“What’s that on his head?” Jack’s hair had been roughly chopped to the scalp, and something had been implanted in his skull.
“An ICP gauge. We’re watching the intracranial pressure in his brain.” It looked like a tire pressure gauge buried in his head and had lines connecting it to an electronic monitor.
“As with some snakebites,” the doctor said, “toxins from marine organisms cause a rapid rise in blood pressure and cerebral hemorrhaging.”
On the wall was a light display and what looked like X-ray images of Jack’s brain. The nurse caught Beth’s eyes. “We had an MRI done to check on any edema … swelling and bleeding.”
“The good news is that we don’t think we’ll have to operate,” the doctor said. “The ICP trend has turned negative—no increase in intercranial pressure over the last two hours.”
“You mean there was bleeding in his brain?”
The doctor nodded. “But to what effect we can’t determine. We really don’t know how long he was unconscious. But we’re treating him with steroids to prevent brain inflammation and antiseizure medications hopefully to prevent seizures and keep him stable.”
Beth nodded as a hideous thought cut across her mind like the fin of a shark: Jack could be brain-damaged.
She scanned the various monitors with blinking blips and graphs and orange and red squiggles, quietly chittering away, the IV stands with drip bags, the ventilator chuffing in his throat, the catheter drainage bag, suction jars, and oxygen tanks along the side of the bed, tubes of urine connecting to some machine on the floor.
I’m going to lose him.
Her eye rested on the heart monitor. It was still pumping, that big stallion engine.
Jellyfish.
In a voice barely audible, Beth asked, “Is he going to make it?”
“We’re doing all we can,” the doctor said. “If he remains stabilized, we’ll move him to Massachusetts General where there are specialty neurologists and some of the best equipment in the world. And he’ll be closer to home.”
Nurse Chapman handed Beth a wad of tissue to absorb the tears that were now flowing freely down her face.
“His feet …” They were wrapped in dressing.
“Well, they were exposed to the water when he was washed up.”
And she imagined Jack’s feet marinating for hours in jellyfish toxin. Another nurse came in with a tray of medications. “Mrs. Koryan, we have to turn him over to dress his back, so it might be best if you waited in the waiting room. If you’re hungry, there’s a coffee machine and bunch of canteens down the hall.”
They wanted to spare her the sight of Jack’s back. Beth nodded. She wasn’t hungry, but she could use a coffee since she’d be up the rest of the night. They said to return in half an hour. As Beth started toward the door, her eyes fell on Jack’s hands. His fingers looked like purple sausages. His ring finger was bandaged. Then she noticed a small plastic Ziploc bag on the bed table. In it was a twisted piece of yellow metal. Like a Polaroid photo rapidly developing, she realized it was Jack’s wedding band. They had snipped it off his finger to prevent it from cutting off the blood flow.
“You may take it,” Nurse Chapman said, handing it to her.
But Beth shook her head and left.
3
EDDIE ZUCHOWSKY THOUGHT IT WOULD BE a bad day, but not like this.
First, he got stuck in traffic for half an hour on Route 3, no more than two miles from Cobbsville center, causing him to arrive at the store ten minutes before opening. Then two of his girls left messages that they were sick and wouldn’t be coming in—which really meant that they had gone to the Dave Matthews concert at UNH and got home at five A.M. And because it was Friday—always a busy day—Eddie would have to man the Hour Photo counter and still perform his other duties as assistant manager.
And now some old woman was at the Cover Girl shelf pocketing tubes of lipstick. He could see her on the security videos.
Good God, I don’t need this, Eddie told himself.
As he stared in disbelief at the monitor, he could swear he recognized the woman although he couldn’t quite place her. He adjusted the set, and then it came to him: Clara, one of the regular Seenies. That’s what some of the store staff had dubbed the residents from the Broadview Nursing Home up the street. Seenies, short for “Senile Citizens.”
Of course, that was a tad cruel—and as assistant manager of the Cobbsville CVS, he forbade any of his staff to use such insensitive language about customers. In fact, he once threatened to report a stock boy to the district manager when the kid announced to other staffers, “Here come the Alzies but Goodies.” (Eddie had to admit it was a funny line, although he reminded the kid that they could be us some day: “There but for fortune …”)
Their visit to the store was a common event, as they’d stop by on the way back from a field trip to a local baseball game or restaurant so that the nurse’s aides could pick up patient prescriptions. But instead of leaving them to sit restlessly in the vans, the aides would bring them into the store to wander around—in monitored groups, of course. As one aide dealt with the pharmacy, the other two would stay with the residents as they bumped up and down the aisles like sheep.
They’d never make any trouble or bother other customers. At times they could be a bit noisy. Once in a while one would yell something out of the blue—nothing that made sense—or if they got confused or frightened and started crying, the aides would hush them up or take them out to the van. Some of the bolder ones might speak to the customers, say harmless nothings—like retarded kids. A couple weeks ago one man asked Allison at the cash register if his daddy could move back in with them, apparently thinking he was a kid again and she was his mother who had ditched the old man. Allison, who’s pretty sharp, said, “Sure he can,” and the old guy grinned with joy.
Usually the nurse’s aides would let them select a little something—a picture book, a toy, a package of cookies, makeup—whatever caught their eye. If the items were inexpensive and appropriate, the aides would usually pay, then herd the patients out the door and into the van. (The patients each had small accounts back at the home, Eddie learned.) What amazed Eddie was that although Broadview was only three miles away, an excursion to the local CVS was a big deal to these folks—like a trip to Disneyland. The sad thing was some barely knew the difference.
But they seemed to enjoy these outings, and, frankly, it was good for business, because it let the community know that its local CVS was a good neighbor. Over the months, Eddie had gotten to know a few of the individual residents—like Clara, who was actually not a little old lady but a large blocky woman with a big flat face. She didn’t say much, just shuffled around sometimes holding the aide’s hand and studying the shelves. You’d say something to her and her only comment was “Yeah”—no matter what you said.
“Hi, Clara. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You feeling good today?”
“Yeah.”
“You have a very pretty dress on.”
“Yeah.”
“Would you like to eat a bowl of maggots?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie left the photo counter and headed for aisle lA. But as soon as he rounded the corner he froze.
Clara was at the Cover Girl shelf. For a moment she appeared to be bleeding from the mouth. But as his eyes adjusted, Eddie realized that Clara had smeared her face with lipstick. She was also making awful moaning sounds, and scattered on the floor were shiny tubes and packages of bright-handled scissors—on special this week for $3.39. One big pink one sticking out of a hip pocket, the other, bulging with lipsticks.