Мэри Эндрюс - The Newcomer

“You have no idea how tired I am. I can’t remember the last time I had an uninterrupted night of sleep,” Tanya would exclaim on Sunday mornings when Letty arrived for her regular playdate with Maya. “You have her for three hours, but the rest of the time it’s just me.”

“And the help,” Letty pointed out. “A nanny, a once-a-week housekeeper, and preschool.”

“You try it sometime,” Tanya had shot back. “Now I get why Mama was only too happy to ship us off to Mimi every chance she got. If I never have to wipe another snotty nose or poopy butt, I will die happy.”

The thought of her sister brought sudden tears to Letty’s eyes, but she shook them off. Crying wouldn’t bring Tanya back and it wouldn’t help Letty figure out how to bring Evan to justice. She’d been scared and powerless long enough now. It was time to fight back, she decided. Just as soon as she figured out how.

An hour later, she was unloading groceries when the door to unit 11 opened and Sheila Bronson emerged. “Help!” she cried, spotting Letty. “Come quick. I think Harry’s having a heart attack.”

Letty dropped the sack of groceries she’d been toting and raced to the unit. The bedroom door was open and the first thing she saw was Harry Bronson, stretched out on the bed, clutching his chest and groaning. “I’m okay,” he protested, rolling onto his side. “I’m okay.” He didn’t look okay to Letty. His face was pale and flecked with perspiration. He was a beefy man, built, Letty thought, like the beer trucks he’d driven before retirement.

“Did you call 911?” Letty asked.

“He won’t let me call,” Sheila said, wringing her hands.

“No,” Harry growled. “I’m fine.…” His face contorted in pain. “Shit, it hurts.”

Letty reached for her phone. “Then I’ll call.”

“Goddammit, I said I’m fine!” Harry tried to sit up, but sank back down onto the bed. “Just leave me alone.”

“Harry! You don’t have to yell. She’s just trying to help,” Sheila said, starting to weep.

Letty backed out of the motel room, followed by Sheila. “He’s so stubborn, but he’s been having these chest pains since lunch. He swore it was just heartburn, because he ate kielbasa, and it always gives him heartburn.…”

Ava came out of the office and trotted over to where the two women stood in the breezeway. “Sheila? Is everything okay?”

“Well, not really,” Sheila said, her voice trembling.

Letty spoke up. “Harry might be having a heart attack. He’s been having chest pains for over an hour, and he’s pale and sweating, but he won’t let her call for an ambulance.”

“He doesn’t trust doctors down here,” Sheila said, glancing over her shoulder into the unit, where they could hear the husband softly moaning.

“I’m going back to the office and calling Joe,” Ava said. “Letty, stay here with Sheila, please.”

Letty reluctantly went back into the darkened bedroom. The nightstand beside Harry was littered with pill bottles and the remnants of a messy sandwich.

“Aspirin,” Letty said, remembering something she’d read somewhere about first aid for heart-attack patients. “Sheila, do you have any aspirin?”

“Y-y-yes,” the older woman stammered. She scrabbled around on the nightstand, shook out a capsule, and offered it to her husband.

“I think you’re supposed to chew it, not just swallow it, to make it work faster,” Letty said.

“Leave me alone,” he muttered, but after a moment, he took the tablet and chewed.

“Has he had chest pains before?” Letty asked.

“I told you, it’s just heartburn,” Harry said. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

Joe DeCurtis looked down at the stricken man on the bed, while Ava, Sheila, and Letty hovered nearby. “I called 911,” he announced. He sat on the bed next to the patient. “Don’t think I’m getting fresh,” he said, “but I’m gonna unbuckle your belt and unfasten your shirt.”

He touched the side of the man’s face. “Come on, Harry,” he said, grabbing his arm. “Let’s get you sitting up. It’ll make it easier for you to breathe.” He helped the older man to a sitting position, then slid a pillow under his knees. “Now lean forward if you can,” he said, his voice calm. “That’ll help pump blood to your heart.”

He looked over at Sheila. “Does he take nitroglycerin? Any kind of heart medication?”

She shook her head. “He had an episode like this last summer, when we were at the lake in Wisconsin. The doctor there prescribed it, but then the symptoms went away, and we never got it filled.”

“We had him chew an aspirin right before you got here,” Letty volunteered.

“Good idea,” Joe said. He kept his hand on the stricken man’s back. “Hang in there, Harry. The dispatcher I talked to said the EMTs were five minutes out.”

Right on cue, they heard the high-pitched sound of an ambulance drawing near. Letty stood outside in the parking lot, waving it toward the unit.

Ten minutes later, the paramedics wheeled the patient out of the room on a stretcher, an oxygen mask strapped over his face. “They gave him nitro because it looks like it actually is a heart attack,” Joe said, touching Sheila’s arm. “They’re going to take him to the emergency room.”

“I’m going too,” Sheila said, but Joe pulled her back. “They won’t let you ride in the ambulance. I’ll take you myself.” He glanced back inside the room. “Why don’t you grab all his medications? The doctors are going to want to know everything he’s taking. And don’t forget his ID and yours and your insurance cards.”

“Okay,” Sheila said. “I will.”

“We’ll lock up here,” Ava told her. “You just go with Joe. And let us know what the doctors say.”

The ambulance pulled away, lights flashing and siren screaming. Sheila buried her face in Ava’s shoulder for a moment. “Thank you,” she said.

20

A SMALL KNOT OF MOTEL GUESTS had begun to gather in the parking lot, drawn outside by the sight and sounds of the ambulance.

“Who was it?” Ruth Feldman asked Ava. “What happened?”

Ava and Letty exchanged a worried glance. “We think Harry Bronson might have had a heart attack,” Ava said reluctantly.

“Who?” Merwin Maples walked up, a beach towel wrapped around his waist. “Is he dead?”

“No!” Ava said. “It was Harry. He had some chest pains after lunch. He was insisting it was just heartburn and wouldn’t let Sheila call 911.”

“Stubborn old fool,” Wilona Wilson said, shaking her head. “That’s the same thing that happened with my Barrett. Wouldn’t let me call a doctor, didn’t want to make a fuss. By the time I got him to the hospital, it was too late.”

Oscar Jensen strolled up, a lit cigarette in hand. “Did somebody say Harry Bronson died?”

“Oscar, put that thing out,” Ava snapped. “Nobody died.”

By now the crowd of regulars had grown to more than a dozen people, worriedly murmuring among themselves.

“Everybody, listen up,” Ava said. “Here’s what happened. Harry Bronson was having chest pains. He didn’t want Sheila to call 911, so I called Joe, and he called 911. In the meantime, Letty got him to take some aspirin, which is the best thing to do. The EMTs told us they think maybe Harry did have a heart attack. They gave him some nitroglycerin, and took him to the hospital. Joe took Sheila over there in his truck. He’ll call me as soon as they have news, and I’ll let everyone know.”

Oscar Jensen stubbed out his cigarette on the pavement, and when Ava glared at him, picked up the butt.

“That’s it. We’re screwed,” he told Merwin. “Might as well call off the tournament if we don’t have Harry. He’s our ace.”