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Designed Intent
Chapter 43
Sunday
Bobby's eyes filled as he watched and listened as Gleason read aloud. He imagined her reading to their child. She would have been a good mother, he thought; theirs would have been a good family. The disease that cursed Bobby's mother would have spared their child.
Gleason finished reading and looked up at Frances and then over at Bobby and was suddenly embarrassed. No one said anything.
"You'll be a good mother," Frances said softly. "Won't she, Bobby?"
Bobby and Gleason stared at each other; she saw the tears in his eyes and her eyes filled as well.
Bobby's head tilted to the left and said, "Uh, we, we should be going Mom." He sniffed and pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket, wiped his eyes and then his nose.
Frances looked at her son and said, "Are you crying? What's wrong? Bobby, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"
"Nothing, Mom, nothing. We should be going."
"You just got here! Stay, visit with me. I haven't seen you in an age." She looked over at Gleason and caught her wiping away tears. "What's wrong with you two? Why are you crying? Did something happen? Is Frank ok?"
"Frank is fine, Mom!" Bobby spit out, then stood and walked to the door. Gleason stayed in her chair. Again, silence filled the room.
Frances glanced at her son in the same way he steals glances when he's contrite; she said softly, "Bobby, sit down. I want to ask you something. Come over here and sit down."
Bobby's shoulders dropped and he returned to his chair.
"Gleason," the old woman reached for the young woman's hands, "are you pregnant?"
"Jesus Christ, Mom!"
"What? I can ask you that, can't I, Dear? Are you pregnant?"
"Why would you ask such a thing?" Bobby was on his feet again.
"Because I think Christian is your son! You're going to have a little boy, aren't you, Dear? Are you eating all right? Drink orange juice. Folic acid will keep his spine in place. What are you going to name him? Christian?" Frances was excited.
Bobby was beside himself, but before he could respond, Gleason said softly, "No, Mrs. Goren, we're not going to have a baby."
"But you will, you'll have a little boy and you'll name him Christian. Won't you?" Frances looked from Gleason to her son and said, "Right, Bobby? You want to have a little boy, don't you? You'll give me a real grandson. Frank is too busy with his science work to be bothered with children; but you, you and Gleason can have a baby. A boy. Then my Christian will be real."
Christian sat on the floor beside his mommy's chair, his head tilted to the left like his daddy and gramma. Gramma is so mixed up, she doesn't know I was already born and already gone, he thought, poor Gramma. Christian looked at his daddy and mommy and saw the blue sadness that wrapped them both. He also saw his mommy begin to struggle to breathe and he was worried.
"Mrs. Goren, I, I need to use the ladies room. Excuse me, I'll be right back."
"Sure, go on, Dear. You can use my bathroom if you wish." But the tall woman was already at the door.
"I'll be right back, Mom," Bobby said, following Gleason into the hallway.
"Honey!" he called after her. Gleason turned and he saw her arm upright against her chest, "Are you ok?"
Gleason fell against him and sobbed. Bobby enveloped her, "Shush, I know, I know. Shush," he cooed into her hair as she clung to him. "Oh, Baby, don't cry." His own eyes filled and he cried against the top of her head.
Christian stood in the doorway and leaned out, watching his daddy and mommy. They would have loved me, he thought sadly.
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Sunday Evening
"Is this ok for dinner?" Bobby asked.
"Yes, Love, it's fine."
The drive home from Carmel Ridge was long and quiet. They did not stop in Churchill to shop as they had planned. Gleason slept most of the way and Bobby had trouble rousing her after he parked.
"I'll reschedule your appointment with Dr. Creighton," he said. "but maybe you should see someone in Chicago. Honey, I don't think we should wait any longer. Something is wrong with your heart."
"I know. I'll make an appointment with someone." Gleason seemed lethargic. "Bobby, I'm not really hungry, I'm going to go lie down." She stood and headed down the hallway.
Bobby started putting away the food when he heard her fall.
"Gleason?!" he dashed around the kitchen table and saw her in a heap in the bathroom doorway. "Honey?!" Bobby grabbed his phone and dialed 9-1-1.
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She was coming to just as the EMTs arrived. "Step aside, sir," one of them said to Bobby. The man stooped and told Gleason to stay still.
Bobby spoke with the second EMT, giving all of her information. He had taken her heart pills from her bag and had her birth control pills ready as well; the technician copied the name and dosage of each.
"I am not going anywhere," Bobby heard her say. "Help me up." Gleason got herself into a sitting position and leaned against the bathroom door.
"Honey, you need to go to hospital," Bobby said, heading down the hallway.
"I am not. Help me up, Bobby," Gleason reached up her hand to him, but he didn't take it.
"Sweetheart, Gleason, you're going to the hospital. You passed out for Chrissakes!"
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to remain calm. "I will see a doctor in Chicago this week. I'm just a bit hungry. My sugar dropped. Now help me up, goddamn it!"
"Ma'am, I'm going to test your blood sugar, give me your wrist." The EMT took her wrist and set a small machine, about the size of Bobby's shield, on it. He watched the tiny screen and 78 appeared. "Well, your sugar is a little low. Are you diabetic?"
"No. I just need to eat something and I will be fine. Now someone help me up!"
The EMT stood up and moved out of the way. Bobby took his place, stooping down in front of her, his right hand against her cheek and jaw, his eyes locked onto hers. "Listen to me; you are going to go to the hospital so we can find out what the fuck is wrong with you. Understand?"
Gleason glared at him and said, "I'm going nowhere except to the airport tomorrow morning. Do you understand?"
"Don't make me restrain you."
"Oh for God's sake, Bobby, stop it!" Then, to the EMT standing in the hallway she asked, "I don't have to go if I refuse, right?"
"That's right. However, I think that is a foolish decision; your husband is right, you should go. Your heart rate is dangerously slow; it's steady but slow. Your oh-two level is barely within the low end of normal. And, it seems your tissues are beginning to retain fluid. I'd go if I were you."
"Will it stop? My heart?"
"No-o-o-o," he replied reluctantly, "but it might beat so slowly that your body won't get enough oxygen and you'll pass out again. Really, ma'am, you should come with us."
Gleason knew that if she went to hospital, they would keep her and she had too much to do. On the other hand, she knew she was being foolish not to see to the problem her heart was giving her. She would see a doctor on Monday, she would go to the university clinic, as Malcolm had suggested several weeks ago.
"Bobby, pull me up. Please." He put his hands under her arms and stood, lifting her effortlessly, keeping his left arm around her back, his hand on her waist. "Thank you. I will see a doctor tomorrow when I get back to Evanston. I'll go to the campus clinic as soon as I am settled at the apartment. I swear. All right?"
Red started to seep into the edges of his vision, but just as quickly, it faded. He shook his head and exhaled sharply, wiping his brow with the fingers of his right hand and said softly, "Jesus Christ, Gleason. Why won't you listen to me? Just do this for me. Go to the hospital. Please."
"No," and she jerked out of his arm, stepped beside him and headed down the hall toward the kitchen.
The two EMTs stood by dumbly, looking at Bobby. "So, uh, she's not going with us?" the one asked.
Bobby just shook his head and put up his hands, palm open; then he asked, "What is the likelihood of her passing out again?"
"Well, I can't say. Her heart is beating very slowly; any kind of exertion can compromise her. You say she occasionally has trouble breathing and she has chest pain?"
"Yes, and it seems to be happening more frequently. When she rushes or gets upset."
"What about during sex?"
Bobby looked down and reddened, his hand going to the back of his head, "Uh, yeah, it's happened."
"Well, she should see someone soon."
Bobby wiped his hands over his face and said, "Thanks." The men began to pack up and Bobby went into the kitchen. Gleason was eating cold steamed vegetables from the container.
"Don't be upset with me, Bobby. I will handle this."
He could not even look at her.
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Within an hour, Gleason developed a slight cough that was more irritating than any thing. She slept fitfully that night. Bobby never did reach deep sleep, he listened to her breathe and thought he heard a weak wheeze.
He gently wrapped himself around her and she seemed to settle. Nevertheless, her cough continued. What is this, he wondered.