17
By Thursday, Juliet finally felt caught up at work. She’d reviewed monitoring reports from the week she’d been out for her mother’s funeral, randomly pulling individual test results to back up the findings. She’d sifted through nearly four hundred emails, listened to numerous voice messages left on her phone, and redid her budget proposal and submitted it to Alexa. Well, actually to Alexa’s assistant, Muriel Parke, who huffed and barely said thank you.
Frankly, Juliet didn’t see how Alexa put up with that old bat.
She unlocked her condo door and headed inside. After kicking off her heels, she moved to the kitchen, wishing she’d remembered to pick up some soda on the way home.
She was pondering how lucky she was to have Tavina, and lamenting the fact her trusted assistant still hadn’t returned to work, when her cell phone rang.
Juliet stepped back from peering inside her nearly empty refrigerator, closed the door, and quickly moved to the counter. She picked up the phone and checked the face.
Well . . . speaking of Tavina.
She slid her thumb across the tiny screen and brought the phone to her ear, grateful for the chance to finally talk to her. Each morning that her assistant phoned in, Angela Silva had taken the call. Juliet had been reluctant to telephone her in case she was catching some sleep after caring for her sick son.
“Hey, Tavina. It’s so good to talk to you. How’s little MD?”
A muffled cry broke through from the other end.
“Tavina?” Juliet frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Juliet—it’s MD. He’s getting worse.”
“How worse?”
“He—he’s been vomiting off and on for nearly twenty-four hours. He’s lethargic and a little feverish.” Fear laced Tavina’s voice. “Juliet, I’m watching the news, and I’m scared.”
“Tavina? Listen to me carefully. Has MD been experiencing any loose stools? Diarrhea . . . any blood?”
Tavina sniffled. “Yes—I seen it just now.”
Juliet’s throat tightened. “Get him ready. I’ll pick you up in about twenty minutes and take you to the hospital.”
“Is—is my baby gonna be okay?”
Juliet wished she could say yes, but she couldn’t bring herself to assure Tavina with empty promises. “We’ll take him to Children’s. I promise MD will get the best possible care. I’ll see you in a few.”
Juliet scrambled to grab her keys and purse, not bothering to change.
Traffic was still heavy, but they arrived at Children’s Hospital in record time, in part because when Juliet pulled up to Tavina’s apartment complex, the scared mother ran out to the car with her son wrapped in a thick quilt.
Juliet pulled into the hospital entrance off Houston Street. She turned past the iconic eight-story mural of a guardian angel watching over a young boy and braked at the emergency room entrance, her tires screeching.
Together, Juliet and Tavina scrambled inside. “We have a really sick little guy,” Juliet hollered at the woman behind the registration desk. Breathless, she quickly added, “Bloody stools, severe vomiting—very likely O157.”
The hospital staff tore into action, bulleting questions at a frightened Tavina. A guy in scrubs scooped MD from her arms and told them to follow. Juliet handed off her car keys to the lady at the registration desk so someone could park her Jeep.
Seconds later, they were shuffled into a dedicated elevator. MD was rushed in one direction while they were led into a waiting room by a middle-aged woman in scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck. The woman gave Tavina a kind smile and guided her to a stiff green chair.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee?”
Tavina shook her head and sat. Neither she nor Juliet said a word. Instead, both of them stared at the news anchor on a wall-mounted television monitor near a rack filled with battered magazines.
Minutes later, a second woman appeared and handed Tavina a clipboard with insurance paperwork. “Here, honey. We’ll need this information filled out.”
“Give me your insurance card, Tavina. I’ll help with that,” Juliet offered, taking the clipboard.
Tavina’s hands visibly trembled as she dug in her purse for her wallet.
Despite the brightly colored butterflies painted on the ceiling, this was no picnic in the park. Not for Tavina. And not for Juliet, who clearly understood what was at stake.
Juliet worked to fill out what seemed like a small mountain of forms. Finished, she took them to the woman volunteer sitting at a tiny desk near the door. “Can you alert registration these are ready?”
The white-haired woman smiled and nodded. “Of course, dear.”
On her way back, Juliet directed a weak smile to a battle-weary couple sitting against the opposite wall. The man leaned over his knees, hands folded. His wife nervously picked at her nails and stared at Styrofoam cups littering the table to her right.
Juliet slipped into the chair next to Tavina. She looked up, her big doe-like brown eyes puddled with despair. “When do you think they’ll let me see him?”
“I’m not sure.” Juliet placed her hand on her assistant’s back. “Tavina, I promise you these doctors are monitoring MD closely. Any hint that his situation is turning and the medical team will be right on top of it.”
She watched, helpless, as tears pooled in Tavina’s brown eyes. “I knew something was wrong. I should’ve brought him earlier. It’s just—he got so bad so quickly.”
“He’s here now. That’s what counts.”
Her efforts to comfort the frantic mother sitting beside her were interrupted by a breaking news banner threading across the television screen on the wall. Suddenly, images of her and Tavina running into the hospital with MD wrapped in the blanket were broadcast with a voice-over.
“Minutes ago, another severely ill child arrived at Children’s Hospital. Sources tell the KENS-5 news team that this appears to be another case linked to the deadly outbreak of E. coli ravaging our city. That brings the current number of illnesses to thirty-seven. Three children under the age of seven have died.”
Tavina buried her head in her hands. “Oh, Lord Jesus . . . please take care of my baby.”
Juliet scowled and smoothed Tavina’s hair back from her damp face. She hadn’t noticed cameras when they arrived. But then, both she and Tavina were focused on getting MD the medical attention he needed.
Nearly an hour passed before a doctor in blue scrubs showed up in the waiting room, his exhausted expression confirming Juliet’s worst fears. “We won’t know until certain test results are back, which could take up to forty-eight hours to confirm, but all indications point to hemolytic uremic syndrome.”
Tavina’s big brown eyes filled with tears. “Is—is MD going to be all right?”
Juliet hated the terror she heard in her assistant’s voice. She hated how her own gut twisted.
The doctor sighed. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. He’s a very sick little boy. Thankfully, you got him here fairly early and we can take necessary precautions. We have your son in the ICU and will monitor his condition round the clock.” He paused, letting what he’d said sink in. He bent and placed his hand on Tavina’s knee. “The next twenty-four hours are critical. But I promise you this hospital has the finest medical professionals, and we’re going to provide the best care possible for your little guy. And right now, he’s stable.”
The physician went through the details of MD’s condition, explaining carefully the little boy’s illness, carefully maneuvering every word so as not to frighten Tavina with potential outcomes no one could really predict. He turned to Juliet. “We’ve notified authorities, and they are on their way to collect information. Officials will want a detailed account of where MD ate and drank in the relevant time period. Are you family?”
Juliet shook her head. “No, I’m a . . . friend.”
Tavina swiped at her tearstained cheek. “I’m going to stay here with Marquis.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a pen and an old receipt. She scribbled on the back. “Here’s my mama’s number. Could you please call her and tell her what’s going on?”
Juliet nodded. She tucked the receipt inside her purse. “Anything else I can do? I mean, I can stay with you if you—”
Tavina shook her head. “Thanks, but no. You go on home.” She held up her phone. “I’ll call you if he worsens.”
Juliet hated leaving her. Her assistant looked beaten, like someone had emotionally walloped her and left her struggling for breath. Juliet gave her a tight hug. “I’ll be here in minutes if you need me,” she promised.
Before leaving, Juliet left her contact information at the nurses’ station, with instructions to call her if MD took a turn for the worse. She headed for the bank of elevators, wishing against any hope that there would be a cigarette vending machine somewhere in this medical facility. Never had she longed for a drag of the calming acrid smoke to fill her lungs more than now.
Juliet retrieved her keys, then passed through the lobby on the way out, with its bright blue floor tiles and wall aquarium filled with tropical fish. A little boy held the hand of a toddler, her hair in ringlets and a bow. “See, Sissy? See the fishes?”
Juliet’s heart ached. For those children lost in Seattle years back in the Jack in the Box outbreak, and for all the ones since. And especially for little MD Mosely, who lay upstairs in a seriously ill condition.
Her hand slammed against the big silver button, opening the sliding glass doors to the drop-off portico. Why? Why, after all food scientists had learned, did these outbreaks still occur, putting little ones and people with compromised systems at such risk?
The doctor was reluctant to paint a grim picture, but she knew if Tavina’s little boy worsened, the situation would turn grave. Unless he was lucky, the deadly microorganisms in his digestive system would cause his kidneys to fail and his organs to shut down. He could even die.
As she’d recently learned, death was final, or at least for a very long time.
Juliet stepped outside into the heavy air, heated and carrying a hint of the garbage-filled alleys nearby. She looked up to a nearly starless sky.
If you’re up there, Mom—please ask God to let MD Mosely be one of the lucky ones.