A Katrina Story

(Note from Bill: This post is from my cousin, Tom Arceneaux, who has such an amazing Katrina story that I said, you gotta write it down! So he did. Here it is in his own words. Enjoy.)



Last year at this time I was in New Orleans, having gone to Louisiana for a job interview. After almost 20 years in Georgia I'd decided it was time to move back to be closer to the family. Atlanta traffic alone can kill you. Most of my family was in Louisiana, including my elderly parents, four kids, two grandchildren, and dozens of others.

I spent a busy week driving all over La, from Slidell to Baton Rouge, and everywhere in between. The interview was on Wednesday, Aug 24. It went well and I'd begun looking around for places to live. I discovered real estate was very cheap near Hammond where 2 of my kids lived.

I should also mention that Aug 24 is the Feast Day of St.Bartholomew, the patron Saint of neuro disorders(like Tourette's Syndrome) and also twitching. I remember praying for St.Bart's intercession so that my anxiety during the interview would not result in any tics or symptoms.

Later that day I learned my Aunt Aline had a stoke. When my sister Beth called to tell me the news, we were both on cell phones and both in a car at the time. I didn't hear the message clearly that it was serious and that she wasn't expected to make it. At the time I thought "I sure hope she gets out of the hospital before I leave town so I can share my New Orleans song with her while I'm here." There's a line in the song about her pecan pie. Also, I'd brought my "Sound of Music" karaoke CD with me in case we got a chance to do it. It was her favorite movie.

Aunt Aline and Uncle Billy instilled in me the love of sing-a-longs. To this day, I attribute my love for karaoke to them. It has proved to be quite therapeutic at many times in my life. I also hoped I'd get to share that with her since I'd never told her how much those parties she hosted meant to me when I was a kid: Mitch Miller and all that.

While I was visiting Louisiana during this time, every meal I ate with the family was something non-Cajun. My sister Barbara's 50th birthday was on Monday and of course we ate wherever she wanted, which was Italian. Tuesday I had dinner with my son and his girlfriend at a restaurant (also Italian) in Baton Rouge. Just like Dorothy kept telling everybody "I just want to go home," I kept telling everybody "I want some Cajun food." On Wednesday I drove with Adam the 20 miles to Middendorf's in Manchac for lunch. Not that I wanted to be driving any more than I was, but I wanted some Cajun food, damn it!

My buddy Sean arrived the next day. We'd planned to spend the weekend in the French Quarter, something I'd never done, not for a whole weekend. While walking thru the city, I shared with him hundreds of memories of the various streets and buildings. I took pictures of places like the building that was Werlein's where I first took piano lessons 40 years ago. Little did I know it would be some of the last pictures taken of the city intact for a long time. Much of it is still awaiting reconstruction today, a year later.

I remember thinking that when I moved away from New Orleans many decades ago I had left with a negative attitude toward the whole place. The economy was bad, unemployment was depressing, the politicians all seemed corrupt, the weather was unbearable, there was racial tension, crime was on the rise, the drug culture was getting out of control, etc. But on those few days before the storm I was reminded of how it was a great city in so many ways. The food, the music, the diversity of the people all made it one of the most colorful places I'd ever been.

Friday night was spent partying in the French Quarter in a way I never had before. I couldn't remember when I had had so much fun. It was great!

Then Saturday came.

I learned my beloved favorite Aunt Aline had passed away and was now in Heaven with Uncle Billy, who had died five years earlier. Katrina had been upgraded to a Category 5 and was headed straight for New Orleans. The Luau-themed birthday party my sister Theresa was having got pretty much canceled as everyone was boarding up windows and stocking up on batteries, bottled water and candles. Some were saying "we gotta get out of here" and evacuating as fast as possible. Others were saying "it's just another hurricane, we've seen a hundred of 'em." There was much protracted discussion, much controversy, much confusion, and sometimes hysteria.

I had to go to my sister's house regardless. My parents would be there. It was to be the last time I saw my mother before she went in the hospital the final time. She'd had Alzheimer's for about 10 years and it was progressing. My Dad would be there, and my son and two-month-old grandson. I was going to get a four-generation picture of us no matter what, come the proverbial Hell or high water. (little did I know)

I took the Causeway bridge across Lake Ponchartrain to Theresa's. We lit candles on the cake, sang happy birthday, and ate and drank in typical Louisiana fashion. It was great. When my mother saw me she couldn't remember my name, of course, but lit up when she saw me, and I swear there was some kind of recognition there, on some level. I also got the 4-generation picture I'd wanted so much, and we shared the last pleasant social gathering we would know for quite a while.

By the time I was on the Causeway heading back to the hotel, Interstate 10 out of New Orleans was already gridlocked all the way to Baton Rouge, and there was nowhere else to go. I'd been through enough hurricanes to know the last place I wanted to be when the hurricane hit was stuck on an interstate in a car, probably running out of gas.

So, we decided to ride out the hurricane on the fifth floor of the Ramada Hotel in downtown New Orleans. I made sure we had enough bottled water and candles to get us through, and half a bottle of Vodka. I also had the rosary I bought at Saint Louis Cathedral. Anyone who grows up in New Orleans knows that during a hurricane there's always someone, if not an entire extended family, praying the rosary by candlelight when you're riding out a hurricane in the dark.

I assured Sean, who'd never experienced a hurricane before, that we'd be okay. The only time he got freaked out was when the large air conditioner jumped out of the wall asnd crashed to the floor. I calmly said, "we just push it back in the wall, prop it up, and we're okay." Not sure if he believed me, but I think I sounded convincing. Meanwhile I was praying the whole time: "Lord have mercy on us and get us through this alive."

We couldn't sleep all Sunday night, but toward dawn we were fading. At exactly 5:55 a.m. on Monday, the power went out. Category 5 hit. Numerologically, they say 5 is the number of change and drama!

Being exhausted, we slept through the storm. What else could you do? The A/C was propped up, we were on the 5th floor (the #5 again!) and the 5th of vodka was finished. We slept about 5 hours.

Around noon, I went out to forage for food, not knowing if the hotel would or could provide anything. All the hotel staff up to that point appeared to be freaking out and anxious to get out of there ASAP. After an hour or two of searching all over what was left of New Orleans, I came back with was two bags of potato chips and a bottle of vodka (some bars were still open).

That night at the hotel I assured Sean that it would all be okay, that the power would be out for a few days and before long we'd be getting back home just a few days late. After all, I'd been through many hurricanes and this was no big deal.

Tuesday morning I awoke to the sound of Sean screaming at the window. "Oh my God! Oh my God! Tom, come see this. You won't believe it!" I walked to the window and saw water up to the level of the second floor of the hotel. I reacted with "Oh my God! I don't believe it!" I stared until the reality of it would sink in. It never did sink in.

We were blessed, however. There were a few people from the hotel still there, particularly Allison Wolstenholme, sales director or something, who said "welcome to the Island of Ramada; we'll be here a while." She and her fiance had waded thru the water across the street to City Hall to report that there were about 50 people stranded in the hotel and to get some MREs. That was the last help we got. After that we were on our own.

I never knew MREs tasted so good. The first night we had salad with a few chicken bits in it, and they opened the wine cabinet. So we dined on salad and wine. I looked around at all the nervous, scared, depressed people (especially the remaining hotel staff) and wished I could help. I walked up to one of the hotel staff, a guy named Sean (a different Sean) to express a concern I had. He was getting voluminous complaints and concerns from everybody there, but was trying to be as helpful as possible. When he finally turned to speak to me, I said that the meal was very nice, but I had a concern. We were interrupted a couple of times, then he finally turned back to me. I said "this is very nice, especially the glass of wine, but, excuse me, this is red wine & I had the chicken." It took a minute before he got it, asnd then he laughed. I'm sure it was the first time he'd laughed since Katrina hit.

I told my friend Sean that night that I was feeling guilty because he'd brought his guitar with him (he's a singer/songwriter) and I was getting a free live concert every night. Fortunately, he plays acoustic guitar. I said "you need to go play for those nervous, depressed, scared people down in the lobby, they need it." At first he was reluctant, then finally agreed.

He played for them and they loved it. It brought joy to them and uplifted their spirits. I was reminded of the lesson I learned about how to handle the holidays when they're difficult. What do you do when you just can't get in the Christmas Spirit? You forget about yourself and try to make someone else's Christmas merry. It works.

We adjusted, uncomfortably, to our situation with no power, no running water, no chance to bathe or shower, and no freedom to leave the hotel. Yet it was the lack of communication that was hardest to deal with. Cell phones gave out right away. Text messaging was still possible on Sunday. The last messages I got were all saying, "go to the Superdome." I knew better.

There was no way to tell my loved ones that I was even alive. I, of course, was also worried about all of them, as all my family is in South Louisiana. Sean hadn't even told his mother that he was going on a "weekend trip." He dreaded her finding out that he was in New Orleans, of all places.

The hotel was a block from Charity hospital. It was 2 days before they started evacuating the patients. The back-up generators only lasted a day. A doctor from Charity came over in a boat and told us what was going on. Their morgue was in the basement and they weren't able to preserve the bodies. So, there were dead bodies rotting in the water just a block away from us. He said out on the street people were killing each other over food and fresh water. The roof came off the Superdome the first day, and there was no police force or security. We began to realize how lucky we were, uncomfortable or not.

Those on the Superdome side of the Ramada could hear screams and gunshots at night. We were on the library side of the hotel. We could hear the sound of chewing as the rats got into the library and were chewing on the books.

Being a nurse, I'm not accustomed to sitting still. I decided the only way to get any exercise (and fresh air) was to climb the 12 or so flights of stairs up to the roof. The first time I got to the roof I broke down in tears at the sight of my hometown, which I'd only recently begun to appeciate, inundated. Buildings I'd seen intact my whole life were destroyed. It was heart-wrenching. I could also see the Superdome down the street with thousands of people standing outside, and on the intersate dozens of people were stranded out in the sun's heat. In the distance were several gigantic black smoke clouds, which no one could identify, looking like entire cities were burning.

Everyday some of us would make the trek up to the roof, expecting to see the crowds at the Dome dwindling, but to the very last day there were still thousands waiting on the buses.

There were rescue guys in swamp boats passing back and forth everyday, evacuating people from Charity, splashing water against the windows of the hotel, and helicopters flying overhead transporting people from Tulane Medical Center across the street. But not one of them ever stopped to ask if we were okay or offer any help.

Wednesday, August 31, was the birthday of Josh, one of the other guests at the hotel. He turned 11. What a way to spend your 11th birthday, I thought. So that night Sean brought down his guitar and played for them. I collected the souvenir beads I'd gotten that week and gave them to the three kids there, with Josh the B'day boy getting the one that had flashing lights. Sean was taking requests. One of Josh's favorite groups was Green Day. When Sean did "Wake me up when September ends" it seemed so fitting, about surviving a loss. It kind of became our theme song.

Later that night, Sean and myself pulled our first night watch. With the danger of rapists out loose and no police protection, all the men took turns taking 2-hour shifts guarding the hotel doors. There were about a dozen college-age girls in the hotel. Someone gave Sean a knife, in case he had to use it. It was all they had. I'll never forget turning to Sean on our watch, trying not to laugh, and saying, "what are we gonna do if somebody armed or crazy tries to get in? Attack them with your knife and my sharp wit?" Fortunately there were no intruders on our watch.

Each day a few people would leave, and we'd never see them again, never knowing if they made it out to safety or not. One day a crazy woman came wading through the waist-high nasty water looking for her sandals. She was in the water barefoot. I was shocked to learn that one group stole our provisions as they left: bottled water and the last of the ice. Desperate times drive people to drastic measures.

Toward the end of this ordeal, a group of us gathered one night and combined our candles and whatever liquor we had left and had a "party" (so to speak) trying to uplift our spirits as best we could. The last round was what we called a "Katrina cocktail." All that was left was Tropicana orange juice, blue powerade, and some cheap gin. It pretty much looked like the water outside and didn't taste much better. It was BAD! But in times like that, whaddya do?

Sean played his guiter and we tried to laugh as best we could. I even tried to make jokes, like...

Q - How many Katrina survivors does it take to screw in a light bulb?
A - None, we have no power!

Okay, I didn't say it was a funny joke.

On Friday our British friend Ged put on some waist-high boots and waded to where he found a pay phone, and it worked! It was a shock to me that an hour after he reached his brother in England, a reporter from the BBC was there to get his story and in another hour someone was there to rescue him! Don't even mention how slow our government was to respond. After all, poor George had to cut short his vacation, but don't get me started on that.

By then the water had started going down, at least in the vicinity of the Ramada. Those of us still there had cars in the parking garage down the street, all on the 3rd floor or higher. On Saturday morning we rode in a boat down to the parking garage, got in our cars, and drove on the sidewalk (streets were still flooded) back to the open area in front of City Hall, across the street from the hotel. Everyone's belongings were brought to the cars in the little boat, which took quite a few trips. Some of the cars had almost no gas and we all knew there'd be none available for a LONG ways. Whatever abandoned cars in the area that had gas in them got syphoned. Fortunately for me, I had over half a tank. I have never sucked gas out of a tank before and could only stomach it if my life depended on it, and this would have been the time.

So, there we were, the final dirty dozen, worn out, sweaty, exhausted, stressed out, achingly homesick, getting ready to make our escape. But, of course, the streets were flooded and the park area in front of City Hall was strewn with trees and debris. After managing to clear a path thru the park, we followed the route the buses had been taking to get out of the city. As we passed the Dome, there were still thousands of people waiting out in the sun to be rescued. Lord, bless'em. When we finally got to the bridge, we could see the city behind us, and HALLELUJAH! We'd escaped!

Heading for Baton Rouge, there were only a couple of gas stations open and the lines were literally over a mile long. When we finally could stop, all the cars pulled over before going our separate ways. We got out, hugged each other, exchanged phone numbers and email addresses so we could keep in touch, and said good bye. Some of us have kept in touch. Some we never heard from again.

It was in Gonzales that we first saw power on and gas available. We stopped at a MacDonald's and, my God! I never knew a Big Mac and a side of fries with a Coke could taste so good!

As God was merciful, I found the ONLY hotel room vacant in the city of Gonzales. Got there at noon and someone was just checking out, praise the Lord. There was air conditioning, running water, clean sheets on the bed, and laundry facilities. We were in Heaven. Sean was the first to take a shower. I remember how amusing it was hearing him screaming "Oh my God! it feels so good to get clean!" But I understood, so I didn't make fun of him. Then was my turn, and guess what? I got in the shower and screamed "Oh my God! It feels so good!"

After spending 2 hours on the phone with Delta, I finally got us flights back to Atlanta, but the earliest would be Tuesday. So, we spent the next 4 days catching up on the news. I had no idea the entire Gulf Coast was destroyed and over a thousand people had died. After recharging the cell phones, I spent hours talking to EVERYBODY letting them know I was okay and finding out how most of them fared. There still were some that no one had heard from. All you could do was pray. Sean finally told his mother what had happened and promised her he'd never take a trip without telling her again. As for my mother, impairments can be a blessing at times, as all she remembered about the experience was that it got dark for about a week.

When I finally made it back, I vowed I would never take hot showers, clean clothes, air conditioning, or ice for granted again. Even though many in my family lost their jobs, or their homes, or their cars, or (temporarily) their hope for the future, none of them lost their lives, thank God.

So, here it is a year later, and the levees still aren't fixed, much of the city is still abandoned, many refugees haven't returned, and much of the trust we used to have in the government has suffered. Still, I remind myself, if we can survive this, we can survive anything.

May God have mercy on us all!

Peace,
Tom

Air Time

Whew! Things have been so busy I am behind in my postings. Part 20 of Night Watch is near completion and should be out soon.

Here's a quick wrap up:

** I donated 46 copies of Sea Changes to Social Change Caravan (www.socialchangecaravan.org). This group left Seattle this morning, Aug 23, headed to Louisiana with a busload of Katrina evacuees hoping to get resettled. Most of them have been hanging around Seattle for a year. I thought they might like some reading material for the trip; and they can sell books to raise money!

** I've been talking on radio stations around the country about New Orleans a year after Katrina. Everybody's got an opinion about that, right? Here are some of my recent and upcoming radio interviews:

8/15, 5 pm, WHAT Philadelphia

8/20, 9 am, WLKG Lake Geneva, WI

8/28, 11 am, WHJJ Providence, RI

8/30, 7:30 am, KGAB Cheyenne, WY

8/31, 12 noon, WAUD Auburn, AL

If you happen to hear me on the air, please let me know. Thanks.


You might be wondering what exactly I've been saying about the old City That Care Forgot a year after Katrina. One problem, as I see it, is that people not familiar with the layout of New Orleans are getting an incorrect picture of what's going on: it's either booming, or it's a wasteland. The reality is: it's a little of both.

Parts of the city and the surrounding neighborhoods have always been below sea-level, and those areas got lots of water, and the water stayed there for weeks, and now those areas are slow to rebuild. However, other areas, both inside and outside of the city limits, are higher, and stayed dry, and now they are experiencing a boom of activity. Magazine Street in Uptown, for example, is a happening place. Coffee shops, restaurants, music, food stores, funky old places that have been there forever -- they're still there and doing well.

I think it's fair to ask why are some of the hardest hit neighborhoods so slow to recover. Is it really about race? It might be, but a lot of people are looking at all of the low areas, especially Lakeview, Gentilly, Mid-City and the Ninth Ward, and asking: do we really want to build more houses on a flood plain?

I don't have the answers, but I believe it's a fair topic to debate and it should be open for public debate and comment. We don't want bureaucrats in Washington or Baton Rouge making decisions behind closed doors.

Well, like I said, everybody's got an opinion, and you're entitled to mine!!

Take care, and stay dry.

Bill

Night Watch, Part 19

The house bustled with new activity. David and Natalie went into the kitchen to prepare yet another breakfast. Buddy came in and tried to help. Together they formed an assembly line to unload the dishwasher of clean dishes so that the dirty ones from the last meal could be cleared off the counter.

Victoria announced that she was going home for a while but would be near the phone. "I have to water my garden," she said. "Although the rain last night certainly helped."

Angela got out of bed and went to the bathroom. She then put on her gardening clogs and walked out into the yard, saying she was inspired by Victoria's example. Olivia followed her out.

The phone rang. It was David's sister, Paula, calling on her cell phone from the west coast.

"Isn't it early there?" asked David.

"I take the 5:20 ferry to Seattle from Bainbridge Island," she said brightly. Like David, Paula was a software engineer. She finished her graduate degree at Stanford a year ago and moved to the Seattle area to take a job at a small firm. "Any news?" she asked.

"None worth reporting. It's getting crowded here. When are you coming?"

"I still have a reservation for tonight, but I can change it. I don't want to be in the way."

"Trust me, you won't be in the way. Angela's family is staying at a hotel. I've reserved our one guest space for you." David carried the cordless phone into the small room at the back of the house that he and Angela used as a combination office and guest space. The room also tended to be a magnet for things like golf clubs, toys, laundry, mail, shoes, and anything they didn't know what to do with. David sat on the sleeper sofa next to some laundry waiting to be folded and thought how nice it would be to stretch out and take a little nap.

"When are Mom and Dad coming?" Paula asked.

"They're driving up now," said David. "I expect they'll call this morning. All I do around here is answer the phone and make coffee."

"Cheer up. Pretty soon you'll have a new bundle of joy in your lap," said Paula.

Angela poked her head into the room. "Graphite is here," she said.

"Got to go, Paul," said David.

"Say hi for me," said Angela.

"Angela says hi," he added hastily, then hung up.

David got up and kissed Angela. "You look okay for someone who has spent a night in labor."

"I've decided that this kid is going to move at his or her own pace," she said. "I'm not going to lie around and wait for a baby to pop out. So I went out and started watering."

"Good for you. Where's Graphite?"

"He's in the front yard chatting away with Olivia."

"Now that's interesting," said David.

"I've given up trying to understand human nature," said Angela.

By this time, Natalie had shooed Buddy out of the kitchen. A frying pan warmed on the stove while a pot full of coffee stood ready. The aroma of coffee rattled David's stomach. He filled his mug on the way out the door.

"Graphite, first a rare night visit and now this. You must like us," said David.

"Don't let it go to your head, boss," Graphite said. He wore his familiar bleary-eyed and rumpled look after a night of writing software and working the help desk.

Olivia laughed. "This guy has a wicked sense of humor."

"I see you've met," said David.

"As usual, my charm is captivating," said Graphite with a toothy grin.

"Uh, right. And your business this morning is..."

"A courier delivered this note from Jessica Van Buren's office. You know, that high-strung lady running for the House?"

"High-strung?"

"Dude, she's wound up like a top," said Graphite.

Olivia giggled girlishly as she leaned on a garden rake. David could not believe what he was witnessing: in every respect, Graphite was the opposite of Olivia's kind of man. He was short, skinny, brainy, with glowing hair that was originally red but had tints of orange for added effect. He wore black clothes and listened to heavy metal music, and was about four years younger than Olivia.

"And I suppose you are an expert on these matters?" said David.

"I know a woman who needs a whitewater rafting trip when I see one."

David groaned. "The letter, please."

Graphite handed David an envelope. He read the note while Graphite told Olivia about his recent trip to New York City to hear a west coast grunge band. Olivia had been at the same concert with a date who got arrested in the men's room for trying to sell drugs to an undercover cop.

"He had the decency to not say he was with me," said Olivia. "If I had known he was even carrying anything I would have dumped him before the concert."

The note was from Van Buren's information technology manager. 'We need new mailing list software. Please add to proposal. Can you fax me the quote by 10 this morning?'

David decided on the spot that he was not going to let this client slip through his fingers just because Angela didn't agree with her politics. Business is business. He then realized he had the perfect excuse: he had left his cell phone charger at the office and needed to pick it up. While he was there he would finish the proposal for Jessica Van Buren and fax it to her I.T. manager. Angela would be so busy with the new baby that it would be weeks before she figured it out. By then, chances are we would have already been paid, David thought. And there's no way she would complain about income, right?

Night Watch, Part 18

David was roused from a deep snooze by two sounds occurring almost simultaneously: a loud moan from Angela indicating a major contraction, and a soft knocking on the front door.

A ray of orange sunlight slanted into the room. Olivia sat up. She ignored the door and went straight for the bedroom, her eyes only half-open, as though sleepwalking. David hauled himself out of the recliner and opened the front door. It was Buddy and Natalie.

Natalie said "Hi" in her special way, as two syllables, first rising, then falling. She held up a white paper bag. "I brought doughnuts."

David opened the door wide. He hugged Natalie and received a big kiss on the cheeks, then shook hands with Buddy.

"I woke up and couldn't sleep," said Natalie. "How is she? I'm sure she didn't have the baby yet because you would've called, right?"

"The baby hasn't come," said David.

"See? Was I right?" said Buddy.

"Oh, hush up. You're only right once every five years," said Natalie as she deposited the white bag on the dining room table. Then she made a beeline for the bedroom.

Buddy followed her, and David trailed the group into the crowded room. He hoped Angela wouldn't freak out over having her parents watch her go through labor. She had specifically requested that David keep them away, but that was hours ago.

Everyone talked at the same time.

"David could you put on some hot water for tea?" said Victoria.

"Angela you look beautiful," said Natalie.

"We brought doughnuts," said Buddy.

"I don't feel beautiful," said Angela.

"I'm starving," said Olivia.

"I could use a slice of wheat toast," said Victoria.

"I'll get that water on in just a minute," said David. He made his way to Angela's side.

She smiled up at him. "Did you get any sleep?"

"I took a nap on the recliner," he said.

"Good. I'm proud of you. Be a dear and take care of everyone while I lay here and have contractions," she said.

"You're doing a good job," he said.

"In my day we would have been at the hospital by now," said Natalie.

"But our coffee is better than hospital coffee," said David.

"You can say that again," said Buddy.

"What do you men know? My daughter's having a baby and all you can think about is coffee," she said.

"Mom, this is much better than the hospital. By the way, meet Victoria, the doula," said Angela.

Introductions were made. Natalie was polite but reserved. They had discussed the topic endlessly: Natalie could not understand why an intelligent woman like Angela would want to stay home and have labor with no medication when she could simply go to the hospital and be comfortable and have it over with in a few hours. To Natalie it was a step backward in time: her own grandmother had given birth at home with a midwife and no medication.

"I'll get the kettle going," said David.

"If you don't mind, I'll visit the restroom," said Victoria with a professional smile as she turned to leave the room.

"Don't worry, I have plenty of company," said Angela.

Natalie threw up her hands. "Now she doesn't want us."

"Of course she wants us," said Buddy.

"Of course I want you," said Angela. "You're my family. Where's Lou? How come he's not here?"

David went to the kitchen. Lou was Angela's older brother. He worked as a model in Manhattan and kept an apartment in Brooklyn Heights. He was expected to come down after the baby was born, possibly with his latest partner. He was going to be another zany piece to this ever-growing mosaic of family personalities.

David turned on the tap and watched the kettle fill with water. He reflected on how his prediction had been wrong: the baby did not come last night. David felt a mixture of fatigue and worry. How long will this go on? Of course, he reminded himself, having a long, drawn out labor was a lot harder on Angela than on him. He wondered if he should go to the office and try to work. Things were busy at their little business: two new potential clients were waiting on proposals. One of them was a politician, Jessica Van Buren, who wanted some new features on her campaign web site and had been waiting several days for a bid from David.

While the water heated, David ground some coffee beans and started a large pot of coffee. Then he went back to the bedroom to take orders.

"Who wants coffee, who wants tea?" he asked. Everyone had found seats on the edge of the bed or on chairs. Victoria and Angela stayed with herbal tea; Olivia, Buddy and Natalie opted for coffee. "Two herbals, three javas," he echoed.

Angela winked at him. At least she was in a good mood, in spite of everything. He heard the sound of another contraction as he left the room. Having company was good for her.

David walked outside to retrieve the newspaper. The sunlight had turned the moist lawn and garden into a sea of sparkling jewels. It heralded another hot day to come. But, for now, the cool, fragrant air revived him. It was not exactly coolness he felt; it was the absence of heat. Even though he grew up in Georgia, he had acquired a low tolerance for the extreme heat of summer. He envied his sister, Paula, who had moved to the Pacific Northwest and claimed to be perfectly comfortable with no air conditioning. He wondered when Paula would be arriving. It would be nice, he thought, to have one of his own family members present.

Back in the kitchen, he poured hot water over bags of herbal tea and got mugs out for coffee. As the pot made its last few noisy gurgles he opened the business section of the Washington Post to scan the headlines. He liked the business section. It was where he found all the news that mattered to him: new technologies, mergers, people making money, people losing money. He saw a picture of Jessica Van Buren, the Republican lawyer and business owner who was running for the House of Representatives. She had just proposed some new tax breaks for small technology start ups. David felt a wave of panic; he had to get his proposal in quickly. She was obviously going places and it would mean more business in the future.

David carried the hot beverages in on a tray. "Hot stuff, coming through," he said.

"Where's my doughnut?" said Olivia.

"It's with the scrambled eggs you're going to make for us," he said.

"I already had my turn making eggs, Mister Short-order cook," said Olivia.

"But I'm busy, my wife's in labor," he said.

"I could use a bite of fruit," said Angela.

"You need some calories," said Victoria.

"Okay, a little granola on the side, please," she added.

David hatched a plan while everyone sipped. "Since you have company, I was thinking of going to the office and working on the Van Buren proposal," he said.

"You're going to work! When your wife is in labor!" said Olivia.

"I'll only be three blocks away," he said.

"Forget Van Buren," said Angela. "She's one of those anti-tax nut cases anyway."

"But it's a valuable account. We need it," he said.

"Are you talking about Jessica Van Buren?" asked Victoria.

David and Angela nodded.

"I heard she was getting big donations from old electrical utilities that use coal-fired generators."

"See? We don't want a client we wouldn't vote for," said Angela.

"Our voting preferences have nothing to do with who our clients are," said David.

"It will come back to haunt you, trust me," said Buddy.

David groaned to himself; now it had become a family discussion. He wanted to run from the room.

Buddy loved an audience. "I fixed a toilet for a Republican representative and it got into the papers that I was one of his supporters because my truck was in front of his house. You see there was some kind of campaign meeting going on. They thought I was at the meeting. I've been voting Democrat for forty years! What are you talking about? Get this: after that I lost the client because he told his wife to only hire Republican plumbers."

Buddy laughed loudly. David saw a valuable account going down the drain. "This is crazy," he said to Angela. "We aren't big enough to be picky about our clients. We need to be apolitical."

"You got to have principles," said Natalie. "Nobody succeeds in business without principles. People will think you're a flake."

"There's no such thing as being apolitical," said Victoria.

The room was suddenly stuffy. David looked at Angela. He knew he wasn't hiding his frustration very well. But he got no sympathy from her direction. "I'm not voting for that woman," she said, "and I don't want to work for her. Dad's right. If our name is associated with her web site people will think we are on her team."

"Great. So much for growing the business."

Natalie patted him on the shoulder. "Tell you what. I'll make the breakfast. Do you have any bacon?"

"Mmm, I would love some bacon," said Olivia. Then she turned to Victoria. "Would you like bacon with your wheat toast?"

"I'm a vegetarian," said Victoria. David thought, of course.

All eyes were on David. He said, "It so happens we prepared for a crowd. About the only thing I still have any control over in my life is the refrigerator."

"Don't get too comfortable," warned Buddy.

Night Watch, Part 17

(Continued from previous episode. Sorry for the long delay. My wife and I took a little Northwest vacation. We started in Bellingham, WA, where I gave a talk at Village Books that was nicely attended. Many thanks to those who supported the event. Over the next few days we visited Anacortes and Whidbey Island and did lots of nice walking on scenic trails. In Anacortes we attended the big arts festival, on Whidbey we went to a nice little farmer's market in Coupeville and bought nice organic vegetables. It was a pleasant long weekend. Now back to work!)

David lifted his sleeping son out of the car seat and carried him into the house. Angela's father waited in the doorway.

"Hello, Buddy," said David. He shook Buddy's hand and stepped into the bright foyer, decorated in kiwi-colored wallpaper and crowded with umbrellas, shoes, hats and coats. The house smelled of pasta and cookies and coffee. Buddy wore slippers and dark slacks and a white shirt; it was his office attire.

Buddy closed the door. "They're upstairs calling Doris."

Aunt Doris was Olivia's mother. "Where's Olivia?"

"She's staying overnight at the hospital. Doris is with her."

David placed Tony on the sofa. "That's unusual, isn't it? For a miscarriage?"

Buddy motioned to a chair. "Have a seat." David sat on the sofa next to Tony, who continued to sleep through the conversation. In his gravest tone, Buddy said, "Something happened."

"Like what?"

Buddy's anger rose as he struggled to find the words. David's mind filled with dreadful possibilities. "Something hit her in the stomach."

"Something? Or someone?" asked David.

"She's not saying, exactly, at least not yet."

"What do you think happened?" asked David, already knowing the answer.

"Frank."

Frank was Olivia's husband, a handsome house painter with a mean streak that flared when he drank. He had been dropped from a couple of jobs for showing up late and starting arguments with other workers. David thought he was the most boring person on the planet as soon as Olivia met him and was astonished when she actually married him. At family gatherings, David often found himself backed into a corner by Frank and forced to listen to his latest tale of being cheated out of something by an employer, or having something stolen from him, or having an auto mechanic overcharge him, and in every case Frank had a vague 'plan' to get back at the person. His story would be sprinkled with phrases like, 'he don't know who he's dealing with,' or 'that guy better watch his step.'

"Do you think he hit her?" asked David.

"There's no doubt in my mind," said Buddy. "What I can't figure out is why Olivia is protecting him." His head of wavy hair was streaked with gray. He sat on the edge of his seat with his hands propped on his knees, like he was anxious to get up and do something.

David had to admit he could picture Frank in one of his mean drunk moods, getting into an argument with Olivia and striking her. He also knew that Olivia was no cupcake to live with, but David couldn't say that. Olivia was family. She was right no matter what.

At that point, Angela and Natalie came down the stairs. Angela's eyes were red. Buddy looked at them. "Well?"

"Visiting hours are over," said Natalie. "We're going to see Olivia tomorrow." She went directly to Tony, who was curled on a cushion with his eyes closed. Natalie gave him a kiss on the forehead. "Look at my sleeping angel."

"Is she all right?" asked Buddy.

"She had some surgery," said Natalie, shaking her head. "This is bad. This is real bad."

"Did she say what happened?" asked Buddy.

"Doris says he hit her."

Buddy slapped his knee angrily. "I knew he would do that. Didn't I say it? That Frank has a short fuse. I know the type."

Tony opened his eyes, bewildered, and let out a cry. "Look what you did," said Natalie. "You woke up the baby."

"It's okay," said Angela. "He'll go right back to sleep." She lifted Tony to her shoulder and cooed softly in his ear. "Come on, Sweetie. Let's go night-night." She tiptoed back up the stairs.

"What did Doris say?" asked Buddy.

"She said Frank punched Olivia in the stomach. Hard."

Buddy stood up, unable to sit any longer. "That guy's a hot head. I told Ed that."

Ed was Buddy's brother and Olivia's father. In the Tortorich family, your nieces and nephews were like your own.

Buddy gestured with his hands, like a minister giving a sermon. "How could he punch a pregnant woman in the stomach?"

Natalie had no answer.

The next morning, Buddy agreed to stay with Tony while David drove Angela and Natalie to the hospital. Buddy was thrilled to have some grandfather-grandson bonding time. David was worried that they would go on a fishing trip or buy tickets to a Giants game.

Upon arriving at the hospital, David followed Angela and Natalie through the lobby and up the elevator and down the corridor to a nurse's station. As they walked, Angela and Natalie made small talk, but their faces said the rest: they were worried about Olivia. David suspected there was more to the story; some important detail had not been passed to him.

The nurse led them to a room filled with morning sunlight. Olivia sat up in bed. She was weak but smiling. Gone was the bravado that was her trademark. Doris stood up from a chair as we entered.

"Hi Aunt Doris." Angela hugged her. Doris was a short, wide woman with dark hair and flowing, silky clothing. There was a certain kind of woman that the Tortorich men married, and Doris and Natalie were from the same mold, although it could be said that Natalie took better care of herself.

"You shouldn't have come all this way," said Olivia from the bed as Angela hugged her.

"Nonsense," said Angela.

David dutifully hugged Aunt Doris and then gave Olivia a kiss on the cheek. He noticed the absence of the full body hug that she usually greeted him with.

"Where's Tony?" said Olivia.

"Bonding with his grandfather," said David.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "I can only imagine where that will lead."

"I'm trying not to think about it," said David.

Angela pulled a chair up to the bed and sat and held Olivia's hand. "You look good," said Angela, although to David she looked anything but good.

"That's funny; I don't feel good," said Olivia.

"How did the surgery go?"

Olivia didn't answer. Her face broke up and she began to cry. Tears sprung from her eyes and slid down her pale cheeks. "I'm never going to have a baby. Ever."

Angela held Olivia tightly. Olivia's whole body shook; her shoulders and back rose and fell with each release of stored-up emotion. She cried hard onto Angela's shoulder: a loud wail of anguish. David fully expected half the nursing staff to come rushing in the door. Doris and Natalie both sniffled into tissues drawn from their purses. To David it was as if someone were lifting a curtain to reveal a secret. He knew what being a mother meant to Angela. It was one of those life events that she absolutely had to experience. But he hadn't known that Olivia felt the same way. He hadn't expected her to feel the same primal tug toward mothering that Angela felt. And yet, the strength and depth of her feelings was evident. David wondered if it was a universal fact about being female: if you are cheated out of motherhood against your wishes it is a devastating thing.

David stood respectfully with Natalie and Doris. There was nothing to say. Olivia had to cry it out. Finally she pulled her head up and blew her nose several times and contributed to the pile of tissues that had collected on her nightstand. She drank water; her regular breathing resumed. She composed herself to speak.

"Frank came home late," she said. "I could smell the beer on his breath. That didn't surprise me. But I also smelled something else: a woman. He was with a woman. I could tell. We got into an argument about it. He denied it, and called me a nosy bitch. I slapped him on the face. And that's when he punched me, low, in the abdomen." She placed her hand over the area of the blow. "I thought my insides caved in. I fell down and screamed. He didn't even help me. I yelled at him to leave. Then I reached the phone and called 9-1-1." She took a deep breath. "The fetus was alive, but they had to abort it because the wall of my uterus and my cervix were damaged. They're useless now."

Olivia fell on Angela's shoulders for another bout of crying. Natalie spoke. "Don't dare tell Buddy any of this. He'll kill Frank."

"Same with Ed," said Doris. "They don't need to know the details." Both Doris and Natalie looked at David, like he was the one who required emphasis on this point.

"They won't hear it from me," David said.

Olivia smiled and recomposed herself once again. "Now I'm ready to leave the hospital."

Doris said, "Why don't you come home for a while? We can worry about your apartment later."

"Thanks, Mom. It's good to have family."

***

As David drifted off to sleep in the recliner in his living room, he could hear Olivia's regular breathing from the sofa. He wondered to what extent she was reliving her experiences. She had promptly divorced Frank and filed assault charges against him, but he got off with a fine and some community service. He harassed her for a while--it was a hectic six months for the whole Tortorich family--until he had another girlfriend, and then he left Olivia alone.

But all of that was not what stayed with Olivia. It was her lost baby. As soon as Angela's current pregnancy started, Olivia became depressed and had to go for counseling. They talked and cried for hours on the phone. It was exhausting for Angela, because Tony was extremely active and David worked long hours. At times Olivia became angry at Angela, and accused her of flaunting her pregnancy. Angela had to be careful not to emphasize her growing belly whenever they went to visit family in New Jersey.

But now, here they were. There was no denying Angela's condition: Olivia had to accept it and help out, or else go home. She seemed surprisingly calm all evening. But David knew she was struggling.

Night Watch, Part 16

Victoria came out of the bedroom and joined them at the dining room table.

"It's too quiet in there," said David. From his chair he could see the clock in the kitchen and had been monitoring the time between Angela's contractions.

"She's sleeping," said Victoria.

"Sleeping! How can that be?" he said in a hoarse whisper, hardly hiding his disappointment.

Victoria spoke in an even tone. "Angela is moving at her own pace. She's doing fine."

"Is she comfortable?" asked Olivia.

"I think so. She's very determined."

"Just out of curiosity, what would we be doing differently if we were at the hospital?" said David. He fought to hide the edge in his voice. He knew he should just take a nap.

"They would most likely put her on an I.V. with synthetic oxytocin. This can stimulate the progression of labor," said Victoria.

David did not completely understand what she had said, and she didn't offer to elaborate. "I think I'd better catch a few winks," he said.

"Good idea," said Victoria. "If you don't mind, I'm going to have a catnap in your son's room."

"Go ahead," said David. "Tony will be proud to hear that he donated his bed to a good cause."

They got up, sliding the chairs noiselessly so as not to disturb Angela. Victoria stepped into the bathroom while David and Olivia carried their dishes into the kitchen and then went into the living room. David said, "You can have the couch. I'll take the recliner."

"You need it more than I do," said Olivia.

"I'm fine. This recliner is certified for serious napping." He leaned back all the way and felt the foot rest pop up and catch his feet. He heard Olivia adjust the pillows on the sofa and, with his eyes half open, watched her spread a small woven blanket over herself before she settled on her side and closed her eyes. He wondered what her thoughts were at that moment. It was strangely quiet in the house. Angela, Victoria, Olivia, all resting in their appointed places, dozing or dreaming or each lost in her respective thoughts. And he, David, the token male, the husband, the father of the child, marveling at the process. He was astonished at the energy level he had been witnessing all night and tried to think of parallels in the male world. Money was a big motivator: men could get very excited about money. Sports, of course. He recalled specific big games that he had watched with a room filled mostly with loud, red-faced men roaring their approval or disapproval after every play of the game. Yet, none of those situations had the prolonged intensity he had witnessed tonight among the women who had been in the house that evening.

He wondered again what Olivia was thinking. He realized it had been on his mind since she arrived.

Olivia's miscarriage had been devastating. They had gotten the call from Angela's mother on a Tuesday evening around dinner time.

"Olivia lost her baby?" Angela practically cried into the phone. He could hear Natalie's shrill voice coming through the handset, talking rapidly. Angela's face told him everything he needed to know: her cheeks, eyes and lips became moist and red with anguish, almost instantly, like a switch had been thrown.

David sat at the dining room table, a fork full of very delicious baked ziti suspended in midair after Angela's outburst into the phone. Even Tony, sitting in his high chair, looked up from the cracker he was making a mess of to see what was wrong with his mother. David had learned that kids have a little radar that goes off when parents are distraught; they become very concerned.

"It's okay," David said to Tony after seeing the look of alarm in his face. "Mommy's sad about Aunt Olivia."

Angela hung up the phone and cried and hugged Tony tightly, who looked bewildered but happy to have the sudden attention. Then she said, "We have to go to New Jersey."

"I think I can break away this weekend," he said agreeably.

"No. Tonight. We're going tonight. Olivia has had a miscarriage. I have to be there."

"You mean, tonight?"

Ninety minutes later they were on Interstate 95 leaving the outer limits of the Washington area and approaching Baltimore. Most of the commuters were done for the day so they only had to contend with truckers and overnight travelers. It was early November; the night was dark and cool and clear. David was a little annoyed at having to make this drive because he knew they would be doing it again for Thanksgiving. On the other hand, he had a Thermos of dark roast coffee and a slice of Angela's homemade spice cake to keep his spirits up.

At the ripe old age of seven months, Tony knew the landmarks from D.C. to New Jersey. He marveled at the tunnel that sloped gracefully under the Baltimore harbor. He pointed out distant lights when they were high atop the Delaware Bridge. "What a clear night," said Angela, "Look, we can see Philly."

Then Tony had to gurgle some words of greeting to the toll booth operator at the entrance to the Turnpike. When they passed a rest stop he pointed and made a slightly different gurgling sound, which David associated with doughnuts because they had once stopped and gotten him a doughnut. But Angela, thinking of everything even in times of crisis, brought out a snack that made Tony forget about Turnpike rest stops.

When they got to the Meadowlands, David cut over to the Garden State Parkway. By this time Tony was dozing, having little appreciation for the fine views of Manhattan that they had had for several miles. On the Garden State, David continued north to the Paramus exit and then drove past the retail congestion and out to the quiet town of Ridgewood. He liked Ridgewood: it was stately and elegant and old-world. Angela loved it, and they always managed to have an argument about moving there. Angela would go at the drop of a hat; David was skeptical about finding work that would pay enough to afford a decent house. The argument would usually start when they drove into Ridgewood and Angela would exclaim, "How lovely," and David would say, "Yeah, if you're a millionaire." And they would argue the rest of the weekend about their priorities in life.

But this time Angela didn't say a thing. She was silent and nervous. They still hadn't talked about Olivia directly. David knew that Olivia had been four months pregnant and was looking forward to sharing the joys of motherhood with Angela.

"Did your mother give any details?" he asked.

She looked at him. "Something happened."

David waited. "Do you mean... something abnormal?"

"She was in her second trimester. She shouldn't have miscarried. Mom thinks Olivia got hurt." Angela's voice broke slightly. "I just don't know. Mom was kind of hysterical. It was confusing."

David knew the story would come out eventually. It always did. He steered the car through the quiet streets until they reached a simple two-story Cape Cod that had been enlarged in the back. Angela opened the car door before David turned off the engine. "Get Tony," she said before running into the house.

David watched her dash across the lawn and up the steps to the front door. Something was definitely wrong.

(This episode will be continued.)