I FOUND DR. Aldridge sprawled across his bed, snoring, still fully clothed in his suit and shoes and tie, smelling of alcohol. A bottle of pills—Veronal—were knocked over on the end table. The pills were scattered around a small silver-framed photo. A quick glance revealed a photo of a young man who resembled Dr. Aldridge, along with a young woman and two small boys. The doctor’s son, daughter-in-law, grandsons?
Curious—the doctor had never referenced a family of his own—but that didn’t matter in the moment. I shook him, shouted his name. When he finally came around and sat up, he was so glassy-eyed that I wasn’t sure he saw me, though his gaze was directed right at me.
“If you want to redeem yourself for whatever you’ve done to make the Carmichaels hate you,” I said, “now is the time. Henry needs you!”
Shock passed over his face. He wobbled to his feet and grabbed his medical bag.
Minutes later, Dr. Aldridge hovered over Henry, who lay still on the bed in the Carmichaels’ room. Though the doctor was glassy-eyed as he leaned over Henry, his hands were perfectly steady as he put a stethoscope to Henry’s chest.
Henry lay back, his eyes closed. Maxine sat on the edge of the bed, her hands intertwined with his, her expression pinched with worry, yet also suffused with devotion.
This, I thought, is what love looks like. Quiet, tender, and true, even in the hardest of times.
Finally, Dr. Aldridge straightened. “His heart rate is irregular. But not as alarming as it could be. He needs plenty of bed rest.” He regarded Maxine. “You said he complained of chest pain?”
“I’m still here,” Henry muttered. “And yes. Felt like someone reached in and grabbed my heart and gave it a good squeeze. Or a bad squeeze.” I’d been blinking back tears ever since I’d come into the room, but now I held back a smile. Henry still had his sense of humor—that had to be a good sign, I told myself.
“But it still hurts?” the doctor asked.
“Yes.”
“I can give you morphine for the pain, and a sedative, Veronal.”
“No, no,” Maxine said, shaking her head. “I don’t want Henry taking anything like that.”
Dr. Aldridge gave Maxine a tired look. “Mrs. Carmichael. The treatment I’m suggesting is the standard protocol. It’s what any doctor would recommend.”
Henry gave Maxine’s hand a squeeze. “It will be all right. I want to take it.”
Maxine sighed. Then gave a curt nod.
The doctor put his stethoscope back in his leather bag and removed a bottle of morphine and a syringe.
IN THE KITCHEN a short time later, Maxine sat at the table, shifting restlessly in her chair. We heard Eddie, Marco, and Cormac in the casino, laughing and gabbing, the record player on full blast, unaware of the drama playing out just down the hall.
I thought about letting Eddie know. He had history with Henry, seemed to care about him. And Seamus and Liam. But they were likely sound asleep after a long, hard day, and there was nothing they could do for Henry or Maxine.
“I should be with Henry,” Maxine said.
“He’s asleep,” I reminded her. He’d drifted off quickly after the drugs were administered, and Dr. Aldridge had left. Maxine had pulled the Underground Railroad quilt smoothly up to Henry’s chin. Then she’d sat down next to him and I knew she’d stay like that all night, disregarding her own needs. I’d nagged her until she came with me to the kitchen, where I’d then insisted she sit down while I made her a ham sandwich. She’d barely nibbled the corners.
I got out a plate and filled it with pieces of Henry’s shortbread, one of the few items he baked.
Sure enough, as I sat down, Maxine pushed away the sandwich, picked up a piece of shortbread, and took a bite.
She gave me an appraising look. “I doubt you’ve eaten today, either.”
I had to smile at that. Maxine was always watching out for me. I helped myself to a piece of Henry’s shortbread, too. It was buttery and delicious, melting in my mouth.
After we finished our treats, I said, “I’m glad you let Dr. Aldridge help Henry.”
“You’re still wondering why I don’t like him, aren’t you?” Maxine said.
I nodded.
“Well, we had a daughter of our own.” Maxine stared off into the distance, looking sorrowful. Like she was staring at a different time and place. I thought of the photos on the dresser in the Carmichaels’ room. “Ada. She was sweet—but too trusting. Got involved with the wrong people.” She looked back at me, her dark eyes suddenly turning hard. “Got hurt—beaten up badly, and started taking morphine for the pain. But then she got addicted. Rosita set her up to go see Dr. Aldridge. We were so grateful at first. But he prescribed heroin and, sure, that got Ada off the morphine, but the heroin was worse. She couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except pine for her next fix.
“We didn’t have enough savings to spend on a countryside clinic for her to get off the drugs—and anyway, we knew that they wouldn’t take people like Ada,” Maxine said. A rare tinge of bitterness tightened her voice. I understood what she meant. People who weren’t white. “She just got worse and worse. Ended up thrown in jail for, well, selling herself to men on the streets.” Maxine shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. “I never hated her for it, though she always said I judged her. I could see what pain she was in. Henry finally went to Eddie, asked if there was any way he could help us.”
Maxine sighed. “You know, I didn’t like it when Henry got us to work for the McGees. I knew that Eddie and Henry had a special bond, from being on that freighter. But up until then, we weren’t involved with anything more than cooking, cleaning, Henry sometimes helping with the landscaping. Anyway, Eddie told Henry he needed him to go into a bank, make a scene. Didn’t say why. Henry swears he didn’t know the whole plot. Just that Eddie promised he’d get Ada out of jail and down to Alabama to be with my sister. And we reckoned that would be as good as—maybe better than—a fancy clinic.” Maxine took another sip of her tea, then stared into her cup as she said, “We butted heads all the time, my sister and me. She didn’t like that I’d come up north, away from our family. And she’s more stubborn than a mule who doesn’t want to go backward. But if anyone could set Ada straight, it would be her. So, Henry agreed.”
Maxine put her cup back down. “So Henry went into the bank, made a scene. Didn’t know, he swore, that Eddie had men ready to rush in a side door while the guards and manager were distracted by Henry, to rob the bank. I guess Eddie was desperate for money for one of his deals. But it went wrong. One of the bank employees had a gun, started shooting, took out two of Eddie’s men before another of Eddie’s men took out the bank employee. Then Eddie’s men fled, and Henry was arrested. Blamed for the bank employee’s death, the deaths of Eddie’s men, who were identified in the newspapers as innocent customers. Didn’t matter that Henry didn’t even have a gun.”
Tears coursed down Maxine’s face as she relived the ordeal. “Henry would have been executed for that bank robbery. I thought I’d lose both my daughter and my husband. There was an attorney who wanted to take Henry’s case—get him to testify against Eddie. Henry said no. He knew that going up against Eddie would be a death sentence—and besides, he was loyal to Eddie. But then the charges were suddenly dropped against Henry. Our daughter was released. A reward for our years of service. For Henry not testifying against Eddie. But in exchange, we had to come here. Cut off our ties from our daughter and everyone else.” Maxine shook her head. “I reckon Eddie didn’t trust us not to turn on him in the future. Our deal with him was a life sentence. But it saved our daughter.”
I turned this information over in my head. It would have been easier for Eddie to have just had Henry and Maxine, even their daughter, killed, and it was curious to me that he had at least enough conscience to find a different way for them. “When did all of this happen?”
Maxine wiped away her tears. “Seven years ago.”
Nineteen twenty-four. Three years before I met Rosita. So that was why she’d never mentioned them.
“And Ada? You haven’t heard from her, from your sister, all this time?” I asked softly.
Maxine’s face softened. “A photo came to the McGees’ house in Toledo, from my sister in Alabama. Of her and my Ada. Rosita brought it to me here. I still have it.” The framed picture on the dresser in their room. “Ada wrote on the back—I am here. All is well.”
Maxine swallowed hard. “And that’s what I cling to.” She reached up, gently grazed my cheek with her fingertips. “In some ways you remind me of Ada. Trusting. Eager to taste all of life’s flavors. Even those that the world would deny women, especially women of lesser means.”