Dangerous Women

  “Don’t, Popi, you’re still bruised!”

  “Good. The bruises remind me of the heroine with the curly brown hair and the dimple in her cheek who saved my life.” He shook his index finger at me. “She’s a wonderful girl, your sister. I don’t know what we’d do without her. She’s our heroine. She’s my personal heroine.”

  “And mine,” Lola added.

  I had no idea what to say to that, so I just smiled and thanked them for telling me. I tried to talk to Gloria about it at home later, but she wasn’t very forthcoming; when she started to look annoyed, I let it go. The next day I rearranged my work schedule and went back to see if I could find out anything else, but I might as well not have bothered. I couldn’t get any more out of Mr. Santos than what he had already told me. My mother alternately claimed to have been taking a nap or sitting in the garden. The few other residents I spoke to had nothing new or useful to add. Even the usually chatty Jill Franklyn was reticent on the subject; after praising Gloria’s mad CPR skillz and her ability to stay calm in a crisis, she made a very pointed comment about patient privacy and the confidentiality of medical records. I took the hint and spent the rest of the time with Mom, who was slightly confused by my consecutive visits.

  I went back to three visits a week, on the grounds that it made Mom happy and not because I was still trying to find out more about Gloria’s big heroic moment. Because that would have been pointless, considering that I’d gotten a full account from Mr. Santos and Lola themselves. Happy ending, smiles all round—what more could there possibly be to the story? If I were jumping at shadows now, they were shadows I couldn’t even name. Maybe all the she’s a heroine business was getting on my nerves; weeks after the fact, it had yet to die down.

  Jealous much? said that still small voice in my brain.

  I was pretty sure I hadn’t become that neurotic. Practically certain. But if I were—I wasn’t, but if I were—I told myself, there was still only one way to kill the shadows. Mom would benefit from the extra visits and so would I—no one knew how much longer she’d be herself. If good things sometimes got done for stupid reasons, it didn’t make them any less good. Did it?

  “Weren’t you here yesterday?” my mother asked as I sat down next to her at the umbrella table. To my surprise, she seemed vaguely annoyed.

  “No, I came on Thursday and today’s Saturday. What’s the matter, you sick of me hanging around?”

  “I don’t understand why you won’t take advantage of Gloria’s being here,” she said, “and go away, even just for a long weekend. Instead, you come here more. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you have a life?”

  “No,” I said honestly.

  “What about your friends?”

  “They don’t have lives, either. It’s rough out there. I was thinking about moving in with you.”

  My mother gave a grim laugh. “You better win the lottery first. They don’t let you split expenses.” She looked around. “Where’s that thing? You know, with all the books inside and the screen. I coulda sworn I had it. See if I left it in my room, will ya? Since you’re here anyway.”

  My mother’s door was open; inside, an aide stood with her back to me, doing something on the tray table next to the bed. On her left was a cart, both shelves crowded with water pitchers.

  “Oh, hi,” I said cheerfully, and she jumped. The pitcher she’d been holding sprang out of her hands, spilling water over the bed before it fell to the floor. “Oh, damn, I’m so sorry!” I rushed to help.

  “Don’t, it’s okay, I can take care of this, it’s fine—” The aide sounded almost desperate as she tried to wave me away, grab the pitcher, and pick up several small white pills all at once. “It’s only water, not plutonium, I can manage, really, I can.”

  “I’m sure, but let me help anyway,” I said guiltily as I got down on my knees. The pitcher had come apart and the lid had gone under the bed. I used it to sweep up several small white pills.

  “I was just taking something for a headache,” the aide said, grabbing up the pills and dumping them into the front pocket of her smock, ignoring the minor dust bunnies attached. “I have cluster headaches, they’re murder.”

  “How awful.” I had no idea what cluster headaches were, but judging by how stricken she looked, she wasn’t exaggerating much. Her olive complexion had gone almost ashy. I made another sweep with the pitcher lid in case I’d missed any pills before I got to my feet. “I really am sorry, I didn’t meant to sneak up on you. I should change the bed—”

  “No, absolutely not, you don’t come here to do the housekeeping, I’ll take care of it.” She spoke so quickly she was almost babbling. “I’ll take care of this, you don’t have to worry, please don’t take any time away from your visit, but if—” she cut off suddenly. Her color had improved slightly but now she looked like she was going to cry.

  “What’s wrong? Is it your headache?” I asked.

  I was about to suggest she sit down and drink some water when she said, “It’s nothing. Please, just go on with your visit, I’ll be all right.”

  “Look, you won’t even let me help you change the bed, so anything I can do to make up for scaring the bejeebus out of you, just tell me.”

  She looked down, embarrassed. “It’s kind of stupid.”

  “Kind of stupid—that’s definitely in my wheelhouse,” I said. That got me a smile.

  “Okay, it’s that—I just—” All at once, she was stripping the bed. “No, I can’t. I was going to ask if you’d mind not mentioning this to your mother, but forget it.” She dropped a bundle of wet linens on the floor and started to pull off the padded mattress cover. “It’s only because I feel like such an idiot. But I have no business asking you someth—”

  “It’s done,” I said, holding up one hand. “I can’t think of a good reason why I’d have to mention it anyway.”

  “But—”

  “Forget it. I’m not talkin’ and you can’t make me.”

  She gave a small, nervous laugh.

  “I really only came in here to get her e-reader—” I spotted it on the nightstand and pointed. The aide handed it to me somehow looking grateful, sheepish, and relieved all at once. Her name tag said she was Lily R. “Thanks. What’s the R for?”

  She stared, baffled.

  “Lily R.” I nodded at her name tag. “R for …?”

  “Romano,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “You must think I’m a real clown.”

  “Hardly.” As I went back outside to my mother, I couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty for leaving Lily R-for-Romano to remake the bed by herself. Then Mom asked me to read to her and I put it out of my mind. I might never have given it another thought if I hadn’t found a pill in the sole of one of my very expensive athletic shoes.

  I wore them not because I was particularly sporty but because walking in them felt so good. Plus, they came in bright, jazzy colors, which I had a new fondness for in my old age. And what the hell—if I ever decided to defy my old age and run a marathon, I was ready.

  Running a marathon was probably the only thing that could have been farther from my mind than Lily R. when I felt something stuck to the sole of my shoe. Pausing at the kitchen door, I took it off before I scarred the tile flooring for life. A tiny rock—I used an ice pick to flip it out the open door, then checked the other shoe, just in case. The pill was about the same size as the rock but wedged in more deeply. Maybe that was why it was still intact, I thought, carefully working it free. Although I had no idea why I was bothering—I was hardly going to give it to Lily Romano next time I saw her. Hey, girlfriend, found this on the bottom of my shoe, thought you’d want it back anyway. Now who’s kind of stupid?

  I put it in an empty ring box on my bureau. As Mom always said, waste not; in a cluster-headache emergency, I’d be glad I’d saved it. Stranger things had happened; were happening now.

  A week later, Jill Franklyn called in the middle of the afternoon, apologizing so much I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. The
I heard her say something about death being harder for some people, especially the first death.

  “The first death?” I interrupted. “Are you talking about my mother?”

  “Oh, no, no, no, your mother is fine!” she said quickly. “It’s your sister—”

  “My sister?” Suddenly the pit of my stomach was filling with ice water. “Something happened to Gloria?”

  “No, no, no, she’s fine,” Jill Franklyn said. “Well, not fine, exactly—”

  “Is she still alive?” I demanded.

  “Yes, of course she’s still alive.” Bewilderment crept into her apologetic tone. “But—well—you need to come and get her, she shouldn’t drive home.”

  I said I was on my way and hung up without telling her that would be a bit longer than either of us would have liked, because I’d have to take a cab, and although this wasn’t the middle of nowhere or darkest suburbia, it wasn’t Manhattan, either. I got there in half an hour, which was actually sooner than I’d expected.

  Jill Franklyn was waiting for me at the reception desk, looking a bit flustered. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she told me, smiling, but I could hear the admonition in her voice. The receptionist pretended not to eavesdrop by studying something intently on her desk.

  “Sorry, I had to get a cab.” I tried to look contrite or at least sheepish. “I’m not sure I understand what’s going on. You said my mother’s all right—”

  “Yes, just fine.” Jill Franklyn nodded vigorously as she ushered me through the entry gate and down the corridor leading directly to my mother’s room. “Gloria’s with her right now.”

  I found the two of them sitting side by side on Mom’s bed. Mom had her arm around my sister, who had obviously been crying. Lily Romano was there as well, looking concerned and fidgeting. She left as soon as I came in, nodding a silent hello as she rushed past. I frowned, wishing she’d stay, but I had no chance to ask and no good reason to do so.

  “What kept you?” my mother was saying, a bit impatient.

  “There’s only one car between us,” I said, “and Gloria has it. I don’t usually need it. What’s up, Glow-bug?”

  Gloria looked up at me and I thought she was furious at my using her childhood nickname so publicly. Then she got up, flung her arms around me, and sobbed.

  By the time we got to the car, she had quieted down and stayed quiet all the way home, for which I was grateful. Rush hour had started and I didn’t want to fight the traffic to the soundtrack of Gloria’s heartbroken sobs. A dozen years ago, never driving in rush hour again had been one more good reason to leave the local tax-preparation firm in favor of a home business; now I decided that it had been the best reason.

  We made it home alive; in lieu of kissing the ground in thanksgiving, I put a pizza in the oven and joined Gloria in the living room. I found her wedged into the far corner of the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest as if to make herself as small as possible. A joke about never having a white-knuckle ride on the couch crossed my mind, but for once I actually thought before speaking.

  “I don’t know what happened today,” I said after a bit. “Jill Franklyn didn’t have a chance to tell me and I thought I’d better just get you home rather than hang around.”

  She flicked a glance at me but neither spoke nor moved. I waited a little longer, then went into the kitchen to check on the pizza. I was taking it out of the oven when I heard Gloria say, “I couldn’t save her.”

  I turned to see her sitting at the table. I cut the pizza into eight slices, grabbed a couple of plates, and put the platter on a heat pad within easy reach before taking the chair on her right.

  “They gave me coffee with, like, six sugars.” She frowned at the plate in front of her as if she were seeing something other than a Currier-and-Ives style winter scene in blue and white. We’d grown up with these dishes; in thirty or more years, we’d only lost two. “They said it was good for shock. I didn’t think I was in shock but I guess I was.” She raised her face to me. “I never, ever, ever imagined what it would be like to do CPR on someone and not … not w—” She swallowed hard. “Not have it work.”

  “Oh, sis, I’m so sorry.” I got up and put my arms around her. She sat passively for a little while; then I felt her slowly move to hug me back. “I can’t even imagine.”

  “It’s not how it should’ve happened. Mrs. Boudreau should be playing bridge with her son and her friends right now. Watching a movie tonight. Getting up for breakfast tomorrow morning and then … just … having a few more years to be happy. Like Mr. Santos and the others.”

  The last three words clunked in my ear, but I was too busy trying to remember the dead woman. Still keeping hold of both her hands, I sat down again after a bit and said, “I’m sorry, Gloria, but I can’t place her. The lady who died. Mrs. Boudreau?”

  My sister nodded sadly. “She only moved in a couple of weeks ago; I don’t think you ever even saw her.” She took a shuddery breath. “I promised her son I’d look after her. I promised her I’d take care of her. And then her son had to watch while I broke that promise.”

  “You’re a good person, sis.” My thoughts shifted around like puzzle pieces trying to fit themselves together. “You did take care of her, as best you could. But no matter how well you do it, CPR isn’t a get-out-of-death-free card.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to kick myself. Gloria frowned and I waited for her to tear me a new one for making stupid jokes again. Instead she said, “You don’t understand. Mrs. Boudreau really shouldn’t be dead. She wasn’t even long-term. She was only there till the end of the month,” she added in response to my questioning look. “Then she was gonna live with her son and his family. They’re adding another room to their house for her. It isn’t ready yet. And now they’ll just have an extra room with nobody in it.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say that no extra space in any home ever went unused under any circumstances, but then I didn’t. Having grown up in a decidedly uncrowded house, Gloria’s experience was limited, and it was beside the point anyway.

  Little by little, I got the story out of her; it was pretty much Mr. Santos all over again, with a slightly different cast and an unhappy ending that even a portable defibrillator couldn’t change. “The defib’s the last of the last resorts,” Gloria said as she started on a slice of pizza. That had to be a good sign, I thought. “It’s too easy to screw it up even if you’re trained. I’m trained to defib, but I’ve never done it.” She paused, head tilted to one side. “Jesus, I just heard myself. ‘I’m trained to defib but I’ve never done it.’ Like it’s routine. Until I started volunteering, I’d never done any CPR for real. Not even once.”

  I was trying to think of something to say when she dropped the slice of pizza she’d been holding and put a hand to her mouth. “And I never even thought anyone would actually die. Mr. Santos and his daughter were calling me a heroine, the head nurse put a letter in my file, I got my name in the newsletter as this month’s MVV—Most Valuable Volunteer. I didn’t think, What if somebody dies? because nobody did. So I didn’t think for one second that Mrs. Boudreau might die. I just waited for the nurses to say she had a pulse.”

  I frowned. Had Gloria performed CPR on someone else besides Mr. Santos? “Gloria, how many times—”

  She didn’t hear me. “Even after they shocked her, I was still waiting for someone to say she was back.” She put her hand to mouth again. “Omigod, deep down I’m still waiting for Jill to call and say someone at the hospital decided to give it one last try and brought Mrs. Boudreau back after all.”

  And I was waiting for her to burst into tears again or even get sick all over the table. Instead, Gloria finished the slice and reached for another. Good to see she was recovering from the experience, I thought. My own appetite was history.

  The head nurse who called the next morning to check on Gloria was new. Celeste Akintola had that friendly but no-nonsense voice all RNs above a certain level of experience seem
to have. Jill Franklyn didn’t have it, and I couldn’t imagine that she ever would. I shook the thought away and focused on getting acquainted with the new head nurse. More specifically, on trying to find out how often Gloria had used her mad CPR skillz, but without sounding like I was prying. Or like I had to.

  Celeste Akintola made friendly but no-nonsense noises about patient confidentiality, adding that she expected all staff, including volunteers, to respect the privacy of the residents. I gave up, handed the phone to Gloria, and stood by, blatantly eavesdropping; all I heard was yes and okay. After hanging up, Gloria said she had strict orders to take a full two weeks off before she even considered coming back. Even then, it would be for no more than three days a week, at least to begin with. My sister didn’t mind going along with that, which was a relief. Also a little amazing—or perhaps not. She was subdued, obviously deep in thought.

  If I were honest, I had to do some thinking of my own about taking Gloria seriously. As the older, supposedly wiser sister, I’d never saved a life or seen a person die right in front of me. Gloria had saved one person and had another die practically in her arms just in the space of a few weeks. Life and death—it didn’t get any more serious than that.

  I wanted to tell her as much, but I couldn’t figure out how to begin. Whatever I said came out trite, if not weaselish. Gloria by contrast had a new eloquence. Or maybe it was only new to me.

  “I was scared of what you’d say,” she told me later. “I was doing so good, you know? Everybody needed me—me, personally. Me specifically. And then this happened. I needed you to come and be Mom, Jr., so much, but at the same time I was thinking how pathetic it was to be such a mess at thirty-eight. Then you came in and just—” She shrugged. “All you cared about was me. And I realized there’s only one person in the whole world who’ll always show up, no matter how pathetic I am. You didn’t go all smarter or older or wiser on my ass and you didn’t act like it was all a big joke.” She paused. “Although the get-out-of-death-free-card thing was kinda cool.”