Trinity

Tanner looked at the man; he saw eyes full of fear beyond the crumbling bravado. "What's your name?"

"Jake. Jake Bushman. Sorry I can't shake hands."

"Well Jake, I'm going to disassemble this grinder and remove whatever is keeping those gears from going into reverse. Then we're going to turn the gears slowly, by hand — only in reverse — then we'll pull your arm out the way it went in, trying not to mess up any more tissue than we have to. Once we get that done we'll take you up to an operating room. We'll try to reassemble the radius and the ulna, repair the veins, and see if we can't save this hand."

"You gotta shittin' me!" one of the paramedics whispered.

Tanner looked up, scowled at the paramedic: "Nope. Piece of cake."

"Fuck! I thought for sure I was gonna lose my arm!" Jake said.

"No guarantees, Jake. But we're gonna give it our best shot. Okay?" He turned to a nurse, ordered some blood chemistries and a couple of surgical trays, then pulled up a stool and began looking at the machine.

When a janitor walked into the room with his toolbox he looked at the butcher and the surgeon, then at the gleaming machine and the pulpy mess of arm hanging from the spout, just before he passed out and fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

+++++

Tanner left the hospital a little before noon the next day; he crawled inside his ancient BMW 2002 tii and drove out of the physician's lot and headed down to the marina, parked and walked out the interminably long pier to his boat, a pristine Crealock 40 pilothouse he kept in immaculate trim. While he walked down the pier he looked at his feet, trying to ignore the world around him. When he got near his slip he stumbled to a stop, looked at the suitcase on the deck by the cockpit, then he saw Macy sitting in the shaded cockpit and he sighed.

"Ah, the ghost of girlfriends past," he mumbled as he took a few more steps her way. "It must be Christmas already." Though they'd broken up last summer, a spectacularly uneventful parting of the ways, hers was one of the few faces he did remember. Fondly, as a matter of fact.

"Hey Doug," the girl said when she saw him. She seemed upset, not at all like the Macy he remembered.

"Hey yourself." He said as he climbed on-board; he sailed right past her and unlocked the companionway, lifted the boards and walked below. He went to the breaker panel and flipped on the air-conditioning, checked the battery monitor and flipped a switch to cycle the bilge pump, then he walked to the little fridge in the galley and pulled out a Coke. "Want something?" he called up.

"Whatever you're having."

That was vintage Macy, alright. Never asked for anything, never wanted anything, but she resented the hell out of you when you didn't give her what she wanted. Pure passive-aggressive. He grabbed another Coke and walked up the steps into the cockpit.

"And to what do I owe this honor," Tanner said as he popped the top and handed her a Coke.

"I'm pregnant," she said directly. She was looking him in the eye, daring him to say something smart.

"Oh? Really?" he said as he met her eyes.

"Don't worry," she said, suddenly looking guiltily down at her hands, "you're not the father."

"Great, but am I missing something." She seemed to be hovering over plains of a great despair, and he could sense that she was hiding her feelings. "I mean, like why are you here? And, why me?"

"I lost my job. I need a place to stay."

Jake looked at her, lifted his hands and shrugged. "And...what? You suddenly remembered good ole Doug and decided to come on over, move on in?"

She smiled unevenly, laughed a little: "Yeah, something like that." Then she looked at him again, a little more closely this time. "I didn't know what else to do, Doug. I had to move out of my apartment last night."

He nodded. "What about the father?" He studied her eyes and her hands as she acted and reacted to his words.

"Nada. Threw me out when I told him."

"Sounds like a nice guy. Real father-of-the-year material."

"You have to go back in soon?"

"Nope; got 48 off."

"Think we could go out?"

"Out?"

"Sailing?"

Tanner sighed, looked at the sky then at her forehead, thought about his berth down below and how much he wanted to sleep. "Hadn't planned on it," he said, but what the hell. Looked like a nice breeze out there and maybe he could figure out what it was she really wanted from him.

"Please," she said. "I used to love going out there with you..."

"Well, why don't you put your stuff up forward, give me a hand with the lines..."

He raised sail as the boat slipped out the cut from Dinner Key, pointed toward Key Biscayne as he steered across the shallow, blue bay, with downtown Miami off their port quarter. It was cool out, in the hi-60s, a typical mid-December day, and there was almost no one out on the water mid-week so it was like they had the whole place to themselves. The boat knifed gently through the calm water, the wind little more than a breeze. Macy took the wheel and Tanner went below for more Cokes and to make chicken sandwiches. They ate in silence; Macy seemed to bask in the sun for a while, then she curled up in the cockpit and fell into a restless, twitching sleep. Every now and then she moaned; Tanner took her pulse and felt her forehead from time to time, getting more and more worried by the sheen her felt there.

So Tanner watched her while he sailed, he jibed the boat slowly and pointed the boat south, toward Homestead, then he set the auto-pilot and put his feet up for a while, regarding the girl while she slept.

A gust passed through the sails, the boat heeled a little and knifed through a sudden, big wave, water flying aft through the air, spraying the cockpit with a fine, cool mist.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he heard her ask.

"Why me?" he said again.

"Because you are who you are," she said openly. "I know you, your smile...and I knew you'd help."

"Why's that? Because I'm the biggest sucker you know?"

She shook her head. "You're not a sucker, Doug. You're anything but."

He looked at her, looked at her tiny belly. "How far along?"

She shrugged.

"Macy? Have you seen an O.B.?

She sat up and laughed, then she shrugged away the question. She turned into the afternoon wind, her hair streaming past her shoulders. Classic Macy, all her evasions good natured and guilt free.

"No foolin', Macy! You been gettin' check-ups or not?"

She shrugged. "I can't afford all that stuff now."

"What...what happened? I thought you were pretty high on the seniority list."

"Not high enough, I guess. They let about three hundred of us go."

She'd been a flight attendant with a major carrier for years, but everything seemed to be falling apart this year; the only real growth industries in Dade County seemed to gunshot wounds and drug overdoses.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to pry; I know it's been a bitch all over. But don't you have Cobra, or some kind of policy?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but the premium's are pretty steep, the co-pays worse...and there's just not enough to go around."

He nodded. "It's been tough for a lot of folks." he said. The ER was awash with these new, cruel realities — he sutured-up the grim truth of this reality day in and day out, though few could afford to even walk in the door. Until it was too late, anyway.

He looked at her for the longest time, tried to think of what to say, or even how to ask her, but then he came to a decision:

"So, right, feel free to stay aboard as long as you want. 'Til you get your feet back under you, anyway." He looked at her, looked at her gentle smile. Maybe that was all he wanted out of life, he told himself; to see people smile, see them get a fair shake every now and then.

"You see, I told you."

"What?"

"You're...you know...you're the most decent human being I know, Doug."

He laughed, blushed, looked away. "Right, that's me. The very soul of compassion..."

"You see the truth, that's all. And why do you always put yourself down?"

"It's an old habit," he said, "I learned from my father."

+++++

Tanner eased into the slip just as the last of the sun's light slipped away, as the sky drifted through purples and oranges into sinking waves of cobalt that led down to the hazy purple-black of Miami's neon skyline. But there were no stars out here, there never were, not here under layers of bright city haze. Tanner chopped the throttle, jumped onto the pier and made fast his lines, hopped back aboard with power cords and hooked them up. He squared away all the "stuff" that went along with sailing, went below and switched the ships systems back to shore power.

"Man, you got some sun today!" he said as he helped Macy below. "You're gonna burn, there, on your shoulders."

She reached up, felt her skin: "Youch!"

"I'll get some aloe..." he said as he went to the fridge for the bottle he kept there. "Sit you down; let's get some goop on that..." She sat, he rubbed. He remembered the way she felt now, while he touched her, like his skin on hers unlocked some vital store of memory. He thought of her, of the time they'd spent together, and he had to admit the memories were good — now that he'd found them again. He rubbed her shoulders, the tops of her arms, then up her neck...before he felt the downy hair there and remembered the way it used to smell when they made love.

"You're still in love with me, aren't you?" he heard her ask as he slipped away in blond shaded echoes of distant sun-drenched afternoons.

He heard her words, shook himself back into the present, stood and put the aloe away. "You hungry?" he asked.

"Actually, I'm not sure. I feel, maybe, well yes..."

"Me too." He slipped into the aft cabin, grabbed his shower things and walked up to the shower building. He enjoyed this marina despite its size; once upon a time it had been a Pan Am flying boat terminal; now it was a huge marina full of live-aboards, overflowing with herds of South American pilots and families with kids and retired people off to see the world — only taking a little time out along the way to too late. He showered, walked back to the boat, saw a mother and her crying daughter waiting by the boat. And of course the little girl appeared to be hurt...

"High Amy," he said to the freckle-faced girl as he got close enough to recognize her, "what's wrong?"

"Oh Doug," Amy's mother said, "she picked up another splinter, a real biggie this time, playing a while ago." Mary Ann, the girl's mother, was sweet and caring and she'd taken care of him too well once or twice. The little girl looked at him stoically now and held up her foot so he'd know which one. He bent over and squinted in the darkness.

"Youch! That IS a biggie, alright." Tanner said. "Well! Let's see if we can't fix you up." He jumped below, heard Macy barfing in the forward head while he got his bag out; he walked forward and knocked on the door: "Morning sickness?"

"Oh boy oh boy am I gonna chop off the next dick I come across!" — she said before she retched again, followed by a deep moan... "I swear to God I'll never touch another fucking penis as long as I live..."

"Uh, right...I'll be back in a second, got a splinter to remove..."

"Right..." More retching followed. He shook his head and went to the panel, turned on the cockpit lights and went back up to the wheel.

"Is Macy back?" Mary Ann asked. The marina was like any other small town — news traveled fast along the grapevines here. Her husband was a pilot for United and he was gone all the time, so...

"Lost her job and her apartment," he said while he opened the cockpit table and laid his tools out. "Okay Amy, let's see that honker!" He helped get her foot on the table then he bent over and looked at it. "Well, doesn't look as bad as I thought but it IS in there real deep. You want to be a trooper and tough it out or do you want me to use some Novocain?"

"Is that a needle thingy?" a suddenly very wide-eyed Amy mewed.

"Yep. But that's a real big splinter, Amy. If it was in my foot I'd want the shot."

"Okay then. But only if it's what you'd do." Not too long ago Mary Ann had told him her little girl had a crush on him.

He got to work, cleaned up the wound and bandaged it, gave her a tetanus shot and sent them on their way; he went below, found Macy on the v-berth up front shivering in a pool of sweat.

"You're burning up, kiddo," he said. He returned to the galley, got his bag and a cool washcloth and went back forward, put it on her forehead. "You hurt anywhere?"

"Here," she said, pointing to her lower left quadrant, "and here," now at her mid-groin.

"How bad?" he asked as he reached down and gently palpated her belly.

"Bad!" she moaned when he touched just to the left of her navel.

"Okay. If you think you can walk, I reckon we'd better get you to the ER; if not I'll call an ambulance."

"Why? — I mean, what's wrong?"

"Not sure," he lied. "Better check out a few things and make sure the baby's okay." But he was thought she might have an ectopic pregnancy, so right now he needed to keep her still and get her to the ER as quickly as possible. "Think you can walk?"

"I don't think so," she said carefully, obviously in excruciating pain. "I don't think I can move."

"Right." Tanner walked back to the chart table and got his phone and dialed 911; he gave the operator directions to the boat, then went back and took her blood pressure before he wiped even more sweat from her face.

He heard the ambulance a few minutes later, went topside when he heard the paramedics getting close, then helped them load her in the ambulance, riding with her to the ER. He called a social worker while an OB did her work up; he wanted to get Macy set-up with Medicaid before her bills got out of hand. He went back to check on her but by then they'd already taken her upstairs to an OR. And then he remembered he didn't have a ride back to the marina. He looked at his watch; it was now three in the morning and he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept.

"Great!" he moaned. "Ain't that peachy..."

"Hey, doc! How's it going?"

Tanner turned, saw one of Miami's finest, a good-natured cop everyone called Mannie. "Hey yourself. What are you doing down here? Krispy Kreme not open yet?"

"Ha! I don't eat them hi-dollar donuts, Pachuco!"

"Yeah? Looks like you're eatin' 'em somewhere, Mannie! Whoa, dude, you're packing on the pounds!"

Mannie Hernandez looked down. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly.

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah, everything."

"You on duty?"

"Overtime. Came in with a big MVA, a DUI—homicide. Headed back to the station now."

"Good, you can give me a lift?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," the cop said.

"Thanks. Now, what the fuck's wrong?"

"Oh, man, it's my old lady..."

They stopped off for a couple dozen donuts on the way...because Tanner had learned that trick a long time ago. If you ever needed a cop to talk, it paid to take 'em to a good donut shop.

+++++

He spent the morning with Macy, and the other half of his day off cleaning the boat; he had finally put his feet up in the cockpit and opened up a book when an old couple walked up...

"Dr Tanner, you have a minute?"

He looked up, smiled. "Bill, right? And Lucille? What's up?"

They nodded and smiled: "You still giving out flu shots?"

"Yeah, I think I got a couple left. Y'all didn't get yours yet, I take it?"

"No sir, we sure didn't, and we heard it's going around. Do you think you could get us one?"

He put his book down and went below to the fridge, opened a fresh box of the pre-loaded syringes and had them read and sign the County's release, then he gave them their shots, had them sign a book he kept for the County Health Department -- and that was it.

"Dr Tanner, I've got a fresh pot of turnip greens and a pot-roast on. Would you like me to bring you a plate?"

"Is that what I smell down there'?"

Lucille smiled, blushed.

"My word but that smells fine."

"I'll go fetch you some..."

"No-no-no, I'll come over if that's alright with you two."

The couple seemed pleased with that and scuttled down the pier to the old cabin cruiser they called home; Tanner walked along slowly in their wake.

"Y'all came down from Tennessee, on the river? How was that?" he asked when he read the hailing port on their boat's stern.

"Yessir, we came down the Tenn-Tom Waterway," Bill said. "Real pretty trip, too. Best thing we ever done."

Tanner broke bread with these funny old people and he couldn't help but think of Audrey Hepburn singing Moon River; he laughed with them as they recounted their adventures on the water, he held their hands while he listened to their heartaches, and though he talked with the old couple for hours and hours he couldn't have been happier. When he went back to his boat he soon fell into a deep sleep and when he woke the next morning he found himself whistling Moon River as he drove his ancient Beemer into work.

+++++

He went in early, talked with Macy in her room. She was beat up both physically and emotionally, was adrift after losing the baby she'd never know. Yet Tanner thought she seemed a little too depressed, thought he'd better tell the charge nurse to add 'depression?' to her chart.

"You'll be here today, maybe tomorrow," he added before he left for the ER. "When you're ready I'll come and get you, take you down to the boat."

She smiled, turned away, looked out a window to some faraway place.

And yet the look on her face almost frightened him. "I'll come by again in a little bit. You get some rest, okay?"

She said not a word, just drifted away into the hazy confines of a life that would never be.

+++++

The paramedics said she was a hooker, that she'd overdosed on horse and sometime during their transaction she'd gotten into a fight with her 'john' over the quality of services she'd rendered; the guy knocked her around a little, then shot her twice — once in the arm, once just above her collar-bone — and then they really got into it. The 'john' was in Trauma Six, his penis hanging on by a thread; the hooker was in Trauma Three, and she was a mess. Though it was four in the morning all twelve trauma rooms were full, several with gunshot or knife wounds, people hit by drunk drivers or wives beaten by angry husbands. Mannie Hernandez stood in the corner watching Tanner work; he had, by law, to remain with an attempted homicide victim until the docs could tell if she would live or die.

The hooker was in and out of consciousness but her vitals were pretty good — so she was labeled 'stable'; Tanner held her latest x-rays up to the light-box, looked at the bullet lodged in the woman's neck. He wanted to pump her stomach while they waited for an O.R. to clear, watch her fluids and vitals, but he was afraid if she vomited the movement might push the bullet against her spine. He called the neurosurgeon upstairs and explained; the surgeon wanted her stomach pumped, didn't want her vomiting with a tube down her throat on the table, so that was that.

He got the tray ready while nurses strapped her neck brace to the board, then Tanner ran surgical tubing up her nose and threaded it past her glottis and into her esophagus, then down into her stomach. He put positive pressure on the tubing and listened with a stethoscope, made sure the tube was in her belly and not her lungs. A nurse mixed activated charcoal and saline into a wet slurry and filled a huge, syringe like pump and handed it to him. He fit the first syringe to the tubing and pumped the black sludge slowly into her stomach; a nurse listened to the stuff enter the stomach and gave Tanner a thumbs up. Another nurse mixed saline and ipecac, an emetic that causes near instantaneous vomiting.

Tanner looked up, grinned at Mannie.

"Say Mannie, you wanna come over here and hold the bucket?"