Fertility: A Novel (20 page)

She was also knee-deep in a suit brought by the family of an undocumented worker left with a permanent brain injury after being struck by a car. The firm’s client hospital had delivered acute, life-saving care. Then, after being unable to find a single nursing home or rehab facility that would accept her as a patient, it had involuntarily returned the woman to her native Mexico on a private jet. It was a compelling case and one Sarah hated to leave behind.

Harry popped into her office around two as she was cleaning up her computer files. “Hey, kiddo, why don’t you call it a day? You should go home and put your feet up while you can. If my memory serves me right, before you know it you’ll be at the beck and call of an eight-pound tyrant.”

Sarah couldn’t repress a grin. “You mean go home? At two o’clock? You’re kidding, right? Are you looking for a way to dock my pay and save the firm some money?”

“Nah, you’ll be paid the full shot, I promise. Just go home and rest. Take a nap. Do it on the firm’s dime. You’ve earned it.”

“Are you inferring that this baby’s made me soft?”

“No. It’s made you temporarily large, but in no way has it made you soft. You’re still the same workaholic you’ve always been. That’s the problem. You need to give yourself a break.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know I gave myself a break today and slept in.”

“Congratulations. A sign of sanity. I know you were in the office almost every day between Christmas and New Year’s. I have my spies, you know.” Harry saw her cheeks color, but kept driving home his point. “I mean it when I say you should be nice to yourself in these last days. Go to a spa or whatever women do to pamper themselves.”

“Harry, I’ve never been to a spa in my life and I don’t think this would be the time to start. I wouldn’t fit in with all the svelte young women and well-preserved matrons.”

“Well, suit yourself. But I still vote for at least an afternoon nap.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. Really, Harry. You’ve been the best boss a pregnant woman could ever hope for.”

Putting his finger to his lips, he said in a whisper, “Would you keep it down? You’re going to ruin an image that’s taken decades to cultivate.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. I’ll tell anyone who asks that you’re a world-class son of a bitch — who just happens to have a soft spot for pregnant women.”

“I’ll stipulate to that characterization if you amend it to having a soft spot for pregnant women who generate tremendous billables for the firm. Now go home.”

“I will, just as soon as I finish up what I’m doing. Really, I will.”

Knowing Sarah, that meant sometime before midnight, and that’s what worried him.

* * *

By three o’clock Sarah had finished streamlining her computer filing system and was quite pleased with her handiwork. Except for bathroom breaks, she had been sitting at her desk since eight, and her swollen ankles were proof of her inactivity — as well as her salt intake. She’d been unable to resist joining in on the lunch order for Kosher deli delivery. She’d ordered one of her favorites, a hot pastrami sandwich with mustard on rye. She wouldn’t win any awards for good prenatal nutrition that day — or the next, since she had put the half she couldn’t finish into the break room fridge for tomorrow’s lunch.

She thought about what Harry had said. The truth was she could stand a nap. She’d stifled at least three yawns since he’d left her office. Perhaps it was the power of suggestion, but she was suddenly dog tired. Whatever was on her desk could wait until tomorrow. She turned off her computer, wrestled her boots onto her fat feet, donned the rest of her outerwear and headed out, causing more than a few heads to turn as she walked through the double glass doors at a quarter past three.

Sarah hadn’t gone two blocks when she surrendered to her fatigue and the frigid headwinds. She tried for a cab, but every passing taxi already had its refugee from the cold sitting comfortably in the backseat. She switched to plan B and headed for the 51st Street subway station on Lexington, just a couple of blocks away. In two short stops she’d be within striking distance of her apartment. She could almost hear her bed calling to her.

* * *

Happily, the work of the day was progressing better than Bobby O’Brien had dared hope. That was an especially good thing since the crane operator who was supposed to relieve him had called in sick. He’d have to stay beyond his six-hour shift but, with time and a half, he’d make a pretty penny today. Despite the miserable weather, the riggers had no trouble adding the two thirteen-foot sections to jump the crane. The crane was now twenty stories high, some two hundred feet above the ground. Bobby sat atop it with his jib extending farther yet. Now came the fun part, bracing the crane with the steel collar at the eighteenth floor. By 3:15 the collar was suspended from chain blocks, connected to a higher part of the steel tower with four thick nylon slings. If Bobby had his druthers, they’d be following the crane manufacturer’s specs for eight slings, but a lot of people in the trade thought that was overkill. And the truth was that the riggers were doing a good job of moving the collar into place with four. Bobby was thinking that maybe he was too much of a worrywart, always anticipating what could go wrong. Better safe than sorry was his motto and he got a lot of razzing from the guys because of it. But it didn’t bother him. He wanted everyone on the job to be able to go home at the end of the day — himself included. If they made jokes at his expense, so be it.

Sarah couldn’t believe her good luck when a local train pulled into the station just as she reached the platform. Luckier still, there were plenty of seats in the subway car. As the doors closed, the train ambled slowly down the tracks. No need to hurry at this hour. Even so, it took only a few minutes to reach her stop. It was a good thing, too. Between the rocking motion of the train and the warm air of the subway car, she found it hard to keep her eyes open. When Sarah emerged from the station at 68th and Lexington, the cold air took her breath away. She kept her eyes down and her face buried in her scarf, looking up only when she had to cross the street. As she approached 71st Street she heard a loud noise, then a rumble and then a roar from on high.

Suddenly, there was a tremendous blast. As Bobby looked down he saw that the six-ton steel collar had somehow broken free and was plummeting down the crane’s tower. This was a nightmare scenario he had spent his whole working life trying to prevent. The steel collar fell like a ring sliding down a steel tube. At the ninth floor it smashed into the collar that was already in place, clipping it from the struts that attached it to the building. The collar continued to fall, slamming into the last collar at floor three. Now there was nothing attaching the crane to the building
.

* * *

Sarah lifted her head out of her wooly cocoon. It was then that she and the other brave souls on the street stopped dead in their tracks. High aloft, some twenty stories up, they saw a white crane swaying to and fro, next to a building under construction. There were two workers dangling from a pole atop the building. Sarah stood fixed to the pavement, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d never given a second thought to cranes. They dotted the cityscape, forever building high-rises where five-story walk-ups had been. When their work was done, they disappeared. But this crane was swinging precariously up in the sky, leaving Sarah both terrified and mesmerized. She stood paralyzed until she felt a hand on her arm.

* * *

Bobby’s last moments were sheer terror. The spindly structure his cab sat atop teetered. With the crane unmoored, all his efforts to keep it balanced failed. Nothing worked. He called out to his wife, telling her he loved her. Then his cab and the forty tons of counterbalances began toppling hundreds of feet to the ground
.

* * *

As the crane came crashing to earth, it brought with it everything in its path. The noise of its descent mimicked a series of bombs exploding in rapid succession. Everyone around Sarah screamed as they ran helter-skelter to escape the debris raining from the sky. An elderly man grabbed Sarah by the arm and pulled her toward the wall of the nearest building. Was this the safest place? That was her last thought before the grasp on her arm released. Immediately, something struck her right leg with such force it took her breath away. As she fell to the ground she was bombarded by falling rubble. Suddenly, there was an enormous crash and everything went black. She struggled to breathe, wincing in pain. When she tried to get up, she realized her right leg was pinned.

Anyone witnessing the disaster from a safe distance saw a roiling, spinning, red debris cloud rise nearly four stories above the sidewalk where Sarah lay. Her face mask and scarf were no match for the dust. As she coughed and gagged she felt a big kick from her belly and she started to sob.

Finally the deafening noise stopped. She started screaming for help and trying to move in order to attract attention. But to her horror, only her head could move, and just a few inches from side to side. It was then that she realized she’d been buried alive. It took everything she had to tamp down her panic. She had to try to stay calm. Her mind and her voice were her only assets now. She heard the muffled sounds of sirens, lots of sirens. Help was on the way. But her voice couldn’t compete with sirens.

Then there was a lull in the sirens. Sarah screamed for help as loudly as she could, but her efforts were for naught. Had it been deadly quiet on the street, the small sounds emerging from the rubble might have been picked up by the human ear. But the street was anything but quiet. Within five minutes of the accident, the site was crawling with fire trucks, police cars, ambulances and hundreds of rescue workers.

Sarah couldn’t tell how much time had passed before she heard voices. It was then that she thought of the other people who had been on the corner with her. Perhaps they were buried, too, and very near. What of that person who had grabbed her arm? Was he still next to her? Another kick and another.

The voices Sarah heard were not the voices of the people with whom she had stood watching the crane. Their voices had been silenced by the falling debris. A woman who’d stood not five feet from her had been struck and killed by a concrete terrace that had been sheared off by the crane’s mast. That slab had come to rest at a forty-five degree angle above Sarah, creating a life-saving lean-to with the wall of the building she’d been guided to. Of those corner bystanders, Sarah alone had survived the deluge.

It was rescue workers whose voices Sarah heard, and it was their German shepherd who barked furiously upon picking up her scent. Following the dog’s lead, firefighters, police officers and EMTs started digging furiously with their hands. The dog’s barks encouraged Sarah to cry out again. The voices were getting louder. Was it possible someone was calling out to her? She strained to make out the words.

“We’re digging…tight…we know….”

Her heart jumped. She screamed back, begging for help for herself and her baby. Though the sounds coming from the rubble were faint, the first responders heard them and redoubled their efforts. The terrace slab was leaning precariously against the vertical column of the building. Above and beneath the slab were several feet of rubble. They had to work carefully, balancing the need to get to their victim with the reality of the concrete slab leaning unsteadily above the poor soul.

In less than five minutes, Sarah’s mittened hand was discovered in the debris. An EMT, crouching beneath the concrete slab, took the hand in his own and gave it a hard squeeze. Then he yelled out, “We’ve got you, don’t you worry. We’ve got you.” Sarah squeezed hard in return. “We’ve got a survivor here!” the EMT called out to the others. His co-workers let out a cheer.

They passed buckets hand to hand to carry away the debris. In short order, they unearthed the end of Sarah’s wool scarf, caked in dust. They continued digging, until they uncovered a head — Sarah’s head — still wrapped in the scarf and encased in her wool hood. A firefighter moved in close and gently wiped the dust from her victim’s eyes. She did a double take when she saw the face mask.

“Someone, pass me some scissors,” she called out. In no time an EMT pulled a pair of shears from his bag.

Then the firefighter spoke directly to her buried victim. “You’ll have to pardon me as I get this off your face.” She carefully cut at the mask until Sarah’s face — caked with dust, blood and tears — was revealed.

The firefighter tried to assess the condition of the survivor. “My name is Caroline,” she said, speaking close to Sarah’s face. “And we’re doing everything we can to get you out of here. Can you tell me your name?”

Sarah responded in a slow, quavering voice. “Sarah Abadhi — A-B-A-D-H-I — and I’m nine months pregnant. Please, please, help me.” She cried again thinking of the baby.

Caroline smiled as she listened to her victim spell out her name. Then she turned to the EMT who was ready to take over. “Did you get that, Tommy? She’s pregnant — full term.”

“We’re on it. Let me start her on some oxygen. It will make things easier for both of them,” Tommy replied.

Before the EMT and the firefighter changed places, he radioed to dispatch that a full-term pregnant survivor had been found. He then kneeled beside Sarah, took off her mitten and put a blood oxygen sensor on her finger. He suctioned the dust away from her eyes, her nose and her mouth. Then he got the oxygen mask on her face. Next he tried to get a handle on her condition.

“Hello, Sarah. I’m Tommy, and I’d like to get a little info to make it easier on the docs when we get you to the hospital. When’s your baby due?” He took off the mask to hear Sarah’s answer.

“Ten days. I have just ten more days. What happened?”

Tommy immediately put the mask back on. “There was a construction accident, but we’re going to get you out. Do me a favor and answer a few more questions for me. Can you do that?”