Chapter 2 - The Red Horizon
The dashlightsof my oldSubaruglowedan amberwarningas the engineturnedoverwitha sick,metallicgroan.Throughtherearviewmirror,the porticof HollisManorhungfrozenlikea stageplay’sbackdrop.The frontdoorwasstillwideopen,yellowlightbleedingout ontothe wetgravel,andI couldseeDanielstandingbeneaththe fanlight,holdinghis phoneagainsthis ear,hissuitjacketflappingin the wind.Behindhim,framedin the doorwaylikea portraitof stolenproperty,stoodJade,hertallcoatdrapedoverhertightshoulders,armsfoldedtightlyacrossherribs.
Anotherviciouscrampseizedmy spine,radiatingdownmy sacrumuntilmy toescrampedinsidemy dampwoolsocks.Thirty-twoweeks.A childbornat thirty-twoweekscouldbreathe,usually,butthe lungsremainedfragile,the surfactantthin,the littleeyessubjectto bleedingretinasunderartificialoxygen.As an ERnurse,I hadchartedtheseinfants;I hadheldthe bag-valveswhilethe neonatologistsslidtubesno thickerthancoffee-stirrersdowntheirtranslucentthroats.Now,my owndaughterwasdriftingtowardthat razor’sedgebecausemy heartcouldno longerstaycalminsideits bones.
“Notyet,”I whisperedto the steeringwheel,shiftinginto reversethroughtearsso heavythe graveldriveturnedinto a riverof liquidpearl.“Notyet,littleone.Wait forthe hospital.”
Therouteto NorthernWestchesterHospitalwassevenmilesof winding,unlitcountrylanesflankedby dry-stonewallsandancienthemlocks.The sleethadturnedto a dense,slushyrainthat clatteredviolentlyagainstthe windshield.Everyturnsentwavesof nauseathroughmy chest.Betweencontractions,whichnowslammedintomy hipsat intervalsbarelyfourminutesapart,the silenceinsidethe cabinwasfilledwiththe rhythmicthump-thumpof the wornwipers.
My mindkeptdriftingto Harold.
HaroldHollisdidnotbelongin the samefamilytreeas Daniel.He wasa manwhosehandswerepermanentlystainedwithwalnutstainandenginegrease,a builderwhohadmeasuredhis successnotby squarefootagesoldto commuterfinanciers,butby the truenessof his plumblevelsandthe tightnessof his mortisejoints.Whencancerhadsettledinto his marrowfouryearsago,it wasDanielwhowashardestto reach.Danielwashavinglunchwithventurecapitalistsat the UnionLeagueClub;Danielwasclosinga parcelsyndicationin DutchessCounty;Danielwas'too sensitive’to watchhis fatherwither.
So I hadsat there.Nightafternight,in theroomabove the carriagehousewhereHaroldkeptthe draftingboardshe refusedto moveto the mainresidence,I changedhis morphinepatches,spongedhis neckwithpeppermintwater,andlistenedto himtalkaboutthe timberhe hadhewnwithhis ownfatherto buildthe barnin 1954.
“You’regoodtimber,Margaret,”the oldmanhadwhisperedoneJanuarynight,hisskinparchment-thinoverhischeekbones,hishandclutchingmineuntilit feltlikea bird’sclaw.“Dandieslikemy boy...they’revaneer.Onemillimeterof walnutgluedovercheapchipboard.Youputenoughweightonit,it bows.Youkeepyoureyesclearonthisland.It doesn'tbelongto the onequoterit.It belongsto the onewhokeepsit warm.”
At the time,I thoughtit wastheramblingof an oldmanfacingtheradiationdelirium.Now,withthe paintearingmy pelvisapart,thosewordsrattledaroundmy headwiththe persistencyof a tollingbell.
I hit the hillleadingto Route117.The Subaruskiddedslightlyonablack-iceslick,the stabilitycontrolchatteringunderneathmy floorboard.I grippedthe wheeluntilthe tendonsin myforearmsturnedwhite.A waveof dizzyingnausearosein my throat;the contractionpeakedwithsuchsavageforceI hadto biteintomy lowerlipuntilthe ironflavorof bloodfloodedmy mouthto stopfromscreaming.
Headlightssuddenlyleapedintomy rearviewmirror.A large,aggressivegrille—the highbeamsof Daniel’sblackBMWX5.
He washonking.The muffledwailof the horncut throughthe sloshingrain.He pulledalongsideme onthe narrowdouble-yellowstrip,his passengerwindowbuzzingdown.I glancedsideways.Danielwasleaningoverthe centerconsole,screamingthroughthe rain-sweptgap,gesturingfuriouslyfor me to pullontothe softshoulder.Behindhim,Jade’sfaceremaineda pale,frightenedovalin the dashboard’sbluelight.
He didn'twantme to die.Danielwasn’ta murderer.He wassomethingfarworse:a manwhocouldnotendurethe aestheticmessinessof an uncontrolledexit.He wantedme in his car,undercare,underhis management,wherehe couldshapethe narrativebeforethe doctorstookthe history.He wantedto tellthe ERtriagepersonnelthat his pregnantwifehadexperiencedan ‘unfortunatereaction’to a minorfamilydisagreement.
I didn'tlookat himagain.I lockedmy eyestowardthe blackasphalt,slappedthe transmissionleverinto lowergear,andlet the all-wheeldrivetearup the asphaltcrest.His BMWsurged,tryingto boxme in,butI knewthe turnat CrotonLakeRoadbetterthanhe did.I tappedthe brake,let his heavierchassisovershootthe slickcurve,anddiveddowninto the woodeddescenttowardMountKisco.
By the timehis headlightscaughtupagain,the neonredlettersof the EmergencyDepartmentwerereflectingin the puddlepoolsof the hospitalapproach.
I didn'tparkin the visitorlots.I slammedthe carstraightintothe heatedambulancebay,knockingasidean emptystretcherstagingcone,andcut the ignition.My doorflewopenbeforeI couldreachfor the latch.
“Margaret?”
It wasDr.Alvarez,oneof the night-shiftOBresidentsI hadsharedcoldcoffeewithin the staffloungedozensof times.“Jesus,Margaret,is that you?Whatareyoudoingdriving?”
“Membranesruptured,”I managedto gasp,fallingout of the woolseatintohissupportingarms.The coldrainwashedovermy shoulders,minglingwiththe feveredgreaseof the kitchen.“Thirty-twoweeks.Contractionsninetysecondsapart.Fetalheartbeatwasirregularat home...I feltherdrop.”
“Get agurneyout here!”Alvarezroaredtowardthe glassdoors.“Get L&Don the hornnow!Prepareterbutalineandbetamethasone!Move!”
As theyliftedmy heavy,unresponsivelowerhalfontothe vinylgurney,Daniel’scarroaredintothe ambulanceentrance,itstiressteamingon the heatedconcrete.He leapedfromthe driver’sseat,his navycoataroundhisshoulders,his facewhiteas bone.
“That’smy wife!”he yelled,lungingpastthe securityguardwhoimmediatelyinterceptedhim.“Maggie!Maggie,I’mrightbehindyou!”
I lookedat Alvarez.My handcaughtthe frontof his scrubs.“Alvarez,”I chokedout,the shadowsof the ceilinglightsspinningabovemy head.“Don't...don'tlet himin the deliveryroom.He isnotmy advocate.Writeit down.Refusehim.”
May you like
Alvarezlookedfrommy bleedinglipdownat the bluebandagesecuringmy wrist,thenupto the furious,well-tailoredmanbeingheldat the glasspartitions.“Yougot it,Maggie.Nobodycomesthroughthosedoorsexceptthe surgicalteam.”
The pneumaticdoorsswunghissingbehindus,cuttingDaniel’svoiceoff in midsyllable.
