The Amazing Harvey (14 page)

Carly sat in the waiting room with her parents, their eyes jittery.

The baby was so early. How far along was she? Not even thirty weeks?

Ted came out in a yellow paper gown, a surgical face mask pulled down around his neck. He wasn't smiling.

He said it was a girl. She was very small. Under two pounds.

He left them and went back inside.

Carly and her parents went to the nursery window. Through the plate glass, they saw tiny Brenda lying in a Plexiglas box. She was not much bigger than the nurse's hand. The baby had wires taped to her body, an IV in her umbilical cord, and an oxygen mask covering her pink face. Brenda's eyes were squinted shut. Her mouth opened and closed like a tiny fish.

As they watched, Brenda's body began to shake so violently that one of the wires came loose. A monitor buzzed loudly. Carly's mother shrieked. An attendant ran to Brenda, shouted something they couldn't hear through the glass, then wheeled the baby into the next room.

Carly ran to a nurses' station. She demanded to see a doctor. The man behind the desk made a phone call, then politely said he couldn't tell her anything.

They went to Lynn's room. Lynn was lying there alone. Ted had gone back to work. Not wanting to upset Lynn, they chitchatted, trying to act like nothing had happened. From Lynn's eyes, she knew better. She didn't ask.

Carly kept going to the nurses' station. They said Lynn's doctor would be in shortly.

Over an hour later, a somber woman in a white coat opened Lynn's door. The doctor asked the family to leave. Lynn looked panicked. She said she wanted them to stay.

The doctor nodded, then spoke matter-of-factly. “Brenda had a convulsion. It sometimes happens.”

Lynn's eyes widened. “Is it … serious?”

The doctor didn't look at her. “We've done an MRI and a CAT scan. I'm sorry to have to tell you this. It shows severe cerebral hemorrhaging.”

Lynn's eyes teared. “What?”

“Hopefully, we can control the seizures with IV medication. Your baby will need constant monitoring. She'll have to be on oxygen for quite some time.”

Lynn started to cry. “Did I … did I do something to cause this?”

The doctor shook her head. “Absolutely not. No one knows what causes it. Unfortunately, it's more common with premature babies.”

Lynn's face was streaked with tears. She said, “If we give her medication, can she have a … a normal life?” Lynn grimaced, bracing herself for the answer.

The doctor sighed. Her face softened. “It's too early to know exactly what will happen, but there is very severe brain damage.”

Carly's mother grabbed her husband's arm for balance.

Lynn said, “How will that … affect her?”

“She will be severely disabled. There's a high probability she'll be paraplegic. Possibly quadriplegic. With damage this extensive, her life expectancy may not be more than a few years.”

Lynn sobbed, shaking her head. “No, no, no.”

Carly's mother buried her head against her husband's chest. He tightened his face and stood straight, rocking in place.

Little Brenda was in the hospital for two weeks before her condition stabilized. They sent her home with an array of IV tubes and monitor wires. On that first morning, Lynn placed the baby in her crib, being careful not to dislodge the wires. She gently covered Brenda's head with a clear Plexiglas cube attached to a hissing oxygen machine. Lynn stood there, watching her baby for most of the morning. Brenda hardly moved.

Over the next few days, Lynn and Ted argued about money. He said the bills were bad enough when she quit her job. Now there were hospital bills for God knows how much. Some of it wasn't covered by insurance. Lynn said they'd have to scrape by. She obviously couldn't go back to work. She had to watch Brenda.

Carly thought money wasn't the real issue. She thought Ted blamed Lynn for the baby's problems, despite what the doctor said. He also resented how much time Lynn was spending with Brenda.

Ted started coming home late. He started drinking more. Sometimes, Lynn drank with him. Their arguments escalated to yelling at each other.

Then they stopped talking.

One night, Lynn woke around three
A.M.
It wasn't a noise that woke her. It was the lack of one. She didn't hear the hum of Brenda's oxygen machine through the intercom.

Lynn reached for Ted. He wasn't in bed. She felt a spike of adrenaline and jumped up.

She ran to Brenda's room. Why was the door closed? Lynn threw it open and saw Ted with his hand on the oxygen machine. He jumped back, eyes wide. Then he straightened up. The machine started to hum.

Ted said, “I … didn't hear the machine, so I came to check it. I think I got it working.” He looked at the floor.

Lynn rushed to Brenda. The baby wasn't breathing.

*   *   *

As Carly finished the story, she was crying. I glanced around the coffee shop. The other people were all involved in their own conversations. No one seemed to notice.

I jumped up, grabbed a handful of paper napkins, came back, and handed them to her. She wiped her eyes with one, crumpled the napkin, and sniffled. “Excuse me. I'm sorry.”

I put my hand on hers and spoke softly. “I understand.”

Carly nodded. She picked up another napkin and said, “Lynn pulled me aside after Brenda's funeral and told me what Ted had done. I knew she was in shock. She used the same tone of voice that she'd use to describe a lunch with her girlfriends.” Carly dabbed her eyes. “I started to say something, but Lynn cut me off. She said that she'd called one of the women in the dress shop and asked about a job. Did I think she should go back to her old job? I said she should do something about Ted. Call the police. She said, ‘No. Better that it's buried with Brenda.'”

“A few weeks later, Ted left her. You know what he said to her?” Carly looked directly at me, eyes red. “He said, ‘Brenda was premature. What happened was no different from aborting a baby who wouldn't have made it.'”

Carly said, “After that, Lynn sat for hours in Brenda's room, next to the empty crib. She never turned on the lights. If I stayed with her for a few hours, I could eventually get her up. She'd vacuum the house, or dust the living room, then go back into Brenda's room and sit again. Sometimes she'd say how easy it would be to take some pills and just go to sleep. When I told her not to talk like that, she got this sad smile and said, ‘Don't worry. I don't have the energy to do anything about it.'”

Carly closed her eyes. Her mouth tightened, like she was in pain. She opened her eyes and looked at me. “My mother and I gathered up all the pills in Lynn's house. Even the aspirin. Lynn sat longer and longer in the baby's room. Eventually, we couldn't get her up at all. She hardly ate. She soiled herself sitting there. Finally, my parents had her hospitalized. She's still in there.”

Across the room, a loud woman said something about Fred's nose. The girls at her table laughed.

Carly sat up straight. She smoothed her skirt with her hands. “So that's what got me thinking about abortion. In a bizarre way, Ted was right. What
is
the difference between killing a newborn child and killing a fetus? Why should it be legal to kill a child before it's born and illegal afterward?”

I blinked repeatedly.

She took a sip of coffee.

When I spoke, my voice felt like it was resonating inside my head. “I can't imagine how horrible that must have been.”

She smiled. Her tears were dry now, her voice stronger. “It's been a source of strength. It's what keeps me moving on the path of outlawing abortion.” Carly looked straight at me. “How do you feel about abortion?”

I shifted in my seat. “Well, I certainly see both sides of it.”

Her eyes crinkled as she grinned. “C'mon. Pick a side.”

“Well, I haven't—”

“Don't be a wuss.”

I sighed. “I guess it comes down to whether you think abortion is murder. It certainly seems like murder if you abort the day before a healthy baby is born. Not so much if you abort a few minutes after conception. In between, it gets fuzzy.”

Carly drummed her fingers on the table, smiling impatiently. “And your answer is…”

“Bottom line, it's a balancing of the fetus's rights and the mother's right to decide the course of her life. Those are such emotional issues that I don't know how to solve it just on logic. Everyone has to make a personal decision about how they feel.”

“You're still wimping out.”

“There's no clear answer here. May never be.”

“Of course there isn't. That's why both sides are so passionate. C'mon. Where are you on this?”

I let out a sigh.
Guess I gotta be honest.

This may be a very short date.…

I said, “Since there's no clear answer, I think each woman should have the right to decide for herself.”

I clenched my teeth, waiting for her wrath.

She still had that little smile.

I said, “Are you upset I feel that way?”

She shrugged. “A lot of the world thinks like that.” Carly put her hand on mine. “Guess I'll just have to work on you a bit.”

I pulled my chair closer to the table, making sure I didn't dislodge her hand. “I've always prided myself on having an open mind.”

She took her hand away and looked at her watch. “Ooops. Guess I'll have to work on you some other time. I'm late for an appointment.” She pulled her chair back and stood.

An appointment on a Friday night? Is this one of those fifteen-minute dork drops that coffeehouses are so perfect for? I stood up and said, “I'll call you again?”

She smiled and left.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

 

Next morning, the phone woke me up. Without looking, I fumbled it off the hook.

Hannah said, “How was your date?”

I rubbed those crackly things in my eyes. “You're calling me on a Saturday morning to ask that?”

Sounded like her phone clunked. “I've been thinking about your incident at the apartment. That could really hurt your case.”

I ran my hand through my tangled hair. “You said that yesterday.”

“Are you serious about looking for this Kevin?”

I sat up and yawned. “Yes. I'm going today.”

“I think I should go with you.”

“I don't need a handler.”

“Actually, you do.”

I already have a mother, thank you.
“Look, this is very nice of you, but—”

“If we find this guy, I want to make sure you don't do more damage to your case.”

“Hannah—”

“Pick me up at the office in an hour.”

*   *   *

I walked into Hannah's office, wearing a red shirt, black magician's jacket with sequins, and my bird, Lisa, on my shoulder.

Hannah, deep in computerland, didn't look up until I was standing next to her. When she saw me, she jumped in her seat. Looking me up and down, she said, “Have you lost your mind?”

“Been to the Venice Boardwalk lately? It's full of chain-saw jugglers, fire-eaters, and Rollerblading Mohawks. It'll be easier to talk to people if I look like this.”

“Like Long John Silver in drag?”

“Hannah, meet Lisa. Lisa, Hannah.”

Hannah looked at the bird. Lisa ruffled her head feathers, stepped closer to my neck. Hannah said, “Is she … friendly?”

“Want to hold her?”

She stuck out her hand. I put Lisa on her finger. Lisa looked back at me, as if she were asking, Who the hell is this bitch?

Hannah stroked the bird's chest with the index finger of her other hand. Lisa's eyes went to Hannah's finger, like it was a fat worm.

I grabbed the bird and said, “Let's go.”

*   *   *

As we got to the parking lot outside Hannah's office, I saw a very overweight woman laboring herself out of a blue Chevy. She had short brown hair, layered chins, and perspiration stains under the arms of her flowered blouse. The woman grabbed the top of the car door and used it to help herself stand, then reached into the front seat and pulled out a bulky brown paper grocery bag. She hugged the bag to her chest with both hands, turned, and saw us. Her mouth spread into a warm smile.

Hannah said, “Hi, Mom.”

I almost missed a step.

Mom?
Bruce Fisher, of the haute couture, is married to this woman?

Hannah's mother, still hugging the grocery bag, pushed the car door shut with her rear end. She started toward us and said, “Hello, dear.” Despite her size, she walked with a youthful bounce.

When Mrs. Fisher got to us, she spoke in a melodious voice. “And who is this handsome young man?”

I smiled. “Harvey Kendall. I'm helping in Hannah's office.”

Mrs. Fisher's eyebrows went up, maybe with the hope that her daughter was finally interested in someone. Or maybe it was the bird on my shoulder.

Her smile broadened. “Nice to meet you, Harvey. I'm Louise Fisher.”

I stuck out my hand to shake hers, then realized she couldn't do it with the grocery bag, so I reached for the bag, but she wouldn't release it, so I kind of grabbled her fingers where she was holding the bag, gave a little shake, then took back my hand.

Hannah said, “Mom, you're supposed to call before coming by.”

“I know, dear, but you're always here on Saturdays, so I brought you some lunch. I made chili last night, with those Southwestern spices you love so much. It's always better the second day, after all the flavor seeps in. I threw in some fresh-baked oatmeal cookies.”

My stomach lurched toward the bag.

Hannah said, “You know I don't eat sweets anymore.”

“With all the weight you've lost, you can indulge yourself now and then.”

Hannah looked at her watch. “Harvey and I are late. Thanks for bringing the food.” Hannah took the bag.