Invisible (25 page)

I'll let Rosa figure it out.

I don't know if I black out or fall asleep, but within what seems like seconds, I hear a tapping on the window of my car and then a rush of cool air washes over me as someone opens the door.

“Ellyn?”

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn my head without lifting it from the headrest and open my eyes. Before I can say anything, he's holding my hand with one of his and has two fingers on my wrist. Then he moves the fingers to my neck, which I know is slick with sweat.

“No . . . no. Don't.”

“Shh . . .”

“I'm . . . don't. I'm . . . fine.” I lift my head and wipe the damp curls off my forehead. “Where's . . . Rosa?”

“She called me.” Miles fumbles in his back pocket and pulls out his cell phone.

“She . . . she . . .” I try to get out of the car.

But he holds me back while he punches keys on his phone with one hand.

“I'll . . . shoot her.” Then I hear what he's saying. “No . . . oh, please. No.”

Miles has called for an ambulance.

So much for my pride.

Pride? You're nothing but a fat slob. I always knew you'd die of a heart attack.

Yeah? Well, you know what, Earl? If I do, at least I won't have to listen to you anymore.

For wherever the human soul turns itself, other than to you, it is fixed in sorrows.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Thirty-Three

Miles

While I wait for
the ambulance, I try to get Ellyn's pulse again, but it's still weak and her breathing is shallow. Her symptoms are indicative of several issues, one or two of them serious, which is why I called for an ambulance rather than risk moving her myself.

“Shh . . . You're not fine, but you will be.” I try to quiet her again. I also attempt to stay in a professional mode of operation rather than personal.

She
will
be fine.

She has to be.

Although . . .

What if Ellyn's rejection of me was actually God's way of protecting me? Protecting my heart? The thought evokes fear rather than relief. But I push all that aside for now. “C'mon. Where's the ambulance?”

“What?” Her voice sounds as weak as her heartbeat.

I reach down for Ellyn's hand and clasp it in my own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just watching for the ambulance.” I hear the siren up above on Highway 1. “They're on their way. You'll feel better soon, gal. You will.” I squeeze her hand again.

When the ambulance arrives, I step back and let the EMTs do their job. I follow them to the hospital, park in the doctors' lot, and meet Ellyn in the hallway of the ER. I'm not there as a doctor though—just as a friend. I can't treat her.

“I'm here if you need me. Do you want me to come with you when they take you back?”

She looks up at me—more alert now. I read the fear in her eyes, but then she looks away.

“I'm . . . fine. I've taken enough of your time already.”

I nod. This isn't about me right now. “Would you like me to call someone to come? Rosa or Sabina?”

“No. Oh, but I'm supposed to meet Sabina at 1:00. Can you . . . just tell her I can't meet today?”

“You bet.”

I stand back as a nurse comes and wheels Ellyn's gurney back to one of the curtained cubicles.

“I'll have them keep me posted. And I'll call Sabina.”

She lifts her hand and waves her thanks.

After I call my
office and fill Courtney in on what's going on, I have Dee pull Sabina's file and give me her phone number—this time it's an appropriate use of the information we have on file.

Once I've talked with Sabina, I take a seat in the ER waiting room. I am more comfortable treating patients than waiting for them. I don't sit still long. I get up, wander the ground floor of the small hospital, stand in front of a vending machine for several minutes, and then go back to my seat. As I do, I see Sabina walk into the waiting room from the parking lot.

I wave at her and she comes my way.

“Hello, Dr. Becker.”

“Please, it's Miles.” I motion to the seat next to mine. “You didn't need to come.”

“I wanted to. Any more news?”

“Not yet. It may take awhile.”

She nods. “Well, if you don't mind, I'll wait with you.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes. “Would you like a magazine?” I point to a rack on the wall.

“No, thank you.” She shifts in her seat. “Were you with Ellyn when this happened?”

“No. She was alone. She called Rosa to pick her up. Rosa called me.”

Sabina smiles. “Good for Rosa. Although, Ellyn will certainly have a few words for her when all is said and done, won't she?”

I smile. “I imagine so.”

“Just for the record, Ellyn is the only one who doesn't realize how good you are for her.”

“Well, thank you.” I get up. I don't want to talk about my relationship with Ellyn. “I'm going to see if there's anything new to report.” I go to the reception desk and ask for a report. Though I'm not treating Ellyn, and rarely spend time in the hospital, the receptionists know I'm a local doctor.

“Just a moment, Dr. Becker, let me go check.” She tells the other receptionist that she'll be right back.

A few minutes later, she comes back to the desk with the latest information. “Her blood pressure is low and there's an abnormality on her EKG. They've ordered an ultrasound. Dr. Nguyen will come out and talk to you when he has a minute.”

“Thank you.”

I go back and tell Sabina the little I know, but not what I suspect. I sit back down beside her and run my hand through my hair.

“You're . . .” She clears her throat. “You're sure she'll be . . . okay?”

I nod. “Yes.” Though I speak with more confidence than I feel.

“May I ask you a question? It's personal.”

I nod, but hope it isn't about Ellyn. “Sure.”

“Ellyn shared that you lost your wife a couple of years ago.” She looks around and then looks back at me. “I'm sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm wondering how . . . you handled that . . . as a doctor, a healer?”

“That's an insightful question. Are you in medicine?”

“Not exactly. I have my PhD in psychology and have . . . or had . . . a clinical practice for many years.”

“I see. To answer your question, it was frustrating. As you can imagine, working as a healer yourself. I felt like I had no control. Like I was impotent, as a doctor. And . . .” I shrug. “I was angry.”

“Did you deal with depression?”

“Not clinically. My faith helped.” She looks away and I notice her body tense. “Did something I say offend you?”

She looks back at me. “No. I just don't put much weight in
faith
, as you call it.”

I let her comment pass for now. “Have you lost someone recently?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Ah, turnabout is fair play?”

I smile and nod.

“Yes, I lost a client.”

“I'm sorry.”

She shifts in her seat again. “She committed suicide.”

Her tone is curt, as though she's daring me to accuse her.

“So you understand then . . . some of what I may have felt?” I see I've caught her off guard. She doesn't respond for a moment.

“Well . . . as much as I cared about . . .” She twists her wedding ring around her finger. “I recognize it isn't as difficult as . . . losing a . . . spouse. Though, I admit, I haven't thought of that until now. I am . . . sorry for your loss.”

“Death is a painful experience whenever we lose someone—especially if it's someone we care about or someone we cared for professionally. Death wasn't part of God's plan. It's jarring—painful.”

“What do you mean it wasn't part of God's plan?”

“Death came with sin.”

“Ah, right. So, with your wife . . . did you . . . did you blame yourself?”

I think about her question. “No, but doing so was tempting.”

“Tempting?”

“It wasn't about me. To blame myself would mean that I consider myself on the same plane as God. That I see myself as omnipotent.” I stretch my legs out. “But I don't believe that. And as a doctor, I can't believe that. God is the only One who holds life and death in His grasp.” I see tears come to her eyes before she looks away again.

“I see.”

She still isn't looking at me. I put my hand on her forearm. “Do you, Doctor?”

She turns back to me and lets her tears fall. “I'm beginning to.” She rests her hand on top of mine. “Thank you, Doctor.” She pulls her hand back. “Now, let's hope, for both our sakes, that Ellyn is just fine.”

All that is ebbing away from you will be given fresh form and renewed, bound tightly to you.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ellyn

I am awake and
feeling better now, my heart is no longer flopping, nor do I feel like I'm strapped to a merry-go-round instead of a gurney. The only thing pressing on my chest is the strong desire to throttle Rosa.

I can't believe she called Miles. I can't believe Miles is standing next to me. I can't believe he saw me like . . . this: hair matted, sweating, and sick.

And I can't believe how grateful I am that he's here.

The double doors of the inner sanctum open and a nurse, dressed in raspberry-colored scrubs, emerges. She wheels me through the doors and into a curtained cubicle she refers to as Room #5. I wave to Miles as I go.

Norton's brother is in Room #6. I know this because an older man on the other side of the curtain is wailing, “I want to see Norton. Norton? Where's my brother, Norton? I just want to see my brother.”

The raspberry nurse nods toward the curtain. “I'm sorry. He's altered.”

Altered, as in neutered? Altered, as in transgendered? Altered, as in chemically? This is Mendocino County. It could be any of the above.

“Where's my brother? I just want to see Norton.”

How about altered, as in psychologically? I'm going to believe the best about Norton's brother and choose the psychologically altered option. After all, I'm feeling a bit altered myself this morning.

Raspberry spreads a warmed blanket over me, and I experience my first moment of comfort since getting on that stupid bike. She takes my blood pressure and my temperature and records the results on my chart. “Do you know your weight?”

Do I know my weight? What woman doesn't know how much she weighs? Anyway, I weighed myself when I got out of bed this morning. “I'm not sure.”

“Okay, we'll get it later.”

She jots something more on my chart and then begins wiring me for sound. She places sticky
electrodes
, as she calls them, to my ankles, arms, chest, and who knows where else. I lose track. Then she hooks wires to the electrodes and tells me to hold still. All wired up, I imagine I look like Frankenstein. Our body types aren't too dissimilar.

“Norton?”

“Mr. Romano, Norton's not here,” Raspberry says through the curtain.

“Where is Norton? I just want to see my brother. Norton?”

I begin praying for Norton's brother, Mr. Romano.
Oh Lord, may he experience Your peace. Comfort him, Lord. Heal him, as only You can.
He quiets for a few moments, and then begins wailing again.

The nurse smiles. “Just another day in the ER.”

I hold still for the minute or so required for her to complete the EKG.

“All done.”

She starts ripping sticky electrodes off my skin. Ouch! How much of my skin is going with those patches? Enough to make a difference when she weighs me, I hope.

After the EKG, I'm left alone in the curtained cubicle and the tears well. When Miles asked if he could call anyone for me, I thought of my mom. Odd. She'd still be in her silk robe, sipping coffee at this hour. But what could she do? It's a three-and-a-half-hour drive from San Francisco to Fort Bragg. Anyway, I know what she would do. I'd get the “I told you so . . .” speech.