Chapter 13 by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth
The afternoon waned. Al wasn't one to let an opportunity go so easily, so Beth was invited back to the Calavicci home in Stallion Springs. She followed in the rental behind Al's Testerosa. Carlie sat with her arms cross up until they parked in the driveway. Teenagers being what they are, which was selfish, she didn't like being snubbed. She settled herself in her room, however, with the door closed and her music cranked as high as she could stand it.
Beth stood in the living room, giving Al a look that said she understood what was going on. She smiled.
"How exactly is she related to you again?" she asked, slightly suspicious yet amused.
"She's my niece," Al explained again, going into the kitchen. "Want something to drink?"
"Sure, whatever you've got," she said quickly, wanting to get back to the subject of Al's niece. Beth knew Al had a bad habit of avoiding certain subjects, especially when it involved talking about himself. "So, she's your niece. But how? You don't have any siblings . . . other than Trudy." The look on her face reflected the sorrow she felt for his deep loss of his true sister. Thirty years wouldn't let her forget the important things.
Al exhaled at her persistence. That, at least, hadn't changed with Beth. She always knew when he was avoiding a subject. Opening the refrigerator, he grabbed a couple of bottles of iced tea and, going over to the couch, gave her one. "Actually, I did and didn't know it." That got a surprised look from Beth. "My mother... after she ran off, she had a daughter who in turn married and had Carlie."
Understanding dawned on her and she nodded. "I see. So - she was your half sister? What happened there? I mean, why is she with you - other than the fact that you're probably the best father figure on the planet." She flashed him a familiar grin.
"Please," Al commented with sarcasm. "I sometimes get the idea that the only reason she's even around me is because she doesn't know where else to go."
"She seems to like you," Beth reasoned, "And I know for a fact that you're crazy about her. I bet she's jealous."
"Jealous? Why would she be jealous?" Al questioned with a frown.
Beth raised an eyebrow, clearly playful but with a hint of sincerity, "I'm invading her territory. You're probably the only one who gives her the attention that she so desperately needs. Being a teenager's tough. She likes your attention and I'm taking it away."
"Not anymore than anyone else visiting the house," he countered her. "It's not like we're hermits or anything."
Beth laughed, shaking her head, "MIT, astronaut, and retired Admiral, and you can still be as dense as lead."
"Hey, I resent that!" Al feigned, sitting up straight and getting another laugh from her. He smiled. He loved her laugh. Always had.
"It's okay," she laughed, trying to be reassuring, "Lead has its uses." When the laughter dissipated, she took a sip of her iced tea, thinking. "Have I told you . . . that I missed you?"
"A few times in the last few hours," Al grinned at her. "If that's all we have to say to each other, this is going to be a short conversation."
Beth laughed again, "It's so weird. You'd think I'd have more to talk about what happened within the last thirty years but my mind refuses to conjure up a single memory. Other than working in Naval hospitals and getting my doctorate . . . then I was transfered to New Mexico."
"Ah, the life of a woman on the run," he commented with a grin.
"Or a woman with nothing to live for," she said sadly. Briefly, she debated whether or not to elaborate. She decided there wasn't a better time than the present. "I never married after Dirk, honey. I felt too ashamed. So - I did what anyone else would have done, I guess. I worked. I don't have children. I just . . . worked. In a way, I lived vicariously through my patients. When a new patient came in, it was like a breath of life and a way to start over when they recovered."
Al sighed. "There's nothing wrong with not remarrying, Beth. Trust me. Sometimes remarrying is the biggest mistake you can ever make." Getting a look of confusion from her, he sighed again. "I've had... four others. None of them worked out."
It was hard to hear. A knot twisted in her stomach. They didn't work out, and Beth knew why. "I'm sorry they didn't work out for you, Al," she said, touching his hand gently, "You're a good man. And I think you need to know that."
Al smiled gently at her, covering her hand with his. "Thanks." An awkward silence ran between them as they both stuck with their own thoughts for a long time. Al finally took a drink of his tea but found that that perhaps wasn't such a good idea when a shooting pain seared his back. There was no preventing him from dropping the bottle in his hand, spilling the contents over his carpet. As desperately as he tried to hide the pain, he knew it was written clearly on his face.
Concern for him consumed her then, before she had a chance to revert back to being a doctor. "Al! Honey, what's wrong?" She asked, moving close to him and touching his arm. Seeing how his back seized and the expression of pain on his face, she concluded, "Your back. Isn't it?"
The only thing that Al could do was nod ever so slightly to her words, gulping in air to keep himself from screaming. It wouldn't do to panic Carlie with screams. When he was finally able to speak, he swallowed tightly. "It comes and goes every now and then." The tone said much more than that, however.
"Alright, flyboy," said Beth, taking command of the situation like the doctor she was, "I'm going to help you whether you like it or not. You need to lay down and after that, I'll let you decide if you want me to examine you. Deal?"
"Doctors..." Al grumbled with a wince. "First Sam, now you... It'll go away in a minute." But the brief cry of pain said otherwise. "I liked you better when you were a nurse," he protested.
Beth tried to be as polite as possible. "I know I'm a guest in your home. And that I practically come out of thin air after so long. But I am what I am, to make a horrible reference to Popeye. I'm a doctor and you're in pain, and these are special circumstances."
He raised his eyes and looked at Beth, wanting to say something. What he got instead was proof that his pain was showing in his eyes more than he wanted. Without another word, Beth stood up, repositioned his chair and moved him with experienced ease onto the couch, laying him flat. Just being moved made Al grit his teeth against the pain.
Beth took a moment to try to soothe him, understand that that was most important. She rubbed her hand on his chest and he lay on his back. With her other hand, she smoothed his dark curls. She was smiling slightly. These were times when she worked the best - in soothing someone's pain, physical or emotional.
"Shh," she whispered, "Try to relax."
Gradually, Al found his eyes closing and his breathing becoming more rhythmic. He didn't know how but Beth had always had the ability to calm him even under the worst of circumstances. While his back still hurt, the agony was gone, leaving him feeling worn out. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Here I invite you over and you wind up working."
"I wouldn't be a doctor if I didn't like what I do for a living," she said simply. Then she did something that was unconscious, driven purely by emotion and memory of habit. She leaned forward and kissed him. The moment their lips met, she pulled back, nearly horrified. With a gasp, she said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . ."
"Shouldn't have what?" Al whispered. He gave her a gentle smile. "It was nice. I haven't had a good kiss in a long time, Dr. Calavicci." He started to raise his hand but winced slightly at the pull it caused on his back and lowered it again. "Maybe you should take a look see."
"Good idea," Beth appreciate the change in subject, jumping back into her medical doctorate. They managed to turn Al onto his side, despite the pain it caused him. Gently, she lifted the shirt in the back. There were scars, and they were old. The newest looking scar weren't like the others, which were long ridged gashes. The new scar looked like an explosion of skin along the ridge of the vertebrae.
She licked her lips, feeling her heart pound in her chest at the sight of so many nasty scars. For the moment, she forced herself to ignore her uneasiness. "You were shot." She touched the round patch of tissue, "Here."
"If you say so. I can't feel a thing," Al told her. "At least, not there."
Beth carefully explored the area with her fingertips. "Was the bullet casing removed?" She asked, noticing an odd protrusion. It was very, very slight. It could have been a misshapen vertebrae that just healed oddly - or a number of other things.
"I think so," he murmured. "To tell you the truth, I didn't really care too much what they did at the time as long as I survived it."
Beth had to smile. "Same old Bingo." She touched a place a couple inches above the old wound on his spine, expecting a reaction. When there was no reaction, she worried. "Do you feel this?" She asked, hoping her suspicions were wrong.
"No," Al told her honestly. He hesitated, thinking about the tone of her voice. "Why? What's wrong?"
"Honey, I'm sorry but," She took a moment to find the right words, soothingly running her hand along his side, "I think your paralysis is getting - higher."
Al froze at her words. "Th... That's impossible," he whispered.
"Well, no, it's not," and the moment she said the words, she regretted them. The poor man had suffered far too much, more than any human should have to suffer. The last thing he needed was more bad news. The truth was out. He needed an explanation. "Not if there's an infection. Your spinal cord is probably shutting down, slowly, but steadily."
"What does that mean for me?" he asked in a low voice. He didn't want to think what the answer could be.
"It means that if it's not taken care of soon, then the infection will get worse. The spinal cord is connected to the brain. You could die," She carefully turned him onto his back again, rubbing his tummy, "But you're lucky the break is low. The infection can be treated. Your cord will have to be cut above it though."
"How high?" he demanded.
"I'm not sure, honey," said Beth hastily, "The longer you wait, the higher it'll be. You should be in a hospital. I can make a few calls . . ." She reached for her cell phone in her purse.
Al reached out and grabbed her hand. "No hospital," he growled with a glare.
Beth gave him a look of extreme sarcasm, stemmed mostly from frustration and an increasing desire to alleviate his pain. "What do you want me to do? Operate in your kitchen?" She left the cell phone for now, but bore her gaze into Al's, "You will die. You have a niece to take care of. Think about that. Okay?"
Al exhaled loudly. "Just how high is it right now?" he demanded, not removing his hand
"You want the technical answer or the layman version?" Beth asked, frustrated.
"English version, if you don't mind," Al groused.
"The wound is in your lower back," Beth began, "It's already moved up to close to the middle of your back. Base of the thoracic, in case you were interested. And the more you wait, the more function you lose." She took a breath, trying to be reasonable and understanding, "Al. Please. If not for yourself, then for Carlie."
He swallowed tightly, closing his eyes. "I need to talk to her first," he whispered after a moment.
"Okay. Do you want me here or should I leave you two alone for a bit?"
"Better leave us alone," he told her somberly. "This is a family concern."
The mention of family, and the meaning of it that excluded her, made Beth cringe inwardly. She couldn't let it show, so she nodded and knocked on Carlie's door. The teen, who had been happily preoccupied with playing on her computer and blasting music, was somberly brought to her uncle laying on the couch.
"I have my phone. You have my number now. Call later, okay?" Beth let herself out the front door, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence in the living room. Carlie stood before her prone uncle, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"What's going on?" she asked with more concern than she wanted to let on.
Al exhaled slowly, not looking at her for a long moment. "Baby, I think you should sit."
Carlie hesitated at first. She looked around. The closest seat was Al's wheelchair, so she sat in it and leaned in close to him. "It's bad," she started, "You telling me to sit down - it's always bad news. And this time it's really bad. Whatever it is, don't hold back, okay?"
Al looked at her with affection. Gawd, she is like me, isn't she, he thought for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Yeah. It's bad. I had a ghost pain." He saw the concerned look on her face and reached to take her hand. "Beth checked me out and... well, it's probably an infection. But... I'm getting worse."
Her voice was mechanical at that point, her eyes glued on her hands. "How worse? What's worse mean? Are you gonna die or something?"
"I could," he told her plainly, getting a shocked reaction. "My paralysis is going up my spine."
"Worse," Carlie nodded, her lips pursed. She didn't have a reaction for the news other than blank shock. "So you could die. How do you not die?"
"Surgery," he told her. "Cutting my spinal cord above the infection. I'll be more paralyzed than I am now."
"So how much of a difference will it make? You already can't walk. What, you can't walk more than you can now?" She shrugged, trying to play down the news to keep her emotions in check. There was already a horribly deep pit forming in her chest that she decided she really didn't like.
Al couldn't look at her, seeing things in her eyes that he knew she didn't want to admit to. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't know what kind of a difference it will make. All I do know is that I'll be more helpless than ever." He cringed internally at that thought.
At that point, she really couldn't help it anymore. The tears slid down her cheeks. Her heart was beating so hard, it hurt her chest. Her breath shook. "Why?"
Al's heart broke seeing those tears. He opened his arms to her. "Come 'ere," he whispered to her and then wrapped his arms around her, brushing her hair. "I don't know the answer to that question, honey. But, it does mean I'll have to be in the hospital for a little while."
"Don't die," She demanded bitterly, wiping at her tears in vain, "Don't you dare die."
"I don't intend to," he said gently. "At least, not until I'm old and gray."
Carlie smirked through her tears, "You're already kinda old and grayish, you know."
"Not old or gray enough, kiddo," Al teased back. "I've still got brown in my hair and I'm not a prune yet."
Feeling that it was the right moment, Carlie gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I like you this way. Even if you were old and gray, I still like you this way. 'Cause you'll always be the same to me."
"Thanks," he said with a smile. Hesitating for only a moment, he made a decision. "I should go to the hospital now. Make sure that it doesn't get any worse than it already is." He looked towards the door. "And I believe my ex-wife is waiting in the car. She said for me to call her but... she's just outside."
She hated asking but, "Do you need help? Should I go with you?"
He looked at her lovingly. "Do you want to go with me?" he asked her gently.
Silently, she nodded.
He gently rubbed her cheek. "Go get Beth back in here and let's blow this house."
Trying to smile and be brave, the teen did as she was told. With Beth's help, Al was transfered into his chair, into the car, and driven to the hospital in Alamogordo. Beth had already called in advance, using some military clout to schedule an immediate appointment with a civilian surgeon. She was put through to the only one who could schedule a surgery the next day.
There were more tests run on him than Al cared to admit to in the first day. Mainly an MRI and blood work that confirmed infection. Dr. Mallory at Alamogordo Hospital was able to squeeze the Admiral in for surgery in the afternoon, the next day. The spinal cord was cut in the thoracic region and some of the trunk muscles Al was used to having were now gone.
Carlie was by his side in the evening, as was Beth.