"Are you sure she hasn't been back to Belinda since she left?" Matt asked.
"Maybe before she and I met she had, or maybe for a day or two here and there when she and the band were on the road."
"But nothing extended."
"I don't believe so."
"And what did you tell Grimes at the church?"
"I can't seem to remember the details of anything he and I spoke about."
"That's understandable. With the sort of concussion you suffered it could be weeks or months before you recall some recent things — or even never."
"Up at that… that cabin, he just kept hammering away at the same thing, asking who else knew about Kathy's condition besides me. He seemed especially interested in what I had told you."
"I'll bet he was."
It was Matt's turn to share what he knew, including his ill-fated trip into the mountain with Lewis and his subsequent treatment of Lewis's collapsed lung. When he finished, Nikki merely shook her head and shrugged.
"It doesn't sound like any toxic syndrome I know of," she said. "But I suppose it's possible."
"What could it be, then? Three people from the same town with such a bizarre syndrome, coupled with a nearby toxic waste dump that has a river running right through it."
"Maybe you're right," Nikki said pensively, "maybe the ground-water is contaminated from the dump, and maybe Kathy somehow did get exposed. The gun on the wall is certainly smoking. But it all still sounds a little shaky to me."
"If she really never worked at the mine, groundwater contamination's got to be it."
"I'm curious. What did the pathology of those two miners' brains show?"
"My uncle, Hal Sawyer, is the ME and actually did the posts. He reported that the lumps were standard issue neurofibromas, and that both men's brains were grossly normal, so he didn't bother doing a microscopic."
"I don't blame him," she said, "but a number of devastating central-nervous-system conditions have brains that look fairly or totally normal on gross inspection. Maybe we'll learn something from Kathy's microscopic,"
"You did one?"
"My boss, Joe Keller, did. I insisted on it. I've never done well with loose ends, even tiny ones."
"I'll be anxious to hear what he found. Maybe he can order some sort of toxicology on the tissue. I'm still certain the mine is at the bottom of all this."
"You'll get no argument from me," Nikki said, draining the last of her second cup. "Besides, who am I to question the clinical acumen of a doctor who saves his patients' lives with unrolled condoms?"
The Starlight Motel in Red Wolf, Pennsylvania, was just the sort of place Matt hoped to find. It was a mom-and-pop operation, far from any main drag. Room 212 was on the second floor in the rear, overlooking a small pond. He gathered their things and helped Nikki up the stairs. The room held the must of years of service, plus a hint of smoke. Nikki went into the bathroom and emerged wearing a pair of thin sweats and a Champion-logo T. Bracing herself against the wall, she pulled down one side of the bedcovers and crumpled onto her side, breathing heavily.
"Here, lift up your tongue," Matt said. "I want to check your temperature."
"Sleep. I need to sleep."
"I know. One more minute."
Matt slipped the digital thermometer beneath her tongue — 100.5. He brought up his stethoscope and listened to her chest and back — a few crackles suggesting some low-grade pneumonia, but nothing that needed immediate attention.
"Hop in," she said weakly. "You saved my life twice in two days. That means you don't have to sleep on the floor."
"I'll try not to kick too much." He shut off the lamp, but some light filtered through the gauzy curtains. He rolled onto his back next to her and pulled the sheet and thin blanket over both of them. "You know," he went on, "I've been trying to figure out how Kathy might have gotten exposed to the toxins from the mine. It seems possible that she might have been in the wrong place at the time of a particularly dense spill. Maybe the two other cases were there at exactly that time, too. Do you think that's possible?… Nikki?"
Her eyes were closed, her respirations raspy, but even. She had hung on as long and as hard as she could.
Matt turned onto his side, facing her. For a time, he studied her face in the dim glow, breathing in the scent of her.
"Good night, pal," he whispered finally. "I promise, next time we go to a nice quiet museum."
"Here comes another contraction." "Okay, hon, you know what to do."
"I'm okay… I'm okay, Donny… I got this one. No sweat… No sweat… I got it."
Her friends and family had told her how hard it was going to be. How painful. The nurse in charge of the birthing class had begun the class on labor and delivery by saying, "Whoever named labor had clearly been through it."
Sherrie Cleary, now in her ninth hour of serious labor, just focused her thoughts on all the doomsayers and naysayers and smiled. Sure, the contractions hurt. Sometimes they hurt like hell. But pain was just that, she told herself over and over again, nothing more, and she was still hanging in there. At twenty-six, this was her first baby, and she was most definitely not going to be her last. Her husband, Don, had gotten a nice raise at the body shop, and thanks to an uneventful pregnancy, she had been able to waitress until just three weeks ago. They were still living in the Anacostia projects, but the people from Fannie Mae were optimistic that before long they would qualify for a mortgage. Could anyone blame her for wanting more kids?
Margie Briscoe, the midwife, breezed into the birthing room, checked the baby monitor, and then came to the bedside.
"Looks great," she said. "How you doing, Sher?"
"I can handle the contractions, at least so far, but I am getting a little impatient."
"You wouldn't be normal if you weren't. Here, let me check you. Just relax and let your knees flop apart… Perfect… You're stretched out nicely, too. Because of all that preparation you did, I don't believe we're going to have to make that episiotomy cut."
"That's great."
"Not much longer, my friend. Not much longer at all."
"Wonderful."
"You still going with Donelle?"
"Donelle Elizabeth Cleary. She was going to be Donald Junior if she was a boy. Elizabeth was my grandmother's name."
"It's a beautiful name."
"She's going to be a beautiful baby. Oh, Donny, here comes another one… Goodness… Oh, my, this is a little worse than the others… No, wait… Oh, Lord, make that a lot worse… Oh!"
Margie set her hands on the volleyball-sized rock that was Sherrie's contracting uterus and watched as the monitor screen showed nothing more than the expected slowing of the fetal heart rate. One minute, two, three. Sherrie groaned and gasped continuously.
"I… don't… know… if… I… can… Wait, wait, it's getting a little better. It's going away. Oh, gosh…"
"The contraction will be right back," Margie exclaimed, "because it's happening! Little Donelle is on her way. Don, will you poke your head out the door, please, and tell Sue it's time. Sherrie, I'm just going to do a little more stretching of your skin to help your baby get on out here… Great. You've made it, Sher. You've made it all the way without any medication. Now, just continue your rapid breathing and get ready to push. Everyone set? Pediatrician on his way, Sue?… Terrific. Don, get those gloves on and get over here and take my place. I'll be right next to you. You're going to bring this daughter of yours into the world. Ready?"
"I… I think so."
"You'll do fine. Sherrie, get ready to push. Get set. Okay, here comes her head. Push, Sherrie, push!.. Here she is, Don. First her head, now I'm going to bring her little shoulder out. You got her?… Great! Now the other shoulder, and here she is. Beautiful. Just beautiful. Nine-fifteen P.M. Sue, suction, please."