Hiss Of Death

By eleven Saturday morning, at the race registration table Harry had run out of pink bracelets. Five hundred and forty-two graced competitors’ wrists. The rest were sold. She sat there wishing Paula could have known she was right. Next year, Harry would know to order more, to overcome her natural reticence to be optimistic, especially when a check was to be written.

Many people stopped by and expressed sorrow. If nothing else, Harry consoled herself with the fact that Paula Benton had lived a good life, touched many people, helped many. Harry had not chosen a helping profession. Her husband, Paula, and Coop had. Every single day they gave and gave and gave. They endured long training for this, particularly Fair. A physician or nurse need learn only one muscular and skeletal system; a veterinarian had to learn many. Then there was the matter of blood chemistry. It made her head spin.

Cory Schaeffer, as titular head of the 5K race, was the first one to begin running when the gun sounded. A split second later, he was engulfed by others.

As the participants ran through the streets of Charlottesville, numbers clearly visible on their backs, Harry and Alicia toted up the sums. The registration fees netted $10,840. The sale of bracelets to noncompetitors brought another $2,290. Spontaneous donations added up to $3,556. The BMW dealership had donated a new 3 Series, and raffle tickets to win it sold for $100. The drawing would be at a dinner weeks later to give the organizers time to sell all the tickets. So far that had already garnered more than $75,000. The raffle tickets numbered up to one thousand. They had two hundred and fifty left to sell.

Dr. Isadore Wineberg, whom everyone called Izzy, one of Paula’s favorite doctors in the operating room, had approached the dealership. His pitch to the manager was, given the number of BMWs you sell to those of us in the medical profession, how about donating one for this good cause? The manager agreed.

Alicia checked the time. “Someone ought to be crossing the finish line soon.” She nudged Harry. “Wake up.”

“Sorry.”

“Want to bet five dollars that the first one to cross the finish line will be a member of the running club?”

“No. You’d win. I say we bet on the age of that person.”

“Now, there’s a thought.” Alicia touched her lips for a moment with her forefinger.

Both Harry and Alicia looked healthy and fit. Alicia looked ten years younger than her age.

“I say the fastest person will be thirty-two.” Harry pulled out five dollars.

“Five dollars?” Alicia matched the bill.

“Right.”

“Twenty-five,” Alicia said.

“What happens if we’re both wrong?”

“We put that sum into the kitty.” Alicia leaned back in her rickety chair.

“Fair enough.”

Within three minutes, they discovered they’d both lost the bet as a roar went up at the finish line. The winner, Mac Dennison, was forty-eight and a workout buddy of Annalise’s. Right on his heels was a cross-country runner from the high school, Tara Poletsky, all of sixteen.

As people crossed the finish line, they were handed bottles of water and could stand under the hose if they wished. Coop did very well, coming in twenty-first.

Noddy Cespedes finished in front of Coop. One of Noddy’s gym rats, sixty-three years old, Jim O’Hanran, finished behind Coop.

Each participant received a rousing cheer. Each cheer reminded both Harry and Alicia why they lived in Crozet. They never found a place they loved as much as central Virginia. Each woman hoped other people loved where they lived, too.

Happiness is pretty simple: someone to love, something to do, something to look forward to. That’s what Alicia’s grandmother used to say, and to that the two friends added, “Animals to love and a place to love.”

When Susan crossed the line, her family had preceded her. Both Alicia and Harry waited there to cheer her on. They’d put the little strongbox of cash in Alicia’s hard-used Range Rover, locking it up.

Once Susan caught her breath, she put her hands on her hips, bent over, took another big gulp, and stood up. “Harry, Alicia, let’s all make a date for our mammograms.”

“Oh, God, Susan!” Harry laughed.

“She’s right,” Alicia commented. “It’s an easy thing to put off.”

“It isn’t the most pleasant thing.” Harry grimaced.

“Better than a colonoscopy.” Susan laughed. “I ran for a while next to Dr. Izzy. He said that every hospital employee that could ran today, but that everyone will buy a BMW ticket in honor of Paula. That means we’ve just finished off selling all the tickets to the BMW.”

“Wonderful.” Alicia beamed.

Harry walked back to the table in case anyone needed anything. Garvey Watson, the owner of a men’s clothing store, had taken her place so she could watch her friends finish. Susan looked for her family, and Alicia waited for BoomBoom, who soon heaved into sight.

She gladly took the water bottle from Alicia when she finished. BoomBoom took a swig, received a congratulatory kiss, and whispered, “Damned hard on the knees!”

• • •

Meanwhile, at the Central Virginia Hospital, Dr. Jerome Neff stood by the head of pathology as she performed an autopsy on Paula Benton. Dr. Neff, like all of the surgeons, had greatly respected and liked Paula. He often requested her for his surgeries, as well as Toni Enright. He thought those two nurses were the best he’d worked with in the operating room during his long career. After gaining permission from her mother, Dr. Neff arranged the autopsy. Given Paula’s excellent health and her continual positive outlook, Dr. Neff remained very curious to know what had snatched her away.

Dr. Annalise Veronese, young, pretty, highly competent and motivated, finished the procedure. Sewed back up, Paula’s remains were respectfully placed in a body bag, then in the cooler, to be called for by the local mortuary. Her mother had requested that Paula be cremated.

After washing up, Annalise walked out with Dr. Neff. “Anaphylactic shock.”

He sighed. “The tissues were pale. The fluids don’t stay in vessels. No pressure in the pipe. Classic shock.”

She put her hand on his forearm. “If only she’d had a kit out there. People who are allergic to anything that causes this type of shock should have kits in cars, in the bedroom, in the kitchen, wherever they spend a lot of time.”

His jaw tightened, then relaxed. “Annalise, ever notice how medical people, and I include myself, never take our own advice?”

“Yes, I do. It’s one of the puzzling things about our profession. I’d give Paula her B-twelve shots. She’d have to turn her head away. She wouldn’t do it herself. But I believe if she’d had a kit within reach she would have jammed that needle in her arm.” Annalise sighed. “I’m going to miss her.”

“Me, too,” Jerome sadly agreed.

Once alone, Annalise called Cory Schaeffer, who had finished his run.

“Anything?” Cory got right to the point.

“Yes, anaphylactic shock. The hornet’s sting killed her.”

After a brief silence, Cory said, “It’s not a good way to die, but it doesn’t take long. Poor Paula.” Then he said, “All of us who worked in surgery with Paula will pay you for your time. I know this is a day off, and—”

Annalise cut him off. “Cory, no. It was important to do this. She meant a lot to a lot of people. Don’t even mention money.” She changed the subject. “How’d the five-K go?”

“Successful. Big turnout. Some of your buddies from Heavy Metal Gym ran. Mac Dennison hit the tape first. A good day.” He then returned to Paula. “Isn’t it amazing, if you stop to think about it, that a small insect could kill so quickly?”

A note of irritation crept into Annalise’s voice. “I suppose, but think how small a virus is. And the wrong kind of virus, one that can spread and replicate rapidly, can destroy millions of lives.”

“Of course,” he said and sighed.

Annalise added with feeling, “Her organs were like those of a twenty-five-year-old woman.” She took a breath. “Most people find autopsies gruesome, but if I could show films to high school kids of, say, Paula’s arteries, liver, lungs, heart, et cetera, with another woman, say, ten years younger, who drank, smoked, drugged, it just might drive the point home for those teenagers to practice good health habits.”

“Once they finished puking,” Cory sarcastically replied.

She responded, “I know, but I find it fascinating. Beautiful, even. The human body is put together like a great machine. Some are Chevys, some are trucks, some are Ferraris. Paula was a Ferrari.”

“Thanks, sugar. As always, you done good.” He used the colloquial expression. “Paula was a good hand in the operating room.”

“No more,” Annalise flatly said.

“Gotta go. Brody has a soccer game.” He named his oldest child, eleven.

“I’ll see you Monday,” she replied.

“Right. Be good to see you, as always.” He pushed the off button on his cellphone.

• • •

Dr. Jerome Neff, a thoughtful man, called Harry that night. They knew each other, a nodding acquaintance, but as she had found Paula, he wanted to let her know.

“Thank you, Dr. Neff.” Harry hung up the phone and told Fair.

• • •

Later that evening, the long twilight casting a silver-blue light bright enough to see everything, Harry and Fair, hand in hand, walked along the rows of corn, little tips just breaking through the soil. The sunflowers had also just broken ground; the broccoli in the garden was already four inches out of the ground. The petite manseng vines flashed early green leaves.

The two cats and the dog trailed them.

“Gotcha.” Mrs. Murphy leapt straight up to catch a moth, but it eluded her with a flutter.

“They aren’t fast. They just go higher,” Pewter noted.

Harry and Fair stopped to lean against the back pasture fence.

“Never get tired of looking at the mountains.” Harry smiled.

“Me neither, but I’m creaky tonight.”

“After delivering four foals, I expect your back aches. Take a hot shower when we get back, and I’ll massage your back and shoulders.”

“I need it. Hey, how about Coop coming in twenty-first?”

“I know. It really was a perfect day for a race. They were hot when they finished, but the temperature hung in the mid-sixties all day.”

“It was a perfect day.” He put his arm around her waist. “So, next week, are you and the girls going to your mammogram party?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I guess.”

He squeezed her slightly. “I know you don’t like the boob squisher.”

“Well, honey, imagine if you flopped your part on a tray and a big flattish camera pressed down on it for a second or two.”

“I’d rather not.”