AN ARIA FOR CAMI
“E in un momento torno a gelar”
– Mozart, Le Nozze di Figaro, Voi che sapete (Aria)
College Park, Maryland, March 14, immediately following
“I’m sorry, Mahmoud,” I said, “I haven’t talked to Iain for days. I don’t know where he is.”
As I was talking my brain relentlessly clicked through an unfolding list of things that I needed to be doing. “Is there any chance he went to the hospital?”
<< click - try calling Iain. Maybe he’ll take my call >>
“I called around,” Mahmoud said, “but he hasn’t showed up anywhere.”
<< click – but he won’t answer. Of course he won’t. so . . . need to get to New York >>
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll try to reach him. But if I can’t – and, maybe even if I do – I’ll be there as quick as I can. Can I reach you at this number?”
<< click – driving would be faster. And, I’ll need a car when I get there >>
“Yes,” he said, “but . . . I’ll be on shift from 4:00 until midnight. I won’t be able to talk to you while I’m on the job.”
<< click – I don’t know how long I’ll need to be gone; I’d better rent a car >>
“I understand. I should be up there before you get off shift. Let me know if you hear anything; I’ll do the same. Okay?”
“Yes. Yes. I’ll do that. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mahmoud. Talk to you soon.”
I punched Iain’s number. No answer. “The mailbox you have reached is full . . . .”
I shot him a text: “Iain – where are you? Call me!” My mind continued to march through my next steps.
I looked up.
Tina was still watching me, face again unreadable.
I had no time, but this was something I needed to deal with before I left. A loose end. “When Javier first told me about you, he said you were the sweetest, kindest person he’d ever met.”
Her face turned hard. “‘Sweet and kind’ get you dead in the looney bin, Boo. That girl’s long gone.”
I nodded. “You became who you needed to be, just to survive.”
“Fuckin’ A, I did!”
I focused on her intently. “Then you know you can do it. Become who you need to be. Do what you need to do. You’re that kind of strong.”
Now she looked wary, sensing a trap.
“You said Al and Javi were everything. You shittin’ me?”
She shook her head, defiant. Still silent.
“Then become who you need to be now. To help them. You’re not in the asylum anymore. You’re out, you have friends who love you. Who need you. You need to do more than just survive.”
Unconvinced but . . . maybe? Wavering? I didn’t have all day to bring her around with sweet reason though, so I hardened my voice and challenged her. “Or, are you just going to sit on your scrawny butt and watch while their business dies? Then hit the street once they can’t afford to put a roof over your head or food in your gut?”
She stood silent, rigid, holding my eyes with a lava-hot stare that seethed with contempt for the pampered, privileged princess she saw whenever she looked at me. Her look positively screamed, “You have no right!!! No idea what you are asking!!!”
I looked back, unflinching. Unrepentant. Unyielding. My eyes said, “Life’s not fair. Deal.”
She blinked first.
“You some kinda bitch,” she said, disgusted. “But . . . . Yeah. Fine. You’re right. Happy?“ She dropped her eyes for a moment, thinking, then looked up. “I heard your call. Get outta here. I got this.”
There was nothing more to be said. I nodded sharply, jumped in the car and sped off. One loose end, taken care of. Make that three.
There was no way to sync my phone with Nicole’s older car, so I broke the law and called her using the handset. It was going to take me forty-five minutes to get back to Opera House, and I didn’t want all that time to be wasted just on driving.
“Hey Cami!” she said, answering.
“Hi Nicole . . . . I’ve got some bad news – Iain’s gone missing and apparently has COVID, or thinks he does.”
“Oh my God!”
I just kept going. “I know. But look, I need to get up there and find him. Can you do me a couple of favors?”
“Name them.”
“First, I need you to pack a bag for me. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Find my practical stuff. And . . . something work-like, from what we just bought, in case for some reason I need to get official. Underwear. Cosmetics. My pills.” I thought a minute, then said, “I remember seeing a package on the shelves in the utility room. Some sort of masks?”
“Yeah,” Nicole said. “From when Mags and I were building the sound room. Something from Home Depot.”
I said, “I don’t know what kind they are or whether they’re any good, but could you throw in one or two?”
“I’ll give you the whole package,” she said.
“One or two. They might be hard to replace.”
“Ohana, Cami. You get the whole package.”
No time to argue. “Okay,” I conceded. “Second, could you call a car rental company and get me something to drive? Reserve it for . . . a week, maybe? If I don’t need it that long I can suck it up; if I need more I can extend it.”
“Take my car,” she offered.
“Your car can’t talk to my phone, and I’ll need to make calls while I’m driving.”
“Problem solved! I’ll drive you. You can make all the calls you need.”
I had been afraid she would volunteer. “Nicole. Sweetie. Thank you. But you can’t. You need to take care of Maggie. And she needs to take care of you. And both of you need to get started on the things we talked about this morning. So we’re launched when I get back.”
She was quiet for a long moment, then said. “You don’t think you’re coming back, do you?”
I could tell from the sound of her voice that she was crying.
“I may get COVID,” I said, evenly, “But I’ll be careful, and most people who get it have survived. I have to take the risk; Iain needs me. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I got either of you two sick as well. Please, Nicole? Please understand?”
The line was silent for an even longer interval before she responded, her voice choked. “Okay. Fine. But promise you’ll come back, Cami. Promise! Iain’s not the only one who needs you!”
I thought of all of the risks, all of the “unknown unknowns” revolving around this virus. If this week had taught me anything, it was that the future was unpredictable and fortune was fickle as a bitch in heat. Literally anything could happen and probably would.
But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I told her, “We’ll get through this together, just like we talked about this morning. I will come back. I promise.”
Her voice eased. “Okay. That was stupid, I know. But thank you anyway. Thank you. . . .” Becoming determinedly matter-of-face, she added, “Now. You’re going to need a place to stay in New York, right?”
I knew her parents lived in the city, but I had to forestall her from going down that path. I wasn’t going to risk infecting them either. “Yes. Someplace that I can bring Iain, once I’ve found him. What I want is . . .” I thought a moment. “A motel. Something with a separate bedroom; a two-bedroom suite would be best. Where I can drive to the door, away from prying eyes. He may look sick; I don’t want any questions.”
“Got it,” she said. “Any preference on location?”
“I don’t want to have to go far. So, near New Rochelle, but I’d rather not be in it.”
“Okay. Price range?”
“I don’t need fancy, but I don’t want skeevy. Whatever that costs, I’ll pay.”
“Okay: Bag, rental car, motel. Anything else?” Her voice sounded strong again.
“I can’t think of anything.” Then I said, softly, “I’m sorry, Nicole. Thank you, for all of this. But also, for understanding.”
I drove on, risking one more call. I used the speech function on the phone to say, “Call Hutchinson Investments, Boston.”
The automated voice responded, in its usual inhuman cadence, “Do you want to call Hutchinson Investments, Inc.?”
“Yes,” I commanded. When a receptionist answered, I said, “Good afternoon, this is Camryn Savin,” effortlessly adopting the slightly different version of my first name that Nicole had proposed hours before. “May I speak with Henry Hutchinson please?”
“Is he expecting your call?” she inquired.
“No; I’m his fiancée’s sister. Something’s come up and I need to alert him. If he isn’t available, please ask him to call as soon as possible.”
“He’s in a meeting right now. Do you need me to interrupt him?”
I thought about that. There really wasn’t anything Henry could do this instant. “So long as he gets the message in the next hour, hour and a half, that should be fine.”
“I’m sure his meeting will be over by then, Ms. Savin. I’ll let him know.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
The rest of the calls could wait until I could do them legally. I drove on.
Baltimore, Maryland, fifteen minutes later
Maggie and Nicole were waiting in the front room when I arrived. Maggie jumped up and ran to give me a hug; Nicole followed more slowly.
“It’s okay, Maggie,” I said, soothingly. Looking at Nicole over Maggie’s shoulder, I said, “I’ll be back.”
“You’d better be,” Maggie responded, “or I’ll kill you.”
“Your bags are packed and I’ve sent you an email with your hotel information. I reserved a car from National at BWI for a week; I know you do the Emerald Aisle. Soon as you’re ready, we’ll drive you there.” Nicole had come through – not that I’d had any doubt.
“I forgot to ask you to pack my laptop; I’ll go grab it.”
Nicole pointed to where three bags were standing. “We thought of that; it’s in the blue bag, along with your pad, your portable printer, and your power cords.”
Maggie pulled away. “The last bag has cleaning supplies and whatever cold and flu remedies we had in the house, along with some Gatorade.”
I wanted to stay; I needed to go.
“Go use the restroom,” Nicole said. “We’ll load the car.”
I popped upstairs, did my business, and was down in minutes. They were just closing the trunk.
Maggie hopped in the driver’s seat and pointed Nicole and me to the back. “I’m the chauffeur tonight.”
Nicole slid in and put an arm around me. As we got underway, she said, “You’ve been Superwoman for Maggie and me since we got our bad news yesterday. And now you’ve got to go be Superwoman again. We understand. I understand. But you’ve got fifteen minutes, right now, to just be Cami. Rest your mind. Let go. We’ve got you.”
Nicole accomplished the impossible and broke my brain’s emotionless hyperfocus, its relentless analysis of the things I needed to be doing. I closed my eyes and leaned my head on her shoulder. She stroked my hair gently.
Suddenly released from my mind’s rigid and frozen grip, I found myself weeping. “I’m so scared,” I confessed through my tears. “I don’t know where he is. New York is huge. And I’m not sure what to do when – if – I find him. If I screw it up, he could die. And . . . and . . . God, this thing just terrifies me!” I was sobbing.
She gently lowered my head to rest on her breast and continued to stroke my hair and back. “I know, Sweetie. I know. You’ll be strong and smart and competent when you need to be. I know you will be.” She cradled my head and held me in her arms.
I poured out my anxieties, my fears, my terrors . . . a torrent of tears.
We drove.
From the driver’s seat, Maggie quietly said, “We love you, Cami. We’re here if you need us. If you need anything.” She paused, then said, with evident reluctance, “Five minutes, Honey. Time to get your cape back on.”
Nicole gave me a final, fierce hug, pressing my head against her bosom, then let me go.
I straightened up, gave a sniffle, and smiled when she handed me some tissues. I dried my eyes and my cheeks. “How much of a wreck am I?”
Nicole gave my face a critical look. “Not as bad as it might have been. Lucky you just had a light day look going. When we stop, I’ll do emergency repairs.”
I took a few deep, steadying breaths. It had worked before. I closed my eyes. Breathed.
Breath in hope. Breathe out fear.
Breath in strength. Breathe out weakness.
Breath in life. Breathe out death.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I reopened my eyes, feeling a restored sense of calm. My emotions were subsiding, but my mind had not yet resumed its relentless march through the decision tree filled with possibilities and choices. Poised between past and future, holding only this moment, I looked into Nicole’s soft brown eyes.
She returned my look, equally calm. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I replied softly. “I may have ruined your blouse.”
“I’ll live. . . . I like your haircut. Very pretty.”
I raised my hand and lightly brushed her cheek with my finger tips, committing every line of her perfect face to memory.
Maggie said, “Here we are,” and parked.
Maggie got the bags out of the trunk while Nicole fixed my face, then we got out, each of us took a bag, and we went to the Emerald Aisle to select a car. I’d liked the Rav4 I’d rented back in January and it had versatility that might come in handy, so we popped the hatch on one and stored the bags. I fished out my pad and charger cords and put them in the passenger’s seat.
Maggie and Nicole each gave me both a hug and a kiss. They told me to be safe.
“Take care of each other!” I ordered.
“Nichts soll mich erschüttern”
– Mozart, Die Entführung aus dem Serail, Martern aller Arten (Aria)
Interstate 95, shortly after
After Nicole and Maggie left, I turned on the car and did the steps required to sync my phone. My brain whirred back to life and started functioning smoothly, but I still felt human. Bless my roommates for that!
I lined up the calls I wanted to make, ensured that I had the phone numbers I needed, and got underway. It was about 3:45, I hoped to be in the city by 7:00 – 7:30 at the latest. I wanted to leave the line clear for Henry, so I held off making other calls.
Henry’s call came while I was crossing the Delaware Memorial Bridge. His voice was warm, but he went straight to business. “What’s up, Cami?”
“Henry, Iain left a note for his roommate saying he has COVID and he needed to get out because he didn’t want to infect him. He’s not answering his phone, and hasn’t gone to a local hospital. I’m driving up right now to do what can be done and I should be there in about three hours.”
“Ooof,” he said. “That got ugly fast. What’s your plan, and how can we help?”
Thank goodness; Henry understands that someone has to go, and that I’m the logical candidate. Fiona may be less rational on the subject.
“I’ve got to find him first,” I answered. “But assuming I do, I’ll get him to a hospital if he needs one, or to a motel if he doesn’t. My roommate already reserved a place for me. When I find him, I’ll need some guidance from Fi on what I should look for to decide whether I need to take him to the ER. But, like I say, I haven’t even gotten to New York. I don’t need that info right away.”
“Got it,” he said. “What’s your plan for finding him?”
“I’ll make a few calls; try to get some ideas from some other friends of his. It’s not the best, but I can’t think of anything else. I’d report a missing person, but he hasn’t broken any law and we don’t suspect foul play. He just doesn’t want to be found, so the police won’t care. If you can think of better ideas, I’ll try them.”
“Nothing’s coming to me, but I haven’t even met him.” He paused for a moment, then added, “I’m assuming you called me because you want me to decide when it makes sense to tell Fi.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I could have texted her, but I don’t think there’s much she can do until I find Iain. I don’t want to distract her for no purpose.”
“Understood,” Henry said.
He knows his woman, I thought.
But after only the briefest pause, he said, “I’m going to bring her into the loop now anyway, Cami. She might have some notion of where Iain might be, and I suppose there’s also a remote possibility that he might take her call even if he didn’t take yours. You may get your ears pinned back, though. Just be prepared.”
“Roger,” I said.
“Send me your hotel info, and call if you hear anything. I’ll be in touch.” We rang off.
My next call was to Eileen. She picked up after two rings. “Hello?”
“Hi Eileen, It’s Cam Savin. Cami. I’m sorry to bother you at home, but something came up in a hurry. Do you have a couple minutes?"
“Hold on a moment.”
I heard the sound of muffled voices, footsteps, and a door closing. “Yes, I’ve got a couple minutes. What’s up?”
I filled her in, then I said, “So, I don’t know how long this will take. But even if I find him tonight and have to take him straight to the hospital, I’ll need to quarantine until I’m safe. That’ll be two weeks, minimum. I’ve got my laptop with me, and I could do some work, at least, while I’m bottled up. But I don’t actually have any assignments right now. And, I don’t know whether or how this should impact the timing of my gender change announcement.”
“Listen, you focus on what you need to do to get your brother safe,” Eileen said. “I’ll talk to the management committee on Tuesday like we discussed, but I’ll otherwise keep the news on your gender change under wraps. I’ll also let them know why you’ve had to go to New York. We’re going to be dealing with a lot more of these COVID-related disruptions, I think. We’ll need to think about best practices.”
I said, somewhat diffidently, “Would it make sense to send out a firm-wide email, telling people to work from home if they have any COVID symptoms, or have been in contact with someone who has the virus?”
“It might. We’ve generally disfavored working from home. During normal office hours, anyway. And we have a ‘power through it’ office culture about coming in when you feel a bit under the weather.” She added, ruefully, “I might have had something to do with that attitude, being honest about it. But it could bite us in the ass right now.”
Turning back to my own situation, she said, “I’m sure we can find you some discrete projects to work on, if you’re in a quarantine situation. Just keep me posted on your progress in finding Iain.”
“Will do,” I said. Thinking just how important my income had suddenly become to my whole household, I added, “Thanks, Eileen. That’s a real weight off my mind.”
She said, “Good. Then I’m doing my job.” Sounding suddenly less formal, she said, “Be careful, Cami. Stay safe.”
“I’ll do that,” I promised, and we signed off.
I thought, I’m making a lot of promises that may be very hard to keep.
My next call was to the restaurant where Iain worked. He might not thank me for that – but he would have to live to get pissed off about it, and making sure that he did live was the bigger priority right now.
The person who answered the phone said, “Sorry; he’s not here. Hang on, though, let me get my manager.”
That told me a lot right there. When the manager came on, he confirmed it. “This is Mike Parker. Ang said you were calling about Iain. You're his sister?”
When I said yes, he said, “Listen, he called out sick yesterday. Told me he was afraid he might have COVID, so he thought he’d better stay away. Have you talked to him?”
“No, and he’s not answering his phone. His roommate doesn’t know where he’s gone. Do you have any idea?”
“I don’t — and I can see why you’re worried. It’d be just like him to crawl into a hole somewhere and try to deal with this on his own. Shit.”
“Do you know if he got tested? They were going to set up a testing station in New Rochelle, weren’t they?”
“He didn’t say anything about it. And . . . well . . . he doesn’t trust authorities much.”
That, I thought, was like saying cats aren’t inclined to trust dogs. Accurate, but insufficient to capture the virulence of the emotion. “Can you try getting in touch with him? You’re his friend and his boss, maybe he’d be more likely to answer.”
“Of course. But, what do you want me to tell him?”
“Tell him I’m on the way, that I’m here to help, and I’m not leaving until I find him. Have him call this number.”
“Okay, I’ll try. And, I’ll keep thinking about where he might be hiding out. I’ll call you if I’ve got anything.”
“Thank you!” I said, grateful to have someone who might be able to help. But I felt compelled to ask, “Mr. Parker . . . when was Iain’s last shift?”
He said, “I know where you’re going with this. It was Wednesday; he got off at 4:00. But he wasn’t showing any symptoms. He was fine.”
“There have been cases of people being contagious before they show any symptoms. You might want to check with doctors. Get your people tested.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding heartsick. “Yeah, I know. But, if they shut us down, what’ll we all do?”
“I don’t know,” I said, aching. “Sure as hell wish I did.”
“Well . . . thanks for calling,” he said. “I’ll be in touch if I’ve got anything. Will you let me know if you find him?”
I assured him that I would. Another promise.
Next I called Ian’s prior roommates, Aidan and Tina. I got a machine and left a message. Hopefully the $5,000 check they had gotten from me as restitution for Iain’s drug-induced temper tantrum would at least earn me a return call.
I drove for a while in silence, thinking about my next steps. I was passing by the Joyce Kilmer rest stop when a call came in.
Fiona.
I was relieved, but also almost afraid to answer. She was probably not going to be happy about what I was doing, and Fi could be . . . percussive when angry. Kinetic, even.
I steeled myself and accepted the call. “Hey, Fi,” I said. “Don’t be too hard on me, okay?”
But it turned out I was unduly worried. Or at least, worried about the wrong things. The person on the other end of the line was my sister, but she was also Fiona Campbell Savin, M.D., and on the battlefield I was about to enter, she was a brigadier.
“Listen, Cami, I’ve only got a couple minutes so I have to make this short and I’m not going to argue with you. I don’t have any better ideas on how to find Iain. Before you go looking, I want you, at a minimum, to get a mask and disposable gloves. Use them. Don’t touch your face when you have them on. When you find Iain, get him masked too. Good so far?”
“Good,” I replied, matching her crispness. “Go.”
“Okay, next. If you can get him tested, great. But the results will take three days anyway. Assume he’s got COVID if he’s showing any symptoms that you might normally associate with a flu or a cold, and act accordingly. Understand, he may have a flu or a cold. But you have to assume the worst. With me?”
“Assume the worst, right.”
“Okay, next. There’s not much we can do in a hospital for people who have mild or moderate symptoms, and right now I’d avoid hospitals unless you have to go. We’re ground zero for every virus known to man, and COVID’s no exception. So, if you’ve got a place to park Iain and keep him isolated, that’s great.
“He’ll need to go to the hospital if you can’t keep his fever down below 103. If it gets to 103 and you can’t get it down, bring him in. If he becomes incoherent, bring him in. If he gets the shakes and you can’t get them under control, bring him in. Severe chest pains, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, same. If he starts having trouble breathing, it’s time for 911, and don’t hesitate for a second. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Repeat it to me.”
“Keep him isolated. Bring him to the hospital if he has severe chest pains, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, uncontrollable shakes, becomes incoherent or spikes 103 and we can’t get it back down. Call 911 if he’s having trouble breathing.”
“Good. Next. Treat fever with alternating Tylenol and Advil. Use cough and cold medicine on the secondary symptoms. Make sure he gets lots of fluids. And eats. Best keep it bland, but he needs to eat. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Okay, next. Keep him isolated from you. When you go in to check on him, or give him medicine or food, make sure you’re both masked. Wear gloves. I’d feel better if you got a poncho that you only wore when you saw him; it’s crap for PPE, but it’s probably better than nothing. Limit your exposure to as few minutes at a time as possible.
“When you’re out, remove your protective gear and scrub thoroughly. Rinse your hands, lather up and sing yourself the ABC song while you rub your hands together. Use hot water to rinse off. Clear?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
She paused, then said, more softly, “It should be me, Cami. I should be there. And I hate myself that I can’t be. But I can’t leave. God help me, I can’t. I’ve got a hospital filling up with scared people, and I’ve got a job to do. Please, please be safe? And take care of that idiot brother of ours?”
“Fi, you are where you need to be. Don’t blame yourself.” Echoing Tina, I said, “I’ve got this. Now go!”
But I could sense that she was still on the line, saying nothing. Not hanging up. “I’ll find him, Fi. And I’ll be careful.” Deep breath. “I promise.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ve gotta go. Love you, sis.”
“Love you too, Fi.” I said, and ended the call.
That had been a lot to digest, but her recommendations had pretty much tracked what I expected. It was very useful to have the punch list of symptoms that would trigger escalatory action, though. I should be in pretty good shape, all things considered. I didn’t have any disposable gloves, or a poncho, but otherwise I had what I needed.
It was full dark and I was on the approach to the GW Bridge when I got a return call from Iain’s boss.
“Hello?” I answered.
"It’s Mike – Mike Parker. I just heard from Iain; he called me back.”
“Thank God!”
“Well, not so fast,” he replied. “He told me to tell you to go home, that he wasn’t going to infect anyone, and if you thought you were going to guilt him into letting you get him, you were forgetting Penrose Park. I don’t know what he meant by that.”
I didn’t either, but I hadn’t given my name and Iain must figure Mike had been talking to Fiona. She would probably get the reference, but it didn’t matter.
“Anyhow,” he continued, “the important thing is, I heard church bells in the background while we were talking. I’d know them anywhere, ’cause I grew up three blocks from Trinity Episcopal. He’s still in New Rochelle, and he’s got to be pretty close to there. I’m going to go drive around and see whether I can spot anything. How far out are you?”
I checked the display. “Twenty-five minutes, give or take. I’ll drive to the church and call if I haven’t heard from you before then.”
“Got it,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Ricercheremo, ritroveremo”
– Rossini, La Cenerentola, Si ritrovarla io giuro (Aria)
New Rochelle, New York, half an hour later
I parked. The massive stone tower of Trinity-St. Paul’s loomed overhead as I stepped out of the car. I went to the trunk, opened the bag that Nicole and Maggie had indicated would contain medicines and cleaning supplies, and found the package of masks. I pulled out a couple and put them in my purse. Then I locked up and called Mike Parker.
“Hey – it’s Fiona, right?” he answered.
I said, “Hi Mr. Parker. I’m here.” No sense wasting time on the misidentification. “Any luck?”
“Nothing so far,” he said. “I was just checking over in Ruby Dee Park.” Through the speaker I could hear the sounds of him walking.
“Where should I check next?” I asked.
“I was going to look at the underpass for the ’95.”
“I’ll check that,” I said. I had just come off the highway and it was close. “I’ll call you.”
“Likewise,” he said.
I went back to the car, got in and drove back the way I came. There was nothing under the piers of the highway, so I just started to turn around.
“Oh, fuck me!” I whispered, and found a place to pull over.
I knew how to find Iain. I’d been carrying it with me all along, like Dorothy and her stupid ruby slippers. I pulled out my phone and opened up the “Find my” app. I had linked Iain’s phone to the app when I got him out of jail at the end of December, and I hadn’t remembered to disable the link.
Iain had a lot of talents, but he was no tech geek. No way he thought to do it.
He hadn’t. Looked like Mike Parker had the right idea, but the wrong park. Iain was down by the water, at a place the map identified as Hudson Park. It was just over a mile away; I was there in three minutes. I parked the car by the marina and, following the GPS, walked briskly into the park.
It was dark and cool, and the bare trees looked skeletal in the light of the three-quarter moon. I walked deeper into the park, deeper into the shadows. There was some sort of building ahead – a greenhouse, maybe – and more trees to the left of it. Near as I could tell, he was in that area. Somewhere. Probably toward the trees.
Moving more slowly now, I began to walk that way.
My GPS had done what it could; I had to be close. I thought a minute, then called his number rather than his name. A light appeared in the trees ahead, and I heard a muffled curse followed by a cough. I walked that way, keeping to the shadows and moving as quietly as I could, thankful for my sneakers.
I was close enough. I stood in the long shadow of a dark, old tree. In my normal female voice, I said, “Iain.”
I heard his voice and saw him move.
“Shit!!!!” he exclaimed, lurching to his feet, coughing, looking at me from a distance of no more than twenty yards. “Damn it, Fi, I don’t know how you did that, but stay the fuck away! I’m sick! Go save the world, or something.”
I stepped forward, walking toward him at a normal pace, into a pool of silver moonlight. He looked scared. And angry. When I got to within fifteen feet, I stopped. He continued to glare at me, until suddenly his expression changed completely and he looked like he’d been standing in the middle of a railroad crossing when a train plowed into him.
“Fi is saving the world, jackass,” I said conversationally. “And you’d be the first to agree that the world can spare a lawyer, or five. So stop being stupid, will you?”
Finally he stopped staring. “Jesus H. Christ!”
“Strike two,” I said. “The Bible says He was male. Plus, He wasn’t a lawyer. You’re slipping.”
He chuckled. Chuckled harder. Then, he started to cough, but had the presence of mind to do it into his elbow. When he stopped, he said, “Sonofabitch. You were actually telling me the truth? I will be damned.”
“I wouldn’t bet against it,” I said fondly, “especially if you don’t stop being an idiot.”
He tried to say something but I stopped him. “Iain, listen. I get what you’re trying to do. I admire it, even. But I can help you do the same thing while improving your chances of surviving. I’ve got a motel room just a couple of miles from here; it’s got two bedrooms and I can keep you isolated until you get better. I can keep an eye on you there, make sure you don’t get worse, and get you food and medicine.
“And before you say anything, Fi’s given me instructions on how to keep you from infecting me. So . . . you won’t be hurting anybody, and you’re improving your chances of getting through this. That should take care of any reasonable objections, and anything else is just sheer Savin pigheadedness. Living’s more important, Iain.”
Finally he stopped trying to interrupt me, and actually listened. Might even have been a first. He stood silent for a minute, just looking at me standing in the moonlight, as the light breeze ruffled my dark hair. Then he raised his hands in a hopeless gesture. “They never should have let you learn how to argue. Big mistake. Okay, you’ve got me. This place was kinda creepy anyway.”
I smiled, relieved, then reached into my purse and tossed him a face mask. “Don’t blame me,” I said. “Fi insisted. And I’ve got to wear one, too.” I slipped one band, then the other, over my head and brought the semi-rigid fabric cup over my nose and mouth. “Wow, these things are uncomfortable.”
He was still fussing with the straps. “We wear ’em sometimes on construction projects. It’s better if you pinch the metal part over your nose.”
I discovered I had the metal part under my chin, and had to take it off and put it back on again. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“Work on that bedside manner of yours, doc,” he chided.
I winced. “I’m sorry, Iain,” I said. “I want you to know, Fi would be here if there was any way, any way in the world, that she could be. But her hospital’s swamped. She can’t leave all of her patients.”
“I know. I was just teasing. You’ll do fine, kid. After all, you weren’t even supposed to find me. How did you manage it?”
I waved him toward the car, angry that I felt it was unsafe to give him a proper hug. I thought of a line from an old movie Gammy Campbell had played for the three of us every Christmas season. “Does Macy’s tell Gimbell’s?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Gammy.”
On the way to the car, I called Mike Parker.
“Fiona?” he asked.
“I’ve got him, Mr. Parker.”
“Oh thank God,” he said.
“I’m going to take him to the motel and look after him. Thank you so much for all of your help!”
“Thank you,” he responded. “Keep him safe, will you? He’s a knucklehead, but we’re fond of him.”
“I’m on it.”
He told me to let him know if I needed anything.
I said I would. It was possible we might need it.
Iain had overheard enough of both ends of the conversation to say, “He thinks you’re Fiona?”
“There wasn't a good time to fill him in on the complicated story of how you acquired another sister, so I just didn’t say anything. Now, let me text Fi. And Henry.” By the time I had done that, we were at the car. “It’s cool out, but let’s keep the windows open. We don’t have far to go.”
Around twenty minutes later, we pulled up to the motel where Nicole had booked us a room, located in nearby Mt. Vernon. I had all the details, so I parked the car by the room and went to get the key.
“Stay here,” I told Iain.
He was feeling the cold, even though I had blasted the car heater. I got out, removed my mask so as not to attract attention, and walked around the building and across the parking lot to reach the office. Nicole, the wonderful Nicole, had even gotten a room that was not in the line of sight of anyone in the office.
A stout man with a shiny head and fringes of white on each side was at the front desk.
“I’m Cameron Savin,” I said, giving the name on my drivers’ license. “I’ve got a room booked for the week?”
He checked the log. “You sure do, Miss Savin. I’ll need an ID and a credit card, and I’ll get you a key.”
“Great,” I said, handing them over. “I have it booked for a week, but could you tell me what the monthly rate would be? We might need to be in town for a while, and if it’s cheaper I’d rather do it that way.”
He gave me the rate, which was significantly cheaper, so I took it for the whole month. I figure I would need to stay for fourteen days after Iain recovered, so it could be a while.
He handed me two keys. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”
I smiled, thanked him, and went back to the car.
I got Iain through the door just as quickly as possible, then checked the place. Nothing fancy, but everything was clean and well-maintained. It had a central living space with a couch, a chair and a TV, a small kitchenette, a table for two, and two bedrooms. One of the bedrooms had an attached bathroom with a shower; the other bathroom served both the common area and the second bedroom.
Iain was tired, filthy, and looked sick and frankly miserable. I said, “Can you manage a shower?”
“I’d kill for one.”
“Okay. Here’s the plan. Get yourself a shower. Dump your clothes; I’ll take care of them later. When you’re out of the shower, get in bed and under the covers. Go commando for now. I’ll ask your roommate to drop off some of your clean stuff later; he’s working now. I’ll get you some Tylenol and some cough medicine. Okay?”
He sketched a salute.
I said, with real regret, “Iain, doc’s orders – the real one, not me. We’ll need to keep this door closed, and we’ll both need to be masked when I’m in there with you.”
“Good by me, Cam. You don’t want this, trust me.”
I turned to leave him to his shower, but before I closed the door to his bedroom I turned back. “Iain? Could you do me a favor?”
“Depends on what, squirt,” he said, smiling.
“Call me Cami.”
He looked startled. “Okay, if that’s what you want. But I won’t be able to use “Spam” as a put-down nickname anymore, and ‘Spammy’ is just gibberish.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ll miss that,” I said dryly.
He chuckled as I shut the door.
While he showered, I sent a text to Mahmoud, his roommate, letting him know that I had found him and asking whether he could drop off some of Iain’s things. My mind was still going like a piston engine. I needed to get some supplies to comply with Fiona’s mandates, and we were going to need some food. Now and later.
I thought about it and decided in a completely cold-blooded way that I should run out as quickly as possible and hopefully hole up thereafter. I had only just met up with Iain. Maybe I was already infected. But I wouldn’t be contagious yet. I don’t know how long it might take, but I was pretty confident it would be more than a few hours.
I’d better find out what I had with me first, I thought, since I had left all the packing to Nicole and Maggie. But first things first, and start right. I spent a couple minutes thoroughly washing my hands. Then I brought my bags into the other bedroom and unpacked.
On the clothes front, I had jeans, yoga pants, t-shirts, a fleece, a light waterproof jacket that must be Nicole’s and my heavier wool coat. I had my dark red full skirt, a black jacket and cream-colored shell in case I needed to look businesslike. They had thought to pack some exercise clothes. There was also an assortment of footwear and underwear. My flannel nightgown. Also, my light green nightie and dark green dressing gown, with a little note attached (“Maybe not the most practical thing, but you need to stay sane, too!”).
I had cosmetics, hair care products, and toiletries. Some medicines, but not a lot. My pills. Some Gatorade. Lysol and some antibacterial wipes. No gloves. Unsurprisingly, no poncho. Okay. I had a good notion.
I no longer heard the shower running, so I put my mask back on and knocked on his door. “Mask up – coming in.”
“Hang on . . . . okay. Got it.”
I opened the door and found him in bed, covers pulled to his chin. “Any better?”
“The shower was great,” he said. “I'm not as cold, but I’m wiped. Completely.”
I came over and put a glass of water, a couple pills and a couple ounces of cough syrup by his bedside. “It’s 9:00, so the Tylenol should hold you for a bit. Take all that. I’m going to run to Target and get us some supplies. Kindly stay put, would you?”
He looked up at me, his expression hidden by the mask. “I’m done running. I didn’t know how I was going to get through this one. I wasn’t even sure I how I was going to get through another night. Thanks, kid. . . . Cami.”
He could not see my smile, so I just put my fist over my heart, then left him.
“se guardo il suo cimento, palpitando il cor mi va”
– Mozart, Don Giovanni, In quali . . . Mi tradi quell'alma ingrata (Aria)
Mount Vernon, New York, March 14, immediately following
I was back in the car and headed out; Target was open until 10:00. But I had time, now, for one more call.
Nicole picked up immediately. “Cami! – How are you?”
“I’ve got him, Nicole. And the motel is perfect, and the packing you guys did was perfect, and you're both perfect, too. How’s that?”
“How is he?”
“A mixed bag, I guess. He’s got some chills and a cough, and spending last night on the street – well, in a park – didn’t do wonders for his appearance. But he’s actually in a bit better shape than last time I saw him. The rehab facility got him clean and sober, but they also had him eating properly. He’s a long ways from strong, though. If you saw him, you’d probably guess he was closer to 42 than 32.”
“You sound like you’re on a speaker phone,” she said.
“Just a run for supplies. I want to hole up as much as possible.”
“Makes sense.”
I told her about my conversations with Fi and Eileen, and how I had figured out how to find him.
That made her laugh.
“Nicole, I’ve arrived at Target and I’ve got to go. I miss you both. God, I miss you!”
“We miss you too. Now, cape up, girl! Do your thing!”
I wasn’t a superhero in the store so much as a whirlwind. Big cart. Food – keep it simple; make sure it lasts. More fluids. Tea. Honey. Lemons. The room had a Keurig – ghastly, but even medicinal quality coffee beat tea. So, K-Cups. More cold and flu medicine. More Advil. Digital thermometer and caps. Batteries.
On the chance that Mahmoud couldn’t help or that Iain had very little, a fresh toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo. A harsh but powerful soap. Disposable rubber gloves. I thought a bit more and tossed in an electric razor. Pricey, but no one who is shaky likes the other kinds. Paper towels. Strangely, the store appeared to be out of toilet paper, but we had enough for now.
Then I went into the men’s section and found a couple pairs of pajamas, a flannel bathrobe in the wrong tartan (Neither Ross nor Campbell, much less Cameron, were generally available, so the Black Watch would just have to do). Slippers. A packet of underwear and a couple clean T-Shirts. A packet of fresh socks. A pair of cargo pants; his jeans had been 36-34 (I had checked), but they’d been baggy. So, 34-34. I found a rain slicker that would have to serve as my “PPE.”
I was about to call it quits, but I had a dark inspiration. I dashed over to the infants’ section and found a relatively cheap baby monitor. Iain wouldn’t like it, but it would allow me to keep tabs on his condition without being in the same room.
I went to the self-checkout, since anyone with half a brain could figure out from the totality of my purchases what had brought me out, and I didn’t want to raise an alarm. I was out the door and on the road by 9:45, and back in the room by 10:00.
I brought everything inside, put away the groceries, donned my mask and checked in on Iain. He was out like a light. As quietly as possible, I laid out the PJ’s, bathrobe and slippers in the chair, put the thermometer on top of the dresser, dropped off the toiletries and razor in the bathroom, and plugged the monitor in by his bed.
Then I left, closed the door, and washed up. I would take care of the rest of the unpacking when Iain was awake.
I was finally done with my tasks for the day. Had it really been this morning that I had made a quiche for my housemates and talked strategy for how we were all going to thrive during the present unpleasantness? Had I really spent an hour at a salon having my hair cut, just this afternoon? It felt like a lifetime ago.
It was, too.
I went into the bathroom not attached to Iain’s room, laid out my toiletries, removed my makeup and moisturized. I changed – somewhat defiantly – into my light green nightie, and took my estrogen pill. Then, finally, I was able to sleep.
Mount Vernon, New York, March 15
I woke in the middle of the night to muffled sounds coming from the monitor by my bed. So I put on my dressing gown, cinched it up, and crossed to Iain’s room, pausing to snag my mask before tapping on his door and entering.
He was tossing and twitching, muttering in his sleep. I checked the time: 12:30. The Tylenol would last another two and a half hours, in theory, but it looked like he needed the Advil dose.
I grabbed his glass, went back to the common room, poured him some water and got the pills. Then I stopped, muttered at myself, washed my hands thoroughly and put on both my rain slicker and a pair of thin, disposable rubber gloves before returning to his room. I turned on the light by his bed, reached out and grasped his restless arm. Even through the gloves, his skin felt warm.
“Iain.” I gave him a shake. “You need to wake up.”
His eyes popped open, looking a bit wild. “Fi?” he asked groggily.
“No, it’s Cami. I’ve got to take your temp and you’ve got to take some Advil.”
He focused. “Oh . . . ah. Yeah. Okay.”
“Can you prop yourself up for a minute?”
“Yeah, hang on.”
He got the pillows behind him and pushed up a bit. I handed him the pills, then the water. When he was done, I checked his temperature. 100.5. Not great, definitely a fever. But well below the danger zone.
”How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Still tired. Cold.”
“Okay. I got you some warm pajamas. Get those on and I’ll get you another blanket."
“Okay. Great. Thanks.” He sounded a bit out of it.
I went and got the blanket off of my bed and brought it into his room. He had the pajama bottoms on and was struggling a bit with the buttons on the top, mostly because his hands weren’t completely steady and he was coughing.
“Stick your elbow over your lower face for a sec,” I ordered.
He did, and I quickly did up his buttons. I made him take another shot of cough syrup, got him back into bed, and dropped the second blanket over him. He was asleep again before I even got out of the room, though he was still coughing some.
I went out, removed my slicker, mask and gloves, washed my hands, and went back into my room. Pulling a small pad from the bag that protects my laptop, I made notes of the times I had given him medicine, his temperature, and his condition. Then I looked at my stripped bed, sighed, and changed into my flannel nightie. I added socks to keep my feet warm, and got under the too-thin sheets. It was 1:20.
I was up and in his room again at 3:30 (coughing; fever 100.7) and 6:00 (coughing; fever 100.6). At that point I gave up, took a shower, and got dressed. It warmed me up. The chair in the common area was cozy and I thought I might doze for a bit, but my phone rang back in my bedroom. Fi had responded to my text last night and had indicated she would call first thing, before she went into work.
So as not to wake Ian, I went back into my room, closed the door and flicked accept. “Good morning, Fi.”
“Good morning, Wonder Woman! Good work last night! I’ve got fifteen minutes, so tell me first, how’s he doing? Be as detailed and specific as you can be.”
I gave my summary, checking my notes for specific readings.
When I was done, she said, “Okay, I think you’ve got the situation under control. Keeping notes is a good idea. I don’t see any reason to bring him in at this point. Only thing I’d say is to keep a closer eye on hydration.”
She paused, apparently checked her watch, and said, “I’ve got six minutes. What else can you tell me? How are you, how is the place you’re staying, and do you need anything?”
I did what I could to answer, but we ran out of time and she had to go.
I went back to the common area, sat in the semi-comfortable chair and tried to catch up on the news, but found myself dozing off.
Iain was awake again by 8:30. He took some medicine, I took his temp (100.9) and he went in to get another shower. While he was in the bathroom I put the clothes I had bought him in the room, made up the bed, then went back to the common room, closing the door behind me. I made a couple cups of coffee and brought one into Iain's room.
The shower stopped and a few minutes later I could hear him using the electric razor. Good. And also coughing, which sounded deeper. Less good. Later, I heard him moving about the room, then I heard a knock from the inside of his door.
“Mask up, Cam . . . Cami.”
“Okay, hang on.” I got the thing on properly and retreated to the kitchenette. “All clear.”
He came out as I was putting on my rain slicker, moved to the other side of the small table in the eating area and sat down. “You look pretty silly in that.”
“Ah well. I used to be ignorant of fashion too, when I was merely a guy!”
The banter had its desired effect. He took a pull from his coffee. “You’re convincing as hell, you know. And I never had a clue. Not one. Did you always feel this way?”
I was getting a bit tired of explaining it, but Iain wasn’t unsympathetic. And, unusually for him, there was no underlying effort to vie for superiority, to put me down. So, I told him more or less what I had told Eileen a few days – years, it seemed – before. He sat and listened, coughing occasionally but not saying anything.
When I finished and before he could say anything, I said, “Fiona’s orders, you need to eat, and you need a Gatorade. So, eggs and toast or oatmeal?”
“Doesn’t matter. Wait. Not toast; I don’t want anything scratchy on my throat. Hurts enough as it is.”
As I was making him some oatmeal, he said, “I’m trying to picture the old man’s face. Does he know?”
“I haven’t said anything. Fi hasn’t. So unless Gammy told them, no. But she said she wouldn’t.”
His eyes got big. “You told Gammy?”
“I went and visited her at the place in Morgantown. Back in January.”
“Holy shit. What did she think?”
I handed him the bowl and retreated back to the far side of the room. “On the whole, I can’t say she was impressed. Thought I was being self-indulgent. But she made it clear that she wasn’t going to stop loving her kin just because she didn’t approve of their life choices.”
He said, with more force than he should have (since it triggered his coughing), “Being trans isn’t a ‘choice!’”
I wondered how many trans people he had known; he had hinted that there were more than one when I talked to him in January. For whatever reason, he appeared to hold them in high regard. But I decided not to pry.
“I know, but convincing her of that . . . she’s like a ninety-year old Scottish oak. She’ll fall someday, but she will, by God, never bend.”
He nodded, scooped up the last of his cereal, and washed it down with coffee.
“Thanks, Cami. I’m going to retreat back to my lair; I’m already tired again. This COVID really sucks. I can’t even taste anything.”
“Okay, but take the Gatorade with you and drink it down, okay?”
He got ponderously to his feet, waved a hand in acknowledgement, and went back into his room, closing the door behind him.
I added to my log entries: Raging sore throat; impaired sense of taste.
“Notte e giorno faticar”
– Mozart, Don Giovanni, Notte e giorno faticar (Aria)
Mount Vernon, New York, March 16
Another bad night, another morning. Iain had spent almost all of Sunday in his room, mostly lying down. The fever had stayed below 101 but crept up overnight. The cough was still bad; I couldn’t say it was worse.
He reported that his throat was still sore, he couldn’t taste or smell anything, and his joints ached.
I reported all this to Fiona first thing in the morning; she counseled patience and said I was doing fine.
Mahmoud had dropped off some of Iain’s things, but it was a very small bag. I just had him leave it outside.
He was very happy with that arrangement.
I was already tired, and this was only day two. But Iain was back in his room and I had some calls to make.
First I called Eileen and told her my news, concluding with, “So, I don’t know how long I’ll need to be here, but it’s two weeks after he recuperates, and he hasn’t gotten better yet.”
“Understood. I’ll talk to the Management Committee tomorrow, but we’ll work something out. How are you getting by?”
“It’s actually been pretty exhausting. He’s not sleeping well, so I’m not sleeping well. But I’m managing.”
I called Maggie (it was too early to call Nicole!) and filled her in.
She told me that the other two operas she was scheduled to be in this season had also been canceled, which wasn’t a surprise, and that Dottoressa Trelli had suspended vocal lessons. She and Nicole were on the fence about doing the same thing, to protect their students, but two of their students had canceled already.
I called Dr. Chun’s office to alert them – belatedly – to the fact that I had started the estrogen therapy.
Iain started coughing again, and was having trouble getting it controlled. I went in to help.
Mount Vernon, New York, March 17
Another bad night, another morning. After Iain had his morning shower, he just got back into his pajamas and went straight back to bed. He was still coherent, but he was more monosyllabic. I forced him to eat, take medicine. Drink Gatorade. His fever had passed 102 overnight, but it was back down to 101.6 in the morning.
I gave Fiona the morning report. She stayed calm, but sounded more and more like Dr. Savin. Not a good sign.
I got a call from Al and Javi, wanting to know if I was okay. I filled them in. They were excited to tell me that Tina had actually gone out and applied for three jobs.
“I really think she’s making progress!” Javi said.
I thought to myself, honey may catch more flies than vinegar, but sometimes nothing works better than a hard whack with a fly swatter.
I called Nicole, who was determinedly cheerful and upbeat. Dear woman. But she had another student cancel.
“What’s the state of the cookie jar?” I asked.
“We’re okay for this month, Cami. Don’t worry about it.”
But I had just gotten paid, so I got her to agree that I could make a contribution. She told me that she and Maggie had been researching the podcast idea and were getting excited about it.
I thought, I want to go home!
After my call to Nicole, I sat quietly and thought for a few minutes. I had promised Nicole and Maggie that we would get through this, and we should be able to. But I could only contribute emotionally if I was there, and I could only contribute financially if I was employed. What if I lose my job? What if . . . I faced my fear . . . I get COVID, and I’m not one of the survivors? What would come of my promise then?
After a few minutes of brooding about it, I fired up my laptop and went to the website for my bar association. They had a deal with The Hartford for life insurance without underwriting. A simple questionnaire. One that I could fill out honestly — this morning, at least, if not necessarily tomorrow.
I had never bothered with it before. What was the point? But now there were people who needed me. I filled out the form and made the premium payment. Just the fact that the insurance company hadn’t suspended taking new customers made me feel better.
The day was more of the same. Iain needed medicine and liquids every two-to-three hours, and I was able to get him to eat simple foods. I was going to need to do something about laundry in the next day or two.
Eileen called around 4:00. The Management Committee was on board with the idea of a general memo announcing my gender change, to go out a few days before I came back. Eileen would send me a draft in advance, though there was clearly no present rush. The Committee also approved paid sick/sick family leave through the end of the month, as well as remote work during my quarantine period.
She told me they were very supportive. “They had no issues at all about your being trans. Really, the bigger concern is the leave issue. If this virus continues to spread we could find ourselves hemorrhaging money through payroll while our billables collapse. We’ve got three more employees who are in similar circumstances already; two in the New York office and one in Brussels.”
Well, I thought, I’m covered for now. The future will just have to do what it’s going to do.
Later that evening, I saw an “all hands” email from work, telling employees to stay home if they had symptoms or were in close contact with someone who had COVID, and to report in if this was the case. For now, leaves of absence and requests to work remotely would be approved on a case-by-case basis by the Managing Partner for Personnel, Evan Barksdale. Employees were reminded to be careful about hand-washing and general hygiene.
The memo went out under the joint signatures of Barksdale and of Raphael Oliveira, the chairman of the Management Committee. The biggest of the big guns.
Iain was coughing, sounding weak. I went to help him.
Mount Vernon, New York, March 18
Another day, another bad night. Iain was no better, but his temperature was still in the range of 101.5 - 102.3. The cough was the same; maybe a bit more frequent. And for longer intervals. He was staying in bed. Had chills, then sometimes felt very hot. On the whole, he seemed to be holding steady. But I was getting pretty run-down.
I kicked myself. Stop whining. Nurses do this every day. Doctors do this every day. Fi does it. Get over yourself.
Fi had sounded even more doctor-like when I gave her this morning’s report. “I’m going to prescribe something to help him sleep.”
My mind was feeling a bit wooly. “Can you write prescriptions in New York?”
“I can write them in Massachusetts. Rob has to go down to the city today to meet with some pharma bigwigs. He’s going to stop by your motel this evening and drop off the prescription. If there are any other supplies you need, text the list to Henry.”
I’d met Henry’s brother Robert at Christmas under less-than-ideal circumstances, but he’d been very helpful and I was appreciative of his help. Of any help, for that matter. “Fi, you’ve always been my hero, but I had no idea. How do you do this every day?”
She laughed softly. “Same way you get to Carnegie Hall. Now, hang in there, kiddo.”
“Dolce speranza, freddo timore, Dentro al mio core
Stanno a pugnar”
– Rossini, La Cenerentola, Si ritrovarla io giuro (Aria)
Mount Vernon, New York, March 18, later that day
The day was more of the same. I thought about supplies and sent a list off to Henry to forward to Robert. I monitored Iain, got my protective gear on, got him medicine, got my gear off, scrubbed up. The same routine for food.
I did it all again. In between, I read work emails and tried to follow the news, cleaned every surface in my room, my bathroom, and the common area. My delicates got hand-washed in the bathroom sink and hung them to dry in my shower.
It was almost 6:00 when Robert gave a diffident knock on the door. Anyone who was familiar with the Hutchinsons of Boston would know in a single glance that he was part of the tribe. He had short, straight, jet-black hair, a stockier build than his father or brother, and a younger, beardless version of his father’s ascetic face.
When I had seen him last, he had been a bit at sea, having to deal with drafting an affidavit attesting to actions taken by his cousin Jonathan. He had been tense and uncertain, most unlike the confident king of the prior night’s dance floor.
But while Robert, like Henry, had been keeping long hours as they helped steer Hutchinson Investments through one of the crazier markets in fifty years, he looked rested, poised, and mercifully competent. When he saw me, whatever he had intended to say died on his lips.
“Robert!” I said, hoping to help him out. “Thank you for coming.”
He shook his head, as if clearing cobwebs. “Cami, I’ve got the stuff on your list in the car, but it’ll wait. I’ve got something hot for dinner and you’re going to sit down and eat it, right now, before we do anything else. You look great, by the way, except for the tire tracks across your body from where the truck ran you over.”
This wasn’t the Robert I had dealt with at all, and I was sufficiently bemused that I did what he had asked me to do. I sat.
He came in, bringing a take-out bag and a wine bottle with him. He set it on the table, then went to the kitchenette and grabbed three plates.
I said, “Just you and me. Iain had some soup and is sleeping.”
He nodded, put one plate back and grabbed two glasses. Then he served chicken pad thai. It was piping hot, spicy, and tasted like heaven on earth. He poured two small glasses of wine and silently clinked glasses with me.
“How did your meetings go?” I asked, trying to make conversation.
“Very productive. Now eat, for the love of God. We’ll talk when you’re done.”
I did. We finished it, and I easily had more than half.
I swallowed the last of my wine. “Thank you. I think you’ve saved my life, and I didn’t even know I was dying. Now, let me get the rest of the stuff and get you on your way. As far as I know, I’m perfectly healthy. But I know I could have COVID, and that I wouldn’t need to have symptoms to be contagious.”
He shook his head. “No. That was my plan, but I’m changing it.”
I started to protest but he held up a hand and said, urgently, “Listen to me. You’re run down, you haven’t been eating well and you’ve been sleeping worse. That’s the best recipe on earth for getting sick, which will make you far more susceptible to the virus. And if you’re sick, you’ll be no good to Iain anyway. So you are going to go, right now, and get some sleep. I’ll cover through midnight, and I’ll wake you up before I go, okay?”
“Robert. I don’t want to infect you.”
“I’m just as likely to be infected as you are. We’ll be careful with Iain.”
I tried a different argument. “You aren’t driving to Boston at midnight."
He smiled. “No; I’ve got the room next door through Sunday. I’d spell you through the morning, but I’ve got two more days of meetings and I’ll need to be rested myself. Now, walk me through the drill, then Go. To. Sleep. Or, I’ll rat you out to Fiona.”
I wanted to fight, but I knew it would be futile. Robert was right; I did need some uninterrupted sleep, or I wouldn’t be functional. So I conceded with as much grace as I could.
He got the supplies from his car, including – praise be – an extra blanket – then I ran him through the protocol, gave him my log notes and the monitor, and showed him where I was keeping the medicines, gloves, and masks.
He pulled a mask from his back pocket. “That part, at least, I’ve got covered.”
I was glad, since I was on my third mask and only had two more. I went into the bathroom, removed my makeup, washed, and moisturized my face, brushed my teeth and retreated into my bedroom.
Before I closed the door, I looked back and saw that Robert was sitting on the couch with a laptop open, reviewing something with a look of intense concentration. I decided not to disturb him.
Mount Vernon, New York, March 19
It felt like Robert woke me minutes after I had gone to sleep. I opened my eyes to find him perched on my bed, lightly pressing my upper arm. His face was shadowed; the room only illuminated by moonlight.
“I’m sorry, Cami,” he said with real regret. “I’ve got to go catch some sleep. It’s 12:15; Iain had Tylenol at 11:00 and is currently sleeping. His 11:00 temp was 102.1. Intermittent coughing. It’s all written in your log. The monitor is on your bedside again.”
I smiled and lightly touched his arm. “Thank you, Robert. Thank you! Go get some sleep.”
He stood, looked down at me for a moment and smiled. “Okay. I’ll check in on you in the morning. And Cami?”
“Yes?”
“It’s just Rob with friends. Okay?”
“I’ll remember that.”
He left, and I drifted back to sleep.
When he stopped by at 8:00 the next morning, I had already been up twice, given Fiona my morning report, showered and gotten dressed. I had taken advantage of both the blanket and the chance for uninterrupted sleep to wear my nice green nightie rather than flannel the prior night, and perversely felt better for it.
Robert – Rob – asked how the rest of the night had gone and I filled him in. I thanked him again and said, truthfully, that I felt a million times better.
He smiled. “Yeah, the tire tracks are mostly gone, I think!” He told me to pull together the laundry and he would drop it off on his way to his meetings and pick it up on the way back.
I put on my gear and went to see Iain. He was awake, but still doing no better.
“Who’s out there?” he asked. “Is it the guy who was here last night?”
“Yes; that’s Fiona’s fiancé’s brother. He spelled me so I could get some sleep.”
“Oh,” he said, sounding disinterested. “Just was wondering, that’s all . . . .” His voice kind of faded away, as if he forgot he had been speaking. He refocused. "I’m feeling pretty cold. Is it time for a shower?”
“Sure. Can you manage it?
“I think so.”
“Okay, you do that. I’m going to strip the bed and we're going to get your sheets and pajamas laundered. So I’ll need you to dress in street clothes today, okay?”
“Sure, sure,” he said, shivering.
I pulled all of the laundry together, excepting only my delicates, bundled them up and put them in Rob’s trunk.
“Text me what you want for dinner,” Rob suggested, and drove off.
Three minutes later, I heard coughing, and Iain calling my name. I grabbed my mask and rushed into the bathroom, to find Iain sitting on the floor of the shower, knees to his chin.
“Sorry, Cami, I just can’t manage to get back up.” And he coughed some more.
“I’ve got you, bro.”
I shut off the water, then got a towel and helped him get a bit dry. It was going to be a lot harder to get him up if he was wet. When that was done, I crouched down, put my arm around him and maneuvered him to his feet.
Once there, he was able to take his weight. I had him lean against me while I finished toweling him off. Then we got him back into his bedroom. Sitting on the bed, he was able to get his underwear, pants and a T-shirt on, then fresh socks followed by his slippers. At that point, he just lay back on top of the covers, tired by his exertions. He closed his eyes and coughed, holding his elbow over his mouth. Even the cough sounded tired.
I folded the half of the covers he wasn’t lying on over him, then took his temperature. 102.5. Worst reading yet. He wasn’t due for the Advil for half an hour, but I decided to advance it. I propped him up long enough to take the pills, then eased him back down. He closed his eyes wearily, then opened them again.
“Cami,” he said, his voice weak. “I’m trying. For Fi. For you. I’m trying. But I’m so tired. So tired . . . .” Without waiting for my response, he fell back into sleep.
But he slept right through for six hours, and when he woke, his fever had gone down to 101.7. He was still coughing deeply, but his sore throat was better and he seemed a bit stronger. I made him soup and he managed it, got Gatorade into him, gave him Tylenol and cough syrup, followed by more water. He got to the bathroom with me there to spot him, then went back to bed.
“Sorry if I gave you a scare this morning,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that bad before.”
“Well, I said, “I don’t want to sound like Pollyanna, but just maybe you’ve turned the corner.
He knocked on his skull. “Knock wood and fingers crossed!”
“Und wecken mich aus düstrem Traum”
– Wagner, Tannhäuser, Dich, teure Halle (Aria)
Mount Vernon, New York, March 19, later that day
Iain was again sleeping when Rob came back, but I woke him so we could put fresh sheets on his bed and put his now clean clothes and pajamas away. Rob had brought sushi, but also some miso soup, which suited Iain fine. He went into his bathroom while I got his room ready, and I heard him using the electric shaver. I made his bed, put the soup in a bowl by his bed, and went into the common area, where I stripped off mask, gloves, and rain slicker, and then went to wash my hands.
“H-i-j-k-l-m-n-o-p . . . .”
My reverie was broken by Rob’s chuckle.
“I’ve heard of singing in the shower, but I’ve never heard of singing children’s songs at the sink!”
“Oh!” I said, self-consciously. “I almost forgot I was doing it. Fiona suggested I sing that to make sure I spend long enough washing my hands.”
“Doctors!” he snorted.
When I finished removing yet another layer of skin from my hands, I sat down and joined him at the table. He had, once again, poured us each a small glass of wine; again we clinked glasses.
I said, “Listen, I’m not famished or severely sleep deprived, so perhaps we can have a conversation while we eat. It’s considered civilized.”
“Is it?” he said with mock surprise. “Imagine! You sound like Dad.” He grinned, then turned serious. “So tell me how today went.”
“This morning was scary. I really thought I was going to have to take him in. He sat down in the shower and couldn’t get back up. I managed to get him dried off, dressed, and back to bed. He was completely exhausted and practically collapsed. But then he slept six hours and woke up stronger, with a lower fever. So . . . I just don’t know.”
We talked about it a bit more and concluded all we could do was to continue monitoring his condition and doing the best we could. He hadn’t crossed any thresholds.
So I said, “Please. Tell me about your day. I feel like I’ve disappeared down a black hole. What’s going on in the wild world?”
“Oddly enough, good things. Exciting things.”
He told me about messenger RNA, or mRNA, technology, and how some companies were using it to rapidly develop vaccines that could be used to fight COVID. “And by rapidly, I mean, incredibly rapidly. They are starting clinical trials now. That’s unheard of. It’ll still take months to complete all the necessary tests, even if everything goes well. But that’s months – not years. No vaccine has ever been developed that quickly.”
“But it seems to be spreading really quickly. Will even that be fast enough?”
“The $64,000 question. Except that it’s more like the trillion dollar question. We need to buy some time. We’re starting to do things – like, you heard that New York City closed down the public schools, right?”
I nodded.
He continued, “We’re going to have to do a whole lot more. We need to stop a lot of activity, get people to stay at home as much as possible. Wear masks. That’s what this mammoth relief bill they're working on in Congress is all about. If we can find a way to keep non-essential people home without losing everything – their homes included – maybe we can keep the virus from getting out of control, until we’ve got the vaccines.”
We had a long talk about it, and when we were done I felt incredibly more optimistic.
I said, “You know, I’ve just been living with this thing for weeks, feeling powerless, hopeless. Feeling it coming, like . . . l-l-like . . . .”
I stammered and stopped, and felt the blood drain from my face. The memory ripped and tore at my mind, the sound that had driven me to my knees in the middle of the day in a conference room in DC. That massive, inexorable, pulsing beat, a vast bellows . . . . the vision of dark wings . . . .
“Cami!” Rob said sharply.
His voice was low, but cracked with command. He was next to me, holding my shoulders. “Cami!” he repeated, urgently.
I blinked my eyes, blinked again. Took a breath. He released my left shoulder and lightly guided my head until I was facing him, looking directly into his eyes. Eyes that suddenly seemed much older than they had before.
“I don’t know where you went just now, but you shouldn’t be there,” he said, quietly but very firmly.
“No.” I reached up and pressed the hand still gripping my right shoulder. “Thanks for pulling me back.”
He held my eyes for a minute, making sure I was really back from that place of horror. He stood, letting me go and looked down at me. “That’s happened before, hasn’t it?”
Reluctantly, I nodded. “Yes. Mostly at night. One other time during the day. That . . . that was what I was remembering.”
“Fi doesn’t know?”
I shook my head. “I am seeing a different doctor about it. It’s pretty recent.”
He gave me a shrewd look. “Since Christmas, maybe?”
I winced, then nodded.
“I wondered whether you’d gotten off as unscathed as you wanted us all to believe.”
“Rob. I’d really, really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about this. I want Fi and Henry – and you, for that matter – to forget about what happened that night. Or, understand that at least it’s been dealt with. It's done. Finished.”
He looked at me thoughtfully. Coming to a decision, he held out his hands, palms up, in invitation. I took them and he raised me up and looked me in the eye.
“Okay, Cami. If that’s what you want. All I remember about that night is that I got to dance with a very pretty girl. Like this, I think.”
He raised one of my hands above my head and pulled the other, effortlessly bringing me into a twirl. When I faced him again, he said, “Or, wait . . . maybe it was more like this?”
More magic of hand and foot, and I spun in a circle that ended with my back pressed against his chest and his arms around me, while one of my arms was free.
He held me for a moment and said, thoughtfully, “Yes; pretty sure it was that one.”
Then he reversed the maneuver, spun me back out to face him, bowed over the hand he still held, then let me go.
He smiled. “Yep. That’s what I remember. Great evening!”
I gave him the biggest smile in my toolkit. He had earned it, God knows. He could have just agreed to what I had asked, but he had somehow found a way to really snap me out of where I’d gone.
I dropped a deep curtsy (thanks, Liz!), then came back up and said, seriously, “Thank you, Rob.”
He tipped an imaginary hat to me. “Always a pleasure. Now – I’ve got this watch. I’ll get you at 2400.”
I quirked a smile. “Yes sir.” Then I marched off to bed.
He woke me at midnight, just as he had done the night before.
“His temp’s crept back up to over 102," he reported, "but it seems to be holding steady. The coughing’s worse, so I gave him the cough medicine along with the Tylenol. And he took a Gatorade. All logged.”
“Thanks, Rob. See you in the morning.”
He touched my shoulder and slipped out.
I went back to sleep.
“Mon rêve n'était pas un rêve!”
– Charpentier, Louise, Depuis le jour (Aria)
Mount Vernon, New York, March 20
I was falling, falling, whipped by the wind, drenched by the rain, the grace and purity of my dive dissolving into wind-driven cartwheels. The boiling black sea seemed to get no closer as I spun, helpless, seeing sky, then sea, the sky again. Lightning streaked through monstrous clouds, so close that I smelled the ozone frizzle of its passage. I steeled myself for the thunderclap, but all I could hear was the pulse, the steady beat of those massive wings.
Then I could see it, rising from the depths, cresting from the waters, wings stretching wide to engulf the whole world, beating, beating, sound like a bellows . . . . I felt the crushing despair, the terror, rising with every beat.
With an effort that took every ounce of my strength, I wrenched my eyes open. I was panting and damp with sweat. I was back – back in my bed, in the motel. In my body. In my right mind.
But the sound had followed me. Was with me.
It was coming from the monitor by my head. The sound of a man gasping for air, of lungs heaving for breath, spasmodic, tortured. I was in Iain’s room before I’d even thought about it, unmasked and uncaring. His skin was hot and dry and his eyes were wild.
“Fi!” he gasped out, “Fi, help!!”
I grabbed him with one arm, pulling him to me. With the other, I grabbed his phone and dialed 911.
When the dispatcher answered I said, “My brother has COVID and is struggling to breathe. The doctor said if that happened he needed an ambulance, stat. We’re in room 128 at the Westmont Motel.”
“Your name please?”
“Camryn Savin. My brother is Iain Savin.”
“Can we reach you at this number?”
“Yes.” I also gave him my cell phone, then said, “Please, please hurry!”
Iain continued to struggle.
“An ambulance is on its way and should be there in six minutes.”
“Thank you!” I said, and he hung up.
“Hang on, Iain!” I pleaded. “Hang on!”
He was weeping through his efforts to breathe. “I’m . . . sorry . . . Fi . . . sorry!”
“Just breathe, honey. Just breathe. Don’t talk. I’ve got you. I’ve got you!”
My ears were straining, straining to reach into the dark, the uncaring dark, desperate to hear the bugles of the cavalry topping the rise. Dammit!
“I’ve got you,” I crooned, channeling Fiona. “I’ve got you.”
An eternity later, I caught the sound, at the very edge of my hearing. It faded out, then returned, stronger, growing more strident, more insistent by the second. The blessed sound of a siren, wailing through the sharp darkness of the Bronx night.
As the siren’s auditory blueshift reached its crescendo and stopped, I released Iain. “Two seconds, Honey!”
He cried Fiona’s name as I streaked out his room and ripped open the door to the outside, preempting the paramedic’s knock.
“This way!” I shouted and ran back into Iain’s room.
They followed, dark shapes, faces covered by masks and goggles, hands gloved. “Stand aside, Miss,” the second man said.
They got to Iain, and the first of them grabbed him and brought an oxygen mask to his face, covering his mouth and nose. He struggled for a moment, then began to take gasping breaths that slowly began to ease into something more regular.
As soon as he stopped struggling, the other paramedic began getting vital signs, then trotted back outside and returned with yet another man, pulling a gurney. They got Iain up and onto the gurney, then began to move it quickly toward the waiting ambulance.
They put him in back and I moved to join him.
One of the paramedics held me back with a firm hand. “I’m sorry, you can’t ride with him. And you can’t go into the hospital. COVID protocols. I’m very sorry. You’ll need to call.” He gave me a card with a number, slammed the doors of the back, then jumped into the passenger’s seat.
The ambulance sped off, its wailing siren now red shifting.
I was standing in the parking lot, barefoot, nearly blind with tears, wearing a flannel nightdress and holding a piece of cardboard, my only link now with my brother.
I felt a pair of strong hands on my shoulders, and Rob’s voice said, “Let’s get you inside, Cami.”
I let him lead me back into the room. Vaguely, I saw other faces, staring at us from other rooms. From windows. From doors.
Rob closed the door behind us.
I ran into my room, grabbed my phone, and dialed the number on the card. When it was answered, I gave my name and said, “My brother was just taken away by ambulance. He should be arriving any minute. Is there any information you need?” I answered their questions then asked if there was any news. But he still hadn’t arrived, and we ended the call.
I was cold. I put on my slippers and, somewhat awkward over the flannel, my green dressing gown. Back in the common area, Rob had just finished making some green tea. He was wearing some sort of robe over pajamas, and he’d managed to put on slippers before coming outside.
He had me sit in the room’s only comfortable chair and brought me a mug, put it in my hands and made sure that I had it before letting go and getting his own mug. His deep eyes held mine. “Tell me.”
“I woke up to the sound of him struggling to breathe. The trigger for 911. He was hot – very hot – but I wasn’t able to take a reading. And . . . he thought I was Fiona. I called dispatch and they were here – God, it must have been no more than ten minutes after I woke up. They gave him oxygen, then took him off. I can’t go with him. I can’t even go inside the hospital.” My voice cracked.
“Yeah, I heard that part.” He thought a minute. “It’s 2:30 now; he probably started having the attack by 2:00 or so. I gave him medicines at 11:30, so it’s not like we were late.”
“No.” I sighed. “I really thought he had turned the corner this afternoon. A false hope, I guess.”
We were silent, sipping our tea.
He said, “Nothing to do but wait, I guess.”
I wanted to tell him to go ahead and get some sleep, that he needed to be fresh in the morning. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to wait alone, and I knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t let me anyway. I was too tired to say the polite things and hear the polite things in return. We sat silently.
He was very still and his eyes were dark and distant.
“What are you seeing, Captain Hutchinson?” I asked softly.
It took a moment, but his eyes finally blinked and refocused, back in the present. “You knew?”
“Of course. I needed your affidavit, so naturally I reviewed your bio. Two tours in Afghanistan?”
He nodded, saying nothing.
“You don’t belong in that dark place either, Rob.”
“No,” he answered, then said ruefully, “though I don’t think we can make it vanish with dancing this time, can we?”
I returned his crooked smile.
My phone rang and I almost spilled tea all over myself as I jumped to answer. Iain had been admitted, they had stabilized his breathing and were waiting for an ICU bed to open up. Meantime they were keeping him on oxygen.
The nurse had more questions about when he had become sick, and I got the log and provided very detailed information indeed. She said they would keep me posted, but I could also call the number I had been given earlier if I needed an update. I thanked her and ended the call.
It was about 3:30. “Rob, I don’t think we’ll hear anything else tonight. Let’s try to get what sleep we can and touch base in the morning before you go in.”
He agreed that made sense.
I saw him to the door, where he turned unexpectedly and gave me a hug.
He held it for a moment. “You did everything that could be done, Cami. You had the best advice, from one of the best experts, and you followed it exactly. This is not your fault. Understand?”
I nodded. “I know. . . . But somehow, I don’t believe it.”
“Roger that,” he sighed.
Then he kissed me on the forehead and went back to his room.
I went back to bed, certain that I would never be able to sleep. But I did.
Eventually, I even dreamed, though not the same dream as before. I was in a Starbucks. What was I doing in a Starbucks? I don’t like burned beans. But Tina of all people was standing behind the counter, grinning like a fool. “Wake up and smell the coffee!” she smirked at me.
My alarm got me up at 6:20, since I normally made my report to Fiona at 6:30. I checked to make sure that I hadn’t received a call from the hospital. Seeing that I hadn’t, I speed-dialed the number and confirmed that Iain’s condition was unchanged, and an ICU bed had not yet opened up. Apparently he was sleeping.
Fi called at 6:30 and I took the call in bed. “I’m sorry, Fi. He’s at the hospital, waiting to be admitted to the ICU.” I gave her the short version of yesterday’s events.
“He’s in good hands, and you need to trust my colleagues now,” Dr. Savin replied. “There wasn’t anything we could do for the symptoms he had that you weren’t doing, but for more serious symptoms we’ve got a bigger toolbox, that’s all. I’ll call over and get the technical details; I can probably find out more than you can. I want you to get some rest. You’ve been through an ordeal, too. Okay?”
She had her metaphorical stethoscope on, and was being reassuring in a medico kind of way.
“Thanks, Fi. Will do.”
I’m sure she was blaming herself for not being here, just as I was blaming myself for being here, and not being sufficient. And somewhere the pagan gods were laughing at our folly. The bastards.
I couldn’t get back to sleep and didn’t want to miss Rob before he went in for his meetings. So I took a quick shower instead and got dressed, sticking with stretchy jeans, a t-shirt, and a fleece. After putting on some light morning makeup I fired up the Keurig, poured a cup and took a sip, then another.
My phone rang. I was surprised to see it was Rob.
“Hey, Rob.” I sounded a bit distant even to myself.
“Cami, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I woke up with a nasty sore throat. I’m going to need to isolate myself, starting immediately. So I’ll be staying here today, and advising the folks I’ve been with that they should quarantine and get tested.”
I took another sip.
“You might as well come over, Rob,” I said, sounding resigned. “I’ve lost my sense of taste. And, I can’t even smell the coffee.”
To be continued . . . .
Comments
Reminds me a lot of my experience……..
March 20, 2020…….
I remember it well - it was the day we closed our offices and sent everyone home. I was one of about six employees who was still working, albeit from home, while everyone else was furloughed and collecting unemployment insurance.
The fun part, is that I packed up what I could from my office, grabbed my laptop, and drove from Reading, PA to Southern Saratoga County, NY - where I live. I got home around 6:00PM, we closed the offices down around 1:30 that afternoon and it’s a good four to four and a half hour drive home. I got up the next morning, ran to the post office, stopped at the store for a few things, and then stopped to fill the gas tank on my car.
While doing that, I got a call from my spouse letting me know that she just found out that she had been exposed the day before at her office, and we were all being quarantine. LOL - I drove 280 miles home to get exposed to Covid. So, over the next week or so, she got it, as did my two sons. I did not, but spent the next 21 days locked up in the house taking caring of them. The county health department called every day to speak with everyone in the house, and get everyone’s temp. They finally let us out of the house after 21 days.
Luckily, we have a large freezer we keep stocked with food, and we tend to buy things in bulk - so food and supplies were not an issue. Plus my one son who does not live with us was making trips to the store for me and leaving the supplies on our front porch for anything I needed.
The only real issue was me going damned near crazy, lol. I cleaned literally everything in the house during those three weeks - some things multiple times - just to keep busy. And lucky for my family, I am a good cook, having to feed myself for years - so no one went hungry, although they did have to put up with me trying new recipes a few times!
I have always been one of those people who doesn’t get sick, and I guess it worked for Covid too.
Everyone else has now had it twice, but I still have not. I have had my two vaccine shots, plus a booster, somI am sure that helped. I am looking at a fourth shot in a few weeks, but want to talk to my oncologist before getting it. Yeah, I had melanoma about 18 months ago and just went through 12 months of immunotherapy. My last six PET scans have been perfectly clear - so far, so good on that front!
But yes, this reminds me a lot of my own experience. Without the ambulance and the hospital of course. Everyone at our house recovered after about a week of being miserable.
D. Eden
Dum Vivimus, Vivamus
COVID
I’m still the only one in my family that’s had it. We were very careful, but also very, very fortunate.
Emma
Rather annoying
I finally got it. I feel perfectly fine except that I have a 40 C temperature which presumably should make me more than half groggy. Don't ask me why it doesn't. The thermometer works fine. A slightly upset stomach bothers me more.
Please be safe, Bru!
My own experience, after being faxed and boosted AND get the generally less harmful omicron variant, was pretty mild. I’ve had flus that were worse. I hope your experience is the same.
Emma
Captures how we all felt in the early days
They were scary times for us all. It seems such a long time ago now, but it was only 2 1/2 years. It felt then like the end of the world was almost on us. I've always thought that a major virus was a more likely doomsday scenario than nuclear war - though even that is now on the horizon. Thanks Putin for nothing.
Happy Days...
Alison
I remember driving down the NY State Thruway…….
And then down I-287 in NJ when we first started bringing people back into the distribution center and the offices. We started out with just a skeleton crew in May of 2020, and ramped back up to full operations.
That first ride back to PA was like a scene out if the old movie Omega Man starting Charleton Heston, the one where he is driving across the LA Freeway and the camera pans out and you realize he is the only car on the whole freeway? It was like that.
A highway that is usually busy 24/7, and it was suddenly my car and an occasional tractor trailer. It was nice to not have to contend with the traffic, but kind of eerie at the same time. It was like that for a few months anyway, before finally getting back to normal.
If you haven’t seen the movie, there was a remake with Will Smith. In the original, The Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China are at war, and one of them uses a biological weapon - which decimates the entire human population. Chuck Heston is an Air Force doctor who develops a vaccine to defeat the bio weapon, but it is too late. The population is pretty much gone. Good movie, and yes, a virus causes it all.
And for those of you complaining about having to go back to work, or back to an office, I have been back since May of 2020 - nearly two and a half years now - and believe me, the interaction with other people is worth it!
D. Eden
Dum Vivimus, Vivamus
Not with a bang, but a whimper
Lockdowns went on longer here (UK) into 2021 and yes, driving was very strange. I was driving to my parents (90+ years old) with shopping and it felt quite apocalyptic at times.
Honestly, I think we got really lucky with covid - though it didn't feel like it at the time. The virus could easily have been more lethal and, if it had been just a few years earlier there would have been no mRNA technology. It's a shame so many people seem to think it's all gone away - I'm still wearing a mask in shops and most other places.
Alison
Apocalypse
I think Ol’ Vlad had a look at our apocalypse and decided we were one horseman short.
Emma
Just an amazing chapter
I was sobbing by the end of Fi's instructions. I kept thinking of how much we all could have used such sensible instructions when it was so hard to find, and of the family members and loved ones for whom even that wasn't enough, or was tragically ignored or denied. I ended up being one of those with relatively mild symptoms, although I was sick for three weeks in March of 20. Never had the loss of smell or taste, but it seems everyone else I know who had it seemed to have that symptom.
I'm glad Cami had someone to lean on, but now a new tense and dramatic chapter in Cami's life is about to begin. One where her mental health and PTSD will clearly be challenged. Rob will be a godsend for helping with that, and I can see them being a good partnership during this time. It's hard not to ship them as a couple, even during such a ludicrous time to contemplate it. Mostly, I think having Rob to take care of will help Cami power through in Superwoman mode. It may not always be the smartest tactic, but her will is made of steel, like her Gammy, and that can often work wonders.
Thanks for this amazing chapter, big hugs!
Thank you, Nyssa!
I enjoyed being able to bring Rob back into the story. Cami has been blessed with some very strong people in her life, but as you’ve rightly observed, this tends to drive her even further into Superwoman mode.
Thanks for the encouraging comments!
Hugs,
Emma
CRAP!
And the misery continues. Hoping for a good outcome. Would hate for this terrific story to end badly.
The messy middle . . . .
I’ve always liked the middle book, or movie, of a trilogy best. The characters are established, the peril has been introduced, and — if the series is worthwhile — the end result is not so obvious that all suspense is gone. But I realize my love of the messy middle is far from universal. Sorry about the misery! But thank you, as always, for the feedback.
Emma
Nothing Wrong with a Messy Middle......
......as long as you don't kill off your extremely likeable protagonist or favorites in her support network. I am curious how you're going to handle both of them being sick. Maybe one or both have really mild cases and they don't require a third party carer. If they are both fairly sick; Given the size and wealth of Rob's family, a family member or members could come, or the family could hire professional care for Rob and Cami. Hopefully, Cami can keep Nicole in Baltimore.
This has been a wonderful series so far. I've really enjoyed reading every posting. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks, Cbee!
I’m glad you are enjoying it. Hang in there!
Emma
Difficult times ahead
In general younger people had an easier time of it with Covid-19, but it was no sure thing.
And this early in the pandemic there was so much unknown and very little that was known to help. I think it was another month or two before they figured out that resting in the prone position helped with breathing. My brother spent four weeks in the hospital, much of it in the prone position before he recovered enough to go home.
Target was probably a good place to shop for motel food. They have a general grocery section, but the ones I’ve seen are much more geared to microwave cooks.
The single purpose businesses like clothing stores had a really bad time of it during the first lockdowns. Places like Walmart could stay open for medicine and groceries (and liquor) but clothing stores had no such exemption.
It seems there is a spark between Rob and Cami. They will need it in the coming weeks.
Gillian Cairns
It was
A very difficult time. So much we didn’t know, and even the people who knew the most, like Fiona, were still on a steep learning curve. Using very selective search filter, I’ve tried to keep what we’ve learned since from bleeding into the story.
Emma
This was a hard read
Nothing to do with the writing, that is first rate, but the subject matter of this was so hard to relive. March 18 was my last office workday for what we all thought would be a brief, fun, time of working from home.
Fortunately my immediate family has been spared Iain's kind of sickness and no one in our extended family who got sick never needed a hospital stay. But this excellent storytelling made it all so very real what we managed to miss. Thank you for delving into a difficult situation and I hope Rob and Cami get well together.
>>> Kay
Trigger
I thought about a trigger warning. COVID was hard on everyone, brutal on many and fatal for millions. But no one ot two word warning seemed adequate. I’m not sure what to say about it.
During the pandemic I had a thought that stayed with me. I am not aware of any notable literature or movies about what we call the Spanish Influenza of 1918-1920. Some absolutely great literature, art, movies about World War I, but when it comes to the deadliest pandemic since the Black Death, the scourge that followed the war and was worse — silence. I wonder whether it was just so overwhelming, so all-pervasive, so destructive, that people were just desperate to forget it.
I am glad you got through it and found enough in the story to make this trip down one of the uglier sections of memory lane worthwhile. Thank you for the thoughtful comment, and take good care. Give yourself a hug.
Emma
What compelling writing!
Currently, I force myself to delay starting, because once I think I have an adequate time-gap, I can't take a break from the reading!
And now our principal has the symptoms.
I MUST follow the next parts, but reason tells me that to tell a story from a first person approach, the narrator has to survive.
But I don't think I could cope with even longer instalments, I felt exhausted after each of the last two!
Best wishes
Dave
Thank-you!
Thanks, Outsider. I am glad you are enjoying the story. On the issue of length, I’ve been aiming for an average of 20 pages; maybe 10-13 thousand words, give or take, for each Part. The last two were longer; the one before, significantly shorter. I’ve noticed that other serialized stories on this site tend towards shorter installments. I can see pros and cons. What do you think?
Emma
Thanks for your reply
I agree some authors DO have much longer postings, but they are more amenable to interruption. Yours are so intense a read, that I get a persistent feeling that I MUST carry on to the break which you, thank goodness, have provided. This is a very rare type of story, I tend to believe that if it were a novel, I would be unable to eat or sleep until it was completed. Eat your heart out Alexandre Dumas, Victor Hugo, although your writings are compelling, in order to survive I can (and do) insert a a card where I interrupted the flow!
Dave
The woods are lovely, dark and deep...
Your quotes and references are amazing. This Easter Egg, Promises to Keep, is quite apropos regarding this chapter. I first heard this poem quoted in a 70's movie with Charles Bronson called Telefon. 'Stopping by the Woods' has become one of my favorite poems, with a couple of lines that I have incorporated into my every day vocabulary. It is especially pertinent in this chapter of Cami's story. We find Cami nearly singlehandedly saving her brother, but what is the cost? And 'Miles to go before I sleep' might aptly describes the next 14 days. At least she has Rob and Fi for support.
When you first introduced Covid to your story shortly after Cami re-connected with Fi, I thought, uh-oh, who is going to claimed by this scourge? I hoped it wouldn't be Fi, and still hope that it won't.
It must have been ghastly for those that were hospitalized in the early days of Covid, when no visitors were allowed. Hospitals overrun by Covid cases, doctors and nurses working even longer hours, and patients on ventilators, unable to communicate their fears to their loved ones.
Your story has had me going through copious amounts of tissues, Emma. I am stocking up for future chapters.
DeeDee
My little horse must think it queer . . . .
Yes, I love that poem. And most of Frost’s poems, for that matter. I even remember “Telephon,” though I fear we may be dating ourselves! You earn 50 points for Ravenclaw by guessing the name of the next chapter. ;-)
March of 2020 was such a bizarre time. So hard. So, there are shoals ahead. Fortunately, tissue paper is back on the shelves . . . .
Love your comments, Dee. Hugs!
Emma
Cami’s question about opera
I’ve been worried, for Iain but not him alone, since the time Cami asked why everyone dies in opera and I thought of the story’s title.
I honestly can’t think of a way to answer this one
Without giving things away, one way or another. So I won’t. :-)
Emma
I’ll hope that Nicole was foreshadowing
by saying she’d rather live in Cami’s world than Tosca’s.
When it rains...
It can sometimes be a hurricane. I like the Rob / Cami dynamic... Dare I hope for a glimmer of good out of that for Cami?
XOXOXO
Rachel M. Moore...
L’audace, l’audace,
toujours l’audace! Always dare to hope.
Hugs,
Emma
I Was A Little Prepared
Having been in Hong Kong when the pandemic hit. Being that much closer to Wuhan the general warnings had been taken seriously. We had already had the toilet paper "wars" so I was forewarned when I returned to Australia and stocked up immediately. That situation could have been hilarious in different circumstances but just showcased the stupidity of many. After a month the supermarkets ran one morning each week for older folk to get their "ration" of TP.
Perhaps we were lucky in being an island country and our Government isolated us relatively early. Our main centres of infection were Aged Care facilities and three-quarters of serious cases and deaths occurred in those homes. Many of the care staff were from other countries and it has been claimed that their hygiene standards were not as good as they should have been. But blame is easy after the event.
My personal irony is that I didn't get the virus until I had already received five vaccine shots and returned to HK in December 2022. Whatever variant I had was relatively mild and lasted only about four days followed by a week in quarantine. I knew people who had much worse experiences but I didn't know anybody who died.
The media in Australia ranted about the lockdowns and restrictions but all the state governments that took severe actions were re-elected at ensuing elections.
The experience of SARS
I think Asian countries reacted much faster to the news out of China because SARS had been pretty deadly there. In Europe and North America it had mostly been a non-event; I don’t know how it was in Australia or New Zealand.
Lockdowns and even vaccinations became pretty polarizing in the United States, of course. They still are.
Emma