Maureen clicked her tongue. "Yes, well, I understand your reticence about addressing the matter. This is not uncommon. Reporting incidents of domestic violence is very difficult for everyone," she assured them. "But the reporting must be done. It's the law, and how else can we heal, hmmmm?"
She turned suddenly to Marsha. "Think of your daughter's future and the precedent you're setting for her." Maureen gave Marsha an encouraging look as she shoved some informational pamphlets into her hand, then charged right ahead without drawing breath. "We have a DV unit from the Sheriff's Department right here in the hospital. Someone's available 24/7. That's how seriously we take family violence."
Cassie bristled angrily. This was the third person to assume that she and Mitch had been in some kind of physical fight. "You're mistaken!" She was almost ready to issue a formal protest about this kind of offensive jumping to conclusions.
"My mother was in a car accident," Marsha chimed in quickly. "I told that to the EMS people. Her bruises are from a car accident."
It was clear, however, that the EMS team with the gender identity issues hadn't bought the story. Maureen was looking pretty doubtful about it herself.
Marsha raised her voice. "Look, Daddy just returned from a business trip in Europe an hour ago. He had no idea how badly hurt Mommy was. Maybe he had a heart attack when he saw her. They're a very devoted couple." On a roll, the suddenly competent Marsha embroidered further.
Cassie stared at her in surprise. The girl was good enough to have been a lawyer. When did Marsha develop such a talent to lie?
"Oh my." Even Maureen was caught up in the story. Nervously, she shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose, not sure what to believe. "Well…"
"Yes, well indeed," Marsha said pompously. "My father is a trustee of the hospital. Is there anywhere more private we could wait?"
Maureen tilted her frizzy head to the side, adjusted her glasses. Marsha's story wasn't really working for her, but she was impressed with the performance. "This is very embarrassing. But you know, so often people lie." She forced her lips into a smile. The patient was a trustee, after all. He must give the hospital a lot of money. Maybe she was wrong.
"Yes, I know it. I'm at NYU's Ehrenkranz School of Social Work." Marsha let her know they were almost colleagues.
"Really, I went there." Lifting her eyebrows as if that changed everything, Maureen scurried off.
About an hour later, without a word of apology, she came back and led them down a glass corridor to another wing of the hospital. There, she left them in a smallish turquoise lounge furnished with tables, sofas, and a TV set that was on. It was hardly private, and by late afternoon the garbage cans were overflowing with the remains of many take-out meals in soggy containers.
Cassie sat down on a sticky brown sofa, her nose twitching with indignation and hunger.
"You want me to get you something to eat, Mom?" Marsha asked.
Cassie's stomach churned. "No, no, sweetheart. I don't want anything. Maybe later."
Further conversation was prevented by the arrival of a young woman dressed in a lavender tennis outfit. "Get your hands off me, you fucking asshole!" she yelled at the deputy sheriff who was escorting her. "I told you to let me go." She launched herself at him, pummeling him hard.
The deputy was a big guy. He had a nightstick, a gun, and a pair of plastic cuffs dangling from his belt, but none of them were any help. He tried to ward off the woman's blows and talk her down. Almost immediately some hospital staff members arrived to help him.
Mesmerized, Cassie and Marsha watched the drama. Two male nurses calmed the woman. The deputy departed quickly. After he was gone, she became enraged again and tried to punch out the TV screen. More hospital staff arrived. They surrounded and eased her into one of the chairs. Their soothing voices hummed in the air. Now this was a domestic violence case. She put her hand over her eyes.
"Are you okay, Mom?" Marsha asked solicitously.
"Oh yes, fine. Don't think about me." She felt sick and frightened, but she had to be strong for the children.
"Mom, I hope you don't mind. I called Teddy," Marsha went on.
"Oh God," Cassie groaned. All she needed was to have the two of them together at a time like this. "Promise me you won't fight." Her body wouldn't stop shivering. Mitch would be upset about this. He was a private man, a gourmet. He'd hate the take-out food odors, the drama, the idea of his adoring son seeing him like this.
Suddenly the noise level increased. Cassie opened her eyes. The small room was filled with people screaming in Italian. The smell of garlic was strong. Oh, was it strong. Cassie swooned against her daughter's shoulder.
"I'll get you something to drink," Marsha said quickly. "You need to hydrate."
"Poor Mitch. This is such bad luck. I hope he doesn't die," Cassie murmured. And she meant it. She really did.
"I'll be right back." Marsha hurried away.
Cassie hid her eyes. There was screaming all around her. She couldn't help hearing the story. Oh God. The woman who'd tried to punch out the sheriff and the TV had good reason. Her husband had been driving their two kids to pick up a pizza for dinner. That's how late it had gotten. They'd been in an accident on the Long Island Expressway. He was dead on the scene; her son, too. The woman's nine-year-old daughter was alive, but her skull had been crushed. No one wanted to tell her how bad her daughter was. Protocol seemed to demand a certain order to things. A person could absorb just so much. An old man, talking to himself, was wondering what Tony had been doing, driving on the L.I.E. Apparently it wasn't his usual route to the pizzeria.
Marsha returned with two Diet Cokes. Cassie thought she was going to explode. Teddy was coming by way of the L.I.E.
"I called Edith," Marsha informed her.
"What?" Cassie cried. Oh, now her aunt was involved. Cassie couldn't bear it.
"She's your only relative. Except for Julie. Do you want me to call Julie?"
Edith, her mother's sister, was now seventy-three and the worst pain in the neck in the entire world. Except for Cassie's sister Julie. "No!" Cassie said. Julie lived in L.A. and hadn't spoken to Cassie in years. Cassie didn't want either of them here with her.
"You need support," Marsha told her.
What was that, some word she'd learned in social work school? "I didn't tell Edith about the face-lift," Cassie admitted softly.
"Car crash," Marsha said. "I've got that covered."
"Oh God," she whispered. It seemed so trivial now.
Another hour went by. The room emptied. The Italian family hurried away. Cassie realized she had been holding her breath.
"The poor little girl was never admitted here," Marsha said suddenly. "They let her go in the emergency room."
"They let her go?"
"She died."
"Oh no." Cassie's head throbbed. That poor woman had lost everything in a second. Cassie covered her eyes to stop her tears.
Dark descended outside, and the lounge filled up again. Old women came to see their old husbands, middle-aged women came to see their mothers, young parents came to see their kids, and every single patient was hanging on by a thread. Cassie was agonized by the wait. Why was it taking so long? Teddy finally arrived at eightP.M. Why had it taken him five hours to get there from Manhattan where he lived and worked?