Thursday, March 13, 1980

My hands trembled as I reached for my purse then closed my locker. I sank down onto the changing bench and took a shaky breath. A light hand stroked my shoulders and I turned to see Hannah Larson sympathetically smiling down at me.

"Rough day, wasn't it?"

I fought to keep my wry chuckle from turning into a sob. "You can say that again."

Hannah sat down next to me and patted my knee. "You don't look so good, Beth. You okay?"

Rubbing my nose with a shaking hand, I shrugged as I said, "I'll be fine. I just…I just need to go home."

"Well, don't let me keep you. Go home and take a good long nap. Try and get your mind off it."

"Wish I could. I've got to pick up my kids from nursery school."

She shook her head. "No, you don't. Call your husband and ask him to. You go home and take a nap."

"I don't know."

"I do." Hannah grabbed my shoulders and urged me to my feet, steering me to the phone on the wall. "Call him. You're not going to be any good to us tomorrow otherwise, and God knows we need you."

"Because I'm the only one she knows," I sighed.

"Not just because of that, but…yeah." She lifted the receiver and handed it to me.

Knowing she was right, I dialed Al's number with my quivering index finger. He answered after two rings.

"Calavicci."

"Hi, hon."

"Hey, babe. What's up?"

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"What is it?"

I took a deep breath. "Do you think you could pick up the girls this evening?"

He was instantly attentive. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing."

"Beth..." His tone was warning that he wouldn't brook non-answers.

"Okay…it's been a hard day. I'll tell you about it tonight, but I-I can't right now. I just…" I sniffed and fought to keep my composure. "I just need a nap and I'll be fine."

Now Al's tone was concerned and full of caring. "Oh, honey." He stopped for a second and he must have put his hand over the mouthpiece to speak to someone in his office because everything was muffled. After a moment, he came back. "I've got some things to finish up here first, but I'll take care of the girls; you just go home and rest. And don't worry about dinner, either."

"Thanks, Al. I love you."

"I love you, too. See you tonight."

"Bye."

Hannah beamed triumphantly at me when I hung up the phone. "There. All taken care of." She eyed me appraisingly. "You know, I don't know that you should be driving."

"I'm fine, Hannah."

"Hold out your hand."

I let out an annoyed sigh and started for my purse, but Hannah moved to block me. "Hold out your hand," she repeated.

Knowing she'd never let me pass if I didn't comply, I held my hand out in front of me. It was steady, but I'd never let her know I was as surprised as she was.

"Were you planning on driving me home?"

"If I had to," responded Hannah. "Geoff's picking me up so he could've followed me." She watched me pick up my purse and dig inside it for my keys. "You be careful."

"I will." I waved with more cheer than I felt, but wasn't fooling her. "See you tomorrow."

Hannah nodded soberly as I left. I made my way to the parking garage and found my car. When I sank into the driver's seat, I started the car and drove home on autopilot, only aware enough of the cars around me to avoid an accident. With no idea of how long it had taken, I pulled into our driveway and cut the engine.

Robotically, not wanting to let my mind go where it willed, I got out of the car and walked up the drive to the front door, letting myself in. Inside, I closed the door and leaned heavily against it. On our foyer table, a framed 8 x 10 of our latest family portrait greeted me, but all it did was cause the tears to start flowing as I thought back on the patients I'd seen that morning and all that they'd lost. Especially her.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. "No," I said aloud. "I'm not going to give in to this." I unbuttoned my nurse's uniform as I went upstairs, having been too drained to deal with showering and changing into my street clothes at the hospital. Of course, I realized, that meant that I'd left my clothes in my locker, having grabbed only my purse. I sighed as I stripped, haphazardly throwing my stockings and undergarments in a pile at the foot of the bed instead of bringing them to the laundry hamper. My uniform I did at least lay out neatly at the foot of the bed before padding into the bathroom and starting the shower.

I stood under the stream of steaming hot water, unaware of how many tears flowed down my cheeks to swirl down the drain. Bowing my head forward, I let my wet hair hang over my face as the water poured down my neck and back, my shoulders shaking with sobs that I could no longer contain. All I could imagine was being in the same dire situation, how I'd feel.

Could I live without Al? I had lived without him for eight years when he was a POW—two of those fearing the worst when he was M.I.A. before that mysterious angelic visitor had assured me Al was alive—but now that time in my life seemed as far off as a distant dream. We'd spent the past five years making up for lost time. He was my strength, my love. My life. I braced my hands against the tiles in the shower and sobbed so hard my stomach knotted up. It wasn't just the thought of losing Al that consumed me. It wasn't even identifying with her loss as deeply as I did. I knew her. And I'd known her husband and son.

Somehow I managed to stop crying and finished my shower. I stepped out and toweled off, wrapping the towel around me when I was done. Moving to the vanity, I sat and combed the tangles out of my hair. "What is wrong with me?" I asked my reflection, my red nose and eyes glaring evidence of my lack of detachment. Sighing, I put down the comb and got dressed, opting for a pair of Al's sweatpants and one of his T-shirts, both emblazoned with NAVY. My damp hair quickly darkened the shoulders of the T-shirt, but I didn't feel like messing with the hair dryer. I lay down on top of the bedspread, curling onto my side and hugging my arms to myself. I closed my eyes, but thoughts of everything I'd seen and heard that day swirled through my mind so that I doubted I'd be able to fall asleep.

Michele's loud whisper sounded from the hall. "Is Mommy okay?"

"She's fine, munchkin, she just doesn't feel good right now," Al assured her in a low voice. "You and Bree wash up and help Theresa, too, and then we'll have dinner."

"All right, Daddy."

I smiled halfheartedly at him as he walked to the bed and sat down beside me. He tucked my hair behind my ear and then bent to kiss me.

"Oh, honey," murmured Al.

I sat up and reached out to pull him to me, hugging him as tight as I could. Al stroked the crown of my head, waiting for me to release before loosening his hold on me. He rested his hands on my shoulders and studied my face.

"I brought home takeout. You up to eating something?"

I wasn't, but I rubbed my face and nodded. Al smiled and kissed my cheek then rose and helped me to my feet. He glanced at my attire and the smile twisted so slightly that anyone else would have missed it.

"I'm guessing 'hard day' was the understatement of the year."

He didn't say more. He didn't have to. Al knew the state of mind that would compel me to raid his drawer. All he added was, "We'll talk after dinner."

I paused by my dresser to grab a pair of socks and slip them on. "My feet are cold," I explained when Al turned back to see what was keeping me.

He grinned at me as if to say, "I didn't say a word." Instead he called into the hallway, "All washed up, girls? Mommy's ready to have dinner."

Bridget hollered from the hall bathroom, "Almost. Resa…wait!" Her protests were wasted as Theresa barreled out of the bathroom, her hands and arms dripping suds up to the elbows.

"Mama!"

I knelt to receive her, hugging her close and kissing her cheeks. "Hi, sweetheart. What do you say we go rinse off?" I glanced up at Al and at Michele and Bridget who'd drawn near. "We'll meet you downstairs."

Theresa giggled as I guided her arms under the flow of water and sloughed away the soap with my fingers. I wrapped her arms one by one in the hand towel and rubbed her dry. As I carried her downstairs, I asked her, "What did Daddy bring us for supper?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, her shoulders bobbing exaggeratedly.

"I guess we should find out then, huh?" I smiled at her.

"Mmmm. Smells mmmm, Mama!"

"Yes, it does." We walked into the dining room to see Bridget and Michele hungrily biting into hamburgers.

Theresa gasped, "No pray!" She shook her finger crossly at her sisters.

Al came over to take Theresa from me and settle her into her booster seat. "My fault, Resa. The food was getting cold and they were hungry."

She tsk'ed at him and made a show of pressing her palms together and bowing her head. "God great, God good, t'ank food!" She raised her head and nodded, looking around expectantly.

"Amen," we chorused.

Satisfied, Theresa began nibbling on a French fry.

I made an effort to eat, but spent most of the meal studying our daughters as they ate and jabbered excitedly. I focused on the life in their voices, trying to pull myself out of dejection. By the time they were finished eating, over two-thirds of my burger remained, and my mood hadn't improved much. The twins regarded my food, looking uncertainly at each other and then at Al.

"You can get up and go play until bathtime," he told them. "I'll keep Mommy company while she finishes."

Al helped the girls gather their wrappers into one of the empty takeout bags then sent all three of them upstairs to play. I watched them go and turned to face my husband.

"Thank you."

He smiled and nodded as he ran a finger along my forearm. "I wish you'd eat more. I'm willing to bet you didn't have lunch today."

"You'd be right," I sighed, picking up the burger and taking a bite of it. I chewed it well past the point of swallowing and had to wash it down with a swig of soda before I gagged. "I'm sorry, Al. I'm just not hungry."

"Okay." He wrapped up the remnants of my sandwich and tucked it into the sack along with the rest of the trash and set about cleaning the table. I sat with my hands folded in my lap and studied my wedding set, the sparkle of the diamond and the gleam of the gold. My examination was halted when Al laid his hand over mine. Lifting my head, I saw him looking at me with tender eyes. "What happened today?"

"You heard about the fire last night, didn't you? At the Terraza Apartments?"

He nodded. "I had a feeling that had something to do with this. Your ward must be overloaded."

"We're running at full capacity. Most of the residents were asleep when it broke out, so you can imagine the injuries are pretty severe."

"Lose many?" The words were abrupt but the way he spoke them was kind.

"A…a few." I took a shaky breath. "We'll probably lose a couple more in the next day or so."

Al reached to gently tug on the sleeve of the T-shirt I wore. "Was it a specific patient who brought this on?"

I nodded. "Trinh Carver."

He sat up a little straighter at the name. "Trinh? Jim Carver's wife? I didn't know they lived there. How badly is she burned?"

"Third-degree burns over 72 of her body. She had on a polyester nightgown and it fused to her skin in spots. And she was pregnant—due in a few weeks, they said. They did an emergency C-section when she was brought in."

Al let out a low sympathetic whistle. "How's Jim taking it?"

Tears brimmed over my lower lashes and I shook my head as I answered, "Oh, Al. He and Craig didn't make it." Al was stunned and I reached to touch his hand. "I'm sorry, honey…I know you were friends. I should've told you straight off."

"No. It's okay, Beth." He lowered his head and shook it thoughtfully. After a moment he breathed in deeply and looked at me with a wry, knowing smile. "So that's why you're wearing my clothes tonight."

I rubbed the soft, worn cotton of his T-shirt and returned his smile, tilting my head to the side. My voice cracked as I told him, "I couldn't bear losing you like that. I couldn't bear losing you at all."

He drew me into his arms and kissed my temple. "I'm right here, honey. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." Wiping at my eyes, I said, "Craig wasn't much older than Theresa. Do you remember how they played at the picnic?"

"You've been thinking about what it would be like to lose the girls, too, haven't you?" Al crooked a finger under my chin and looked into my eyes. "I know—that was a dumb question."

I shrugged and gave him a weak smile. "I shouldn't be letting this get to me like this."

"Maybe you should let someone else cover for you tomorrow."

"No. No, I can't." I was going to continue when we heard a thud and a screech. Moments later Theresa came running to me, shrieking, "Mama!" and sobbing. I scooped her into my arms. "What happened, baby?"

The twins appeared in the doorway, hanging back guiltily and trying to look innocent while Theresa gasped and squalled, thick tears pouring forth. All she managed to do by way of explanation was point to her brushburned elbows. The rawness stretched from the point of her elbows to midway down her forearms.

"Resa…oh, honey. Mommy'll make it better."

Al beckoned the twins with a curved index finger and a serious expression on his face. "What happened?"

The twins looked at each other. Silently deemed spokesperson, Bridget said, "Theresa wanted to play mountain climber."

"She did, huh? How do you play 'mountain climber'?"

"She holds on to the jump rope and we pull her up the stairs like it was a mountain." Bridget shrugged. "She was mostly up the stairs and then we pulled hard and she let go."

Theresa was still screaming on my lap as I studied her for additional injuries. Her palms each had a red stripe spanning the center but they didn't appear blistered. She'd apparently smacked her chin on a stair, the thud we'd heard, because I saw a red mark there.

Al was scolding the twins, his voice hard. "She's eighteen months old! She can barely string a sentence together and you expect me to believe that the game was her idea? You think she can hold on to a rope while you drag her upstairs? What kind of game is that?"

"Well…" Bridget looked at the floor. Michele pulled on her lower lip as she looked at Theresa crying in my arms.

"Are we in trouble?" Michele asked.

"Yes, ma'am," responded Al.

Both twins looked to me to plead for intervention. I shook my head and stood, shushing Theresa. "I'm going upstairs to take care of Theresa's scrapes. I'll leave your punishment up to Daddy." I carried Theresa upstairs and managed to stem her tears. "It's going to be okay, honey, Mommy's going to put some medicine on your boo-boos."

Theresa nodded, sniffling as she whined, "Boo-boos hurt, Mama."

"I know they do, baby girl."

I held on to her while I retrieved the peroxide, cotton balls, and Bacitracin ointment. This part I wasn't looking forward to. I grabbed a towel and sat on the floor with her, then soaked a cotton ball with peroxide.

"Mommy has to clean your boo-boos first, honey. Give me your arm."

I held on to her left arm with a loose but firm grip and squeezed the cotton ball over the raw skin. Theresa howled and started crying again, while I blew on the bubbling scrape to ease the stinging.

"I'm sorry, Resa, I know that stung, sweetie. Let me put the ointment on it and it'll feel better."

"No!" she screamed, her shrieks piercing as I spread the clear medicine over the abrasion.

"There, isn't that better now?"

Sucking on her lower lip, Theresa craned her head to look at the shiny layer coating her brushburn. I reached for her right arm, and she started screaming and trying to jerk her arm away before I'd even soaked the cotton ball.

"I know, baby…I know. I'm so sorry. Mommy will blow on it, I promise." Gritting my teeth, I squeezed the cotton ball to release the trickle of peroxide. Theresa's yelping increased in volume as I let it bubble and then started blowing. She gave me a look of betrayal as I applied the ointment.

"How's your chin?"

She clamped both hands over it as if she was afraid I'd make it hurt next.

"Do you want a cold rag to hold on it?"

Weepy eyes watched me cautiously as she nodded. I picked up the peroxide and ointment and tossed the cotton balls in the wastebasket then opened the linen cabinet and withdrew a washcloth. I ran the cold water and soaked the rag, squeezed it out, and handed it to Theresa. "Hold that under your chin, honey."

She gingerly pressed it to her chin and pouted. "Boo-boos hurt, Mama," she said in a sulky voice.

"I tell you what, let's get in our jammies, okay?" I carried her into her room and noticed Al marshalling the twins upstairs. "What's up?" I called.

"We're going to bed early tonight," Al said. "Bathtime's been moved up and storytime is under debate." He waited until they were in their bedroom getting their pajamas out of their dresser to whisper, "I'm not really going to take away the story…but I'm letting them think it's a possibility." He cleared his throat and used a mild version of his "captain's voice" to order the twins into the bathroom. They scurried past him and before he followed them in, he said, "We'll finish our conversation when the kids are asleep."

I nodded and smiled to thank him and then returned my attention to the task at hand. "Now, Theresa, Mommy's going to try not to let the fabric touch your boo-boos. I got a short-sleeved nightie for you."

"'Kay," she sniffed. She looked apprehensive when I held her arms to guide them through the sleeves of her shirt, and both of us breathed a sigh of relief when neither part of the changing process brushed her scrapes. Her diaper was dry, so I moved to the rocking chair and sat down with her. "No sleep," she protested.

"You don't have to go to sleep," I said, starting the rocker into motion. "Mommy just wants to sit down for a little while. You just keep holding that cold rag under your chin."

"'Kay." She pressed the rag to her chin and tried to sit ramrod straight, but gradually leaned back so that her head was resting against my chest. I started humming, and she frowned. "No sleep, Mama!"

"Hmm? Oh, no, no, honey, you don't have to go to sleep. I just felt like humming."

Theresa looked at me suspiciously, but leaned against me again. I started humming again.

"Is she awake, Beth?"

Theresa perked up and sat up. "Daddy!"

I smiled. "Does that answer your question?"

Al nodded and snapped his fingers, pointing at the floor in front of him. Sheepishly, Bridget and Michele came in smelling of soap, their hair freshly combed. They walked over to Theresa and stood there uncertainly, neither wanting to be the first to speak.

"Theresa, your sisters have something to say to you," prompted Al.

"We're sorry," they chorused.

"For?"

Bridget spoke first, "For tricking you into playing mountain climber."

"And for making you hurt your arms," finished Michele.

"We won't do it again," Bridget added.

"Promise," said Michele, drawing an "x" over her heart with her index finger.

I rubbed Theresa's shoulders. "What do you say, Theresa? Do you forgive them?"

"I forgib!" Theresa leaned forward to kiss her sisters.

"All right, girls. Get into bed and I'll be right there to tuck you in and read you a story."

"You're still gonna read us a story, Daddy?" Bridget beamed and Michele clapped her hands. They took turns giving me a goodnight hug and kiss and then left the room.

Al bent in front of me and smiled at Theresa. "You gonna be okay, munchkin? You gonna live?" he asked her, ruffling her hair. He kissed her on the forehead and nose. "Did Mommy make you feel better? Did your boo-boos stop hurting?"

She nodded and slipped a thumb into her mouth, crooking her index finger around her nose.

Al grinned at me. "She won't be much longer."

"Probably not," I agreed.

"No sleep," Theresa mumbled around her thumb.

"No, of course not," I said in a soothing voice, gesturing for Al to leave and read to the twins. "You don't have to go to sleep."

I started the rocker's motion again and softly hummed before gradually segueing into "Stay Awake" from Mary Poppins. The song usually worked like a charm on Theresa, and tonight was no exception. It did take a few more rounds than usual, but by the time Al switched off the light in the twins' room and came in to check on us, she was breathing steadily and well on her way to the land of Nod.

Al pulled her sheets back so I could settle her into her crib, then he tucked her in and we both brushed kisses against her cheek. I switched on her nightlight while Al turned off the overhead. He waited for me in the doorway, wrapping an arm around my waist and pressing a kiss to my temple.

"Never a dull moment."

"That's for sure." I leaned my head against his shoulder.

"Come on, baby, I'll fix you some tea and we'll finish our conversation."

I nodded and we went downstairs. Al filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil then joined me at the table in the breakfast nook. He rested his chin on his hand and gently said, "So tell me why you have to go in tomorrow."

"Well, setting aside the fact that we're swamped with patients with second- and third-degree burns, it's because of Trinh."

"You said she's 72 burned. Isn't she drugged-up on morphine?"

I nodded, "But, Al…she recognized me."

"Honey, are you sure she did? I mean, I know you've been really identifying with her. But you only met her a few times. Is it possible that you, I don't know…?"

"Is it possible that I imagined it, you're saying?" I folded my arms and gave him an irritated glare. "I could give you a laundry list of all the physiological signs, but considering she said my name, I'd say that makes it pretty clear that she recognized me."

Al quickly held his hands up in front of him. "Okay, hon, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. What else did she say?"

Looking at the table, I admitted, "Not much. At least, not much we could understand. We think it's the shock, but she's pretty much only able to speak Vietnamese now."

"Can she understand you?"

"We think so. I mean, we can't be sure." I sighed. "Anyway, as far as we can tell, she's waiting to die."

The kettle whistled and Al got up to remove it from the heat. As he rummaged in the pantry for the tea, he carefully commented, "Should she be doing otherwise, Beth?"

I steepled my hands over my face, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "She was in bad shape when they brought her in, and the C-section weakened her further. We've done a tracheotomy because her airway was so damaged, and this afternoon we had to do escharotomies on her chest and extremities."

Al brought the mug to me, his finger bouncing the tea bag by its string to steep it quicker. He winced when I mentioned the last procedure. I'd explained to him before why we made the incisions in the dead tissue—to relieve pressure and fluid buildup—but he still found it harsh. "So there's a chance she'll recover?"

I paused in pressing the tea bag against the bowl of the spoon to answer him. "There's always a chance, but the odds aren't good." I looked at him and shook my head. "We're trying to save her life—trying everything we can. But I'm afraid all we'll be able to do is prevent infection and make her as comfortable as possible."

"Until the end," Al gently offered, reaching to pat my hand.

Pressing my lips together, I nodded, blinking back tears. "I feel like we're torturing her! Trinh kept crying the same things over and over again. I wish I knew what she was saying." I took a sip of tea, not caring that it scalded my tongue.

"Can you remember anything she said?"

I closed my eyes and focused. "One thing might have been…con guy."

Al repeated it a couple of times to himself. "Beth, was it con gái?" He refined my attempts at pronunciation.

"Yes. That was it!"

"Hmmm. That means daughter."

"She had a girl. We told her that several times today."

"How's the baby?"

I wrapped my hands around the mug. "She's in critical care, last I heard. I hate that she's never going to know her parents."

Al touched my elbow. "Did Trinh say anything else?"

"Hannah told me something she'd moaned repeatedly. She wrote it down and I put it in my pocket." I gasped. "It's here! I forgot…I didn't change at the hospital. My uniform's on the bed!"

"I'll get it, babe. Drink your tea." He got up and I heard the thump of his footsteps jogging up the stairs. Moments later he started down the steps, the speed of his pace slower as he absorbed the phonetic scrawl on the scrap of paper. Al walked back into the room and rejoined me at the table, his lips moving as he silently tried to make sense of Hannah's attempts at capturing Trinh's words.

"Near as I can figure," he finally said, "she's saying 'all hope is gone.'"

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "That's how I feel."

Al rubbed my arm reassuringly and I started crying. "Beth, oh, sweetie." He got up and embraced me. "Beth, baby, what can I do to help?"

"Just hold me for starters."

He did.

"It's just not right," I wept. "We try to save her life, but she's too badly burned. Now because of what we're doing, she has to suffer until she finally dies anyway." I looked up at him. "I don't know anymore, Al. It's not that we shouldn't try everything to save her life, but why can't she just die in peace? And what about her baby?"

Al tenderly squeezed my shoulder and planted a kiss on my forehead. "Doesn't she have any relatives that could take the baby?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. Besides, we can't seem to communicate with her. Not really."

"Does anyone on staff speak Vietnamese?"

I shook my head and took a sip of tea. "We couldn't find anyone today."

Al returned to his seat and looked thoughtfully at me, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed to be weighing something and came to a decision. Giving me a smile, he said, "Có công mài sắt có ngày nên kim."

My breath caught in my throat. "Al?"

"If there's a will, there's a way," he translated. Al lightly kissed my tear-stained cheek. "I'm nowhere near as fluent as Jim Carver was, but maybe I can recall enough to talk with Trinh tomorrow."

Author's Note: An immense debt of gratitude is owed to the owners/webmasters of the following sites for their invaluable information on Vietnamese language, grammar, syntax, pronunciation, etc. : Vietnamese Dictionary Online - Tu dien Anh Phap Viet and Vietnamese Online. The Vietnamese idiom Al says comes direct from Vietnamese Online with many thanks.

JLR