Hiss of Death Page 5

  “So, if you drove, say, to the Greenbrier,” Harry said, mentioning a gorgeous retreat in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, “you wouldn’t need gas?”

  “Not a drop.”

  “Where do you plug in the car? I mean, you’d have to put it in the parking lot. How would you recharge the battery?”

  “Right now gas stations and retreats like Hot Springs or the Greenbrier don’t have a facility for a recharge. But given the push for autonomy from foreign powers when it comes to transportation and energy, I’m confident that within a year or two we will pull into a gas station or a parking lot even at a motel and there will be a recharge station so more than one car can fill up, so to speak. I envision it as a low bank with big square outlets.”

  “I hope you’re right, or you won’t be going too far.” Harry couldn’t resist the little jab.

  “Trust technology, Harry. It’s gotten us this far.”

  She wanted to say “And yes, it’s polluted our rivers, our skies; ruined our eyes in many cases as people stare into screens all day; it’s helped create far too much obesity as people sit hours upon hours; but worse, it’s broken the bonds between people.”

  She knew he wouldn’t see it that way, but then again, maybe a physician couldn’t. So much of what happened in their world involved nanotechnology, lasers, imaging, new ways to heal without cutting, and more tests than even a genius could remember. It overwhelmed her, and she mistrusted it. It was her nature to distrust the new.

  “I’ll try,” she fibbed.

  Cory rested his hand on the short hood of the Lampo. “You found her, didn’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I’m sorry for that, Harry. What a good nurse she was. If you’re in the operating room, you want Paula.”

  “Didn’t mean to criticize you about trusting technology.”

  He reached over and touched Harry’s shoulder. “We can’t know everything, but we can try, and so often technology can show us the problem much faster than our own senses.”

  “It’s good to see you, Cory. Thanks for talking to me about your car.”

  “Oh, I know you’re a gearhead.” He smiled. “One of the first conversations I had with you when I moved here from Minneapolis was why a live axle is a rougher ride but better for a truck. I thought, well, I haven’t met too many women who know stuff like that, and then I met BoomBoom Craycroft. Must be something in the water in these parts.”

  “Hope so. Saves us money when we go for auto repair.” Cory blinked.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Men usually don’t.”

  A puzzled look crossed his face. “What’s being a man got to do with it? I figure if you know motors, you can tell the mechanic where to look first. Save some money.”

  “True enough. However, Cory, there are those dishonest mechanics out there who figure a woman is as dumb as a sack of hammers about motors. So they give you a laundry list of repairs, all of which are unnecessary. The woman foots the bill. That’s never happened to BoomBoom or me.”

  He smiled slyly. “No, but I bet a lot else has.”

  Harry laughed and waved him off as he walked away. She then hopped up into the high seat of her F-150 with the live axle—so good for hauling. She cranked the engine and luxuriated in the rumble of that big old gas-guzzling V-8.

  “Damned if I’d buy an electric car.” She rolled down the road, then pulled over.

  She opened the glove compartment, fished out her cellphone, which was taped together after many little accidents, and dialed Susan Tucker.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey back at you. Where you at?” Susan used the grammatically incorrect sentence.

  “Dr. MacCormack’s. Can I see you? Now.”

  After so many years of friendship, Susan knew Harry was in trouble.

  “I’m on the golf course. Want to meet me at the Nineteenth Hole or home?”

  “Home.”

  “Be there in about a half hour.”

  “Good enough.”

  • • •

  When Susan pulled into her driveway, Harry felt a flood of relief and love. She needed Susan, and Susan never failed her. Harry prayed that she had never failed her friend, either.

  Within minutes, the two sat at Susan’s kitchen table, tea in front of them, as well as Harry’s problem.

  “You’re going to have the procedure, aren’t you?”

  “I am, but I’m not looking forward to it. I have to lie on a table, drop my boob through it, and they go in with a tiny, tiny scalpel with a little fishhook, sort of, pull out some tissue, then test it.”

  “They’ll put some numbing cream on. That will help.”

  “There isn’t going to be any numbing cream at the back of my boob. It’s going to hurt like hell.”

  Susan put both hands around her beautiful bone china cup. One’s chinaware, silver, and crystal still counted in these parts. Susan had inherited delicate china from her paternal line going back to 1720.

  “Harry, I’m sorry. You have to do it.”

  “Will you go with me?”

  “Of course I will. Tell me when.”

  “I’ll know tomorrow. Dr. MacCormack is making the appointment. She says she just won’t know anything until we have tissue. A mammogram can miss a lot or sometimes just get it wrong. Obviously, she’s worried, or I wouldn’t have to do this.”

  Susan took a deep breath, stared straight into Harry’s light brown eyes. “Okay. What if it is cancer? You aren’t going to ignore it, which I know you can do. For one thing, I won’t let you, and neither will your husband.”

  Tears misted over Harry’s eyes. “What if it is? I mean, what if I lost my breast? How will I look to Fair?”

  Susan reached over and placed her manicured hand over Harry’s hand. “He loves you. Do you think he loves one of your breasts more than you?”

  Harry sighed deeply. “No, but still.”

  “Okay. Let me ask you this. If he had to have one of his testicles removed, would you love him any less?”

  “Oh, Susan, that’s not a fair question. I don’t go around looking at his parts and getting a buzz. But you know as well as I do, take off your blouse, take off your bra, and they go crazy.”

  Susan paused. “Well, you got a point there. I can’t say as I find Ned’s lower regions beautiful. I’m delighted everything functions properly, and I tell him how wonderful it is, but—”

  “It’s the difference between women and men.” Harry smiled. “I should amend that. It’s the difference between most women and most men. I don’t want to look ugly to him.”

  “Harry, for God’s sake. Fair will be with you every step of the way. He isn’t going to stop loving you, and he isn’t going to stop being sexually attracted to you. Give the man some credit.”

  This lifted Harry’s spirits. “Well, what if the worst happens and they lop off my right boob. Does that mean I’ll list to port?”

  Susan laughed because it was funny but mostly because Harry was picking up again. “If you do, I’ll hold your left arm and prop you up.”

  “Ha!”

  “Look, don’t jump to conclusions. One, it may not be cancerous. Two, if it is, they will probably remove the tumor but not your whole breast. Three, if the worst does happen and they remove your breast, you’ll have reconstructive surgery. But I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Harry, silent for a time, finally said, “You know, I’m being shortsighted. The worst would be if it is cancer and it has spread.”

  “Don’t even say that!”

  “Wouldn’t you think that if it were you?”

  A silence followed from Susan, who then broke it. “Yes.”

  Harry fingered the lilies in the violet-glass vase on the table. “Sucks. But I won’t know until I get hooked, so what good does it do to worry?” She looked up at Susan, her eyes misting again. “Do you think I’ll smell funny to Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker? Do you think they’ll stay away from me? Hospitals have
such strange odors.” She then added, “I need them with me.”

  Owen, sitting at her feet, piped up. “My sister loves you, and those awful cats love you. Doesn’t matter how you smell.”

  The two humans looked down into the dog’s expressive brown eyes.

  Susan, not really knowing what Owen said, replied, “He’s telling you all will be well.”

  Pud Benton held up a graceful ruby wineglass. The light streamed through, creating a shaft of ruby light that fell on the wall.

  Harry noticed that Paula’s mother twirled the glass in her fingers, but she didn’t pack it away in the carton.

  “Mrs. Benton, would you like me to help with the glasses? I’m almost finished with the stuff in the kitchen closet.”

  The sixty-five-year-old woman—attractive, with gray hair—blinked. “I must have spaced out.”

  Harry closed her carton, walked over to Pud, and began wrapping ruby glasses in tissue paper, stuffing more paper in the glasses, then rolling them in Bubble Wrap. “Happens.”

  Mrs. Benton softly said, “I so appreciate all of Paula’s friends helping John and me to pack up.”

  Paula’s house, not huge at three bedrooms, still contained enough goods to keep people busy. Packing is always a pain, and under these circumstances it was very difficult for Paula’s parents.

  Fair, Cory, Ned, Rev. Jones, and Paula’s father packed up her garage, not as crowded as the house. In the barn, Annalise carefully placed the potted plants and dried bulbs in a large carton. She carefully dug up the bulbs coming up on the shelves in the warm light, placing each one in a plastic cup. She wrote on the cup the flower’s name—tulip, hyacinth, jonquil—for Paula had tacked small signs on the shelf’s lip. Pud didn’t want the plants, but she and John had decided each helper should get one.

  Most of the people in the house had worked either at Central Virginia Hospital with Paula or on the 5K run.

  Harry kept her news to herself except for her husband. Why blab until she had the biopsy results?

  “Mrs. Benton, how did you get the nickname Pud?” Harry hoped a different kind of conversation might help Paula’s mother.

  She reached for a fluted champagne glass. “Well, first off, my grandmother’s name was Paulette, my mother’s name was Paula, and I was named Paulette. So Grandmother and Mother called me Pud. Then, of course, I named Paula after my mother. Too many P’s, but you know how families are. Or maybe you don’t.”

  “I know.” Harry smiled.

  “Paula’s nickname was Pooch. When she went off to Michigan State, she made her girlfriends swear not to use her nickname. They did anyway. Burned her up. So finally when she moved south, she was able to be Paula again. No one knew her as Pooch. It’s all silly.”

  “Pretty funny, really. I can’t imagine calling her Pooch.”

  “And I can’t imagine anything else.” Mrs. Benton paused, her hand dangling over the open carton. “When we had the service back home, her pastor referred to her as Pooch. I console myself with the hope that she suffered no pain, it was quick. John and I spoke to Annalise Veronese, the pathologist. She was so kind. Everyone has been so kind. Dr. Veronese assured us that Pooch was in good health. One never knows.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Benton finally put the glass in the carton. “I can’t get used to being called ma’am. Makes me feel like an old lady.”

  “You look just like Paula, or I should say she looked just like you. You two could have passed for sisters.”

  “Aren’t you sweet? Come on, now, the gray hair gives me away.”

  “There are rock stars that dye their hair so blond it’s gray. Say, have you seen photos of the DJ in England called Mamy Rock? She’s seventy-five, close-cropped gray hair. She looks fabulous.”

  “Haven’t. I’ll look her up on the Internet.” Mrs. Benton saw her husband, with Ned, Fair, and Rev. Jones, pushing a riding mower up a makeshift ramp into the rented U-Haul. “John will get a hernia.”

  Harry studied the men. “He looks fit. Must run in the family.”

  “He’s in pretty good shape, but I like to tease him. Pooch was a runner. John, too. That was one thing Dr. Veronese told us, how good Pooch’s heart was.”

  Curiosity overtaking her reserve, Harry asked, “Did she have any enemies?”

  “Pooch?”

  “Curious. I’m not thinking about foul play, but just that I never heard a bad word about her.” Harry fibbed, because such thoughts had indeed crossed her mind. Harry’s probing mind could irritate her friends and scare the bejesus out of her husband. Fair never knew what his wife would get into next. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker had resigned themselves to extracting her from whatever mess she stumbled into. Mrs. Benton was pensive for a moment.

  “She wasn’t a person to arouse envy or strong emotions, one way or another. In high school she rarely fell victim to the kind of gossipy swirl girls indulge in at that time. I hated that when I was in high school. I can’t think of anyone who disliked her.” She paused. “Really.”

  “That’s a wonderful tribute.”

  “The only thing she ever said to me, and this wasn’t about a personal dislike, was she’d become so interested in alternative cancer treatments because of her work on the five-K. She felt some of them were bogus medical scams that preyed on people when they were most vulnerable. She thought others held out such promise for a cure, but the federal government prevented their use. She felt some doctors were so angry they used outlawed substances and treatments. They hid it, of course. Pooch, herself, was disgusted at how pharmaceutical companies, the insurance companies, and the government have corrupted medicine. After hearing that, I inquired as to what she’d seen at the hospital. She said she’d tell me later. Now there’s no later.”

  Harry considered that. “Every time I pick up the newspaper there seems to be some squib about a new cancer treatment. One article says that eating almonds keeps cancer at bay—you know, that sort of thing. I never know what to believe.”

  “Nor I.” Mrs. Benton’s eyes lit up for the first time since she’d come to Virginia. “John and I are fortunate. Cancer doesn’t run in either of our families. Pooch became interested in nursing when a childhood friend died of leukemia in eleventh grade. It was an interest that deepened with the years.”

  “She had a good mind,” Harry said.

  Mrs. Benton put lots of Bubble Wrap on top of the glasses, for the carton was full. “There. One more done.”

  “I’m beginning to understand where Paula acquired her organizational ability. In our meetings, if anyone got off track, she’d say, ‘Let’s cut to the chase.’ I’d tell her she was being a Yankee. Southerners live for anecdotes and diversion. However, I always did just what she said.”

  For the first time, Mrs. Benton truly laughed. “I can just hear her.”

  Hearing laughter, BoomBoom, Alicia, and Susan looked in from the next room. They each smiled slightly, for they believed laughter healed. A shock such as the one the Bentons had endured would take a lot of laughter and love.

  So many people had helped that the house was emptied, tidied up, and the large U-Haul was loaded by three-thirty that afternoon. Mrs. Benton handed each person a potted plant. The dried bulbs in old Ball jars she gave to Alicia as a special thank-you for the pleasure Alicia’s movies had given her and her husband.

  As the Bentons walked up to the truck, Dr. Cory Schaeffer stepped up to the driver’s side. Both Bentons looked at him as the other workers crowded around.

  “We hope your journey is safe. We know in time the grief will fade and happy memories will remain. We all would like you to know that your daughter’s memory will remain with us. We have renamed the five-K in her honor. From now on it will be known as the Paula Benton Five-K Run for Breast Cancer Research.”

  John Benton burst into tears. Words wouldn’t come. His wife reached for his hand, squeezing it.

  He nodded to his wife, composed himself. “Thank you. Thank you.”

  • �
� •

  Later that evening, as Harry finished up her farm chores, she returned to what Pud Benton said about Paula not having any enemies. Maybe she didn’t have any personal enemies, but maybe something else had happened, something to make her a target.

  She caught herself. “I watch too many crime shows on TV.”

  Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, who always helped with the chores—well, Pewter made a stab at it before sitting down—knew their human’s mind was preoccupied.

  “Think this has to do with her test Wednesday? The one she’s calling ‘the hook’?” Tucker picked up a blue rubber bone she’d left in the barn yesterday.

  “Not a chance.” Pewter tossed her head.

  “Well, she does have that on her mind,” Tucker said.

  “Pewter’s right. Mom’s displaying that nosy look. First there was the distressed look and the weird smell, and now there’s the nosy look.” Mrs. Murphy batted the blue rubber bone.

  Tucker sighed. “Yeah, I know. I was hoping I was wrong. That nosy look is never good for her.”

  “ ‘Her’? It’s never good for us,” Pewter said with conviction.

  The sun bathed the mountains, meadows, and rooftops in soft afternoon light. Harry—an art history major who had graduated from Smith—always thought of this time of day as being wrapped in spun gold. People who didn’t know her well would ask how she shifted from Smith to down-and-dirty farming, and Harry answered truthfully that farming taught her to appreciate nineteenth-century painting. Her eye—good to begin with, and trained at Smith—found in nature such symmetry, change, and ravishing beauty that farming was the perfect life for an art history major.

  In an hour, the sun’s outer rim would dip behind the Blue Ridge Mountains. The colors depended on the pollen in the air, dust particles, and the angle of the sun to the earth. Most spring sunsets, like today’s in late April, were a clear sky, which then deepened. However, if there were clouds, the colors radiated salmon, peach, and periwinkle, with streaks of flaming scarlet. This would settle into lavenders, dusty roses, and finally purple, transforming into a pulsating Prussian blue. As for the mountains, the shadows in the deep crevices and bowls turned from dove gray to gray to charcoal and finally black. The normal blue of the mountains became a cobalt blue with dark gray streaks until at last sky and mountains accepted nightfall.