Robert Masello - The Medusa Amulet

“I never thought I’d believe that,” she said. “I always thought-as much as anybody who’s healthy ever thinks about it at all-that I’d be happy to live my life, and go peacefully, with no complaints, whenever it ended.”

She coughed, and raised a gloved hand to her colorless thin lips.

“But that’s what you think when things are fine,” she said. “That’s what you think when there’s nothing really wrong. I don’t think like that anymore.”

A note of bitterness, one he seldom heard, had crept into her voice.

“Now, I’d give anything I could-and do whatever it takes-to live. To get old and gray with Gary. To see Emme play in the all-city orchestra, and go to her high-school prom, then off to college. To find out who she falls in love with, and what she decides to do with her life. To see her become a young woman, and have children of her own. I want all of that, David, all of it,” she said, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “I never thought I could want anything so much. And I’m so ashamed to be so weak and angry now.”

“You have no reason to be ashamed of anything,” David said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and hugging her tight. “You’re the bravest person I know, and you’ve got a right to be angry. You’ve been through hell.” Mrs. Van Owen’s offer-“I can promise she’ll live to a ripe old age”-rang in his head like a cracked bell.

The tears were rolling down both cheeks, and one or two of the passing skaters threw a glance their way.

“Don’t let Emme see me like this,” she murmured into his coat.

“Don’t worry. She’s way over by the concession stand with Amanda,” he assured her.

“I just needed to say it.”

“You can say anything to me, you know that. You always have.”

She sniffled a little and smiled at that.

“Remember how you told me,” he said, “back when I was in junior high, that no girl would ever go out with me if I didn’t get rid of my dandruff? Or that I was such a bad dancer, I should just sort of stand in place and shuffle my feet around?”

“I told you that?” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be-you were right. I bought shampoo, and I learned how to dance.”

She wiped her eyes on the back of her mittens and straightened up. “I wonder if this is how Mom felt, right about now?”

It was something that David had considered, too. Had their mother, who perished in the same way, felt this same anguish and frustration and-yes-fury toward the end?

“Maybe so,” David said.

Sarah just nodded.

Emme was skating toward them very carefully, with a big cardboard cup of hot chocolate in her hand.

“Watch it or you’ll spill that,” David said, getting up and giving her a hand. Emme looked at her mother, knowing something was up, as she plopped down on the other side of the bench and began to take her own skates off.

“I see you got the whole enchilada,” David said to distract her. “Whipped cream and marshmallows on top. What happened to the cherry?”

“Is everything okay?” Emme asked her mother, pulling on her boots.

“Fine, honey. Everything’s fine. But did Amanda pay for that? I’ll go give her mother the money.”

“No,” Emme said, reclaiming the hot chocolate. “A friend of Uncle David’s bought one for both of us. He said it was his treat.”

Sarah glanced at David, just as a puzzled look crossed David’s face. “A friend of mine? What was his name?”

“I don’t remember. But he had a funny way of talking.”

“Is he still here? Point him out, Emme,” he said, in a cautiously neutral tone. “I’d really like to go and say hi.”

Emme took a big swig of the chocolate while her eyes scanned the rink, then the street beyond.

“That’s him,” she said, pointing out toward the street, where a stocky man with a bald head was just then unlocking the door of a black BMW.

“Do you know him?” Sarah asked nervously.

But the look on his face told her no.

“I’ll be right back,” David said, taking off around the edge of the rink.

“David, just call the police if you have to! Don’t do anything that could get you hurt.”

But David was already hearing nothing but the pounding in his own eardrums. Who was the guy, closing the car door? If he’d really been some friend, he’d have come over to say hello. But he was starting to look vaguely familiar. Why?

“Hey!” he shouted, rounding one end of the rink, with his arm raised and waving. “Hey, you!”

He had to scramble through the line of kids waiting at the concession stand before he actually got out of the park.

The BMW had pulled away from the curb, and David, marooned on the wrong side of the street, had to wait for a bus to rumble by. By the time it did, the car was moving toward him, and David skidded out into the slushy thoroughfare, waving his arms and calling out for the car to stop.

All he could see of the driver, hunkered down behind the tinted windows, was a shaved head, tilted inquisitively to one side, as if the guy was amused at playing a game of chicken.

“Stop!” David shouted, holding up his hands, though instead of slowing down, or even swerving, the car kept coming right at him. “Stop the car!”

If anything, the guy sped up, blasting his horn. Somebody at the bus stop shrieked, and David, his feet slipping on the icy pavement, had to leap out of the way at the last second, landing in a snowbank piled up at the curb. He plunged into the snow up to his elbows, but by the time he was able to turn around again, the black car had zoomed by, horn still blaring, and was turning at the next corner. There was no time to make out any of the numbers on the license plate, or much else.

A passerby suddenly leaned over the snowdrift, extending a hand and saying, “That was a close call! What the hell were you doing in the middle of the street?”

David took his hand and pulled himself over the snow and onto the sidewalk.

“You hurt?” the man asked.

“No, I’m okay,” David said, dusting the snow and ice off his pants and coat. Several people were standing in the park on the other side of the street, and some of the skaters had stopped dead to watch the drama unfold.

“It’s all over,” David called out. “End of show.”

But it wasn’t. Above the noise of the passing traffic, and the scratchy sounds of “White Christmas” from the concession stand, David heard Emme’s voice, screaming his name.

The ambulance arrived within minutes, and after hugging Emme and assuring her that her mother was going to be all right, David sent her home with Amanda and her mom. The paramedics said he could ride in the back.

Sarah was going in and out of consciousness, and from the best David had been able to gather, she had run after him in a panic, lost her footing on the ice, and smacked her head on the sidewalk. He hovered above her, holding one hand while the medic monitored her vital signs.

“Anything else I should know about her condition?” the medic asked, glancing up at David.

“She’s being treated for cancer,” David said, and the medic immediately nodded, confirming his suspicions. It was hard to look at her and not guess it.

“Which hospital?”

“Evanston.”

“Good. That’s where we were going, anyway.”

As soon as they got there, Sarah was rushed through the emergency entrance, and David made a quick call to her husband’s cell phone. When Gary picked up, he said he’d already heard from Amanda’s mom and was on his way from a real-estate conference in Skokie. When he arrived, the paper name tag was still stuck to the lapel of his sport coat.

Fortunately, her oncologist, Dr. Ross, was on call, and he joined them near the nursing station, with a grave expression on his face.