Lacy's End (12 page)

“He just makes me so damned angry.”

“You filed your report. That’s all you can do.”

He shook his head. “I know damned well he did this to her.”

“So file another report and let social services deal with it.”

He shook his head and walked away.

***

Brenda entered Lacy’s hospital room and found her lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She turned when the door opened. She flashed her mother a smile but dropped it when she saw her father standing behind her.

“Hey, baby,” Brenda said, coming to stand beside her bed. “I hear they’re going to patch you up good as new.”

Lacy moved to sit up, winced in pain. Brenda reached to help her, adjusting the bed and fluffing her pillow until she was comfortable.

The door opened, and Dr. Beacon walked in. He smiled at Lacy but wasted no time in announcing his intentions. “I wanted to finish up our earlier conversation and see if you have any questions.”

Peter started to talk, but Brenda put a hand on his arm, halting him. “If I understood correctly, Lacy has a blood clot blocking the flow of blood to her kidney?” Dr. Beacon nodded. “What are you doing about it?”

“We’re going to try and dissolve the clot with a blood thinner, Coumadin. I’m hoping that will work.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Peter asked.

Dr. Beacon sighed. “We’ll have to remove the clot surgically.”

Brenda gasped, and Lacy moaned. Peter said, “No surgery.”

Dr. Beacon shook his head, looked directly at Peter, defiant. “I am not going to argue with you, Sheriff Waldrip.” He pointed to the door. “Out there, in the community, you may be the boss.” He pointed down at the floor. “In here, I’m the boss. Got it?” He turned and walked away, whistling a tune that got softer, and softer, as he proceeded down the corridor.

Lacy lifted her arm. “I’m kind of tired. This stuff makes me pretty sleepy.”

Brenda kissed her on the top of her head. “Okay, sweetie, we’ll let you sleep. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Peter bent to kiss her, but she pulled back. He patted her hand instead. “Good night.”

Lacy rolled on her side, her back to her parents. She held her breath, not expelling it until she heard the door close.

Brenda and Peter passed the nurses’ station. Heidi smiled supportively and waved at them. “I’ll be back in the morning,” Brenda said. Heidi nodded.

Dr. Petoro stood just outside the doctors’ lounge, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Peter nodded, saluting him as they passed. Brenda dared a momentary glance. Their eyes locked, hers pleading for him to keep the peace. He made no move toward them as the lobby doors slid closed behind them.

***

As Lacy lay in her hospital bed, her thoughts tumbled tumultuously in her head. Never before had her father’s blows caused her so much pain. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was a sign of escalation. Something like a serial killer who starts out hurting small animals and ends by taking human lives. Or was that some other crazy mental illness? She didn’t know.

She hadn’t seen Jake all day, and that worried her, too. Where could he be?

When she had awakened this morning, collapsing in the church’s narthex was the last thing she thought would happen. She had been standing off to the side, as usual, and she felt the sharp pain in her abdomen. She bent over, clutching her stomach. Several of the kids, who had been standing nearby, taunted her—assuming it was female problems. Wendy Beck had said, “Geez, Lacy, don’t make a big deal out of it. We all go through it.” Sandra Beck had thrown a bottle of Midol at her. The boys had laughed hysterically.

When the second gripping pain came, it was in her back. She had broken out in a cold sweat, thunder pounded in her head, and the room had begun to swim. Before she knew what happened, she was lying on the ground calling for her mother.

All the kids just stared at her, but Pastor Reynolds had been nearby. He rushed to her side, rendering aid. She had tried to protest calling an ambulance, but when she heard its welcome siren, she felt relieved.

Her mother was kneeling over her, when she had whispered, “It’s where he kicked me.” She felt a tear stream down her face. She wiped it away quickly. It was odd to think how much she had been crying lately. It was as if she were losing some of her strength. Maybe you’re getting weak, she thought.

The door opened, softly. Lacy turned her face toward it and struggled through her twilight sleep to see who it was. “Dr. Petoro,” she said, surprised to see him. “You keep late hours.”

He laughed. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

She shook her head no. He sat in the chair next to her bed.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I just wanted to check on you before I head home.”

For some reason, she doubted the validity of this statement. She was doing well, and the pain was under control. She hadn’t had any more of the spasms. It appeared as if all the medications were doing their jobs. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s the real reason you’re here?”

He chuckled. “Am I that transparent?”

She smiled in response.

He cleared his throat. “I want to talk to you about your home life.”

She stiffened. “You and every state official who means well, but can’t really do anything,” she said with sarcasm.

“We can if you let us. All you have to do, Lacy, is speak up. If you testify against your father, they can lock him up.”

She shook her head. “I thought so,” she said. “I even gave my mom that social worker’s card so she could call her.” Lacy lifted her arm, pointed at the IV tubing that was dripping healing medications into her body. “Look where that got me. Mom attempted to stand up to my dad once. He was so angry that he felt compelled to unburden himself.”

He scooted the chair closer, leaned in close to her, speaking in a whisper, he said, “It could have worked, but your mom got scared and backed down, didn’t she?” Lacy nodded. “You two are not in this alone. We can help, I swear.”

Lacy crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll only do it if Mom leaves him.” She paused before adding, “And testifies, too.”

He sighed. “The two of you need to stop playing this game.” He knew the words were wrong the minute they left his mouth.

A flash of anger distorted Lacy’s face. “It’s not a game!” She began pulling on the IV tubing, yanking free the tape holding it in place. “It’s not a game!” she wailed. She started to cry hysterically as her fingers grasped the tubing and yanked it free.

“Lacy, stop,” he yelled, trying to stop her hands.

“Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing around on the bed.

“Shh…” he soothed, pulling her against him. She fought him at first, then slowly calmed as his arms went around her. He held her tight, reached out and pushed the call button that would summon a nurse.

Tina Spurlow answered the summons, surprised to find him sitting on Lacy’s bed, rocking her. “Did you need something, Doctor?”

He nodded. “Ativan, 2 mg, and an IV restart.”

She left the room, returned a minute later with a syringe and a new IV set. He continued to hold Lacy until the nurse started a new IV, and the Ativan began to soothe her racing heart. When he felt her body relax in his arms, he laid her back against the pillows. Her eyes were closed, and he assumed she was sleeping.

He left the room. As the door closed, Lacy heard a small, welcome whisper in her ear.

“Lacy.”

She turned her head and smiled. “There you are, Jake. I was worried.” She frowned. “I needed you, and you weren’t here. You said you would help me. Why did you break your promise?”

“I’m here.”

“Will you stay with me while I sleep?”

He climbed into bed with her. She turned on her side, wriggling her back against his front, spoon fashion. She reached for his arm, pulling it on top of her stomach and holding onto it. “I hope the nurses don’t catch us. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.” She yawned.

He smiled. “Just go to sleep. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

***

At the doctors’ workstation, Allen Petoro sat at his desk, tapping Angela Martin’s card. He had called and left her a message two hours ago, marking it urgent. She still hadn’t returned the call. Where could she be?

He thought about the day he watched Brenda in the lobby, reading to the children. A smile spread across his face as he recalled the moment she looked up and caught him watching her. Her smile had been like an innocent schoolgirl blushing at the boy who had asked her to the school dance.

When Allen was in medical school, he swore to uphold the Hippocratic Oath. He promised to do no harm, help those who were unable to help themselves. He had taken and recited the oath by rote, as if it were expected of him, and it was. He had his sights set high. He was going to be a great physician, travel the world helping the underdog. However, fate had other plans in store for him. With overwhelming student loans and a lack of finesse necessary for getting the right grants, he was stuck at home. Walter Brown, a former professor of his, had always said, “One need not leave his own backyard to find a starving child.” With this quote in mind, he struck out on a mission to help the poor and lonely, feed the hungry, clothe the naked.

He began by just walking the streets of the city. He toted a backpack filled with whatever he could carry: cans of food, socks, hats, scarves—whatever would fit. He wasn’t at all surprised to find that even a city as small as this had its share of needy. On his first night out, he encountered Elaine. Elaine, a small, but tough single mother, had accosted him over a loaf of bread.

He was walking down 6th street when he spotted a bakery. The smells drove him crazy. He couldn’t help but stop and enter the store. A young girl of about sixteen stood behind the cash register, painting her fingernails. She looked up when he approached the counter and flashed a bright grin at him. “Hey, there, what can I get ya?”

“I’ll have whatever is causing that heavenly smell.”

She laughed, turned to yell something to a woman who was behind a counter rolling out dough. The woman stopped, wiped her hands on an apron, walked to a different counter where several large loaves of bread lay cooling. She packaged one of the loaves and brought it to the register. She smiled, said nothing, and returned to her dough.

“Here you are,” the girl said.

The minute he left the store, someone tried to grab the loaf of bread from his hands. They struggled for a moment. She was determined and finally managed to wrestle the bread from his grasp. Stunned, he chased after her and the bread.

He saw her turn down an alley. In the back of his mind, he was telling himself to let it go. But he didn’t. He followed her down the alley—long, dark, and littered with bottles and cans. Allen had to step over them. He didn’t see her anywhere. Walking slowly and quietly, he searched each doorway. He was almost at the end of the alley when he saw her standing in a doorway, her back to a wall. She had a determined look on her face. “It’s all gone,” she said.

He looked past her and saw the last smidgen of his bread clutched in the fists of a little boy. Standing beside the boy were three other children ranging in ages from about two on up to about ten years old.

“I’m sorry, but my kids are hungry,” she said.

He stared down at the lot of them. They were underweight, dirty, obviously hungry, and looking sad. He tried to smile at them, but they only stared back.

He looked back at the woman. “What’s your name?”

She crossed her arms in a defiant pose. Her eyes glared, ready to shoot daggers. “None of your business.”

“You stole my bread. That makes it my business.”

“I will pay you for it.”

He laughed. “With what? You obviously don’t have any money, or you would have purchased the bread yourself.”

She stared at him. She stuck one leg out, put a hand on her hip, trying to strike a seductive pose. She opened the first two buttons of her blouse. “I can pay,” she said, her meaning clear.

His smile dropped. He assessed her. She was beautiful—or at least she might have been under all the street grime that covered her. Her long, dark hair was matted, with no trace of the luster it might once have held. She was small; the ten-year-old’s head already came just past her shoulder. In another year or so, he would likely surpass her in height.

He shook his head. “Forget it.” He wondered how many times a week she offered her body in exchange for food.

She pulled her leg back in, buttoned her blouse, and stared defiantly. “You gonna call the cops?”

He sighed, looked from her to each of her children, his gaze landing on the oldest boy. “I’m going to buy you all dinner,” he said.

She eyed him suspiciously, pulled her son against her, protectively, and said. “He’s not that kind of boy.”

His mouth fell open in stunned amazement. “No. I didn’t mean that, either. Dinner is free; my treat.”

“Free?”

“Yes, free.”

“Why?”

He remembered what his professor had said and repeated it to her. “Because one need not leave his own backyard to find a starving child.”