What happened? Grace said, running to her. Is she okay?
Dorothy set Florence down.
I’ve been watching her for the last half hour or so, Dorothy said. I was clearing up in the kitchen. Florence tripped—none of the boys were near her—so I went over and picked her up. Her eyes looked odd somehow. I couldn’t put my finger on why, so I didn’t think anything more of it. But then she tripped again, a few minutes later, and I saw her eyes, and they were crossed. I sat her up, gave her some water; she said she felt fine. Her eyes straightened out after a minute or so but I think they’re getting worse now.
Grace bent down.
Florence, honey, are you okay? she said.
I feel funny, Florence said.
Funny? Funny, how?
I feel funny.
Okay, sweetheart, she said, brushing Florence’s hair away from her face. Grace straightened up and told Dorothy what had happened on vacation.
Look, Dorothy said, I’m not a pediatric nurse, but if I were you, I would get her to the hospital as soon as you can, so they can run some tests. Forget about the Antelope. Take her straight to the Daniel Freeman, southwest of downtown LA; in Inglewood. Ask for Burt Lapitus—he’s their senior neurosurgeon.
Neurosurgeon—Dorothy?
Get her checked out properly.
Right now? Grace said.
First thing tomorrow. And call me after. Let me know how it goes.
Okay, thanks, I will; first thing tomorrow. Burt Lapitus.
Come inside, Dorothy said. I’ll write it down.
A few minutes later, Harrison appeared in the kitchen. Grace looked at him.
What? he said.
I’ll tell you in the car, Grace said.
They put Florence straight to bed when they got home.
Mommy, Florence said.
Sleep tight, Grace said, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
She kissed her and stood and turned out the light.
Downstairs, Harrison opened a bottle of beer from the fridge.
I’m going to sit down, he said, when she appeared at the kitchen door.
Grace nodded and he passed. She looked at the time. It was nearly six. She thought about Irving; his gleaming hair, that measured tone. She glanced at the telephone. There was a pack of Lucky Strikes on the table. She picked them up, found some matches and went out to the backyard.
In the morning Grace drove to Los Angeles with Florence sat in the back, eyes still awkwardly askew. They stopped at Little Sam’s Roadside Eatery, just outside Littlerock, for breakfast. They ate waffles, Grace drank coffee and Florence was allowed a strawberry milk shake.
Four bucks for some milk and ice cream, Grace said as they left.
Why we driving, Mommy? Florence said, as they pulled away in the car.
Because we’re going to LA.
Why we going to elay?
To see a doctor to make you better.
Why we seeing a doctor?
Doctors make us feel better.
Why?
Because that’s what they’re trained to do.
Why they trained?
Because they want to.
Why they want to?
Because it feels good to help people.
Why?
It just does, okay?
We going to elay, Florence said, sitting back.
Yeah, Grace said, we are.
The Daniel Freeman Memorial Hospital was on North Prairie Avenue, near the Inglewood Park Cemetery. Florence was struggling to speak clearly. At the front desk, Grace spoke to the receptionist.
Hi. I called this morning—early—we’ve got an appointment with Doctor Lapitus at nine-thirty?
Your name? the lady said.
Grace Harrison. The appointment is for my daughter, Florence.
First floor, left out the elevator, waiting room B.
Thank you, Grace said, heading in the direction the receptionist was pointing. Florence squeezed her hand tight. In the elevator, her eyes started to roll.
Jesus, Grace said.
They got off at the first floor and waited to be called.
Harrison was in the hangar talking to one of the ground crew when the call came through. Ridley, expecting it, yelled down to him. Harrison cut short his conversation and ran up to the office.
Yeah? he said, picking up the receiver from where Ridley had left it on his desk.
It’s me, Grace said.
You okay?
Yeah.
How’s Duck?
She got worse, Jim; on the way over.
Worse? How?
She started slurring when she spoke, and when we got here, her eyes, they started to roll—not much at first, but when they called us in, I had to carry her.
Christ, he said.
Oh, Jim; you should have seen her. I mean, she’s fine in herself, it’s not like she needs the emergency room or anything, it’s just …
It’s okay, hon, he said. What’s happening? You see Lapitus?
Yeah, he’s a nice guy. Gets kids, y’know? He wants to run a bunch of tests.
Sure, whatever they need to do.
There’s so many …
It’ll be okay, hon; these men, they know what they’re doing. These tests; they need to find out what’s going on.
One of them’s called a Pneumo-cepo-gram? Something like that?
Okay.
It’s so they can look at her brain, Jim.
Don’t worry, listen; everything’s going to be okay, he said. They need to cover everything. Probably doing it because she banged her head, is all.