Speaking quickly, she explained to Karen what she was doing as she began working the object, which consisted of two tubes, divided in the center by a large plastic plate, into Molly's mouth. "Her throat's swelling, blocking her trachea. If we can get this airway in The doctor's voice died away as she focused all her concentration on her task. The nurse held Molly's mouth open and used a depressor to move the little girl's tongue aside. Karen winced as the plastic tube began to slide into Molly's throat, causing her daughter to gag, but a moment later Molly's chest suddenly expanded as she drew a deep breath of air into her lungs. Soon, the bluish tinge to Molly's face gave way, but the unnatural redness remained. "Don't worry too much about her color," Ellen Filmore said. "It means she's getting air again. With any luck, the worst of it's already over." Her attention shifted to the nurse. "Let's give her a shot of epinephrine, Roberto."

Russell, who was hovering just inside the door, spoke just as the nurse started out of the room. "I already used epinephrine. It didn't seem to have any effect at all."

Frowning, Ellen Filmore looked up from Molly, onto whose arm she was wrapping a sphygmomanometer cuff.

"You're sure you gave her the shot from the bee kit, not the snake kit?" she asked as she pumped the cuff. Molly's blood pressure was perilously low.

"I gave her the right shot," Russell declared. "And it's fresh, too. I just replaced it a month ago."

"Then we have a problem." Ellen's frown deepened as she began jotting notes on a blank chart. "We're going to have to get her over to San Luis Obispo."

Karen felt her growing fear begin to give way to panic.

She reached out to lay a protective hand on her daughter, who, mercifully, no longer seemed able to hear what was being said. "San Luis Obispo?" she echoed. "Why can't you treat her here?"

Ellen Filmore ignored Karen's question, turning instead to Russell. "Was Carl Henderson at the wedding?"

Russell nodded.

"Good. Call your house and ask him if we can use his plane. If he's already left, find him." As Russell strode out of the examining room, Dr. Filmore turned her attention to Karen, talking as she began setting up an IV in Molly's right forearm. "I'm going to try another shot of epinephrine, just in case, but if she still doesn't respond, then we have a problem," she repeated.

"A problem?" Karen echoed, immediately thinking the worst. "Oh, God, Molly's not going to-!" She cut off her words, unwilling to let Molly hear her even utter the word "die." Ellen Filmore, though, understood exactly what Karen was trying to ask, and shook her head firmly. "We're a long way from even thinking about that," she assured Karen "Has your daughter ever been allergic to bee stings before?"

Karen shook her head, repeating what she'd told Russell in the car. "Lord knows, she's stepped on her share of bees, but all she's ever done is cry while I've pulled out the stinger, then gone right on with whatever she was doing. She's never even swelled up before." She looked down into Molly's pain-contorted face, and her eyes flooded with the tears she'd been struggling to control.

As the nurse came back into the room with a hypodermic needle, Ellen Filmore took it, administered the shot, then watched for any sign of a reaction from Molly.

There was none.

"Stay with her, Roberto," the doctor instructed. "She seems stable for the moment, but if there's any change, call me immediately." She led Karen out of the room, closing the door behind her. "It appears that your daughter has developed an allergy," she explained. "It happens sometimes-people go along for years with no reaction to bee venom at all, and then, wham! With some people it seems to be a cumulative effect. But what bothers me," she went on, her eyes clouding with worry, "is that she isn't responding to the epinephrine. Unless what stung her is a different strain of bee from what we're used to, it should have pulled her out of the reaction.'

For a moment Karen didn't grasp what the doctor was saying, but then she remembered all the stories she'd seen in the Los Angeles papers over the last couple of years, and the meaning of the doctor's words finally sank in.

"YOU mean, killer bees?" she whispered, her face paling slightly.

"I didn't say that," Ellen replied. "In fact, I'd be very surprised if that's what it is. The African strain hasn't reached this far north as far as anyone knows, and even if it has, this isn't what it does. It's more aggressive than our bees, but individually, it's no more dangerous. It almost seems as though something else must have stung Molly." Before Karen could say anything more, Russell came in from the reception area. "I talked to Carl-he's on his way to the airport now. We'll meet him there."

"All right," Ellen Filmore said. She led them back into the examining room, and Russell stared at the IV in Molly's arm. Even to his unpracticed eyes, he could see that the swelling had grown worse, and though she was still able to breathe through the airway, she was struggling for each lungful of air. Could she even survive the flight?

"How-" he began, but his voice choked as he gazed at the helpless child, and all he could do was gesture toward the array Of equipment that was keeping Molly alive.

"It'll be okay," Ellen told him. "We'll take the van to the airport, and I'll fly over to San Luis Obispo with you.

Carl has a cellular phone in the plane, so I can talk to the hospital on the way. He can radio ahead for an ambulance to meet us, Let's go." Issuing instructions as she began transferring Molly, who was now barely conscious, to a gurney, the doctor showed Russell how to regulate the oxygen that was feeding into Molly's breathing tube, and explained to Karen how to regulate the IV. "Neither of you should actually have to do anything at all," she said as she began wheeling the gurney toward the main door. "But if her condition should change while we're in the air, I might not have time to tell you what to do. The important thing is to keep the bottle higher than Molly, so the fluid keeps dripping into her arm. And if I tell you to turn it off, do it with the valve. What we don't want to do is detach the tube from the bottle or the needle, and absolutely we don't want to let the needle come out of her arm. Ready?"

Working as a team, with Ellen Filmore and Roberto guiding the gurney while Russell carried the oxygen canister and Karen the IV bottle, they moved out of the clinic to the parking lot. Within minutes they had Molly loaded into the van, Russell cradling the little girl in his arms. Ten minutes later they arrived at the airport, where Carl Henderson already had the tie-downs off his plane and the engine warming.

They maneuvered Molly into the plane, stretched out on the middle of the three cramped rows of seats. As Russell climbed into the co-pilot's seat, he looked back at Karen, who was crouched in the backseat with Ellen Filmore.

"Will you look at us?" he asked, forcing a smile he didn't feel at all. "We're going to be the best-dressed parents the hospital in Obispo's ever seen."

Karen tried to return the smile, but when Molly shuddered in her stupor, she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out.

Don't let her die, she prayed silently. Please, God, don't let her die.

Julie hung up the phone in the kitchen. Beyond the closed door to the dining room she could hear the murmur of the few guests who were still at the farm, waiting to hear if Molly would live. Steeling herself to answer their questions, she opened the door and began moving as quickly as she could through the small group of her stepfather's best friends. "It doesn't sound like they're coming home today," she told Maddy Brewer, whose name was one of the few she could remember. "Molly's really sick, and Mom sounds scared." Catching sight of Kevin on the front porch, Julie moved quickly to the front door and stepped outside, gratefully sucking the fresh air into her lungs "Mom just called," she reported. They've taken Molly to the hospital in San Luis Obispo, and she isn't sure when they're going to be able to get home. Maybe tomorrow, but maybe not until the next day."

Kevin sighed heavily, uncertain what to say. The memory of the pain he'd seen in Molly's eyes an hour ago tore at his guts, and as he tried to ask Julie how she was, a knot formed in his throat that choked the words off. So instead of exposing the deep fear he was feeling for Molly, he tried to act a lot braver than he was feeling, and forced his mouth into a wry smile. "Some wedding, huh? I guess we better tell everyone who's left that they might as well go home." He glanced back into the house, where tables were laden with food. "Kind of a waste, isn't it?"

Julie stated at him. "is that all you care about? A bunch of food? What about my sister?" What did Kevin think? That Molly had deliberately gotten stung? "She didn't do it on purpose!"

"Who said she did?" Kevin replied, stunned by Julie's flare of anger. What the hell was going on? Why was she all of a sudden so pissed off) "All I said was

"I heard what you said," Julie shot back, cutting him off. "And it sounded like you think Molly deliberately tried to-"

"I didn't say anything about Molly at all!" Kevin protested, his own voice rising now.

The screen door banged open and Otto Owen stepped out scowling at both of them. "What's going on out here?"

Before Kevin could say a word, Julie blurted out her accusation.

"Well, he's right," Otto grumbled. "If you kids and your mother had stayed where you belonged, your sister wouldn'ta gotten stung, now would she?"

Julie's mouth dropped open with mute astonishment and she burst into tears. Covering her face with her hands, she stumbled down the steps and ran across the yard toward the barn.

Kevin glared at his grandfather. "Jeez, Grandpa!"

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" the old man snapped- "They don't belong here!"

Kevin's temper erupted. "Dad and Karen are married, Grandpa!" He loves her And I like her, too." His words came faster and faster, . tumbling from his mouth. "She's not my mom, but so what? Mom's dead, and nothing's going to change that! And I like Julie and Molly, too! If Molly dies, I don't know what I'll do! She's just like my little sister. So just cut it out, Grandpa! Okay?" Before Otto had a chance to reply, Kevin turned, took the steps to the ground in one leap, and set off after Julie.

Otto's jaw tightened and a vein in his forehead started to throb. He took a tentative step after Kevin, but then stopped, wheeled around and went back into the house, pushing his way through the cluster of guests until he came to the punch bowl on the dining room table. He started to pour himself a cup, then changed his mind and stalked to the sideboard where several bottles of liquor stood. Pouring himself a generous shot of Jack Daniel's, he drained it, then poured another.