"The patient has a blood alcohol content of 0.42. Breathing and heart rate are both impaired!" One of the nurses shouted as the unconscious woman was wheeled into the emergency room.
"Alright, make sure she's oxygenated through the nose as we begin to pump! Let's get an IV to stabilize the heart rate! And give us some space! I want this area cleared!" The lead doctor ordered.
"The patient's name is Miriam Pataki." One of the nurses outside the operating area declared as she looked over the identification found in the woman's purse. "Let's take a look at her records and see who we can call."
Another nurse nodded and went outside the room to pull up her file. Miriam Pataki. Age: 49. Spouse: Robert.
Immediately, she picked up the phone and dialed the number.
"Big Bob's Beepers here. Big Bob Pataki speaking." A gruff voice came through the receiver.
"Mr. Pataki? I'm calling from Western Hillwood Hospital..."
"Great! Are you looking to buy beepers in bulk?!" The voice excitedly interrupted.
"Uh...no...actually, we're calling because..."
"If you don't want to buy anything, then don't waste my time!" He snarled.
"But Mr. Pataki, you don't understand! We're calling because your wife, Miriam..."
"Look, I'm running a business here! I already sent Miriam out and she already messed up by not fixing the beeper displays! I don't have time for this!"
The nurse's jaw dropped when the receiver suddenly blared with a low buzz, going lifeless. It wasn't the analogy she needed to hear right now. "I can't believe this..." She rubbed her head. "The guy hung up on me!"
The other nurses and hospital staff in the area fell silent, not believing the story they had just heard. Instantly, the place went gloomy, as the faint sound of the doctors and nurses still working on Mrs. Pataki in the operating area filtered through their ears.
"...Does she have any other relatives we can call...?" Another nurse finally blurted out.
"Let me check..." She responded as she filtered deeper into Miriam's records. "The patient has two daughters, Olga and Helga. Helga, the younger one, is still a school-aged girl, but the elder..."
"...You mean Olga Pataki, the pianist?" Another nurse asked.
"None other." She responded. "We should try giving her a call."
"Come to think of it, remember that story in the paper the other day? Olga Pataki had her engagement concert, but there was no mention of her parents at all. Could something be up between them?"
"I guess we'll find out soon enough..."
Olga Pataki hummed along with the sound of "Let It Snow" as she put up some more Christmas decorations in the foyer. The tree was Helga's, but she'd made no such promise elsewhere around the house! She'd just wrapped the staircase banister in holly, ivy, and multi-colored lights. The music was cranked up to 11 now that Louis and Helga were out. Best of all, she got to dance to her heart's content!
It was certainly a guilty pleasure. If either of them saw her doing what she was doing now, they'd never let her hear the end of it.
A phone call interrupted the rapture. Olga practically hopped into the living room and turned down the music before answering.
"Hello?" She asked cheerfully.
"May I speak with Olga Pataki?"
"Speaking!" She chimed.
"Hi, I'm calling from Western Hillwood Hospital. It's about your mother."
Olga's face drooped. It was as if a black cloud had instantly closed around the room, transforming all the cheer of the day into dread in a snap.
"Oh..." Olga trailed as she fumbled with the remote and finally turned off the music. "What...what happened?"
"She collapsed on the sidewalk this morning and was rushed into the emergency room. She'd had...way too much to drink. That's putting it lightly."
"Is she...?!"
"We're doing the best we can." The nurse cut her off. "I think we managed to avoid the worst, but I can't promise anything yet. I'm sorry to trouble you with this. I know this isn't the way you wanted to spend your Holidays. We tried calling your father, but he wouldn't listen to a word we said. We couldn't keep him on the phone long enough because..."
"I know. I know exactly what he did." Olga responded curtly, surprising herself in the process. Immediately afterward, a blast of fear that had been dormant for two years stabbed her in the heart like an icy dagger. Her legs got wobbly and she collapsed on the couch.
"Ms. Pataki?" The voice on the other end of the line buzzed. "Ms. Pataki are you still there?"
"...Yes, I'm still here." Olga answered as a few tears began leaking from her eyes.
"...OK. Would you...want to come here and see her?"
"I guess...but...please don't call my father again." Olga requested, as if on autopilot. "...I...can't be in the same room with him, at least not without my fiancé there...and even then..."
"...I think I understand, Ms. Pataki." The voice audibly smiled on the other end. "We won't call him. I appreciate your coming over. I'll let you know of any developments as soon as you get here."
"Thank you." Olga sighed and hung up, drooping her head into her hands. In a minute or so, she looked up. Just across from her, strewn about on the coffee table, were various pictures of her, Louis, and Helga. One of them stood out. It had been taken this past Fourth of July, when the three of them went to the Burbon family home in Maine for a summer reunion. There they stood, with Cecily, Henry, and Penelope, happy as can be. In another, larger one, Louis' aunt, uncle, and cousins were all there with them.
Olga smiled and picked up yet another one. Helga was standing there with Henry, who towered over her, and teasingly put his fist on her head as if to give her a noogie. She looked ecstatic.
Olga remembered the first time they'd both met the mythical Henry, over Thanksgiving of the previous year. It had been an amazing experience. Helga had bragged to everyone at school for weeks that she'd gotten to "shoot guns with a real life Navy SEAL." Olga hadn't been as enthusiastic about that, but she had finally gotten to meet the man that had done so much for Louis and deliver her thank you.
Everything had only gotten better since then.
There was another picture from that summer which now caught her attention. She and Louis were on the beach at night. Her arm was linked in his and her head was on his shoulder as they looked up at the fireworks. It was so romantic! Louis hadn't been pleased with his mother taking the picture without their knowledge, but she was grateful for it!
Olga put it down and finally stood up, taking the time to look at another picture directly in front of her. On the wall behind the big screen TV hung a portrait of a man wearing a faded blond periwig and a red velvet jeweled suit. A tricorne hat sat on a nearby table as he posed, holding a ceremonial baton.
Louis Henri de Bourbon, Louis' direct ancestor and the founder of the American Burbon family tree. It was a replica of the original that still hung in the Burbon family home, 300 years after it was painted. Louis had it made because he "wanted to remember his roots and carry them forward with pride."
Olga snapped her head backward. Above the entrance to the kitchen hung another portrait, a replica of Louis Henri's father, King Louis XIV himself.
Now she began to cry and sob. There were so many reminders of Louis' family around this house, and with the important exception of Helga, none of hers. That was understandable. She was about to become a Burbon, after all. Still, a wave of guilt crashed over her and threatened to drag her out to sea. Had she, in her zeal to move on from her old life, become neglectful of her biological family members? Her mother certainly needed help. That was even more obvious now, but it wasn't like it hadn't been before. Had she been neglectful and irresponsible? Had she been too willing to follow Louis in casting them aside?
Were these two years of bliss actually just another example of her trying to ignore problems and look at the world through rose-colored glasses?
Olga tearfully put her coat on and walked outside. The cold wind battered her, stinging her teary face. She didn't even know what she was thinking. She was basically just on autopilot. She would need to face this crisis bravely and get to the bottom of it.
She got in her car and drove toward the hospital. Her heart was jolting, gripped by fear. What would she say? And that was the best case scenario.
What if she wouldn't be able to say anything?