illuminated pale blue walls, dark turquoise chairs, navy blue couches opposite a wall of windows looking out on a busy hospital hallway. For the first time, I noticed that the room appeared to be full of women: women staring, women sobbing quietly, women listening with frozen faces to jammy-clad doctors giving them the news.
“They unloaded him hot,” I told Lambert, just to be talking. “That means—” My throat shut.
The captain’s expression and tone did not change. “They gave him blood while they were assessing him.”
I could just imagine the ER team swarming around my husband: putting in IV’s that contained blood and glucose, taking blood pressure and pulse, hooking up the heart monitor, checking for respiration and mentation, that is, assessing how cogent the patient is.
How cogently was Tom thinking when he told me he didn’t love her?
“They do X rays,” the captain continued in that maddeningly soothing voice. “Once they know what they’re dealing with and have their surgical team together, they’ll put him right in—”
The doctor appeared, a short, slender man with gray hair, pale eyes, and a greenish tint to his skin that might have been the effect of the neon lights. He introduced himself as Dr. Larry Saslow and asked if I was Mrs. Schulz.
“Your husband’s wound,” the doctor began, “is not as bad as it could have been. The bullet missed bone, but nicked a major blood vessel. The subclavian, heard of it?” When I nodded mutely, he went on: “A vascular surgeon is working on him now. He should be out of surgery in a couple of hours.”
I wanted to hold on to this man.
I want reassurances!
But I could do nothing but nod.
“Thanks. Good. Very good,” replied Captain Lambertbefore the doctor walked away. When I continued to say nothing, Captain Lambert mumbled he’d be back in a minute. Moments later, he lumbered back with two plastic cups of coffee that looked like recycled motor oil.
“It’s better than nothing,” he said apologetically.
Mechanically, I took a sip and instantly burned my tongue. “It’s great, thanks.” My voice sounded faraway.
“This is good news, Goldy. What the doc said. They’ll keep Tom in ICU overnight. A couple of our deputies can stay to check on him every hour, if you need to go home—”
“I am
not
going home,” I said fiercely. My hand trembled and coffee slopped onto my knee. I knew I needed to make calls, but I wasn’t ready.
“Okay, okay. Stay here, then.”
I was being unreasonable and shrill, and I didn’t want to respond to the graciousness of Captain Lambert this way. Still, I didn’t know how to act. So I just sat, prayed, and drank bad coffee. Finally, I asked the captain if he knew about a phone I could use. He said the waiting-room phone was ten feet away. Did I want him to walk over there with me? No, thanks.
First I called Saint Luke’s Episcopal Church in Aspen Meadow. Into the priest’s voice mail I crisply stated our news, adding that I was at Southwest Hospital and would be for the next twenty-four hours. I asked that Tom’s name go out immediately on the prayer chain. Then I called Marla’s cell.
Please pick up Arch from Elk Park Prep and call me at the following number
, I said numbly into her messaging system.
Better yet, please bring Arch to Southwest Hospital, as I need to be with both of you. Tom’s been shot
, I explained, my voice quavering.
Then I called the Hydes. With them, I was relieved to get a machine. Briefly, I announced what had happened, and where I was.
We’ll have to postpone the luncheon untillater in the week, since the area is now a crime scene. I’m sure the donors will understand….
Finally I went back to my plastic chair. I felt numb.
“Goldy?” Captain Lambert asked. “I’ve been wondering, I’m just curious … of course, you’ll be talking to a detective later, but … what happened?”
And so I told my tale: how the window at our house had been shot out, how
“They unloaded him hot,” I told Lambert, just to be talking. “That means—” My throat shut.
The captain’s expression and tone did not change. “They gave him blood while they were assessing him.”
I could just imagine the ER team swarming around my husband: putting in IV’s that contained blood and glucose, taking blood pressure and pulse, hooking up the heart monitor, checking for respiration and mentation, that is, assessing how cogent the patient is.
How cogently was Tom thinking when he told me he didn’t love her?
“They do X rays,” the captain continued in that maddeningly soothing voice. “Once they know what they’re dealing with and have their surgical team together, they’ll put him right in—”
The doctor appeared, a short, slender man with gray hair, pale eyes, and a greenish tint to his skin that might have been the effect of the neon lights. He introduced himself as Dr. Larry Saslow and asked if I was Mrs. Schulz.
“Your husband’s wound,” the doctor began, “is not as bad as it could have been. The bullet missed bone, but nicked a major blood vessel. The subclavian, heard of it?” When I nodded mutely, he went on: “A vascular surgeon is working on him now. He should be out of surgery in a couple of hours.”
I wanted to hold on to this man.
I want reassurances!
But I could do nothing but nod.
“Thanks. Good. Very good,” replied Captain Lambertbefore the doctor walked away. When I continued to say nothing, Captain Lambert mumbled he’d be back in a minute. Moments later, he lumbered back with two plastic cups of coffee that looked like recycled motor oil.
“It’s better than nothing,” he said apologetically.
Mechanically, I took a sip and instantly burned my tongue. “It’s great, thanks.” My voice sounded faraway.
“This is good news, Goldy. What the doc said. They’ll keep Tom in ICU overnight. A couple of our deputies can stay to check on him every hour, if you need to go home—”
“I am
not
going home,” I said fiercely. My hand trembled and coffee slopped onto my knee. I knew I needed to make calls, but I wasn’t ready.
“Okay, okay. Stay here, then.”
I was being unreasonable and shrill, and I didn’t want to respond to the graciousness of Captain Lambert this way. Still, I didn’t know how to act. So I just sat, prayed, and drank bad coffee. Finally, I asked the captain if he knew about a phone I could use. He said the waiting-room phone was ten feet away. Did I want him to walk over there with me? No, thanks.
First I called Saint Luke’s Episcopal Church in Aspen Meadow. Into the priest’s voice mail I crisply stated our news, adding that I was at Southwest Hospital and would be for the next twenty-four hours. I asked that Tom’s name go out immediately on the prayer chain. Then I called Marla’s cell.
Please pick up Arch from Elk Park Prep and call me at the following number
, I said numbly into her messaging system.
Better yet, please bring Arch to Southwest Hospital, as I need to be with both of you. Tom’s been shot
, I explained, my voice quavering.
Then I called the Hydes. With them, I was relieved to get a machine. Briefly, I announced what had happened, and where I was.
We’ll have to postpone the luncheon untillater in the week, since the area is now a crime scene. I’m sure the donors will understand….
Finally I went back to my plastic chair. I felt numb.
“Goldy?” Captain Lambert asked. “I’ve been wondering, I’m just curious … of course, you’ll be talking to a detective later, but … what happened?”
And so I told my tale: how the window at our house had been shot out, how
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