coming from beneath the hospital gown.
For a few seconds Jennifer was paralyzed. Then she lunged for the nurse’s call button and pressed it repeatedly. Cheryl still had not moved. Abandoning the call button, Jennifer dashed to the door and frantically called for help. Marlene appeared almost immediately and pushed past Jennifer, who flattened herself against the wall of the corridor, her hands pressed to her mouth. Several other hospital nurses rushed into the room. Then someone ran out and issued an emergency page over the previously silent PA system.
Jennifer felt someone take her arm. “Mrs. Schonberg. Can you tell us what happened?”
Jennifer turned to face Marlene. There was blood on the side of the nurse’s cheek. Jennifer peered into the room.
They were giving Cheryl mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
“We were talking,” said Jennifer. “She didn’t complain about anything. She just sounded drunk. When she tried to get out of bed, she collapsed and then there was all that blood.”
Several doctors, including Dr. Stephenson, ran down the hallway and into Cheryl’s room. Soon another doctor arrived with what looked like an anesthesia machine. Marlene helped him maneuver it into the room, leaving Jennifer alone.
Jennifer leaned against the wall, feeling dizzy. She was vaguely aware of other patients standing in the doorways of their rooms.
Two orderlies appeared with a gurney. A moment later Jennifer saw Cheryl for the last time as she was taken back to the treatment room. She had a black anesthesia mask clasped over her shockingly pale face. At least a dozen people were grouped around her shouting orders.
“Are you all right?” asked Marlene, suddenly appearing in front of Jennifer.
“I think so,” said Jennifer. Her voice was flat, like Dr.
Stephenson’s. “What’s wrong with Cheryl?”
“I don’t think anybody knows yet,” said Marlene.
“She’ll be all right,” said Jennifer, more as a statement than a question.
“Dr. Stephenson is one of the very best,” said Marlene.
“Why don’t you come to the lounge across from the nurses’
station. I don’t want you sitting by yourself.”
“My bag is in Cheryl’s room,” said Jennifer.
“You wait here. I’ll get it,” said Marlene.
After retrieving it, Marlene took Jennifer to the lounge and offered her something to drink, but Jennifer assured her that she was fine.
“Do you know what they’re going to do?” asked Jennifer, not certain she wanted to hear the answer.
“That’s up to the doctors,” said Marlene. “They’ll certainly take out the fetus. Other than that, I don’t know.”
“Is the baby causing this bleeding?”
“Most likely. Both the bleeding and the shock. That’s why they have to get it out.”
Making Jennifer promise to call if she needed anything, Marlene went back to work. Every few minutes, though, she would wave to Jennifer and Jennifer would wave back.
Jennifer had never liked hospitals, and this present experience confirmed her long-standing aversion. She checked her watch. It was three-twenty.
Almost an hour passed before Dr. Stephenson reappeared.
His hair was matted across his forehead, his face drawn.
Jennifer’s heart skipped a beat.
“We did the best we could,” he said, sitting opposite her.
“Is she . . .” began Jennifer, feeling as if she were watching a soap opera.
Dr. Stephenson nodded. “She’s dead. We couldn’t save her.
She had DIC, or diffuse intravascular coagulation. It’s a condition that we don’t really understand too well, but it is occasionally associated with abortions. We’ve only had one other case here at the Julian, and fortunately the patient did well. With Cheryl, however, the situation was complicated by uncontrollable hemorrhaging. Even if we had been able to resuscitate her, I’m afraid she would have lost her kidney function.”
Jennifer nodded, but she didn’t understand in the slightest. It was all too unbelievable.
“Do you know the family?” asked Dr. Stephenson.
“No,” said Jennifer.
“That’s too bad,” he said. “Cheryl was not willing to give their address or phone number. It’s going to make it difficult to track them down.”
Marlene and Gale appeared in front of Jennifer. Both had been crying. Jennifer was astounded. She’d never heard of nurses crying.
“We’re all very upset about this,” said Dr. Stephenson.
“That’s the trouble with practicing medicine. You do your best, but sometimes it is just not enough. Losing a young, vibrant girl like Cheryl is a tragedy. Here at the Julian Clinic we take this kind of failure very personally.”
Fifteen minutes later Jennifer left the clinic by the same door she’d entered with Cheryl only hours before. She could not quite grasp the fact that her friend was dead. She turned and looked up at the mirrored facade of the Julian Clinic.
Depite what had happened, she still had a good feeling about the hospital. It was a place where people counted.
• • •
Following McGuire off the elevator on the nineteenth floor after lunch, Adam paused. He was again both impressed and appalled by the costly furnishings. The appointments were so lavish they made McGuire’s floor seem utilitarian by comparison.
Quickening his step, Adam caught up with McGuire just as he was entering the most spectacular office Adam had ever seen. One entire wall was glass, and beyond it the Jersey countryside unrolled in winter majesty.
“You like the view?” asked a voice. Adam turned. “I’m Bill Shelly,” the man said, walking around his desk. “Glad you could come out and see us.”
“My pleasure,” said Adam, surprised at Mr. Shelly’s youthfulness. Adam had expected someone at least fifty years of age as a senior executive. Mr. Shelly did not appear to be more than thirty. He was Adam’s height with closely cut blond hair combed with a razor-sharp part. His eyes were a startlingly bright blue. He was dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, pink tie, and tan slacks.
Mr. Shelly gestured out the window. “Those buildings in the distance are Newark. Even Newark looks good from a distance.” Behind Adam, McGuire chuckled.
Looking out the window, Adam realized he could also see the lower part of Manhattan. There were lots of clouds, and shafts of sunlight slanted down, illuminating some of the New York skyscrapers while leaving others in blue shadow.
“How about some refreshment,” said Mr. Shelly, moving over to a coffee table that supported a silver service. “We’ve got coffee, tea, and just about anything else.”
The three men sat down. McGuire and Adam asked for coffee.
Bill Shelly poured himself a cup of tea.
“McGuire has told me a little about you,” said Shelly, sizing up Adam as he talked.
Adam began to speak, repeating essentially the same things he had told McGuire earlier. The two Arolen executives exchanged glances, nodding imperceptibly. Bill had no doubt that McGuire’s assessment had been accurate. The content of the personality profile that Bill had ordered drawn up during lunch confirmed Bill’s sense that Adam was a particularly good choice for their managerial training program. Finding candidates was a high priority, since the company was expanding so rapidly. The only reservation Bill had was that the boy might go back to medical school, but that could be handled too.
When Adam finished, Bill put down his teacup and said, “We find your attitude about the medical profession
