“Who?”
As if he were coming out of a trance, Jessup’s head bobbed up. He blinked at Simon, stuffed the ring back into the leather pouch, and turned to look down Edgewood Avenue—although Simon knew Jessup didn’t see a road there. Who could tell what he saw? Maybe woods. Maybe a path.
Simon felt the familiar tingling, the tug, and knew he was about to leave. He wanted to know whom Jessup was waiting for, whom the ring was for. But all he heard, before he was pulled back into his prison of flesh, was the hopeful echo of Jessup Wildemere’s voice. “She’ll be here. Before the moon falls beyond those treetops over there. You’ll see, lad. You’ll see.”
The smell of bleach coming from the isolation room next to the one her grandmother was in made Devin gag. The nurses were disinfecting the room next door where a woman with a highly contagious, rare skin ailment had spent the past week.
Devin’s grandmother was also in an isolation room and would remain there until the doctors could figure out what was wrong. Whatever she had could be contagious. Until they knew what they were dealing with, they weren’t about to put her in with another patient. Devin had to wear a white mask that looped over her ears and covered her nose and mouth whenever she was in the room.
The day before, she had overheard two of the nurses whispering about West Nile virus, but as soon as they realized Devin was listening, they changed the subject. Devin had since checked out information on the virus on several Web sites. She knew if the virus developed into encephalitis people could die from it. Usually old people or those with weak immune systems. She was terrified for her grandmother.
That was why she was there. That, and because her mother, doing the fifty-yard dash around the kitchen table, stuffing Pop-Tarts into the toaster, plunking down cereal bowls in front of the six younger kids and getting everyone out the door to school, was feeling too shaky to drive that morning and had asked Devin if she’d mind missing school to take her to the hospital. It was on the tip of Devin’s tongue to tell her mother she wouldn’t mind missing school for the rest of the year, but all she’d said was “Sure. No problem.”
Her grandmother moaned softly. Devin came to the side of the bed and stroked the woman’s arm. Her grandmother had hair the color of Devin’s, with only a few light streaks of gray. Her face and hands were freckled from gardening without a hat and gloves. During the heat wave, when anyone with any sense at all stayed indoors with the air conditioner running full blast, her grandmother had been outside raking soggy decayed leaves, turning soil, and mixing in mulch to prepare her flower beds.
Devin was suddenly reminded of the previous summer when she was a volunteer for Meals-On-Wheels. At first she hadn’t thought it was in her nature to do that kind of volunteer work. Being around sick or extremely old people made her uncomfortable. But Kyle kept pushing her, saying volunteer work was just what colleges wanted to see on her application. To her surprise, she found she enjoyed bringing meals to people who were recovering from surgery or serious illness and to the elderly who had difficulty getting around. They were always so happy to see her, always begging her to stay for a cup of tea or oatmeal cookies.
Sometimes Simon rode along and helped her set up the meals. After a while, he didn’t even have to look at Devin’s list to know who was who. He remembered everyone’s name.
As she stared at her grandmother’s freckled hands, Devin thought of Mrs. Schollmeyer, who had been eighty-seven years old, had a weak heart, and lived alone in one of the large Victorian houses across from the park. When Simon and Devin brought her meals, she always sat by the side window in the living room so she could look out at her garden. Devin found the sight depressing. Weeds and brush had all but choked out the asters, strangled the delphiniums, and smothered the lavender. She couldn’t bear to look. But Mrs. Schollmeyer always smiled out at the destruction as if it were the most beautiful sight on earth.
Then one Saturday, when Simon wasn’t with her and Devin was setting up the small table by the window for Mrs. Schollmeyer, she looked up to see the loveliest garden she had ever set eyes on. It all but took her breath away.
Mrs. Schollmeyer, who had been sitting in the chair watching her, reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Your friend did this,” she said. “Every day he came after school and weeded for me.” She smiled, showing yellow teeth. “And he never charged a penny. Not a penny.” She squeezed Devin’s hand hard for emphasis.
Mrs. Schollmeyer died three weeks later of heart failure, and Devin missed her. But maybe not as much as Simon did, although he never said so.
Devin’s eyes filled with tears as she lifted her grandmother’s limp hand and pressed it to her cheek. When her mother returned from the gift shop downstairs, Devin would head down to the intensive care unit and ask about Simon.
A few minutes later Mrs. McCafferty showed up at the door in skintight jeans and a V-neck T-shirt the color of the night sky, holding a small flower arrangement. She slipped on the mask that hung around her neck, then set the flowers on the single shelf by the closet. “That should cheer her up, don’t you think?” she whispered and glanced over at the woman sleeping in the hospital bed.
Devin nodded as she watched a few of the daisy petals drift to the floor. She got up to give her mother the only chair, stepped into the hall, and removed her mask. “I’m going down to the cafeteria for coffee,” she said. She had no idea why she didn’t tell her mother the truth, tell her she was going to ask about Simon. She wondered if maybe she had gotten used to keeping secrets, even when it wasn’t necessary.
Two administrative assistants looked up when Devin came through the double doors of the ICU. Three nurses were at the back of the room at the nurses’ station. No way was she going to be able to sneak in to see Simon. So she approached the nurses, looking as respectful as she could.
For what seemed like several minutes, she stood quietly waiting for someone to notice her. When the youngest of the three women got up from the computer, she spotted Devin.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
Devin gave her a friendly smile and nodded. “I just want to inquire about someone. Simon Gray?”
“Are you a family member?” The nurse glanced at an older woman, who was putting medication into tiny white cups. Devin recognized her as the same nurse who had hustled Kyle and her out of Simon’s room the week before. The woman looked at the younger nurse, then at Devin. Devin knew it was pointless to lie. From the look on the older nurse’s face, she could tell the woman recognized her.
“No. I’m a friend.”
The young nurse had long dark hair pulled back in a tortoiseshell clip and large, expressive eyes. Sympathetic eyes, Devin thought. But all she could tell Devin was that Simon’s condition remained the same.
“Is he going to recover?”
Devin didn’t miss the look the nurses exchanged. She knew they weren’t about to say anything negative or discouraging, no matter how true it might be. Not to her, anyway. So she wasn’t at all surprised when the younger nurse gave her what was meant to be a reassuring smile and said, “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
In the smaller of the two waiting rooms around the corner from the ICU, Devin sank into a chair. She wasn’t ready to go back to her grandmother’s room. She was feeling oddly light-headed. She hadn’t eaten much of anything since her grandmother became ill and she suspected, hoped, this was the reason for the dizziness.
But lately, ever since the day she had sought refuge in the dressing room at the Gap and found she couldn’t make herself leave—at least not until Liz pulled her to her feet and propelled her through the louvered door—she had had trouble taking a single breath, as if the air would only go into her lungs just so far, then refused to go any farther. The harder she tried to breathe, the more light-headed she felt. She had almost passed out in calculus on Friday.
Feeling dizzy wasn’t the only reason she chose to sit in this particular waiting room. She needed to be close to Simon. If she could, she woul
d be in the ICU with him right that moment. She couldn’t do a thing about what was happening to him. Still, it seemed important to be there.
The clock above the door read 11:30. She wondered what the others were doing right now. Ordinarily she would be in art. Kyle would be in calculus. On any other day when the bell rang, Kyle would head straight down the hall to the art room and wait outside the door so they could walk to the cafeteria together. Only, today she wouldn’t be meeting him. She tried to imagine the expression on his face when she didn’t come out of the classroom. Kyle hated surprises. He was a creature of habit. He thrived on order and routine.
So much had happened since her grandmother became ill, so much time was spent at the hospital and helping to take care of the other kids for her mother, that Devin could hardly remember what day it was. She hadn’t even showed up for the last three play rehearsals, which all but guaranteed that her understudy would be playing the part of Lady Macbeth on opening night. Devin couldn’t have cared less. She no longer wanted the role.
She hadn’t seen Kyle since Friday, when he had insisted she talk to Mr. McCabe, hadn’t talked to him since she called from the hospital Saturday afternoon to break their date. Until now, she really hadn’t thought of Kyle at all over the weekend.
Not only hadn’t she thought of Kyle, she hadn’t missed him, not the way she’d always imagined she would if they broke up or if he moved away. Her lips parted with this startling revelation. She hadn’t missed him at all. Not the least little bit. The person she missed, more than she had ever expected to, was Simon Gray.
By Monday afternoon, Liz had resolved to see Simon no matter what she had to do. She could tell by Courtney’s heavy sigh and brusque “Nothing’s changed,” each time she called to ask about Simon, that Courtney was tired of her daily phone calls. Liz needed to see Simon for herself. If Kyle and Devin could sneak in, so could she.
After school, she headed straight home, borrowed the car keys from her mother under the pretext of doing research for her history paper at the library at the community college, and drove to the hospital.
She knew from what Devin had told her that it wouldn’t be easy to get inside the intensive care unit undetected. The good news, as Liz saw it, was that Simon’s room was the second on the left, right inside the doors. And according to Devin, the nurses kept the curtain drawn across the glass wall. How hard could it be to slip in there? She would have to move fast, pick the right moment, but she didn’t doubt for a minute she could pull it off.
At the hospital, as she walked past the glass wall of the cafeteria, she spotted Mr. Gray sitting alone at one of the tables drinking coffee. An uneaten sandwich sat on the plate in front of him. That was a good sign. It meant it would probably be a while before he returned to Simon’s room.
Courtney was not in her usual spot in the cramped waiting room when Liz peered inside the door. She thought Courtney might be in Simon’s room, so she waited for ten minutes. When no one came out of the ICU, Liz decided Courtney hadn’t come to the hospital yet.
A telephone hung on the wall right outside the two adjoining waiting rooms. Below it were a small desk and chair. Liz positioned herself in the chair and pretended to be looking up a number in the phone book. From this spot, she could see anyone walking toward the doors of the ICU. Her chance arrived in the form of a nurse and two men in khakis and blue polo shirts, wheeling a patient on a gurney. One man managed the patient’s respirator, the other the IV pole. The nurse pressed the circular metal plate and the doors thumped open.
Liz found it surprisingly easy to follow this busy cluster of activity into the ICU and slip through the second door into Simon’s room.
At first she thought she was in the wrong room. Simon looked so different, she hardly recognized him. Blue-black smudges circled his closed eyes. His lips were swollen, and there were all those tubes and machines fighting to keep him alive. The bruises on his face had turned a greenish yellow.
Forcing herself to focus on why she had come, she reached for his hand. She had read somewhere that people in a coma could still hear. So she leaned close to him and whispered, “Simon. It’s Liz.”
She looked around for a chair. There was only one in the room. She placed it next to the bed. Then she reached through the side rail and lifted Simon’s hand again. She had no idea what to say. How did you bring someone back from a coma? What if he didn’t want to come back? This thought hadn’t occurred to her until now. But remembering the way Simon had behaved the Saturday before the accident made her curious about what had really happened the night he skidded into the Liberty Tree. She didn’t want to believe for a minute he would do such a thing on purpose. He would have left a note, right? He wouldn’t just leave everyone to wonder. You had to have a reason for taking your own life. Did you have a reason, Simon? Something you couldn’t tell me?
Liz didn’t say this out loud. Instead she whispered, “Can you feel me holding your hand?” She ran the tips of her fingers along his palm. “Can you move your fingers? Even a little? Just one finger?” She stared down at their hands, hers gently cupping his. Nothing happened.
“Look, I know last Saturday you were really upset about something. You didn’t want to talk about it, remember?” She paused and stared down at his hand again, hoping for some sign that he’d heard her. Still nothing.
“Whatever it is, Simon, it can’t be so bad you wouldn’t come back to us, right? I mean, your dad and Courtney, they’ve been here every day. And you’ve got lots of friends who are worried sick. They care about you.” She paused to take a breath. “I care about you,” she whispered.
Liz was so intent on getting through to Simon that she didn’t hear the soft padding of the nurse’s white sneakers coming across the floor until it was too late.
“This is an intensive care unit, miss. Immediate family only.” The nurse, who wasn’t much older than Liz, wore white slacks, a white tee and a colorful overblouse. Her brown hair was pulled back and held with a tortoiseshell clip.
“I’m his sister,” Liz told her. “Courtney.” Even Liz knew how pitifully unconvincing she sounded.
The nurse looked sympathetic. “I’ve met Simon’s sister,” she said. She glanced up at the monitor, then back at Liz. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave.”
Liz was standing now. As she slid her hand from Simon’s she felt the lightest touch. His forefinger had brushed her palm, a touch so slight she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it. “Did you see that?” She turned to the nurse, who was going over the chart in her hands.
“See what?”
“I think his finger moved.” Liz tried to suppress the excitement in her voice. She didn’t want to get her hopes up.
The nurse looked interested. She came to the side of the bed and touched Simon’s hand. Then she took his pulse.
Despite herself, Liz felt a twinge of jealousy. She wanted to leave Simon with her touch. She knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
“It might have been a reflex action,” the nurse said. “That’s not uncommon.” She looked over at Liz. “I’ll tell his doctor.” For the first time she smiled at Liz. “You’d better get yourself out of here before anyone else sees you,” she said.
Fifteen minutes later Liz was driving up over the hill into Bellehaven when she suddenly noticed thousands of crows lined up on the telephone and power lines like dark soldiers awaiting her return. She rolled down the car window and sniffed the air. The wind had shifted. The cat urine smell from the pharmaceutical plant was gone. And the crows had come back. With a vengeance.
Her heart began to pound wildly. She felt as if the birds were following her. She stepped on the gas and tore down Edgewood Avenue at twenty-five miles over the speed limit. As if she were running a gauntlet, she kept her head so low her chin almost touched the steering wheel. The birds swooped toward the car, missing the windshield by inches. Their claws scratched across the car roof, the sound of fingernails on a blackboard. Their shrill
caws beat against her eardrums.
Even while she struggled to keep her sweating palms from slipping off the steering wheel as she turned onto her street, even while she tried to focus all her concentration on pulling into the driveway and making it through the front door safely, some small part of her was only now beginning to understand that the crows wanted something from her—wanted something, perhaps, from everyone in Bellehaven.
Debra Santino was digging out the last noodle from her cup of microwaved chicken soup when she noticed an unnamed document on Simon’s PC in a folder called SummerJobs. She had been in this folder before, knew it contained several drafts of Simon’s résumé and letters to computer camps inquiring about openings. All on the up-and-up. Nothing suspicious. But she couldn’t remember if she had opened this document with the default name doc2.doc before or not, and so clicked on it.
This, too, appeared to be a draft of an incomplete letter. But there was no address, no name, only the initial D at the beginning. And it was obvious from the first sentence that the letter had nothing to do with Simon’s quest for a summer position. Debra scanned the letter, pausing to reread the last few lines.
… Why do you think I let K and D talk me into this mess? For you. That’s the only reason. Why else would I put everything I’ve worked for at risk? I have everything to lose and only one thing to gain, only one thing I really
The letter stopped abruptly, right in the middle of Simon’s thought. The lieutenant could almost feel his hopeless frustration, almost hear him thinking, What’s the point?
Shades of Simon Gray Page 11
