CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Chester let out a piteous whine. Al extended the fingers of the hand that held him to rub the ruff of fur around his neck. The other hand petted his head.
"Yeah, I know, buddy," he said, his voice low and rusty. He set Chester down on the kitchen cupboard. The terrier put his head on his paws and resumed his quiet crying.
"This'll teach you to lick the dishes!" Al scolded fondly. "It's all your own fault, you know."
But the soft dark eyes held none of the wry acceptance Al saw as the lot of every party animal. All that they communicated was that Chester didn't feel good. In fact, he felt dreadful, and he couldn't understand why. All he understood was that he felt sick and that somehow, surely, Master would take the hurt away.
Only Master didn't know what to do for his own hangover, much less Chester's. Al sighed, clutching his thrumming temple as he routed out the whiskey and poured a glassful. His hand trembled and he spilled, grabbing the dishrag from the sink to wipe up the fluid. With a single quick motion he drained the glass, then cupped one hand around his forehead and drew a couple of deep breaths.
Chester's pink tongue licked at his black nose and he whimpered again. Al smiled a little, sympathetic. He got out a cereal bowl and filled it with water, setting it close to Chester's head. The terrier sat up and began to lap at it, almost frantically. "Easy does it, fella," Al said. "You'll make yourself sick."
Chester ignored the warning, continuing obliviously. Al stroked his back as he dug around for the aspirin with his other hand. Frowning at the lack of success, he turned his eyes on the drawer. The little white vial was gone.
Abruptly he remembered that he had taken it with him to Celestina's the other night. That brought thoughts of the hospital, and the inevitable weight of responsibility fell upon his shoulders again. All very well to have a night of wine and passion with a beautiful woman, but what about Stevie? Al realized that, hangover or no hangover, it was his duty to head up there and see what else could be done for the boy and his mother. Refilling Chester's bowl, he made a beeline for the shower.
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When he emerged, Sharon was on the sofa, swathed in the afghan with Chester asleep against her shoulder, looking actually uncannily like a very, very furry baby with an absolutely enormous nose. She smiled wanly at Al.
"I'm going to the hospital," he said.
She nodded. "We forgot to exchange gifts last night."
Al chuckled a little. "You distracted me," he told her. "I had every intention of giving you your presents, but you had to go threatening me with your cooking. I got sidetracked."
"You think you can hold off for half an hour?" Sharon asked.
He shook his head. "It wouldn't be half an hour," he said. "Soon's you open your gifts we'll want to try them out. Tonight, okay, babe?"
Sharon put on a pouting face. "Okay," she said sulkily. Then she worked one finger in the corner of her eye. "I called Debbie to say we weren't coming."
"Shit!" Al had completely forgotten about the intended Boxing Day pilgrimage to Phoenix. "Look, I'm sorry…"
"Forget it," Sharon said. "The kids won't care."
"What about your father?" Al asked, chaffing his hand against his forehead.
"Probably won't even notice," Sharon said softly.
"What about you?"
She shrugged and smiled. "With this headache, the last thing I want to do is spend an afternoon with Rich."
"Sisterly love: nothing like it," Al commented. "All right. I'll be home at eight. I'll make dinner and we'll exchange presents, okay?"
"Okay," Sharon said. "You remember to eat while you're there, promise?"
"Promise," Al said.
"I hope Esteban's feeling better."
Al nodded grimly. "Me too."
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When he got to the hospital, Stevie was in tears, clinging to his mother and shaking his head. Celestina stroked his hair and rocked him from side to side in the bed, but it was clear that she was as distressed as he was, though better at hiding it. As Al entered the room Juan bolted from his seat near the window and grabbed the front of the Naval officer's shirt.
"Where you get off tellin' these bastards they can stick needles in Esteban's leg?" he snarled, pulling Al up onto his toes and shaking him.
"What? I—"
"That doctor said you told 'em they could do it!" Juan shouted. "You say that?"
"Put him down!" Celestina cried. "Let him go! Señor Calavicci, please—Juan! Let him go!"
The human gorilla released his hold, and Al smoothed the front of his shirt. He moved quickly to the bed and into the protection of Celestina's airspace. "What's wrong?" he asked, reaching out to put a hand on Stevie's shaking shoulder.
"They say test, needle in his leg to check his bones," Celestina said. "I do not know. I do not understand."
"You get this through your head: he's not your kid, and you don't have any right to—"
Celestina shrieked something in Spanish far too quickly for Al to comprehend. Stevie whimpered and hid his face in the front of her new nightgown. She mumbled soothingly in his ear, kissing his hair, then turned plaintive eyes on Al. "Please, you explain it?" she asked.
"Explain it… yeah… yeah, if I knew what they wanted to do," Al said helplessly. "Listen, I'll go find the doctor and figure out what's going on, okay?" Celestina nodded. Al looked at Stevie. "Okay, sport?"
"Mithta Al," Stevie whimpered. "No needle. Thcare me."
Al smiled sympathetically. "I know, buddy. They scare me, too, but sometimes you need needles so you can get better."
Stevie's face lit up. "Get better?" he asked.
Al grinned and nodded. "Sure!" he said. "You'll be better in no time!"
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The procedure in question was the bone marrow biopsy that Al had discussed with Doctor Smithfield the day before. After being coached by the nurse, Al was able to explain the process, after a fashion, to the Penjas. Stevie didn't like the idea, and Juan didn't see any reason for it, but in the end the decision fell to Celestina, and she was not about to question anything Al suggested. He felt kind of uncomfortable with that, as if he was coercing her into consenting to something that she probably wouldn't have agreed to under other circumstances. On the other hand, though, the doctors obviously thought it was important, and Al wasn't going to let Stevie get substandard care.
The procedure itself took less than half an hour, though Stevie did have to spend an hour in recovery afterwards while they made sure he wasn't bleeding excessively. When he was returned to the pediatrics ward, he and Al went down to the playroom together while Juan and Celestina ate. Stevie wasn't up to scratch yet, and after a while he fell asleep in Al's lap on the rug painted like a road, a matchbox car bearing an uncanny resemblance to Al's Corvette clutched in one chubby hand. Al tried to get to his feet with the child in his arms, but his left shoulder ground and growled warningly, and he called over one of the orderlies to help him. The man obliged without question, and soon Stevie was settled back in his room.
Al spent the rest of the day at the hospital, and it was only at eight when he was on his way home that he realized he'd ignored Sharon's orders and forgotten lunch entirely.
Sharon had "cooked" with her index finger, and Al came home to find a pizza box and a six-pack of soda on the kitchen table, apparently newly arrived. Sharon greeted him almost as eagerly as Chester did, both having apparently recovered their good health. Al answered her questions about the child truthfully, and the inquiries about his own habits with little white lies. Then they ate, and sat down in the living room to open gifts.
Sharon enthused over the perfume and doted on the bracelet. When she got to her fourth consecutive garment box, though, she gave Al a wicked look.
"You weren't supposed to buy so much for yourself," she said slyly. Al only chuckled and kissed her neck.
She had bought him a box of cigars, two silk shirts in bright colors that took the best aspects of both her style and his, and some naughty undergarments of his own. The last gift was a small silver flask.
"Daddy always carried one," Sharon said, wriggling into his lap and folding his arms around her. "Until he started to get sick."
"Are you saying I remind you of your father?" Al teased.
Sharon shrugged. "A bit," she said. "Absent-minded. Skinny."
"What would you prefer? A musk ox like that brother-in-law of Celestina's?"
Sharon reached up to tickle him under his chin. "Wouldn't hurt you to pump some iron once in a while," she informed him. "That's all I'm saying."
"Hah!" Al said. "As long as I can pick up my wife and carry her to bed, I'm as strong as I need to be!"
"You think you can pick me up and carry me to bed?" Sharon asked skeptically.
"Get off of me and I'll show you!" Al laughed, hoisting her off of his lap and climbing to his feet. He took her shoulders and kissed her, then bent and caught her knees with his right arm, supporting her back with his left. Sharon laughed effervescently as he swung her up into his arms, and clasped her hands behind his head.
Abruptly Al's arms began to shake as yet another tremor tore through his left shoulder. He dropped Sharon with a gasp of agony, clutching at the joint and screwing his eyes tightly closed against the pain. Sharon, who had managed with some maneuvering to land on her feet, bent over his contorting body, taking ahold of his chest and trying to support him through the seizure of torment.
"I'm fine!" Al wheezed, mastering his body and straightening his back. "I'm fine."
He clutched his left arm close to his chest, because the more pressure he put on his upper arm, the easier the pain in his shoulder became. He bit his lip resolutely and then forced a smile. "Okay," he said. "So I need to hit the gym."
Sharon caressed his face. "That's not the point, Al. The point is that there's something wrong with your shoulder. You've injured it or something."
The laugh wasn't distraction as much as it was undisguised reaction to the irony of that statement. He shook his head and kissed her. "Naw," he said. "I guess I'm getting to old to go carrying women around. Have to slow down a bit, huh?"
Sharon chuckled. "The day you slow down is the day I'm heading for greener pastures!" she teased. "Now, are you up to playing with some of the new toys, or do you want to head to bed early?"
"Those don't sound like mutually exclusive options to me," Al said, finding her lips with his.
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The question of his shoulder wasn't raised again that night, although Al realized midway through the proceedings that he was altering his usual style to avoid strain on the joint. The next day he had to head up to the Project: there was still the report to finish and fax off to Congress by the end of the year. He found it very difficult to concentrate, because between worrying about Stevie and reliving the previous evening's entertainment, his mind wasn't at all inclined to buckle down and work. Nevertheless, thanks in part to the occasional sniff from the flask Sharon had given him, he accomplished enough to justify knocking off and four and heading up to the hospital for a couple hours of quality time with his best little buddy.
Stevie didn't understand why Chester couldn't come to the hospital. In his mind Al and his furry companion were two parts of the same entity, and it didn't make sense that the latter couldn't visit him while the former was obviously able to. As some compensation, Al dropped by a toy store on the twenty-eighth and picked up a stuffed dog who bore a striking resemblance to a Yorkshire terrier, and was actually almost the same weight. This he gave to Stevie with the other Christmas presents. Celestina didn't want to accept her gift, protesting that she had beautiful presents from Sharon. In the end, though, Al charmed her into taking the shoes, and she put them on at once, staring at her feet in their handsome, sturdy new coverings with wonder and tears in her eyes. Al caught Sharon staring at the cracked old shoes they had replaced with horror. He suspected maybe his wife was rethinking her position in life.
On the twenty-ninth Al skipped out on Starbright, neglecting his duties to be present when Stevie saw the specialist. Doctor Ananda was tall, plump and beautiful, with long dark hair that she wore in pigtails, one above each ear. Her scrubs were covered in a Beatrix Potter print, and she had a stuffed tiger riding in her pocket. She came into the room smiling radiantly.
"Hello, Esteban!" she said. Stevie eyed her anxiously, edging nearer to Al, who was sitting on the bed where he had been reading to the child. "I'm Jess."
"Hi, Jess," Al said, holding out hi s hand. "I'm Stevie's friend Al."
"Nice to meet you," the doctor said, shaking hands. "Does everybody call you Stevie?" she asked the boy.
He shook his head. "Jutht Mithta Al," he whispered, huddling in the adult's protective arms.
"Oh. I'll call you Esteban, then," she said. "Can I sit down?"
Nervously, Stevie nodded. The physician sat down on the edge of the bed. "What a nice little dog," she said, indicating the stuffed toy in the boy's arm. "Does he have a name?"
"Chethter," he murmured. "Him a good dog."
"I'm sure he is," Ananda said. She patted her pocket. "This is Cherry. She's my tiger, and she's a good girl, too."
Stevie smiled and reached out a timid hand to pet the toy's head. "Hi, Cherry," he said.
"Hi, Esteban!" the doctor replied in a friendly falsetto. Stevie laughed and clapped his hands. "I want to be your friend," the physician continued. "Can I be your friend?"
"Yup, yup!" Stevie exclaimed, now completely at eased as he scooted away from Al and nearer the thoroughly lovable physician.
"Oh, good!" Doctor Ananda cleared her throat and continued in her own voice. "Cherry and I want to give you a little checkup, Esteban. Is that okay?"
"I gueth," he said reluctantly, twisting the edge of his pajama shirt in his hands. He was clearly sick to death of checkups.
"Just a quick one," the doctor promised. "Can I see your stitches?"
"Thtitcheth?" Stevie said.
"On your tummy," she said.
"Oh! My tummy!" He lifted his shirt and stuck out his belly. The dressing had been removed that morning, and the neat little incision with its minute black stitches was clearly visible. The doctor felt it gently, smiling and talking as she did.
By the end of the examination, Al was of the opinion that this was the single most likeable physician he had ever met. She gave her full attention to Stevie, ignoring the adults and never speaking above his level. She was friendly and patient, and she always made sure the boy was completely comfortable before she did anything to his body. When the examination was finished, Stevie threw his arms around her neck.
"I love you, Jeth!" he said happily, then bounced back into Al's lap. "Jeth ith my friend," he confided.
"Yeah," Al said, smiling wholeheartedly. "Yeah, she's great." He settled the child against the pillows and got up. "I just need to go for a little walk with her, okay?"
"Okay, Mithta Al," Stevie said, reaching out his hand for his mother. "Mama thing?" he asked.
As Al and Doctor Ananda left the room, Celestina began to sing to her child.
"Captain Calavicci, I presume?" Ananda asked as the door closed.
"From the jungle through NASA and straight to your arms," Al said suavely. Then he grew grave again. "You're sure good with him."
"Children like Stevie are my life's work, Captain. There's no one I love better," she said. "His incision is mending beautifully."
"Doctor Smithfield said they were worried about complications?" Al asked.
"I don't think there are any worries about the surgery," she said. "We can book him in for another ultrasound, but I don't think that that is necessary." She lowered her eyes. "Captain, are you authorized as the child's agent?"
"Yes, of course I'm—I have no idea what that means," Al admitted, slumping a little. "Celestina trusts me."
"And the father?"
"Illegal alien. He was deported to Mexico when Stevie was a baby," Al said.
"So Mrs. Penja is alone with the child?"
Al nodded. "That guy in there is her brother-in-law. He helps out when he can, and there's a lady on our block who takes care of Stevie when Celestina has to work. Other than that, as far as I know, it's just my wife and I."
"I see. Captain, I want to run a few more tests," she said.
Al's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"I'd rather not leap to conclusions until I can order some diagnostics of my own," she said, smiling sweetly. "I'm not confident enough even to list possibilities at this point. However, you may want to look into having Mrs. Penja sign power of attorney over to you. She doesn't seem particularly equipped to make medical decisions on the child's behalf."
"Power of attorney? Is he that sick?"
"I hope not," she said. "With all my heart, Captain, I hope not."
WMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWWMStevie underwent several more tests that day, the immediate upshot of which was that he was scheduled for discharge the next day. When visiting hours ended Al and Sharon stopped for groceries with which to stock the Penjas' cupboard. They cleaned the trailer up, readying it for the returning hero. Then they went home for a little passionate lovemaking, after which Sharon fell contentedly asleep.
Al, not blessed with the same ignorance or the same optimism, crept out of her arms and donned his pajamas and a pair of tennis shoes. Accompanied by Chester, he went out past the bluffs into the open fields on the extreme edge of the city. There he lay on his back, staring up at the stars, and lit up a cigar. While it slowly disintegrated he looked up into the vastness of space with Chester a warm weight on his abdomen, and worried himself into exhaustion.