Part 30 (1/2)
Stumbling in the bathroom.
”Esther!” Pounding on the door. ”Esther, open the door!”
Nothing.
He pressed his weight against the door and pushed, but not enough. Again, harder, all his strength. The door flew open.
In front of him, on the floor, she lay, half conscious, eyes open but glazed. A retched stench permeated the air. He looked at her face, the corners of her mouth, the floor, the toilet. Vomit all over.
He bent down, helped her to a sitting position, grabbed a towel off the rack, and began to wipe her chin. ”Are you sick?”
She struggled to answer. ”I think so.”
”I'll call a doctor.”
”No! Please, no doctor.”
”But Esther, you're sick. You need a doctor.”
”No doctor, please.”
He looked at her, concerned. ”Come, you'll lie down.” He helped her up and walked her to the bedroom, frightened by how unsteadily she moved.
”I'll be okay,” she said. ”It's probably a virus.”
”Maybe it's something you ate?”
”I don't think so, otherwise you'd have it too.”
She was making sense, sounding a little stronger. Good signs, he thought. ”You sure you don't want a doctor?”
”Positive.”
”You should stay here tonight.”
”I can't. I have to go home.”
”But how can you possibly get home in this condition?”
”I have to.”
”Then I'll take you.”
”That's not a good idea.”
Stephen knew all about Esther's family, and the fact that she was keeping him a secret until the ”right” time. He didn't completely understand; after all, he was Jewish, he had often reminded her. There was much he didn't grasp about Hasidic life.
”If you won't see a doctor, you won't stay here, and you won't let me take you home, then what?” He was losing patience.
”I can go home myself.”
”I don't think so.”
”I can,” she said, struggling off the bed. She stood up and started walking toward the door. Faltering and wobbly. He grabbed her before she fell, and helped her back to the bed.
”Now what?” he asked.
She couldn't answer right away.
”Esther, we have to do something.”
She thought about it for a few seconds. Then: ”Okay, I have an idea. My friend Rachel, her number is 555-8974. Call her, she'll know what to do; she'll come and take me home.”
Rachel was lying in bed when the phone rang. Binny had helped her clean up after dinner, and had just left for the yes.h.i.+va when she decided to steal some well needed rest. It had been over a year since the miscarriage, and two and a half months ago she'd finally gotten pregnant again. She and Binny had reacted soberly and cautiously to the news. He'd begun helping out around the house, enabling her to take it easy.
Rachel answered the phone thinking it was the usual evening call from her mother to check on things. ”Everything's fine, Mama,” she said as she picked up the receiver.
”Pardon me,” an unfamiliar voice said on the other end.
”I'm sorry,” Rachel offered, slightly abashed. ”Who's calling?” she asked, thinking it was probably for Binny.
”Is this Rachel?”
”Yes, who is this?”
”My name is Stephen Butler.”
Rachel recognized the name. ”Oh yes, you're Esther's...”
”Yes, I am.” Stephen explained why he was calling. He rea.s.sured Rachel that Esther was okay, only that she needed someone to come and get her. A slight contradiction, Rachel noted nervously.
She hung up the phone, called a car service, got dressed, and left a note for Binny in case he came home before her. It said: ”Had to go out to get something. Don't worry. Be home soon.” She couldn't come up with anything else to write at the moment. She would explain later.
On the way to Manhattan, she thought about what Stephen had said on the phone. Vomiting immediately after dinner, weakness, stumbling, no fever. It didn't take much for her to make the connection. Esther had steadily been losing weight since she'd met Stephen, claiming she'd been dieting, yet Rachel hadn't noticed any changes in her friend's eating habits. On reflection, Esther still ate lots of sweets, junk food, and almost nauseating portions at meals. There had been stories in high school about girls who threw up. It certainly wasn't unheard of, even in their insulated corner of the world. Esther was perfect prey for this sort of thing.
Rachel felt a sudden surge of guilt, accusing herself, once again, of being consumed with her own problems to the point of obliviousness to those she loved.
Stephen Butler answered the door and instantly understood why Esther had never mentioned Rachel before this evening. Even in theatre circles, he'd rarely seen someone so captivating. For a split second, he'd almost forgotten why she was there.
Rachel, of course, wasn't surprised in the least by Stephen's appearance. Esther had described him to a tee, sparing not a luscious detail. ”Hi, I'm Rachel,” she said.
”I'm Stephen,” he responded. He showed her in, without offering to shake her hand. Esther had forewarned him that Hasidic women didn't shake hands with men.
He escorted Rachel into the bedroom. Esther was lying on the bed, though more alert than earlier. ”I just don't know what happened,” Stephen said.
Esther looked at Rachel, and knew immediately that her friend had figured out her secret. Her expression said, don't you dare say a word! Her voice said, ”It's probably a stomach flu or something.”
”Probably.” Rachel felt Esther's forehead. ”I think you might even be a little warm.” Good act.
”I feel like I am,” Esther confirmed.