Robert Has a Heart Attack, part two

The taxi driver took Leta to the emergency room entrance of the hospital, and she proceeded directly to the intake counter.

“I’m Mrs. Robert Fields,” Leta told the nurse. “My husband was brought here from work. There was some kind of accident.”

The nurse looked stiff in her white cotton uniform, but smiled compassionately.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, “your husband arrived a few minutes ago. He is with the doctor right now.”

“How is he?” Leta inquired. “How badly is he hurt?”

The nurse lowered her eyes. “I don’t know.”

Leta’s heart sank, and the nurse walked her to one of the seats in the waiting room, where she sat and stared at the floor. There was bustle and conversation going on around her, but she was afraid to listen. She was afraid to move.

That morning, she and Robert rose as they always did. While he shaved and dressed for work, she put the coffee on and made his morning toast and oatmeal. Of all the breakfasts that she could prepare for him—from eggs to pancakes—he preferred oatmeal. Her timing was impeccable. The food was ready just as he entered the kitchen. They sat and ate their breakfast and talked about evening plans, mostly what Leta would make for supper and whether or not it would rain any time over the next several days. Leta told him that she believed she would have enough strawberries to go with shortcake, and he smiled. “Now that’s something worth coming home for!”

As she sat in the waiting room, she wondered if she had left any burners or the oven on at home. She had left so hastily after she received the phone call from one of her husband’s coworkers that she could not remember even her actions once she hung up the phone. She had been preparing their supper at the time. But then she remembered that she was peeling potatoes. The shortcake was done. She hadn’t started the actual cooking. Everything at home was fine.

“Mrs. Fields?” a voice asked. Leta was startled. Had the nurse standing beside her said her name before?

“Yes, what is it?” Leta gasped questioningly and started to rise. The nurse gently kept her in her seat.

“Is there someone we can telephone for you?” the nurse asked. “Someone who can come and sit with you while you wait?”

Until that moment, Leta had not thought about how long her wait might be. She did not know the extent of her husband’s injuries or even what happened at the factory.

“Yes, please,” Leta said. “Will you telephone my daughter?” Then she rose. “Or maybe I should call her myself.” Again, the nurse gently kept her seated.

“I can telephone her for you.”

Leta gave her the telephone number, and the nurse left to perform her task. Once she was alone again, Leta looked at her watch. It was 3:40 in the afternoon. Her seven-year-old grandson Don would be arriving home from school about now, she thought. He would be hungry and maybe tired. He would want to tell his mother about his day, and she would be happy to see him. Vivian would feed him a small snack while she prepared supper for them and her own husband. How could Vivian leave to be with her right now? How would she even get to the hospital? She only had a car when she drove Ed to work. This wasn’t a good idea.

Leta decided to stop the nurse from carrying out the task.

To be continued.

Robert Has a Heart Attack, part one

She wanted the taxi to drive faster, and while the driver may have been going as quickly as he could, she felt her anger rise. Every stop sign seemed to her to be some devil force mocking her in her fear and anxiety. The people walking on the sidewalks were dark shadows, which at any moment could become an obstacle. If someone had asked her if that mid-June day was sunny or warm or raining or cloudy or windy or cold or humid—or anything for that matter—all that she would remember was that the colors of the world had been diminished to multiple shades of gray.

She had been peeling potatoes for supper when the telephone rang. While it was still early in the afternoon, she liked to get everything ready an hour or two before she started the actual cooking. She was planning to fry pork chops and serve them with mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh peas that she would shell once she finished with the potatoes, and strawberry shortcake for dessert. The strawberries were not fully in season yet—it was only June 19—but she had managed a few from her small patch in the backyard. She had already cut them and dusted them with sugar so that by the time she and her husband Bob had dessert and coffee, they would be juicy and sweet. She made the shortcake before lunch, after she picked the strawberries.

Because her hands were in the sink amidst potato peelings and water, she nearly let the telephone ring until it finished. Whoever it was would call back in a short while, thinking that perhaps she was outside, indisposed or running an errand.  However, the ringing was persistent, and she dropped what she was doing, grabbed her towel and hurried to the alcove in the dining room where they kept the telephone. She was slightly annoyed that after she finished, she would need to change kitchen towels, which she had just done that morning.

“Hello?” she said into the receiver.

“Leta?”

“Yes.”

“This is Sparky from Pfizer,” the man’s voice said. “I am sorry to interrupt your afternoon, but there’s been an accident.”

“Accident?” Leta repeated, her mind going numb.

“They’re taking Bob to the hospital right now.”

“Hospital?”

“I can send someone to fetch you,” Sparky continued, “but that’ll take too much time. So as soon as we hang up I am going to call you a taxi, and the driver will be there as quick as he can.”

Leta said nothing. Harold Sparks was one of Bob’s work friends. Everyone called him Sparky, even his wife and children. There was a reason, but Leta could not remember it. Still, in that moment, learning that her husband was hurt and being taken to the hospital, that was all she could think about.

“Leta?” He inquired gently. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m here. What happened? Is Bob all right? What hospital?”

“Mercy,” Sparky answered.

Ten minutes later Leta was in a taxi on her way to Mercy Hospital.

To be continued.

Playing Cards

Leta liked to play cards. This was ironic. When she was younger, cards meant her brother Aaron spending too much time in the back rooms of saloons dealing poker. Her husband Claud’s card playing and gambling, along with his drinking and reckless spending, made that marriage miserable. However, she had learned several card games over the years. After she divorced Claud, and when she was in her fifties, working and living her single life as mother and grandmother, she occasionally substituted for someone or other at her daughter Vivian and son-in-law Edward’s monthly Bridge Club. While she was adept at Bridge, she preferred playing Pinochle, Euchre, Hearts, or even Spades. At rare times, she would play gambling card games like Poker or Blackjack, but these always made her a bit melancholy. With her grandchildren, she played hand after hand of Go Fish and Rummy. When they had some free moments, she and Vivian or her son Dale would play Gin or Cribbage.

Mostly, she appreciated the social opportunities playing cards gave her. During the time of her marriage to Claud Bassett in 1948 until their divorce in 1952, she gradually reduced the time she spent in bars and taverns. It was not so much that her husband Claud made it clear that he did not want her there, although he spent many nights and even days per week in a couple of different establishments. While she did not want to spend time with him there, there was something more that fueled her growing disinterest. She attributed it to the many years she had spent drinking heavily and meeting men who could color, if only for a night, the gray world she seemed to inhabit. She no longer enjoyed or needed that kind of social activity. While there were times during her unhappy marriage to Claud that going to a bar provided a light release from an immediate tension or gave her time to reduce her anger, mostly she began to prefer less demanding and less lonely company.

At the same time, she needed social outlets. Sitting at home, sewing, knitting, and listening to the radio was an insufficient use of her time. She visited her family, and with her sisters did a bit of traveling, but her days seemed long with no one to share them and little to keep her engaged.

For the first several months after her divorce from Claud in October of 1952, she had much to occupy her time. She had two new grandchildren—Alan, born to Dale and Kathryn, and Larry, born to Vivian and Edward, she had affairs to settle with regard to her house—she sold it—and settling her finances, and she was very tired. In fact, for the first few month after she sent Claud out of her house and her life, she was so exhausted from the ordeal of living with him that she slept long hours and for many other hours cleaned her house, removing every trace of him that she could.

In the spring of 1953, Vivian shared that she was pregnant again, and on August 24, Linda Leigh was born. Leta became a grandmother of six, and she spent time holding babies and toddlers, and chatting with their mothers.

She also spent time with her older grandchildren Don and Connie, playing card games. She knew several and they knew several. They taught each other. One Sunday morning, a church friend asked her if she ever played pinochle, and the following Tuesday afternoon, she joined a group of ladies who had formed their own daytime card club while their husbands were at work.

After she started working in 1954, she played Hearts or Spades one evening per month with a colleague, his wife, and brother-in-law. They would have cocktails and snacks, and play for hours. Initially, she deduced that her colleague was attempting to match his brother-in-law with her. He was a pleasant enough fellow, but neither pursued the other. They were content to enjoy their monthly card game.

Over the next several years, Leta added to her social calendar as a substitute for a number of friends’ card playing groups, and ended up playing six or seven times per month. Playing cards became a regular part of her life.

Back to Work, part four

After more than three months of job searching, Leta found herself in the office of a New York Life Insurance broker. The small firm had recently lost two of its secretaries—one to having a child and the other to marriage. Her potential employer was sitting at the desk opposite her on a hot August day. While he had a window in his office, there was little breeze, and a small fan in the corner made little difference. Leta felt a trickle of sweat roll down her neck She very quietly stretched her shoulder blades, which helped her feel less hot, at least for a few moments.

The owner of the small business rearranged himself in his chair, which groaned slightly.

“Can you type?” he asked.

“Yes, some. I’m not the fastest, but I don’t make errors.”

He wiped his brow with his handkerchief, finished his cigarette and lit another one.

“You’re not planning on getting married or having a baby, are you?”

Leta couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

“I’m definitely not going to be having a baby any time soon,” she answered. “I’m a widow.“

“How old are you?” he inquired, looking harder at her.

“Sixty-two,” she answered, sitting up straighter and suddenly wishing she had a cigarette.

“Same age as me,” he said. “Your back ever ache?”

“No, not usually,” she answered, “but sometimes my knees get sore, if I’m on my hands and knees for a long time.”

“Age pains,” he said.

“That’s what my mother called them!” she laughed, and he laughed with her.

He took another drag of his cigarette.

“Can you start tomorrow?”

Leta worked for the company for five years, staying two months after her boss died from complications related to diabetes. When she started, there were six people in the office. When she retired, there were twenty. Life insurance had become big business.