Debbie picked Con up at the Greyhound bus depot and brought him home. Traffic was light on Kelly Drive, so she slowed down as they passed the statue gardens. “Ask Josh about what happened here,” she said. “One could say that in this place history was made.”
Con turned in his seat. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”
“I think Josh should be the one.”
“Must be hot stuff. I can’t wait,” Con said with a wicked smile.
“It’s not funny, Con. When you hear it you’ll understand.”
Fifteen minutes later they drew up before the Rabins’ house on McCallum Street. Obviously they were expected, and within seconds the front door opened. Debbie’s parents stood before them.
“Welcome to Philadelphia, Con!” Esther was the first to speak. “Or maybe you’ve been here before?”
“Born and bred. We lived in Fox Chase until I went to college. My dad’s job changed and we moved to New York. Didn’t Debbie tell you?” A pause. “You must be her mother. The resemblance is too strong to miss.”
“No fair!” Max chimed in. “Doesn’t Debbie look at least a little like me?”
Con felt drawn into this repartee and answered as though he had known the Rabins for years. “Well, yes, I’d say you’re Mr. Rabin.”
“Actually Doctor Rabin,” Esther corrected, “but he doesn’t like to brag about his Ph.D.”
Debbie looked around. “Where’s Josh?”
Esther answered: “Oh, he’s here all right. But you know he likes grand entrances.”
“And here I am,” Josh announced as he came out the door. “Nice to meet you, Con. Debbie’s told us all about you.”
Debbie did not say anything. She remembered the scene years ago, when they had just returned from Europe and Eden had rushed to their house to greet them. Then, too, he had made a grand appearance only after Eden had almost panicked at his absence.
❖❖❖❖❖
Con jumped out of bed. Luckily no one was using the bathroom. He cleaned and dried himself and went back to his room. The clock on the bedside table told the time: ten minutes after two. He lay down and hoped that if he fell asleep the dream would resume.
He had been lying in the sand, eyes closed against the glare of the sun and body basking in its warmth, when a shadow cut off the light. A girl wearing a one-piece swimsuit was standing astride him, smiling. He asked for her name, but instead of answering she turned around and, still astride him, bent over to grab his shorts.
❖❖❖❖❖
Esther prepared scrambled eggs and rye toast for breakfast. Con felt rather than saw Debbie’s presence. He was afraid to let his eyes rest on her for fear that he would end up talking about his dream. But he was forced to look her way when she broke the silence.
“Ask Josh about the statue garden.”
Con wondered why that subject should preempt the usual small breakfast talk such as how well he had slept, what he would like to see of northwest Philadelphia, and so on. But apparently it was important to the Rabins and he was pleased to be invited to hear more.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ve been wondering about that. When we were driving by, Debbie said there was history there — no, history was made there.”
Josh looked down, composing himself. “It’s very personal. I’m not trying to be mysterious, but it brings back memories. Once I get started on that subject, next thing I’ll be telling you about Carpenter’s Woods, Cresheim Valley Hospital — and Eden. Maybe that’s too much for a first visit.”
Esther gently laid a hand on Josh’s arm. “It’s your story, Josh. You decide whom to tell it to, and when.”
“Don’t take it personally, Con,” she went on. “Once you’ve seen those places and heard what happened there, you’ll understand why they mean so much to Josh.”
Debbie blushed. “I’m sorry, Josh,” she said, “I shouldn’t have brought that up. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“That’s OK, Deb,” Josh said, “it’s your story too. You can tell him.”
“I’d rather you did. There’s a lot that only you know. True, Eden was my best friend too, but it was different with you.”
Nobody said more about the subject. When all had finished breakfast, Debbie turned to Con.
“Feel like going for a walk? Before it gets too hot?”
“I’d like that,” he answered. He wanted to be alone with her. Her family seemed like nice people, but he needed to sort out his feelings and not risk embarrassing himself or Debbie. The dream, which he thought must have been about Debbie, even though he didn’t recognize her face in it, left him elated, disturbed, and afraid, all at the same time. Spending time with the real Debbie might clear his mind.
They walked to the corner of Glen Echo Road, turned right, and in no time at all were standing before Carpenter’s Woods.
As they entered, Debbie explained: “This is it: Carpenter’s Woods. It’s part of Fairmont Park, one of the largest municipal parks in the country. I’ll have to show you on a city map.
“I really don’t know exactly what happened here, but it must have been significant. A few years back, before Josh went to college, and he was still living at home, he and Eden took a walk in here one evening. It was already dark, and a storm had just passed, so the ground was wet. You can see how easy it would be to trip over those roots and all, so I imagine they must have held hands.”
“That doesn’t sound very exciting, for a couple going steady,” Con interjected. “Where’s the mystery?” As he said it, his foot caught in an exposed root and he would have taken a dive if Debbie hadn’t grabbed his hand.
“See?” she said. “And that’s in broad daylight! Imagine walking here in the dark. But I’m sure something else happened. Josh practically said as much, when he mentioned the woods at breakfast. Why else bring it up? And I’ll never forget the look on his face when he came home. As if he’d had a revelation or something.”
“. . . or something! Now what could that have been?”
“As I said, it’d been raining earlier. So my guess is, since the ground was wet they just talked — meaningful talk.”
“Did anyone comment?”
“No. We all knew they were in love. And no one felt like teasing them about it.”
There was a prolonged silence. Then Debbie said: “Funny, Josh used to be such a tease himself when he was younger. Then, when he became a target, we all treated him with respect. Can’t figure that out. But I’m glad we did.”
Con found figuring it out easier. “You couldn’t tease him without teasing Eden at the same time, by implication. And maybe you didn’t want to do that to your best friend.”
“I don’t know,” Debbie answered. “She’d been the butt of his jokes so often that she wouldn’t have been all that sensitive.”
“But coming from you might have seemed like betrayal.”
“I really miss her,” Debbie said, her voice shaking.
They exited the woods and soon arrived at Debbie’s home. They found Josh working on a doorknob. Hearing them walk up, he turned, smiling. “Well, did you walk in my footsteps or Eden’s?”
Debbie answered him. “I told Con you were both floating on clouds of ecstasy and you didn’t leave footprints.”
Like brother, like sister, Con thought. He couldn’t resist joining in. “I should have been looking for footprints. Then I wouldn’t have tripped over that root.”
“And that was in broad daylight,” Debbie explained. “How did you and Eden manage to stay on your feet?”
Taking a moment to sort out her meaning, Josh replied cheerfully: “We made so much noise, the roots heard us coming and got out of the way.”
Noise, hah, I bet, Debbie thought, but she suddenly changed the subject.
“Con, how much time do you have? I’m sure my parents would welcome you to stay as long as you want.”
“Your parents are lovely people and I hope to meet them again. But I also have mine to think about. I should go home either this evening or first thing in the morning.”
Debbie turned to her brother. “Would you be willing to show Con around Eden’s Garden?”
Josh tightened the last screw on the doorknob. “Why don’t we go together, the three of us?”
“That’s a great idea!” Debbie said. “I think Con will find it even more interesting than Carpenter’s Woods.”
“Let’s go right after lunch.” To Con he said, “There’s a lot to see and a lot to talk about if you don’t mind listening.”
Con calculated that he had three or four hours to build his expectation of what Eden’s Garden — whatever that was — would look like and where it was. Josh had mentioned a hospital, but that could have been where Eden had died. So it came as a not-quite surprise when Josh drove him and Debbie to the hospital.
There were more cars in the parking lot than Con expected on a Sunday afternoon. “Is something special going on here today?” he asked.
“No,” Josh answered. “Just business as usual. And if you think this is bad for Sunday, you should try coming on a weekday. Doctors arriving as late as nine in the morning, likely as not, have to drive to a commercial parking garage two blocks down the road. The hospital pays, of course, but people complain about the inconvenience. As for nonmedical staff, they’re not even allowed to park here during the week.”
“Why is that? I mean, it’s not as though we’re in a congested downtown area. Isn’t there space to expand?”
“You’re very observant,” Josh answered. “A couple of years ago there was a second parking lot behind the hospital, and parking wasn’t a problem. But that lot is gone.”
Josh looked at Con expecting the next question. But Con sensed that an explanation was already coming, and he was right. “Let’s go inside and I’ll show you,” Josh said.
They stepped into a large foyer, at the far end of which was a sliding glass door leading to the library. Beckoning the others to follow, he stepped inside. The library was deserted. At the other end was another sliding door, and they headed for it, stopping just short to read the ebony plaque above it with two words in gold lettering:
The Garden
The door slid open automatically and Josh led them inside. “Take a look around,” he said to Con. “Then I’ll tell you about it.”
Debbie walked Con around the large greenhouse-like structure, which was brightly lit by the afternoon sun. She pointed out the benches, rectangular pools, and plants, and the large Plexiglas-topped conference table in the center. Finally she stopped at the marble column just inside the door. Turning to Josh, she said, “Your turn.”
“This is Eden,” he said, pointing to the bas-relief near the top. “Not much of a likeness, I have to admit, but then, I see her differently from most people. No sculptor could ever do justice to my image of her.”
Debbie took her brother’s arm and gently pulled him aside to allow Con a closer look. Con read the inscription aloud.
This Garden is dedicated to the memory of Eden Avery, who died at Cresheim Valley Hospital on July 12, 1988.
In this place, healers shall reflect on their fallibility.
In this place, healers shall contemplate their awesome power and the far-reaching consequences of their actions.
In this place, healers who have erred shall honestly face themselves, their colleagues, and their students.
In this place, healers shall welcome the judgment of those who have suffered because of their mistakes.
And in this place, healers shall reconcile themselves with their consciences, and shall themselves be healed.
Nobody spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Then Con looked at Josh and said in an almost reverent tone: “She was your girlfriend, wasn’t she?”
“In the best meaning of the term,” Josh answered calmly. “She’s dead, but she lives on.”
“My God, what a wonderful tribute,” Con said. He realized that he knew nothing of Eden’s story. Debbie had never told him, except to say that it was Josh’s to tell. Yet he had a sense that the subject was too sensitive for him, Con, to broach.
Josh evidently read Con’s hesitation correctly. “It’s a long, long story. Maybe I’ll tell you some other time.” And he left it at that, effectively silencing any further questions. Instead, he led them to the table. It was supported by four sturdy round legs, the tops of which were inserted into round cutouts on the underside of the tabletop. At the first corner, he invited Con to look through the Plexiglas and read the word etched into the top of the leg:
Compassion
They walked around the table, reading the tops of the other three legs in succession:
Competence
Conscience
Courage
“The four pillars of the practice of medicine,” Josh explained. “ ‘Courage,’ by the way, refers to admitting your mistakes, especially to the individuals impacted by them.”
“Debbie told me that you’re going to medical school next year.”
“Yes, Cornell. The college is in Ithaca, as I’m sure you know. But the med school’s right here in New York City. I’ll be visiting home more often.”
“More chances to give me a hard time!” Debbie couldn’t hide her delight at having Josh closer. Their bond was twofold, affectionate siblings and both best friends of Eden, in whose sanctuary they now stood.
“Med school must be hard to get into, especially Cornell, one of the best.”
“I think what helped me get in was the question they always ask: ‘Why do you want to be a doctor?’ I told them about Eden, what happened to her, how The Garden came into being. They were impressed. The same story might have gotten me into other schools too, but having gone to Cornell undergraduate, worked in one of their professors’ lab in the summers, and gotten reasonably good grades helped, so it was an easy choice.”
“There are all these medical schools in Philadelphia. Didn’t your parents want you to stay closer to home?”
“They probably did, but they also knew to leave the choice to me. They’re very progressive and supportive. In any case, after four years upstate, New York City seems pretty close.”
Con nodded, conscious of liking the entire Rabin family.
They left The Garden, passing the statue of Eden on the way out. Con felt deeply moved by what he had seen and heard, and once they were out of the building he said, to no one in particular, “It’s almost like being in a church.”
“Church? Why?” Debbie replied, frowning.
“Well, not literally. Certainly not like the church our family goes to, which you’ve already seen. That church is built like a cross, has an altar, choir loft, aisle down the middle, and a high ceiling, really high. And from the outside it looks like a church! Eden’s Garden is like a greenhouse squeezed into a place that used to be a parking lot; a big Plexiglas table; pools with fish; no crucifix; no Ten Commandments. Nothing like a church in the usual sense — nor a temple, as far as I know. But still . . .”
“So, why does it remind you of a church? That’s a fascinating reaction, and I’m really curious,” Debbie asked.
Con shrugged. “I should probably think about it some more, but since I’ve brought it up I’ll say this: You sit in there and reflect. Naturally, the more you understand about how it got started, the more meaning it has. I saw one young guy — could have been an intern, or a student — stretched out on one of those benches catching a nap. Does he have any notion what Eden’s Garden is all about? I wouldn’t be able to do it — not after what you told me.”
Josh nodded. “You’re on to something there. I’ve been thinking about writing a booklet, or a brochure, that we could pass out to anyone who works in this hospital. Once you know the history, it’s not that easy to be casual about it.”
“I’m only a visitor,” Con said, “but I’m really interested. Would I be prying if I asked you to tell me more?”
“Tell you what,” Josh replied. “Tonight after dinner we’ll sit on the porch, or in the backyard, and I’ll tell you the details. You’re not just any visitor; you’re my sister’s friend.”
This declaration was enough to make both Debbie and Con blush. “Great,” Con said.
“And the statue garden on Kelly Drive is part of the story,” Debbie said.
As they were exiting the building, a well-dressed young man got out of a well-worn green Chevrolet Nova in the parking lot. Josh came to a sudden stop. “Well, I’ll be darned. Talk about . . . I mean, think about . . .” Debbie couldn’t suppress a short laugh.
The man’s face broke out in a smile. “Hi Josh, hi Debbie, fancy meeting you here on a Sunday afternoon.” He looked at Con wondering whether to introduce himself or wait. Josh spoke. “Are you on duty? This is Debbie’s friend Connor, from Brooklyn, visiting us for the weekend.”
The two men shook hands. “Pleased to meet you, Connor. I’m Calvin McCrae. Did you see our Garden?”
“Yes, we’re just coming from it. It’s unbelievable! I know there’s quite a story behind it. I can’t wait to hear the details.”
“That story that should be told over and over,” Calvin said, a serious expression replacing the smile on his face. “Now to answer your question, whether I’m on duty: A kid was admitted with diabetes out of control, and I need to take care of him. His blood glucose is over eight hundred, which, if you’re not familiar, is eight times what it should be. He’ll slip into acidosis if he doesn’t get some insulin fast.”
“OK, we’ll get out of your way,” Josh said. “By the way, I’m starting Cornell Med this fall.”
“Congratulations! Best of luck.”
Calvin went on into the hospital. On the way back to the Rabins’ Josh said: “You’ll hear more about him tonight. He’s the reason The Garden exists.”
“Oh? I didn’t see his name anywhere. Isn’t there a dedication, a plaque, or something? Like, did he or his parents give the money to build it?” Con wanted to know.
“No, it’s more complicated, and when you hear the story you’ll understand why there’s no plaque.”
That evening Josh allowed the story to unfold as the three sat under the stars. Esther and Max stayed discreetly out of the way.
“Do you know what rheumatic fever is?” Josh asked Con.
“Not really. I’ve heard that children get it and it’s like a bad case of arthritis.”
“The arthritis isn’t the worst of it; it eventually goes away of its own accord. But rheumatic fever can also damage the heart. That’s called rheumatic heart disease, and it keeps getting worse long after the arthritis is gone.”
“And it all starts with a strep throat,” he added, as if he found it hard to believe.
“Isn’t there anything you can do? Can’t you treat a strep throat?”
“Yes, if you get there in time. But after one attack of rheumatic fever the best you can do is prevent another one, which would compound the damage. Unfortunately, once started the process goes on anyway, ever so slowly. It can take years.”
“And that’s what Eden had?” Con was shocked at the idea of a young girl having heart disease that kept getting worse. He tried to imagine Debbie getting sicker and sicker and not being able to do a thing about it.
“Yes,” Josh went on. “And that wasn’t all. She also was allergic to penicillin, which is what they give to prevent recurrent attacks. Eventually it was penicillin that killed her.”
Josh looked down silently at the grass and recalled the night he and Eden had noted, with a measure of relief, how wet the ground had been in Carpenter’s Woods, preventing them from doing what they both wanted and both feared to do. He looked up at the sky, searching for the moon that had so captivated Eden, but it had not yet risen.
At that point Esther came out with a tray of iced tea and cookies. What incredible instinct that woman has! Josh thought admiringly, to divine exactly when her appearance would not infringe on their conversation. She’d been like that as far back as he could remember. First that time long ago when she had found him daydreaming in the car after driving Eden home following the hockey game; then her unwavering support and discretion during those painful months following Eden’s death and Calvin McCrae’s pleas for reconciliation. He smiled at his mother and helped himself, signaling to the others to do likewise.