Fatal Cure. Chapter 8, 9, 10, 11
8
SUMMER IN VERMONT
Days melted into weeks and weeks into months as summer advanced. The sweet white corn grew chest-high across the road from the Wilsons’ house and could be heard rustling in the evening breeze from the front porch. Plump tomatoes ripened to a deep red in the garden by the terrace. Crab apples the size of golf balls began to drop from the tree next to the barn. Cicadas buzzed incessantly in the midmorning August heat.
David and Angela’s work continued to be stimulating and rewarding as they settled into their jobs. Each day brought some new experience that they enthusiastically shared with each other as they lingered over quiet suppers.
Rusty’s appetite remained undiminished and a source of wonder as he grew quickly and with great exuberance, catching up to the size of his feet. Yet despite his growth he maintained the same adorable quality he’d had as a tiny puppy. Everyone found it impossible to pass him without offering a pat on the head or a scratch behind a golden ear.
Nikki flourished in the new environment. Her respiratory status remained normal and her lungs stayed clear. She also made new friends. She was closest to Caroline Helmsford by far; Caroline was a petite child a year older than Nikki who also suffered from cystic fibrosis. Having had so many unique experiences in common, the girls formed a particularly strong bond.
They had met quite by accident. Although the Wilsons had been told about Caroline on their first visit to Bartlet, they’d made no attempt to contact her. The two girls had bumped into each other in the local grocery’ store which Caroline’s parents owned and ran.
Nikki also befriended the Yansen boy, Arni, who happened to be exactly Nikki’s age. Their birthdays were only a week apart. Arni was like his father: short, squarely built, and aggressive. He and Nikki hit it off and spent hours in and out of the barn, never at a loss for things to do.
As much as they loved their work, the Wilsons delighted in their weekends. Saturday mornings David rose with the sun to make hospital rounds, then played three-on-three basketball in the high school gym with a group of physicians.
Saturday and Sunday afternoons David and Angela devoted to work on the house. While Angela worked on the interior, busying herself with curtains and stripping old furniture, David tackled outdoor projects like fixing the porch or replacing the drainpipes. David proved even less handy than Angela had feared. He was forever running off to Staley’s Hardware Store for more advice. Fortunately, Mr. Staley took pity on David and gave him many lectures on fixing broken screens, leaky faucets, and burned-out electrical switches.
On Saturday, the twenty-first of August, David got up early as usual, made himself coffee, and left for the hospital. Rounds went quickly since he only had to see one patient, John Tarlow, the leukemia victim. Like David’s other oncology patients, John had to be hospitalized frequently for a variety of problems. This latest hospitalization resulted from an abscess on his neck. Fortunately, he was doing fine. David anticipated discharging him in the next few days.
After completing his rounds, David biked over to the high school for basketball. Entering the gym he discovered that there were more people than usual waiting to play. When David finally got into the game he noticed that the competition was fiercer than usual. The reason was that no one wanted to lose because the losers had to sit out.
David responded to the heightened competition by playing more vigorously himself. Coming down from a rebound, his elbow collided solidly with Kevin Yansen’s nose.
David stopped mid-stride, turning in time to see Kevin cradling his nose in both hands. Blood was dripping between his fingers.
“Kevin,” David called in alarm. “Are you all right?”
“Chrissake,” Kevin snarled through his cupped hands. “You ass!”
“I’m sorry,” David said. He felt embarrassed at his own aggressiveness. “Let me see.” David reached out and tried to ease Kevin’s hands away from his face.
“Don’t touch me,” Kevin snapped.
“Come on, Mr. Aggressive,” Trent Yarborough called from across the floor. Trent was a surgeon and one of the better ballplayers. He’d played at Yale. “Let’s see the old schnozzola. Frankly, I’m glad to see you get a little of your own medicine.”