Page 53 of Private Pleasures

“They don’t know,” Rick said quietly. “I was to pick her up this morning to drive into town to Kramer’s office. When she didn’t show up, I called first but didn’t get any answer, so I went over. I rang the bell. I knocked. I called her. Nothing. So I went back home and got a spare key. We all have keys for the other houses on the court,” Rick explained, knowing Jeff wouldn’t have known that. “I let myself into the house. Both cats shot by me. We’ll have to get them in later. I called her name, but the place was as silent as a tomb. So I started searching the house. I went upstairs first, and when I couldn’t find her, I came back down to look around there. I found her in the den.

“She was in her chair, in front of the television. It was still on, but no picture. She must have ordered a movie, and whatever happened to her happened while she was watching it. Her teacup was tipped over. There was no sign of forced entry, or violence. I called emergency, and they brought her to the hospital,” Rick concluded.

“Did she try to commit suicide?” Jeff asked. “Did you see any pills?”

“You know Nora doesn’t take anything stronger than aspirin,” Carla finally spoke up, “or maybe you don’t. You’ve never been around much. Besides, Nora wouldn’t kill herself over you.” The last word was said in a scornful tone.

“What do the doctors say?” Jeff wanted to know.

“We’re waiting for Dr. Rhone now,” Rick answered. “He’s the ER guy.”

“I’ll wait with you,” Jeff said.

Carla made a rather rude noise but said nothing more for the time being.

The doctor arrived. He looked to Rick and spoke, but Rick quickly introduced Jeff to the physician, who said, “I didn’t realize Mrs. Buckley’s husband was still alive.”

Carla laughed aloud.

“We’re in the process of a divorce,” Jeff said. “Rick is my wife’s attorney, and should be told anything that concerns her health. I’ll be driving back into town shortly. I just came out when I heard the news.”

“Oh,” Dr. Rhone said. “Well, the preliminary tox reports are in. There is nothing in her system that would indicate she took any harmful substance. Not even an aspirin. She doesn’t appear to have had a stroke, although those are difficult to pinpoint actually, so it might be she stroked out, but the MRI shows nothing. Other than that, I have no answers. Her vitals are good. But Dr. Sam will know more. He’s her regular guy.”

“She isn’t dying?” Jeff asked.

“Not at all,” Dr. Rhone replied. “She’s simply unconscious, and we can find no cause yet. But I’m sure we will. And she could wake up at any time. Tell me, Mr. Buckley, has this divorce proceeding been particularly stressful for Mrs. Buckley? Stress is something we’re learning more about every day. It seems to be able to do just about anything to a body and mind’s well-being.”

“You bet, she’s been upset,” Carla burst forth. “Wouldn’t you be if after twenty-six years of devotion and love, you were told you were being replaced by a Heidi, who is young enough to be your daughter?”

“Carla!” Rick pleaded.

Dr. Rhone looked uncomfortable. “About your wife’s care, Mr. Buckley,” he began. “Since you aren’t here, would you like to sign a document delegating your wife’s attorney to make any decisions that need to be made?”

“Sure,” Jeff said. He turned to Rick. “That’s okay with you?”

“Yeah,” Rick told him. “I’m here. You’re not. What about her health insurance? Has the divorce policy kicked in yet?”

“Call my assistant, Carol. She’s got all the particulars, but yes, Nora is covered,” Jeff said. He turned back to the doctor. “Can I see her?”

“Certainly, come with me,” Dr. Rhone replied.

Jeff followed the physician into the ICU, where Nora lay quietly in a neatly made hospital bed. He looked down at her. She looked younger than she had last spring. And she had colored her hair. He figured she’d be going fishing for another husband once they were parted. And she was a heck of a lot thinner. There was even a slight smile on her face. She was very still. She actually looked as if she were sleeping, and having a very nice dream while she did. He turned away. Wake up, or die, damnit! the voice in his head said. “Let me sign that paper now so Rick can have the responsibility of her care,” Jeff said, and returned to the waiting room.

“I’ll have a nurse bring you the papers,” Dr. Rhone told him. Then he was gone.

“You’re certain you don’t mind doing this?” Jeff asked Rick one more time.

“He doesn’t mind!” Carla snapped. “Nora and I are best friends. Who else is here who can look after her?” You schmuck, she thought silently.

Jeff signed the papers and handed them back to the waiting nurse. “Look, Carla,” he said, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand.

“It isn’t the divorce that bothers me, Jeff,” she said. “It’s what a son of a bitch you have been about it. All she wanted was the house. She deserved it. She wanted nothing else from you. No alimony. Nothing. Just the house.”

“I don’t want to start with another mortgage at my age,” he said.

“Hey, you’re starting with another wife. And don’t think she won’t want at least one kid, Jeff. She will. If you play, honey, you gotta pay. But Nora shouldn’t have had to pay for your libido, and your big whopping midlife crisis. Whatever has happened to her is your fault. She’s lying there right now because of you. I hope you’re satisfied! Now run home to Bambi, or whatever the hell her name is. Just don’t let me ever see your face again!” And Carla began to cry.

Jeff Buckley looked distinctly uncomfortable. He had never understood his wife’s friendship with Carla, a smart-mouthed city kid—an Italian Catholic, for God’s sake. And the others. Rina Seligmann, a Jewish social worker. Joanne, who was the wife of a hardware store owner. Tiffany Pietro d’Angelo, that hot little blonde who had kneed him once when he had come on to her. Good riddance to them all. Rick was comforting his wife. Jeff caught his eye. “Thanks,” he said, and then he left. He could hardly wait to get back to town, but telling Heidi wasn’t going to be easy.