Breaking the Chain (16 page)

             
Several nurses ran into the room and encircled the bed. Shocked by this terrifying turn of events, Mary pressed her back against the far wall, and stared open-mouthed at the scene unfolding in front of her. This couldn't be happening! Not to Elizavon!
             
God, please don't let Elizavon die, she prayed over and over again. Clenching her fists at her side, she tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible as more people rushed into the room and worked on her aunt.
             
Two nurses stood on either side of Elizavon working with bags of fluid they joined to the intravenous lines; a few agonizing heartbeats later, two doctors rushed into the room, and barked orders to several nurses. The taller man exchanged glances with Mary, tapped a nurse on the arm, then jerked his head toward Mary's location.
             
One of the nurses who'd stepped away from the bed when the doctors burst onto the scene walked over to Mary and touched her arm. "You need to wait outside in the hall while they try to help your aunt," she said in a soothing tone. "You'll only be in the way if you stay in here," she continued, wrapping her hand around Mary's arm and leading her out of the room.
             
Mary forced wobbly legs to propel her forward, resisting the urge to stay near her aunt. "Is--is she going to die?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder to where her aunt lay gasping for breath. "What happened? One minute she was fine, the next--"
             
The nurse frowned and shook her head. "I don't know. This sometimes happens with heart patients, especially those that are elderly. It wasn't anything you did, so please don't blame yourself. Your aunt's very old and she's already suffered a lot of damage to her heart." She draped an arm across Mary's shoulder. "She's in very good hands, and they're doing everything they can," she continued, gently ushering Mary to one side as another nurse rushed a cart laden with equipment and paddles into the room. "There's nothing you can do right now except wait."
             
She studied Mary's face for a moment, then patted her arm. "It'll be quite a while before they let you back in to see her. Come with me. You can't stay in the hallway; there's no room for chairs. I'll take you back to the intensive care waiting room. You'll be more comfortable there, and I promise, as soon as we know anything at all, I'll come tell you."
             
"But--but what if something happens?" Mary asked. "What--what if she dies?"
             
"That's in God's hands, not ours. He decides who lives or dies," the woman responded. "If you know any prayers, you might want to say them. It can't hurt."
             
Mary allowed herself to be escorted to the waiting room and collapsed into the first empty chair she saw. The nurse patted her shoulder, then departed. Unable to sit still, Mary wandered from chair to chair, picking up and discarding magazines at random.
             
What had Elizavon been trying to tell her? What did she know about Mary's ability to "see" things? What had she meant when she said, "You've always--" Always what?
             
Frustrated, Mary clenched her fists into two tight balls. It suddenly dawned on her that maybe she could transfer some of her own strength to her aunt. Maybe that would help Elizavon to survive. It was at least worth a try. She chose a chair tucked away in a corner, sat down and slowed her breathing. Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on summoning all the mental strength she had within, gathered it into a single thought, and mentally directed it toward her aunt, willing Elizavon to survive.
             
Would it work? Her aunt couldn't die now. Elizavon needed to finish telling her what it was that her own mother hadn't wanted her to know. Was it some deep, dark family secret? Or worse, was it something that was wrong with her? What could a child have that was so terrible that a parent wouldn't want her to know about it?

             
           
             
             
                             
29
 

             
Shocked by Elizavon's abrupt decline, Mary waited nervously in the waiting room for someone to relay news of her aunt's condition. She thought about calling Jack and telling him what had happened, but decided that it would be better to wait until she knew if her aunt would live or die.
             
What was taking them so long? Surely they'd know something by now. How long did it take to stabilize a heart patient? Rising from her chair, she started toward the door, then retraced her steps when she realized that lurking around the nurse's station wouldn't help matters, and she'd only be in someone's way. Better to wait until someone came for her.
             
Ten minutes passed, then fifteen as she sat in a chair, waiting for any news about her aunt. Maybe she should go get a cup of coffee from the cafeteria. No, better not. The moment she left, someone was bound to come looking for her. Sighing, she turned her gaze toward the door, watching the arrival and departure of various strangers as they took turns visiting loved ones.
             
A short, stocky man with glasses caught her eye. Was he here for one of the patients, or did she know him from somewhere else? She watched silently as he weaved his way through the group of people hovering near the door of the crowded Cardiac Intensive Care waiting room. Dressed in an expensive business suit, he looked strangely out of place in the midst of the casually attired family members of CICU patients, most of whom were garbed in jeans or sweat pants. Expensive suits and dresses weren't very practical for spending 18-20 hours a day in uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Her gaze wandered to her own legs, encased in a pair of jeans.
             
A slight cough nearby wrestled her attention away from her fascinating study of the thread count of her jeans. She glanced up and was startled to find the man standing next to her.
             
"Mary?" he asked, squinting at her through thick glasses. "You are Mary Corbett, I mean Windom, right?"
             
She nodded.
             
He gestured to a chair next to her. "May I sit down?"
             
Again she gave a slight nod. Who was he, and what did he want?
             
He placed a leather briefcase on the table and snapped open the hinges. Peering at her over the top of the briefcase, he straightened his glasses and cleared his throat. "I'm Allan Charles."
             
She stared at him, puzzled, and shook her head from side to side.
             
"Allen Charles," he repeated. "Your aunt's attorney?"
             
"Oh."
             
"Er, I suppose you're wondering why I'm here."
             
She nodded.
             
He reached out and patted her hand. "Is everything all right? You seem kind of...distant."
             
How would he know? Sighing softly, she retracted her hand. "My aunt just went into cardiac arrest. While...while I was in the room. I can't believe it. One minute she was talking to me; the next, she went into this coughing and choking spasm." She rubbed her eyes, then her cheeks with her hands. "They're not sure if she's going to make it, and from what I saw, I'm not sure, either."
             
"I'm so sorry, Mary. Truly I am."
             
"Thanks. I know my aunt's not the nicest person in the world, but I do like her, in spite of her crankiness." She watched as the attorney gave a wry, almost pitying smile, and resentment for his arrogance boiled up inside her. What in the hell was he doing here?
             
"Surprisingly, Mary, I share your feelings about your aunt. She's not the easiest client in the world, but she is a very shrewd businesswoman. I've learned a lot from her." He paused, his smile now long gone. "Lawyers have a lot of experience with deception. As hard-edged as your aunt is, I never have to second-guess her motives. I like her, too--in spite of everything."
             
So he isn't pitying me, Mary thought.
             
"Did they say when you might know something?"
             
She shook her head. "I've been waiting for ages, but nobody's come out to tell me anything. Surely we ought to know something soon."
             
He sat quietly, watching the ebb and flow of people in the waiting room. A sudden hush descended when a doctor dressed in surgical garb entered, and spoke softly to two women huddled in the corner. Their cry of distress, followed by loud sobbing, alerted the others to news they could not hear--evidently a loved one had died.
             
Allen Charles shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and turned back to Mary. "The nurses left a message that your aunt wanted to see me, so here I am."
             
"Any idea why?"
             
"Frankly, no. She made some last-minute changes to the will, but we finished those before she went to the hospital."
             
"Maybe she just wanted to say thanks."
             
"I don't know, Mary, but whatever the reason, I'm here."
             
"Thanks." An uneasy silence fell between them as they watched and waited for news of Elizavon's condition. Mary's heart started to pound as she realized that one of the floor nurses had entered the room and was coming toward her.
             
"How is my aunt?" she asked, rising from her chair. "What's happened?"
             
The woman shook her head and lowered her voice. "It's not good. I don't think she's going to make it, Mrs. Windom. She's asking for you, and for a Mr. Charles." She gestured toward the door. "You can see her now, but only for a few moments."
             
Mary stared at the nurse, her mind struggling to comprehend the gravity of her aunt's condition. Elizavon couldn't die. Sure, she was old and sick, but her aunt had the kind of personality that could overcome anything, even a heart attack. Surely they were wrong, surely...
             
"You better come quickly, Mrs. Windom," the nurse suggested. "I'm not sure how much longer she has." The woman looked at Allen, who nodded and urged Mary forward.
             
"I'm Allan Charles. Please, lead on."
             
Mary tried to compose her thoughts as they followed the nurse down the corridor. She knew that Elizavon would consider any outburst of emotion as a sign of weakness, and she didn't want her last memory of her aunt to be one of scathing derision. When they paused outside Elizavon's room, she took a deep breath and tried to stem the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Glancing at the attorney, she nodded her head and pushed open the door.
             
Elizavon looked ghastly; her complexion had faded from a pasty white to a sickening grey, and her cheeks had sunken in so far it looked as if someone had used an ice cream scoop to carve out a huge hole on either side of her face.
             
Biting her lip, Mary walked over to the bed and took the old woman's hand in hers. A slight noise caught her attention, and she realized that one of the floor nurses was quietly sitting in a chair by the window. The woman smiled sympathetically, but Mary looked away. It was all she could do to keep her emotions in check.
             
"Aunt Elizavon, it's Mary," she whispered, leaning close to the old woman.
             
Elizavon opened her eyes and moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
             
"Charles?" she whispered in a raspy voice so low Mary could hardly decipher the words.
             
"He's here. On the other side of the bed," Mary replied. She gently brushed an errant strand of hair from her aunt's forehead.
             
Elizavon turned her head slightly. "Charles?"
             
"I'm here, Elizavon," Charles replied.
             
"Letter," Elizavon whispered. "For Mary."
             
Mary felt Elizavon's fingers move, and lightly squeezed the old woman's hand in a comforting manner. "I'm here, Aunt Elizavon, and I'm not going to leave you," she whispered in a soft voice. "Is--is there anything you want me to do?"
             
The old woman's eyes opened and locked with Mary's as Elizavon struggled to raise her head from the pillow. "Must tell you. You've always had sight," Elizavon whispered in a strained voice. "Even when child. Letter. Ask Charles."
             
Elizavon gasped for one last breath, then fell back onto the pillow, her china doll blue eyes wide. The hand in Mary's went limp and the heartbeat monitor above the bed beeped once, then registered a straight line.
             
"Aunt Elizavon!" Mary cried out in a strangled voice as warning beeps from every monitor signaled her aunt's demise. The beeps and buzzing noises were akin to a death knell, their constant blare validating the unthinkable. Elizavon dead! How could such an indomitable spirit be gone? Mary watched in shock as the nurse checked for a pulse in the old woman's neck, shook her head, then reached up and switched off the machines.
             
The room fell silent as the nurse disconnected the intravenous tubes from Elizavon's arms, lifted the old woman's head, and gently removed the oxygen tubing from her nose. No one spoke; it was as if everyone held their breath, waiting for something, anything to happen, but nothing did.
             
One by one, outside stimuli crept back into Mary's consciousness: the antiseptic odor of Elizavon's hospital room, footsteps and whispers in the hall, the scraping sound as the wheels of equipment carts rolled across the floor, and the soft humming of the air conditioning system as it switched on. It was as if her physical senses were fully functional, but her emotions had been turned off and replaced by a dull emptiness. She felt drained and frozen inside, an automaton, capable of hearing and seeing, but not feeling.
             
"I'm afraid she's gone," a soft voice whispered in her ear. "It's over."
             
Mary felt warm hands gently unwrap her fingers from around her aunt's hand. The nurse led her to one of the chairs by the window. "Is there anyone I can call to come and get you?" the woman asked.
             
"I'll drive her back to her hotel," Charles offered.
             
"What about arrangements?" the woman asked.
             
"I'm her attorney," Charles stated. "I'll take care of everything. I know what she wanted."
             
As Charles grasped her arm, Mary awakened from the emotionless void that held her captive. "I'm okay," she said. "It's just that I don't deal with death very well."
             
Charles stared at her for a moment, then slipped a hand under her elbow and gently led her out of the room.
             
"You sure you're okay?" he asked as they stood in the hallway.
             
"Yeah. It's weird. I feel like I should be crying because she's dead, but I can't," Mary confessed. "It's like I'm suddenly out of tears. Does that make me a bad person?" She shook her head, puzzled. "I can't in all honesty say that I loved my aunt, but I really did like her, even if she was cranky all the time. So how come I'm not that upset?"
             
Charles squeezed her arm. "Your aunt knew you liked her, and more than that, she respected you," he said. "That's saying a lot, especially from Elizavon. And, you're probably not crying because deep down you know that Elizavon wouldn't want you to. She'd want you to be strong, just like you're doing."
             
A sigh escaped Mary's lips and she shook her head. "I can't believe she's gone. She was the strongest woman I knew." She turned away from him, then swung back. "What about a funeral? Do you need me to do anything about the...arrangements?"
             
He shook his head. "No, Elizavon had everything set up in advance. She didn't want anyone handling her funeral but her." He paused for a moment, then smiled in encouragement. "It's okay, Mary. She left specific instructions for everything, down to the most insignificant detail."
             
Typical Elizavon style. Her aunt left nothing to chance--not even her own funeral. "I'm staying at my sister's condominium. I didn't mention it before, because Elizavon hated my sister DeeDee, and I didn't want to cause a scene." She dug a pen and a small sheet of paper out of her purse, scribbled a number, and handed the note to Charles. "Here's her number. Please call me when all the final arrangements have been made. I want to attend my aunt's funeral."
             
He stuffed the paper in his coat pocket, then removed a business card from inside his jacket. "This is my office number. If you have any questions, just call. I'll leave a message for them to patch you through. I know this isn't the time or place to say this, but after the funeral we'll need to talk about Elizavon's affairs."
             
"I don't even want to think about that right now, Mr. Charles. It would be disrespectful to even think about any of Elizavon's business matters," Mary interrupted. "Her business affairs will just have to wait until later."