Imperfect Contract (16 page)

"Could you put some on my back?"

I knelt beside her in the sand and smoothed the thick white lotion on her back.  Her skin felt hot, and I saw a slight tinge of pink.  When she showered, she'd turn lobster-red.  "You need to put your shirt on.  You're burning."

"You know," she said as I rubbed, "I'm in favor of euthanasia, but it's illegal.  I also think it's a private matter between family and physician.  I wouldn't put myself in the middle of it, other than answering questions when a family asks."

"Okay."  I returned to my chair.  I believed her.  For my money, Connie was a rule follower.  Disconnecting vents was against the rules.  "While we're on the subject, anything else you remember?"  Ray would know how much to ask and how hard to push.  I didn't.  I decided to approach it as I would an interview with a patient.  I'd get the information, then make my judgments later, after collecting as many facts as possible.

"Jamel asked me a lot of questions about how his dad was doing with the weaning."  She moved from her towel and sat in her chair.  I extended the sunscreen to her, and she accepted it.

"And?"

"I told him Barry tolerated a few minutes off the ventilator, but I didn't think it was significant."  She smoothed the lotion on her arms and bony neck.  "I explained that respiratory therapy took him off several times a day and stayed with him to be sure he was okay.  They were trying to build up his tolerance."

"What did Jamel say?"

"Nothing.  He didn't say anything more about it."

"Was he there when you left?"

"Like I said, he, his Mom, and Vanessa."

"Cozy group."

Our conversation turned to other things.  When I noticed my shoulders were getting red and tender, I suggested we leave for the day.  With my fair skin, I burned rapidly, even with sunscreen.  I slipped on a long-sleeved white shirt and began to pack my things.

25

Thursday was a quiet day at work.  When you're a staff nurse on a medical-surgical floor, boring is good.  It means you have time to attend to little things, to spend extra time with patients, to get a coffee and a lunch break, and to get out on time and still feel like you did a good job. 

I clocked out at eight minutes after seven.  Payroll rules say the hospital pays hourly employees to the nearest quarter-hour, and even though I left early, my boss can't dock me.  I wanted to get home while it was still light.  I'd thought all day about a slow-paced bike ride through the neighborhood.  By the time I reached the side door of the hospital, it was pouring rain.

The cul-de-sac I live on is quiet and private.  Though the neighbors support one another, no one sits out on the front stoop waiting for an opportunity to converse.  In fact, only two of us ever park in front of our homes. 

When I pulled into my driveway and saw the front door ajar, I knew it could have been open for hours without anyone noticing.  A time or two I'd left in a hurry, didn't secure the lock, and came home to find things as I left them.  I sat in my car looking through sheets of water, searching my memory.

I remembered locking the dead bolt with the key and pausing to shake the door.  I had awakened earlier than usual with a strange feeling of foreboding.  I checked the backyard before allowing Sunshine out and walked around the house, inspecting the latches on the windows.  I even locked the door from the garage into the house, something I seldom do.

I gunned the engine on my Mini before turning it off and tapped the horn.  I wanted to alert anyone who might be inside and give them plenty of opportunity to escape out the back door.  Then I took the stethoscope from around my neck and laid it on the passenger seat.  I did the same with my nametag, which I wear on a braided string.  Having removed any convenient objects an intruder might use to strangle me, I climbed out of the car and popped open my umbrella.  I stood there a few seconds, getting my breath and trying to calm my nerves.  I dug a pointed hemostat from my pocket, thinking it was better than nothing.  Then I slammed the car door and locked it.

"Sunshine," I called, hoping he would bark a greeting.  When he didn't respond, I headed in the direction of the house.  Sunshine was not a barker, and I imagined him huddled in the corner of his crate shaking in morbid fear of the thunder.

Stepping under the porch roof, I folded the umbrella and secured it with the Velcro tab.  Rather than placing it next to the door to dry, I held it like a club. 

I peeked through the crack in the door, studying part of my living room.  It looked fine, as did the visible slice of the kitchen.  I pulled the door open wide and stuck my head in, getting a better view.  I didn't hear the dog, and his crate was out of sight on the far side of the Florida room. 

I couldn't hear anything else either, so I went in.  I stared at my shut-tight bedroom.  Odd.  I live alone, and I never close any doors unless I have company.  I even store one of my five-pound weights in front of the bedroom door to prevent the fan from blowing it shut.  I didn't remember when I'd last moved the weight to clean behind the door.

Feeling more concerned about Sunshine than what happened in my bedroom, I ran across the house and found his crate empty, the door ajar.  I never leave him loose in the house, fearing he'd spend the day sleeping on the white-linen living room sofas.  Now I was certain someone had been in my house.  My heart raced, and I choked back tears.  I could handle almost anything—but not something happening to Sunshine.

"Get a grip," I said.  I was once fearless, perhaps daring, but since the shooting, I'm not brave—I'm chicken.  I know how much it hurts, and I'm not into pain.  "Breathe.  Breathe."  I collected myself, then checked the den.  It looked fine though the computer was on and shouldn't have been.  Everything else seemed in order.  The same for the spare bedroom and bath.  "Okay, now for the master bedroom."  Talking to myself helped.

I edged open the bedroom door and peered in.  The room was a disaster.  Drawers stood open and clothing lay everywhere.  My jewelry cabinet was empty.  I hoped they liked costume jewelry because there were few real pieces, and I'd worn my small diamond earrings to work.  Maybe the motive was robbery.  But then why the TV, stereo, and computer intact.

I heard a soft whine and rushed in that direction.  I found Sunshine under a pile of clothing in the corner.  I picked him up and cradled his limp body next to my chest.  A trace of blood stained the side of his mouth.  When I repositioned him for better support, he yelped. 

"The bastards hurt my dog.  Son of a bitch, they didn't have to do that."  Forgetting everything else, I headed for the front door.  I was almost there when the thought occurred to me to unlock the door to the garage.  I did, then hurried out to my car with the dog in my arms.

After positioning a towel, I laid Sunshine on the passenger seat.  He winced but didn't open his eyes.  Maybe the intruders stomped or kicked him, or, perhaps, threw him across the room.  Why couldn't they have just let him be?  This whole thing wasn't about robbery. 

As I pulled up to the stop sign exiting the neighborhood, I fished my phone out of my purse and keyed Ray's cell.  He answered on the first ring.  Through tears and choking, I told him what I'd found at home.  "Ray, remember the combination to the garage door?  I haven't changed it."

He recited the number.

"Please go to my house and find out what happened.  I have to take Sunshine to the vet.  He looks like he's dying.  I can't even tell for sure if he's breathing."

"Where are you taking him?"

"To the animal hospital on University."  I gunned the car and slipped through the light at Royal Palm on yellow.  I accelerated to forty-five, then held steady.  I didn't want to risk a traffic stop.  Even without a ticket, it would cost valuable minutes.

"Did you call first?"

"No, no.  I grabbed him and ran. 
Ray
, please, just go there."

"Okay, Sophi.  I'm at the station.  I'll be there in five minutes."

I pushed disconnect and decided to take Ray's advice and call ahead.  As I fumbled to get my planner from my pocketbook, Sunshine winced again.  He seemed more alert and moved some in the seat.  I touched him on his rump and spoke to him in my special
talking to Sunshine when we're alone
voice.  It didn't matter what I said, but I talked to him as if he were a human in pain.

Someone answered at the animal hospital on the first ring.  I learned that one of the vets had just finished an emergency case and was on the premises and available. 

Apartment buildings lined both sides of the streets and kids played everywhere.  In my state of mind, I needed to concentrate on my driving, but I couldn't stop myself from glancing at the dog every couple of seconds.

I turned south on University.  The vet was a a block further.  It was where I usually took him for his care, and they knew me. 

My hands shook as I drove the last couple of blocks.  The dog tried to raise himself in the seat.  Each time he moved, he whimpered.  Then he looked at me with sad, spaniel eyes, pleading for me to do something. 

"In a minute, Sunshine," I said, fondling his fur.  Except when I shifted, I kept a hand on him.  I didn't want to jar him anymore than necessary.

The tech waited in the open door and stepped onto the sidewalk as I pulled into a parking space.  Then she held open the door and stood aside as I carried Sunshine into the lobby.  "Follow me."  She led the way across the waiting room and into the treatment area beyond.  "Dr. Nelson will be with you shortly."

I felt myself losing my composure.  Every step I took jarred my poor puppy, and I was terrified his wounds were mortal.  I followed her past the reception counter, not bothering to sign the register, turned left towards the exam rooms, then into the first room.  I sank onto the molded plastic people-bench.

As I waited for Dr. Nelson, I held Sunshine in my arms and cooed to him like he was a baby.  My tears poured into his soft fur. 

Dr. Nelson appeared through the back door of the exam room.  He was close to my age, plain-looking with a receding hairline and kind eyes.  He took Sunshine from me and laid him on the shiny stainless steel table. 

I explained the circumstances as Dr. Nelson began his examination, looking into the dog's eyes. 

"Equal and reactive," he said.  He inspected the ears.  "No drainage."  His mouth.  "A missing tooth.  That's where the bleeding is from."  Then a stethoscope on his chest.  Sunshine yelped.  "That's where he's tender."  He probed his abdomen and then each of his legs.  "I'd like to get a film of his chest.  Everything else seems okay."

"Of course, by all means."  It would take several minutes for the x-ray to be completed.  I returned to the bench and retrieved my cell phone from my pocketbook.  Ray answered my home phone on the first ring.  "What's going on?" I asked him

"First, what's happening with the pup?"  After I brought him up to date, he continued.  "I have a couple of patrol officers here with me.  We think you caught the burglars in the act.  They escaped through your bedroom window after hearing you come into the house."

"I saw the door was open, and I made a lot of noise on purpose."

"You should have called 911."

"Wouldn't that have been a hoot if I'd only forgotten to lock the door?"

"Better safe than sorry."

"You have a point.  What have you found?  Any clue to who it was?"

"Your neighbor on the west called 911 when he saw two kids crawl out your bedroom window.  The uniforms are talking to him now to see if we can get a description."  I heard a rubbing sound, then Ray's muffled voice.  He had his hand over the telephone.  Then he came back on the line.  "How long you going to be?"

"I don't have any idea.  I'm going to stay until I know he's okay.  Then I'll come home."

"We need you here."

"I'm sorry, but I can't leave him."

I waited for what seemed hours although my watch told me it was minutes.  When Dr. Nelson reappeared with Sunshine in his arms, the dog looked more comfortable and alert.  "What's the story?" I said.

"He'll be fine.  The bleeding from the tooth stopped.  I think he must have latched on to one of the intruders."

"Sunshine?  Fat chance."

"It looks like it.  Maybe he felt threatened and bit one of them."

"I can only hope."  I took the dog out of the vet's arms.  "What about his chest?"

"The x-rays are negative and his hematocrit is good.  I think he has some soft tissue damage around here."  He rubbed his hand over Sunshine's right thorax.  "I think he was kicked.  He's uncomfortable, but I think he's okay.  Take him home and keep an eye on him for a couple of days."

"Thank God."

"And don't let him play hero."

"Sunshine the wimp, hero dog."  I held and cuddled him as I paid the bill.  Then, I laid him on the front seat of the car.  "Oh, puppy." 

He looked at me with sad eyes, licking my fingers as I tried to make him comfortable.

When we got home, there was a patrol car plus Ray's S2000 in the driveway.  I parked in the street in front of the house.  Sunshine climbed out of the passenger seat under his own power, but he whined when his front feet hit the ground.  The vet had given him a little something for his pain, and it had taken the edge off.  I carried him into the house, putting him into his crate where he could rest and stay out of trouble.  He looked like his feelings were hurt, so I gave him a biscuit.

I found Ray and two officers in my bedroom.  "What's happening?"

He pointed to the telltale signs.  "We dusted for prints."

"Fingerprinting for a simple burglary?" I asked.

"I'm not sure it's simple.  Your involvement with the Hutchinson case should have stopped when he died.  This seems to be too closely connected."

"Coincidence?"

"No.  You had the prowlers a few days ago, and now this.  Someone is looking to get under your skin.  Someone who knows your habits."

"Why?  I'm no threat to anyone."

"Maybe they don't know that."

One of the young officers interrupted.  "Ray, we about done here?"

"Looks like it."