The Tides of Truth Collection by Robert Whitlow

Author:Robert Whitlow [Whitlow, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2017-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

18

“NOT NECESSARILY,” THE WOMAN REPLIED, GIVING ME A STRANGE look. “It means she hasn’t been admitted. She may be with one of the triage nurses.”

“How can I find out?”

The woman continued searching.

“Here she is. It just popped up on the screen. She’s being processed into ICU.”

“Which floor?”

She told me and pointed down a hallway that led to the elevators. I took several steps before looking back to see if Vince was following.

“Sorry,” I said. “I feel responsible.”

“Responsible for what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that it happened while I was at the house.”

“Which is why you’re there. At least you know she’s alive. What would have happened if you hadn’t been there to call 911?”

Vince’s words always had a calming effect on me. We found the waiting room for the ICU. The atmosphere of the room was a sharp contrast to the frantic activity in the ER. About ten people were doing what the sign over the door declared—waiting. Mrs. Bartlett wasn’t among them.

“Her daughter should have been here by now,” I said.

As soon as the words left my lips, Mrs. Bartlett and her husband, Ken, came into the room from the patient area. I barely recognized her without her makeup. She saw me and slightly raised her hand. I came over to her.

“How is she?” I asked anxiously.

“Stable for the moment,” Mrs. Bartlett replied. “They’ll have to run tests to determine the extent of the damage.”

I introduced them to Vince.

“Mother mentioned you the other day,” Mrs. Bartlett said to Vince. “Are you the one who brought by the flowers she put in the blue parlor?”

“Yes.”

“Mother loves fresh flowers.”

“I’m sorry I was so disorganized when I talked to you on the phone,” I said.

“I was disappointed,” Mrs. Bartlett replied, staring directly into my eyes. “I thought you had more experience dealing with medical emergencies.”

I couldn’t remember ever telling her that I had emergency medical experience.

“She called 911,” her husband said.

“After I told her to do it,” Mrs. Bartlett answered crisply. “You can spend the night at the house, but I’ll review the situation tomorrow. If Mother has an extended stay in the hospital or goes to a nursing home, there won’t be any need for you to be there.”

My head jerked back. I thought about myself, but also Mrs. Fairmont’s Chihuahua.

“Uh, what about Flip?”

“That dog has controlled Mother’s life. He won’t do the same to mine.”

I didn’t get a chance to ask about me. Mrs. Bartlett walked past and left the room. Her husband trailed after her.

“Wow,” Vince said. “Did she just kick you out?”

“I think so.”

“Why is she so upset with you?”

I slumped down in the nearest chair and told him. I left out some of the specific words Mrs. Bartlett used when yelling at me over the phone.

“What am I going to do?”

Vince’s answer was as focused as one of his legal memos at work.

“Find another place to live,” he said. “There’s a vacancy in my com­plex. Yesterday I saw a sign on the bulletin board in the laundry room that a student at the college wants to sublease his apartment for the rest of the summer.

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