The Immortality Factor (32 page)

Wordlessly, I took the phone. “Yes?”

“Jess, it's Momma,” I heard Arthur's voice. “I just got the call. Another stroke. Bad one. They said she won't live through the night.”

“Jesus.”

“I'm going to try to get down there,” Arthur said.

“Where are you?”

“At the lab. The state police say that the major highways are being plowed constantly; they're trying to keep at least one lane open.”

“I'll drive up.”

“Don't take any risks you don't have to.”

“What about you?”

“The state police have offered to drive me to the nursing home.”

“Maybe I can get an ambulance to take me.”

“Okay. See what you can do.”

I handed the phone back to the nurse. “Who else is on the ward tonight?”

There were half a dozen residents hanging around, trapped by the blizzard. I swiftly made arrangements for a couple of them to take the rest of my rounds. I actually felt relieved to be out of the ward. And I felt ashamed at my sense of relief. Like a kid playing hooky from school; it's great to be out but you know you ought to be in.

I went to my cubbyhole of an office and phoned Julia to tell her what was happening.

“I can drive you,” she said.

I nixed that idea right away. “No. You stay home. There's nothing on the streets except emergency vehicles and crazy people. Not even the buses are running, I hear.”

“Then how will you get to Sunny Glade?”

“I'll get one of the ambulance guys to drive me.”

Julia was silent for a moment. Then, “That isn't terribly fair, is it? Someone in difficulty might need that ambulance.”

“Julia—”

“I can drive. I'm not totally helpless.”

“No,” I said firmly. “You stay in the apartment and don't budge. I'll phone you from Sunny Glade.” Or from the car, I thought, if I get into trouble.

I didn't bother with an ambulance. I went down to the underground garage, pulling on my overcoat and gloves as I rode the oversized elevator, wrapping a scarf of heavy English wool around my neck.

The streets were treacherous. It was still snowing hard, with the wind driving the flakes almost horizontally through the weak cones of light from the swaying streetlamps. Snowplows had obviously been at work: the middle of most of the main avenues were covered with only a few inches of snow while huge banks of white were piled up along each side. God help anybody parked under those piles, I thought as I inched my Firebird along the plowed lane. Plenty of cubes under her hood, but there was ice just beneath the new-fallen snow; I could feel the wheels slipping and sliding.

At least the streets were empty, almost. Half a block ahead a minivan slid through a red light, spinning a full three-sixty as it sailed through the intersection. Good thing nobody else was in the way. I slowed down even more and inched my way through. Two bashed-in cars were off to one corner of the intersection, the hood of one rammed against the side door of the other. Nobody in sight. From the depth of snow on them, the collision must have happened an hour ago or more.

Even the bars looked dark and closed. I drove carefully past a snow-shrouded Yankee Stadium and up onto the Deegan Expressway, slipping and sliding on the ramp. The Bronx was silent and cold as an Arctic wasteland, except for a siren I could hear wailing in the distance. Ambulance, it sounded like. Then I got lucky. There was a nice big public works truck plowing the new-fallen snow and spreading sand behind it at the same time. I followed it for miles, feeling like I had a battleship escorting me through enemy territory. I had to turn off at the Cross County Parkway, though, and head for the Hutchinson.

The snow began to ease off, and I even thought I saw a few breaks in the clouds. Not too bad now. The worst is behind me, I thought. Then I hit a patch of glare ice. The Firebird spun wildly and thunked sideways into a huge snowbank. The seat belt cut into my shoulder but the air bag didn't go off, thank god.

For long minutes I just sat behind the wheel, grateful that both the car and I were still in one piece. It took a while for my hands to stop shaking. It was damned cold, despite the car's heater. Gas gauge read about half, so that was okay. Hell of a time to think about that now.

I gingerly downshifted to the lowest gear and gently put a little pressure on the accelerator. The engine purred, the wheels spun, but the car didn't
move. I tried shifting to reverse and back again, thinking maybe I could rock her loose. The car rocked, all right, but it didn't go anywhere. The wheels just whined on the ice. I couldn't get free of the snowbank.

I sat hunched over the wheel, wondering what to do. The cold was seeping into me, getting past my coat and muffler and gloves, leaching the warmth from my body. I could run out of gas, stuck here, and freeze to death. So I picked up the cell phone and punched star 911.

It took about ten, fifteen minutes of waiting out in the cold and dark. I was never so glad to see the red and blue flashing lights of a police car. The cop pulled up behind me and came out into the cold and snow, bundled in a thick hip-length pile coat and heavy boots.

I rolled my window down a crack. Wind-whipped snow stung my face.

The police officer bent low and said, “Kinda lousy night for a drive, ain't it?”

“I'm a doctor,” I told him. “I'm trying to get to an emergency case up in White Plains.”

The policeman did not ask for identification. He told me to stay in the car, then went back and hooked a chain to the rear of the Firebird. Backing slowly, the police car pulled me free of the snowbank.

The cop came crunching through the snow again.

“Thanks,” I said.

“I'll lead you. Gimme the address where you've got to go and follow me.”

Feeling unutterably grateful, I followed the blinking red and blue lights all the way to Sunny Glade.

Arthur was sitting in the lobby wrapped in a cashmere overcoat when I came in. I had to stamp snow off my shoes. Just the few yards from the parking lot to the front door and my shoes were soaked through. Then I saw the look on Arby's face and I knew I was too late.

“She died?”

Arthur looked up at me. “Half an hour ago.”

I sank down onto the sagging old sofa beside my brother. “She's dead?” It was like that feeling you get after Christmas, after all the presents have been unwrapped and opened up. It's over.

“There's nothing you could have done, Jess. She was so far gone.”

“Was she in much pain at the end?” I asked him.

Arby shrugged inside the overcoat. “I only arrived here a few minutes before the end. She was unconscious, completely out of it.”

“That's something, at least.”

“It's good that it's finally over. She suffered enough.”

My eyes were misting over. “I want to see her.”

Arthur looked bleak, too. “Yeah. I think they've moved her back to her own room by now.”

We got to our feet.

“Julia's called three or four times,” Arthur said. “She sounded pretty worried about you.”

“It wasn't easy sledding out there,” I said.

“You came by ambulance?”

“Naw. I drove my own car. Slid into a snowbank at one point.”

“That was brilliant.”

Ignoring Arby's sarcasm, I realized I had left my cell phone in the car, so I looked around the lobby for a telephone.

“There's a phone in Momma's room,” Arthur said. “You can call Julia from there.”

Ma was back in her bed when we entered the little corner room. In the dim light from the bedside lamp, she looked as if she were asleep, but I realized that I had never seen Ma sleeping with her arms lying straight at her sides like that. She'll never open her eyes again, I knew.

“Phone your wife,” Arthur whispered.

It took a real effort to tear my eyes away from Ma's body. I went to the telephone on the bedside table and tapped out my number. Julia picked up before the first ring was finished.

“Jess?” Her voice sounded frightened, almost frantic.

“Yes, hon. I'm here with Arby.”

“Oh, god, I was so
worried
about you! I was afraid to phone and distract you from your driving. The TV news is showing nothing but smashups on the roads. I was afraid I'd see you.”

I smiled into the phone. “I'm okay, nothing to it. Nothing to worry about.”

“You'll stay there overnight, won't you?”

“Hadn't even thought about it. Yeah, I suppose that's the best thing to do.”

“How's your mother?”

The question brought me back to the reality of the moment. I had to swallow hard before I could speak again. “She died, Julia,” I said, struggling not to cry. “Half an hour before I got here, from what Arby says.”

“Oh, dear, I'm so sorry.”

“Yeah. Well, it's a blessing, really. She'd been in a lot of pain for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. The usual twinges, that's all.”

“Stay warm and don't go outside. If you need anything, phone for delivery.”

“Of course,” she said. “The streets are positively swarming with delivery boys.”

“I mean—”

“I'll be fine, Jess. Don't worry about me.”

I glanced at Arthur, who was staring out the window at the snow, his back to the bed, making a big show of not listening to our conversation. “I love you, Julia,” I whispered.

“I'm mad about you,” Julia answered.

“Is she all right?” Arthur asked as soon as I hung up the phone.

“I guess so. It hasn't been an easy pregnancy.”

Arthur turned to face me. “Oh?” The room was dimly lit, shadowy, but I could see the concern on his face.

I waved a hand at my brother. “It's nothing, really. Everything's under control.”

“Well, is it nothing, or is it something that's under control?”

“A bit of both,” I said, starting to feel a little pissed off at his big-brother act. “Julia just has to be a little careful, that's all. There's been some bleeding. She's going in for tests—that is, she was going for tests tomorrow. I don't think she'll get there, with this storm and all.”

“You shouldn't have left her,” Arthur said.

I stared at him, not certain I had really heard Arby correctly. “I shouldn't have left her?”

“There's nothing either one of us could do here,” Arthur said. “You should have stayed with your wife on a night like this.”

“Arby, this isn't the Victorian Age. Julia's fine.”

“You shouldn't have left her.”

He was standing on the other side of the bed, our dead mother between us, and giving me his usual
I know better than you do
routine. “I suppose that's what you would have done: let Ma die and stay with your wife.”

“On a night like this that's exactly what I would have done,” Arthur said. “I wouldn't have left my pregnant wife all alone.”

“What's the matter, you pissed off that you didn't have Ma all to yourself at the end?”

“Don't be an idiot. There was no reason for you to risk your neck driving out through this storm. There was nothing you could've done for Momma.”

“Oh, but it's okay for you to drive out here, isn't it?”

“I came in a police cruiser.”

“Big deal. So you're an important man.”

Arthur looked like he was going to say something, but then he bit it back. Looking down at Ma's body, “We shouldn't be arguing like this, Jess,” he said, dropping his voice low.

That was another one of his tricks. Stick you with the point he wants to make and then say we shouldn't argue.

“It won't bother her now,” I said.

“It's just—if I were Julia's husband I would've stayed with her on a night like this. I wouldn't have left her side.”

“Well, you're not her husband. And you don't know much about Julia, really, if you think she'd want me to be holding her hand when my mother was dying.”

Arthur seemed to retreat into the shadows. He backed away from the bed, then turned to the window again. I heard him mumble, “You're right. I don't know much about Julia.”

 

L
ook, the last thing in the world that I had wanted was to break up Arby's romance.

It had struck me funny, at first, to see Arby so crazy about this Englishwoman. He was usually so damned serious about everything he did. Like the last thing in the world he wanted was to look even the slightest bit foolish. He'd think about something for a year before moving an inch. What did that guy on television say about doing carpenter work? Measure twice, cut once. All his life Arby would measure until the damned sun went down and then start in all over again the next day.

But there he was, all of a sudden gone totally bonkers. In love, yet. Like he had watched a video on how to have a torrid romance and now he was acting out his part. Flowers and moonlight and the whole nine yards.

I was almost always too busy at the hospital or the medical center to even think about romance. Almost. Sure, there were plenty of women available. Trouble was, sooner or later they wanted to get married. Usually sooner. I used to think that hell was a cruise ship filled with Jewish women and their mothers, and they all know that I'm a doctor.

The idea was to have fun. Don't get emotionally tangled up. There'd be plenty of time for marriage and kids and all that. Later. After I was more settled.

Arby insisted on our going out on double dates.

“You can't work all the time, Jess,” Arthur would repeat over and again. “You've got to have some relaxation or you'll drive yourself into an early grave.”

Truth was, Arby just wanted to show off his girlfriend. Oops, make that his fiancée. He had asked Julia to marry him and she had said yes. Imagine Arby married!