FRAMED, page 17
Jude coughed up a wad of black mucus, a testimony to inadequate respiratory protection.
“Eurgh,” she croaked.
Tori went to the sink and filled a glass, her hands shaking. “Here, drink more water.”
Jude drank and coughed some more. Then she slumped backward on the couch.
Tori brushed strands of hair from her forehead. “Do you feel strong enough for a bath?”
Jude gave her a wan smile. “Yes, I’ll be fine. I just inhaled a lot of smoke despite using a respirator. I had to give all the good ones to the guys fighting the fire.”
Tori filled the bath and helped her to undress and get in the tub. She perched on the edge as Jude sank to her chin in the warm, soapy water. She gently washed the grime from Jude’s face.
“We’ll wash your hair in the shower when you’re done.” She squeezed Jude’s shoulder. “I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I am you’re relatively okay. We’ll have to keep an eye on that cough, though, so it doesn’t become chronic.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jude said, smiling for the first time.
With clean hair and body, a chicken sandwich, and hot broth in her belly, Jude lay on her bed and instantly fell asleep.
Tori sat by the window in the hazy sunshine. A deep sense of concern weighed on her. Her feelings for Jude had grown stronger than she’d previously admitted to herself. She had drawn Jude into a perilous venture, and the thought of causing her harm was unbearable. She resolved to stop putting Jude in danger. The risks were too great—physical danger, legal trouble, and professional blackballing—if she were caught stealing data. Tori’s ambivalence had vanished; she knew what she had to do.
“We need to stop,” she murmured, the words slipping out before she realized she had spoken aloud.
Jude’s small voice startled her. “Stop what?”
Tori rose and sat on Jude’s bed, her eyes locking onto hers. “Stop the monitoring. Stop everything. Destroy the data. It’s too risky. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” The anxiety that had gripped her when Jude didn’t show the other night still roiled her stomach.
Jude sighed and rolled onto her side. “Look, Tori, I’m not a child. I understand what I’m doing is risky. When we make this data public, I’ll lose my job. Do you think I want to work for these shitheads forever? They just killed three guys. Guys I saw almost every day and liked. I’m ready to move on.”
“I know you’re not a child. But I’m bad news. Trouble follows me, and I’ve dragged you into it.” She bit her lip, fighting to keep her emotions in check. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
“Let me make my own decisions,” Jude said. “The stuff I was going to bring you is in the red bag over by the dresser.”
Tori was torn. “No, I can’t take it. Please get rid of it.”
“I can’t, Tori. But I’m too tired to argue,” Jude said, turning over onto her back and changing the subject. “A lot of people need your help after the fire.”
Tori’s mind jumped to the tasks ahead. “I know. An allergy office offered me a clinical space three days a week, and I’ll start seeing workers and residents starting Thursday. And I now have a colleague collaborating with me on my cancer study.”
Jude’s eyes lit up, a slight smile forming. “Are you always this driven?”
“Yes, this is me. How I’ve always been,” Tori said.
“Give me the clinic info, and I’ll refer people to you.”
Tori jotted the clinic location and phone number on a nearby notepad. “I need to leave now. Think about what I said. And please take care of that cough. Drink lots of water. I’ll stop by a pharmacy to pick up a nebulizer, a steroid inhaler, and an expectorant for you, then drop them off before I head home. If your cough doesn’t improve within a week or so, please schedule an appointment with me in my new office.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jude said with a playful grin. “I’ll come to see you, regardless. So you can examine me. Thoroughly.”
Chapter 37
Jo surveyed the lingering haze that shrouded Oilton, a ghostly reminder of the recent catastrophe. As she exited her rental car at the gas station, her nostrils flared at the acrid odor that hung in the air. Despite the town having officially emerged from shelter-in-place orders, it was unsettling how residents milled around in the streets, carrying on with their usual business as if a disaster hadn’t just struck.
Mary’s house came into view, and Jo was surprised to find both sides of the street lined with parked cars, forcing her to continue two blocks further before finding a space. Wheeling her file case along the fractured sidewalk, Jo spotted Mary emerging from her home. The woman’s flower-print dress and flip-flops provided a splash of normalcy against the somber backdrop. Behind Mary trailed four unfamiliar faces, their expressions a mixture of concern and hope.
“You’re here!” Mary’s voice rang out with unexpected cheer. “I’ve got a crowd of people clamoring to talk to you, and I’m plum out of lemonade.”
Jo’s professional demeanor softened as she wrapped her arms around the woman. “It’s good to see you, Mary,” she said. The introductions followed: Nina Jerrard from the street behind, Neal Brown with his expertise as a retired refinery engineer, Laura Trombley, who lived in the shadow of the refinery, and Fred Burns, uncle of one of the workers killed, each represented different facets of the community’s suffering.
Jo’s voice lowered with sincerity when she shook Fred’s hand, his bearded face shadowed beneath his Astros cap. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
His silent nod and downcast eyes spoke of grief too fresh for words.
The living room, which awaited Jo, resembled more a town hall than a home. Bodies occupied every available surface—the couch, the edges, the chairs—people gathered through Mary’s remarkable community connections in under a day. The buzzing conversation died instantly as Jo entered, all eyes turning to her with an intensity that spoke of their collective concern.
“I see a few familiar faces here,” Jo acknowledged, naming those she recognized, and the room’s energy shifted. She could sense their desperation, their need for someone to champion their cause. “The recent explosion, fire, and tragic loss of life have clearly heightened your concerns, and ours too, about the dangers of working in and living near the oil refinery complex.”
A murmur of affirmation rippled through the crowd.
Jo scanned the room deliberately, making eye contact with as many people as possible, silently promising each of them her attention. She explained her role as an environmental attorney with practiced precision, but beneath her professional exterior, the magnitude of their suffering wasn’t lost on her. These weren’t just potential plaintiffs; they were real people whose lives had been irreversibly altered.
“I realize money never brings back a loved one’s loss of health or life. It only lessens the financial impact. However, we hope a substantial monetary award to our plaintiffs will motivate the corporations to modify their practices and prevent similar harm to others.”
Fred Burns broke the momentary silence, his voice carrying the raw edge of grief. “Will you help my family sue World Petrol for the death of my nephew? His wife has three little kids under ten to care for alone.”
“Yes, I will help your family. Let’s speak afterwards.”
Laura Trombley, a middle-aged woman crowned with big, teased hair, spoke. “I’ve always worried about the pollution from the plant overlooking my backyard wall. It often smells like rotten eggs, making my eyes and nose burn and run like crazy. But the fire worsened it. Even with the doors and windows closed, it seeped through the cracks, making me feel sick. I’ve lived here for twenty-two years. I’m glad my kids have grown and gone. With the price of real estate and rent these days, I can’t afford to live anywhere else. And who would buy my house anyway with that stench from the refinery?”
“I understand. I’ve heard similar complaints from many of you. Our class action lawsuit will contend that World Petrol’s emissions have caused cancer, upper and lower respiratory illness, heart disease, and other health problems in your community.”
“That’s for damn sure,” a frail elder spoke up. “I worked in the crude oil distillation unit at that refinery. The gases coming offa that made me stupid and dizzy. They contain benzene, and I heard it causes leukemia. I ain’t sick yet, but I know one guy I worked with for years got some kinda blood problem. I’m for damn sure that explosion and fire let loose a ton of benzene and other nasty stuff.”
Neal Brown, the retired process engineer, said. “Of course it did. And the workers breathed the worst of it. But as I look around the room, I don’t see anyone currently working in the refinery who is attending this meeting.”
“No, they’re all too scared World Petrol will fire them if they get involved with any lawyer out to sue the company that pays their wages,” another man said. “I’m sure World Petrol’s heard you’ve been nosing around here and are none too happy.”
“Mary tells us that the lady doctor over in Houston is willing to see any of us who are sick from the smoke,” said a woman in a raspy voice.
“Absolutely,” Jo said. “I’ll leave her details with Mary. And any workers from the refinery who have become ill or injured, although that’s more in the domain of workers’ compensation.”
Jo’s eyes scanned the room again, meeting the faces of those gathered. She’d developed a deep connection to their stories, each one unique and intricately linked to the refinery’s impact on their health and lives.
“I want to speak to you individually, hear your stories, and we’ll decide together if joining our lawsuit is right for you,” she said.
“When do ya’ wanna get started?” Mary asked.
“As soon as I’ve answered all your questions,” she said. “Everyone needn’t stick around. We’ll schedule interviews at intervals, and I’ll be here tomorrow and through the weekend if necessary.”
“Y’all’re welcome to use my dinin’ table. I’ll keep outta y’all’s way, so your interviews will be private,” Mary said.
“You’re very generous, Mary,” Jo said, flashing her a brief smile.
“It’s the most hopeful thing that’s happened ’round here in years,” Mary said. “I’ll set up a schedule.”
Fred Burns leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, looking drawn and miserable.
Poor man. He’s suffering. Jo walked over to him. “Mr. Burns,” she said gently, meeting his sad eyes. “If you can stay, I’ll start with you.”
Chapter 38
Fred settled beside Jo at the pine dining table, his Astro cap resting on his lap. His fingers worked nervously, cracking his knuckles in the sudden quiet.
Jo studied the grieving uncle, noting the tension in his shoulders. Spotting an opportunity, Jo nodded toward the cap. “Was Mark an Astro fan too?”
Fred’s expression softened. “Oh, yeah, big time. He rarely missed a game. We’d often go together, have a brewski or two, and let off steam at the players.”
“It sounds like you were close,” Jo observed.
“We were. I kinda stepped in when my sister’s husband took off.” Fred’s voice grew heavier. “I asked her to come with me today, but she’s a mess. Mark was her only son.” He looked away, clearing his throat as emotion threatened to overwhelm him.
Jo’s heart ached for his loss. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly, giving him time to compose himself.
Fred continued after a moment. “I’ve never liked Mark working at the refinery. He was a smart boy. He could’ve gone to college. But he married young, and his wife kept popping out the kids.” His hands tightened around the cap. “He needed the money for his growing family, and the pay was good.” A heavy sigh escaped him. “Not that I begrudge the little ones. They’re great kids, and he was a devoted father.”
For the first time, a genuine smile crossed Fred’s face. “I was there only last week when his three-year-old daughter burst into tears because her older brother had snatched her stuffed giraffe. Mark pretended to be a horse, hoisted his daughter onto his back, and galloped around the house after her brother until she stopped crying and giggled. Then he gently convinced the older brother to apologize and return the giraffe.”
This family’s loss hit Jo even more acutely. “He sounds like a wonderful guy,” she said.
“He was. His family came first. That’s why he stuck with that dangerous job in the catalytic cracking unit.”
Jo steered the conversation toward the case. “What do you know about the explosion?”
Fred’s expression darkened. “I only hear rumors. One former employee believes a faulty value allowed hydrocarbon gases to flow into the electrostatic precipitators, causing them to ignite.”
“Are you familiar with the company’s maintenance and safety practices in the catalytic cracking unit?” Jo pressed gently.
“No,” Fred said, his voice hardening. “But they obviously weren’t good.” His lips compressed into a thin line as he cracked his knuckles again.
Jo explained the legal process with practiced calm. “To file a wrongful death suit, we need to get accident reports, eyewitness statements, maintenance records, and so on. It’s best if Mark’s wife files the suit. The sooner, the better, before the company covers its tracks.”
Fred’s eyes flashed with grim determination. “Then let’s start. I’ll talk to her tonight and get her here tomorrow. If she’s willing.”
“Do you know the other workers killed?” Jo asked.
“No, but I met the families. The company asked us all into the main office to tell us our loved ones had died in the explosion.” Pain washed over his features as he looked away.
“Please let the others know I’m here for them if they also wish to file a wrongful death case.”
“I’ll talk with them. What else can I do?” Fred fingered his cap.
Jo considered their options. “Do you know anyone currently working in the catalytic cracking unit whom we can ask about the company’s work practices and safety?”
“No, but the others might. One man they killed had a cousin working there.” Fred frowned. “But the guys probably won’t talk to an attorney suing their employer for fear of losing their jobs.”
“They might talk to you. It’s a start,” Jo encouraged.
“Okay, I’ll get on it.” Fred’s shoulders slumped as he stared down at his hands, twisting his ball cap. His voice broke as he said. “Nothing I do will bring that boy back to his wife, to those poor kids. I hear the little ones asking their mama why Daddy isn’t coming home. They don’t understand death.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t understand Mark’s death. Why didn’t the company protect him and the others?”
Jo searched for words of comfort but found none. She reached out and laid a hand on his forearm, bearing silent witness to his pain.
Mary arrived with burgers and fries. Fred thanked her but said he wasn’t hungry.
When Fred left, Jo managed to eat three bites of her burger before Rhonda Mills, a middle-aged cashier at a local convenience store, arrived. She was thin and pale with short gray hair, looking older than her forty-seven years.
“Last year, I was so tired. I got bruises on my arms and legs and couldn’t climb a flight of stairs without panting.” She coughed into a handkerchief. “I got one cold after another and couldn’t fight them off. Finally, my doctor did blood tests, and then another doctor stuck a needle in my bone marrow.”
Jo winced. “Ouch.”
“Oh, yeah. No fun,” Rhonda said. “They diagnosed a blood pre-cancer, myelo something.”
“Myelodysplastic syndrome?” Jo said.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Rhonda said.
“How long have you lived near the refinery?” Jo asked.
“Just about all my life. My family moved here when I was three. My daddy worked for the company that owned the oil refining facility before World Petrol bought and expanded it. He died of mesothelioma from asbestos exposure.”
“I’m sorry. You probably know that’s a well-known hazard of refinery work. Did you ever work there?” she asked.
“Yeah. I worked in the personnel office for about five years before having my kids. Doing clerical work. I never worked in any dangerous areas, but I’ve breathed plenty of bad shit going in and out of the refinery and living right next to it.”
Jo continued the interviews into the early evening. She invited Mary out to dine at a local diner that Mary enjoyed. As they ate their BBQ beef, beans, and cornbread, they discussed the day’s events and the interviews planned for the next day. Jo marveled at Mary’s efficiency in contacting many people on short notice and arranging the interviews. On first impression, Mary could easily be underestimated. But she was invaluable to their lawsuit.
As they left the restaurant, Jo turned to her, “You know what?”
“What?” Mary said.
Jo smiled. “You would’ve made a fine business administrator.”
Mary smiled back, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why, thank ya. I’ll try to remember that for my next life.”
Chapter 39
Refinery workers and nearby residents with acute respiratory, skin, and eye symptoms caused by the refinery fire filled Tori’s days in the allergy office. For many, cold symptoms and bronchitis followed their initial exposures. Some patients had underlying chronic illnesses unrelated to their exposures but worsened by the fire. And sometimes, she had to inform her patient that the fire was unlikely to have caused their symptoms.
Rick called twice to ask if he could collect some belongings, and she suggested he come by later. That evening, she found his car parked outside her house. The changed locks had been her small victory, but now she was forced to play gatekeeper whenever he wanted something.
“Hi, Tori,” Rick chirped with unnerving cheerfulness as he bounded from his car. His voice carried the false brightness of someone with a hidden agenda. “I want to pick up more summer clothes and tell you my news.”
