The Wisdom of Seashells

By Clay Alexander

A little girl finds a shell, shaped like a lopsided heart, on the beach. The relic is much like life itself: rough, smooth and at times . . . amusing. Its power is revealed when families from Warsaw, New York City and San Diego come together, their interaction becoming both tragic and triumphant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483535326

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Emerson

Prologue

The San Diego Daily News, May 13, 1992.

At 8:15 AM yesterday, an unidentified male in a SUV collided with a Ford Taurus, driven by Karen Lloyd. Mrs. Lloyd's daughter, Grace, age twelve, was pronounced dead at the scene. Mrs. Lloyd was critically injured and taken to Mar Vista hospital. The driver of the stolen SUV had been pursued by the police for speeding and erratic driving. The chase had been called off earlier because of the risk to other persons in the early morning traffic. A police helicopter followed the car, which continued at a high rate of speed. According to witnesses, the Taurus was exiting Interstate 5 at Carmel Valley Road when it was struck by the SUV on the passenger side. Both the unidentified driver and the young girl were killed instantly. Alcohol and drug tests will be done on the driver of the SUV and efforts made to identify him.

Malcolm Lloyd, after he was contacted by his son and told about the accident, had been the first to arrive at the hospital emergency room. He demanded that the investigating police officer tell him the location of the SUV driver. Malcolm said he wanted to have a chat with the fellow. The officer, taking one look at the man's clenched hands, grim facial expression and trembling body, knew he was not planning a chat.

Sir, the driver of the other car was killed at the scene.

Well, Officer, I'm sorry about that. Where are my wife and daughter?

The officer called a nurse over to talk to Mr. Lloyd. She said, I've talked to the doctors and they've taken your wife to surgery. She has fractured ribs on the left side from the driver’s door, but they did not puncture her lung. She may have a ruptured spleen. There was head trauma too, but she never lost consciousness. I believe she's going to be fine. She’ll be in the ICU after the operation and you can wait there in the lounge. The surgeon will be out to talk to you as soon as he's finished. There was a pause and then the nurse continued, I'm so sorry about your daughter.

Malcolm frowned and shook his head. Where’s Grace? What happened to her?

The nurse looked at the man's wide-eyed and desperate expression and realized he had no idea his daughter had been killed. Mr. Lloyd . . . your daughter . . . was . . . she died in the collision.

Malcolm staggered and held on to the counter. That can't be—let me see her. The nurse decided it would be useless to try to stop him from seeing the girl. He moved forward, his face inches from the nurse’s. The coroner had not arrived and the staff hadn’t had a chance to clean things up. Malcolm followed the nurse to a screened area in the back of the emergency room and he gasped when he saw the slight body covered with a green sheet. The police officer followed them into the room—he could tell the father was in shock. He didn't know whether the man would collapse or become violent.

The nurse said, Are you sure you want to do this, sir. We haven't had an opportunity . . .

Malcolm's answer was to step forward and flip the sheet off the body. Grace was lying on her back, her blonde hair, matted with blood, covering her crushed skull. Her right arm, obviously broken in several places, lay crookedly over her right chest which had been flattened by the impact. There was no airbag made that could stop a SUV, traveling at over eighty miles an hour, from doing its terrible damage. Ironically, the girl’s body provided a cushion for her mother, protecting Mrs. Lloyd from more serious trauma.

Malcolm's face blanched and he sank to his knees by the stretcher. The officer started forward and then stopped. The father was beyond weeping. He was in a state of shock so profound that all emotion had ceased and time itself, as if trying to help, stood still. The hospital had a trauma counselor and the nurse asked the officer to go to the desk and request that she be called right away. She'd stay with Mr. Lloyd.

A minute went by and then the father began to beat his head on the side of stretcher, groaning deep in his throat. The nurse came over, covered the girl with the sheet, and then put one arm across Malcolm’s shoulder and her other hand between his head and the stretcher. She whispered how sorry she was and asked him to please get up and come outside and sit down. The nurse almost lost her balance when the man suddenly leapt to his feet and walked out of the room, disappearing down the hall.

It was at this point that David Lloyd ran into the emergency room. He had been in a class at UCSD when the police called him. His mother had listed him as the next of kin under ICE (in case of emergency) on her cell phone. He called his father immediately after the police notified him, although he had no idea of the extent of the injuries. The police simply said there has been an accident. The trauma counselor led him to an empty room and gently told him his mother was in surgery and his sister had been killed. He had no desire to see her body and the counselor sat with him while he wept uncontrollably, mumbling, My sister . . . I loved her . . . I told her I’d protect her . . . I promised . . . and now look . . . there's nothing left. The nurse came in and told him the operating room called and said his mother was doing well. She'd be in the ICU in about an hour. She told David his father came in earlier and he probably went to the ICU lounge.

David said, My father? He looked up with eyes that were suddenly alive, his gaze bouncing back and forth between the trauma counselor and the nurse. It was difficult for them to tell what his eyes were saying—was it fear or anger? Whatever it was, it didn't seem right. David rose to his feet slowly and, with a set expression, walked unsteadily out of the emergency room and down the corridor to the elevators. He went up to the second floor, followed the signs to the right, and entered the ICU lounge. There was a volunteer sitting at a desk, but he had eyes only for his father, who was sitting across the room with his elbows on his knees and his hands covering his face. There was only one other visitor in the room. David hesitated and then, taking a deep breath, sat down next to his father.

Malcolm, without moving his hands, turned his head and looked blankly at his son's tear stained face. He said, This would never have happened if they hadn't moved in with you.

David glared at him and said, The man to blame for this is dead. You've always placed the blame for your faults—your failures—on someone else. I don't even know why you're here.

I'm here because my wife—your mother—is badly hurt. I want to help any way I can. I know I've been rough on everybody, but I was doing what I thought was right. This is not the time to drag up old stuff.

David took another deep breath and looked around the room. I've lost the most precious thing in my life. I'll never be the same. I'd welcome the ‘old stuff’ if it would bring Grace back. The only thing left is Mom. Let's have a truce and concentrate on helping her get well.

Malcolm, without answering, put his face back in his hands and closed out the world around him.

The San Diego Daily News, May 15, 1992

Karen Lloyd, airlifted to Mar Vista hospital in Encinitas after a car crash on May 12, suffered a ruptured spleen and fractured ribs. Her condition has been downgraded from critical to serious. Her daughter, Grace, age twelve, was killed in the accident. Mrs. Lloyd's husband, Malcolm and their son, David, have been at her bedside in Mar Vista hospital almost continuously. The driver of the speeding SUV was an undocumented Mexican national with a police record. Police are still trying to locate his next of kin. Blood alcohol tests were negative and drug test results are pending. Needle marks in both arms suggest the man was an intravenous drug user. Two kilos of cocaine were found hidden in the car.

Chapter One

1975

Malcolm

It was quarter past five in the afternoon and Malcolm had just finished a job interview. He called his wife to tell her to get a babysitter for three-year-old David—he was taking her out for dinner.

Tell me, Mal, did you get it? asked Karen. She heard him chuckling on the other end.

I'm not saying anything right now, but be sure to wear the red thong I got you for Christmas last year. He hung up the phone.

What a relief! Malcolm had been working at a small neighborhood pharmacy in San Diego which was owned by Raul Gonzalez. Raul was Hispanic and most of his customers were of Mexican descent and he treated them like family. As nice as the boss was, Mal resented being told what to do by anyone, especially by a minority. He brought that anger home with him every day. It didn't seem to matter that Raul was second-generation Mexican-American whose grandparents were legal immigrants. His grandfather had been a skilled stonemason, highly respected by rich and poor alike for his craftsmanship and honesty. Raul's father carried on the business, which had quadrupled in size with the need of masonry work for the increasing number of expensive homes, golf courses, parks and gated communities in San Diego County. Raul was the first member of the family to graduate from college. It took him an additional four years to get a Doctor of Pharmacy degree. After getting his license, he opened his first drugstore in Encinitas. His father was able to provide the collateral for the bank loan. Raul now owned a second pharmacy, in Carlsbad, which Malcolm had been running for him.

It really burned Malcolm up that Raul was more successful than he was. He spoke little Spanish and his undercurrent of resentment was evident to the customers. Eventually, Raul felt he had no choice but to give his unhappy employee a two-week notice. Malcolm’s anger at being fired was tempered by relief at getting out of that demeaning job. He immediately interviewed at several large pharmacy chains and was hired by the biggest one. Strangely, he didn't seem to mind that the other two pharmacists he would be working with were both Hispanic . . . perhaps because neither of them were his boss.

Karen got on the phone immediately and her second call secured a fourteen-year-old babysitter, the daughter of a neighbor down the block. Malcolm’s new job was a cause for real celebration—maybe he would bring happiness home instead of his usual surliness. She even looked forward to wearing her red thong tonight. Even better, this was her day off from her nursing job at the hospital—night off was more like it since she worked the graveyard shift. She prepared dinner for their son David, welcomed the babysitter and got dressed in charcoal slacks, heels and a satiny blue blouse. Her blue earrings were little off color, but she knew her husband wouldn't notice. Karen was twenty pounds overweight, but made up for it by having a nice waist—a classic Renaissance figure. Her round face, framed by slightly curly brown hair, was enhanced by dark brown eyes, long eyelashes and arched brows. Her lips were full—as a teenager, girlfriends told her they were made for kissing.

Malcolm walked through the door a little before six o’clock, gave her a hug and popped the top off a Budweiser. He still wouldn't tell her anything about the interview and she feigned ignorance. Their dinner was at a local Irish pub which served hearty food, and the Fat Tire beer on tap was cold and flavorful, although he usually drank Budweiser. They both had fish and chips, but Karen preferred a Savignon Blanc with hers. Mal told her about the job which, although the salary was slightly less, had better benefits. Much of his conversation involved how pleased he was going to be when his pharmacy put Raul’s out of business. Karen didn't argue with him, although she knew how absurd that was. The rest of their talk revolved primarily around Malcolm, although they did discuss their son, David, and what preschool might be best for him. He was a bright and happy little boy with boundless energy and curiosity.

Karen wanted a flan for dessert, but Malcolm didn't want anything having to do with Mexico. He questioned his wife when she ordered the savory custard, and ordered ice cream for himself. His frown only disappeared when she white–lied to him, saying it was French. They arrived home a little after eight and Malcolm walked the babysitter back to her house. Karen cleaned up the kitchen—the sitter had left David’s dishes in the sink—and then sat in the living room waiting for her husband. She knew he liked to watch a couple of shows before going upstairs. She got a cold Bud out of the fridge for him and white wine for herself.

Malcolm drank his beer with his left hand and with his right, caressed Karen’s left thigh. Her left hand was on top of the sofa and she rubbed the back of his neck. This all progressed to the point where, before the end of the second program, Malcolm tipped up his second bottle and drained the last few swallows. He turned to his wife, grinning and said, It’s time. He preceded her up the stairs, losing the chance to view her swaying buttocks. In the bedroom, he rapidly undressed and sprawled out on top of the covers. Karen brushed her teeth and then put on a Victoria’s Secret babydoll that she'd gotten as a birthday gift from her husband several months before. It was one of his favorites.

Malcolm loved to play a guessing game: what was she going to wear this time? How was she going to move? Was she going to undress herself or was he going to do it for her? All the lights in the bedroom were turned off and there was a single lit candle on the dresser. It gave off a flowery odor that didn't appeal to Karen, but her husband thought it added an Ali Baba kind of eroticism to the scene. She didn't get the connection.

The first thing Malcolm saw was a foot, then a calf, a thigh and finally a hip oozing from behind the bathroom door. This was followed by the entire woman dressed in a sheer scarlet babydoll cut very low over her breasts and ending just below her crotch. The flickering light accented her pale complexion, making the color of the garment deeper and her body more ghostlike. As she moved slowly into the room, the movement of the flickering flame caused a disconnect in her motion, a fluttering jerkiness reminiscent of an old black-and-white film. Malcolm adjusted the pillow behind him and sat up higher on the bed. Karen slowly walked toward him and then stopped about eight feet away, swaying in time to the soft music from a radio. She caressed her hips and abdomen and then ran her hands down her thighs and back up, exposing—for just an instant —a dark patch of hair. Both hands cupped her breasts and massaged them, her smiling facial expression changing as she closed her eyes, opened her mouth and let her tongue flicker around.

Malcolm's breathing became rapid and irregular and he moved his right hand down and grasped himself tightly in his fist. Karen slipped first the right shoulder strap off, exposing her right breast, and then the left. She moved slowly closer to the bed until her thighs touched the mattress. When her husband reached out for her, she backed away, teasing him for an instant before jumping onto the bed and shoving her breasts into his face. Malcolm’s hands slipped down from her nude back onto the satin covering her buttocks. He had exhausted what little patience he had, and rearing up, he toppled his wife onto her back. He hooked his fingers around the red cloth, now covering only her hips, and yanked the garment down her legs and tossed it behind him. He noticed she was wearing a red thong and glanced up to find Karen grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Mal said, You’re going to tease me to death, someday. He tore off the thong and it took little more than twenty seconds to satisfy him. After he rolled off, breathing heavily, Karen turned slightly away from him so he couldn't see what she was doing and massaged herself.

Whatcha doin’ over there?

Karen struggled to control her own breathing and mumbled, I'm feeling how wonderful it is to have you inside me. It goes on longer for a woman.

Malcolm slapped her buttock with his left hand and said, Glad you like it. Boy, I could use another beer right now.

Karen lay awake for a long time, wondering how she came to be married to this man.

Chapter Two

1980

Karen

It turned out to be an exhausting night for Karen Lloyd. She was usually assigned to a surgical floor at the Mar Vista hospital where there was only an occasional extraordinary happening. She’d worked there for long enough so the care of even the more complicated cancer cases was usually routine. What was different—the good part—were the patients themselves. But tonight, one of the emergency room nurses was ill with the flu and Karen was the one picked to fill her spot. The ER is the one area that must be fully staffed at all times.

In the first fifteen minutes of her midnight shift, a young woman was brought in by the fire department with a stab wound to her heart. The assault was not witnessed. The woman was seen lying on the sidewalk by a man driving by in his car and he immediately phoned 911. Emergency medical techs placed the unconscious woman on a stretcher and immediately started a saline IV and oxygen. The heart was beating, but the patient was in deep shock, losing blood every time the ventricles contracted. When the patient arrived in the ER, she was hooked up to a respirator and type O blood, a universal donor, pumped in under pressure.

Seven minutes after the patient arrived, Dr. Kellerman, the attending chest surgeon on call, made a long incision between the ribs in the left chest. He entered the left hemithorax, suctioned out the large pool of blood, and saw a small laceration in the left ventricle. Blood was squirting out with every feeble heartbeat. Karen handed the physician forceps and a loaded needle holder and Kellerman quickly sutured the hole. He glanced at the electrocardiogram monitor and saw the patient’s heart was fibrillating. Drugs were injected through the intravenous line and the patient shocked several times. A normal sinus rhythm was finally seen on the EKG, but the patient's blood pressure remained at shock levels. Vials of sodium bicarbonate were given to counteract the increasing acidity in the blood. The heart again began to fibrillate and despite all of Dr. Kellerman's efforts, the patient was pronounced dead an hour and a quarter from the time she entered the emergency room.

The physical and emotional toll was not limited to the participants in direct contact with the patient. There was both sadness and anger among the entire staff in the emergency room—sadness at the loss of a young life and anger at whoever had taken it from her. Karen struggled to concentrate as she blended back into a nurse’s regular ER duties. The waiting area was crowded, some with serious diagnoses and others with colds or small lacerations. There was an auto accident towards the end of her shift, but the results were much better than the patient with the punctured heart. This patient was transferred to an operating room where orthopedic surgeons fixed a broken leg.

When Karen arrived back at her house at half past eight, she was a wreck. Malcolm was supposed to make sure David, age eight, was up, dressed for school and had a good breakfast. Unhappily, her husband had been out late drinking with his buddies and he had just gotten out of bed. David was up, but there was no breakfast on the kitchen table. Karen made some oatmeal and sprinkled brown sugar on top. David always drank a glass of milk in the morning and he liked sourdough toast with his cereal. When Malcolm finally appeared in the kitchen, Karen said, I had a horrific night in the emergency room. I didn't need to come home to this. David is going to be late for school again. Please be sure to tell the teacher it was not his fault. She walked out and started up the stairs to the bedroom.

Malcolm followed her and shouted at her back, It's not MY fault you got stuck in the ER. Next time tell them to send somebody else. He then returned to the kitchen and told David to get his books and meet him in the garage. He poured himself a cup of coffee, dropped ice in, and gulped it down. He swore under his breath, got into his old Chevy, gave his son a quick smile and a pat on the knee, then punched the remote to raise the garage door.

In the afternoon, Karen’s alarm went off at three thirty, giving her about seven hours sleep and a half hour to get dressed and pick David up at school. When she got back, she was going to clean the house and get dinner ready for the three of them. Twice a week after dinner, she did the grocery shopping. Mal was not helpful. He told her more than once that shopping is for girls. Several years back, after a particularly stressful week, Karen stood in the living room, looked him in the eye, and said, If shopping is only for girls, perhaps I should shop for myself and David. You can get your own groceries and cook it yourself.

Malcolm, still gripping the remote, rose slowly to his feet from the couch. He took two steps in her direction until they were about a foot apart. He looked down at her and said, Perhaps you should get out of my face. Perhaps I should find a new wife. He sat back down and turned the volume up on the TV. Karen retreated into the kitchen and sat at the breakfast table. She held her head in her hands and thought how wonderful it would be if he made good on his second suggestion. He’d been saying stuff like this for years, and here they were, still in a cold war.

Karen made a nice salad and spooned out thick warm tomato sauce over the spaghetti and meatballs. Visions of the dead girl with the hole in her heart flickered through her mind like a disco. She cut a whole cucumber into dozens of slices before she realized what she was doing and had to put half of them into a zip lock bag for the next day. Her sleep earlier that day was fitful and she prayed it would be a quiet night on the surgical floor. She looked forward to taking a nice hot shower and reading a good book before she left. Happily, everyone behaved themselves at the dinner table. David was talkative, telling his parents what he learned about the sun and the stars at school. Their son was in the third grade and she was amazed at how much information he could absorb. He’d probably start quantum physics before he got out of elementary school.

David had to finish his homework and was then allowed one hour of television. Malcolm hit the remote right after dinner every evening. He was never seen with a book, unless it was related to pharmaceuticals. Karen climbed the stairs wearily and lay down her bed. She read for an hour and then slowly undressed. She went into the shower and turned the hot up more than usual, wanting its soothing effect. She washed her hair, dried herself and then slipped on a silk bathrobe. Even the noise of the hairdryer was soothing for her tonight—it's somehow blotted out the bloody stretcher and its pale occupant. Karen decided to get a clean nightgown and stepped into the bedroom. The sight of her naked husband lying on top of the bed hit her like a bucket of ice water. He smiled and beckoned her to join him.

Mal, I've had a terrible day and I'm very upset. Any other time.

My dear Karen, said Malcolm with the smirk she knew so well, the man does all the work on these occasions. You can relax and think pleasant thoughts and you still get half the fun. It's really not fair.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and thought about what would happen if she argued. She was no match for him physically and he'd simply take her bathrobe off and do her. It would not be the first time. She knew he enjoyed it that way. The best approach to get back at him would be to take her bathrobe off, lay on the bed with her legs spread and close her eyes. She would be as dead as the poor woman in the emergency room. Have fun, Mal!

She was unaware she was pregnant.

Chapter Three

1981

Hey, Mal. The old lady’s gonna kill me if I'm late again. Gotta go. See ya ‘round.

Okay, John, said Malcolm Lloyd, lifting his beer at his friend as he watched him leave the bar. It was almost six and he knew he'd get the look if he wasn't home soon himself. He was glad his shift ended at five o'clock as this time of day was often the busiest at the pharmacy; people came in after work to pick up prescriptions. He made pretty good money peddling pills, but he hated being told what to do. He was thirty-six years old and could hardly stand the thought of doing this for the rest of his life.

Malcolm's mind drifted back to his college days, a small college in New Mexico where he started out in premed. That was the thing; be a doctor, make good money and tell everybody else what to do. It was more difficult these days with the bastards running the insurance companies making millions every year. Not much left over for the doctors, nurses and hospitals. The docs have to run a volume business which leaves little time for caring. It’s the patients who get short shrift. But still, he'd be the boss. That was worth more than money. Malcolm took six big swallows from his third beer and set the mug down with a thud. The bartender looked over, frowning, but turned back to his customer when the pharmacist waved apologetically.

Malcolm, feeling sorry for