Patients with takotsubo experienced a weakening of the left ventricle, the heart’s main pumping chamber, usually as the result of severe emotional or physical stress-or intense fear. More tests would have to be done for Lucy to make a conclusive diagnosis. But she believed Sam’s lab results would reveal that he had been literally scared to death.
CHAPTER 20
Julie arrived at Michelle Stevenson’s home in Shrewsbury at a quarter to seven. She came by car because her motorcycle was stored in a garage, where it would remain until it could be sold. Her riding days were done.
Motorcycle riding was not the only part of Julie’s life that had gone into hiatus. She had contacted the head of the Mass Coalition for Choices and Dignity to tender her resignation from the board of advisors. She could no longer in good faith advocate for death with dignity laws in Massachusetts-or anywhere else, for that matter. Not after she went from opposing the views of Very Much Alive to partnering with them.
Did it mean she no longer believed in death with dignity laws? Or did it mean she believed in them as long as she was not personally affected? Either way, Julie could no longer serve on any of the committees, and she had canceled all her speaking engagements, with no reschedule date offered.
Today marked two weeks since Sam’s death. Aside from funeral business, it was the first time Julie had been somewhere other than her home or the hospital. In that time, she had cried some, here and there, but mostly she walked through the days still with an impenetrable malaise, still numb to those who asked how she was doing. She had taken a week off, but welcomed the distraction she got from work. It was in the quiet moments that the guilt settled in and the gravity of the loss hit hard enough to take away her breath.
If only we had taken a different route. If only…
Trevor and Paul had shown true concern for Julie’s well-being. Paul was readily and consistently available. He helped with shopping, with school, with carpooling. He showed a level of maturity to which Julie was not accustomed.
Julie always said that Trevor followed Paul’s lead. In the wake of Sam’s death, the flame that had fed her son’s need for rebellion was extinguished, at least for the moment. His focus was on school, soccer, and not adding to his mother’s distress. Julie was grateful for that, and for the many e-mails and sympathy cards she received-including one with a return address in Dorchester from a Mr. Max Hartsock, who had made full recovery from his MRSA infection. In his thoughtful note, Max included VIP passes to an upcoming Eagles game, which Julie gave to Paul to share with Trevor.
Julie rang the doorbell. She tucked the bottle of wine she’d brought, a cabernet sauvignon from Chile, under her arm and waited.
The door opened. Michelle greeted Julie with a warm embrace, drawing her into the foyer of the ranch-style home. The aromas from the kitchen were intoxicating. For the first time since Sam’s death, Julie had an appetite.
Michelle took Julie’s coat and the bottle of wine. She smiled when she read the label. “This will go perfectly with our meal,” she said. “Speaking of which, we’re having beef and ginger stir-fry. Hope that’s all right with you.”
“That’s great. I’m glad you encouraged me to come. Whatever it is, your husband’s cooking smells amazing.”
“It’ll taste amazing, too,” a friendly voice called from the kitchen. “I’ll meet you in the living room with appetizers in just a moment.”
Michelle said, “Lucky for me, Keith loves to cook. Otherwise we’d probably starve. How are you holding up?”
Julie’s expression was a bit strained. “It’s been hard,” she said. “But I’m hanging in there.”
“Well, I’m glad you made the trek out west,” Michelle said as she hung Julie’s coat in the front hall closet.
“It’s good for me to get out.”
Michelle took the bottle of wine to the kitchen while Julie went to the living room. The furniture, mostly black leather and wood pieces, was tasteful, but not extravagant. Light from the fireplace warmed the room and cast a flickering glow across the beige walls.
It was harder to be in a couple’s home than Julie had anticipated. She and Sam had talked long into the night about decorating the place they would buy together. For inspiration, Julie had gotten into Pinterest, and had pinned plenty of images to boards to keep track of her ideas. It was what couples did. That, and cook, and help with homework, and binge-watch shows on Netflix.
Julie’s home was decorated with all the flair of a Pottery Barn catalogue. She was good at medicine, but lacked imagination when it came to interior design. That had been Paul’s bailiwick when they were married, and true to form, his current place was a hip, industrial loft space with a neo-bohemian vibe. Julie had figured she and Sam would take advantage of his considerable skill with the table saw, and have lots of wood throughout their home-wherever that was going to be.
Now Julie would stay with her tried-and-true approach: practical, affordable, and good enough. She had wanted to make home design decisions with Sam, and felt guilty for envying what Michelle and her husband shared.
Julie studied the art on the walls, which went well with the rest of the room’s décor. Her attention was drawn to a black-and-white photograph of a handsome young man with a friendly smile.
“That’s Andrew,” Michelle said, returning with two glasses of wine. “That’s my son who died.”
“I’m sorry. He looks like you,” Julie said.
Michelle’s husband Keith emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of baked Brie with almonds and one of shrimp cocktail.
“There’s more where this came from,” Keith said.
Julie knew Keith from work, and he had come with Michelle to Sam’s funeral. The quick embrace they shared felt natural. Keith was a tall, handsome man, with neatly trimmed brown hair and eyes that sparkled when he flashed his brilliant smile.
An internist by training, Keith was part of a relatively new trend in health care. Hospitalists, which was Keith’s actual job title, specialized in the care of hospitalized patients. They could work on most any floor and deal with every aspect of the patient’s needs during their hospital stay. Like many hospitalists Julie knew, Keith moonlighted at other hospitals, which was a bit of a hush-hush practice, something not to be flaunted in the face of White’s powerful CEO, Roman Janowski.
Julie’s eyes went to something rather unusual hanging on the wall-two colorful beetles mounted with pins inside a wooden box frame.
Keith came over when he noticed Julie observing the specimens. “Lovely, aren’t they,” he said.
Julie grimaced slightly. “If anything with an orange body and green head landed on me, my first thought would be squish it, not frame it.”
“Actually it’s orange abdomen and green thorax, but I get your point.”
Michelle came over. “Keith’s first field of study, his first love really, was medical entomology,” she said.
“Diseases caused by insects have killed more people than bombs or bullets combined.” Keith said this with a sardonic grin.
“I was a research scientist,” he added, “traveled to exotic locales, collected specimens, tried to understand how these creatures potentially could harm or transmit diseases to humans.”
“What changed your career trajectory?”
“Money,” Keith said blandly. “Research just doesn’t pay like traditional medicine. I had a son and one on the way. I dropped out of research, went to medical school, and became a doc. These lovelies, Calodema regale blairi, the male being the smaller of the pair, are somewhat rare and a nice little reminder of that time in my life.”