Caribou Island

7

Irene could feel every bump in the road on the way to town. Every rut and ridge, washboard and pothole, all of it sending arcs of red spinning into the world behind her right eye. A sunny day, a summer’s day, but even the light hurt, so her eyes were closed.

We’ll be there soon, Gary said. Just hold on a little longer.

The Vicodin’s making me nauseated.

Only a few minutes, Gary said.

At the office, they took the X rays and Frank read them on a lit whiteboard. Here’s a frontal view, he said, and it was Irene’s skull, eye hollows and fleshless jaw, rows of grinning teeth, just like in a skull and crossbones. A vision ahead to her own death.

Creepy, she said.

And here’s a side view, he said. And the other side.

Where’s the infection? Irene asked. What does it look like?

Well, that’s the problem, Irene. There’s nothing here.

What do you mean, there’s nothing?

You don’t have any locked-in infection according to the X rays.

But I do have one.

You certainly have a cold, with maybe a bit of an infection. If you really want, I can give you an antibiotic for seven days.

I don’t understand.

The X rays just don’t show anything.

Irene started crying, rocked forward in her seat, her head in her hands.

Irene, Frank said, and he patted her shoulder awkwardly.

I have something, she said. Something’s wrong.

I’m sorry. I’ll give you the prescriptions. But there’s just nothing there.

So Irene waited until she could pull herself together, tried unsuccessfully to blow her nose, then took her prescriptions, paid, and had to tell Gary in the waiting room. Nothing showed up on the X rays, she said.

What?

I know there’s something, she said. It just didn’t show up.

Irene, he said, and pulled her into his arms. I’m sorry, Irene. But maybe this is good news. Maybe you’ll get better soon.

No. I have something.

I’ll take you home, he said. We’ll set you up by the fire.

So they did that. Filled the prescriptions, drove home, all the ruts and bumps, Irene in agony, and Gary brought blankets out to the couch by the fireplace, laid Irene down, built a good fire.

A stone fireplace, a good home, her husband making her comfortable. Maybe this awful pain will turn out to be a good thing, Irene thought. Maybe it will bring us closer together. Maybe Gary will remember me. A strange time in life, her children gone, her work taken away, only Gary left, and not the Gary she began with. She didn’t like retirement. Until only a few months ago, she had danced and sung every day with the children at school. Three- to five-year-olds, learning through play, following their interests from worm gardens to dinosaurs to building trains that could cross to Russia and continue on to Africa. They would come sit on her lap, make themselves at home.

Gary made her tea, and she sipped at it, held the hot mug in her hands. She had taken the new medications in the truck on the way home, and she was still waiting for an effect.

The pain’s not going away, she told Gary. I don’t feel anything from the medications. What painkiller did he give me?

Gary opened the bag from the pharmacy. Looks like Amoxicillin for antibiotic, some decongestant I can’t pronounce, and Aleve for painkiller.

Aleve?

Yeah.

That little shit. Aleve is just Advil. Call Rhoda. I need more Vicodin.

Irene. You should take what he prescribed. He said nothing showed up on the X ray.

The X ray is wrong.

How can an X ray be wrong?

I don’t know. It just is.

Rhoda stayed at work late, until Dr. Turin and everyone else had left. Just finishing up some paperwork, she’d told them. In the cabinet of prescription samples, she took the rest of the Vicodin, which had been sent mistakenly. Only a week’s supply, and they would never be getting more. She would need something else.

She found Tramadol, another painkiller, and looked it up online. It seemed to be okay for humans. She could lose her job for this, maybe even face some sort of criminal charges. Frank should have prescribed something. She could ask Jim for a prescription, but she didn’t want to put any pressure on things with Jim.

Driving to her parents’ house, she thought about her wedding. Jim hadn’t proposed yet, but they had talked about it, indirectly. She wanted the wedding in Hawaii, and he had agreed to this, basically. She didn’t want cold, or mosquitoes, or any sign of salmon. No moose antlers in the next room, no hip waders. She wanted Kauai, either Waimea Canyon or Hanalei Bay. A ceremony on the beach, or overlooking the ocean or the canyon, something beautiful. Coconut palms, big bowls of fresh fruit, guava nectar, macadamia nuts. Some old plantation house, maybe, white with a covered porch, all the curlicues of wood and banisters. Bird-of-paradise on the tables, long slim stems and multicolored ruffles. Maybe some actual birds, too, parrots or something.

And maybe I’ll wear an eyepatch, Rhoda said aloud and grinned. Poor Jim. You have no idea what you’re in for.

She turned off toward the lake, rattling and bouncing now on the crap road. What she wanted, really, was something classy. She didn’t want anything cheap. She wanted dignified, and this would be tough, given her family. Mark would be high, no doubt, and her dad would want to take off his tuxedo at the first opportunity. Her mom would be all right. She tried to see the place, but all she had were parts of weddings floating around unconnected. Maybe she and Jim would have to take a scouting trip to Hawaii. She needed to see the actual places.

When she pulled up, her father was gardening, working on the flowerpots.

Howdy, Dad.

Hey, Rhoda. Have the painkillers? He got up off his knees, brushed his jeans.

I could get busted for this. We have to get her a prescription.

Yeah, he said. I think another day or two and it’ll blow over. There’s nothing wrong, really, just a cold.

Hm, Rhoda said, and walked into the house. Her mother was on the couch in front of the fireplace, a blanket over her.

I feel like hell, Irene said.

I have about two weeks of painkillers, Rhoda said. Vicodin and Tramadol, which is what we use for big dogs. It should work about the same. Maybe take two if one isn’t enough. But you can’t tell anyone where you got these. Rhoda filled a glass of water and gave it to her mother along with a Vicodin.

Thank you, sweetie. Help me back to the bedroom. I need to sleep.

Okay, Rhoda said, but can’t you walk?

I feel a little dizzy. Just help me out. Why does everyone have to question it?

Sorry, Mom.

They walked to the bedroom and her mother lay down under the covers, didn’t say anything more.

Rhoda did some dishes and then went outside to talk with her father. What’s wrong with her? she asked.

Just punishing me, he said. For making us go out in the rain. Which I probably shouldn’t have done. But still, she’ll draw out this cold as long as she can to let me know how she feels.

Dad, Rhoda said.

It’s true. That’s what’s happening. It’s my fault, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I don’t think she’d do that, Dad.

Well, you don’t know her the way I do. You have a different relationship. And that’s good.

I think something’s really wrong. I don’t think she’s making it up.

Whatever. I need to get back to the flowers here, and tomorrow I need to get back to work on the cabin. Your mother is supposed to be helping me with that.

I have work tomorrow, or I’d help.

Thanks, he said, tight-lipped, meaning the conversation was over. He’d always been like this, all Rhoda’s life. Any real conversation closed off. Any moment when she might actually see who he was, he disappeared.

Mark returned from another long day of fishing to find his sister sitting with Karen at the kitchen table.

How did you do? Karen asked.

We’re freed from poverty another few days, Mark said. Enough grublings out there to keep us off the street.

I made fiddleheads, Karen said.

Oh, cool. Mark went to the counter to grab some, little green spirals marinated in balsamic and olive oil. I love these.

Howdy, Mark, Rhoda said.

Hello my sister. How goes the chase for wealth and happiness?

Thanks, Mark.

He circled behind her and then lunged forward quickly to put his fishy hands over her face.

Rhoda yelled and pushed back into him, fell backward onto the floor as he hopped out of the way. Nice, Mark, she said. You’ve really changed.

No need for change, he said, when you got something good. Karen laughed. Mark swooped over for a kiss and a quick grab.

Rhoda picked up her chair and sat again. I hate to interrupt the love fest, and I’m sure you’re both fine with just doing it on the floor right in front of me, but I actually came here for a reason.

Speak your pain, Sister Rhoda, Mark said, and Karen giggled.

Rhoda ignored this. Mom is in a lot of pain, and Dad doesn’t believe there’s anything wrong, because the X ray didn’t show anything.

Hm, Mark said.

What I’m asking is that you go by a few times a day and check on Mom. You live practically next door. I’m forty minutes away.

I’d love to, but I’m working. Out again tomorrow and the next day. And Karen’s working, too.

Okay, Rhoda said. Forget it, then.

I want to help, but I have to work.

Okay, okay, Rhoda said. I understand. You’ve been an unreliable fuck all your life.

Feel the love, Mark said.

Wanna get high? Karen asked.