Tuesday Night Miracles (28 page)

He goes down like a brick, and Jane, who has blood running down her face, a ripped coat, a broken purse, and clumps of hair missing, tries to stagger to her feet.

“Jane, stay down!” Leah shouts.

For the first time in probably thirty years, Jane listens. Leah throws herself over Jane while Dr. Bayer starts bashing the man with her briefcase.

Grace is on the phone with a police dispatcher, and before she can hang up the blaring sound of sirens is echoing off the distant buildings.

“Don’t move, you son of a bitch!” Kit screams as she holds the man down by his throat. She’s sitting on his chest and has one leg on each side of his head, his neck in a stranglehold, and she’s screaming into his face.

Dr. Bayer has eased up and is standing breathless next to him, poised to beat the living hell out of him with her briefcase again if he so much as tries to move one toe.

Grace moves over the man and sits on his feet, which helps to keep him in place. He continues to struggle but he has no idea who he’s dealing with.

Kit is silently thanking her brothers for this moment. She is thanking them for all the times they pushed her down, taught her how to arm-wrestle, made her carry heavy objects, let her in on the secrets of leverage, showed her exactly where a person’s body was most vulnerable, tender, easily subdued.

She has pinned this son of a bitch in a way that takes away his ability to use his own considerable strength to throw her off him. Kit has inched down so that she’s on his chest but leaning forward. The man is amazed that this small woman has pinned him so that he can barely lift his shoulders off the ground.

When Grace sits on his legs, he stops fighting. There is no way in hell he’s going to get up. The chick on his chest would probably gouge out his eyes.

“Switch places with me,” Grace orders Leah. “One, two, three and move.”

Leah obeys, and before the man can sense what is happening, Grace is bending over Jane. She drops to her knees, takes off her coat, totally oblivious of the cold, and stuffs it under Jane’s head. She doesn’t say a word, but falls into a routine that has been a part of her life since she graduated from nursing school. Check pulse. Feel for broken bones. Look for the worst cuts. Keep her eyes on Jane’s as much as possible. Engage the patient with constant conversation.

Jane isn’t moving. She’s plunging into the first wave of shock that begins floating across her so slowly that isn’t aware of it. Her legs stiffen a little, she clenches her hands into fists, she gets very sleepy, her arms start to shake, then her legs, then her head.

“Jane, the ambulance is coming. Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Is there something that hurts worse than something else?”

“No, I’m just so cold all of a sudden. He came out of nowhere while I was walking past this alley and dragged me on the ground. Can you believe that? It’s absolutely filthy back here!”

Grace smiles and begins rubbing her hands on Jane’s face then over the tops of her hands. She notices that Jane’s legs are trembling. Jane doesn’t seem to be hurt badly, just bruised and shaken, with a few cuts on the side of her face where he must have hit her.

Hit her.

Grace shudders as she bends to look into Jane’s eyes. She needs to keep her on this side of the world, away from a deeper form of shock. Grace gently runs her fingers down Jane’s left cheek, the very same spot where she slapped her, and is suddenly overcome by a wave of compassion that takes her breath away.

Jane must be suffering terribly to act the way she does. Why she never thought of this before, why she lets Jane torch her own anger so deeply, is something she needs to figure out, because her issues are almost as ripe.

“Jane, I’m so sorry,” she whispers, bending lower so she can speak into Jane’s ear. “I am so sorry.”

Jane raises her own hand and pushes Grace’s hand off her face. Then she smiles.

Grace is taken aback.

“Well, at least now when they see a red mark on my face they’ll think that bastard did it.”

Before either one of them can say anything else, a squad car followed by an ambulance pulls into the alley and two police officers run toward them with their guns drawn.

Within moments Kit, Leah, and Dr. Bayer are watching as the man is handcuffed and led away. Grace quickly explains to the paramedics that she is a nurse, and gives them her analysis. Jane is taken into the ambulance, where it is warm, as fast as possible and a second police car arrives.

All four of the women are now beginning to feel the effects of what has just happened. One of the police officers wants to know if everyone else is okay.

“You did an amazing job,” a policewoman tells them. “I’ve been trying for months to catch this guy and to do what you just did in fifteen minutes.”

Dr. Bayer asks if they can finish the discussion at the hospital. “We are freezing and in dire need of something warm to drink.”

The policewoman gives them an opportunity to simply leave after she takes their names and phone numbers. She says they can come into the station in the morning to fill out reports and then go home immediately.

Grace, Kit, and Leah look at one another with very wide eyes. No one wants to go back to the police station. No one wants to go home.

“Can you follow us to the hospital?” Grace asks. “Maybe you can interview us there so we can keep an eye on our friend?”

The policewoman agrees, instructs them to ride in one car and, when they return, to make certain no one comes alone.

The three women walk to Kit’s car and follow Dr. Bayer to the hospital. Grace is so relieved that Jane hasn’t been transported to the hospital where she works that she feels as if she may go into shock herself.

And Olivia, driving ahead of them as fast as she can, wonders if she should check herself into the psychiatric unit. This adventure was definitely not part of her happy plan.

34

Far from the End of the Journey

P
hyllis is pacing in the entryway when she finally hears Olivia’s car door slam, her footsteps on the sidewalk, and then the blessed and glorious sound of her key in the lock. When Olivia opens the door, Phyllis runs past her so fast, heading for the first tree, that she looks like a streak of fur.

It is after 1
A.M
. and Phyllis has been beside herself with worry, and with a very full bladder.

When she comes back inside, she shakes once, looks up at Olivia with her head tilted as if to say, “Where in the hell have you been?” and then quickly looks away and goes back into the house.

“I am so sorry, girl,” Olivia says, shutting the door and all but falling into the house herself. “If you only knew where I’ve been and what I’ve been going through you would understand.”

What Phyllis does understand is that all this waiting, which some silly people think dogs can’t fathom, made her crazy with worry. She even barked once. Olivia has a fairly regular schedule, and the few times that she has been delayed like this she was able to call the woman across the street to come and let Olivia out for a tree break.

Phyllis decides to play this one to the hilt. She trots into the kitchen and sits in front of the counter where Olivia keeps the dog treats. What she really wants to do is jump up and down and kiss Olivia all over her legs because she’s so happy she’s home. But there’s no sense ruining a chance for a few extra dog treats.

Olivia doesn’t even set down her briefcase or take off her coat. She reaches into the cabinet with one hand, brings out not one but three treats, and lays them down on the floor one after another.

Oh, joy of joys! It is the mother lode of treats, and these are the ones that smell like hot dogs!

“There you go, Phyllis. When I get settled and you hear my story, you will perhaps forgive me.”

Dr. Bayer is absolutely exhausted. She has already decided to sleep in tomorrow, and has left a message on her secretary’s phone telling her to cancel the morning’s appointments. She throws off her coat, steps out of her shoes, and heads to the bathroom for a very long and very hot shower.

When she emerges, Phyllis is waiting for her on the bed, mistakenly thinking that Olivia will go directly to sleep.

“I must have a drink and unwind,” she tells Phyllis, as she slips into her bathrobe. “Can you hang with me a bit, old girl?”

What is this all about? Phyllis looks out the window as if to say, “My God, it’s the middle of the night! Are you crazy?” But she quickly gets up anyway, saunters into the living room, and when she hears the ice clink she gets excited. Could this possibly be a four-treat night?

When Olivia sits in her evening chair, the fabric frayed and hopelessly worn from so many nights like this, she wonders if this isn’t all a mistake. This class, and her ideas about what to do with it, may be even more of an adventure and a longer journey than she ever imagined. She is so tired that she may not be able to get up, but then again it wouldn’t be the first time she fell asleep in the chair.

She has grabbed a box of crackers, a few slices of cheese, and put her whiskey into a tall tumbler, not the smaller glass she usually uses. Dr. Olivia Bayer does not want to have to get up unless it is absolutely necessary.

The first sip of whiskey is so delicious that Olivia moans. Phyllis jerks her head up and then relaxes when Olivia drops her hand and strokes her up and down her back. “Easy, Phyllis. This tastes like magic. I’m fine, just a little on edge.”

“On edge” is putting it mildly. Olivia knows Phyllis can feel that she’s lying because of all those treats; it’s the middle of the night, and she’s still a bit jumpy.

Olivia is still riding on the tail end of an adrenaline rush that started the minute she began running down the alley when she heard Jane scream. She eats a few crackers, washes them down with a lovely, smooth sip of whiskey, and then brings herself back to the moment when she arrived at the hospital.

The hospital on that side of town was a madhouse. Even with Grace trying to intercede, and the appearance of police officers, the staff took a once-over-lightly look at Jane and proceeded to help the other people who were bleeding from gunshot wounds, car accidents, and a variety of bloody stabbings.

The second policewoman who arrived at the scene took all of them, including Jane sitting peacefully (praise be to the forces of the universe) in her wheelchair, into a private room and wanted to hear the entire story of what happened in the alley from beginning to end.

Everything was going very smoothly until the policewoman wanted to know why they were all meeting in the Franklin Building.

A quick look of panic flashed across everyone’s face, although it was hard to tell what Jane was feeling because, truth be told, her face looked as if someone had used it for a soccer ball. She had welts and bruises, and even though Grace kept telling her to put an ice pack on it, she refused. Consequently, her face was expanding at a rapid rate.

Finally, Dr. Bayer was the one who told the officer about the anger-management class. Talk about a thrilling pause.

The woman stopped writing, pulled her glasses down onto the tip of her nose, and looked from one woman to the next. “All righty then,” she said, trying very hard not to smile. “I guess the man who decided to attack Ms. Jane here is one unlucky sucker, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is,” Dr. Bayer said without flinching. “My girls did a very fine job of using anger appropriately this evening.”

Jane, whose lips were about half an inch larger than usual, mumbled, “Does that mean we get an early discharge?”

Dr. Bayer snorted, which was about in line with everything else that had happened.

“Jane, Jane, Jane. Nice try, my dear girl, but there are still a few lessons to be learned, don’t you think?”

Jane looked at her sideways, then at Grace, and then back again at Dr. Bayer.

Grace took in a breath of air and sucked it so far into her lungs that it was a wonder she didn’t blow out a rib.

“I suppose you may be correct,” Jane said, lisping through her swollen lips.

The officer told them that her department had been more than concerned about a rise in crime near the county building for some time. Jane was not the first woman who had been attacked, and the attacks had been escalating.

“At first it was just a few mild muggings,” the officer said, as if there is such a thing as a mild mugging. “They have been escalating, and we’ve been worried that there might be a rape; the last woman who was attacked told us that the attacker had a gun.”

All of the women, Dr. Bayer included, were startled by this bit of news. But the officer wasn’t finished.

“We also think there might be a resurgence of some old gang activity,” she admitted. “We aren’t sure if this guy is working alone; we’ll know more after we interrogate him. That is, if he lives.”

She was joking, but for a moment they all saw their lives flash before their eyes.

Because of a shortage of officers, it was suggested that it might be best if they could meet someplace else for a while.

This is when Dr. Bayer started to fray herself a little bit. She recalls that, up until this moment, she was feeling quite proud not just of herself but of the four women as well. They were pulling together, they were talking, they reacted perfectly, even if she had no clue what had happened to precipitate Jane’s running from the building. She still preferred not to think about that. And she couldn’t have planned a better assignment for them—not that she would ever think up something this crazy.

Now she would have to find a new meeting space. She would most definitely need to bring them back together before sending them out on their next individual missions. That’s what she was thinking as the officer wrapped up the interrogation, said they might have to answer more questions later, tipped her black-brimmed hat, and left.

None of the women left until Jane had been examined. Dr. Bayer also took this as a good sign. Jane ended up with some painkillers, a few bandages, and an order to rest for a few days and then to see her doctor for a checkup in a week. Being dragged down a dark alley can sometimes dislodge things like blood clots or create new ones, Grace told her.

Dr. Bayer drove Jane home. Kit drove Leah, who had called the shelter to explain why she would be late, and Grace made certain everyone was safe in their cars, herself included, before driving home.

When she dropped Jane off and met her husband, Derrick, a nice-looking guy who must already be up for canonization, she wasn’t invited inside the absolutely gorgeous house they lived in.

Olivia has been driving past the house for at least ten years and was mesmerized by its last renovation, which must have been orchestrated by Jane and Derrick. And what a huge house for two people!

Derrick rushed to the car to help Jane inside, but Jane refused his help and slipped out of the car quickly, said good night and thank you to Olivia, and limped into the house.

Her husband looked as if he might cry. “She’s like that,” he said, shrugging.

Olivia smiled gently and wondered if he was seeing someone for counseling himself. The poor man looked like Phyllis the first day Olivia picked her up from the animal shelter. A little shy, a little abused, and terribly adorable. Then he lingered by the car and Olivia sensed he wanted to ask her something else.

“Is there anything else I can do to help, Derrick?”

“Well, yes. I was just wondering, if it’s okay to ask, how she’s doing? I mean, is the class okay, is there anything else I can be doing to help her?”

Talk about a series of loaded questions. Olivia would have loved to have thrown him in the car and talked to him for five hours. But rules are rules.

“I wish I could say more, Derrick, but the class is private and I’m sure you understand about confidentiality,” she shared, certain that he was already upset with himself for asking. “I can say that the class is more about seeking happiness than anything else.”

He put his head down.

“Tonight was tough,” she went on, “and Jane was very brave. Be gentle with her. She may or may not want to talk about it and she has my number, which she should feel free to use anytime. Please, if she needs to talk, I would be more than glad to see her before next week.”

Derrick took the card, slipped it into his pocket, smiled, and said thank you.

“She probably won’t say a word,” he said. “That’s how she is. She didn’t even call me until she was about to leave the hospital. I was sick with worry, but sometimes she does that—you know, goes out for a drink or something.”

“I see.”

Dr. Bayer was seeing plenty. Poor, poor Derrick. How much longer would he be able to hold on? He’d probably been through one nightmare after another. Olivia didn’t see any signs of pets, which often tell a story about people, and she imagined that the inside of the house was as sterile and cold as Jane’s frigid heart. What she didn’t know was why. The one promising note was that Jane seemed warmer and more human after the attack than before. It was either shock or something positive really was happening.

Well, she thought, waving goodbye as she pulled away from the curb, that is what class is all about, and perhaps next week the women will have spent some time analyzing the evening’s beyond interesting and challenging events.

“I’m playing a wild guessing game tonight,” Olivia tells Phyllis, who has fallen asleep but is about to wake with another full bladder. “You know why these women are so special and important to me, don’t you?”

Phyllis moves her tail back and forth twice. She’s so tired that she’s trying to stay asleep and ignore the pressing need to go potty so she doesn’t have to face the cold again.

There are still four sips left in her glass, and Olivia decides to spread them out a bit. She dares not look at the time, and before she’s tempted to do just that she turns over her cellphone.

Olivia has never been a religious woman. She was force-fed the doctrines of the Lutheran church as a young child and could never come to grips with the fact that God, if there was such a person, would love one person more than others because of what pew he sat in on Sunday morning.

This was a belief she learned very quickly not to verbalize more than once around her family, or even her Catholic girlfriends, who were always trying to baptize her when they went swimming so that she would stay out of the evil forces of hell.

This memory makes Olivia laugh out loud. If all those baptisms were real, she’s got a ticket to heaven. Phyllis stirs a bit, and Olivia puts her hand over her mouth. Now there are three sips left, and she wants to savor every single one of them. Phyllis will undoubtedly have to go out one more time very soon.

Olivia wonders what happened to all those Catholic-school girlfriends. How many of them have left the church, their husbands, and one or two versions of their early Catholic-schoolgirl lives? Most likely some of them stuck to it and would offer up a year’s worth of novenas if they knew every detail of their old friend Olivia’s life.