Fever (25 page)

Frank rolled his window up and spun his wheels, leaving Charles standing at the curb, his legs splattered with slush. The Pinto was twenty feet ahead, partially buried under a shroud of snow. Even through the pain, Charles felt a cold rage stirring inside himself. For Charles, adversity had always been a powerful stimulus for action.

 

Cathryn and Gina were cleaning up the kitchen when they heard a car turn into the drive. Cathryn ran to the window and pulled the red checkered curtain aside. She hoped to God it was Charles; she hadn't heard from him since he'd fled from the hospital, and no one had answered his extension at the lab. She knew she had to tell Charles about the proceedings at the courthouse. She couldn't let him learn about it when he got the court citation in the morning.

Watching the lights come up the driveway, Cathryn found herself whispering, “Let it be you, Charles, please.” The car swept around the final curve and passed the window. It was the Pinto! Cathryn sighed in relief. She turned back into the room and took the dish towel from Gina's surprised hands.

“Mother, it's Charles. Would you mind going into the other room? I want to talk to him for a moment, alone.”

Gina tried to protest but Cathryn put her fingers to her mother's lips, gently silencing her. “It's important.”

“You'll be okay?”

“Of course,” said Cathryn, urging Gina toward the door. She heard the car door slam.

Cathryn went over to the door. When Charles started up the steps, she swung it open.

Before she could clearly see his face, she smelled him. It
was a mildewy odor like wet towels stored in a closet in summer. As he came into the light she saw his bruised and swollen nose. There was a bit of dried blood crusted on his upper lip, and his whole face was curiously blackened. His sheepskin jacket was hopelessly soiled and his pants were torn over the right knee. But most disturbing of all was his expression of tension and barely controlled anger.

“Charles?” Something terrible was happening. She'd been worrying about him all afternoon and his appearance suggested her concern was justified.

“Just don't say anything for a moment,” demanded Charles, avoiding Cathryn's touch. After removing his coat, he headed for the phone and nervously flipped through the telephone pad.

Cathryn pulled a clean dish towel from the linen drawer, and wetting the end, tried to clean off his face to see where the blood had come from.

“Christ, Cathryn! Can you wait one second?” snapped Charles, pushing her away.

Cathryn stepped back. The man in front of her was a stranger. She watched him dial the phone, punching the buttons with a vengeance.

“Dawson,” yelled Charles into the phone. “I don't care if you've got the police and the whole fucking town in your pocket. You're not going to get away with it!” Charles punctuated his statement by crashing the receiver onto its bracket. He didn't expect an answer, and wanted to beat Dawson in hanging up.

Having made the call, his tension eased a little. He rubbed his temples for a moment in a slow, circular motion. “I had no idea this quaint little town of ours was so corrupt,” he said in a near-to-normal voice.

Cathryn began to relax. “What happened to you? You're hurt!”

Charles looked at her. He shook his head and to her surprise, laughed. “Mostly my sense of dignity. It's hard abandoning all of one's macho fantasies in one evening. No, I'm not hurt. Not badly anyway. Especially since at one point I thought it
was all over. But for now, I need something to drink. Fruit juice. Anything.”

“I have a dinner for you in the oven, keeping warm.”

“Christ. I couldn't eat,” said Charles, slowly sinking into one of the kitchen chairs. “But I'm thirstier than hell.” His hands trembled as he put them on the table. His stomach hurt where he'd been punched.

After pouring a glass of apple cider, Cathryn carried it to the table. She caught sight of Gina standing in the doorway with an innocent expression. In angry pantomime, Cathryn gestured for her mother to go back to the living room. She sat down at the table. At least for the moment she had abandoned her idea of telling Charles about the guardianship situation.

“There's blood on your face,” she said solicitously.

Charles wiped under his nose with the back of his hand and stared at the flakes of dried blood. “Bastards!” he said.

There was a pause while Charles drank his cider.

“Are you going to tell me where you've been and what happened?” asked Cathryn finally.

“I'd rather hear about Michelle first,” said Charles, putting the glass on the table.

“Are you sure?” asked Cathryn. She reached over and put her hand on top of his.

“What do you mean, am I sure?” snapped Charles. “Of course I'm sure.”

“I didn't mean that the way it sounded,” said Cathryn. “I know you're concerned. I'm just worried about you. You took Michelle's heart complication so hard.”

“What's happened now?” demanded Charles, raising his voice, afraid that Cathryn was leading up to terrible news.

“Please calm down,” said Cathryn gently.

“Then tell me what's happened to Michelle.”

“It's just her fever,” said Cathryn. “It's gone up and the doctors are concerned.”

“Oh God!” said Charles.

“Everything else seems OK. Her heart rate has stayed normal.” Cathryn was afraid to say anything about Michelle's
hair, which had started falling out. But Dr. Keitzman said it was an expected and entirely reversible side effect.

“Any sign of remission?” asked Charles.

“I don't think so. They didn't say anything.”

“How high is her fever?”

“Pretty high. It was one-oh-four when I left.”

“Why did you leave? Why didn't you stay?”

“I suggested it but the doctors encouraged me to go. They said that parents with a sick child must be careful about neglecting the rest of their family. They told me there was nothing I could do. Should I have stayed? I really didn't know. I wished you were there.”

“Oh God!” said Charles again. “Someone should be with her. High fever is not a good sign. The medications are knocking out her normal defenses and seemingly not touching her leukemic cells. A high fever at this point means infection.”

Abruptly Charles stood up. “I'm going back to the hospital,” he said with resolve. “Right now!”

“But why, Charles? What can you do now?” Cathryn felt a surge of panic, and she leaped to her feet.

“I want to be with her. Besides, I've made up my mind. The medications are going to be stopped. Or at least reduced to an orthodox dose. They're experimenting and if it were going to work, we would have seen the circulatory leukemic cells go down. Instead they've gone up.”

“But the medicines have cured others.” Cathryn knew she had to talk Charles out of going to the hospital. If he did, there'd be a crisis . . . a confrontation.

“I know chemotherapy has helped others,” said Charles. “Unfortunately Michelle's case is different. The normal protocol has already failed. I'm not going to let my daughter be experimented on. Keitzman had his chance. She's not going to dissolve in front of my eyes like Elizabeth.”

Charles started for the door.

Carolyn clutched at his sleeve. “Charles, please. You can't go now. You're a mess.”

Looking down at himself, Charles realized Cathryn was
right. But did he really care? He hesitated, then ran upstairs where he changed his clothes and washed his hands and face. When he ran back down, Cathryn realized that he had made up his mind. He was going to the hospital that night and had every intention of stopping Michelle's medicines, her only chance at life. Once again, the doctors had correctly forecasted his reaction. Cathryn realized she had to tell him about the guardianship right away. She could not afford to wait.

Charles pulled on his befouled jacket, checking for his car keys in his pocket.

Cathryn leaned her back up against the counter, her hands gripping the Formica edge. “Charles,” she began in a quiet tone. “You cannot stop Michelle's medicine.”

Charles found his keys. “Of course I can,” he said confidently.

“Arrangements have been made so that you cannot,” said Cathryn.

With his hand on the back door, Charles paused. The word “arrangements” had an ominous connotation. “What are you trying to say?”

“I want you to come back, take your coat off, and sit down,” said Cathryn, as if she were talking to a recalcitrant teenager.

Charles walked directly up to her. “I think you'd better tell me about these arrangements.”

Although Cathryn never would have imagined it possible, she felt a touch of fear as she gazed up into Charles's narrowed eyes. “After you left the hospital so hastily this afternoon, I had a conference with Dr. Keitzman and Dr. Wiley. They felt that you were under a severe strain and might not be in the best position to make the right decisions about Michelle's care.” Cathryn deliberately tried to echo the legal talk she'd heard at the meeting. What terrified her most was Charles's reaction to her complicity. She wanted to emphasize that she had been a reluctant participant. She looked up into his face. His blue eyes were cold. “The hospital lawyer said that Michelle needed a temporary guardian and the doctors agreed. They told me they could do it without my cooperation but that it
would be easier if I helped. I thought I was doing the right thing although it was a hard decision. I felt one of us should still be involved.”

“So what happened?” said Charles, his face becoming a dull red.

“There was an emergency hearing before a judge,” said Cathryn. She was telling it poorly and at a bad time. She was making a mess of everything. Doggedly she continued, “The judge agreed that Michelle should get the recognized treatment for her condition as outlined by Dr. Keitzman. I was appointed temporary guardian. There will be a hearing on this petition in three days and a full hearing in three weeks. The court also appointed a guardian and listen, Charles, believe me, I've done all this for Michelle. I'm not doing anything against you or to come between you and Michelle.”

Cathryn searched Charles's face for a flicker of understanding. She saw only rage.

“Charles!” cried Cathryn. “Please believe me. The doctor convinced me you've been under great strain. You haven't been yourself. Look at you! Dr. Keitzman is world-famous for treating childhood leukemias. I did it only for Michelle. It's only temporary. Please.” Cathryn broke into tears.

Gina appeared instantly at the doorway. “Is everything all right?” she called out timidly.

Charles spoke very slowly, his eyes on Cathryn's face. “I hope to God this isn't true. I hope you're making this up.”

“It's true,” managed Cathryn. “It's true. You left. I did the best I could. You'll be served with a citation in the morning.”

Charles exploded with a violence he'd never known he'd possessed. The only handy object was a short stack of dishes. Snatching them off the counter he lifted them over his head and crashed them to the floor in a fearful splintering of china. “I can't stand this. Everybody is against me. Everybody!”

Cathryn cringed by the sink, afraid to move. Gina was riveted to the doorway, wanting to flee but fearful for her daughter's safety.

“Michelle is my daughter, my flesh and blood,” raged
Charles. “No one is going to take her away from me.”

“She's my adopted daughter,” sobbed Cathryn. “I feel just as strongly as you.” Overcoming her fear, she grabbed the lapels of Charles's coat, shaking him as best she could. “Please calm down. Please,” she cried desperately.

The last thing Charles wanted was to be held down. By reflex his arm shot up and with unnecessary force, knocked Cathryn's arms into the air. Following through with the blow, the side of his hand inadvertently caught her face, knocking her backwards against the kitchen table.

A chair fell over and Gina screamed, running into the room and positioning her corpulent bulk between Charles and her dazed daughter. She began reciting a prayer as she crossed herself.

Charles reached out and rudely shoved the woman aside. He grabbed Cathryn by both shoulders and shook her like a rag doll. “I want you to call and cancel those legal proceedings. Do you understand?”

Chuck heard the commotion and ran down the stairs. He took one look at the scene in front of him and sprang into the room, grabbing his father from behind, and pinning his arms to his side. Charles tried to twist loose but he couldn't. Instead he released Cathryn, and lunged back with the point of his elbow, digging it into the pit of Chuck's abdomen. The boy's breath came out in a forceful huff. Charles spun, then shoved Chuck backwards so that he tripped, fell, and hit his head on the floor.

Cathryn screamed. The crisis was expanding in a chain reaction. She threw herself on top of Chuck to protect him from his father and it was at this point Charles realized that he was attacking his own son.