Page 12 of Smuggler's Cove
The following day, George drove them to the hospital. “I’m going to check on your car. Jackson can ride with me while you take care of business.”
Rita was trembling as she walked into the waiting room. She had no idea what lay ahead. A few minutes after she checked in with the nurses’ station, she saw a doctor walk her way. She smiled at him. Why not? Good news or bad, she had to remain in control. If nothing else, her emotions.It’s not about what life hands you, it’s how you handle it.
The doctor was gentle in his approach. “Good morning, Mrs. Taylor,” he said, then paused. She knew that wasn’t a good sign. “I’m sorry to say there hasn’t been any change in his condition.”
Rita nodded. She assumed they would have phoned if there was. “I brought the paperwork you requested.” She handed him an envelope.
“Come with me.” He motioned to a room to the side of the waiting area. The doctor introduced her to a woman who looked very efficient. Her desk was neat as a pin. The walls were bare. A single photograph was propped next to her official hospital pen holder.
It took about an hour for the woman to explain the papers Rita signed. “Mr. Taylor will be transferred to the VA hospital in a few hours. You’ll be able to visit him after they get him processed and assigned a room.”
“How long do you think that will take?” Rita asked.
The woman checked the watch pendant around her neck. “Most likely dinnertime, but I suggest you phone ahead.” She wrote the number on a piece of paper and handed it to Rita.
“Thank you for all your help,” Rita said as she rose from her chair.
“Mrs. Taylor?” The woman stood. “I don’t want to alarm you, but the VA hospital can be overwhelming.”
“Thank you.” Rita wondered if she could be any more overwhelmed than she was. She walked outside, where George and Jackson were waiting.
“Everything okay?” George asked, as he opened the passenger door for her.
“Yes. They said I can visit him later this afternoon, but I must call first.”
Jackson remained silent.
Rita turned to her son. “Sweetie, I’m not sure if they’ll let you visit.”
“I’ll drive us over there. Jackson and I can wait in the reception area for you.”
“You don’t have to do that, George.”
“Yes, I do. Your car isn’t ready, and I don’t want you driving there by yourself. End of debate.” He grinned. “How about we go to Howard Johnson’s for lunch?”
“Really, Uncle George?” Jackson became animated. “Ice cream! Ice cream!”
“After you had your lunch. That is, if your mother says it’s okay,” George replied.
“Only if you eat your whole lunch,” Rita added.
Jackson continued his chant for the next block. “Ice cream! Ice cream!”
When they arrived at the orange-roofed diner, the server showed them to a booth complete with paper placemats, a napkin dispenser, and salt-and-pepper shakers. Jackson thought he was special. They had never eaten inside before. The only time they had been there was to get ice cream, and Jackson always waited in the car.
“What’ll you have?” George asked.
Jackson made a face and shrugged.
“How about a hot dog?” Rita suggested.
“Yeah!” Jackson was finally acting like a little boy again.
* * *
Later that afternoon, George drove them to the hospital, where Rita was directed to a ward. He and Jackson waited in a gray and green room, with an ugly linoleum floor and a few chairs that looked like they, too, had been through a war. Jackson whispered in his uncle’s ear, “This place isn’t as nice as the other one.” Jackson scrunched up his nose. “It smells funny.”
George nodded. After World War II, there were fifteen million vets returning to the country, with a quarter million of them requiring hospitalization. VA hospitals were packed to the brim, filled beyond their capacity. George knew this was not going to be a pleasant situation.
