by Pat Young
He should tell Curtis that Lucie was dead. Today. Not put it off any longer.
That would put an end to Curtis’s stupid talk about having Lucie ‘taken out’. Maybe he’d stop talking about Lucie altogether. Now, that would be a result.
But what if Curtis really did believe Lucie was alive and would come back to him eventually? Would the news of her death come as a shock? A shock that was too big for him to deal with in his current state? Curtis had been making progress but he was still fragile and Dylan didn’t want to be the one to cause a setback in his recovery.
He was no closer to making a decision when he quietly opened the door to the room Curtis was sharing with three other men. At first Dylan thought the room was empty. Then he saw Curtis sitting alone in the corner. Staring at the wall.
Dylan had met Curtis on their first day at kindergarten. At break time Dylan had been crying, sad to be separated for the first time from the mommy he adored. Another little boy had called him a crybaby. Curtis pushed the bully over on his butt and said to Dylan, ‘I know a joke. Want to hear it?’
Dylan had wiped away his tears with the cuff of his favourite Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and nodded. Curtis had told him the kind of joke only kindergartners find amusing.
‘What do you call cheese that’s not yours?’ asked Curtis, giggling in anticipation.
Dylan didn’t know the answer.
‘It’s Nacho cheese!’
The two of them had laughed till Dylan’s tummy hurt. They’d been best friends ever since.
To see his hero, loyal, charming, funny, outrageous Curtis sitting there helpless was too much for Dylan. He wished for a sleeve to wipe his eyes but had to make do with the back of his hand.
Sensing someone in the room, Curtis looked round, his eyes wide and fearful. The strong, always ready for a fight Curtis looked vulnerable. Probably for the first time in his life.
‘Thought you weren’t coming back,’ said Curtis.
‘Came to see you’re okay, buddy.’
‘Well, you’ve seen.’ Curtis spread his arms wide. ‘Do I look okay to you?’
‘I didn’t mean that, Curtis,’ said Dylan, his voice so full of pity he could hear it himself.
‘Hell did you mean then?’
‘I just meant, well, I thought you might like some company. Maybe cheer you up a bit. I haven’t been around for a couple days. Sorry about that.’
‘Yeah, I bet you’re real sorry.’
Dylan thought he’d never heard so much bitterness in one sentence. He tried again. ‘Well, I’m here now.’
‘To cheer me up? So what do you suggest? Go for a run? Shoot some hoops? Or maybe we could head on out to a bar? Grab a few beers then pick up some hot girls and screw their brains out?’
Curtis was shouting louder than Dylan had ever heard him, even on the side of a running track.
‘Never gonna happen! You got that, Dylan? Never gonna happen!’
The door opened and a nurse stuck his head into the room. ‘Everything okay in here, guys?’ he asked.
‘Just peachy, thanks,’ said Curtis, lowering the volume. ‘Catching up with my ole buddy Dylan here.’
When the nurse left and closed the door behind him, it was as if the air had gone out of the room and Curtis too. He sat slumped in his chair, head down.
Dylan wondered if Curtis had been waiting all day for someone to scream at, to vent his frustration. Maybe he’d feel the better for it, in which case, Dylan was prepared to take the flak.
‘Know what, Dylan?’ Curtis said, his voice quiet and resigned. ‘Never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I wish you’d just let me die.’ He gestured at his legs. ‘Instead of this shit.’
‘Don’t say that, Curtis.’
‘Why shouldn’t I say it? It’s true.’
‘You don’t mean it.’
‘Oh yes, I do. This is it for me. I’ll die a pathetic, hopeless cripple. And not a day too soon.’
Curtis sounded like his life was already over.
Dylan stood helpless, trying not to watch as the tears rolled down his best friend’s face. He didn’t know which was kindest, to step forward and comfort his weeping friend, or to leave and let him regain his composure in privacy. In the end he chose to say nothing, respecting what little dignity Curtis still had, but he laid his hand gently on Curtis’s shoulder and left it there.
‘Sorry, Dylan. None of this is your fault.’
‘I hate to see you this way, Curtis. I wish there was something I could do.’
‘There is. I told you. Help me find Lucie. I didn’t mean all that stuff I said about getting her killed. I miss her. I love her. Please, Dylan, help me.’
‘I’ve been trying, Curtis.’
Curtis looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed. ‘Did you find her?’
Dylan looked at his friend, opened his mouth to tell him what he’d found out about Lucie and shook his head. How could he kick a guy so far down he wished he was dead?
‘Come on, man. Tell me!’
‘Curtis, I think Lucie’s gone for good.’
‘I knew it,’ he spat. ‘She’s run home to her mommy, hasn’t she?’
‘No, she hasn’t run anywhere.’
Curtis let out a bitter snort of laughter, devoid of any humour, and said, ‘Well, I’m sure as hell not running anywhere either.’
31
Lucie was so helium-hearted she had to resist the urge to skip along the hospital corridor. She’d stopped at a flower stall on the street and bought ten yellow chrysanthemums. Their heads were like big smiley faces. They were Mum’s favourite flowers, but Lucie had always hated them. Ever since she was small and found one full of earwigs in Granny’s garden. Lucie had thrown the flower away and screamed hysterically because Bernie Yates at school told her earwigs crawled in through your ears and ate your brains. Granny said, ‘Well, they’ll no get much to eat in wee Bernie’s head.’
When Lucie had calmed down, Granny gave her a stick of rhubarb as consolation, and a little bowl of sugar to dip it in. It was a very special treat of Granny’s that Lucie had to keep secret from Mum, who disapproved.
‘Hi,’ she said to the nurse on desk duty. ‘I’ve come to see my mum.’
‘Cool. Who’s your mom?’
‘Margaret McBride.’
The smile didn’t leave the nurse’s face, but it changed, like one of those lights you can dim, eliminating all the brightness. Lucie felt something drop deep in her stomach.
The nurse came round to Lucie’s side of the counter. She put her hand gently on Lucie’s back and said, ‘Would you like to come and take a seat?’
Lucie held out the bouquet of golden flowers. ‘I’ve brought Mum these. They’re her favourite.’
‘They’re beautiful. If you wait here a moment I’ll fetch Doctor Meyer.’
When the doctor came and sat beside Lucie, she knew something was seriously wrong. Yesterday’s twinkle had gone from the doctor’s eyes. In a low, gentle voice she said, ‘I’m very, very sorry.’
Lucie grabbed the doctor’s arm. ‘Please. No. Don’t tell me she’s dead.’
The doctor nodded, the slightest movement of her head. Her tired eyes looked full of sadness.
Lucie tried to take it in. ‘How long ago?’
‘About an hour.’
‘An hour?’ said Lucie. ‘I missed her by an hour?’
The doctor nodded.
‘Was anyone with her?’
‘We were with her.’
‘Was she in pain?’
‘No. No pain. You have my word on that.’
Lucie felt like a child, longing for a hug. From her mother, from this stranger, anyone would do. She’d never felt so lost and alone in her life.
‘I saw her yesterday. She seemed fine. We talked about going back to Scotland together. And now she’s gone? I don’t understand how that can happen.’
‘As you know, your mother sustained a pelvic fracture in the crash. As a result, a blood clot formed, probably in
one of the deep veins of her leg, and caused a blockage in a blood vessel in her lungs. It’s known as a pulmonary embolism or PE. Sometimes a PE causes chest pain or breathlessness but your mom had no symptoms. About an hour ago, your mother suffered cardiac arrest. My colleagues did everything they could, but I’m afraid they were unable to save her. And we had no contact details to get in touch with you. I am very sorry.’
‘I screwed up. If you’d had my phone number, I could have been here with her when she died. I would have made it here on time, wouldn’t I?’
The doctor shook her head, sadly and silently.
‘If she’d stayed in Scotland, she wouldn’t have had the car smash. If I hadn’t got in touch and begged her to come and see me, she’d still be alive. This is all my fault, isn’t it?’
‘Lucie, you mustn’t think like that. Your mom was ecstatic to see you yesterday. She told me she could die happy now she’d found you again. She could never have guessed what was going to happen this morning, but those were her words, I promise you.’
Lucie looked into the doctor’s eyes, appealing for affirmation. ‘Did she really?’
‘She did. Your mom was glad she came to the States and found you, so don’t beat yourself up, please. There’s no point. Now, is there someone we can call for you?’
Lucie shook her head, suddenly conscious of tears dripping from her chin. She hadn’t even known she was crying. ‘Nobody.’
The nurse reached for a box of tissues, ripped out a handful and gave them to Lucie.
‘Would you like to see your mom?’ asked the doctor.
Lucie sniffed loudly, wiped her eyes and stood up, saying, ‘No, thank you.’
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. She looks very peaceful, as if she’s asleep. Are you sure you don’t want to see her?’
Lucie shook her head. ‘I can’t. Please don’t make me.’
‘That’s okay. People often feel the same way. Why don’t you sit here for as long as you need? If you change your mind, just tell the nurse. We have some paperwork we need to go over with you, but we can leave it till tomorrow if you like.’
A pager attached to the doctor’s waistband started to squeal impatiently. She checked it and rose to her feet, saying, ‘I’m sorry. I have to get this.’
‘What’s the paperwork?’ Lucie asked the nurse.
‘Insurance stuff, usually. You’re Mrs McBride’s next of kin, right?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose I am. There’s my dad, I guess.’
‘Well, don’t you worry, we’ll get it sorted out. We have your mom’s things ready for you to take away. Her bag, clothes and so on. I’ll just go get them for you.’
The last thing Lucie wanted right now was another woman’s possessions. Even her mother’s.
She was at the swing doors when she remembered the chrysanthemums. Glad to be rid of their acrid smell she laid them on a chair. Maybe the nurse would put them with Mum.
Lucie waited for the elevator, trying to dry her eyes with damp scraps of disintegrating tissue. For the seconds it took to descend to ground level, she covered her face with her hands and gave into an urge to howl like an abandoned child.
She felt the elevator come to a standstill. When the doors opened, she blundered out, bumping into people. Someone fended her off and Lucie stumbled. Strong arms caught and held her upright till she was steady on her feet.
‘Hey! Are you okay?’
Lucie leaned against him, this stranger, and wept. She felt firm hands gripping her shoulders. Not pushing her away. Keeping her from collapsing.
When she straightened up, embarrassed and apologising, the man took a pristine cotton handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.
‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘Please.’
Lucie wiped her eyes and dabbed at her nose, still sobbing. ‘My mum just died,’ she cried, ‘and I wasn’t there.’ The last vowel tailed off into a sorrowful whimper.
The man opened his arms and, as if she’d known him all her life, Lucie stepped into them and continued to weep against his chest. She felt him patting her back, the way her mother used to comfort her when she was small. The memory was too much.
32
It could not have worked out better for him had he planned it all in advance.
On the way to the hospital, he’d been unable to decide if the girl he was following was Charlotte. She looked very like Charlotte, was wearing similar clothes and shoes, but something about the way she held herself was different. On the few occasions he’d seen Charlotte walk anywhere, into meetings or across the North Tower lobby, she had an aura of something he found hard to identify from memory. It was a confidence, an awareness of herself as someone powerful – he recognised it in himself and others. That aura was probably what had drawn him to her. But this girl had looked different, as if she was out of her comfort zone somehow.
Now, holding her in his arms, at a discreet and respectable distance, of course, he knew this wasn’t Charlotte. He didn’t know this girl but she showed no sign of wanting him to let her go. In fact, she seemed to be finding solace crying onto the chest of a complete stranger in the middle of a very public place. However, people were starting to look and he was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.
He eased her away and said in his gentlest voice, ‘Hey, come on now. Let’s see if we can get you a glass of water or something.’ With his hand just touching her elbow, she allowed him to lead her across the entrance hall of the hospital to a little coffee shop in the corner. He settled her at a table for two and said, ‘What can I get you? Coffee?’
She shook her head and dabbed at her nose with his handkerchief.
‘You go ahead and have a good blow, if that would help. Sure I can’t get you something to drink? You should sit for a moment.’
In a tiny voice, completely unlike Charlotte’s, the girl said, ‘Water, please.’ She spoke with a slight accent, Irish or Scottish.
Stepping away from the table he heard an enormous honking sound. Well, that was one handkerchief he wouldn’t be using again in a hurry.
When he’d navigated the counter and the queue to pay, the young woman gave him a wan smile. He nodded to her, hoping she would find it encouraging and supportive.
‘I took the liberty of getting myself some coffee. Do you mind if I join?’
‘No, of course, please,’ said the girl, pointing to the seat beside her. She took a sip of water and said, ‘Thanks for being so kind.’ She held out the sodden hankie with a smile of apology.
‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘I insist.’
The girl wiped her nose again and put the cotton square in her jacket pocket. ‘I’m so sorry. You must think I’m completely mad.’
He shook his head. ‘Not mad, just very, very sad. I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Has your mother been ill for some time?’ Before she could answer he added, ‘Forgive me. I have no right to ask such an intrusive question. We haven’t even been introduced. Sorry.’ He held out his hand and said, ‘Richard Armstrong.’
She took his hand and shook it but did not give her own name in return. Interesting. Most people he met replied automatically with their name when he introduced himself.
He tried again. ‘My friends call me Rick.’ He smiled encouragingly, but still she didn’t tell him her name. Better not to force the issue.
With the saddest look he’d ever seen, the girl began to talk. ‘My mum was involved in a road accident.’
‘That’s awful. I’m so sorry.’
‘She was driving. But she’d just got off the plane. She was tired.’
‘Had she been on vacation some place?’
The girl shook her head and dabbed away fresh tears. ‘She flew all the way from Scotland. To see me. It’s my fault.’
Scotland! He knew it. He hadn’t the time to listen to the dramas of this girl’s life. But he was curious about her.
‘You’re not to blame for a road traffic accident. They happen all the time.’
‘Yes,
but she wouldn’t have been driving if it weren’t for me. I haven’t seen my parents since I was eighteen. I sent my mum a letter, because I didn’t know what else I could do. I had to get away.’
‘Away from what?’
‘Away from my life. I was going to beg them to forgive me and take me home with them. I didn’t get the chance.’
‘They came for you. So it’s clear they already forgave you.’
The girl shook her head sadly. ‘No, they split up because of me. Mum left him. She came alone. When the accident happened, she was driving to see me. All to prove she was an independent woman.’
Oh Jesus, this was getting more like a country and western song by the minute. The sooner he got out of here, the better.
‘And now the hospital wants to talk to me about insurance and stuff.’
‘Did your mom have insurance?’
The girl looked at him as if he was mad. ‘No one comes to the States without travel insurance. Everybody knows that, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Everybody except my mum, it turns out.’
33
Dylan dumped the paper cup on the table. Scalding coffee sloshed over the edge and burnt his hand, but his brain barely registered the pain. This must be what people meant when they talked about seeing a ghost. You saw a loved one walking towards you through a crowd on the street. Only to be hit with the reality of bereavement when the ‘ghost’ got close enough for you to make out the features. You wondered how you could possibly have made such a mistake.
There she was. Lucie’s ghost. Sitting at a table in the corner. Deep in conversation with a man. Husband, older brother, perhaps. She seemed very upset, and the man, looking kind and concerned, appeared to be consoling her.
Lucie didn’t have a brother. She was an only child. Maybe that’s why she’d been such an independent spirit when he’d first met her. Not every eighteen-year-old was brave enough to leave her family and cross the ocean by herself. Especially when her family were so dead against it. But Lucie had been full of spirit. Determined to chase her dream of running against the best runners in the world, and beating them.
