THE RIGHT TIME TO DIE (9 page)

CHAPTER SIX

WITH DOJCSAK GONE,
Rena proceeded with her chores. She thought: Why should Ed, of all people, believe he has as good a chance of solving the crime as Angelique? Modern forensics was no match against the mysteries and sheer power of psychic intuition. Rena believed this firmly and unconditionally; had done for going on ten years, since Angelique first had declared, contrary to the dire prognostications of Luba’s doctors and the empirical certainty of scientific fact, her daughter would survive into her teens. Rena hadn’t confessed this forecast to Ed, in the early years out of a desire not to offer false hope, and, after Luba had turned thirteen, unwilling to risk that his skepticism might potentially impair the power of the psychic’s positive prediction.

Rena would telephone Angelique this afternoon, she decided, to get from her a better sense of who might possibly be responsible. She would love nothing more than to visit, to discuss the murder first hand, either in the store front shop or perhaps in the sitting room of the psychic’s second story apartment overlooking Church Falls’s main drag, over Chinese green tea and the uniquely flavored miniature almond paste biscuits favored by Angelique. (When asked about the peculiar but not unpleasant tasting novelties, Angelique declared: “Sugar
and
spice, Rena, an appropriate blend of both is necessary to make my cookies—and life—bearable”, though at times Rena imagined the headiness with which she departed the premises to be weighted more toward
spice
.) An oversize wrought iron sign depicting the all-seeing mystic eyeball hung suspended from a heavy chain outside the portico, marking the location of the shop, and was what at first had attracted Rena to the place.

But it wasn’t a day on which Rena could reasonably depend on relief from Dorothy O’Rielly, who would be busy at the station. Kate Bouey was working a seven in the morning to seven in the evening twelve-hour shift. Rena could telephone Sandy Belak, the public health nurse who called once weekly on the family to monitor the status of Luba’s medication, but Sandy had other patients and with the recent cut back in home health-care funding it was unlikely she would take time to perform what ultimately was no more than babysitting. Jenny was unreliable; she would be no use.

Rena rinsed cups, deposited the evidence of her husband’s filthy addiction into the waste bin beneath the kitchen counter and drained what remained of the morning pot of coffee. Sheila Burke had telephoned last evening, wanting to talk. Pregnancy, hormones and her husband Christopher’s marauding libido were playing havoc with the young woman’s fragile emotions;
boo-hoo
, Rena thought, Sheila needs a shoulder to cry on.
Who doesn’t
?

But Rena Dojcsak had troubles of her own. Though she no longer was obsessed over the state of her failing marriage or the prognosis for her dying daughter, Rena didn’t have the surplus emotional energy required to obsess over the trouble of others, either. Not that she was unsympathetic; simply believed herself unfit to offer either heartfelt commiseration or meaningful advice to her friends, given the state of her own sorry existence.

Careful not to wake Jen, Rena ran the upright along the carpet and lower hallway, leaving the second story and bedrooms for the afternoon. Luba would sleep fitfully until woken, undisturbed by either her mother’s movement or the rhythmic whine of the Hoover; in her daughter’s constant struggle for breath, Rena imagined these to be small annoyances.

She and Ed had been married eight years prior to deciding on a family. The couple was careful to ensure Ed was reasonably well established in his position as Warren County Sheriff, a job he’d come into by default on the resignation of his cousin. Though Ed had been Sidney Womack’s deputy, it came nonetheless as a surprise to everyone when he ran uncontested in the County election. After Jenny arrived, Rena happily resigned her own position and the second income she enjoyed as a substitute teacher at the local high, devoting herself full-time to the raising of her child.

With a combination of savings and debt, they were just able to purchase a home on the more affordable if less fashionable south side of the Hudson River, though from their rear yard they did partially overlook the waterway as it flowed in the direction of New York City, on its way out of town. (In later years, Rena came to regard the river in the way others regard high-altitude, jet-plane vapor trails; with longing, as if she were somehow being left behind on a journey somewhere,
anywhere
, but here.)

Despite working odd hours, Ed proved to be an active and involved parent. In spite of his size and physical awkwardness, he displayed a remarkable sensitivity to Jenny’s needs, encouraging even his skeptical wife. On certain nights during the week, Rena could spend an evening out in the company of friends, confidently leaving the home and Jenny in the care of her husband. Emotionally, Ed had always teetered between optimism and despair; the arrival of Jenny pushed him toward a more positive disposition.

By the time their daughter was almost two years of age, life was progressing well enough on the domestic front that the Dojcsak’s were ready, if not necessarily anxious, for another. On her first attempt to again become pregnant, Rena, however, miscarried. Ed suggested they count their blessings, desist and forestall any further effort to expand the small but happy brood.

“One more time, Ed,” Rena pleaded with her husband. “
Please
; this isn’t fate, it’s coincidence. Even Doctor Henry says there’s no physical reason I shouldn’t be able to conceive and have another healthy child.”

Under pressure and with great misgiving, though not a foreboding sufficient to qualify as foresight, Dojcsak relented. Soon afterward, Rena did become pregnant.

At birth, their second child had been small, though at six pounds she had not been premature. By two months, Luba having gained little weight, her head lolled on her narrow shoulders like a bobble-head doll, connected only by a sinewy thread of neck through which the blue-black veins were visible beneath her transparently pale skin. Henry Bauer expressed surprise, though at the time not alarm. He cautioned the parents to not overreact. True, he said, Dojcsak is a big man. But Rena is small, accounting, perhaps, for the child’s diminutive proportions. But for the four weeks of her life between the age of two months and three, Luba seemed ill without relief. Though her appetite was normal, at five months her rate of growth by weight had slowed and in fact, according to a home scale purchased by Rena, had begun a disturbing and inexplicable reversal. By now, Henry Bauer was himself anxious enough to order a series of tests, suggesting a nutritional supplement as well, to augment the breast.

“To enhance what she’s obviously not getting from you.” The statement was in no way accusatory, yet Rena felt somehow diminished.

And Luba coughed constantly. For either her or Rena to sleep, Rena was compelled to cradle her baby throughout the night, keeping Luba’s head propped up over her arm, or with a pillow; Luba could not seem to draw breath otherwise. Albuterol was prescribed every four hours and liquid steroids once a day, an antibiotic in case she had pertussis, and liquid Tylenol for fever, though to Rena she didn’t seem obviously warm. When the initial tests returned negative, Rena felt relief and a mixture of dismay.

After a while, in addition to the cough, abdominal cramps appeared, vexing both parents and child. Bauer prescribed Simethicone drops, presumably for colic.

Her mother-in-law weighed in with her own advice. “Check what you’re eating. Something you’re eating is upsetting her stomach. Spicy, salty, fatty, sweet foods: all will pass through you into her,” she said, as if recommending a diet restricted to plain oatmeal and dry, whole-wheat toast. “Are you drinking?” she asked, as if accusing Rena of acquiring the habit from Ed., who since Luba’s birth had begun to drink more.

While eating solids, Luba still was gaining no weight. An angry rash developed over her bottom, spreading to her thighs and lower back. Rena changed soaps, wipes, disposable diaper brands, powders and creams, all to no avail. As if to mock Rena’s ministrations, the rash became worse, spreading and becoming meaner looking by the day. Fearing the consequences of a modified or more restricted diet on Luba’s already stunted rate of growth, in desperation Rena appealed to Doctor Bauer for advice.

Feeling both guilty and ashamed, referring to the rash, she said, “I’ve tried. Nothing works.
Nothing.
The more I try to control it, the faster it spreads. And she
eats
. God, she eats. The more I feed her, the smaller she gets. What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bauer replied. “You’re doing everything you need to be doing. Look at Jenny. Healthy as a horse, isn’t she?” (Physically, perhaps, but in truth, since the birth of Luba and the subsequent shift of emotional resources toward the ailing child, Jenny had suffered miserably. Rena was fearful of a possibility for lingering resentment and serious alienation.)

Taking Luba from her mother, Henry Bauer laid her on the examination table, placing her on her back. He removed her jumper, next removing her under tee shirt, leaving her in only her diaper. Using a thumb and middle finger, he probed gently along the child’s midriff to her groin, around to the small of her back. He turned Luba to her side, passing a forefinger along her spine. Luba squirmed, scrunching her tiny face into a grimace; a death-head grin, Henry Bauer imagined. This child is ill, he thought to himself. Perhaps seriously, though with what, how or why it was impossible for him yet to say. Additional and extensive tests would be required.

Through his stethoscope, Bauer listened to the child’s lungs, to the steady beat of her tiny heart. The rapid thump-thump was typical, almost normal, but Bauer was disturbed, detecting an obvious congestion. For two weeks, Luba had been on a regimen of inhalers, steroids and antibiotics.

“You’ve been giving her the medicine I prescribed?” he asked Rena over his shoulder, an uncharacteristic edge creeping into his tone.

“Yes.”

“Faithfully, without missing a day?”

“Yes.”

Bauer continued to probe; on the examination table Luba squirmed, like an earthworm. “Is she regular, Rena?” Bauer asked now. “Her bowel movements?”

Rena paused, as if reluctant to say. “They smell, Doctor. Awful. They’re gummy, and they stink. Could it be causing her rash?”

Bauer softly stroked Luba’s cheek with his forefinger. In response, her lips curled, for the first time since arriving that morning turning upward in a genuine smile. “She’s a beautiful baby, Rena,” he said, smoothing the child’s wispy hair. He drew his hand across her forehead, traced the bridge of her small nose to her lips, then to her chin. Bauer then did something unexpected and to Rena, entirely inexplicable; the physician licked his fingertips, as if to have a sense of her daughter’s flavor. “Why don’t you dress her?” he said then.

Rena took his place at the examination table. The room resembled an emergency ward triage, each examination area separated only by colorful curtains depicting various fairy-tale scenes: Little Jack Horner, Little Miss Muffett, Jack climbing the Beanstalk and Jack tumbling down the hill with Jill. Child-like finger paintings adorned the wall, executed, Rena imagined, by the physician’s own children, or patients present and past. Next to her a baby cried, a wail seeming to be somehow beyond the possible suffering of a mere child. Opposite her another child laughed, giggling uncontrollably, presumably at the ministrations of the attending nurse.

In his private office, Bauer told her, “I’m going to order a sweat test, Rena. The test will determine the amount of chloride in Luba’s sweat. To the touch, her skin seems salty to me.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Rena said it as if perhaps she should.

“There are no needles involved in the procedure, no blood to be drawn. She won’t feel any discomfort or pain. In the first part of the test, we apply a colorless, odorless chemical to a small area on her arm or leg. We then attach an electrode to that spot. It allows the technician to apply a weak electrical current to the area to stimulate sweating. She may feel a tingling sensation, or a feeling of warmth.”

In response to Rena’s expression he repeated, “But she will feel no discomfort or pain. This part of the procedure will last approximately five minutes. The second part of the test consists of cleaning the stimulated area and collecting Luba’s sweat on a piece of filter paper or gauze, or in a plastic coil. Within thirty minutes the sample is sent to a laboratory for analysis. The entire collection procedure takes approximately one hour. The results will be available the following day.”

Luba squirmed in Rena’s arms, seemingly as discomfited by the proposition as her mother. Instinctively, her lips sought out Rena’s breast in a feeble attempt to suck at the material of her mother’s cotton jersey. “Why?” Rena asked without preamble or elaboration.

Bauer prevaricated, stalling in his response. Rena sensed his dismay.

“There are a number of things that could be happening. I’d like to rule them out. A Lower GI—gastrointestinal examination—is invasive, uncomfortable and possibly painful for the child.” Bauer raised his eyes from what he was writing. “And you. We’ll do the sweat test first.”