A Friend in Need III: Crash and Burn
By Somogyi
Chapter 5
As Dr. Foxx left the room, she heard voices coming from the nurse's station down the hall. One of them was raised, and sounded angry. She decided to go see who was causing the commotion.
As she drew closer, she saw a couple talking to Marisa. Her attention was first caught by the woman: tall and slender, she must have been about six feet in height. What was most striking, though, was her long white hair-a stark contrast to her dark skin. She could not be more than thirty, so it was not as though she had grayed prematurely. Surely that shade could not be natural?
The dark-haired man who stood next to her was only a few inches taller. There was no mistaking the trademark red sunglasses. Taking no notice of her approach, he continued to harass the nurse. "How many times do I have to tell you? My wife is a patient here. Jean Summers. Her physician, Dr. Philips, called me and said to have her paged as soon as I arrived. I don't see what's so difficult to-"
"Excuse me," Dr. Foxx interrupted. "Mr. Summers? Scott Summers?"
The couple turned to look at her.
"Yes," Scott said, taking a step closer. "Are you Dr. Philips?"
"No, actually, I'm Dr. Foxx-"
"Good for you," he snapped, once more approaching the counter and addressing Marisa. "Can you please just get on the goddammed phone and page-"
"Scott!" the white-haired woman snapped. She turned to Dr. Foxx. "I apologize for my friend. He is quite distraught right now with worry for his wife."
"I understand," the doctor said, unable to keep from staring at the woman's bright blue eyes. She had the most unusual features, which when put together were quite beautiful. Coupled with her bearing and her manner of speech, she seemed almost . . . regal.
Dr. Foxx walked behind the nurse's station. "Marisa, what seems to be the problem here?"
"Well, I was on the phone with Clin Path, had the business office on hold, and was trying to complete some paperwork when this gentleman started shouting at me," the nurse replied, looking rather frazzled, as she pointed the phone receiver at Scott to emphasize her point.
"Well, why don't you finish taking the calls, and I'll page Dr. Philips, okay?"
"Thanks, Dr. Foxx."
"No problem, Marisa." Checking a listing on the counter, she picked up another phone, dialed a beeper number, and punched in the extension for the nurse's station followed by the pound key before hanging up.
"Thank you, Doctor," the white-haired woman said. "We appreciate your assistance."
"No problem. I-" Just then, the phone rang. Holding up a finger indicating that they should wait a minute, Dr. Foxx picked up the receiver. "Burn Unit Nurse's Station, Dr. Foxx speaking. . . . Hey, Heidi. . . . Yeah, I beeped you. Mr. Summers is here to see his wife. . . . Uh huh. . . . Okay, no prob. See you soon." She hung up the phone. "Dr. Philips said she'll be right up."
"Thank you," Scott said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude." He looked from the doctor to Marisa repentantly before lowering his gaze. "I'm not usually like this. . . ."
"We all say things we don't mean when we're upset. Come, let me show you to the lounge. You'll be more comfortable there when Dr. Philips comes to speak with you." She stepped out from behind the counter and began to lead them down the hallway.
"What did you say your name was?" Scott asked.
"Ashley Foxx. I don't believe we've met," she said, holding out her hand to the other woman.
"Ororo Monroe," she replied, taking the proffered hand. "I am a family friend of Jean and Scott's."
Scott looked at the doctor. "I don't mean to be rude again, Doctor, but do I know you?" Scott asked her as he and Ororo followed her. "You look very familiar."
"As a matter of fact, we met several months ago. I was the ER doctor who treated your foster daughter, Jubilee."
Ororo's eyes widened. "That is quite a memory you have, Doctor."
"I never forget a face," she explained as she opened the door to the lounge and ushered them inside. "How is Jubilee doing?"
"Great," Scott said. "She's back at school now." There was no mistaking how Scott's countenance brightened momentarily at the mention of the girl.
"That's wonderful."
"If you do not mind my asking, Dr. Foxx," Ororo began as she took a seat on the couch, "if you are an ER doctor, then what are you doing in the Burn Unit? Did you treat Jean when she was first brought in?" She looked at Scott, and beckoned for him to sit down beside her. Reluctantly, he did so.
"No, I didn't treat Jean," she replied, sitting in an overstuffed chair caddy-corner to the couch. "I have, however, been treating another friend of yours, Robert Drake."
"Is he all right?" Scott asked. "Was he burned as well? Dr. Philips didn't mention anything. . . ."
"No, he was not burned. He suffered a concussion, he's got broken ribs, and he had some fluid in his lungs, which we've since treated. We're going to keep him overnight for observation, but he should be able to be released tomorrow at his doctor's discretion."
"We came straight up here and did not check the ER," Ororo explained. "Can we see him?"
"Actually, he's just down the hall, sitting with Jean."
"What?" Scott was immediately on his feet. "Then why the hell can't I see her?" He started heading for the door. "What room is she in?"
"Mr. Summers, I think it best if you wait for Dr. Philips-"
"Like hell I will!" He opened the door.
"Scott, please hear her out," Ororo implored. "Surely there is a reason Dr. Philips wants to speak to us first before we visit Jean."
Scott stopped with his hand on the door handle.
"Ms. Monroe is right," Dr. Foxx said. "Your wife's injuries are extensive, Mr. Summers. There is the potential for many serious complications. As I've already advised Mr. Drake, the state she is in is going to come as quite a shock. I think it best that Dr. Philips get you up to speed and answer any questions you might have before you see her. I don't say this to be cruel or unsympathetic; I just know that once you walk in that room, anything she says to you is going to go in one ear and out the other. Believe me, it's best this way."
Slowly, Scott nodded. "All right." Reluctantly, he made his way back to the couch, reclaimed his seat beside Ororo. She placed an encouraging hand over his, and he held onto it tightly.
Dr. Foxx sighed inwardly when Scott conceded. She had a feeling it was not her words that had convinced him so much as the reassuring presence of his friend. Nonetheless, she was glad that he had not decided to press the issue and make a scene. She had a good feeling that the flashes of anger she had seen just now and earlier at the nurse's station were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to his temper. In her years working in the ER, she had witnessed the gamut of reactions from people when they learned that their loved ones were hurt: everything from tears and wailing, keening and fainting, to anger and denial, and cold indifference bred by shock. Right now, she pegged Scott as going one of two ways: either he was going to give in to the fury, venting his pain and hurt under the guise of rage, or he was going to retreat into himself, presenting a cool, stoic façade. While the latter might be preferred for the sakes of friends, family, and hospital staff, Dr. Foxx had long since learned that sometimes expressing such volatile emotions were better for the griever's long-term emotional well-being. Only time would tell how Scott ultimately reacted.
Just then the door swung open, and a pretty brunette woman dressed in a lab coat walked into the room. She was slight-medium height, quite slender, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. "Hi there," she said, approaching the couch. "I'm Dr. Philips. You must be Mr. Summers," she said, extending her hand.
"Doctor," Scott said, rising to shake her hand.
"Ororo Monroe," his companion said as she, too, shook Dr. Philips' hand. "A family friend."
"Nice to meet you both. Hey, Ashley, thanks for taking care of these folks for me."
"My pleasure, Heidi," Dr. Foxx said, rising. "I'm going to go check on Bobby, bring him back downstairs."
"Can he stop by here first?" Ororo asked. "So we can see him?"
"All right. We'll be back shortly."
"Shall we wait for you?" Dr. Philips asked, taking the seat Dr. Foxx just vacated.
"No, Heidi, you go ahead. I've already briefed him." Seeing her colleague nod, Dr. Foxx quietly took her leave. She had just passed the nurse's station when she found Bobby wheeling himself toward her.
"Where'd you disappear to?" Bobby asked. "What happened to 'I'll be right outside'?"
"Sorry, Drake. Your friends arrived, and I needed to help them contact Jean's doctor."
"Scotty's here? Who's with him?"
"Ms. Monroe."
"'Roro? Thank God." He sighed. "She's just what Scott needs-someone who has a calming effect on him."
Dr. Foxx nodded. She could definitely see Ororo being a peaceful influence when she herself was so serene. "They've asked that you join them in the lounge." She stepped behind the wheelchair and began to move him toward the waiting area.
"Doc, if I tell you something that I know is gonna sound totally crazy, you promise not to laugh in my face?"
"I can try."
He took a deep breath. "It's not her."
"What do you mean?"
"That woman in there-it's not her. It's not Jeanie."
She stopped pushing. "What the hell do you mean it's not her?"
"I- I can't explain it. It's more a gut feeling than anything else. All I know is, it's not Jeanie."
She walked around to the front of the wheelchair and knelt down in front of him so that she could be on eye-level. "Drake, you have to swear to me that when we go in there, you're not going to mention a word of this crazy notion of yours. This is going to be hard enough for Scott to deal with without you putting insane notions in his head."
"Doc, I'm not making this up. As I sat there, looking at her, it hit me. That woman did not look like Jean."
"Didn't look like her? For God's sake, Drake, she's wrapped in bandages from head to toe! How the hell can you tell what she looks like!"
"It's hard to explain. For one thing, her . . . proportions . . . aren't right."
"Her proportions? What, she's too short? Her head's too big for her body?"
"No, her . . . proportions are off," Bobby reiterated, holding his hands palm-up, fingers slightly bent, in front of him.
Dr. Foxx stared at him, perplexed, for several long moments before realization hit. "For your information, things settle when a woman is laying down," she muttered, rolling her eyes heavenward and getting to her feet. Shaking her head, she turned her back on him.
"Doc, listen to me-please!"
She turned back around and crossed her arms. "Give me one good reason."
"Because if I'm right, and that's some other woman laying in that hospital bed in there, then the real Jeanie is missing, and we have no idea where she is." He could see her face soften-if only a tad. "Plus, this poor woman's family doesn't know what's happened to her. If she were your friend, your sister, wouldn't you want to know?"
Dr. Foxx shook her head. "I can't believe I'm actually standing here, listening to this nonsense!"
"I have an idea. C'mon, Doc, I can prove it to you."
"Prove it? How? Both hands were burned, so it's not as though she has fingerprints."
"Push me back in there, and I'll show you."
"Don't you think we should just wait until Scott goes in there? Surely the man will be able to tell if it's his own wife."
"He's going to be too overcome with grief to approach this logically. C'mon, humor me."
"Humor you? What the hell do you think I've been doing for the past five minutes?"
He looked up at her, his expression serious, his eyes determined. "Doc, if I can spare Scott the pain of believing that that poor, dying woman is his wife-a woman he loves more than life itself-then so help me, I'm going to do everything in my power to make it so. With or without your help."
A memory flashed before her eyes, then: of a young couple-Jean and Scott-sitting in the Emergency Room waiting area, hands clasped tightly, whispering words of encouragement to one another, as she approached them with news of their foster daughter. The way they had sat by the girl's bedside, fingers entwined, so comfortable with one another it seemed as though they could tell what the other was thinking. The strength of their love and their commitment to one another was completely obvious, even to a perfect stranger such as herself.
Bobby's idea seemed ludicrous. How the hell could she even consider believing it? But at the same time, what did she have to lose? Look at all Scott-and Ororo, and Bobby, and even young Jubilee-had to gain if he were right. That young woman had recently gained a mother, and was about to lose her; what if there was a chance that this did not have to be so?
"What's it gonna be, Doc?"
She licked her lips. "All right, I'll help you. God help me."
"Thanks, Doc. I knew I could count on you."
"Oh?" she asked, taking the handles of the wheelchair and turning him around. "How did you know that?"
"Head and Shoulders, remember? Practical. Sensible. Dependable."
"This is hardly sensible behavior," she muttered, once again opening the door to Jean's room and pushing him inside. "So, how are you going to prove this isn't her?"
"Well, we already covered that her fingerprints are gone. I don't suppose we have her jewelry-like her wedding band?"
"Destroyed in the fire."
"Hmm."
"Drake, I thought you said you had an idea."
"I do, it's just I was hoping maybe there was an easier way to prove it."
She crossed her arms. "You're stalling."
"No, I'm not. Were her feet burned?"
"Her feet?"
"More specifically, her toes?"
Dr. Foxx's brow furrowed. "Where the hell are you going with this?"
"I was remembering a conversation I had with Jeanie earlier today. One of our more inane ones." He smiled at the memory, and Dr. Foxx stopped scowling. "She was helping me find a birthday gift for my mom, since I have no clue when it comes to such matters. We were schmoozing in a department store, found ourselves at a make-up counter. I made a remark about the colors all the stuff comes in-how off-the-wall some of them were. We looked at some almost black lipstick, some blue eye shadow out of the sixties, then I pointed out this nail polish that was bright green. Well, maybe not bright green-not chartreuse or anything like that. More like a dark green. Forest green."
"Drake, is there a point to your rambling?"
He ignored her comment. "So I made a snide remark about that green polish." He quickly related the rest of his conversation with Jean. "And lo and behold, her toenails were painted mint green."
Dr. Foxx cocked her head to one side. "And what the hell does this have to do with the price of tea in China?"
"Nothing, unless you like imported green tea."
"Drake, why the hell have I been wasting my time with you?"
"Doc, help me pull down the blanket. I want to look at this woman's toes."
She rolled her eyes. "This isn't going to prove anything, you know."
"Yes, it will. I'm telling you, this morning, Jeanie's toes were polished green. If this woman's toes aren't, then she can't be Jeanie."
She opened her mouth to offer protest-but could not think of a single objection. She had to admit, it was decent logic. Insanely come by, but a logical conclusion all the same.
"All right, all right. Let me go around to the other side." She made her way to the far side of the bed, untucked the linen, and grasped one end of the blanket while Bobby picked up the end nearest him. Together, they pulled the covers back, unveiling a pair of bare, unburned feet.
At that moment, the door opened, and in walked Dr. Philips, followed closely by Scott and Ororo. Dr. Philips stopped speaking in mid-sentence as she caught sight of Bobby and Dr. Foxx.
"Robert?" Ororo asked, walking closer. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Take a look at this-all of you," Bobby said, calling them over.
"At Jean's feet?" Scott asked in confusion, nonetheless approaching.
"Dr. Foxx, how hard did Robert hit his head?" Ororo asked as she, too, walked over to the bedside.
"More importantly, have you been sampling some of his drugs?" Dr. Philips added, joining the group of onlookers.
"Take a look at that," Bobby said, pointing.
"What are we looking at?" Scott wondered.
"Her toes," Dr. Foxx said. "More specifically, her toenails."
"What about them?" Dr. Philips asked.
"What do you see?"
"Ashley, I don't understand. . . ."
"Heidi, describe to me what you see."
"I see ten perfectly normal toenails."
"What color are they?" Dr. Foxx asked.
Dr. Philips looked at Dr. Foxx as though she had suddenly grown a second head. "Normal toenail color-pink with white edges."
"We can all see the obvious," Ororo said. "But what does this mean?"
"It's quite simple, really," Bobby told them, his face erupting into an enormous grin. "This isn't Jeanie."
End of Chapter 5