Life Support (26 page)

Throughout the day Rena grew increasingly restless. She was both drawn to and repulsed by Baxter. She wasn't sure why. Early in the afternoon she called the ICU waiting room. A young man answered the phone. Rena didn't identify herself.

“Do you know Mr. Ezra Richardson?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Is he there?”

“No. He left about an hour ago.”

Rena fidgeted with the phone cord. “Are you sure you know him?”

“Yes. I was on duty when he checked in.”

“And he's gone?”

“Yes.”

Rena hung up and paced back and forth for a few minutes. Then she left for the hospital.

Ezra was not in sight when she peeked through the door of the waiting room. Her head slightly bowed, she approached the attendant. It was a different person from the young man on duty when she was arrested, and he showed no sign of recognition and gave no instructions to bar her from the ICU area. Relieved, she signed in and went back to Baxter's room. He was alone with no nurses in sight.

Rena had begun to notice subtle yet tangible changes in Baxter's condition. He was in reasonably good shape before the injury, but his flesh was already beginning to turn flaccid. A nurse had told her the human body rapidly loses muscle tone when totally immobilized. Rena gingerly poked Baxter's upper arm with her index finger and it yielded passively to her touch. He was as weak as a baby. She wondered if the outward deterioration was mirrored by a breakdown of her husband's internal organs. It was a question she'd not yet asked the doctors.

In the midst of her monotony and boredom at the hospital, Rena had kept up her unrelenting propaganda campaign. Hundreds of times she had whispered her revised version of the events at the waterfall into Baxter's left ear. She renewed her chant.

“It was an accident. Your fall was a tragic accident. You stepped too close to the edge and slipped. I tried to save you but couldn't. I love you very much.”

Baxter never gave any visible sign of assent or disagreement, but once Rena became fixed on a plan, she could display dogged determination in carrying it out.

After her visit with Baxter, she drove a few blocks from the hospital to a place that served cappuccinos. She sat sipping her coffee when her cell phone rang. It was Jeffrey.

“Where have you been?” she asked in frustration. “I've been trying to reach you.”

Her brother-in-law spoke rapidly. “Don't be mad at me. I know what my father is doing with Baxter's money, and I don't agree with him. I just drove into Greenville and want to talk to you about it.”

“Did you know he had me arrested?”

“Arrested!”

“That's right.”

“What happened?”

Rena told him about the events of the previous night. She concluded by saying, “They took my picture, fingerprints, everything. It was horrible. I didn't leave the jail until midnight.”

“Where are you now?” Jeffrey asked.

“A few blocks from the hospital. I was afraid to come, but I've seen Baxter every day since the accident and didn't want to miss. Your father left before I got here and hasn't been back, so I didn't run into him.”

“He's on a flight to Baltimore for a meeting in the morning,” Jeffrey replied.

Rena felt a wave of relief.

Jeffrey continued. “Listen, there's more going on with the power of attorney than the money in your checking account. I need to see you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“How soon can you meet me at the hospital?”

“A couple of minutes, but why can't we talk over the phone?”

“I'd prefer to see you in person.”

Rena hesitated, but Jeffrey was her only possible source of information about Ezra's plans.

“Okay, I'll see you in the ICU waiting room. But it will take a lot to convince me that you're being sincere.”

“That's why we need to talk. Don't blame me for what my father is doing. That's totally his deal, and I think it's wrong.”

Rena's mind churned as she walked to her vehicle. She was suspicious of Jeffrey's motives. He'd abandoned her after their meal together at the French restaurant, and it didn't make sense that he would side with her in a dispute with his own father. She opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. She was so distracted by worry and anxiety that she didn't see the man sitting in the rear seat of the SUV until she looked in the rearview mirror before backing out of the parking space.

It was Baxter.

He had a tube in his nose and a malevolent glare in his eyes. Rena gripped the steering wheel and screamed. At the sound of her voice Baxter lingered for a split second—just long enough to give Rena a look that told her he wasn't fooled by the lies she'd been feeding him as regularly as the drip of fluids from his IV bag. Baxter knew the truth, and it was buried so deep within him that only the grave would destroy his ability to reveal it.

After leaving Sandy Flats Church, Alexia picked up Misha and Boris at the kennel. Boris was wild with excitement when he saw her. Although not as exuberant, Misha was no less glad. She rubbed against Alexia's leg in welcome and curled up in the passenger seat for the ride home. Boris jumped into the backseat and ran from one window to the other. Alexia was envious of her pets. They didn't know or care about her employment status. As long as they had food and water in the bowls in the kitchen, they were content.

“I'll take care of you,” Alexia reassured them as they drove down the coastal highway. “Doggy bones and cat snacks are still at the top of my grocery list.”

It was odd getting home in the middle of the afternoon. Alexia let Misha and Boris go outside while she called her parents with the news of her job loss. Her mother offered words of sympathy and invited her to come to Florida for a few days to relax, but Alexia turned her down.

After she hung up the phone, Alexia walked onto her porch and looked at the marsh. A pleasant breeze wafted in from the ocean. Several white egrets flew low over the reeds. The tide was going out, and the black mud glistened in the sun. It would be hard to leave her seashore enclave so soon after returning from France. She needed to stay in Santee and sort out her future.

It had been almost two weeks since she'd gone for a swim in the Atlantic. Alexia put on her swimsuit and packed her beachbag. Boris ran in excited circles as soon as he realized her plan and bounded down the steps in front of her. She pulled her boat to the water. Soon she was navigating through the canals toward the barrier island.

The expanse of blue sky filled her vision. Nature began to work its magic. Alexia loved every nuance of the marsh, and the unrestrained optimism in Boris as he stood proudly wagging his thick tail in the bow of the little boat was so infectious that a glimmer of joy returned to Alexia's world.

The scene in Ralph Leggitt's office no longer received top billing in the theater of her mind. Her legal career had taken a major hit, but it wasn't as severe as it would have been a few years earlier. Her law practice and personal confidence had grown so that if she decided to join another firm or open her own office, she knew she could do it. She stepped onto the sand of the beach with renewed assurance.

In spite of the slight breeze, the water was calm, and she swam farther down the island than usual. Boris stayed close by her side. A leash was mandatory on land, but a word sufficient in the water. Before turning toward the beach, Alexia flipped over and floated on her back for a few minutes while Boris swam around her. She watched a sea gull dive into the water no more than twenty feet away. It came up swallowing a fish.

When they reached the shore, Boris shook himself and started racing back and forth from the edge of the water to the top of the dunes. Alexia almost never saw him run out of energy. At home on land or in the water, the black Labrador was bred for strength and stamina. Squeezing the excess water from her hair, Alexia scampered after him. Boris looked over his shoulder and laughed at her with his eyes. Several times he slowed just enough for her to touch his back and then sprinted away before she could grab his neck and hold him still.

When she reached her beachbag, Alexia gave up the chase, sat down on the sand, and closed her eyes. In a few seconds she heard panting, and Boris licked her hand. She opened her eyes and patted his head. He sat down beside her, and they gazed out to sea together. She scratched the favorite spot under his chin, and he craned his neck higher.

“Thank you,” she told him. “You remind me of things I need to remember.”

He looked at her with happy eyes.

At home, Alexia fixed a cup of hot tea. Misha came into the kitchen and curled up in her basket in the corner while Alexia boiled the water and put a tea bag in a mug. She turned on her stereo and let her soul steep in the sounds of Prokofiev.

23

As the fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare; so are the sons of men snared in an evil time.

ECCLESIASTES 9:12 (KJV)

S
till shaken from her encounter with Baxter in the car, Rena walked into the ICU waiting room. Jeffrey was waiting for her. He was wearing a dark suit but had unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie.

“Do you want to see Baxter before we talk?” he asked.

“Not again!” Rena said more forcibly than she intended.

“Why not?”

“Uh, it's been a stressful day.”

“Let's go somewhere and talk.”

“I need a drink of water,” she said.

Rena brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. The similarity in appearance between Baxter and Jeffrey was not helping her mental state. The water fountain was in the hall. When she pushed the button, the arching stream of water reminded her of the waterfall. She closed her eyes and drank.

When she returned to the waiting room, Jeffrey was talking with Dr. Berman. The neurosurgeon was dressed for the operating room.

He nodded to Rena. “Mrs. Richardson, I'm glad I caught you. Let's go to one of the consultation rooms so we can talk in private.”

Rena and Jeffrey followed Dr. Berman to the conference room where Rena and Ezra had crossed swords with Alexia in the middle. This time, Rena and Jeffrey sat on the same side of the table. The doctor looked at Rena.

“There has been a slight reduction in the intracranial swelling in your husband's head; however, that doesn't mean he's about to wake up. In fact, I don't see any signs that he is regaining consciousness.”

“What about his brain activity?” Jeffrey asked.

“He is not what people call ‘brain dead.' He is in a coma, but I would not yet describe it as a persistent vegetative state.”

Rena worded her question carefully.

“How long would a coma have to last before it could be called a persistent vegetative state?”

“There is not an exact measurement. Doctors disagree.”

“What about you?” Rena persisted.

The doctor shook his head. “I'm not ready to commit myself. The severity of damage to your husband's neck complicates everything. Based on my review of all the tests conducted, there is no doubt that he is paralyzed from the neck down. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but even if he comes out of the coma, he will not be able to move his arms and legs. In addition, the paralysis makes him more susceptible to other conditions: urinary dysfunction, respiratory infection, even bedsores can cause serious, life-threatening problems. The greatest danger is pneumonia; second is non-ischemic heart disease.”

“What is that?” Rena asked.

“An unexplained heart attack. The neck injury greatly increases the possibility that an underlying heart condition might manifest in a heart attack. A cardiologist examined him this morning and found no obvious signs of problems with his heart, so that danger may not be so great. Respiratory problems are an unavoidable concern. We're watching him closely for any sign of infection.”

“Could you take him off the breathing machine?” Jeffrey asked.

“Not yet. He was able to breathe on his own before we inserted the ventilator; however, at this time I'm not sure he could survive without it. In the meantime, we don't want him struggling to breathe. His body must be able to focus on recovering from the coma.”

Rena squirmed in her seat. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Other than visit him, not much. It's a wait and see situation.”

The doctor rubbed his eyes. “Any more questions?”

Rena couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound homicidal. Jeffrey spoke.

“Are all the doctors in agreement about waiting?”

Dr. Berman rubbed his eyes. “The majority opinion is to maintain the status quo. Dr. Kolb and I requested a consultation with a neurologist who works a lot with seriously brain-injured patients. Dr. Draughton is less optimistic about the patient's recovery.”

“What did he suggest?” Rena asked quickly.

“To stop the ventilator if that's what the family wants to do. If your husband can't breathe on his own, he would die.”

Rena caught her breath.

“Would my father have to be involved in that decision?” Jeffrey asked.

“Yes. The chart indicates that Mr. Richardson has a power of attorney.”

“I do, too!” Rena blurted out. “And I'm his wife.”

The doctor rubbed his chin. “I realize there are legal issues that may have to be sorted out. If everyone involved can sit down and talk—”

“That's not an option,” Rena interrupted.

Dr. Berman's face became grim. “Then I don't have anything else to tell you at this time. We will continue to monitor your husband closely and let you know if anything changes for better or worse.”

“How could we reach Dr. Draughton?” Jeffrey asked.

“He is with Horizon Neurology here in Greenville, but he also sees patients in Spartanburg and Anderson.”