Saturday Morning (39 page)

In the cab, Andy wondered how Julia had fared with Fluffy. Julia had jumped at the chance to housesit until Martin got home. She said she was sick of staying in a hotel, despite the fact that she didn’t have to cook or clean for herself.

Martin had gotten home Wednesday night, and they’d been in touch constantly by phone and e-mail. He seemed a changed man, perhaps because she’d committed to some changes herself.
You should have looked to your Bible a long time ago
, she reminded herself. No matter what the problem, the Bible always had the answers. If one looked for them.
Why do I always need reminders? Shouldn’t this be habit by now?

The cabby removed her luggage from the trunk and set it on the sidewalk. She handed him his money, which included a generous tip, and eyed the steps.
Good, Martin’s home.
His car was in the slot.
He can come help me.

Oh, bother
, she thought. She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and the handle of the portable sewing machine and started down the steps.

By the time she’d reached their house, she wished she’d thought to pay the cabby to help her. She wasn’t a slouch by any means, but she was no muscleman either.

She opened the door. “Martin?” Still no answer. He must be sleeping or something.

She set her suitcase inside the door, then went back out for the duffel bags. Huffing and puffing, she tossed her stuff inside and walked in to check the bedroom. No Martin. He must be up in the loft, so deep into his work he didn’t hear her.
Typically Martin. Not here when I need him. Cancel that thought.
That was the old Andy. As she climbed the stairs to the main level, she noticed that the television was
on. Had Martin fallen asleep in front of the TV? That wasn’t like him. The view of the bay caught her attention when she reached the top of the stairs, as it always did.

“Martin?”

She turned toward the living room. “Oh, dear God, Martin!”

Her husband lay spread-eagled, flat out on the floor, the cell phone just beyond the tips of his extended fingers.

“Martin!” Andy leaned over him and put her face close to his to see if she could hear him breathing.
Martin, please be alive. Please!
She laid shaky fingers on the side of his neck to feel for a pulse. Weak, but there. “Oh, thank You, God. He’s alive.” She saw the phone and grabbed it. No dial tone. She pressed the button, held it, then pressed it again. The dial tone sounded. She punched 911.

“You have an emergency?”

“My husband is unconscious. His pulse is really weak. Send an ambulance.” She held Martin’s hand while she gave the address, including cross streets. She wanted to scream for the woman to hurry. “We’re the second house on the right down the Filbert Steps.”

“The ambulance is on the way. Does he have a history of heart problems?”

“No. None.”

“Is he on any medications?”

“No.” A picture of Martin swallowing a pill in their hotel room clicked in her mind. “Wait, I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

All the while she answered questions, prayers flew heavenward.
Dear God, help him. Please help him.
“Should I be doing something for him?”

“If you have a blanket close by, put that over him.”

Andy dropped the phone and flew across the room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fluffy sitting by Martin’s reading glasses, which had fallen on the floor. She grabbed the throw from the sofa
and hurried back. As she was covering him, she saw him move his lips and tried to comfort him. “I’m here, honey. I’m right here. The ambulance is on the way.”

His lips moved again, but no sound came out.

“I can hear the ambulance. They’re almost here.”
Please, Martin, please don’t die on me.
She snatched up the phone again. “Sorry, I forgot you. I can hear the ambulance.”

“Go open the door for them, and turn your outside light on.”

“Okay.” She picked herself up and raced downstairs. Where would they park? Oh, why don’t they hurry? She flicked the switch several times to signal them, then bit her lip to keep from crying out when the flashing red light was reflected in the windows of the houses across the garden. The moment she heard them park and open their doors, she ran back up to Martin.

“They’re here, honey. They’re going to fix you up.” While it seemed like forever, she could hear the men entering.

“Up here. We’re up here,” she called out.

Two men came up the stairs, laden with equipment. “Okay, ma’am. What can you tell us?”

“I-I came home and found him like this, then called 911.”

“Any history of heart problems?” While they asked her questions, one knelt by Martin with a stethoscope and the other took out a face mask and slipped the elastic over her husband’s head, attaching a line to an oxygen tank.

“Is he taking any medications?”

“I’m not sure. Is it important to know?”

“Yes. Can you find out?”

“I’ll go look through his things,” she said. She hated to leave him, even for a second, but if it would help … She hurried downstairs to their bedroom and made a quick check of the medicine cabinet, then Martin’s bathroom drawers. In the bottom drawer, she found a bottle
of 81 milligram aspirin, then behind that a small brown prescription container. She grabbed them both, finished looking through the drawer, then ran back upstairs.

One of the EMTs spoke into a microphone pinned to his collar, repeating what he knew. She handed him the prescription container and the aspirin. “Looks like he’s taking 81 milligram aspirin and 10 milligrams Inderal twice a day. We’re starting an IV.” He looked at her. “What’s your husbands name?”

“Martin, Martin Taylor.”

“Age?”

“Fifty-two.”

“Well be taking him to St. Mary’s if you want to follow us. Be sure to bring his insurance card.”

She nodded. The only thing that kept her from screaming for them to hurry was the knowledge that they didn’t need a hysterical woman on their hands.

Two firemen brought up a collapsible gurney and transferred Martin onto it with the ease of long practice.

“Okay, ma’am, you drive safely. We’re going to be in a hurry, okay?”

Andy bit her lip, fighting tears. “Oh, I don’t know where it … How do I get there?”

He gave her a card with the address printed on it. “Is there anyone who can drive you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” She followed them downstairs, out the door, and up the steps, as all four men carried the gurney like a stretcher. Tears cascaded when she saw them slide the gurney into the rear door of the waiting ambulance.
Dear God, please, please let him live.

She stood there, frozen, her knuckles against her mouth. “Please don’t let him die,” she whispered.

The doors slammed, and the orange-and-white vehicle rolled down the street.

Back in the house, one of the firemen gathered up all the debris and stopped beside her. “You’ll call someone?”

“Yes, right now. Thank you.”

“He’s in good hands.”

She watched him go downstairs and stared out the window, the ambulance wail an echo of the cry of her heart. Sucking in a deep breath, she dialed J House.

“J House. Clarice speaking.”

Andy gritted her teeth and took another breath.

“Hello, are you there?”

“Clarice, this is Andy.”

“What’s wrong?”

“They—The ambulance just took Martin to the hospital. I—They think he had a heart attack.”

“Let me get Roger. Hang on.”

Andy leaned her forehead against the coolness of the floor-to-ceiling window. What did she need to take along? Martin’s wallet. She glanced over, and sure enough, he’d left keys and wallet on the counter as usual. Martin was nothing if not a man of habit and neatness.

“Andy, are you at home?” Roger’s voice came through the phone, warm and strong.

“Y-yes. I need to go to the hospital, but I don’t know where it is. They gave me a card, but … ”

“I’ll pick you up. Be outside. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Thank you.” She hung up the phone and stared at her hand, as if checking to see that her fingers were indeed at the ends of her palm where they belonged. Shaking herself, she grabbed Martin’s wallet and her purse and started down the stairs. “Oh no. Fluffy.” The door had been open for who knew how long. “God, please, where is he?”

The meow came from her left. “Fluffy!” He was sitting in the same exact spot he’d been in earlier. She walked over, picked up Martins
glasses and Fluffy, snuggling him under her chin. “He’ll be all right. We have to have faith. Be a good boy and take care of things while I’m gone.” She set him down and hurried for the stairs.

Everything seemed to be moving in ultraslow motion. As she waited on the curb for Roger, she realized she didn’t know what kind of car he had. And then a car was stopping and the door was opening, and the man inside was telling her to get in and buckle her seat belt. She handed him the card with the hospital’s name and address, and then put her hands over her face and burst into tears. Roger drove slower than a Sunday driver, or that’s the way it seemed anyway. “Hurry, hurry,” she said, her right foot pressing on the floor board. “No, light, stay green.” She clenched her hands so hard her nails bit into the palms. “Get out of the way, you fools.”

Her mind raced with myriad questions. Had she paid their insurance premium? How much life insurance was Martin carrying? When should she call the children, now, or later after she knew more about what was happening?

Roger pulled the car into the emergency parking lot, flung his door open, and ran around the front of the vehicle to open her door before she could undo her seat belt. “Let me help you,” he said, taking her arm and steadying her.

“I’m so scared,” she said, clinging to him. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“Don’t think like that. Think positive. You have to think positive.”

Andy nodded. He was right. She couldn’t let herself think negative thoughts. Not now. Not ever.

“Julia should be here any second,” Roger said, guiding her through the emergency room doors. “We’ll get through this; you’re not alone.”

“If only I hadn’t gone back to Medford. If only I’d been there for him … ”

“No, don’t play the ‘if only’ game. God is in control, and things happen the way they are supposed to.”

Andy shook her head. “He can’t die. Martin is the healthiest man I know. This is just crazy.” She clenched her fists. “He’s too young to die.”

He guided her to the desk, where a woman smiled up at them.

“Hey there, Roger, what’s up?” the woman said.

“They brought Martin Taylor in by ambulance. This is his wife, Andy. Can she go see him?”

“Let me check.” She punched a number on the phone and smiled at Andy. “Hang in there, hon.” After a minute of questions and pauses, she shook her head. “Sorry, the doctors are working with him now. You would only be in the way.”

“Can you give us any information?” Roger put an arm around Andy’s shoulders. “Anything would help.”

The woman paused. “Let me go see.” She reached over and patted Andy’s hand on the counter. “Be right back.”

“You want to sit down?”

Andy shook her head, as if standing would help Martin. She felt as though she was having one of those out-of-body experiences and looking down on all this. Another ambulance wailed and came to a stop just outside the automatic doors. Someone coughed from the rows of chairs in the waiting area. A white-jacketed doctor breezed past her, his eyes intent on the chart he was holding. On the fringe of the long hall leading to the examination rooms, another group of people waited—a teenage boy sat holding an ice pack on his face. From where Andy stood, it looked like it was the other side that needed it. His face looked as though it had been sprinkled with meat tenderizer and beaten with a wooden mallet. A young mother rocked back and forth. In her arms a baby coughed to the point of gagging. A gurney whizzed by, and the medical team pushing it looked on edge.

The receptionist returned. “The nurse says Mr. Taylor is responding to treatment, but he’s still not stable. If you’ll have a seat—I know how hard it is to wait, but right now there is nothing anyone else can do for him.”

“Sure we can,” a familiar voice said from behind. “We can pray for him.”

Andy whipped around and flew into Julia’s arms.

While Julia consoled Andy, Roger took a pen and a clipboard from the receptionist. “Let’s sit down over there,” he said, looking pointedly at Julia. “She needs to fill this out.”

With Julia’s help, Andy filled out the papers and put Martin’s insurance card under the clip. She knew the drill, because she’d volunteered at their local hospital in Medford. But this time it was different. She was on the other side of the counter, and it was Martin.

While Roger took the clipboard and pen back up to the counter, Julia asked what had happened.

“I had a cab bring me to the house from the airport—” Andy cut herself off, realizing she didn’t have to go through every step. “He … he was on the floor when I got home.”

“Heart?”

“They think so.”

“Martin looked like the last one who’d suffer from a heart attack.”

“Type A personality all the way.”

Julia nodded. “I thought so, but still.

“He’s so young.”

“Which is in his favor,” Roger said.

“This wouldn’t have happened if.

“No ‘if’s,’ remember?” Roger asked. “There was nothing you could have done to prevent this. No matter how strong and capable you are, some things are beyond your control.”

“Yeah, like Martin.” Andy rolled her eyes.

Roger chuckled. “Spoken like a true wife.”

A wailing baby came through the door, its parent trying to shush the noise.

The sound grated on Andy’s nerves like the drip of a faucet.
Shut that baby up. What’s the matter with me? Lord, I’m going loony.

She watched the clock hands stutter around its face. She tried to pay attention to the conversation between Roger and Julia, but they might as well have been talking Swahili. She’d shredded every tissue Julia pressed into her hands, her cheeks feeling chapped and raw from the constant dabbing. Who’d have ever thought she had this many tears in her? They kept leaking out in spite of her stern orders to stop.