"Oh, come on, Mom, don't say that."
The head nurse rushed out of the monitoring station, calling two orderlies over. The three of them pushed Marsha and Teddy out of the way. Cassie was sobbing again. Down the corridor, sailing in like a massive ship's prow, was Aunt Edith.
"Oh my God, am I too late?" Edith screamed. She was dressed in a black and gold caftan with large jet beads bouncing around the neck. In the crook of her arm she carried a large round black patent leather pocketbook from the fifties that banged against her knees as she hurried along. Up to her elbows were long black cotton evening gloves, also from the postwar period. She was dressed to the nines to watch her hated nephew-in-law meet his maker.
"You okay, Mrs. Sales?" the nurse asked Cassie.
"Oh no." Cassie groaned at the sight of her aunt hurrying toward them.
"Take a minute. It's fine. How about some water?"
Cassie shook her head. No water. She could see Aunt Edith running toward her, sliding on the polished floor. She could see Aunt Edith slipping, going down like an elephant, breaking an arm and shattering a hip. She could see her moving in and needing many fat-filled meals a day brought to her on trays. She could see herself wheeling Edith around in a wheelchair and Edith never leaving the premises for the rest of her life. She could see the two of them having their little treats-a cheap cruise to the Bahamas, a fancy dinner out at Bryant and Cooper. Two old women trying to enjoy themselves on a tiny budget.
"Can you sit up?" The head nurse was talking to her.
Cassie clutched her side, deep in her fantasy of a disastrous future and a terrible death of her own. She couldn't say, "Quick, catch my aunt, she's going to fall." Couldn't say a word.
The nurse and two orderlies had her out of her fetal position and sitting up before she knew it. They quieted her in seconds and got her to her feet in a way that indicated they'd done this kind of thing a thousand times before.
Aunt Edith covered the distance on the slippery floor without mishap. She enveloped Cassie in a massive hug, then gave her the kind of big, smacking wet kisses on the cheek that over the decades had always made Cassie and Mitch and the kids cringe whenever she approached.
"My condolences, sweetheart," she said, wetting Cassie's face some more like some big, overfriendly dog that wouldn't get off one's lap.
Marsha put an arm around her mother's shoulder and handed over a package of tissues.
"No, no, don't-" turn off that machine, Cassie tried to say.
"It's okay, he's not alone. The doctor is with him," the nurse interrupted her.
"Dr. Wellfleet?" Marsha asked hopefully, putting a hand to her hair.
"No, Dr. Cohen."
"Mark?" Cassie was stunned. "Mark is in there?" Mark, who just ordered tests and read results and never did a single thing that was wet or doctorly. Mark was in there, participating in an actual procedure. A termination of life? Inconceivable.
"Yes. They're working on your husband now."
"What! No, no." It was then that Cassie realized it wasn't done. It wasn't too late. They were killing her husband now. They were doing it now. "I have to talk to him. I need to go in!" she cried. "Wait!"
"Just one moment, Mrs. Sales. They're working on him."
"You don't understand. I changed my mind."
"Wait a second, honey, let them get him cleaned up."
"No, no."
"Please, I must insist."
Cassie wouldn't be stopped. She pushed past them and opened the door of the room. Then she couldn't grasp what she was seeing.
"Don't come in, please," Mark said without turning around.
Mark, another doctor in a white coat, and two nurses were standing around Mitch's bed. They were watching him intently. In a room that used to be filled with many sounds, it was now eerily quiet. But they hadn't pulled up the sheet.
Cassie stepped closer and almost fell down again when she realized what had happened. The bed was tilted up. Mitch was in a sitting position. The tubes were out of his nose and throat. There was vomit on his hospital gown. A crooked grin on his face. He was very much alive and breathing on his own. When Cassie entered the circle around him, one of Mitch's eyes made a distinct motion. It was one that she'd begged for that very first day but hadn't seen before. She was horrified to see it now. Mitch winked at her.
CHAPTER 40
ON SATURDAY MORNING, Mitch's condition was downgraded to stable, and he was move d to a private room. Monday was the designated holiday, so Tuesday the hospital arranged for him to be transported to a rehab facility. Since Mitch's insurance wouldn't cover the $5,000-a-day, round-the-clock therapy and care that he needed, the rehab facility wouldn't accept him without an advance payment of $150,000 to cover his first month's stay.
Mark Cohen was elated. He was in a state of absolute ecstasy. He personally had saved one of his best friends. Only twice in his thirty-five years as an internist had he seen a brain-dead patient recover after spending a month on a respirator. He was God, walking on air. Everybody was talking about his miracle, for he had been at Mitch's side when the respirator was turned off. Three clicks to turn the machine off and the room was silent except for one snuffling young nurse who always cried when someone died-didn't matter who it was. Since Mitch's family wasn't there, Mark was the one to hold his hand and whisper into his ear.
"I'm with you, buddy. You take care now."
Mitch's hand had slipped out of Mark's, and Mark had let him go. But when Mitch's death rattle quickly turned into the sound of someone gagging on his own vomit, Mark and the attending physician removed the tubes from the patient's nose and mouth. Mitch's chest heaved. He coughed a few times. They cleared his throat of vomit and mucus. After a few seconds he began breathing on his own, and they all cheered.
Cassie, on the other hand, went into free fall. Mitch had told her time and again throughout their marriage that she would never have to worry about money, and for the last month all she had done was worry about money. Money, money, money. It was enough to make a person crazy. Friday she had even been prepared to kill for it. But since Mitch survived the attempt on his life, the odyssey wasn't over. Money was still the central issue of her life.
There was $3,000 in Mitch's account, and about the same amount in hers. Whatever Cassie said and did, she could not shake his doctor's deep belief that Mitch was a very rich man. Mark's fees for managing the case were in excess of $30,000. She shuddered to think what Mark would charge for raising Mitch from the dead. Not only that, the Sales family insurance covered only 80 percent of the hospital bills, which in Mitch's case were especially excessive because they'd given him the best of everything.
Cassie called Parker Higgins to ask for a power of attorney to access Mitch's assets so she could pay the ridiculous amount the rehab facility demanded before they would take him. Parker suggested she bring Mitch home for a few days while he worked on it. Cassie suspected that Mona was behind his hesitation to give her the power to decide how the case should be handled. What if Mitch recovered only partially, lived for a long time, and Cassie refused to relinquish the control forever? Cassie knew that the spineless Parker was buying time, waiting to see which way the wind blew.