back.
Jennifer surveyed her sterile surroundings. “I’m going to wait in the hallway. I saw a chair against the wall.”
“That’s your best bet.” Luke opened the door and let Jennifer out, deciding not to go into the rules against civilians being alone in the morgue. “It smells nicer out there too, if only marginally,” he said re-entering the room.
Several moments later, Luke propped the door open and pushed the body cart into the hall, locking the door behind him.
“That’s a fancy cart,” Jennifer said, noting the elevated canvas cover top featuring butterflies painted on it.
“It’s not much, but most of the patients and visitors who see it don’t realize what it contains, which is a good thing. They might freak out otherwise.” Luke stepped on the stretcher’s steer lever and continued toward a service elevator. “If Rob and I don’t get back here before you leave, it was nice meeting you.”
“It was nice meeting you too, Luke.”
Jennifer took her seat and watched as a cleaning lady up the hallway wiped down a stretcher, and then put on a bottom sheet, blanket and pillow for use in the E.R. Even though she tried to give off a devil-may-care attitude, in this environment Jennifer saw how fragile life could be and she didn’t like it.
An ambulance being backed into the nearby E.R. bay was not helping. Soon, paramedics removed a patient wearing an oxygen mask laying on an industrial-sized stretcher that was swiftly pushed through the hospital doors.
“Jennifer Malone?”
Startled, Jennifer jumped from her chair and glared at Dr. Singh, an East Indian female who might stand four foot ten ... if barely.
“Is that what passes as morgue humour?” Jennifer cried out, clutching her chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”
Without missing a beat, Dr. Singh replied, “If that were the case, I’d call for Luke to take you to the cardiac wing. They are top notch up there.”
Jennifer stared at the tiny woman in the bright white smock and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “I got so involved in the drama outside – a paramedic jumped on top of the patient’s chest and rode them into the E.R. on a stretcher. It was like a rodeo tryout. I didn’t hear you come out.”
“It’s okay, dear. I sneak up on a lot of people. What can I do – it’s genetics.”
The tension broken, both laughed.
“I feel so stupid,” Jennifer admitted. “I’m usually not this jittery, Dr. Singh.”
“This isn’t a good place to relax. The only perks are high-grade prescription drugs and warm blankets. At least that’s what I’ve heard Luke tell the patients he transports from room to room.”
“That doesn’t include the dead ones, right?”
Dr. Singh looked back at the spot in the morgue where the body cart was regularly parked. “I don’t think so, but you never know with part-timers. Please, let’s go to my office where it’s less stressful.”
“Deal.”
THREE
PART II
GENIFER
As she hung up the phone, Genifer felt sick. The fact that her two children were running in the living room acting out an imaginary scene for the next Iron Man movie didn’t help.
“Tony Stark would be nothing without me, Miss Everhart, and you can quote me on that for your Vanity Fair article,” eleven-year-old Zoe declared loudly, stomping her left foot on the floor and placing her hands on her hips for emphasis.
Her younger sister of two years, Aleena, looked incredulous, not believing, or more likely understanding, the implication of such a bold statement. “I’ll ... ah ... quote whoever I feel like quoting, Pepper Potts! You don’t own me and ... and ... for your information, Tony only has eyes for me – not some silly girl who just hangs around his cool apartment!” Mimicking Zoe’s stance, Aleena raised her right hand and proclaimed, “One day I’ll be Mrs. Tony Stark and you’re only going to have a dog to keep you company!”
Zoe was unimpressed and turned to her father to be the tie-breaking opinion. “What do you think, Dad?”
Seated in his recliner a few feet away, Stan was oblivious to any activity, as his eyes were fixated on the television mounted on the far wall. His beloved Minnesota Vikings were on the verge of beating the loathed Detroit Lions with one second left on the clock. “Kick the damn ball already!” he implored, as the placekicker paced off distance from where the ball should land if the ball holder actually caught it from the snap – an action he’d failed to do on two earlier field goal attempts.
The Grant living room went silent as all eyes tilted upward when the football was sent into the hands of the placeholder, who mishandled it, then stood upright and began to run toward the goal line seven yards away ... only to trip over his feet, stumble onto the back of one of his blockers and fumble the football.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Stan called out, exploding out of his chair, as a sure-handed Lions’ defender scooped the ball off the ground and started running in the opposite direction. “Why? Why? Why?”
“With no time left on the clock, 335-pound Malcolm Harris will win this game if he can survive the 93-yard sprint laid out in front of him,” the play-by-play announcer said excitedly. “If he does, this will be another heartbreaking loss for the Vikings.”
The screen went black as Stan hit the OFF button on the remote and walked out of the room, his face fire engine red with the added bonus of engorged blood vessels protruding from his temples.
“Is the game over, Dad? Did we win?” Aleena asked innocently, more a soccer fan than a football one, to her father’s chagrin. “Did that man score a touchdown?”
“Aleena!” Zoe snapped at her. “Don’t you know anything?”
Stan gave a grunt and was out the back door, stomping his way across the lawn to their detached garage, where his beer fridge was waiting to offer him sanctuary from a world gone mad.
“Will Dad be okay, Mom?” Zoe asked.
Genifer sighed, “In time.”
“Will you be okay?” Zoe followed up.
Genifer gave her an odd look before feeling faint and blacking out.
“Mom?” Aleena asked as she watched her collapse, knocking over the nearby table and sending the phone crashing to the floor. “MOM!”
Zoe was by her mother’s side, lifting her head off the hardwood floor. “Go get Dad,” she said in a calm voice to her frightened sister. “Mom’ll be fine. Go, Aleena. Dad will know what to do.”
Aleena looked into her sister’s reassuring eyes, and like all younger siblings trusted that what she said was true. “Okay,” she replied and ran through the kitchen and outside. “Dad, come back inside! Mom’s hurt!”
Zoe
