Desperate Measures

7

They sat in the Emergency waiting room, squinting from the stark reflection of strong lights off white walls. Pittman squirmed on a metal chair, his bruised side aching, his legs continuing to feel stiff from having spent so much time in the car. Next to him, Mrs. Page looked considerably older, her taut face almost skeletal from fatigue.

Pittman scanned the haggard faces of other people waiting for word about patients. It occurred to him that under different circumstances, being in a hospital would have intensified his preoccupation with Jeremy’s death. But now so much had happened, there was so much for him to brood about, Jeremy was only part of the welter of thoughts and feelings that he endured. He was amazed that he did not see this as a betrayal of Jeremy. If Jeremy wasn’t constantly in his thoughts, that had nothing to do with a reduction of love for his dead son, he realized. Rather, it meant that he knew he couldn’t grieve if he was dead. In contrast with his morass of despair a week ago, he understood that his primary responsibility was to remain alive-to keep Jeremy’s memory alive, to continue loving him. He had to do everything to survive.

Jill was coming through a swinging door beside the nurse’s station. Her jeans and sweater looked rumpled. Her blue eyes were glazed with weariness as she tugged fingers through her long blond hair and came over.

“Any news?” Pittman asked.

“They’re still doing tests, but so far it doesn’t look as if he had a coronary.” Jill slumped in the chair beside him. “For the moment, the theory is exhaustion. The doctor wants to keep him overnight for observation.”

“He’ll be safe here. No one will think to look for him in a Fairfax hospital.”

“Provided he keeps his mouth shut.”

“Oh, I think he feels helpless enough that he won’t want to make more phone calls. He won’t advertise where he is.”

Mrs. Page roused herself, her voice dry. “But he’s not the only one who’s exhausted.” She turned to her servant. “George, you’ve been good to stay with me. I think, however, that it’s time you looked after yourself. You need to rest. Your family will be wondering where you are. Call them and reassure them. Then go home.”

George hesitated. “Do you think that’s wise, ma’am? To go home? The men looking for you might be watching where I live. They might interrogate me to find out where you are.”

“But you won’t know where I’ve gone,” Mrs. Page said.

“George has a point,” Pittman said. “Even if he doesn’t know where you are, they’d still have to torture him to find that out. He’d be in danger the same as the rest of us.”

“I’d like to come along, ma’am. From the looks of things, you need my help more than ever.”