Lucky for us, there was no shortage of medical help at this particular gathering. Mrs. Parnell opened her eyes as the first paramedic approached. In a pre-emptive strike, she said, “There's nothing whatsoever wrong with me.”
“We'll just confirm that, ma'am,” the paramedic said briskly.
“I'll be the judge of how I am, young man.”
I was relieved to catch a glimpse of Mrs. P. in her normal mode, but I sided with the paramedic.
“You have to be seen by a doctor, just to be on the safe side. It shouldn't take long. Alvin and I will come along for the ride.”
“Ms. MacPhee, I do not need to see a doctor. The world will not stop because of a moment's lightheadedness and a bit of indigestion. I have things to do.” She turned to the paramedic. “That will be all, young man. I'll be on my way now.”
“You fainted, Violet,” Alvin said. “You can't just walk away.”
“Watch me,” she said.
By this time, we were ringed by observers, veterans and visitors alike. A hum of comment surrounded us.
“But…” Alvin said.
Mrs. P. struggled to her feet. “I'm leaving now. You two can decide whose side you're on.”
“What?” I said, not for the first or last time that day.
“We're on your side, Violet,” Alvin squeaked. He looked truly, deeply distressed. I could sympathize.
“It's best if we get you checked out in the hospital,” the paramedic said.
She said, “I can't be tied up for hours. I have places to go and people to see.”
Dead people? I wondered. I decided to tough it out. “As soon as the doctor gives you the green light, you'll be on your way.”
“No time to dally.” She straightened her shoulders. “Everything's fine. Excuse me, please.”
It crossed my mind that maybe Benson & Hedges and Harvey's Bristol Cream were also calling. Even so, I had to admire her sense of drama.
“Maybe she is okay,” I whispered to Alvin, as we stood uselessly watching Mrs. Parnell clump with her cane toward the exit.
“Do you think?” he whispered back.
“She sounds like her old self,” I said, “although she's a funny pasty colour.”
“And her knees are wobbling. You can see them.”
The paramedic was not as useless as we were. He followed her. “If you don't mind, we'd like to confirm that you are all right.”
“I do mind.” Mrs. Parnell fixed him with a look that should have terrified a lesser man.
He didn't even blink. “Won't take any time at all. And, I'll make sure you get some privacy,” he said, giving us a dismissive glance.
* * *
“Well, you can't just let that go,” my sister Alexa huffed over the phone line. “It sounds like the start of dementia to me.”
“What are you talking about? Mrs. Parnell doesn't have dementia. But something's wrong, and I wanted to tell you Alvin and I are here at the hospital, because I know you're planning dinner. I don't know when we'll be out.”
“Don't be silly. Dementia's extremely serious.”
“Once more for the record, it is not dementia. She seems to have had some kind of shock. We haven't had a chance to talk to a doctor. Mrs. P. was whisked away, in case it was a heart attack.”
“You said she was talking to dead people. I was a nurse, in case you have forgotten, and I can tell you when people are in their eighties and they start having conversations with those who have gone before, it's not a good sign. So just this once, don't argue with every word that comes out of my mouth.”
“I'm not arguing,” I said.
“Of course you are.”
“Am not.”
“As usual.”
I massaged my temple, something I find myself doing in every conversation with one of my older sisters. It's not enough that I have to be the short, dark, stocky one in the family, the three of them get to be tall, blonde and elegant. Apparently part of the deal is that they have the answer to everything. Always. My sisters are very attached to the notion of being right.
On the other hand, I was working hard to be nice.
Alexa said, “Edwina wants to talk to you.”
Great. Just what I needed. The supreme commander. “No time, I have to go right…”
“Now look here, missy…” Edwina began.
“Okay. Let's start again. I didn't call to have an argument.”
“It certainly sounds to me like you did, missy.”
“I wanted to let you know that I'm in Emerg with Mrs. Parnell, and I may not make the family dinner tonight because…”
“What? You really are incredible, Camilla. You miss out on so many family events. You know how important this day is to Daddy.”
I took a deep, soothing breath. “Daddy will understand. I have to stay here until we find out if she's all right.”
Edwina sniffed. “Alexa has worked very hard to make this special dinner. She's livid.”
I said, “Alexa doesn't get livid. You're the one who's always livid. Alexa does the guilt trips. Never mind. Put Daddy on the line. He really likes Mrs. Parnell. I'll explain.”
“This is a very emotional day for him. You'll manage to upset him about this. I'll make up a plausible story.”
“What do you mean make up a story? Just tell him the truth.”
“Leave it with me. I'm sure you'll show up eventually.”
Oh, what the hell.
* * *
“I'm a bit tense, try not to make it any worse,” I said to Alvin. We both knew this waiting room too well. We had now been hanging around in useless mode for what seemed like hours, breathing in air heavy with body odour and disinfectant. Our backsides were numb from too long in the molded plastic chairs. Hours earlier, Mrs. P. had vanished into some examination room along with a pack of highly-focussed medical personnel. At least they had behaved as though sudden headache and collapse in a woman in her eighties was worth taking action.
Alvin said, “Me? You're the one who always makes things worse.”
“Who used the word ‘crazy’?”
“You don't really think that made her…?”
All right, I didn't. He just gets me going, and I was worried. Maybe Alvin had been right. Maybe I should have tried harder to talk her out of marching. At the very least, I could have stayed in touch with her more in the preceding week. A good solid Catholic upbringing equips you to wallow in guilt over many issues. I was wallowing big time.
In the few years since we'd met her, Mrs. P. had begun to dote on Alvin, who didn't get much of that from other sources. She'd also saved my bacon more than once. She'd ended up in the ICU as a direct result of some of our investigations. In a pinch, she was game to spend the night guarding a client who was in danger. At the moment your life was flashing before your eyes, you could count on her to pop into the picture brandishing her Benson & Hedges and the appropriate military motto. She'd provide you with a tumbler of Bristol Cream to help you get over whatever trauma you'd be facing. I couldn't imagine life without her.
Alvin reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and produced a brightly-coloured notebook. Unless I missed my guess, it had repeating images of Margaret Trudeau on it. Very Andy Warhol. He clicked a hot pink gel pen, bent his head and began to write.
“What's that?” I said.
“It's my journal. Do you like the cover? I designed it myself.”
“It's very interesting, and I'm not surprised you designed it yourself, but since when do you keep a journal?”
“I just started. I'm using it as an ongoing process of self-discovery. Not that it's any of your business.”
“Everything is my business, Alvin,” I said, for no particular reason. Sometimes you just have to pick on the closest person. I'm trying to cut down on that sort of thing, but Alvin makes such a fine target.
Alvin said, without lifting his head, “I was going to write about all the wonderful things Violet has done for me, like dropping everything and driving to Nova Scotia when my brother, Jimmy, was missing, but now I'm making a note that although you were supposed to try to be nicer to people, you have failed miserably. I hope that will be a lesson to me not to be half-assed about my own personal objectives.”
“I can see you're going to enjoy your voyage, Alvin,” I said nicely.
He snapped the book shut. “I'm scared, Camilla. What's wrong with her?”
I refused to say the awful words that reverberated in my mind. Aneurysm. Alzheimer's. Dementia. Brain tumour. Stroke. Cardiac arrest.
Alvin poked me in the ribs. “I need a bit of reassurance. Is that too much to ask?”
What could I say that wouldn't make things even worse? Mrs. Parnell smokes a package of cigarettes a day and consumes sherry by the vat. She doesn't believe in waiting until the sun is over the yardarm to do either. She is eighty-three years old, she never sleeps, she drives too fast, and wholesome living is not in her dictionary.
Alvin chewed his nails. “Do you think it could be a heart attack?”
“Wait for the doctor. No point in jumping to conclusions.”
I was saved from a further volley of Alvin's questions by a familiar and darkly handsome Emergency Room physician who attempted to slip past us without making eye contact.
I shot out of the molded plastic seat and sprinted after him. I caught up and grabbed him by the arm. “Not so fast, Doctor. We're waiting to hear if Mrs. Violet Parnell is going to be all right.”
He stopped and frowned. “I know you,” he said in the Newfoundland accent I was expecting.
“Well yes, we have met, Dr. Hasheem. It's not about me this time.”
“You're in Emerg a lot.”
“Not really. Just when something happens.”
He closed his eyes. “If I recall: concussion, concussion, smoke inhalation, shock, hypothermia. Am I missing anything? Another concussion perhaps? Oh, yes. Broken arm.”
“I'm fine today. This is not about me.”
“Correct me if I'm wrong, but you have a tendency to encounter dangerous people, places and things. That right?”
“At the moment, I'm avoiding danger in all its forms.”
“You look like you've lost weight.”
People kept commenting on that, and it was beginning to get on my nerves.
“I dropped a size maybe. I was quite dizzy and nauseated after the concussions.”
“She forgot to eat,” Alvin said, sneaking up behind me. “In all the confusion of being evicted twice.”
“Thank you, Alvin. I'll handle this conversation.”
Dr. Hasheem's handsome forehead furrowed. “After what you've been through, you really must avoid all this stress. There can be lingering problems after concussion.”
“It's been two and a half months. I'm all right.” This was true enough, except for a tendency to wake up screaming in the night.
“It's not very long in recovery terms,” he said.
“Look, I don't want to talk about me. I want to know what's happening with Mrs. Violet Parnell. She's been here for hours. Has anyone even been in to see her? Why couldn't we stay with her?”
I guess Dr. Hasheem didn't get to his unenviable position without demonstrating a certain stubbornness. “I'd say you have to take it easy for more like six months to a year. Moving is a big stressor. Maybe you should try not to get evicted again.”
“Great advice. Let me repeat. Mrs. Violet Parnell was brought in by ambulance from the veteran's ceremony. Is it a stroke?”
Dr. Hasheem raised an eyebrow. “That's your diagnosis?”
I said, “Not that I would know.”
Alvin added, “She collapsed at the reception for the veterans after the Remembrance Day ceremonies.”
“Hmmm. And what relationship is Mrs. Parnell to you?” Dr. Hasheem asked.
“Grandmother,” Alvin said.
“And to you?” Dr. Hasheem asked me.
Alvin blurted, “I mean, she's Camilla's grandmother.”
“And her relationship to you?” he asked Alvin.
“Aunt. Great-aunt.”
“Great-great-aunt,” I said at the same time.
“Really great aunt,” Alvin said.
“Any other family here?” Dr. Hasheem asked, massaging his temple.
“We're her only family.” As far as I knew, this was the truth.
“I remember your sisters.”
“They're not available.
“She should never have marched in that parade,” Alvin said.
Dr. Hasheem said. “We're doing the diagnostics on that. She's a smoker? And a drinker?”
“Well, I wouldn't call her a drinker,” I said.
“We're going by the information she gave us.”
I said, “She enjoys life.”
Alvin added, “And we enjoy her company.”
Dr. Hasheem scratched his chiselled chin. “Sorry to break this to you, but smoking and drinking are major factors in heart disease.”
I said, “What's the prognosis?”
“We have to wait for the diagnostics. You have to take into consideration that she's an old lady.”
Alvin said, “That's not a very nice thing to say.”
I said, “She's so full of life. And she's sharp.”
“That may be,” Dr. Hasheem said. “At eighty-three, with that profile, and with her symptoms, she's a prime candidate for cardiac arrest.”
Alvin said, “What will that mean? Will she be stuck in a wheelchair? She'll raise hell if she is.”
Frankly, I thought it would take more than a wheelchair to hold back Mrs. P., but we were in unfamiliar territory here.
Alvin kept on babbling. “Although if it was a motorized wheelchair, she might like that. If it went fast enough.”
Dr. Hasheem said, “The outcomes can vary. But we'll have to monitor her for a couple of days. The good news is she got here quickly. The first thirty minutes is what counts. Might have been different if she'd been alone instead of in a room full of people.”
Alvin said, “I think it was the shock.”
“Shock?” Dr. Hasheem said. “Did something happen to bring this on? We should be told in that case.”
I said, “Something upset her. We're not sure what.”
“She had trouble with a dead man,” Alvin said.
“A dead man? Well, I think we can rule that out as a causal factor,” Dr. Hasheem said. “Although, sometimes a blockage can cause people to appear to hallucinate.”
I opened my mouth, but he'd already vanished in a puff of smoke. Or maybe it was behind the door of an examination room.
* * *
Eons later, we received an update. Not a happy update, for sure. Still, not as bad as it might have been. According to Dr. Hasheem, she'd need rest, medication and a mending of her ways. In hospital.
“No smoking. Alcohol in moderation.”
“Sure, like that's going to happen,” I muttered.
Dr. Hasheem overheard. “It better happen. And, she shouldn't be alone, it goes without saying. We'll keep her here for observation for a couple of days, run some more tests. When she's released, she'll either require a convalescent home or a twenty-four hour caregiver. She shouldn't be by herself. You might want to get started on those arrangements for your grandmother,” Dr. Hasheem said.
As soon as he had snapped the file shut and vanished again, Alvin said, “Lord thundering Jesus.”
“No kidding,” I said.
“I don't think he really understands what type of person Violet is.”
We were both trying to imagine the impact of Mrs. P. on some unsuspecting convalescent home.
“I'm surprised they let her back into this particular hospital after the last time,” I said.
“Come on, Camilla, everyone's entitled to a couple of parties,” Alvin said.
“They can be pretty stuffy in the ICU. Anyway, I don't think a convalescent home is right for her.”
Alvin looked shocked. “Of course not.”
“I think she'd prefer to be in her own home.”
“For sure.”
“Between the two of us, and a bit of help, we could probably manage for a few days. What do you think?”
“Damned straight. Wait a minute. I thought you were taking a vacation with Ray Deveau.”
“That can wait.”
* * *
Not everyone was enthusiastic about the idea of postponing a vacation. By not everyone, I mean specifically not Ray Deveau.
I said for the second time, “I know you're upset, but there's nothing I can do about it.”
A long silence drifted down the phone line. I hate long silences. Unless they're my own.
I said, “I realize you're excited about this trip.”
“It's our kick at the can, Camilla. If we're trying to build some kind of life together, this isn't the time to start postponing it.”
“As romantic as that may be, we'll have to kick that particular can some other time.”
“This is the only time my sister can come down here to stay with the girls.”
“I'm sorry. I just can't go to Mexico and leave Mrs. Parnell alone. We don't know what kind of convalescence she'll have or how long it will take. I'm asking you to wait a bit until we know.”
“Can you get someone else to look after her? Just for two weeks?”
“Maybe you can find someone else to look after the girls later?”
“You don't know a lot about teenagers, do you?”
I hate it when people snort. “I rather hoped that was part of my charm.”
“Well, it's not. So back to my suggestion. Why don't we try to find someone else to take care of Mrs. Parnell? From where I sit, I think little old ladies are easier to handle than teenagers. Even tough and stubborn old ladies, in case you're planning to mention that.”
“In most cases, I'd agree.”
I suppose I should have said I know how much this trip means to you. I know about all the planning and the deal-making and the books you've read and your total effort to make this be a wonderful holiday. This is a major chance to get to know each other better in close quarters without either of our families spoiling the mood and murderers muddying the waters. In retrospect, perhaps I might have said how much I valued Ray and our new relationship.
I didn't say anything. The trouble is, I am lousy at relationships. I'd had nearly ten years to get used to the idea of my husband, Paul, being killed by a drunk driver. It was past time to move on. I couldn't imagine anyone better than Ray to move on with. I just needed to work on some new habits.
“Okeydoke,” Ray said, eventually. “New plan needed then.”
What the hell did he mean by that?
* * *
A couple of words about emergency departments. Don't think anyone you care about is getting in and out of one quickly. It was evening before I was able to trap Dr. Hasheem in another corridor. I didn't waste time on false pleasantries.
“It's been hours. Why keep my grandmother here, where we can't even see her? What is this, the Gulag?”
“For observation and stabilization. Your wait is not really out of line. We have to check her thoroughly.”
“Wouldn't she be more likely to recover in a room?”
“Yes, she would.”
“Then why isn't she?”
“They must be waiting for a bed to become available.”
“Unbelievable. How can she get better in this chaotic hellhole?”
His eyes flashed darkly. He was definitely beautiful when he was mad. “I'd like to see you do a better job with the same resources.”
“Okay, I realize you have resource problems. My job is to make sure Mrs. Parnell doesn't get lost in the system.
“Mrs. Parnell? I thought she was your grandmother?”
“She is my grandmother. I'm calling her Mrs. Parnell so you'll know who I'm talking about. Anyway, what I call her doesn't matter. The important thing is to get her out of this hellhole and into a room.”
His skin paled to light coffee colour. “She's not in a corridor?”
“I don't know where she is. I think you should.”
“I haven't seen her for…” He frowned in a way I didn't care for.
“I'll double-check,” he said.
“Double-check what?”
He raced down the corridor until he gave me the slip.
Something was very, very wrong.
21 Frank Street
Chesterton, Ontario
October 10, 1942
Dear Vi,
I hope England is everything you thought it would be. I am quite envious! I know there's a war on, but still you will see lots of London! We've been getting news about the Blitz on the radio. It's hard not to think of you and worry. Be careful with those flyboys, I hear they're all scamps. I know that you are used to scamps, especially growing up around Harry and Perce. I hope you have a chance to meet up with them. Are there lots of dances? When you get back, you'll have to spill the beans!
Things have changed a lot here. It's hard to get anything. I left the kettle on the stove too long and burnt the bottom out of it. Mum was very understanding, although we haven't been able to find a replacement. As for the old Ford, it's hard to get gasoline. Everything has gone to the war effort. Never mind, walking is good for the figure.
Mum has decided to let the upper floor to tenants. It is hard for people to get a place to live. Even in Chesterton, it's a problem. Mum says we should think about others less fortunate than ourselves. We have more than enough room downstairs. I suppose I am less likely to break a leg going out the downstairs window!
Harry Jones's father was kind enough to make some renovations for us. He seems lost in his own world. It must be very hard for him, losing his wife two years ago and now having Harry overseas. I bet Harry's having adventures too, even though there's a war on. If you see him, say hello from me. Tell him I think you make the perfect couple.
I have some grand news! I was able to get a job at the Court House as a court stenographer. Who ever thought all that shorthand and typing would be useful? It's very interesting, the judges are real gentlemen. Judge Stiles especially is quite handsome, and I get to wear lovely hats to work. We can use a bit of money. This old house is hard to keep up, and we still need the kettle. Movies are expensive too, but worth it. I just loved “Sergeant York”. You never know who is going to be a hero (like you, Vi!).
Love from your best friend,
Hazel
P.S. I hope you find someone to help you with your hair since I'm not there!