What's Not Said Read online

  “I tried to pee,” he’d said. “But the room swirled. I lost everything. I found the john, right?”

  “Not to worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  Kassie grabbed an oversized towel and draped it around his shoulders, making him look like a heavyweight boxer between rounds. She mopped up the curdled stinking mess, succeeded in not gagging, and sat on the cold white tile beside him.

  “I need to go to the hospital.” Mike rested his head on her shoulder.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  She rubbed the back of his shirt which he’d soaked through and suggested if he tried to sleep, he could go to the doctor in the morning. Who wants to go to the ER in the middle of the night?

  “Kassie, get me to the hospital. Now.”

  Something was terribly wrong, something beyond bad shellfish.

  “You look like hell. Can you make it to the car, or should I call an ambulance?” Kassie was relieved when he chose to drive. No reason to wake the neighborhood.

  Though almost a foot shorter than Mike, Kassie had muscles enough to hike him to his feet. At just over six feet and two-hundred pounds, Mike loomed larger than he was, especially when Kassie stood by his side. They would never pass as the perfect Hollywood-looking couple, though their romance was as volatile. But it didn’t matter to them. The difference in their size, they’d agreed, was one of the things that attracted each to the other in the first place.

  She curled her arm under his armpit. “Heave ho. Let’s get you up.”

  As he stood, she saw the tears up close streaming down Mike’s unshaven, handsome face. Her heart throbbed over what could have been. Her eyes blinked, stifling her own waterworks.

  Mike shuffled into the bedroom, still with the towel around his slumped shoulders, and perched himself onto the wooden bed frame and scowled. “Don’t say a word.”

  She swallowed so hard her left ear popped.

  “Let’s get you dressed.” Kassie wiped his face with a warm wet washcloth. “Better?”

  “I’ll need your help. Get me clean underwear.”

  What? Kassie had never been in his bureau. Mike had proclaimed it off limits to her. When they were first dating—not quite cohabiting—in Columbia, Missouri, he taught her to fold his clothes to his specifications, and then he’d put them away. She respected his privacy then. He was her college professor, and she’d do just about anything for him, especially when it involved his boxer shorts. Once they married, the laundry routine continued. She never gave it much thought as it was one less chore she’d have to do around the house.

  “Second drawer.”

  “Good thing we dumped all those old, decrepit undershirts and shorts!” Kassie tried to lighten the mood. Mike didn’t laugh, or maybe he wasn’t listening, which was more likely the case.

  Mike dressed with a little grunt here, and a big grunt there. Or maybe it was a little fart here, a big fart there. You never could tell with Mike. Whatever noises Mike emitted woke Topher, Kassie’s yellow tabby, who had curled up on her side of the bed. Topher yawned, stretched, and swiped his white paw over his sleepy eyes as cats do. What are those humans doing at this strange hour?

  “I think I’ll try to pee again.” Mike headed back to the bathroom.

  Kassie fussed around the room, mumbling to Topher about neither of them having a good night’s sleep. Not the best day to be sleep deprived. After a few minutes, she checked on Mike. He stood there with a pained grimace on his face.

  “No luck?”

  “No luck.”

  “Mike, your feet! They’re swollen big time. Oh my God! Can you wiggle your toes?”

  Mike looked down and tried. “No, not really. Salt from dinner, ya think?”

  “You’ll need to wear your flip-flops. I’ll go find them. Don’t go anywhere.” Kassie threw her hands in the air.

  She left him to finish dressing and ran downstairs. She dug through the hall coat closet and found an old pair of cheap black flip-flops from last summer. A stack of five Red Sox hats caught her eye. Sorting through them, she grabbed her favorite red one. A gift from a friend. She closed her eyes, breathed in its lingering scent, and smiled. It won’t be long.

  She ran upstairs, tossed the hat on the bed, missing Topher’s head by a hair. “How you doin’? You ready?”

  “I am, but you may want to wear something else.”

  Kassie glanced down at her short black silk nightgown. Oh crap, can’t go like this.

  Topher had moved from the bed to the honey-colored chaise lounge, resting his head on the lap of the dark-tan teddy bear with a pink-and-blue plaid bow Mike had given her when she was pregnant years before. It had survived even if the baby and their marriage hadn’t. The chaise lounge was once upon a time Kassie’s favorite chair, especially when losing herself in a murder mystery. After she’d adopted Topher, saving him from almost certain death, he in turn adopted the chaise. She nudged him and swiped her jeans and the black turtleneck she’d thrown there after dinner. Cat hair be damned.

  “Do you need help getting downstairs?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Don’t forget your phone.”

  Kassie unplugged it. Though fully charged, she took the charger anyway and headed downstairs to her office. She grabbed her wallet from her purse and threw everything in her black leather briefcase.

  Almost on autopilot and without checking the “Topher’s care” list she’d posted on the inside of the pantry, Kassie went into the eat-in kitchen and filled Topher’s food and water bowls. They should be back home in time to give him his meds.

  She filled a water bottle for herself and shouted to Mike, who had begun his measured descent.

  “How about a bottle of water for the road? Might that help?”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No, I’m not. How do you expect to pee if you don’t have enough fluids in you? Less soda and more H2O might do you some good.”

  “Whatever. Which car we taking?”

  “Mine. Does it matter?”

  “Sure. If I’m gonna puke again, I don’t want to be in my car!” He laughed alone. Not quite a Mike-ism, but typical Mike, a side of him Kassie came to ignore with practice.

  She tossed her briefcase into the backseat and helped him into the car.

  “Planning to drop me at the hospital and then go to the office?”

  “No, but I might as well work on my Georgetown presentation while I’m waiting for you to be examined. Remember I’m heading down there this weekend?”

  Kassie bit her lower lip at the lie and backed the midnight-blue Mercedes out of the oversized two-car garage. She checked the gas gauge. Half full? Half empty? Didn’t matter. She had plenty to get them to the hospital. The trip from Newton to Boston on I-90 should be quick at that hour.

  “Where’s your transponder?” Mike said in between heavy breaths.

  “Right here on the visor. Hang in there, Mike.” She touched his arm with assurance. “Not much traffic at this hour.”

  And she was right. Kassie wheeled the Mercedes into a familiar parking spot in front of the ER as if it was reserved for her. She leaned toward the steering wheel and kissed it. “Good girl,” she whispered. At least the car could be called that.

  3

  Lady in Waiting

  Kassie peered into the ER lobby that was lit up as bright as a highway construction site at night trying to anticipate how long they’d have to wait. If only she were clairvoyant, like her mom swore she was. Though she never claimed to have ESP, Kassie thought it wicked cool her mom had bestowed that superpower on her when she was growing up.

  As a child, there were the times when the phone would ring, and Kassie would announce who was calling before her mom answered it. Or they’d be at a restaurant, and she’d predict a waiter would drop a stack of plates, and then before she could count to ten, crash.

  “What do you think’s gonna happen?” her mom would ask ahead of an upcoming family or sporting event. “Will Aunt E
mma bring her dreadful pasta to the picnic? Who’s gonna win, Yankees or Red Sox? What’s the score going to be?”

  “I don’t know what will happen. It doesn’t work that way. I just watch and listen to what people say and do, and then sometimes something inside me stirs. I’m an observer of life, and just lucky in my guesses, I guess.”

  There were times, though, Kassie shocked herself because the sensations that bubbled up from somewhere deep in her gut were vivid, intense, and foreboding. She couldn’t ignore them. Like the day the principal walked into her third-grade class. She sensed he’d call her name even before he did. And when she saw her mother waiting in the principal’s office, she knew her father had died. Why else would her mother show up at school on Friday the thirteenth? Freaky!

  Still, Kassie refused to totally buy into her mother’s ESP theory. Rather, she attributed these strange occurrences to a finely tuned intuition fueled in part by reading the Stephen King books lining her bookshelves. As an adult traveling around the country, she’d often track down fortune tellers for a palm or tarot-card reading. Over time, their prognostications scared Kassie shitless because of their similarity whether it was a psychic in San Francisco, Scottsdale, or Seattle. Didn’t matter.

  Starting in her twenties when each foreshadowed some version of “A younger man will come into your life and turn your world upside down,” she interpreted it to mean she’d have a son someday. But when their single-focused prophesy continued unfulfilled into her forties, she halted the useless psychic research into her future. Enough of that insanity. Instead she’d take her chances on her own magical powers to guide her destiny, be it good or bad.

  If her mother was right, how did Kassie not foresee this trip to the ER? She inhaled deeply to conjure up whatever inner force she possessed. Squinting her eyes to get a better view, she concluded the ER looked alive but not crazy busy. She took it as an optimistic sign they’d get in and out fast.

  “I’ll get a wheelchair.”

  “Don’t bother. I can walk.”

  No sooner had she jumped out of the car to open the door for Mike when a tall good-looking black man in blue scrubs approached their car.

  “What have we got here?”

  “It’s my back, doctor.”

  “I’m Tommy Thompson. A nurse. Not a doctor. Let me grab a wheelchair.”

  Kassie leaned into the car, clenched her teeth, and whispered, “Your back? Since when?”

  “He’s not a doctor. Damn it. I’ll wait to talk to a doctor.” Mike stared straight.

  “Why because he’s black? Or because he’s a male nurse? Can’t you stifle it for once in your life?”

  Mike held onto the car door for leverage and settled his rear into the wheelchair.

  “It’s not too hectic tonight, so I’ll take . . . oh, I’m sorry, sir, what is your name?”

  “Mike. Mr. Mike Ricci.”

  “Okay, Mr. Mike, I’ll take you right into an examining room. And Mrs. Ricci, please go to the main desk. The staff there will take your husband’s information and get him checked in.”

  Relieved to get away from Mike even for a few minutes, she walked through the sliding glass doors chuckling. Tommy Thompson gave as good as he got. How do you like them apples, Mike?

  She fumbled through her briefcase to retrieve their insurance information and filled out and signed the paperwork. She noticed the Wi-Fi password on a poster and logged on. No messages yet. The redeye from San Francisco wasn’t due for another three hours. Enough time to have Mike examined and back home, she hoped.

  “Could you tell me where Mike Ricci is? My husband?” She almost choked. Her words tasted as bitter as a mouthful of kale.

  “Just have a seat, Mrs. Ricci. We’ll let you know when you can see him. The waiting room’s over there. Is that your car outside? You’ll need to move it to the garage.”

  Gulp. She’d recently attended an international travel safety course sponsored by her company where she learned in graphic detail how bad people in this world operated. Parking in a dark, poorly lit garage in the middle of the night especially alone was something to be avoided at all cost. She knew if she were going to divorce Mike and be on her own, she’d have to overcome fears like these, no matter if they were rational or not. She took a deep breath and obeyed the admitting nurse who had the power to make her time there miserable if she was so inclined.

  “Excuse me. Would it be possible, I mean, may I leave my case with you, here, while I move my car? Please? I’ll just take my keys.” Kassie waved her carabiner.

  When she returned unharmed, she strode down the hall to the all-too-familiar waiting room. She’d been there before when her mother was ill. She studied the room, assessing her seating options. Something had changed. Wood-framed couches and chairs with complimentary cloth cushions of royal blue and forest green stripes replaced the metal and black vinyl chairs. Hand sanitizer stations stood guard on both sides of the entryway, as well as in the middle and far corners of the room. Germs better beware.

  Taking the not-so-subtle hint, Kassie availed herself of the cold gooey gel and chose a seat in the far corner facing the doorway so she’d see when someone came to get her.

  But no one came, at least not within the fifteen minutes Kassie allocated as waiting time. She heard sirens approaching, reminding her of her mother’s lengthy decline and demise.

  “Mom, if you’re watching, you better have my back today,” she prayed.

  Her stomach gurgled in response. Tea, I need tea. What are my choices? There were no Starbucks or Dunkin’ Donuts on site. The 24-hour coffee shop was in another building. She didn’t want to be too far away in case Mike was ready to leave.

  “Pardon me,” she whispered. “Is there somewhere to get tea around here?” She lifted her index finger and gestured a circle.

  The same admitting nurse raised her eyes from the computer screen and peered over her tortoise-shell glasses. “Just vending. Down the hall on the right.”

  “Oh yes, I forgot. Thanks, any word yet on Mike Ricci, my husband?” Again, that word. Again, that hint of bitterness in her voice and her mouth. Was she being punished with this constant reminder she was about to take steps that would change the whole husband-wife until death do you part thing? She wondered if ex-husband would roll off her tongue any smoother.

  “No, I’m sorry,” the nurse replied in full voice. “Not yet. The chief resident is with him now. These things take time, especially at night. If they’re running any tests, it could take twice as long to get the results, you know.”

  Another déjà vu moment. Kassie knew all too well.

  Tiptoeing down the empty hallway, she tried to silence the clickety-clack of her heels. Should’ve worn my Skechers. She imagined the hospital’s infrastructure asleep, regenerating itself as the human body did. God forbid she disturbed or slowed down that process.

  Kassie found the small windowless room that housed the vending machines. She crossed her arms and stared at them. Who invented these cretins anyway? Did they replace automats she and her mom visited in New York City when she was little? She’d call them food prisons where only exact change could free boiled-ham- and-processed-cheese sandwiches and slices of lemon meringue pies from their jail cells. Or were they another method for the mob to monopolize an industry and make a shitload of money? Maybe a little of both. Didn’t matter.

  There they were. Three vending machines standing idle side-by-side beckoning her to feed them so they could feed her.

  Kassie took the smallest bill she had in her wallet and checked for a change machine. No luck. She stepped back, eye-balling them. Which would take a five and make change? The “Exact change only” light on the candy and coffee machines flashed. Only the one with wimpy-looking sandwiches would take her five. She purchased a turkey-and-cheese on what she expected was soggy, day-old rye bread and scooped up the change she’d need to buy a lukewarm cup of tea. The sandwich found its way into the green trash bin with a loud kerplunk, and the tea went down the h
atch. On the way back to the waiting area, she swung by the ladies’ room.

  “I’m cleanin’ here,” a tiny pretty woman said with a thick accent. Was it Turkish or Greek or Mexican? If it weren’t Italian or Irish, Kassie couldn’t place it. Didn’t matter.

  “You should be at home with your family, in bed, asleep!” Kassie teased.

  “You got that right. You, too.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure. But be careful. Floor’s a little slippery.”

  A little slippery? That’s all she’d need to do was fall on her ass and land in a bed next to Mike. What would happen to her plans then?

  As she left the ladies’ room, Kassie gagged as cleaning fluid fumes and hospital antiseptic converged up her nose. Stark reminder of where she was. She ambled back to the waiting room, gelled up again, and glanced at the oversized round clock on the wall. She’d been there for an hour and a half already. No word yet, from anyone.

  In the time she’d been away, two couples had arrived. From what she overheard as she passed them, one was a car accident, the other was an overdose. Kassie’s chest tightened as she maneuvered her way past the families to the same chair she had previously occupied, claiming it as her own, the same way college students did.

  The tea may have settled her stomach, but it did little to help her figure out what was wrong with Mike. Was it the lobster he ate? He’d passed on his usual Dewar’s and water, which she thought might be a good sign.

  Mike had told her that during his last physical his doctor advised him to slim down, shape up, and stop smoking. Even at his age, Mike should be able to improve his health. Kassie took the doctor’s advice seriously, but she was never sure if Mike did. She enrolled in a Weight Watchers cooking class, and once a week for six weeks, she left work early and learned how to poach, smoke, and grill foods that would reduce carbohydrates. While Mike had lost about ten pounds, Kassie benefitted more, losing fifteen. Together with her walking, yoga, and weight training, her fifty-four-year-old body had taken on a leaner, sexier shape, which would not go to waste even if Mike turned a blind eye.