The Promise of Stardust (51 page)

   49   

Jake drew the curtain so the sunlight wouldn't hit me in the eyes as I sat on the edge of my hospital bed. “Adam Cunningham is one arrogant, self-important idiot. He's representing himself. Unfortunately, he's also pretty bright. Doesn't know the law—at all—but he seems to have a facility for deductive reasoning.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“I'll give you the short version,” Jake said. “After Father Meehan's testimony, I submitted the petition for fetal guardianship to Judge Wheeler, who then hauled me and Adam into chambers. I cited religious freedom. And Wheeler, taking pity on Adam and his lack of legal expertise, cited no existing statutes for guardianship of a nonperson. I cited the Unborn Victims of Violence Act of 2004. I cited the First Amendment. I listed the states which will not remove a pregnant woman's life support. Wheeler's going to take it under advisement. I wouldn't hold my breath, but we can appeal and, if necessary, we've got grounds, as I've said all along, for a cert petition. This could be very interesting.”

“I don't care about interesting,” I said, lacing my Nikes. I was grateful my brother brought in clothes for me to wear home from the hospital, but bending over to tie my shoes hurt like hell. I needed old-man loafers. “All I care about is—”

“Yeah, I know. This baby. Let me ask you this, when you get some medical mystery, and you have to figure out how to fix it, don't you find it
more interesting
than, I don't know, your run-of-the-mill appendectomy?”

“I don't do appendectomies. But if I did, I wouldn't tell my patient with a teratoma growing out of his cerebellum that I thought his case was more interesting than a routine appendicitis case. Did you ever hear of the Chinese curse ‘May you live in interesting times'? I don't want interesting.”

Looking duly chastised, Jake leaned up against the windowsill. “Whatever the heck that means—tera-whatever thing—point conceded.”

“Did you talk to Carol, about the attorney general?”

“Yes. She told me to instruct you to get well.”

“And?”

“The attorney general and I had a scintillating ten-minute conversation. It should come as no surprise that Elle's tragedy is a hot topic down in D.C. in both conservative and liberal circles. Nevertheless, there is nothing we can do there until we've exhausted our legal options on this level. And the appeals level. Maybe not even then.”

“Do you think Wheeler will go for fetal guardianship, or that the Supreme Court will hear it?” I asked.

“Hard to say. I hope so. I think so.”

“When do I finish my testimony?”

“I'm not sure I want to put you on the stand again. Who's going to pay me if you die?” He shot me a grin and replaced it with the stern face of a schoolmarm. “Seriously, I don't want you to testify again.”

“I need to tell the judge what was in Elle's letters.”

“I know. But you collapsed on the stand, Matt. Instead of you, I'm putting Keisha up this afternoon, and she's quite compelling.”

“I want a chance to tell him my side.”

“How about you do a little recuperating first?”

After a wheelchair ride to the front of the hospital, followed by a two-minute drive to Jake's, he escorted me up the three steps, cradling my elbow as if I were an invalid. The irony that I was taking my first steps toward the future by moving in with my old college roommate didn't escape me. Still, I had to admit that the quality of his digs had vastly improved.

“Would you stop looking at me like I'm going to drop dead?” I said as we entered the two-story marble-floored foyer.

“Only if you don't drop dead
again
, you idiot.”

His wife, Yvette, said, “Jake, don't say things like that.”

“It's okay, Vette,” Jake said. “He understands what I mean.”

She looked at him as if she were appalled and then back at me. “Don't listen to him, Matt. Can I offer you something to drink?”

“No, I'm good. Thanks for opening your home.”

“Oh, please …” she said as she swept out of the foyer.

Jake's gaze followed her. “She has one sister and no brothers. Her family never bickers, never even banters. Ever. Now sit on the sofa, and let's talk.” Jake set his briefcase on the Louis XIV side table.

Instead, I chose a chair with arms because I didn't think I could get up off the low seat where he directed me.

“Elle's doctors want to discharge her, put her into a nursing home,” Jake said.

“Yeah. I'm not happy about that. I'd like to take her home, instead.”

“You can't do that. You're not in any condition to take care of yourself, much less her. Any thoughts about an appropriate place?”

The idea of a nursing home made me cringe. All I could think of was the smell, the bedsores, and, too often, the neglect. “I'll work on it.”

He studied me. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Because if you die in my house, my property value will nose-dive.”

“I'm fine. Thanks for the concern. If I feel any chest pain, I'll try to make it over the threshold.”

   50   

Mom showed up at Jake's door, carrying a suitcase full of my clothes and literature on three local nursing homes. Hank was a step behind her, muttering and grumbling. A number of people had thought my mother and Hank would hook up after Dad died, but the idea was absurd. Dad and Hank were great friends. Mom and Alice were great friends. Mom and Hank were more connected by circumstance.

“How'd you get into my house?” I asked Mom, trying to take the suitcase from her.

“Oh, no. Don't even try it. You're not lifting a heavy bag.” She pulled it aside and nosed her way around Jake's downstairs until she found the room off the kitchen, a onetime maid's room, converted for my sake into a guest room.

She set down my suitcase, tossed the nursing-home brochures on the bed, and began opening drawers, loading them with my underwear, socks, and clothing. I paced, albeit more of a shuffle than my usual rapid gait. “You didn't tell me how you got into my house, Mom.”

“I have a key.”

“You gave me your key.”

“I gave you
one
key. I had another.” She offered me a wink.

“How come I never noticed what an interfering busybody you were prior to this?” I asked.

“Having a key to your house doesn't mean I ever used it to check out things or that I ever imposed myself on you or Elle. I don't know how or why I got a second key, but it's a good thing I did because someone has to look after the place right now, and you need clean clothes.”

“Screw the house key,” Hank said. “Let's decide which nursing home is best for Elle.”

“That will depend on where there's an available bed,” Mom said.

“Not necessarily,” Hank said.

I dropped into a chair and grunted. The pain burned from my incision to the muscles down my leg. I rubbed my stitches, feeling how little held me together. “What do you mean, ‘not necessarily'?”

“I've been thinking about this since the doctors took her off the respirator and said we would eventually be able to move her out of the hospital. Nursing-home beds are scarce, right?”

“Exactly. That's why we can't be picky,” Mom said.

“We can be picky,” Hank said. “There's a shortage of nursing-home beds in Portland. I'm a businessman. If I were running a nursing home, I'd be looking to expand.”

“I'm not following you,” I said. “We don't have time to build a new nursing home.”

“No, not a new one. I'll offer to finance an addition.” Hank waved his hand like a magic wand.

“But that won't help us—” I said.

“It will. Not the addition itself, but if the owner's shrewd, he'll give us what we want in exchange.”

“Which is?” Mom asked.

“The stipulation will be that at least one room—not one bed—one
room
will be made available for Elle for as long as she needs it. The last thing we need is to have to tiptoe around a roommate. Besides, after your heart attack, you can't be camping out in a chair day and night. And at my age, I can't do it for months on end either. So I will stipulate that Elle gets a private room for as long as she requires one. There's always some turnover in nursing homes. She moves to the top of the wait list. And as a second room becomes available, we will get that one, too. Two side-by-side rooms in exchange for a new wing.”

Mom and I exchanged a look. I couldn't speak for her, but I was thinking that Hank had lost his mind.

“I'll buy the place if I have to,” he said.

Mom's mouth hung open.

“That's a very generous plan,” I said. “But do you have any idea how much something like that costs, not to mention the regulations involved?”

“Of course I do. I broker a hell of a lot of commercial real estate. These days that's most of my business. I've even sold a few nursing homes. Now, which one of these places has the best reputation?” he asked.

Mom glanced at the brochures on the bed and narrowed her eyes skeptically. “I know you've been successful, but—”

“She's my daughter, Linney. I can afford to take care of her. Believe me.” Hank stood a little taller as if to show he was man enough to keep his word.