The Class of 86 Read online

  The Class of 86

  R.A. Williams

  The Class of 86 Copyright © 2016 by R.A. Williams.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

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  This novel is a work of fiction. Although some characters and events are loosely inspired by real people and real events, all names have been changed, and physical and personality attributes are highly fictionalized to serve the movement of the plot. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidence.

  Please visit my website at www.rawilliams.info

  This book is dedicated to my wife, Nilda, and my daughter, Libby. Through you I have been richly blessed. If I really could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

  Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

  Philippians 3:12-14, NIV

  In Heaven, there is no regret.

  In Heaven, there is only wisdom.

  Chapter 1

  A brilliant point of light beamed from the corner of the room. It grew steadily larger, glistening in vivid colors. They blended with one another in spectral chords, a sort of visual music. The beams of light organized into the shining shape of a man dressed in a shimmering robe. Just inside an aura of light was a face like a hybrid of all human races, with unblemished, radiant skin. The dazzling entity hovered, its luminous green eyes observing the fleshy commotion that was locked into the four dimensions of space-time. It refocused on the spiritual dimensions, fixing an intense gaze toward the opposite corner of the room. It raised its arm and extended an open hand to the immortal soul of Jake Simon.

  Friday, June 2, 2008

  It was the graveyard shift in the laboratory of Livingston Memorial Hospital. Jake sat next to his wife, Teresa, who worked upstairs as an intensive care nurse. They were both in Serology, watching the wetness flow across the white membrane of the test cartridge. Teresa was three weeks late. They both knew it would be positive. Still, they had to see it with their own eyes.

  Teresa scooted her chair closer to her husband. “We’ll be all right, Jake. Don’t look so worried. Mom’s going to help, and we can always work opposite shifts.”

  Jake rested his hand on her shoulder, hoping nobody else in the lab would notice the tender moment. With a compact, pleasantly plump body, Teresa fit nicely into his arms. Her black, naturally curly hair was pulled back into a ponytail, unveiling big emerald eyes. For a woman pushing 40, she still turned plenty of heads. What she saw in him, he’d never know.

  Jake reached into his lab coat pocket and handed her a new bottle of aspirin. “See if you can get that cotton out of there. My head’s killing me.”

  “That’s because you’re stressing over the baby,” she said as she took the bottle from him.

  “We’re not getting any younger, Teresa. It’s going to be a high-risk pregnancy. And are you sure your mom is up to this? She’s in her sixties.”

  “We’ll survive,” she said pleadingly. “People do it all the time.”

  “I guess,” he said. “Listen, speaking of survival. I never did get life insurance.”

  “Then we’ll call about it in the morning.”

  “I wonder how much that’s going to cost.”

  “Jake, you know how much we’ve looked forward to this. Why do you always have to put a price on everything?”

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said.

  Still, he had every right to be worried about money because money was something they didn’t have. It didn’t help that they’d gotten married so young, both at the age of twenty-one. Then there were the student loans. Teresa had tried to get into medical school, spending four years in a pre-med program, but she ended up going back to nursing school for three more years. As for Jake, after nearly flunking out of college and then spending fifteen years as an underpaid lab assistant, he’d finally gone back to school to get his two-year degree in medical technology, also paid for with student loans. Then came the two new cars and the new house filled with new furniture. Still, maybe she was right. They’d get by—as long as they both worked.

  Teresa gripped his elbow and gave a gentle squeeze. “We’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

  A blue plus sign appeared on the test membrane. Jake staggered in his chair, overcome by a rush of joy tinged with the dread of great responsibility.

  “I knew it! It’s positive!” Teresa excitedly clapped her hands together. “My mom’s going to be so happy!”

  Jake hugged her gently. There was no doubt about it now. Jacob Thomas Simon, forty years old as of last month, would soon be a father. “I guess it’s official,” he said. Suddenly, a sharp throb of pain swelled in his head. He winced and rubbed his temples.

  “Jake, are you okay? You don’t look so happy.”

  “I’m sorry, Teresa. I hate to ruin the moment, but I’m not feeling so good.”

  “Now that you mention it, you don’t look so good, either.” She put her cool hand to his head and felt for a fever. “You look pale.” She pulled the bottle of aspirin out of the pants pocket of her cotton-candy-pink hospital scrubs and skillfully plucked the cotton out of the bottle with her fingernail. “Here you go. Maybe this will help,” she said, handing him the aspirin.

  They both walked to the front of the lab and stepped into the tiny break room. Jake took the coffeepot from the burner and poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup, hoping the caffeine would help his head.

  “You know who I saw in the ER waiting room?” Jake said as he put the coffee pot back on the burner.

  “Who?”

  “Matt Anderson. You know, the guy who introduced us.” Jake tested the coffee with his finger for heat. “The guy who sits in a wheelchair because of me.”

  Teresa reached up and turned his face toward her. “Jake, that was not your fault. You just did what anybody would have done. You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Now stop being so hard on yourself. You’ve got to think about the future.” She took his hand and pressed it to her belly. “Think about your baby.”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, gazing at his hand pressed against her belly. “Well, anyway, speaking of babies,” he said. “Matt’s baby’s sick.”

  “Baby? Matt’s got another baby?”

  “It was news to me too. He apparently adopted it.”

  “Wow, that’s great.”

  Jake went to the sink and diluted the coffee with a little cold water. “He’s an architect. He can afford it. I should have been an architect, an engineer, something that paid better than this.” He shook four tablets from the bottle. “Then maybe you wouldn’t have to work.”

  “Oh, pleeease, don’t start that again,” Teresa said. “Now you’re giving me a headache. You know I love being a nurse. I wouldn’t quit even if we could afford it.”

  “At least you could cut back to part-time,” Jake said, studying the four aspirin tablets in his hand.

  Teresa noticed the pills. “You’re not going to take all four of those, are you? You’re only supposed to take two.”

  “It won’t kill me.” Jake tossed them into his mouth and chased them with lukewarm coffee.

  “Jake! I can’t believe you just did that. Now you’ll get a stomachache to go along with your headache. Why do you alway
s insist on learning the hard way?”

  Jake cringed from the bitter coffee. “My head really hurts.”

  “Why didn’t you take Tylenol or something that’s better for headaches?”

  “I tried. I stopped by the pharmacy before I clocked in, but they were out of those little bottles of Tylenol.”

  “Killing your stomach isn’t going to help. Besides, it’s probably your blood pressure. I keep telling you to see a doctor about that.”

  “Doctors don’t know anything. I’ve worked with enough of them to know that. Look at my sister and Todd Heller.”

  Teresa blew air, deflating puffed cheeks. “We’ll talk about this later,” she said and glanced up at the wall clock. “I’ve got to go. One of my patients has a med due at 11:00. Just think pleasant thoughts and try to relax. That’ll help more than anything.”

  Jake followed her to the back door of the lab. “Sorry I’m in a foul mood,” he said. “I’ll feel better once the aspirin kicks in.”

  Teresa poked him in the stomach. “I bet you didn’t eat either. You always get cranky when you’re hungry.”

  “I am kind of hungry. I’ll grab something from the machines in a little bit.”

  “We’ve got some brownies upstairs. Come up if you get a chance. Gotta go. Love you.” She kissed him on the cheek and walked out the door.

  “Me too,” he mumbled and wiped lipstick from his face. He looked around to see if anyone might have witnessed the show of affection. He was funny that way.

  He walked over to the front desk, sat down, and rubbed his throbbing head.

  As usual, Teresa was right. He needed to stop stressing out over this baby thing. And like she said, her mom would help. He hated to lay the whole burden of babysitting on her mom, but Jake’s dad worked all day, and Jake’s mom had died giving birth to him. That was a fine way to enter this world—by killing his own mother.

  The pneumatic tube system chimed, and Jake heard the clunk of a specimen carrier dropping into the lab.

  “What now?” he said and pried himself out of the chair. He stepped over to the tube system, pulled out the carrier, and removed a urine specimen. The urine had spilled out of the cup and into the zip-lock biohazard bag with the specimen cup floating on top of the cloudy yellow bladder refuse. “Great. Why can’t they ever get these lids on right?”

  He logged the specimen into the computer and lumbered his way back toward Urinalysis. As he passed Microbiology, a ghastly stench accosted him, drawing the realities of his life painfully into focus. Ernestine Banks was putting specimens into the fecal culture incubator, affectionately known as the stinkubator.

  Ernestine, a twenty-five-year-old kid not long of college, had a bachelor’s degree, so she was in charge. With the baby on the way and bills to be paid, at forty years old, Jake’s going back to college was highly unlikely. He would never finish his bachelor’s so he would never be in charge. It was just as well. He didn’t have the backbone for the job anyway.

  When Jake reached the Urinalysis aisle, he tossed the biohazard bag onto the counter and slid into a chair. Why couldn’t he have been more like his brother or sister? Jake’s brother was a respected major in the Marines, and his sister was actually a brain surgeon. Jake? He got to test urine the rest of his life. It might sound glamorous, but it’s not.

  As a kid, Jake dreamed of being a rock star, and the band he’d played in had a real shot at the big time. He should have been wrapping up a world tour instead of doing urinalysis. And that might have been his life, that is if their lead singer hadn’t blown it at the Battle of the Bands.

  “Hey, Jake,” Ernestine startled him from his thoughts. “When you’re finished staring at that urine, you need to go to ER and draw some blood—two adults and two babies.”

  Jake eyed his pudgy little boss with contempt. “Yes ma’am,” he sarcastically replied.

  “Hey, just because you’re having a mid-life crisis, don’t take it out on me,” Ernestine said. “I’m just doing my job.”

  Earnestine made his head throb harder. He imagined the patients in the ER weren’t feeling any better. He went back up front to carry out his little boss’s orders.

  He grabbed a phlebotomist tray from the counter, pulled the specimen labels from the printer, stuffed them into his pocket, and walked over to Ernestine. She leaned back in a chair with her feet propped on the chemistry supervisor’s desk, reading a Vogue magazine.

  “I’ll be back whenever,” he said, pausing to see if she would even offer to help, at least to hold one of the babies.

  “That urine will be waiting for you when you get back,” she said with a grin, not even bothering to look up from the magazine. “I know how much you love urinalysis.”

  Thanks a lot, Ernestine, tech in charge.

  Jake went to the ER nursing station and picked up the computer printout that indicated the location of the patients to be stuck.

  “Hey, Jake,” the ER nurse called from the nursing station. “Hate to tell you this, but when you’re done with that, we’ve got another patient for you.”

  “And, Jake,” came a smug voice from the other side of the nursing station, “I’d like those labs back tonight, if that’s not too much to ask.”

  Jake glanced over to see his high school nemesis, Dr. Todd Heller, sneering at him over the top of a hospital chart. It was bad enough that Jake had to put up with this guy in high school, but after Todd had graduated medical school, he landed a job in the ER.

  Jake disregarded Todd and went toward the patient rooms. “So much for having a quiet night,” he uttered, “no thanks to lab-happy Todd Heller.”

  “Pardon?” Todd said.

  Jake turned to see Heller eyeing him with contempt. Jake’s cheeks warmed, and another stab of pain hit his head. He started to reply but said nothing. If he’d never stood up to Heller when he was a kid, no way was he going to confront Heller when his job depended on it.

  The smell of vomit and disinfectant fueled Jake’s nausea as he went down the hall toward his first patient. He knocked twice and opened the door to an exam room. It reeked of alcohol, cigarettes, and body odor. “Is this Seymour Dunlap?”

  Sitting in the corner of the room wearing a filthy NASCAR baseball cap was a corpulent man with black, quarter-inch razor stubble. “You must be the vampire,” he stated proudly as if this was an original accusation Jake hadn’t heard at least once a week.

  Jake cut the pleasantries and set his tray by the sink. “The doctor’s ordered a blood culture, and I’ll have to take that from his arm.”

  The man went to his feet. “His arm! How come? They always took it from his foot at the doctor’s.” The man huffed, tugged on his filthy, sagging jeans, and stuffed his shirt back into his pants. “You’d better get it the first time,” he said, cracking his knuckles, “and don’t you be diggin’ around none neither.”

  Jake’s heart beat so hard he could count his own pulse by the throbs in his head. “I’ll do the best I can,” Jake said, his voice cracking. “If I can’t get it the first time, I’ll tell the doctor.”

  With the man’s grunt of approval, Jake took the filthy baby and placed him on the bed while the father stood uncomfortably close, breathing his foul breath on the back of Jake’s head. He peeled the screaming baby out of the pink blanket. His neck stiffened, and the lights seemed to grow brighter. He couldn’t go on. One of the docs would have to check him out, even if it was Todd Heller.

  Suddenly, a nervous voice came over the intercom, “Code blue, ICU. Code blue, ICU.”

  Jake grabbed his tray and hurried to the nursing station. He filed in behind Dr. Ford, two nurses, and a blond respiratory technician. With the tubes rattling on his tray, he desperately tried to keep up, stumbling twice. They all reached the elevator and poured in through the door that Security held open. The doors closed, and the elevator rose. The pounding of his heart forged throbs against the anvil in his head.

  The door opened. They rushed out toward the ICU. Jake followed close be
hind. He lost footing and caught himself against the wall. The code team threw open the ICU door and rushed into the room. Jake brought up the rear.

  “Over here,” the nursing coordinator said, pointing to a bed.

  Jake stumbled ahead to the third bed from the door. He saw the blurry figure of Teresa doing chest compression on the dying patient.

  Teresa grinned when her eyes found Jake.

  In the dimly lit ICU, Jake squinted and studied the patient more closely. The patient was a practice CPR mannequin. It was just a drill.

  “Sorry, Jake. It wasn’t my idea,” Teresa said as she leaned into the dummy and performed mock chest compressions. “We’re getting ready for the inspection next week.”

  The code team chuckled with relief and took their position to complete the drill.

  “That was good time, Jake,” the fuzzy figure of the Nursing Coordinator said. “But unless you think you can get some blood out of this thing, you can go back to the lab.”

  Jake tried to focus on Teresa. He made out a silent I love you forming on her lips. He stood for a moment, breathing hard, struggling with thought. “I uh . . . me too.”

  He made his way out of the ICU. He opened the door to the hall. Bright fluorescent lights assaulted him, burning into his optic nerves. He stumbled to the elevator door with the phlebotomy tray in his right hand and his other hand cupped over his eyes. He jabbed at the down button repeatedly.

  He had to get back to the ER. He was going to be a father. His health was nothing to play with. Something was wrong—very wrong.

  “Come on!” he held the Down button with his thumb. The elevator whined into position. Doors reluctantly slid open. He stepped in and hit the first-floor button. He leaned back against the wall, steadying himself on the handrail. His stomach burned with nausea as the movement of the elevator took him down. His hand clutched his mouth to hold back vomit.