Travelers Rest (11 page)

“Most of us do, I think,” Jon-Paul said. “We don’t know how blessed we are to be given multiple chances to go on living.”

They were quiet a moment. Jane waited. At length she said, “So then what happened?”

“Oh.” Jon-Paul raised his brows momentarily as Jane nudged him back to his story. “So I went to college, and during my freshman year, things got worse. By the end of the first semester, I couldn’t see the blackboard at all. I finally admitted to myself something was wrong. I guess it was handy I was right there at Duke, because my parents arranged for me to be seen at the Duke Eye Center. The doctor there put me through a battery of tests, and when he was done, he told me I had Stargardt’s Disease. I didn’t even know what it was. I’d never heard of it. My parents asked him what the plan of action was, and he said there wasn’t one. I was going blind, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.”

Jane sat in stunned silence a moment, trying to imagine how he must have felt. Finally she whispered, “How awful.”

“Yeah,” Jon-Paul said. “It was pretty awful. His announcement signaled the end of life as I knew it. Ironically, the body is able to heal itself in so many ways, but not with this disease. So there I was, eighteen years old, just kind of watching my sight slip away and wondering where I was going to end up when it was gone.”

She had to stop herself from reaching out to take his hand. Words tumbled through her mind as she searched for the right ones to say. Not
I’m sorry,
but something else. Something reassuring. “And yet,” she ventured, “you’ve done so well. You must have come to accept it.”

He frowned in thought. “I wouldn’t say I’ve ever come to accept it, but I’m coping with it. I still get frustrated. Some days I even feel the same sense of loss I felt when I first heard the name Stargardt’s. I miss things like being independent and driving myself around. I miss reading a book that I’m holding in my hands. I miss looking out over the mountains in the fall when the leaves are changing. There’s so much I miss even now, but at the same time I have to believe that there’s a purpose for all of this.” He paused again, took another long sip from the can of Dr. Pepper. “I believe I told you I specialize in disability law, so I have a lot of dealings with disabled folks. Also, I do volunteer work on behalf of the blind. So I think I’ve done some good for others who are disabled or who have gone through a loss of some kind. I hope so, anyway.”

Jane took a deep breath. “I’m sure you have.”

Jon-Paul gave a small nod. “So now, about your fiancé. You say he was shot?”

“Yes. In the neck. It left him a quadriplegic.”

“I see. And now he thinks his life is over.”

“Well, yes. And I guess in some ways it is. I mean, the life we’d planned . . . well, see, he’s a carpenter. Or
was
a carpenter. His whole career revolved around working with his hands. Now . . .” Jane’s voice trailed off as she gave a shrug.

“Not much hope of that at this point, I suppose.”

“No. None. You were able to go into a different field. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to make the change, especially since your interest was medicine. And yet you did make the change, and you’ve been successful. But for Seth, the options seem so limited. I don’t know what he’ll do with his life now.”

Jon-Paul didn’t respond. He appeared deep in thought.

Jane said, “Do you think Seth can come to terms with what happened to him?”

“Well, I’ll tell you, Jane, it’s never easy, but it’s always possible. What I’ve seen in my experience is this: After the initial shock and grief, people start taking inventory of what they have left, and they begin to concentrate on what they
can
do rather than what they
can’t.
It seems to be part of our ability to heal. Sometimes the healing isn’t in body but in spirit and mind. And that’s just as important, if not more so.”

When Jane didn’t respond, Jon-Paul asked, “Listen, what else does Seth enjoy? I mean, beside carpentry. What are his interests?”

“His interests? Well, he loved the outdoors. He liked to hike and camp and fish. He really enjoyed fly-fishing.” She looked at Jon-Paul, who nodded just as though he could see her gaze. “He liked to watch NASCAR racing with his dad. They’d sit around for hours watching those cars go around and around on the TV screen, and I mean, they were excited about it. I used to kid him. I told him I knew I was going to end up a racing widow just like his mom, and he said yeah, I’d just have to get used to it.”

Jane laughed lightly. Jon-Paul smiled. “Anything else?”

“He was great at chess. He was captain of the chess team back in high school when the team went on to the state championship. They won too.”

“Chess, huh?” Jon-Paul lifted a hand to his chin. “Believe it or not, I was pretty good at chess myself once.”

“Oh, and he liked kids. He was really good with kids. He was always involved with them in one way or another—volunteering at the Y, working at summer camps, things like that. There was a program for troubled youth at the community center, and Seth volunteered to teach woodworking there. It seemed to go over really well. I mean, they all liked him. In fact, I never met a kid who didn’t love him.” Jane’s eyes welled up, making her self-conscious until she remembered Jon-Paul couldn’t see her tears. Her voice dropped a notch when she said, “We were going to have a bunch of kids ourselves, you know.”

Jon-Paul didn’t answer. Instead, he did what she had wanted to do for him earlier. Somehow, perhaps out of what remained of his peripheral vision, he found her hand on the table and covered it with his own. He squeezed gently. Only after several long minutes did he let go.

———

When Jane finally reached the fifth floor, Seth was napping. He looked serene and satisfied in sleep. His features were relaxed, his face untroubled, just as before the war. She could almost believe he would awaken and get up out of the bed. She remembered then what he had said, that when he was sleeping, he was whole again.

She turned away from his bedside and walked back down the hall.

15

W
hen she arrived at the hospital the following afternoon, Seth was awake. He wasn’t alone. Sausalito was in the chair beside the bed, a laptop computer balanced on his knees as he pecked away slowly at the keyboard. “And when you come . . .” Sausalito muttered as he typed.

Jane stepped into the room and, smiling, asked curiously, “What are you guys doing?”

Seth rolled his eyes toward her. “I’m dictating my last will and testament to Sausalito.”

The aide laughed as he looked up from the computer. “Don’t believe him, Miss Jane. He’s sending an e-mail to his folks.”

“Is that your computer, Seth?”

“Yeah. Mom and Dad brought it last weekend. Guess you haven’t seen it.”

Jane shook her head. “Nice. Good idea. It’ll make it easier to stay in touch with them.”

“It’d be even easier if I could use the thing myself. I have to bother Sausalito here to come in and play secretary.”

The young Ugandan laughed again. Jane liked the way his whole face opened up with delight. “That’s all right, Mr. Seth,” he said. “I’d rather be typing your e-mail than emptying bedpans. Now, tell me again what you wanted your mother to bring.”

“The Nikes. They’re in the hall closet.”

“Okay. Please bring the—rats!”

“Bring the rats?” Seth echoed.

“Where’d it go?” Sausalito’s hands flew up from the keyboard as he stared at the screen in disbelief. “It’s gone! The computer sent the e-mail, and I wasn’t finished!”

Seth sighed heavily, but Jane was relieved to see that he was trying to suppress a smile. “Sausalito, my man, what kind of secretary are you? You’re fired. Get Hoboken in here. He can do a better job.”

Sausalito shook his head. “He’s not working today. You’re stuck with me. You will have to dock my pay.”

“I’ll do that. And I’m taking away your Christmas bonus too.”

“All right, Mr. Seth, but you are a cruel taskmaster. I ought to quit.”

“You ought to, but you won’t.”

“That’s right. I’m too dedicated.”

“No. You just know no one else will hire you.”

Sausalito threw his head back and howled in amusement. “Oh, Mr. Seth, you are right! No one else would be so stupid . . . I mean, so kind as to hire me as his secretary. I had better throw in my lot with you rather than try to find riches elsewhere.”

Seth nodded. The smile he’d been trying to suppress broke through. “Okay, then, shall we try this again?”

Sausalito was already staring intently at the screen. “Hi Mom and Dad . . .”

“No, no, they got that part. Just pick up where you left off.”

Sausalito, without moving his head, lifted his eyes to look at Seth. “I will tell them your clumsy secretary hit Send by mistake, and then we will go on from there.”

“Very good, Saus. I’m ready when you are.”

As Sausalito typed, Jane leaned over the bed rail and kissed Seth on the forehead. When she drew back, she felt a surge of joy to see Seth smiling at her.

“I didn’t see you yesterday,” he said quietly.

Jane nodded. “I came by, but you were asleep.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you needed the rest.”

“Next time wake me up.”

“Well, sure, but I—”

“I’ve kind of gotten used to seeing you. The day doesn’t seem right when you don’t come around.”

Jane reached out and touched his forehead, then curled her palm against his cheek. “I promise to wake you up next time.”

Seth nodded and leaned his head into the warmth of her hand.

“Mr. Seth?” Sausalito interrupted.

“Yeah, Saus?”

“I’m ready for your dictation.”

“All right. Read back to me what you have there.”

Sausalito cleared his throat. “‘My clumsy secretary hit Send by mistake. A thousand pardons—’”

“Wait, Saus, I wouldn’t say a thousand pardons.”

“You’re not. I’m the one saying a thousand pardons.”

“But this isn’t your e-mail. You’re just the scribe here. Scratch ‘a thousand pardons.’”

Sausalito sighed, highlighted the words, and hit the Delete key. “All right, Mr. Seth. A thousand pardons for the thousand pardons. It has been deleted. Now, to go on. ‘Please bring the Nikes. They’re in the hall closet.’” He looked up expectantly. “What do you want to say next, Mr. Seth?”

“Let’s see.” Seth thought a moment, staring up at the ceiling.

When a full minute had passed, Sausalito leaned forward. “Mr. Seth?”

“I’m . . .” Seth didn’t finish.

“Seth?” Jane leaned over the railing. “Seth, what’s the matter?”

Seth’s eyes widened with fear. He moved his head from side to side. “I don’t know. All of a sudden my heart started pounding in my chest. I can feel it. And my head—”

“What’s wrong?”

“My head hurts and . . .”

Jane laid a hand on his forehead again. It was slick with perspiration. She looked at Sausalito. “What’s happening?” she asked.

The young Ugandan lifted the laptop to the hospital table and stood. His jaw went slack as his eyes swept over Seth’s face and down his inert body. “I don’t know, Miss Jane,” he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t know.”

“My head . . .” Seth moaned. “My head.”

Sausalito reached for the call button and pushed it. A light flashed on over the door, but he didn’t wait. “I’m going to get help,” he said as he rushed from the room.

“Jane,” Seth whispered. “What’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know. Sausalito’s gone to get help.” Her own heart hammered in her chest as she absently laid her hand over his. His fingers were cold, like meat packed in ice. She recoiled, clutching the railing instead as she willed herself not to panic.

Where was Sausalito? Where was the nurse, the doctor? Several agonizing seconds passed. When she didn’t hear the expected footfalls in the hall, she hurried to the door. At the same time a familiar figure exited a room two doors down.

“Truman!”

“Jane.” He raised a hand. “How are you?”

“Truman, please hurry. There’s something wrong with Seth.”

Frowning, he quickened his pace. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. Just all of a sudden he said his head hurts and his heart is pounding.”

Before Jane finished speaking, they were by Seth’s bed. Seth moaned as his head rocked from side to side. Truman touched his forehead, then fingered his wrist to feel for his pulse. “It looks like dysreflexia,” he muttered. He reached for the bed control and raised the head of the bed.

“What?” Jane asked.

Truman didn’t answer. He winced as he eased himself down into a squatting position by the bed. He was obviously looking for something.

“Truman, please. What is it?” Her words were edged with panic.

But still Truman ignored her as he unhooked Seth’s catheter bag and lifted it up toward the light. “Just as I thought.”

“Please, Truman . . .”

“His urine isn’t draining properly. His bladder is overdistended. He’s—”

Truman was interrupted when Sausalito rushed into the room, shadowed by a nurse.

“Dr. Rockaway?” the nurse said, surprise in her voice.

“It’s possible dysreflexia. We’re probably looking at a mucus plug somewhere in the tubing.” Grunting, Truman stood. “What’s his BP?”

The nurse unwound the stethoscope from her neck and pulled the blood pressure cuff out of its steel holder on the wall. She quickly positioned the cuff around Seth’s upper arm and started pumping. Jane and Truman waited anxiously as she listened through the stethoscope. When she’d got the reading, she let go of the pump, and the remaining air quickly sighed out of the cuff. “One-sixty over one hundred.”

“Just as I thought,” Truman said. “Who’s on call?”

“Dr. Harrington.”

“Call him.” As the nurse reached for the phone, Truman turned to Sausalito in the doorway. “Get Jane out of the room,” he ordered. “Go on. Both of you.”

Jane looked frantically from Truman to Seth and back again. “But, Truman—”

“Go on, Jane. You’re just in the way here.” He had pushed back the linens on the bed and was examining the site where the catheter tubing entered Seth’s groin through a small incision. He glanced up at Jane, his brow furrowed. “He’ll be all right. Wait for me in the hall.”