Stephen had received a broken finger from the mortar episode, which was icing on the cake after the plethora of injuries he had sustained from the ambush inside that hell house. Nevertheless, the inequity of loss from the mortar had disturbed Stephen. His ability to write well, compared to Mayweather’s ability to ever walk again, or the medic’s life was difficult for him to reconcile. But war was about inequities and that was something he would have to grips with if he was to honor the sacrifices made.
Stephen would often bend the finger as far as it could go, knowing it would forever be limited to a range of about half of what it should be. He didn’t mind too much. It was more of a memory than an impediment. That’s not to say that a broken pointer finger wasn’t an annoying hindrance to a person’s everyday life. In the digital age where typing is frequently necessary to engage in society’s daily communication, the lack of one’s index finger could be a major nuisance. Attempts at cooking, playing sports, or simply reading a book all become reminders of just how important the dangly digit was. But when a person emerges from a mountain of concrete and devastated bodies with lacerations, a punctured lung caused by three broken ribs and a bullet hole in the leg, the broken pointer finger does not cause a lot of stress. During his time in recovery, Stephen had often forgotten about the two inch brace securing his pointer to his middle finger.
He often used the finger as an analogy for explaining their journey with Hailey’s health. It helped supportive loved ones to understand that families of cancer survivors always had to have their antennas on high alert. It was a habit learned during the high-risk period of treatment and even during remission, the extreme diligence against germs was not a switch easily turned off. So when Hailey’s treatment for her second round with cancer was nearly completed, the family was still on high alert. After she became sick with a cold for nearly a week her physician agreed with Sarah’s urging and quickly admitted her to the hospital. It turned out to be a wise call as the stubborn case of bronchitis had quickly developed into pneumonia. But to the Lantz family, pneumonia was like that broken finger. It was something to be taken seriously. But even when treatment included additional tests to ensure the cancer had not spread into her vital organs, pneumonia, like a broken finger, was not a death sentence.
Stephen and Sarah alternated nights at the hospital over the next few days while Hailey rested and remained under observation. After the first night’s full rest on some powerful steroids, Hailey had been feeling well again. Nevertheless, another couple of nights at the hospital were ordered by a cautious doctor who had more concern over his patient’s medical history than the cost of hospital beds or the preferences of non-medical decision-makers in the business office. The Lantzes didn’t put up too much of a fuss, especially since insurance deductibles were usually met within the first couple of months each year.
That Friday evening found some good friends with kids Hailey’s age able to convince them to take an evening off while they brought over board games and sleeping bags for an overnight stay with Hailey at the hospital. Stephen relented as Sarah reminded him that their daughter was 11 years old now and needed more than friendly staff and periodic visits by the orderly who made balloon animals to keep her spirits high. Besides, Hailey would be coming home on Sunday and her parents needed their rest. Adding to the list of reasons to take a break; Stephen was training for a marathon and had a long training run planned for that Saturday morning. Sarah commented that he had been so dedicated to running the upcoming marathon that there was genuine concern he would take to logging his training miles among the halls of the hospital. Hailey’s doctor suggested the hospital wasn’t equipped for the way Stephen would smell after a three hour run and adamantly gave his blessing to their friends’ offer for Stephen and Sarah to go home.
There was a hint of guilt among the Lantz household as they ate well without Hailey. Sarah had composed a tasty penne-pasta dinner for Stephen and his parents. She spent the afternoon making a meatless marinara brought together a symphony of colors: thin slices of red, green and orange bell peppers were mixed with mushrooms. Mixed into the medley were thin garlic slivers and sautéed spinach with minced sun-dried tomatoes. Stephen enjoyed his wife’s rejuvenated interest for cooking. Providing an over-exaggerated rub of his waistline, he commented on the need to run the marathon just to keep pace with Sarah’s culinary explorations. Then he grabbed seconds.
Dinner closed out earlier than normal as Rebecca wasn’t feeling particularly well and Stephen had preparations to make. Before the night closed out, he jumped in the car and mapped out the route for the next day’s run. Along the path, he found a partially broken brick wall at the end of a poorly lit road which seemed to serve no apparent purpose other than being good spot for him to leave a bottle of water and sports drink for when he planned to refuel during the next morning’s run.
Arriving home, the comedy of errors began to unfold. Getting to bed early for a full night’s rest did not seem to be too ambitious of a plan. But the military had taught him plans were only good until the shooting began, or in Stephen’s case, until a high-need customer called. Which for this particular customer, on this particular night, might as well have been incoming sniper fire. It took a little over an hour to get the customer’s crisis resolved. From there, he made a mad dash to close out the evening and make it to bed by his predetermined hour. When he finally tucked in for the night, he was only running half an hour behind schedule.
The house logged a couple hours of peace and quiet before a battery in a random smoke alarm expired at 2am; this being, of course, the only time of day at which smoke alarm batteries were permitted to expire. The first chirp was just enough to disturb his slumber, the second beep arrived twenty minutes later and he was able to willfully ignore it. But it was the third and certainly the loudest, which woke him completely. After walking the halls in a concerned, yet unsuccessful effort to determine which alarm was the source of disturbance, he convinced himself that he had imagined the whole thing and went back to bed.
Around 3am that morning, the detector made another chirp followed by a two-second siren that sent Stephen into a frenzy. He immediately identified the blaring culprit, grabbed a ladder and yanked 9v battery from the alarm’s encasement. Heart pounding from the abrupt awakening, he promised himself he would replace the battery the next day. As he climbed off the step ladder, the device defiantly chirped again.
He quickly darted up the ladder and then came down as though he was descending Mount Doom from Tolkien’s Mordor. Stephen stepped off the ladder, this time in his hand he held the smoke detector, wires protruding as a result of its violent separation from the wall. Feeling his body falling asleep as he rested both feet on the solid hardwood ground, he wearily rested the detector on the hallway credenza and made the conscience decision to leave the ladder in the middle of the hallway; thoroughly convincing himself it was so that he would remember the alarm in the morning and not just because he was too lazy to put it back in the closet.
At 3:45 am, Sarah woke, startled, to the sight of the window in their bedroom being opened and her husband hurling something deep into the night air. In a shocked and nervous voice she asked Stephen what was going on. His response was a groggy murmur and the only phrase she could make out was something about a promise to look for a smoke detector tomorrow. Still unsure if her husband was sleep walking, Sarah watched him spill back into their bed.