Hush
Four
A bust.
That was what the entire night was. All of our efforts, driving down to Ocean Avenue and parking as close as we could while laying low from whatever surveillance Carmel PD has probably mounted, staying awake while Jesse dozed off next to me in the driver's seat, and keeping my eyes glued to the jewelry store to watch for signs of paranormal activity, had been for nothing.
I shook Jesse awake as the sun was rose. It was nearly 6 o'clock.
"Es el fantasma aqui?" Jesse said. He usually spoke in slightly slurred Spanish right after he woke up. I found it both cute and difficult to understand.
Thankfully, "el fantasma" was one of the first words I'd learned in Spanish, after "querida."
"No, Jesse. The ghost isn't here. It never showed up," I said.
Jesse yawned, stretched, and started the car.
"So that was the time sensitive matter you decided couldn't wait a few more days?" Jesse asked as we headed out of the Valley and into the Carmel Hills where we lived.
"I was right when I said you didn't need to come then," I said.
"You still should have told me," he said.
And I think he said something after that, but I wouldn't know. Once the car was in motion my eyes drooped closed, and they didn't open again until Jesse had pulled into the garage, turned off the ignition, and began to call my name.
"Go upstairs and get some sleep," Jesse said. "You look terrible."
"Just what every wife wants to hear from her husband," I said groggily.
"I'm serious, Susannah. You shouldn't have stayed up all night when you have a cold."
I was about to disagree with him and tell him I was fine when I realized I most definitely was not fine. I opened the car door and promptly spilled the contents of my stomach on the floor of the garage.
When I was done vomiting, the look on Jesse's face was not disgusted, which I guess was a given since he saw the bodily horrors children produced on a daily basis, but stern.
"You're not going to work. You're going to see a doctor," he said.
"I can't stay home today. I have appointments," I argued.
Why was I arguing? Between how my stomach felt and the sense of time delay I got from every move I made, thanks to my fatigue, staying home sounded like a godsend.
"You're sick, Susannah. You'll have to cancel," he said.
"I'm fine," I said emphatically.
Jesse still wasn't buying it. I wasn't buying my lie either, but I had my first appointment with Daniel today. I was willing to bet nearly anything that Daniel's mother had a close encounter with the ghost. Maybe Daniel had gone mute because he'd seen something he just couldn't explain, namely supernatural phenomena.
"I'm only letting you come to work today if you promise to see a doctor this evening."
"Whatever happened to being partners and equals and everything? You can't just order me to do things."
"I'm not worried about your wellbeing as your boss, Susannah. I know it's been more than a year, but don't tell me you've already forgotten that we're married."
"Fine," I said as I wondered if DayQuil and Red Bull would interact with each other negatively. "I'll take a trip over to St. Francis after I finish my appointments today."
Jesse was satisfied at that, and we both got out of the car, me jumping over the puddle of sick I'd left on the floor next to the passenger side. I'd have to hose that down soon.
I went upstairs with Jesse, thoroughly brushed my teeth, and then changed out of my yoga pants and mediation boots. What I wanted to do next was bury myself underneath the bed covers in my underwear and not come out until there weren't any bags under my eyes, but I resisted the temptation. Instead, I changed into an sheath dress and a blazer and then proceeded to try and put on as much makeup as I could to mask the fact that it was approaching twenty-four hours since I'd last slept.
Halfway through another round of under eye concealer, Jesse approached me from behind and put his arms around my waist.
I could feel the outline of his muscles through his shirt as he kissed the top of my head and said, "How do you really feel, querida?"
"Fine," I insisted.
"How do you really feel," Jesse repeated. "As in, truthfully."
I hesitated for a second before I said, "Nauseous."
As a reward for my honesty, Jesse moved his head from the top of mine to my earlobe. He nibbled it as he asked, very softly, "Headache? Muscle aches in general, maybe?"
"Only because I'm tired," I mumbled.
This was from my preferred brand of sexy talk, but Jesse's ministrations on my ear were quite persuasive, exhausted as I was.
"Are you experiencing any congestion? Stuffy head, runny nose…?" he asked.
His mouth moved from my ear to the side of my neck then, and I tilted my head to the side instinctively to give him better access. I was about to respond when I remembered that Jesse was not just my concerned husband; he was also a doctor.
"Oh, no, you don't," I said. "I'm going into work, and I'll stop by to see someone this evening."
"I had to try," he said, sounding not even a bit sheepish as he removed his arms from around me and began his own morning routine. He'd ironed the button down and changed into a pair of chinos. Jeans were typically frowned upon at the office amongst medical professionals.
I put on eyeliner and mascara without accidentally stabbing myself, an impressive feat when I was running off of approximately zero hours of sleep, while Jesse took to the task of shaving the stubble that had accumulated on his face since the previous morning. He always shaved with a straight razor instead of a regular electric one. Jake and Brad found this, the act of shaving with a straight razor, incredibly cool and masculine, but I always found the sight of a sharp blade so close to Jesse's face a bit daunting.
Daunting? More like...nauseating.
And for the second time that morning, I found myself spilling my guts. After what had happened in the garage, there wasn't much of anything left though. I spent most of my time in front of the toilet dry heaving in agony. I felt one of Jesse's hands on my back and the other pulling my hair away from my face. True love, the kind of love Madame Zara described, meant holding the other person's hair while they threw up.
"I'm going to work," I insisted as I raised my head from the toilet and pulled off a piece of nearby toilet paper to wipe my mouth with.
"You didn't even show up on time on Monday," Jesse said. "Why do you care so much today?"
I flushed the toilet and then put the seat and lid down so that I could sit on it. Standing was a more formidable challenge than sitting.
Jesse didn't look annoyed with me over my stubbornness though. His eyes were only full of concern. It was that concern that made me break.
"I'm meeting with the kid from the robberies today," I said. "I think he might know something that could help us."
"I should have known it was that," Jesse said. "But if you're sick, then ethically, putting you around so many young children..."
"Young children who are also sick and probably gave me my cold."
"I don't think this is a cold, querida. Not with you throwing up twice in such a short time period."
I drew my knees up to my chest while still sitting on the toilet seat cover. "It's a cold," I said stubbornly.
"When is your appointment with the child?" Jesse asked.
"Three thirty."
"Then take the morning off and go to St. Francis."
"Can't I just take the morning off and sleep and drink some orange juice?"
Jesse gave me a withering look. For a man who'd once suggested I put butter on my blistered feet, he really did turn his nose up at home remedies.
He checked his watch and said, "It's a quarter till seven. I'll take you there myself, and you can take a taxi back home. You're in no state to drive."
His tone was final, and I realized that arguing with him at this point was futile. He left the bathroom while I brushed my teeth again and reapplied some of my makeup. Apparently, not even a lipstain could stand up to stomach acid.
The BMW was sitting in the driveway by the time I arrived outside, and the garage was open, and the floor was wet. Jesse had done me the favor of cleaning things up from earlier, thank God.
I climbed into the passenger side and dozed off in the short ride between our house and St. Francis. Jesse shook me lightly to wake me up once we'd arrived at the hospital.
As I prepared to get out of the car, Jesse said, "Take a cab and go home after your appointment. And sleep. I don't want to see you at work before three."
Jesse worried too much sometimes, but I didn't tell him so. Instead, all I said was goodbye.
When I entered the hospital a few moments later, I was greeted by none other than Peggy, who looked at me with recognition when I met her eyes. You don't forget the woman who threatens to sick a bunch of unvaccinated kids on your maternity ward, after all.
"Are you here to see someone today? I see you didn't bring any children with you today," Peggy said in a tone that had a bit more of a hostile bite than that of most receptionists.
"I'm not here to visit anyone today. I want to make an appointment," I said.
At that, Peggy looked somewhat chagrined as she changed her tone into a more professional one. We went over my symptoms briefly and she gave me some paperwork to fill out.
I took the clipboard from Peggy and began copying down information in one of the hard seats of the hospital waiting room. The local news was playing in one of the corners of the room. From where I wasn't sitting, I couldn't really hear it, but I could read along with the closed captions. But I didn't need the captions for what was playing across the screen.
There was a surveillance video on the TV screen, just like the one I'd seen at theHappy Medium courtesy of CeeCee, taken at a jewelry store. The cash register came open of its own accord and stacks of money came dancing out by themselves until they floated out of the line of sight of the security camera.
But Jesse and I had been parked there, albeit at a bit of a distance, and I hadn't taken my eyes off of the damn store for hours. I hadn't seen anything amiss at all. The only way the robbery could've happened without me knowing was if it happened at the other store.
And when I read the captions after the the surveillance footage clip was taken off of the screen, my suspicions were confirmed. All the excitement was going on down the street from where we'd been last night.
Which meant that the jewelry store Jesse and I had parked near was definitely going to be the one the ghost decided to hit up next.
I was on the verge of formulating a plan when I heard by name being called by one of the nurses.
"Suze?" the nurse asked. I recognized her from Jesse's days at St. Francis at Jill. She was plain but reasonably kind and very briefly had the ghost of a former patient vying after her. That was the primary reason why I still remembered her.
"Long time no see," I offered.
Jill smiled. "I wish we could be meeting again under different circumstances," she said.
She took down my weight, blood pressure, and temperature, and grilled me briefly on my symptoms before she left me to my own devices in an examination room.
I hopped onto the examination table as I waited for the doctor, who, according to Jill, was named Dr. Morgan. I hadn't heard the name before, so I wasn't sure if he knew Jesse or not.
While I was waiting, I whipped out my phone. Instead of texting anyone or playing a round of Ghost Mediator to pass the time (I would rather support Jack Slater in my boredom than Kim Kardashian or whoever was behind Candy Crush), I saved the address of the remaining jewelry store into a note file. I wasn't looking forward to it, but I'd have to go back. I hoped the ghost could hold off on thieving and murdering for an evening while I slept. A mediator who was as far from full strength as I was would not be particularly helpful.
Just as I put my phone back into my bag, the doctor entered the room.
As it turned out, Dr. Morgan was a woman.
I stood and shook her hand.
"Nice to meet you, Susannah," she said. "I'm Morgana."
"Dr. Morgana Morgan," I said. "And here I thought my mom was a bit vindictive for naming me Susannah."
Dr. Morgana Morgan grimaced. "It's why we encourage our patients here to wait until after the pain killers have worn off a bit before they name their child," she said. "But enough about me. You don't have a fever and your blood pressure looks great, but the nurse tells me that you've been feeling nauseous and tired for the past week or so."
"That about sums it up. I know I'm wasting your time and everything since it's just a cold, maybe a stomach bug, but my husband's a doctor, and he kept begging me to get it checked out, so…."
"Your husband's a doctor, huh? You wouldn't happen to be married to the Dr. de Silva who used to work here in the ER, would you?"
"That's the one," I said.
"I've heard good things about him then, and I think he's got a good point. I don't think you're wasting my time at all."
I was pretty sure she was wrong about that, but I didn't mention it.
"Can you tell me when your last period was?" Dr. Morgan asked.
"Oh, I'm not pregnant," I said immediately.
"I didn't say you were. I'm just trying to consider all possible options."
"I'm on birth control," I emphasized.
"So then the date of your last period should be particularly easy to remember. When did you take your placebo pills?"
"Two and a half weeks ago," I said.
"So then your last period was two and a half weeks ago?"
I fidgeted. "More like six and a half. I might have skipped a period."
Dr. Morgan made a "hmm" noise, like she had already constructed an image of me in her mind giving birth in nine months or something.
"I know you can skip periods when you're stressed out enough. My husband and I just opened a clinic up a couple of weeks ago, and we've both been pretty stressed. Missing a period doesn't really mean anything," I said.
I'd had to learn all about stress in counseling courses. The toll stress could take on the body went far beyond the mind. There were plenty of physical ways in which stress could manifest itself. One of which was missing or irregular periods.
"That's very true, Susannah," Dr. Morgan said. "Stress can affect your menstrual cycle. But stress only affects the menstrual cycle of those who are not taking hormonal birth control."
I shifted uncomfortably, and my mouth suddenly felt drier than usual.
"Oh," I said weakly.