Hope House (27 page)

“The people in that office are great,” Tanya said. “I was happy to go there and meet them in person. They’re so nice. And thorough! Take this meeting. Gloria, you called to schedule this but Angela had already set up an appointment for tomorrow for Mr. Puglisi.”

“She did?” Gloria didn’t hide her shock very well.

“Yes, she did,” Henry said. “Maybe you two need to coordinate better?”

Kurt couldn’t think of anything to say and was relieved when Gloria came up with a reply.

“I’ll call Angela when we leave. I have her home number. You can just consider Mr. Puglisi’s appointment cancelled. Angela is a sweet girl but she’s a little on the disorganized side.”

Tanya nodded. “She did seem a little unprofessional. I think he just keeps her on because she’s his sister.”

This visit
became more and more productive every time one of the Clarksons opened their mouths. Mick’s sister worked for the firm too. If Kurt recalled correctly, Angela was the one rude to Gloria back in Miami. No wonder she was down talking her now.

“You’ve answered all the questions we had, Tanya.”

“So you’re sure about the appointment tomorrow?”

“Very sure,” Gloria said, winking at Kurt. “I’ll pass w
hat I learned onto Mr. Puglisi. He hasn’t been involved in the writing of the book but he’s been very proactive in getting us information.”

“Great. Henry Junior’s daycare was having a Mommy brunch I didn’t want to miss.”

“You go ahead and have fun,” Kurt said, smiling when he thought how angry Mick would be when he arrived all the way here from Miami to find an empty apartment.

Gloria and Kurt chit chatted with the Clarksons about things
that didn’t matter, to lend credibility to the book idea: questions about emotions, their thoughts about someday meeting the biological mother . . . and then they excused themselves.

They had all the information they needed. They confirmed that New Age had used the same back story: English Lit major on scholarship gets pregnant, calls agency, then goes to Windy Key and happens to start bleeding. The adoptive parents pay for months of her care in a fictional birthing center plus the emergency C-section which prevented anyone from actually meeting the mother or seeing the birth. Of course Tanya couldn’t witness the birth. Gia Carp and the center didn’t exist. 

And Kurt and Gloria knew now that Mick wasn’t far behind them. Mick must know they had the files, and likely knew that they’d already visited the Murrays in Maine.

Back at the hotel Kurt flopped down on the bed.

“We’re gonna have to go to Haiti.”

Gloria kicked off her shoes and lay down beside him. “We’ll fly out first thing in the morning and surprise Doctor Tad Boucher. I just hope it’s not a wasted trip. Hope House wasn’t really a birthing center; what are the chances Maison D’Espoir is really a nursing school?”

“Not too good. We might not find anything. Maison D’Espoir might be just another false lead. A fictional place in the jungle.”

Gloria rolled over on her side to face him. “Purportedly run by a man who isn’t really there. Call me skeptical but if anyone is at the address, it will most likely be some native who has no idea his hut is being presented as a nursing school.”

Kurt stroked the side of her face. “Don’t worry, Gloria. We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

“That’s what I thought when I went to Miami, then to Windy Key, then to see the
Murrays.” Here came her tears again.

“I know it’s frustrating. But we’ll figure it out. There’s a reason the Puglisis took your baby and lied about it. A reason everything we’ve found points back to you. Maybe the answer isn’t in Haiti but we have to look there.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You with me?”

She smiled, wiped her tears. “I’m with you. Let me just book this trip to Haiti.”

Gloria got up and flipped open her laptop on the desk. She’d insisted on paying the airfare this time since he’d refused any payment from her and had paid for their flights to Portland and New York.  She’d made a point to call Tommy from the house this morning before they went to New York so he’d see the caller ID. He’d believe she was home, staying in Bradfield and dropping her quest.

At this point it was safe for Gloria to use her credit card, Kurt figured. No one would be tailing her.

“Once I finish up, we’ll get a good night’s sleep.” Kurt grinned as he watched Gloria hitting the keys to make the reservation. Much as he wanted to make love again, the idea of just sleeping together was tempting. There would be plenty of time for passion later. She was right; they needed to let their bodies rest.

4.

Maison D’Espoir, Miami, evening

Martine stood by Dr. Tad’s bed in his cottage, gazing into the large empty black suitcase. She wished he would come home soon and relieve her worry. Last night, he had not returned from the government offices. He had called from Port au Prince and mumbled that his arm was hurt and that he couldn’t drive.  “I’m getting a hotel room and I’ll be home tomorrow. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.” He had sounded drunk.

“Did you get my passport?” she had asked.

He had slurred his next words and she hadn’t understood him. Then he hung up.  She had waited in his bedroom by the phone all night, hoping it would ring but he had not called back.

In the morning she dressed and went to the clinic but Dr. Tad was all she could think about. There were no patients, so she had sat all day, worrying. 

When night fell she decided to pack in order to prepare for Belize. She snuck one of Dr. Tad’s large suitcases to her cottage. Martine did not own a lot of clothes and the giant suitcase was too big for her meager belongings. She had filled the extra space with fluffy Maison towels and bottles of shampoo. Martine did not own anything special to pack.  Not one thing. Dr. Tad was the only thing of value she had ever wanted and he was going with her. She had smiled again.

And then she came back here to his cottage and started to go through his clothes. When he did come home, they wer
e leaving that very minute. He would have her passport and tonight they would leave. If he had not hung up the phone last night, that was what he would have said, she was sure of it.

Marti
ne stood in awe when she examined the contents of his closet. For such a plain man, he owned a lot of shirts. None of them were nice and they all mostly looked the same: short sleeve white or tan with a collar. No need to bring that many of the same. She pulled some shorts and slacks off the hangers and put those in neatly.

She looked around his room. What else would he want to bring?

Many books filled his bookcases but she did not know which ones were special and which were not. He could not take them all. If they had more time, they could arrange to take all their things. But when he came home with the passport she was grabbing the suitcases and leaving. No looking back.

She smiled when she saw the carved giraffe on his bedside table. Martine had made that for Dr. Tad two years ago, had carved it in her spare time and covered it in shoe
polish. She had been afraid he would laugh at it, say it was a worthless piece of wood. But he had loved it. “I’ll treasure it always,” he had said. She picked up the giraffe and rolled it up in another plain shirt.

“Martine!” Dr. Tad called from the front hall. She slammed the suitcase lid down and ran to him.

Dr. Tad stood, holding his arm. His eyes looked funny. Distant. Sick.

He sat down on the couch. “I’m not okay, Martine.”

The bandage she had applied to his hand had been replaced by one that covered his whole arm. Carefully she peeled it off, wincing at what she saw. The small cut from the fence had turned into a gaping hole encircled by black flesh. The wounded skin was dark pink, blue in some spots. The color traveled up beyond his elbow. She had never seen anything like this before.

“What happened?”

“It’s the cut from the gate.”

“No, that was a small wound.”

“It’s Necrotizing Fascitis. It spreads fast.”

“Well, you come to the clini
c. I will fix this for you. I will clean it and give you medicine. Some cream.”

“I need more than that.”

He tried to stand up but nearly fell over so sat back down. She touched his good hand to comfort him. She felt his forehead and pulled her hand back quickly. “You are burning up.”

He looked up to her and his eyes said too much. He was dying. She had seen this look too many times. She put her fingers around his wrist and felt his heartbeat pound too fast for a man who was so still. She looked again at his arm. The skin was dead. If it had spread this much so soon, where would it be tomorrow? His shoulder? His heart?

“
M pa konprann.
I do not understand. What are those words you said for what is wrong with you? Do not use the big words.”

He clenched his teeth when he spoke, trying to form his answer around his pain. 

“Streptoco-“

“I do not
know what that means. Just use words I understand.”

“It’s bacterial. You know strep throat? It’s a kind of strep bacteria.”

She nodded her head and pulled him up from the couch toward her. “Then we can fix it. I will give you amoxicillin.”

“That won’t do any good. It won’t fix this. We can’t fix this. Not here. We don’t have the equipment. We’d need another doctor.”

“Why did you not go to the hospital in Port au Prince?” She hated to yell at him but as his flesh died, so did every dream of happiness she ever had.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone. I had to come back to make sure you were safe.”

“Come. I will give you some antibiotics and clean out the wound. Then Boris will drive you back to the city.”

“No. I don’t want to leave you.”

“I will come.”

“No, you have to stay here, for your passport.”

She knew he did not want to die but that is what would happen if she did not do something quickly. The passport and their escape could wait.

He walked by her side, leaning on her. “Let’s just wait till morning. Please. I’m so tired. We’ll go to the hospital and you can give me a shot to numb it. Maybe if you clean it out really well and put more cream on it, and I double up on the Cipro I’ve been taking it will help.”

“Will it?” She wanted to believe, but did not.

“It’s the strongest thing we have here.” He took a deep breath and held it, then slowly let it out. His body trembled when the breath left him and she knew he must be in agony.  “Look up Necrotizing Fascitis online.”

She spun around to face him. “I do not know how to spell that. I am not a doctor. You taught me well but I am not smart like you. I cannot look up medical words on the computer and try to understand, in English, what other doctors have written about how to fix it.”

She helped him along as they walked the last few steps, his hot body wavering. “I’m weak. I don’t know if I can make it.”

“We are almost there.”

“The passport was issued,” he said.

She ushered him inside and onto a bed before she responded. “You have it?” she asked, her heart thumping in her chest.

“No. It was issued and given to the courier, but-but but he didn’t check in today. Might be here tomorrow morning. That’s why I had to come back. You can fix my arm then we’ll run off. Just like we talked about.”

He closed his eyes. His body was worn out. She took his shoes off, placed a sheet over him, and started an IV.

“Look up f-flesh eating bac-bacteria online. That’s the other name for-for it. You . . .  can see pict
ures . . . and read about it.  Maybe you can find an article in French.” His speech was slurred and each word a struggle. By the end of his final sentence he fell asleep.

Maybe the medicine would be strong enough to get him through the next day or two. Maybe in Belize they had a good hospital and they could go right from the airport to the emergency room there.

She walked into the clinic’s lobby and typed in a few different things before finding what she needed. Terrible pictures of this Flesh Eating Bacteria popped up on the screen. Pictures of arms and legs flayed open like dead fish bellies. Bones exposed, half eaten by the bacteria.

What she read on the French website made her sick. For Dr. Tad to live, she would have to cut away all the dead flesh. All parts of his arm that were damaged. Skin, muscle . . .  Maybe she would have to cut off his entire arm.

Martine felt sick but forced herself read more. Then finally she shut the computer off, her heart empty and hopeless. She could not make Dr. Tad well. A surgeon needed to chop off the dead parts of Dr. Tad and sew the good pieces together. And even with that, stronger medicines would be needed to make him survive. If he lived, his arm would be gone. Dr. Tad would never perform surgery again.  

Tonight there was nothing she could do except to continue his antibiotics and painkillers and let
him sleep. At first light she would go outside the gate and ask Boris for help.

She walked back into Dr. Tad’s room and sighed. “You have to pull through,” she whispered. “You have to live. I love you,
Doctor Tad.”