Still Life

by Joy Fielding

  “About me? What do you mean? What kind of questions?”

  “About your relationship with Casey, how upset you were when she opted out of your partnership, if you were jealous or resentful of her success….”

  “That moron. What’d you tell him?”

  “The same thing I told him about Warren—that he was completely off base.”

  Casey could feel Janine shaking her head in anger and realized she was almost enjoying Janine’s discomfort. It served her right for the reservations she’d expressed about Warren.

  “What a jerk. Did you happen to remind him I was with you at the time Casey was run down?”

  “He said you had plenty of time to drop me off and get back to the parking garage.”

  “Did he also have an explanation for how I was able to turn my little red Nissan into a silver Ford SUV? Does he think I’m David Copperfield, for Christ’s sake?”

  “You could have hired someone,” Gail said, echoing Janine’s earlier remark.

  “Very funny. Anyway, let’s talk about something more pleasant. How was your date last night?”

  Gail had had a date? With whom?

  “It was nice,” Gail said shyly, soft giggles bracketing her reply.

  “Define the word ‘nice.’”

  “It was just nice. You know.”

  “I don’t know. ‘Nice’ is not part of my vocabulary.”

  “It was okay.”

  “Just okay? Did you have a good time?”

  “Yes, I had a good time. You’re worse than Detective Spi-netti.”

  “How good a time?” Janine pressed.

  “It was really nice.” Gail sighed. “God, I feel like such a traitor.”

  “Why would you feel like a traitor?”

  “Because our best friend is lying here in a coma….”

  “You think Casey would want us to stay at home and do nothing?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “You don’t have to guess. I’m telling you,” Janine said, as if she were privy to Casey’s most secret thoughts. “The last thing Casey would want is for us to sit around moping. If nothing else, what happened to Casey proves that we never know how long we’ve got on this earth, and that we have a duty to enjoy ourselves when we have the chance.”

  Is that what it proved? Casey wondered, before deciding Janine was probably right.

  “So, tell me about this guy. What’s he like?”

  “He’s just a guy.”

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Does it matter? You don’t know him.”

  “I know everybody.”

  “You don’t know him,” Gail repeated, without any accompanying laughter.

  “You’re being very opaque.”

  Janine was right, Casey thought, her own curiosity piqued. It was unlike Gail to be so circumspect.

  “Did you meet him at work?”

  “No.”

  “How did you meet?”

  Casey felt Gail shrug, her nervous giggle returning.

  “Why won’t you tell me who he is?”

  “Because …”

  “Because you like him, don’t you?” Janine pounced.

  Casey felt the burn in Gail’s cheeks as if she herself were the one blushing. “I don’t know. It’s way too early. We’ve only been on one date. He probably won’t even call me again.”

  “Why wouldn’t he call you again? Were you too easy? Did you sleep with him already?”

  “Of course not. Honestly, Janine. Can we talk about something else?”

  “You’re such a prude sometimes,” Janine said.

  “I’m not a prude.”

  “Are too,” Janine said.

  “Am not.”

  Both women laughed, the tension in the room immediately dissipating.

  “Anyway, I should get going,” Janine said, jumping to her feet. “Maybe next time I come, I’ll bring a book so I can read to Casey.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Well, it’ll be better than that damn TV all the time. Think I’ll bring Middlemarch. She hated that book in college.”

  “Then why on earth would you bring it?” Gail asked logically.

  “Because maybe if she has to listen to it again, she’ll wake up, just so she can tell me to shut up.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “No argument there. Anyway, I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow, Casey.”

  “I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Gail offered, following Janine out of the room.

  Casey listened to their footsteps as they retreated down the hall, replaying the details of their visit over in her mind. How strange it was to be a passive observer to their discussions, to be right there … and yet, not there at all. It made her sad, she realized, suddenly recalling an incident from when she was in college. Two students had been found going at it on the floor of the rare book section of the library. They were immediately hauled into the dean’s office. “Wouldn’t you just love to be a fly on that wall?” Janine had asked as they’d filed past, a wicked smile filling her face. And Casey had enthusiastically nodded her agreement. What could be better? she’d thought then, than to be invisible? To be able to come and go as you pleased, without anyone being the wiser, or indeed even knowing you were present. To be able to eavesdrop, to listen in on private conversations, to find out what people were really thinking, to discover their deepest secrets, witness what they did when they assumed they were alone.

  Be careful what you wish for, Casey thought now.

  Because invisible was exactly what she’d become. Despite all the wires and tubes and ventilators and casts and nuts and bolts that were holding her together, despite the doctors and nurses and hospital staff who hovered over her bed, despite all the machinery that was keeping her alive, nobody really saw her. Nobody knew she was there.

  She was invisible.

  And it wasn’t fun. It wasn’t fun at all. Not even for a second.

  It was hell.

  “Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling today? Did you have a good sleep?”

  Casey felt Warren’s velvety voice curling up against her eardrum, like a kitten in a basket. How long had she been asleep this time? she wondered, coming fully awake, her heart pounding wildly inside her chest as the familiar panic overtook her, although she remained outwardly still. She heard him moving restlessly about the room for several seconds before pulling up a chair beside the bed, clearly trying to get comfortable in a place that afforded no such luxury.

  She tried picturing the room in an effort to calm herself down, deciding it was likely small and a sickly shade of green, with clunky Venetian blinds that hung precariously from a lone side window, and maybe one or two straight-backed, vinyl-upholstered chairs shoved into a corner. Perhaps a fading pastel sketch of a nondescript, bucolic landscape decorated the wall above her hospital bed, the bed itself overwhelmed by the latest in medical technology. There was undoubtedly a metal nightstand beside her, as well as the small television suspended from the ceiling.

  “The doctors think you might be ready to start breathing on your own,” Warren said, his voice soft and reassuring. “They’re going to start trying to wean you off the ventilator this afternoon, which is really wonderful news.”

  Is it? Casey wondered, settling uneasily into consciousness and trying to make sense of everything that was happening. But how could she make sense of anything when she didn’t know anything, when she didn’t know if it was night or day, dark or light, May or June, this year or next, when she had no idea how much time had passed since the last time she was conscious? And what difference did it make if she was breathing on her own or with the help of a machine, if she still couldn’t see or move or communicate?

  “Everybody keeps calling. Friends, neighbors, business associates. You really have no idea how much everybody loves you.”

  Except for one rather glaring exception.

  “I think you’re single-handedly keeping the florists in this city in business.” />
  I have flowers?

  “Janine and Gail send a fresh arrangement every week, of course,” Warren continued. “This week it’s a bunch of white and pink tulips. And there’s a vase of spectacular spring flowers from the partners at my firm. Unfortunately, the only flowers I know by name are the daffodils and irises, so I can’t be much help in that department, but there are a bunch of puffy white things I think you’d get a kick out of. Oh, and some pussywillows. I think that’s what they’re called. Not to mention a dozen red roses from yours truly, which are very beautiful, even if they don’t smell. Remember how roses used to smell? And now they don’t anymore,” he said sadly.

  Casey vaguely recalled having read something about why roses no longer had any aroma, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Besides, what difference did it make if she had no sense of smell? No difference at all, she decided, her mind arranging the spring flowers along the windowsill and placing the odorless roses on the nightstand beside her bed.

  There was a gentle knock on the door.

  “Sorry for interrupting,” Patsy apologized sweetly. “I saw you come in, and I thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.”

  “I’m okay, thanks,” Warren said.

  And now that you know, you can leave.

  “You look a little tired.”

  “Not getting much sleep these days.”

  “I guess you’re not used to sleeping alone.”

  Oh, that’s nice. Good one, Patsy. Nice and subtle.

  “I guess not.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Yeah, right.

  “It’s okay. I know what you meant.”

  “It doesn’t get any easier, does it? Seeing her this way,” Patsy continued, as Casey felt the nurse’s aide edging her way into the room, the scent of lavender following her.

  Did she really smell lavender? Casey wondered, sniffing madly at the air. Was it possible? Or was it just all that talk about flowers triggering her already overactive imagination?

  “That Detective Spinetti was back again,” Patsy said, “asking a lot of questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “Who comes to visit, how long they stay, if we’ve observed anything unusual or suspicious.”

  “And have you?”

  “I’ll tell you exactly what I told the detective, that the only thing I’ve seen is a lot of really sad people with a lot of love in their hearts. Casey must have been a very special woman.”

  “She still is,” Warren corrected.

  “Of course. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean …”

  “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that this whole thing was bad enough when we thought it was an accident. To think that someone might have done it deliberately …”

  “I can’t imagine….”

  “It’s just so unbelievable, seeing her so still. Casey was always so animated, so full of life.”

  “Tell me about her,” Patsy said, managing to sound as if she really cared.

  No. Don’t tell her anything. This is just foreplay as far as she’s concerned.

  Warren laughed softly, a tender sound radiating warmth and love. It encircled Casey like a pair of strong, comforting arms. “Well, she’s beautiful. You can see that, even in her condition. And I don’t mean just on the outside. On the inside, too. And she’s funny. We used to laugh so much.”

  It’s true, Casey thought. We used to laugh all the time.

  “And she’s sensitive,” Warren continued, as if a tap had been turned on in his brain, releasing a flood of adjectives. “Strong, smart, sexy. I miss her so much,” Warren whispered.

  Casey felt Patsy approach, pictured her laying a gentle hand on Warren’s shoulder. “If she’s half as strong and smart as you think she is, she’ll find her way back to you.”

  “Thank you,” Warren said.

  “Any time. Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee? Something to eat?”

  “Coffee would be wonderful. Here, let me give you some money.”

  “No, don’t be silly. It’s my treat. Be right back.”

  Casey pictured Patsy walking toward the door, an exaggerated sway to her hips. She wondered what kind of uniform Patsy was wearing, if the fabric flattered her figure, whether her hips were wide or narrow. She wondered how old she was, and if Warren thought she was pretty.

  “Nice girl,” Warren said after she was gone. “Not bad-looking,” he continued, as if he understood what she was thinking. “Although I think you’d find her rather common. Maybe five feet four, a hundred and fifteen pounds, at least fifteen pounds of which is makeup. Reddish blond hair, brown eyes, and clearly, her mother never taught her the fine art of applying mascara, which she has an unfortunate tendency to lather on, like shaving cream. I would guess her age as mid- to late twenties. Oh, and I don’t think she wears underwear.”

  Casey heard him swivel around in his chair.

  “Let’s see. What else can I tell you? You’re missing a beautiful day. Sunshine, about seventy-four degrees. Everyone keeps trying to talk me into playing some golf. The course is open, and from what I hear, it’s in great shape. I haven’t been up there to see for myself. I can’t quite bring myself to go, what with you lying here like this. ‘You can’t stay at the hospital all day,’ everyone keeps telling me. But what am I supposed to do? Everything just seems so … frivolous. ‘You have to get out, live your life,’ they say. I keep telling them that my life is here, in this hospital.”

  Casey felt her eyes fill with tears, although she doubted any tears actually formed. I keep telling them that my life is here, in this hospital, she repeated, trying to hold on to his exact inflection.

  “Anyway, Ted Bates—you remember him, he’s a lawyer, we had dinner with him and his wife a few months back—he’s called a couple of times, trying to get me out to play a few holes, keeps telling me it’ll be a good distraction, that I have to do something to relax. Life goes on, that kind of crap. I said I’d think about it. God knows I could use the exercise. I haven’t been to the gym since … Shit. What am I talking about? I’m not going near a golf course until you can go with me. Although this would probably be a good time for me to practice,” he said, and tried to laugh. “That way when you wake up, I can surprise you with my newfound prowess.” The laugh scraped against his throat before emerging as a strangled cry. “God, Casey. I miss you so much.”

  I miss you, too.

  Another gentle knock on the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Warren said, sniffing back his tears. “I didn’t realize you were standing there.”

  “Sorry to interrupt. I didn’t want your coffee to get cold,” Patsy said.

  So now even her most intimate moments with her husband were no longer hers alone, Casey thought, her mind absorbing this latest loss, her heart sinking with its weight.

  I will find my way back to you, she cried silently.

  I will. I will.

  SEVEN

  “I can’t believe you told that cop you think I tried to kill my sister!” Drew cried loudly.

  “I told him no such thing,” Warren protested.

  “I get home from my holiday to find half the damn police force camped out in the lobby of my condominium. You’d think I was Osama bin Laden, for God’s sake. And then to be practically accused of trying to kill my own sister! My sister! How do you suppose that made me feel?”

  “I’m really sorry….”

  “How could you accuse me of such a thing?”

  “Believe me, Drew. I didn’t accuse you of anything.”

  Casey heard the resignation in her husband’s voice. You could never win an argument with Drew, she understood, thinking back to that day, three months shy of her fourth birthday, when her sister was born.

  “What kind of name is Drew anyway?” Leslie had scoffed when they brought her home from the hospital. Leslie was the new baby’s recently hired nanny, a young woman with a strong English accen
t, round, ruddy cheeks, and spiky brown hair that was constantly falling into her eyes, so she always appeared to be peering at you from under a scrim.

  “She was supposed to be Andrew,” came the knowing response from Shauna, the young Irish girl hired to take care of Casey after Maya’s abrupt departure. Casey wasn’t overly fond of Shauna, whose face was always vaguely pinched, as if she was in perpetual pain, and whose legs were heavy beneath her too-short skirts.

  “Instead they got another stinking girl,” Leslie remarked carelessly, as if Casey weren’t in the room.

  Shauna made a weird clucking sound with her mouth and nodded her agreement. “Boys are much better,” she said.

  Casey stood between the two young women in front of the change table in Drew’s blue-and-white nursery, the baby fussing before them, waiting for a fresh diaper. “She isn’t stinky,” Casey protested.

  “No? Then you can change her.” Leslie thrust the used diaper into Casey’s reluctant hands.

  Casey quickly disposed of the diaper in the nearby wastebasket. “She smells better than you do.”

  Leslie laughed. “You saying you don’t like my perfume?”

  “It smells yucky.”

  “It smells musky,” the nanny corrected. “And your father likes it just fine.” She giggled, winking toward Shauna as she maneuvered a fresh Pampers around Drew’s wriggling little bottom.

  “Careful,” Shauna warned. “That kind of talk’s been known to get a girl fired.”

  Leslie shrugged dismissively, lifting Drew into the air and carrying the squirming bundle to her crib, then laying her on her back. Casey watched two tiny arms and legs immediately shoot into the air, as if her sister were an insect someone had callously tipped over. The baby’s face contorted into a series of angry folds and furrows, and her mouth opened in a silent scream that quickly filled with rage, her shrill screams suddenly piercing the air, like shards of flying glass. “God, what an awful sound,” Leslie said.

  “Maybe she’s hungry,” Casey volunteered.

  “I just gave her a bottle.”

  “Maybe you didn’t give her enough.”

  “Maybe it’s time for your nap.”

  “I don’t take naps anymore.”