“Kendall, how come I don’t threaten you?”
Again, Kendall looked around the office, leaning toward Susan and lowering his voice even further. “If you started getting all the laughs, you might. I needed a tutor to make it through college calculus. I graduated in the middle of my medical school class. My sense of worth doesn’t stem from being the smartest person in the room. It comes from cracking jokes. You’re not terribly funny, so you’re no threat to me.”
Susan vowed not to kid around during rounds. She did not need anyone else disliking her.
“And there’s a personality factor, too. Some people feel secure about their self-worth, regardless of the situation. People like Stony. And I don’t think there’s a jealous bone in Clamhead’s body.” He laughed, adding, “The way he flops around, I sometimes wonder if there’re any kinds of bones in his body.”
Susan chuckled, knowing Kendall meant it good-naturedly. Somehow, it was all right for them to make fun of Clayton Slaubaugh, so long as no one outside the “family” did so.
“In fact,” Kendall said, “to show you how little concerned I am about your showing me up, I’m hoping you can help me with a patient.”
Susan looked through the glass. The nurses had wheeled out the medicine cart, and Sharicka stood near it, looking over the tiny paper cups. The little girl always drew Susan’s attention. “I’m happy to help anyone. Just don’t expect something preternaturally brilliant. I can put things together and make some intuitive leaps, but I don’t have a photographic memory.”
“It’s about Connor Marchik.”
Susan could not help wincing. The fifteen-year-old boy had primary hepatic carcinoma, refractory to every form of treatment. Genetic markers, personally targeted medications, blood cell therapies, monoclonal antibodies, radiation, and even multiple cocktails of tried and true chemotherapy drugs had proven useless against it. Every week, the oncologists came down with a new attempt at decreasing the tumor load, something to prolong Connor’s life a bit longer. The boy had built a wall around himself that kept everyone, at times even his parents, at bay. Like a badger, he remained perpetually angry, attacking when someone tried to tempt him from his cave.
Susan bit her lower lip and shook her head hopelessly. “Believe me, Kendall. I have nothing the oncologists haven’t already tried.”
Kendall rolled his eyes. “Even the nurses don’t think you’re God.”
Susan lowered her head and looked up at Kendall, trying to appear appropriately chastened.
“I’m not asking you to cure his cancer. I just wonder if you have a thought about how to draw him out.”
Susan started to speak but only sighed. She tried again. “Connor has every right to be angry; the universe or God or Mother Earth or whatever theology you ascribe to has treated him incredibly unfairly.”
“Agreed.” Kendall gave her a searching look. “Aside from that whole, rambling, politically correct ‘theology’ thing. But no one should spend his last years in a fog of impenetrable rage, especially when he has so few of them in the first place.”
Susan knew Kendall had a point. She could argue Connor ought to be allowed to act any way he wished to in his last months, but it seemed foolish. Connor’s anger had a reasonable explanation, but that did not mean he necessarily enjoyed it or wanted to spend the rest of his life enmeshed in it. “Nothing like jokes to cheer a person. And you clearly have a million of them.”
Kendall shook his head. “I’ve tried humor. I’ve gotten a rare smile, but he still chases me out of the room.”
“That rare smile is probably more than most people have managed.”
Kendall ran both hands through his hair, until it stuck up in ruddy spikes. “Maybe, but it’s not enough. It might win him over in time, but time is something he doesn’t have enough of.”
“Yes.” Susan watched Sharicka wander away from the medicine cart to sit in a plush chair and watch television. The well-cushioned chair made her look like a pudgy doll in its recesses. She no longer carried the balloon, instead clutching a stuffed monkey that looked worn and well loved. She placed the plushie in her lap, facing it toward the screen. “What does Connor do all day?”
“He lies in bed with a palm-pross on his chest. That’s about it. Day in and day out, just sitting or lying in various positions and sucking in passive entertainment.”
“What kind of passive entertainment?”
“Sports. Cartoons,” Kendall said. “I’ve noticed manga, and he does keep a stuffed animal in his bed. I’m not sure what it is; he won’t let me close enough to see it. It’s battered, though. He’s either had it a long time, or it takes the brunt of his anger.”
Susan had no special tricks up her sleeve. “Would you mind if I looked in on him this morning? It might give me some ideas.”
Kendall made a broad, dismissive gesture. “Be my guest. I’m not proud. Anything you can do to make things better is all right by me.” He winked at Susan. “If you can make me the hero this time, so much the better.”
Susan gave him a single, strong nod. “I’ll try my best.” She resisted the urge to tease him. To even jokingly suggest he did not have the stuff to become a champion meant vaunting her successes even further.
Susan headed out of the room to check on her patients before rounds. Diesel had an early-morning counseling session with his parents, a dietitian, an endocrinologist, and a social worker, preparing him for discharge. He could wait until after rounds. She headed for Monterey’s room, more in dutiful obligation than any hope she might accomplish anything. After a short visit, she intended to check on Connor Marchik.
Susan had barely exited the staffing area when an alarm bell shrilled through the corridor and over every PIPU Vox, directing them to the PIPU patient lounge. Silver light flashed around the television area, where a nurse named Alicia performed the Heimlich maneuver on Kamaria Natchez, a refractory schizophrenic patient of Nevaeh’s. Kamaria’s face had turned bluish, and she clutched wildly at her throat while the nurse drove both fists into her abdomen.
The children had scattered. A few watched curiously, including Sharicka Anson, who stood on her chair for a better view. Most bolted to their rooms, terrified either of the events or of getting blamed for them. A few cowered behind the furniture. Nurses came running, but Susan reached Kamaria and Alicia first. As the nurse was properly performing the technique, Susan did not attempt to take over. She merely stood by, waiting for Alicia to request assistance or for the situation to change.
It did, and swiftly. Kamaria went suddenly limp in Alicia’s arms. The nurse looked hopefully at Susan.
“Lay her down,” Susan said calmly. “On the floor. You need to clear her airway.”
Alicia did so. Kamaria sprawled onto the floor, fingers and face turning a duskier shade of sapphire. Placing a hand behind her neck, Alicia tipped Kamaria’s head backward to fully open her airway. Kneeling at Kamaria’s side, Susan asked, “What happened?”
“She had just taken her meds when she started choking.”
Kamaria gasped. A rubbery, vibrating sound emerged, but no air.
Susan looked into the girl’s mouth and thought she saw something red. She reached in with a finger and swept carefully, concerned she might drive the object deeper into Kamaria’s throat. Something clung to her finger as she removed it, a floppy piece of red balloon.
Kamaria huffed in another explosive breath. This time, the welcome, rushing sound of air went with it. The bluishness receded from her face almost immediately, and her eyes fluttered open. She breathed quickly, deeply, hyperventilating. Susan and Alicia helped her to the couch.
Susan put the piece of balloon into her pocket, then turned her attention to Sharicka.
The little girl met Susan’s gaze steadily, without a hint of guilt or discomfort, a slight smile playing across her lips. The whole incident had clearly amused her.
Susan could not help shivering. This was no accident. Instinctively, she knew she would find no other traces of what had once been Sharicka’s balloon except, perhaps, the string tucked away among the child’s belongings until Sharicka could find another cruel use for it.
By now, a crowd of nurses, aides, and residents had gathered. Kamaria’s face returned to normal, and she managed a hoarse “Thank you.”
Applause followed, from the staff and the other patients. Trying to downplay her role, Susan moved away and applauded Alicia and Kamaria along with the others. Monk’s expression looked pained. Nevaeh rolled her eyes. Sable clapped with the others, but she kept her gaze downcast. Only Kendall and Stony seemed truly happy for the rescue and Alicia’s and Susan’s quick reactions.
Leaving Alicia to explain what had happened, Susan hurried off to visit Monterey. The young teen sat in her
