Heroic Measures (continued)

February 12, 1999 . . .

Walter sat at Benny’s bedside, holding his son’s hand. He rubbed it slowly, gently, while his eyes were on the television set mounted high on the wall across the room from the bed. The sound was turned down, but he did not need it to understand what was happening. The Senate proceedings against the President were probably more interesting without the audio commentary, he mused wryly.

He breathed a deep sigh, fighting back the urge to doze. It was a Friday night, a time when most people spent celebrating the end of a workweek. For Walter, this was where he spent those evenings. Aside from being there with his son, it was a time when he could think and reflect on his life and the choices he had made.

A soft knock sounded at the door. At first, Walter thought it might be one of the nurses or attendants stopping by on their rounds. He then remembered that they had come less than an hour earlier.

“Come in,” he called softly, as if afraid that he might disturb Benny.

Above the quiet hum of the air conditioning system, his voice was loud enough to be heard.

A thickly knitted stocking cap appeared in the doorway, followed by twin waves of sandy brown curls that framed a familiar face. Had he had not known it so well, Walter might have been mystified by the heavily-clad figure who entered the room.

She seemed to be buried beneath a considerable quantity of clothing, unless she had gained a great deal of weight since Walter had seen her last. He wondered just how cold it had become outside, considering the number of layers she seemed to peel off before greeting him.

Walter rose as she removed a deep-buttoned cardigan and draped it over the back of one of the visitor’s chairs. None of the garments stacked there seemed to match—an observation that did not surprise Walter in the least.

“Walter,” she greeted him with only the barest hint of a smile.

“Isabel,” he responded in kind, but feeling genuinely glad of her company.

She strode toward him and hugged him lightly.

The embrace felt more than perfunctory to Walter, but did not last longer than a few moments.

She stepped back and studied Walter for a moment, seeming to take a special interest in his eyes. Frowning ever so slightly at what she found there, she then moved toward the bed where Benny lay.

She stood there for a long time, staring down at the comatose youth. Her eyes did not seem to move, but nor did they take on the hazy, unfocused of deep concentration.

Finally, she looked back toward Walter.

“May I?”

Walter nodded. As a former registered nurse, he knew that he had nothing to fear from her. He was equally certain that she would do nothing to harm Benny. Nevertheless, he swallowed dryly as her fingers went toward his son’s wrist.