Life Support (53 page)

Alexia called Ken Pinchot the following morning and found out that Rena hadn't deceived her about the events at the hospital. When Drs. Kolb and Berman communicated Judge Holcomb's decision to the hospital administrator, the woman contacted the hospital's lawyers and requested an opinion. There followed a series of e-mails and phone calls that resulted in the pulmonary specialist telling a colleague they were not going to remove the ventilator without additional clarification of the proper protocol from the court. Rena overheard part of that conversation. If she had gone into the meeting instead of calling Alexia, she would have found out that everything was worked out.

“What does Mr. Richardson think about bringing Baxter back to Santee?” Alexia asked. “Dr. Berman mentioned that he discussed it with you.”

“He's exploring options.”

Alexia proceeded carefully. As long as Ezra held the durable power of attorney, she doubted she could win a tug of war over Baxter's immediate care.

“Have you considered turning the guest cottage at Baxter and Rena's house into a dedicated care facility?” she asked. “It would provide twenty-four-hour access for medical workers and allow all members of the family to visit whenever they wanted to.”

“Ezra brought that up when we talked, but he wasn't sure about Rena's reaction.”

“She's open to the possibility. We've already discussed it.”

“Really?” Pinchot paused. “I'll contact Ezra and get back to you.”

As soon as she hung up the phone, Alexia called Rena in Greenville.

“How are you this morning?” Alexia asked.

“Still in my hole. Do you have any news?”

Alexia told her about Pinchot's positive response to moving Baxter to the cottage.

“The more I've thought about it, the more I like it,” Rena said. “If I'm ever going to get over what has happened, I need to spend time with Baxter myself. I could have more opportunities to be alone with him if he's there at the house.”

Two days later, Baxter Richardson returned to Santee. It was a different journey from the carefree drive he'd taken with Rena for a day hike in the mountains. His eyes were closed, and he had no sensation of the passage of time or distance. The seasons were changing and early winter was at hand. In the meantime, Baxter clung to life like an autumn leaf in an uncertain breeze.

The white guest cottage with green shutters and black roof had undergone a rapid transformation. Much can be accomplished in a short period of time if money is not an obstacle. Simple antiques had been replaced with modern hospital furnishings. The living room would be the main care area. In the middle of the room was a state-of-the-art bed surrounded by all the equipment needed to feed and care for a paralyzed, comatose patient. The kitchen was turned into the nurse's station and supply room. The bedroom served as the overflow area for everything else. Ezra hired a medical consultant from Charleston and paid for everything.

Rena watched the workers coming and going from the window of her house. She had to bide her time until the dust settled. While she waited, the seed of a plan to finish the job begun at Double-Barrel Falls began germinating in her mind.

The patient arrived via ambulance. Rena and Ezra stood on opposite sides of the driveway as the attendants rolled the gurney toward the house. Baxter's pale face appeared oddly white in the bright sunlight. His body didn't resist the small jolts as the gurney rolled across the pavement. When she saw him, it reinforced in Rena's mind the fact that Baxter wasn't really human. He was more closely related to a mass of cells inside a woman during the early weeks of pregnancy than a viable child about to be born, and just as Rena would have the right to discard those cells for her convenience, Baxter needed to be eliminated from her life. His stubborn presence kept her from going on into the future.

She held back and didn't go into the guesthouse until her father-in-law left. The uneasy truce that had brought Baxter back to Santee didn't extend to personal interaction. Jeffrey was out of town and wouldn't be back for a couple of days.

When she tentatively opened the front door of the cottage, Rena was greeted by a gray-haired lady wearing an old-fashioned, white nurse's uniform that exuded professionalism. The woman introduced herself with a firm handshake.

“Mrs. Richardson, I'm Clarice Hathcock, an RN who will be coming by several days a week to check on your husband.” Ms. Hathcock handed Rena her card. “I live about five minutes' drive from here. If you need me, please don't hesitate to call.”

Baxter was lying peacefully on his side with his face toward the door. His body was covered by a white sheet, and Rena could see the limp outline of his arms and legs.

“He was always on his back when I saw him in the hospital,” Rena said.

“I'm sure they changed his position. We will be moving him on a regular basis to avoid problems. For people in comas, bedsores can lead to fatal infections.”

A young female aide came into the room from the kitchen. Nurse Hathcock introduced her to Rena.

“There will be an aide here at all times. You don't have to do anything except come for visits whenever you like.”

Rena nodded. “I might like to have some time alone with him.”

“Of course. Just tell the person on duty to step into another room.”

Rena retreated to the safety of the main house. As she walked in the door, the phone rang. It was Alexia.

“Has Baxter arrived?” the lawyer asked.

“Yes.”

“Would it be okay if I come by later?”

“What time?”

“About four-thirty. I also want to bring someone with me.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Ted Morgan, the music minister at Sandy Flats Church. He's a friend of mine.”

“Why does he want to come?”

“He's a musician and wants to play music on a portable keyboard in Baxter's room.”

“Huh? That would be a waste of time. Baxter doesn't know what's happening.”

“He's aware of Baxter's condition, but he wants to do it anyway. I'll stay in the room. You don't have to be there.”

“Whatever, but you'll have to clear it with the nurse. Someone is with Baxter all the time.”

“Alright. See you then.”

Alexia hung up and dialed Ted's number.

“You're in,” she said when he answered. “I tried to sound casual, but it felt weird asking permission for a musician to play for a comatose patient.”

“Did she ask you why?”

“No, and I'm not sure I could have explained it the way you did to me. The value of playing Bible verses as a way for God to touch a sick person is not something I've ever argued to a jury.”

Ted smiled and put a clean glass back in the cupboard of his kitchen. “I'm glad you didn't have to use your lawyer skills. What time should I be there?”

“Four-thirty if the nurse on duty approves it.”

“Should I meet you at their house?”

“No, come here a few minutes early and pick me up. We'll go together.”

The idea that music could be the means God used to touch and heal someone was birthed in Ted's experimentation in translating spiritual concepts into their musical equivalents. It was a subjective exercise, but it was consistent with Ted's belief that in a perfect universe everything moved in harmony with the Creator. Ted's job was to intersect the expression of music that ran parallel with God-breathed prayer. When he did so, he communicated a depth of desire beyond his ability to express in words. It was a pure form of faith uniquely suited to the gift of God in his life.

He arrived in his pickup truck at Rachel Downey's office. It was fifteen minutes before Alexia walked into the reception area.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was doing paramedic duty on a woman's emotions. Let's go.”

Ted's work truck didn't feature leather seats and the fancy stereo system looked out of place in the rugged interior. He'd wiped off the cracked vinyl seat with a wet rag before leaving the parsonage. The keyboard was in a black plastic case in the truck bed. When Alexia slid in and closed the door, Ted handed her an envelope.

“Here's the bid for the work on the house. I went over there yesterday and changed a few things on the proposal.”

“More money?” Alexia asked.

“Not much,” Ted replied as he backed out of the parking space. “And it will be even cheaper if you're willing to get some paint on the end of your nose.”

“I don't have much experience as a painter.”

“No problem. I can give you on-the-job training with an extra discount for the pleasure of your company.”

Alexia smiled. “As long as you promise not to get mad at me if I mess up.”

“Put it in the contract, and I'll sign it.”

“Done. Do you know the way to Rena's house?” Alexia asked.

“Yes. I did a job last year in the same neighborhood.”

It was a short drive from the downtown area to the neighborhood that featured several large, older homes.

“What are you going to play when we get there?” Alexia asked.

Ted flipped down the sun visor as they turned west down a sunny street. “The beginning section is related to what I played the Sunday afternoon they took him off the breathing machine. From there it's less clear, but as I told you the other day, I've thought about the idea for years. This is just the first time I've actually tried to do it.”

“Did you consider starting with an easier case?” Alexia asked. “I mean, Baxter Richardson is barely alive.”

Ted nodded. “If it depended on me, that would make sense. But I don't have the power to heal a sore throat. If something good happens today, it will be because God does it. All we have to offer is obedience and faith.”

Alexia glanced out the window. “No one can argue that Baxter doesn't need all the help he can get.”

They pulled into the driveway and parked near the guest cottage. Alexia called Rena's number.

“We're here,” she said. Then she listened for almost a minute to Rena talk.

Flipping off the phone, she turned to Ted and reported, “Rena has already spent time with him today and doesn't want to come over again this afternoon. It's hard on her to see him like this.”

“That's fine. I'd rather we be alone with him.”

They knocked on the door of the cottage. Nurse Hathcock opened it.

“May I help you?” she asked.

Alexia took charge. “I'm Alexia Lindale, Mrs. Richardson's attorney, and this is Ted Morgan, a local minister. We'd like to see Baxter.”

“I have a list of approved visitors,” the nurse replied. “Let me check.”

She closed the door in their faces.

“This may be the hardest part,” Alexia said.

The nurse returned with a clipboard in her hand.

“I'm sorry, but neither of you is on the list. Mr. Richardson gave specific instructions about limiting visitors.”

Alexia took out her cell phone and hit the redial button. “If Mrs. Richardson says it's fine, may we come in?”

“Uh, yes.”

Alexia told Rena what they needed and then handed the phone to Ms. Hathcock.

“Here. She has something to tell you.”

As the nurse listened, her eyes grew bigger. “To do what?” she asked as she looked at Ted and Alexia with greater skepticism. “I've never had a request like this before. It should be cleared with the supervising doctor.”

It wasn't clear to Ted and Alexia what Rena said next, but Ms. Hathcock blinked and moved the phone away from her ear. The nurse's resistance evaporated.

“Yes, ma'am,” she said and handed the phone back to Alexia. “You can go in for ten minutes. Keep the volume on your instrument low.”

Ted retrieved the keyboard from the back of the truck. In his other hand was a black Bible. As he entered the cottage, Baxter was alone. They stood side by side and looked soberly at the immobile figure in the bed. Ted took Alexia's hand and bowed his head.

“God, help us. Amen,” he said simply.

Alexia motioned toward the kitchen and whispered, “The guards are in there.”

Ted opened the case for his keyboard and took out the instrument. He didn't spend any more time staring at Baxter. He didn't want to waste his ten minutes. He plugged the keyboard into a wall outlet and turned it on.

“Where do you want me to sit?” Alexia asked.

“Anywhere, so long as you can agree with what I'm playing.”

Alexia wasn't sure how to agree with musical notes, but she squelched any questions. She sat in a low-slung, comfortable chair that she suspected had survived from the days when Baxter and Rena had lived in the tiny house. The hospital bed blocked her view of Ted's face. Baxter was lying with his back to Ted and facing her. The music minister hit a few tentative notes then adjusted the volume of the keyboard. The instrument was capable of a wide variety of sounds, but Ted had apparently decided to choose straight piano. Alexia could see an open Bible on the floor at his feet.

Ted began to play.

There was nothing remarkable about it. It was a simple succession of notes with basic resolutions every few measures. Alexia wasn't sure what she'd expected, but given the seriousness of Baxter's condition, something with more musical pyrotechnics would have seemed appropriate. Ted played for a couple of minutes and then stopped to turn the pages of his Bible. Alexia glanced toward the kitchen and saw the nurse peek out when the music ceased. Ted resumed, and Ms. Hathcock retreated.

He took up a different key and stayed in the lower octaves where he created a rumbling sound with a military stridency. The vibrancy of tone from the portable instrument was pathetic when compared to the grand piano in the sanctuary of the church, but there was potential in the notes the music minister coaxed from the machine. Alexia listened more closely. Ted moved up the keyboard and then quickly dropped back down as if regrouping before going forward. Alexia wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but she began to sense a purpose in the music. Ted was going somewhere. Alexia glanced at Baxter. His face revealed nothing. There was no visible change.