Leaving Normal (15 page)

It's Raining Men

"What are all these good-looking men doing in my room?"

Ninety-one-year-old Elsie Fisher lay in a twin bed, her nightgown twisted about her spindly legs. The as-sisted-care facility's white sheets bunched at her knees and a pillow was laid flat beneath her head.

There was a translucence about her skin, as if it were tissue paper covering her veins and weak muscles. Lamplight gave her skin a yellow tone. From the large medical bag at his feet, Tony got the blood-pressure cuff and pulse ox.

Captain Palladino, James "Wally" Wallcroft and Tony Cruz attended Elsie, three big firemen standing over a slight and elderly human being. Their presence in the tight quarters, wearing long-sleeved blue shirts and boots, had the potential to overwhelm even the fittest patient.

Tony knelt at Elsie's bed, the bottoms of his boots hitting the wall in the small space. Half-aware of a plant bowl and glass table behind him, he focused on his job. Elsie gave him a little resistance as he held her fragile wrist and slipped the oximeter on her finger to measure the beats of her heart.

"What are you putting on my finger?" Her voice was uneven, a mix of bossiness and fright.

"A pulse oximeter," Tony explained in a reassuring tone while wrapping the cuff around her upper arm. "It reads your oxygen saturation to see if you're getting enough oxygen."

"What did I do to get all these good-looking men?" she asked once more.

"You threw up, Elsie." Captain Palladino stood next to the charge nurse of the Swallow Hill Assisted-Care Living Center. To her, he asked, "What did she eat for dinner?"

"Seafood Newburg."

"I ate that yesterday," she insisted, feebly touching her gray hair in confusion.

There was a pink stain on the beige carpet where, the attendants had cleaned the vomit.

"How much did she throw up?"

"I don't know. It was cleaned up before I was called into her room."

Captain Palladino inquired, "What's her medical history?"

The nurse referred to Elsie Fisher's chart. "She has mild dementia impairment, cardiovascular disease and here's a list of her meds. At nine o'clock she had her last pills."

"I don't have dentures," Elsie complained.

Tony read the oximeter and determined she needed oxygen. He got out the narrow canister and airline, ex-plaining what he was going to do. "You need to have this by your nose, Elsie."

"Have what?"

"It's oxygen. It'll help you breathe better."

"I'm breathing just fine. I'm not dead." Looking beyond the bed to the sitting area of her residence, she asked, "Who are you?"

"Wally, ma'am."

"What do you want?"

"We're here to help you."

Walcroft stood back in the small bedroom area as three paramedics from Medic 51 arrived and were briefed by Captain Palladino.

There was an unspoken reluctance to give up medical territory from the firemen, who were usually first on the scene, to the paramedics. While the medics worked for Ada County, they were an independent source of transport for patients. Tony didn't always agree with their tactics to get a patient to one of the local hospitals. When a patient gave consent to be taken by the paramedics, a trip on the gurney set someone back about a thousand bucks. Most, if not everyone, thought the ride was a courtesy of the city. Not true.

As the paramedics worked on Elsie, Tony rose to his feet and backed away. His leg knocked the glass table and the plant tipped over.
Shit
.

Reaching down, he gathered the cluster of bulb stalks and placed them back into the polished rocks where they'd been rooted. He did his best to straighten the plant and make it look as good as it had before, but his efforts weren't entirely successful.

Sometimes he felt like a bull in a china shop in these tiny rooms.

The medics talked to Elsie, tried to convince her that she should go to the hospital. Tony gritted his teeth, saying nothing. The fact was, he couldn't be one-hundred-percent sure if she would be okay here, or if she should be admitted.

"All these good-looking men are for me?" Her voice was feeble, her breathing slightly labored.

Tony wouldn't say that all six of them were that good-looking. Two of the medics were slouches, but that was just his opinion.

"Elsie," one of the medics said in a calming voice, "we're going to have to start an IV on you."

"Oh, not that!" she cried. "No needles."

"I promise I will do my best not to hurt you."

"No needles!" She waved him off with her hand, tears gathering in her watery blue eyes.

A measure of compassion worked through Tony, an amount that he acknowledged wasn't nearly as strong as it had been when he first started the job. He felt badly for patients, but if he took in everything he saw and internalized it, he'd take things too personally—unless they were kids. He had a fourteen-year-old boy die last summer. It was a bad scene. Family was over at the house for a reunion and the boy died unexpectedly. No medical problems, no drugs. The medics thought an embolism broke loose in his lungs. Tony had thought about that boy for days after, still did.

Easing out of the room, Tony talked to Walcroft, then glanced at the kitchen and sitting area while Elsie was being worked on. It was human nature to be curious about cleanliness, pictures, hobbies.

Elsie Fisher was more than just a patient he was attending, she had a life and family. He couldn't help but think about that.

A bouquet of old flowers were centered on the kitchen table. Petals fell on a doily, sprinkled across the table's surface. He was reminded of a different bouquet, the one Natalie had unknowingly made for herself.

He wondered what she thought about him giving her the flowers last night. He'd waited until early evening to put them on her porch. Knowing that she usually didn't get home until after six, he'd taken a chance she'd arrive at her normal time and the flowers wouldn't be ruined in the cold. When she didn't arrive, he'd had to shove aside disappointment. He waited for a while, glancing out the window, then went to bed.

Natalie had crossed his mind several times today. He had a vague dream about her, one that caused him to wake at three in the morning to an empty bed. He couldn't remember much about it, just that he smelled her in his sleep. That feminine scent of roses and carnations.

Continuing his cursory glance, Tony noted there were a lot of china figurines on the shelves, the coffee table and the side table. Thank God he hadn't broken one of them. Elsie collected angels, lots of them. There was a wall with photos and he leaned closer to make out a framed letter. She'd been a nurse in WWII. Black-and-white photographs when she'd been younger were sitting on a shelf. He didn't touch them, didn't pick them up, but allowed his eyes to skim over her life's history in still photos.

He could figure out which man was her husband, and there was one group photo of the two of them surrounded by children. Then there were the senior portraits of the four boys. Wedding photos. Grandchildren.

Tony's lips felt dry; he licked them.

A feeling came to him, one he didn't immediately recognize. Then he defined it.

Envy.

He envied Elsie Fisher her full life, her marriage. Her children and her grandchildren.

Tony wanted kids. He hadn't wanted them with Kim. But just because they were getting a divorce didn't mean he was giving up on the idea of being a father. He wanted a child of his own, one that was his. As much as he loved Parker, he wanted to be more than a weekend dad.

He wanted a son. Or a daughter. He didn't care.

The problem was, he didn't have a woman in his life. He'd have to be in love, committed to a forever future to create a baby.

He'd also have to be remarried.

Right now, he couldn't think about that.

After five minutes of conversation, the paramedics coaxed Elsie to agree to the hospital and readied her for transport.

A gurney was brought in, following behind was one of the staff nurses. Tony knew her, the whole station did.

Alisa had a thing for firefighters—especially Tony.

He couldn't remember her last name even though she'd brought him cookies on several occasions. Once she even came by the firehouse with a deli platter.

She was okay-looking, no great beauty. But it wasn't her appearance that had made him keep his distance in the past—and would continue to do so now that he was going to be single. The way in which she'd thrown herself in his path, knowing that he wore a wedding ring— or used to, anyway—turned him off.

"Hi, Tony," she said, her voice slightly out of breath as if she'd been on the other side of the facility when she'd heard Station 13 had come on a call to a patient's room.

"Hey, Alisa."

"Oh, Mrs. Fisher." Wrinkles of concern formed on her forehead as she lifted her eyebrows. Her brunette hair was swept into a soft ponytail that contrasted with her starched nurse's smock. She was probably in her mid-twenties. "I had a feeling it was her."

Tony stepped out of the way as the gurney rolled past him. Elsie lay strapped in with her purse propped on top of her stomach, both her hands over the closure.

"Are all these good-looking men coining to the hospital, too?" she asked as they pushed her through the door.

Alisa held back, watching as Tony put away the pulse ox and cuff in his medical bag. He hitched the strap on his shoulder and took precautions not to bump into anything on his way out of the room.

"I saw you at Albertson's the other day, but you were leaving as I was driving into the parking lot." Alisa followed him out the resident door. "I waved but you didn't see me. Have you been busy tonight?"

"A little."

She trailed after him down the carpeted hallway. The gear in his bag rubbed together, made his footfalls sound heavier than they were.

Alisa had to be barely five foot one. He towered over her as she kept up with his long stride.

"Have you been called to Spring Brook tonight?"

"Not yet. I hope we aren't."

He caught her eyeing his wedding-ring finger and the lack of a ring on it.

"How's your wife?"

"Fine."

They passed the nurses' station and Alisa paused. "I guess I'll see you around, Tony."

"Yep." He exited the double glass doors as they whooshed open for him automatically.

Cold air hit his face as he stepped into the dark night that cloaked the trees and bushes in shadows.

The engine was parked out front at the main doors next to the paramedics' van. The guys were in the process of situating Elsie.

Tony put the medic bag away in the engine's lift compartment, then climbed into the cab. It felt strange, but exciting to be in command.

He was swinging up to become a driver, driving a set number of shifts to add to his checkoff sheet. He fit the headset over his ears and fired up the engine with a push of a button. A deep rumbling sound came to life, followed by an idle that was smooth and steady.

Tony liked being in control of the 450-horsepower diesel engine. His foot stayed on the brake as the cap- . tain and Wally pulled their seat belts on and secured their headsets.

Captain Palladino's voice came through the earpieces. "Did you switch the wigwags on coming down here?"

"Yeah."

Tony checked the buttons, glanced in his mirrors. There was always that slight bit of edgy nervousness that flickered in him for a second before he let the engine go.

Pulling out of the parking lot, he steered the big engine onto the road and cruised through the intersection.

Typing notes into the computer under the mellowness of a red light that didn't blind the driver, Captain Palladino commented, "Did you see that rookie medic they had with them tonight? I'll bet he's in for shit."

"IV drip?" Walcroft questioned.

"Probably."

Standard operating procedures to initiate rookies was stringing an IV line through the ceiling tiles of his room, leaking a small drip on him while he was trying to sleep.

Tony worked the steering wheel, turning the engine at a corner and applying pressure on the gas.

Less than a mile from the station, Captain Palladino said, "Dispatch, available in quarters."

Wally mentioned, "
Pulp Fiction's
on HBO tonight."

"I didn't see it in the lineup," Tony said through his microphone.

"The Latino HBO channel."

Tony snorted, "Jesus, Walcroft, you've watched it ten times."

"Only in English."

Captain Palladino inched his chin up as Tony approached the fire station. "If you scuff the tires on the curb when you pull in, you've got to clean all the toilets."

Walcroft cut in, "I say clean out the reefer with soap and water. C Shift forgot about some leftovers in there weeks ago—I can smell it even when the door's closed."

"No toilets and no refrigerators." Tony accelerated, his hands firm on the driver's wheel. "I'm not hitting anything but smooth pavement all the way into the garage."

And true to his word, that's exactly how Tony brought E-13—Lucky Engine 13—into quarters.

The veterans' home was decorated for Valentine's Day. Red heart garlands hung from the hallway handrails, and shiny foil cupids were tacked to the wall with pushpins. Big-band music played through the sound system, a tune that Fred Miller hummed as he walked alongside Natalie, pushing a cart filled with buckets of mixed flowers.

The staff at the nursing station at the front entrance greeted them.

"We're ready for you. The men are so excited," a nurse wearing a daisy-print smock said. "Do you need any help getting the flowers to the recreation room?"

"No," Natalie replied. "I brought my dad to help me."

They rolled the cart down the hallway, following the nurse as she led the way.

Natalie had volunteered to show the residents how to put together a simple floral arrangement for their lady friends, wives or any female family members and acquaintances.

The activity was a good way for Natalie to get out of the shop—and a very well-timed outing that she'd looked forward to. She needed some space today. She'd gone into her office this morning and punched the answering machine's blinking light with a feeling of dread. Sure enough, Jonathon Falco had had the audacity leave her a message, stating his confusion over her disappearance—as if he couldn't have a clue as to why she'd fled! He called once more later in the morning and she'd spoken curtly to him, asking him not to call her again. Then she hung up.