Seasons Under Heaven Page 10

  “Of course,” she lied. She treated hundreds of German shepherds each year and had no recollection of one named Gussy. There were pictures of older teenagers on his desk—his own children, apparently. She wondered if anyone in school had handed his son a condom when he was in high school.

  He sat back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together, making a steeple. She crossed her legs, trying to look relaxed, but her right foot began to vibrate, as it often did when she was nervous or upset. She willed it to stop.

  “Mr. Miller, I came here to talk to you about the sex education class that my son was involved in last week. I believe you called it ‘Condom Awareness Day’?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s actually about human reproduction, but naming it like that kind of gives it a sense of importance. I know that some parents have a problem with it, Ms. Flaherty, but the truth is that the teen pregnancy rate in this state is sky-high. Our children are getting pregnant left and right, and the incidence of AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases are at an all-time high. It’s very important that we teach them about safe sex.”

  Her eyes locked into his. “I prefer that my children have no sex. Not until they’re married.”

  He smiled and leaned back hard. “Don’t we all? That’s the ideal, of course. But these kids are having sex.”

  “Then wouldn’t it be better for you to teach them not to, instead of instructing them on how to do it right?”

  He didn’t seem to like the way she put that. She hadn’t meant to antagonize him, not when he was the one she needed on her side. She picked up the framed portrait of his son on his desk. “Mr. Miller, is this your son?”

  “Yes.” His face softened into a smile. “He’s going to the University of Tennessee right now, playing on the baseball team. He’s a junior.”

  “And your daughter?” She pointed to the portrait of the young woman.

  “My daughter is still here,” he said. “She’s a senior.”

  “She’s pretty,” Cathy said, forcing a smile. “I’ll bet she doesn’t sit home much on Saturday nights.”

  He laughed, flattered. “No, she sure doesn’t.”

  “And it doesn’t bother you that she dates boys carrying condoms?”

  Again, his face changed and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, bracing his elbows on his desk. “I don’t think that’s the case. Just because they know how to use one doesn’t mean they’re going to.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “When you were a teenager, if some authority figure had handed you something like that, saving you the shame and embarrassment of having to go into a drugstore and buy it, wouldn’t you have thought it was okay to use it?”

  He leaned forward now and laced his fingers together, more of an igloo now than a steeple. “Actually, no.”

  “Well, that’s where we disagree.” She shifted in her seat. “Mr. Miller, if I want my son to be instructed in condom use, that’s my prerogative, but I don’t think you have the right to decide that for me.” She sat straighter in her chair and leveled her eyes on his. “I was wondering if I could watch the video you showed them. I realize it’s after the fact—the truth is, you should have given parents the right to do that before you ever showed it to the kids. But I’d still like to see it.”

  “We don’t have it,” he said. “It floats between the district high schools and middle schools, and the superintendent’s office holds it until we need it.” He slid his chair back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “Look, Ms. Flaherty, I didn’t write this policy. The school board thought it was a good idea. If you don’t agree, and if you’re set on seeing the video, I suggest you take it up with them.”

  She pulled a pad and pen out of her purse and poised to write. “So who do I talk to?”

  “Well, you could start with Mary, the superintendent’s secretary. She could let you view the video, I suppose. And if you want to challenge the policy, you could try to get this put on the agenda of the next school board meeting. Or you could go straight to Dr. Jacobs, the superintendent, and take it up with him.”

  “And would he listen?”

  “Probably not,” he admitted. “You see, you’re coming from the perspective of a parent with…how many children?”

  “Three.”

  “And Dr. Jacobs is coming at this from the perspective of someone who oversees thousands. He’s intimately acquainted with the statistics. The problem is so big that they’re considering opening a day-care center here for our kids who have kids. Personally, I’m dreading it. As if I didn’t have enough to take care of. A few years ago, that wouldn’t have been a problem.”

  “A few years ago they weren’t handing out condoms in schools.” She slapped her forehead dramatically. “Could there be a connection, ya think?”

  “Talk to the superintendent,” he said, obviously annoyed at her sarcastic tone. He got up, dismissing her. “Thanks for coming by. It’s good to finally meet you, especially since I’ve never seen you at a PTA meeting.”

  The observation stung, and she realized that he was accusing her of not being involved in her children’s education. Even if it was true, did that mean she didn’t have the right to question their policies? “Mr. Miller, I am a single mother with a full-time job trying to raise three kids alone. It’s not easy to find the time to make all of the meetings.”

  “I understand,” he said smugly. She knew he really didn’t. His home was probably perfectly intact; she doubted that he knew what it was like to have a spouse rip the heart out of the family by deciding they’d rather start fresh with someone younger and more exciting.

  “Thanks for your time,” she said, and left his office as hurt as if he’d insulted her outright.

  Next, she went to the superintendent’s office. Mary, the superintendent’s secretary, claimed they had misplaced the video, but that she was sure it was at one of the schools and would “turn up” before the next school year. “Perhaps you’d like to meet with Dr. Jacobs,” the secretary said.

  “Of course,” Cathy said.

  Dr. Jacobs rose to greet her when she entered his office. But the bald, overweight superintendent shifted in his chair impatiently as she explained her position.

  “You could submit a written request to be put on the agenda at the next school board meeting,” he suggested. His tone implied that he didn’t think she’d bother.

  “When is that?” Cathy asked.

  “Well, the last meeting of the school year was just last week, and there won’t be another one until September.”

  She decided that wasn’t too bad. She would have time to gather resources and allies before she actually went before the school board. And there was still time to get some policies changed before they handed out condoms again next year.

  “Can I get a list of all the parents in the district?” she asked.

  “What for?”

  “So I can communicate with them. See if I can get any support from other concerned parents.”

  Dr. Jacobs stared at her as if she’d just asked him if she could use all the fifth graders to clean up toxic waste. “I’m sorry, Ms. Flaherty, but we’re not authorized to give out the addresses of our students. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Then how am I supposed to contact the other parents?”

  “Maybe you’re not supposed to,” he said. “If and when the policy is changed, it will show up in the new policy booklet.”

  “But isn’t the new policy booklet given out at registration? Won’t it be printed before school starts next year?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then wouldn’t it stand to reason that we should take care of this before that comes out?”

  “There’s nothing in the policy booklet regarding human reproduction classes.”

  “Which is exactly the problem. Parents would appreciate knowing what the administration intends to do with their children. They need to know their sons are carrying school-distributed condoms around in their pockets.”

  “Ms.
Flaherty, if you’re so disenchanted with the public school system, perhaps you should send your children to private school.”

  She couldn’t believe the anger that mushroomed inside her. “I happen to believe in the ideal of public school,” she said. “I pay a huge tax bill every year for these schools. They’re my schools, as much as anyone’s. I’m not going to pull my kids out just because things aren’t going my way. Instead, I’m going to fight things and make sure that my tax money isn’t going to waste. I want to make sure that what goes on there is not detrimental and not morally corrupting. A wholesome, solid education should not only be available to kids whose parents can afford private schools.”

  “It isn’t morally corrupting to explain sexual safety to our children. People are dying because they’re not having safe sex.”

  “For kids, the only safe sex is abstinence. Passing condoms out to children doesn’t come close.”

  “Frankly, Ms. Flaherty, we’re not sure what works, so we hedge our bets.”

  “Sounds like nothing’s working, which is why you’re considering day-care centers in the high schools.” She could see the fatigue lines on the man’s hard face, and she realized he had the weight of the whole school district on his shoulders. She didn’t imagine that was an enviable job. “Look,” she said, trying to sound less confrontational. “I think we’re both out for the best interests of these children. I just happen to disagree with you on what is best.”

  “That’s allowed.”

  “I’m going to fight you.”

  “I expect you will.”

  “And somehow I’ll get a list, and I will contact all the parents.”

  He smiled. “Somehow, I believe that you’ll manage to do just that, but I’m not going to help you.”

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll see you in September.”

  His smile was weary but without hostility. And as she left the office, a seed of hope began to take root in her heart.

  CHAPTER

  Fourteen

  Dilated congestive cardiomyopathy.

  The words exploded in Brenda’s head with the power of dynamite. She was glad Joseph was not in the room to see the effect this diagnosis was having on his parents; he’d have been frightened to death.

  “It’s a condition probably caused by a viral infection,” the doctor was saying in a slow, deliberate voice. “It causes the muscle of the heart to weaken, making the chambers dilate.” He held up a diagram of the heart, trying to demonstrate what he was explaining. But the alarm bells wouldn’t stop ringing in Brenda’s mind. “As the virus damages the heart muscle, the chambers of the heart dilate and the contractions become ineffective. Right now, Joseph’s heart is not able to pump enough blood to adequately maintain his circulation.”

  “What virus?” David asked the doctor in a voice that sounded far away. “When?”

  “There’s a remote chance that he’s had cardiomyopathy since birth and it’s just now presenting. Or somewhere along the way, another illness may have done some damage. But my guess is that it was the virus he had a few weeks ago.”

  “So what do we do?” Brenda choked out, fighting tears. She couldn’t go out of here with a red, runny nose. Joseph would sense her despair immediately. Nine-year-old boys shouldn’t have to worry about the condition of their heart.

  “Well, we have three options. There’s a very good possibility that, with the proper medication, the heart muscle will make a full recovery.”

  “Medication?” Brenda asked as the first balloon of hope inflated in her heart. “Really?”

  “It’s a possibility,” he repeated. “The second option is that, if it doesn’t heal itself with medication, we’ll have to medicate Joseph for the rest of his life to keep his heart functioning.”

  Her hope deflated. Medication for the rest of his life?

  “And the third option?” David asked.

  “Well, surgery. But it all depends on the biopsy,” he said. “I’d like to put Joseph in the hospital today and perform a biopsy first thing in the morning. We need to find out the full extent of the damage to his heart before we can take any action.”

  “And…” she swallowed, trying to steady her voice. “What will that entail?”

  “I won’t lie to you,” Dr. Robinson said, leaning on his desk. “It’s a pretty tedious process for a little boy, so we’ll need your help. What I’ll do is cut into the artery and insert a catheter. This isn’t painful. He’ll be semi-awake for everything, and you’ll be able to watch on the monitor as the catheter goes through the arteries and into the heart’s chambers. We insert dye to help us see what we need to see, and this sometimes causes discomfort. It’s a warm sensation, and passes pretty quickly. If we tell Joseph what to expect, he should take it just fine.”

  “Is that all there is to it?” David asked.

  “Well, no. He’ll have to lie flat and be immobilized for several hours afterward while we keep pressure on the incision. That’s where we’ll really need you. This is difficult for adults, so you can imagine how hard it’ll be with a little boy.”

  “Joseph will do fine,” Brenda said.

  “What will all this tell us?” David asked.

  “It’ll tell us how bad things are,” Dr. Robinson answered. “And what we need to do to save his life.”

  They found Joseph sitting up and playing a game of Memory with the nurse, who seemed used to entertaining children while the doctor fulfilled their parents’ worst nightmares. Joseph looked up at Brenda, and she knew that she hadn’t done a very good job of hiding the evidence of her tears.

  “How you feeling, honey?” she asked, hugging him so tight that she feared she might break him.

  “Okay, Mama,” he said.

  David stooped down next to him, meeting his eyes. “Doctor tells us you’re sick, buddy. He wants to put you in the hospital and do some more tests.”

  Joseph’s hazel eyes grew round. “Now?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Don’t worry, honey,” Brenda said. “I’ll stay with you. And you won’t be in long. Just a night or two.”

  “Will I get to eat ice cream?”

  Brenda smiled. Daniel had had his tonsils out two years ago, and the other three kids had felt deprived because of all the attention and ice cream lavished upon him. “Probably. We’ll see.”

  As they headed for the car, Brenda wished with all her heart that ice cream was all that Joseph needed.

  The catheterization went well the next morning, and Joseph took it all as if it was another of their field trips. Brenda patiently tried to explain everything that was happening, taking advantage of the opportunity to teach him a little anatomy.

  It was late that afternoon when the doctor came with the results. David and Brenda stepped out into the hall while the nurse fussed over Joseph.

  “How is he, Doctor?” David asked anxiously.

  “Well, I’m really very pleased with what we found. His heart valves and his veins and arteries look pretty good. That’s good news. His left ventricle is still not pumping like it should, and it’s enlarged. But it’s possible that he’ll make a full recovery with medication.”

  Brenda caught her breath. Had he really said that medication was all Joseph needed?

  “Medication?” David asked as if voicing her thoughts. “Not surgery?”

  “Not yet,” Dr. Robinson said. “We’re going to start with a couple of drugs that will lower his blood pressure and reduce the force of the contraction of the heart. We’ll want to keep him another day or so. I’d like to transfer him to the telemetry unit. We’ll hook him up to a transmitter and monitor his heart. He’ll be able to walk around the halls and get some exercise, but the nurse’s station will have the heart monitor so we can watch him. After we release him, we’ll give him a portable heart monitor to wear all day, and then you can bring it back in so we can analyze his cardiac activity and see how he’s doing.”

  Brenda didn’t like the sound of any of this, but she did apprec
iate that they were planning to watch things so closely.

  “What if things don’t go like you hope?” David asked.

  “They may not,” the doctor admitted. “Then we’ll have to look at surgery. But if he’s lucky, he’ll be back to normal in just a few months. And he looks like a lucky kid to me.”

  After Joseph fell asleep that night, Brenda and David sat quietly in the darkened hospital room, watching him, saying nothing. Sylvia, who was staying with their other three children, had encouraged David to stay as long as he wanted to, and Brenda knew that if there had been enough room, he would have spent the night there, too.

  She touched Joseph’s forehead. He was cold, clammy. She straightened his covers, trying not to move the cords and wires attached to his chest. The tick, tick, tick of the heart monitor beside his bed was getting on her nerves—especially the occasional blips that broke the rhythm, startling her. But she had been impressed by the diligence with which the nurses watched him. They had ten heart monitors over their station, monitoring ten patients, and whenever Joseph’s heart stumbled, they ran to check on him.

  David’s hand touched her shoulder and she turned around. He pulled her into a reassuring hug. She began to weep, and afraid of waking Joseph, she pulled out of his arms and walked out of the room.

  David followed her into the corridor. Not knowing where else to go, she went into the stairwell next to their door, sat on the top step, and buried her face in her hands. He sat down next to her and stroked her back helplessly as she wept.

  After a while, she looked up at him. “David, if Joseph is out of here by then, I want you to go to church with us Sunday.”

  He looked away. “Brenda, we’ve talked about this a million times. I don’t do church.”

  “I know, but this is different. We’ve never had a child with a heart problem before.”

  “And how does that make things different?”

  “Because we both need to believe, David.” Her words were uttered urgently, tearfully.

  “Honey, I know how much you want me to believe. But wanting me to won’t make it happen. I just don’t. I can’t.”