3 Months Later
My new morning routine went like this.
I open my eyes at 1:15 am without an alarm clock. I’d hold my breathe hoping to find some trace of Tomas next to me. Usually he didn’t come home until after I went to bed, if his fibromyalgia was really acting up he’d wake me up to help him get ready for bed, other times he just re-focused on the pain and spent the entire night on the floor drawing.
That day he’d fallen asleep on top of the covers still dressed in his street clothes with his wheelchair toppled over on the floor, there was a crack in the small bedroom wall from where the chair had struck it. His pants are unbuttoned and pulled down to his ankles, his legs are covered in fresh scratch marks from where he had to try to claw out the decaying nerves under his skin. I patch the bleeding scratch marks quickly and rub some numbing cream on his leg, he doesn’t stir and I check his pulse to make sure that he is breathing. I quickly check his bag to make sure he’s refilled his anti-depressants. I find them in the bottom of his bag along with a small bag of weed, business cards, condom wrappers and latex gloves.
I rush through the shower and put my hair up in a wet bun, so I have time to get Tomas changed and under the covers. Elijah is still sound asleep in his crib, I lay him gently on the bed and wrap him up so he can’t roll over. I put on a pair of black jeans, flats, a black sweater then throw on a new mineral foundation, a smoky purple eye, dark pink lipgloss and head off into the night.
When I get to the 24/7 CVS pharmacy on Rodanthe Avenue, I immediately clock in at the beauty counter and start unpacking the new merchandise. The bold summer colors were out early and everything had some sort of mineral in it. I removed the store samples first and put them in the backroom for my co-workers to look through.
I started cleaning the beauty section and throwing away open
makeup. The beauty section was small and less complex than the one at the
Angeline’s department store I’d worked at when I was a teenager, but my
experience at a high-end store had impressed the manager and I’d desperately
needed the extra income. The 2am-7am shift was always slow, no one really came
to a convenience store looking for make-up, so I spent most of the time with
the merchandise and pointing people to the medicine aisles.Before the sun rose I’d managed to help a harried
businesswoman find a mascara she could take on the plane and directed a woman
with a coughing baby to the cold medicine. I usually clocked out a little after
8am and headed back to the neighborhood.
Using my key, I’d let myself into Mr. Randolph’s mother’s house, setting down my bag down and washing my hands in her sink. Usually the sound of running water wakes Mrs. Randolph up
“Sofia ?”, she called from her tiny bedroom.
“It’s me”, I called back.
Her duplex was set up like the one we rented and over the past
20 years she had made it her own, the walls were covered in red floral
wallpaper and the living room was stuffed with plush green velvet furniture. I was
glad to see her sitting up in bed. She was 88-years old and despite her son’s constant
suggestions, she’d refused to move out of her home as she became more fragile.
“That is some . . . interesting eye makeup”, she said squinting at me.
“It’s called a smoky eye.” I told her, “I saw a tutorial in Allure.”
“It looks painful.” she said decidedly. I close the blinds and help her wash, then we put on the new dress she just ordered from JCPenney. She settles into her favorite living room chair and I turn the TV on. I catch a bit of her favorite morning show while making her toast and slicing up fruit. I bring her breakfast and clean up the kitchen and tidy her bedroom. Tara , her day home care nurse had again left the place in a mess. Then we play a game where I pretend not to notice her put a crisp 50 dollar bill in my bag while I pour her a cup of coffee.
“Is Tara coming to stay with you today?” I asks picking up her outgoing mail and slinging her laundry bag over my shoulder.
“She is such a bitch”, Mrs. Randolph never held back her opinions anymore. I wished I could get to that point, “I wish you’d stay, Sofia”
“Me too, but I have school and work. If you don’t like Tara you can fire her.”
Mrs. Randolph looks over her breakfast.
“I’m too nice for that and I think my idiot son is in love with her. I mean she’s 36—far too young for him.”
I only half listen as Mrs. Randolph tells me where she thinks she went wrong raising her son. I check my phone because as long as the daycare doesn’t call asking where Elijah is. . . I know Tomas has safely dropped him off. I stick around until Tara Lynn shows up at 8:09, late as usual.
I drop by the duplex long enough to leave Mrs. Randolph’s laundry in the living room. On the way to the bus, I stop by Elijah’s daycare. The screen door is unlocked and I peek in to see him in the playpen with the other a few other 6 months old. He’s not crying which is good, but he is still smaller than most of the other babies. I’m afraid if he sees me he will get upset so I don’t step in. Before I leave I make sure to lock the screen door before running to catch the bus.
When I get to Lenox Hill Hospital at 9:00 am, I scrub in for a six hour shift. It’s a slow day so I just shadow some of my favorite nurse. I spend my breaks studying for my NCLEX even though I won’t be able to take it until December. I want to send Tomas a few text but I don’t know what to say to him.
When my shift ends I walk to SUNY Hudson River’s Downtown Campus and meet up with Layla. We sat next to each other in a few classes this semester and we ended up doing a lot of school stuff together. She was local, from the Bronx and worked in a hotel during the day. We sometimes got extra credit for attending seminars or workshops and we went to as many as we could together.I was always interested in the ones about HIV/AIDs and chronic pain, while she gravitated towards the more exciting ones like sex therapy and the essentials of warzone triage. It was a good balance.
In class Layla was trying to juggle some mandarin oranges while we waited for the instructor to arrive, but after a minute she tossed one my way. I caught it with both hands, she gave me a knowing expression and I tried not to cry.
+++
I ate the orange on the bus ride back to Queens. I was glad the days were getting longer and it was usually twilight by the time I got to the daycare. I collected Elijah from the eldest Mrs. Sorensen and didn’t even try disputing the constantly changing hourly fees. I had to sit on her doorstep and call the bank to make sure I had enough to cover the check. I ow had 23.96 to make it through the rest of the month, plus the credit card I used for school expenses when my loan money ran out. . .but the interest was piling up.
Thankfully Elijah was sleeping. If he stayed that way I could go home, grab the laundry and finish ironing and folding before 9 pm. I let him rest on the couch while I grab the cart and stack Mrs. Randolph’s laundry on top of ours. I top the pile with all-natural detergents I’d had to buy from an organics store because everything else gave Elijah rashes.
The bedroom smelled like cologne—some type of warm amber, cedar and a little bit like the ocean? Two razors where drying by the sink and a container of Crew gel was next to it. Three of the slightly flashy button ups he’d bought from a Lithuanian guy who worked in a Russian men’s store were lying in dry cleaning bags.
I hung the shirts up and paused.
. . . there was a knock at the door ?
A thread of fear and panic went up my spine. We never had visitors. I the three months we’d lived here no one ever stopped by unannounced. I ran into living room and put Elijah in the bedroom, then I picked up the kitchen knife from the drying rack and headed for the door. I looked through the peephole and saw a small woman with dark hair clutching a leather bag. I could just look at her and I knew she wasn’t a New Yorker.
“Can I help you”, I shouted through the door.
“My name is Martina Haskell. I’m looking for Sofia Madigan”,
she put her business card up to the peephole.
“Can I help you?”
“Sofia, my name is Martina Haskell... I’m from Petal Brooke. Well I’m from St. Vincent a few miles west . . . but I live in Petal Brooke now”
I closed my eyes and willed her to go away. The sense of impending dread filled me.
“Do I know you?”, I asked.
“No. I’m a lawyer. My sister was a patient at Petal Brook Regional Hospital and she . . . … this is about Allen Fenton.”
Allen
Fenton
I cursed to myself and slowly opened the door, but left the screen door locked
“What do you want?”, I said without saying anything.
Martina pulled a pictures of a bright eyed brunette girl in a hospital room that had been cheered up with colorful comforters and flowers, she pressed it to the screen door.
“My sister Selena had MS. It advanced quickly. . . . my parents and I --- we wanted the best for her. We took her to Petal Brook Regional for a drug trial two years ago. She was really fighting even though she’d quickly lost the ability to move and speak. We were getting really good at communicating through blinking. She was fighting . . . and then one day she stopped. The doctor’s said she was just depressed, but she wouldn’t even open her eyes and I knew something wasn’t right. I started spending more time at the hospital with her so she wouldn’t feel alone. I started noticing unusual marks on her legs and arms, she seemed distressed. I tried communicating with but she was unresponsive. I tried to tell her doctor I thought someone was hurting her, but he wouldn’t listen. No one would. They said I was in denial about her condition and looking for something to blame the hospital for. I finally got one of the nurses to do a rape kit on her and it was still in the warehouse awaiting processing when she passed.
“I’m so sorry”, I said but I wasn’t sure what for. Martina steeled herself. It sounded like she had told this story before.
“It took almost two years for the kit to be examined. There were microscopic traces of sperm but they couldn’t confirm it wasn’t cross-contamination. That really me pissed off, so I started doing some research of my own. Trying to figure out who had access to my sister and I found out one of the nursing assistants, Allen Fento,was put out on disability just days after I asked for the rape kit. That just never set right with me. He was always really odd around my family.”
“I really want you to leave”, I said closing my eyes.
“Just hear me out”, she said collecting herself but I could hear the fire in her, “I’m a lawyer, okay. A tax attorney, but I’m still a lawyer. So I thought if I made some noise and tried to press charges someone would investigate, but with my sister no longer alive I couldn’t get the state’s attorney to even listen. And then Monica showed up. She was my sister’s favorite nurse and she gave me a piece of paper with your name on it.”
“Monica?”, I asked as she handed me a piece of paper on Petal Brook Regional Hospital stationary. I instantly recognized the swirly handwriting.
“Monica Golden.” Martina clarified.
“Nurse Golden” I said thinking about the happy woman who inspired me to become a nurse. Who had cared for me after my stroke when I was in that hospital. In that awful awful room. The nurse who I always thought was to busy in her own happy world to realize what was happening to me. I blinked and realized my lashes were wet. I opened the door and let Martina into the duplex. I brought Elijah back to living room and made some orange pekoe tea. Martina had been looking over the books lined on the shelf underneath the TV when I gave her the mug of tea. I’d gotten the books from the Goodwill. They were colorful classics and I’d read it was important for kids to grow up around books.
“I don’t know what to say”, I said which was honest. I was angry because this meant Nurse Golden had known and never said anything. I was mad Allen Fenton was occupying space in my mind again, that I would have nightmares for weeks after this.
“Sofia”, Martina said and I realized the silence had stretched on for a very log time, “Are You okay?”
“No”, I said, “Honestly. I’m not okay at all. How did you find me ?”
“I hired a private investigator. I really needed to find you because if the reason Monica gave me your information is the reason I think she did then… well. Look, You don’t owe me anything but if Allen hurt you I just—“
I went to the bedroom and grabbed the aromatherapy diffuser, hoping the mint and lemongrass would soothe my shaky nerves.
“Yes”, I said hoping that would be enough, “Yes…he…hurt me.”
I buried my face in my hands and listened to her talk over Elijah’s soft crying.
“I’m so sorry”, Martina said ,”Listen, okay ? Petal Brooke Regional is one of Western North Carolina’s premier hospitals. They have a prestigious reputation and have plans to build a medical school in 2011. I’ve talked---off the record--to their legal staff and if an employee was to be convicted of rape while in their hospital…they would be willing to settle a civil case, if one were to be filed.
“What do you mean?”
“If we can get Fenton convicted in criminal court, we could bring a civil case against the hospital and they would settle for maybe 500,000 dollars. Minus court fees and some preliminary cost you could maybe take home 250,000 dollars. “
We sipped our teas in silence, my mind going a million places. I could pay for my master’s degree, find a nicer apartment, and pay for Elijah’s college. Then I looked around the tiny duplex and shuffled my feet on the worn orange carpet.
“People will think I just want money. No one would believe me and I don’t think what happened to me has a price tag.”
“Do you just want the money?”, she asked
“I don’t want to be paid for being assaulted”, I said, “I’ve never told anyone about what happened, except my husband . . . and how would this even work?”
“Well, you could official hire me to start.” Martina rooted around in her leather tote bag, “ I’d get a statement from you and Nurse Golden. There are also few other nurses who are also willing to speak out about things they saw. I might need access to your medical records and anything you have that might help. I’ll take it to a prosecutor and see if I can get the state's attorney to press charges. After that…it gets tough. You may have to face him but you’ll at least get to speak your truth. ”
“I can’t afford a lawyer. I have 26 dollars in my bank account.”
“Pay me what you can”, she said, “Just a few dollars to make it legal. I know this is a lot, but think on it and let me know. I’m going back to North Carolina tomorrow.”
“Did you really come all this way to meet me?”
“I had to”, she said, “I let my sister down so I have to do this.”