The Life and Death of Arthur Lasker

4

Harold and Jean Dalton—proud grandparents of Arthur and scourge of the Lasker home—drove thirty-six miles from Wisconsin just to pace the hospital waiting room as their daughter gave birth. Today they were at Joseph's house—oblivious to the recent developments—arranging a modest welcome home party for their daughter and grandson.

A shy candy striper peered from behind the front desk and slid the phone toward Joe. “Press pound to dial out,” she murmured.

Joe thanked her. He was glad to see the phone had a touch-tone keypad. He pressed the pound button, then dialed his home phone number.

No answer. Either his in-laws were going deaf, or they were too busy decorating for the party.

He tried once more to make sure. Still no answer. He returned the phone to the candy striper and thanked her again.

Damn.

Outside the hospital, the town of Evanston Illinois was preserved in a crystalline mixture of ice and snow.

Joe checked his Camaro for door dings out of habit. The windshield was encased in a solid inch of frost, so he popped the trunk, grabbed the plastic scraper, and got to work.

Across the street, children were dressed like marshmallows in snow-pants and heavy coats, battling for the peak of a fifteen-foot snow bank. Was it already Christmas break? Or was it the weekend? Joe barely knew what time it was, much less the day.

When the windows were clear and his hands were raw, he turned ignition, dialed up the heat, and pulled the car as close to the hospital's revolving doors as possible without touching the curb. Along the outside wall, evergreen saplings arched from the weight of last night’s snow.

Anna, Arthur, and the nurse emerged from St. Francis Hospital with a male orderly at their side. The man was carrying the portable oxygen tank and ensuring the nurse didn't slip while pushing Anna and the baby.

Joe opened the passenger door. The nurse braced herself with her right knee on the car and her left foot against the curb, then carefully took Arthur from Anna. The orderly pulled the wheelchair away when Anna was safely seated, then set the tank and tubes gently on the back seat. The nurse kissed the child's head and returned him to his mother.

When the dance was over, Joe thanked them for their help, trudged through a puddle of slush, plopped in the driver's seat, and sighed.

“Joe?” His wife's voice had returned to its tender coo.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I'm sorry,” she said. For the first time since learning of Arthur's illness, Anna made eye contact.

He brushed aside a stray hair and planted a kiss on her forehead. He remembered the party and kissed her again.

He would tell her on the way home.