Lisa Scottoline: Save Me

She didn’t want to miss the doctor, so she opened the bathroom door in case he came back. She twisted on the faucets, popped the bulb of antibacterial soap, and washed her face as best she could. She dried off with paper towels, checked the mirror again. She looked nothing like the model she’d once been, if only in catalogs. Her blue eyes, wide-set, large, and bloodshot, tilted down at the corners, and her nose, slim and straight, had turned red at its bony tip, from crying. Her mouth, wide with thinnish lips, was drawn into a frown. She remembered what her ex-husband Bernardo always used to say.

You look like somebody’s mom.

She sighed at the memory, bittersweet. Bernardo Cadiz was a handsome photographer she’d met on a shoot, and he’d always wanted more for her career, a better agent, bigger bookings, an exclusive with Almay or Dove. Rose knew she wasn’t pretty enough for the big leagues, though her Black Irish features and wholesome suburban look made her perfect for the Land’s End and L.L. Bean catalogs, and she regularly dolled-up as Snow White to model adult Halloween costumes. She wasn’t vain about her looks, because they were God-given; she viewed them as a way to earn a living. She’d never wanted a big career; what she really wanted was to be somebody’s mom, and when they’d gotten married, Bernardo had promised he’d leave behind his partying ways and downtown friends. What had happened after Melly was born surprised no one but her.

“Rose?” a voice called out, and she turned to see her husband, Leo, looking around the waiting room for her. “Honey?”

“In here,” Rose called back, her heart full at the sight of him. If Bernardo Cadiz had been all style, Leo Ingrassia was all substance, and he still looked like the Italian-American altar boy and second-string left tackle he’d been in high school. He was average height, stocky and powerfully built, and his face was honest and open, with rich brown eyes, round in shape, a coarse nose that was on the big side, and a full, generous mouth. His jet-black hair was thick, curly, and unruly, which suited him, because he was the least vain person she’d ever known.

“My God, honey! Look at you!” Leo’s eyes went wide with alarm, and he threw open his arms, reaching for her. “Are you okay? How’s Melly?”

“I don’t know, it’s awful.” Rose buried herself in his embrace, laying her cheek against the stiff starch of his oxford shirt.

“I was on the way home when Julie called. Where is she? What happened?”

“She’s with the doctors.” Rose hid her face in his shoulder. “She wasn’t conscious, and I’m worried about brain damage.”

“But they said you rescued her.”

“No, well, kind of.” Rose faltered, tears springing to her eyes. She didn’t know how he’d react if he knew she hadn’t gone immediately to Melly. She pulled away. “Leo, listen-”

Suddenly someone cleared his throat, and they turned around. A doctor she didn’t recognize entered the waiting room, his expression grave behind his steel-rimmed glasses. He had the lean look of a runner, and he was tall, African-American, and in his late fifties, the short hair at his temples shot through with silver.

“Hello,” the doctor said. “Are you the parents of Melinda Cadiz, the little girl from the school fire?”

“Yes,” Rose answered, reaching for Leo.

“I’m Dr. Holloeri.” He extended his hand and broke into a smile. “Your daughter is resting comfortably, and she’s looking good, so far.”

“Thank God!” Rose’s body flooded with relief. Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them away.

“Leo Ingrassia.” He shook the doctor’s hand. “Doc, what’s the matter with her? Is there brain damage?”

“No,” Dr. Holloeri answered. “However, she suffered significant smoke inhalation. It causes the throat to swell, restricting the airflow to the lungs, and this can be dangerous in a child. There can be swelling in the throat and trachea for up to forty-eight hours after exposure. We need to monitor her levels for the next day or so.”

Rose wiped her wet eyes, and Leo put his arm around her.

Dr. Holloeri continued, “One concern would be if she were exposed to fumes from plastics or other toxic materials. That can cause problems as she gets older, but I won’t go into the technicalities. Right now she looks good.”

“Can we see her?” Rose asked, recovering.

“Not yet. She’s asleep, and we gave her a sedative.”

“A sedative, is that a good idea?” Leo asked, and Dr. Holloeri turned to him.

“Yes. The sedation is light, and her physical symptoms are uncomfortable.”

“Can’t we see her, anyway?” Rose asked, again. “Even if she’s sleeping? It’s for my sake, not hers.”

“Mom, you’ll do her more good to go home now, clean up, and come back.” Dr. Holloeri glanced at the wall clock. “I figure, say, about two hours. By then, she’ll be coming around, looking for you. After she wakes up, she’ll want you for the duration, and I’m guessing you’ll want that, too.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Dr. Holloeri touched Rose on the shoulder, and his eyes softened behind his no-nonsense glasses. “You saved your daughter’s life today. If she’d spent another five minutes in that smoke, we’d be having a much different conversation.”

Leo looked over, with a surprised smile. “Babe, jeez. That’s amazing.”

“No, not really.” Rose reddened, secretly ashamed. She felt like an imposter, knowing that she’d rolled the dice with her daughter’s life. It was dumb luck that had saved Melly.

“Okay, take care.” Dr. Holloeri smiled. “I ought to get back to work.”

“Thanks so much.” Rose gave him a hug.

“Yes, thanks.” Leo shook his hand again. “We really appreciate all you’ve done for her.”

“You’re very welcome. Stay well, folks.” Dr. Holloeri left the waiting room, and Rose and Leo followed, bade him another good-bye, and passed through the automatic doors at the ER exit.

Rose took Leo’s arm as they stepped outside, and her nose and throat stung in the humid air, an Indian summer that just wouldn’t quit. The sun burned over the pin oaks surrounding the entrance, their large, spiky leaves turned splashy red and rich rust. They shed brittle leaves on the walkway, where a small crowd stood, their heads swiveling to Rose and Leo. One of them was a TV anchorwoman in thick foundation and a bright red suit.

“Hello, Ms. McKenna!” the TV anchorwoman called out, flashing a camera-ready smile. She made a beeline for them, a microphone in her manicured hand, and she was followed by a producer-type and a photographer, who rested a bulky videocamera on his shoulder. “I’m Tanya Robertson, at Channel 9. I’m so honored to meet you. You’re so brave!”

“Oh, no, please.” Rose stiffened, aware that nurses, orderlies, and a uniformed security guard were watching, since Reesburgh didn’t get many visits from TV celebrities.

“Okay if we film?” Tanya grinned, raising her microphone. Behind her, the cameraman pressed a button with his thumb, and the videocamera whirred to life.

“No, please, I’m a mess.” Rose put up a hand.

“Come on, you look great. How’s your daughter Melinda? Her nickname’s Melly, right? Is she out of the woods?”

“She’s much better, thanks.” Rose looked around for an escape route, but the producer and cameraman blocked the path.

“We understand that you saved her life. Tell us how.”

“No, thanks.” Rose wanted to forget about today, not relive it for TV.

“Aw, my wife is too modest.” Leo squeezed her tight. “In five more minutes, our daughter would have been dead.”

“Really?” Tanya’s mascaraed eyes flew open, and the cameraman filmed away, the black lens hood moving forward and back. “Ms. McKenna, what did you do to save your daughter?”