“Are you aware of the circumstances surrounding your accident?”
I blink twice.
“That Memorial Day weekend, your tan Ford Escort collided with a yellow Jaguar F-Type coupe driven by a man named Keith Young?”
I blink twice.
“And that Keith Young plays for the Atlanta Thrashers professional hockey team?”
I blink once.
She nodded, satisfied she hadn’t tripped me up.
“I meant to say the Atlanta Falcons professional football team.”
I blink twice.
“And the only occupants of your vehicle at the time of the accident were you and your sister Sidney?”
I blink twice.
“You’re aware your sister changed her story from the original accident report to say she was driving your car when the accident occurred?”
I blink twice.
“And you confirm Sidney was driving?”
I blink twice.
“Okay. Just so you know, your sister reported smelling alcohol on Keith Young at the scene. His blood alcohol level originally came back just above the legal limit, but when it was retested, it came back at the legal limit.”
I blink twice.
“Last month I convinced Keith Young’s attorneys you were going to testify and you would be a sympathetic witness. I was trying to get him to plead to a lesser charge so you would have a chance to get a civil judgment.
I blink twice.
“But since your sister who now admits to driving the night of the accident was arrested last week for possession and intent to distribute amphetamines, our case has been gutted. I’m here to tell you the DA’s office is dropping all charges against Keith Young.”
I blink twice. It’s only fair.
“But we’re prepared to prosecute Sidney for conspiring with David Spooner to embezzle from the foundation that was set up to pay your medical bills.”
I blink once.
“No? I think Sidney used money from your foundation to fund her drug business and her own addiction, and if we lean on her hard enough, maybe she’ll give up Spooner’s whereabouts and some of the money can be recovered.”
Again, I blink once.
Her phone rang. She glanced at it, then closed her eyes briefly.
“Excuse me just a moment.” She punched a button and held the phone to her ear. “Hi, Dad. I’m in a meeting. What’s up?” She listened for a few seconds, then sighed. “I’m sorry, that’s not going to work for me. Yes, the office is closed Christmas Eve and Christmas, but I have to be in court the morning of the twenty-sixth, and I’ll need to prepare. Right. Maybe I can come up for New Year’s. I’ll check my schedule and let you know. I promise. Okay, bye.”
She ended the call, then heaved another sigh. “Where was I? Oh, the embezzling. You should know I don’t need your permission to bring charges against your sister, but it would help if you testify against her.”
I blink once.
She tapped her finger on the file folder. “So there’s no animosity between you and Sidney?”
Is she trying to trip me up again? Does she have in the file a copy of the lost manuscript I’d written? If so, she has everything she needs to prove there was discord between us sisters.
“Marigold, is there animosity between you and Sidney?”
Defiant, I blink once.
Slowly, ADA Spence returned the file to her briefcase and unfolded from the chair. “We’ll chat again when you can actually talk, Marigold. Meanwhile, I certainly hope your sister deserves your support.”
When the door closed, my stomach was churning. I can’t help but think about Audrey Parks, my former ward mate who had awoken from her coma but had found her return to life so unbearable she had attempted to hang herself in the coma ward. If my parents hadn’t bumbled along, she’d be good and dead right now instead of recovering in the psych ward.
I’m starting to understand what she meant. Returning to the world meant returning to hard choices. Audrey had a valid point in asserting there was something comforting about simply keeping one’s eyes closed.
December 9, Friday
“HI, SWEETHEART. Are you sleeping?”
When I open my eyes, I’m pleased to see my Dad sitting in the chair next to my bed. From the expression of relief on his face, I realize he thought I’d slipped back into a coma versus snagging a nap between physical therapy sessions.
To show him how I’m improving, I flutter my right hand in an uncontrolled wave.
He grins. “That’s great. That’s really great, Marigold.”
I notice the crutches are gone and the cast has been replaced by a brace he’s wearing over his pants leg. When he pulls a hand over his mouth, I realize how haggard he looks.
“You heard the DA is dropping all charges against Keith Young?”
I blink twice.
“It kills me to know he might’ve been responsible for the accident, yet getting away scott free because of mistakes Sidney made.”
I blink twice.
“He’s probably out tonight partying and congratulating himself for gaming the system.”
I hope not.
Dad made an anguished noise. “Sidney is in serious trouble. Your mother and I are trying to help her as much as we can. And as strange as it sounds, it’s been good for our relationship, has made us closer.”
The silver lining of a very dark cloud.
“Which is why… ”
He stops and heaves a sigh so labored, I’m worried what’s coming next.
“Marigold, when you were in the coma, could you hear things that were being said to you? You know, conversations or… stories? Because you might have overheard things that would be best forgotten.”
Things such as early in my parents’ marriage, Dad had taken twenty-five thousand dollars from a home safe to pay gambling debts and told my Mom the money had been stolen?
“Could you, Marigold?” he pressed. “Could you hear the things we said, the things I said to you?”
I weighed the fallout of my response. I blink once.
“No?” he asked, sounding relieved.
And involuntarily I blink again.
“Yes?” he asked, sounding panicked.
I rallied my resources and channeled them into a single physical response.
“No,” I squeak past the feeding tube in my throat.
The fall of his shoulders in abject relief makes the lie worth it.
December 10, Saturday
“PEACE BE WITH YOU, ladies.”
I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m afraid Sister Irene will smother me if she thinks I might squeal on her. Which I totally plan to do. If Dr. Jarvis makes good on his promise to remove the feeding tube today, tomorrow I can unload on Jack Terry and let him handle the nun.
“Hello, Marigold,” she whispered near my face. “I know you’re awake. I’m on Facebook.”
Miserably, I open my eyes to meet her gaze, and I’m shocked by how petite and innocent she looks. Google ‘nun’ right now and the first image that comes up in standard black and white habit with her hands clasped in prayer is Sister Irene.
“God has answered our prayers,” she sang with an angelic smile. “You woke up… and your awakening was my awakening, too.”
She raised her arms and I winced, sure she was going to plunge the big knife she bragged about buying right through my chest.
“Praise be to God,” she said, holding her hands high. “Through Him all things are possible, including absolute forgiveness.”
She lowered her hands and I winced, sure she was going to put her tiny fingers around my throat and use her super-human evil strength to choke the life out of me.
“I nursed my ailing guest Mr. Gilpin back to health and he returned to his own home. Only God can judge him for what’s in his heart, right, Marigold?”
I can’t blink, can only wonder if she’s telling the truth or spinning a story to dissuade me from spilling my guts.
“Let us
pray,” she said, and bowed her head.
Sister Irene prayed for mercy and goodness, for her sister’s soul, and for the grace of forgetting—that last one was aimed at me, no doubt.
It seemed more than one person was regretting their decision to unburden themselves onto Coma Girl.
December 11, Sunday
THE DOOR OPENED and Jack Terry strode in, carrying a bag of food.
“Hi, Marigold.”
“J….kuh,” I manage past a throat that feels as if it’s lined with broken glass.
He came up short. “You talked. Hey—the feeding tube is gone.”
“Liz… zen.” I swallowed painfully, then glanced at the cup of warm broth sitting on my bed tray. Teddy had been letting me sip on it, but had been called away with the promise to return.
“Do you want a sip first?” Jack asked.
To save my throat, I blink twice. He held the thin straw to my mouth and guided it between my lips. I sip a tiny amount of the broth, then swallow.
“Liz… zen,” I repeat.
“I’m listening.”
“Mun… maahn.”
“Man?” he prompted.
I blink twice. “Jor… jah.”
“Georgia?”
I blink once.
“Man… George?”
I blink twice. “Guh… puhn.”
“George Gullpin?”
Close enough, I hope. “Puh… row.”
“Puh… row? Puh… row. Parole?”
I blink twice.
Jack held the straw to my mouth for another tiny soothing sip. “You’re trying to tell me about a man who’s on parole?”
I blink twice. “Dan… juh.”
“Dan.. juh,” he repeated. “Dan… danger?”
I blink twice.
“Did this man threaten you?”
I blink once.
“No. Then who’s in danger?”
“Jor… jah.”
“George? He’s the one in danger?”
I blink twice, practically limp with relief.
“Do you know this man George?” Jack asked, pulling out a notebook.
I blink once.
“No. Did you overhear something?”
I blink twice.
“Okay.” Jack scratched his temple, then reached for his phone. “I’m putting out an inquiry on parolees name George Gullpin.” He punched several buttons, then set down his phone. “Anything else you want to tell me now that you have your voice back?”
I blink twice.
“I’m listening.”
“Spuhn… r.”
“Spuhn… r. Spunner… Spooner? David Spooner?”
I blink twice.
“What about him?”
“Dee… nuh… Burrd… lee.”
“Deena Burdlee?”
“Maahn.”
“Man. Deena… Dean?”
I blink twice.
“Dean Bradley? The guy connected to the assault on Keith Young?”
“Ye…sssssss,” I hiss.
“David Spooner and Dean Bradley… they know each other?”
I blink once.
“No. They don’t know each other?”
My throat is on fire. I lift the fingers on my right hand a fraction of an inch and put the first two fingers together.
“They’re together?” Jack asked.
I grunt.
“David Spooner and Dean Bradley are together?”
I grunt louder.
“They’re… the same person,” he said, as realization dawned.
I blink twice, exhausted, but triumphant.
December 12, Monday
“READY FOR A BATH?” Gina asked as she and Teddy rolled in a cart.
“Uh-hmm,” I murmured.
“Look at Coma Girl, talking,” Teddy said, sounding pleased.
“And moving,” Gina added. “Both hands and feet, plus she can turn her head and nod.”
“And she’s eating. A cup of broth this morning and a protein shake for lunch.”
Gina turned to me. “The more you swallow and retrain your muscles, the sooner you’ll be on solid food.”
“And Duncan will be glad you can swallow again,” Teddy said, wagging his eyebrows.
I tried to laugh, but it hurt.
“Don’t be crude,” Gina chided.
“It’s a joke,” Teddy said. “For lovers.”
“How do you know they’re lovers?”
“Hello, can you see this big baby bump?”
Gina laughed. “Yes.”
“And it’s obvious the guy is crazy about our Coma Girl.”
“But what if she isn’t nuts for him? Love can be one-sided, you know.”
“Like your love for Dr. Jarvis?” Teddy teased.
“Stop it. If I had a crush on Dr. Jarvis, it wouldn’t get me anywhere. He hasn’t asked me out.”
“That’s because he’s been working days and you’ve been working nights.”
“Whatever. I needed a date for my neighbor’s Christmas Eve party… so I invited Gabriel.”
“Please don’t start that up again,” Teddy said.
“I’ve been putting him off while I worked overtime during the holidays and he’s been a gentleman about it.”
“Nooooo,” I croaked.
Gina frowned and looked at me. “Did you just say ‘no,’ Marigold?”
I blink twice.
“Why?”
“Dahn… nuh.”
“Donna?” she asked. “What about Donna?’
“Gay… bruh.. Dahn… nuh.”
“Gabriel and Donna?” Gina asked. “What about them?”
Teddy guffawed. “Come on, Gina. Does she have to spell it out for you?”
“Sesssss… eeee…. sesssss,” I provided.
“Sex,” Teddy translated.
“They’re not having sex,” Gina insisted. “Besides, how would Marigold know?”
“Woom,” I said.
“Womb?” she asked.
“She said room,” Teddy corrected. “Did Gabriel and Donna have sex in this room?”
I blink twice.
“Ew,” Teddy and Gina said in unison.
“That settles it,” Teddy said. “You can’t go out with Gabriel now.”
“No way,” Gina agreed. Then she sighed. “Guess I’ll go to the holiday party alone.”
Teddy tore off a piece of bandage tape and secured the nurse call button when I could reach it.
“In the meantime, Marigold. If anyone starts up any shenanigans in here, just push this button, okay?”
I blink twice.
December 13, Tuesday
“HO, HO, HO, Merry Christmas, Marigold!”
Santa Claus is standing just inside my room. I recognize my boss, Percy Palmer, within a split second, but I’m so gobsmacked, I’m rendered speechless. The man I worked for was anti-social to the point of being awkward—where did this jolly fat elf come from?
He pulled down the fake white beard. “It’s me, Marigold. I heard you done woke up.”
I lift my head and manage a shaky smile in his direction. “Hell-o, Per-cy. L-look at… you.”
He stepped closer to my bed. “I know—who would’ve thunk it? But I’m having a great time cheering up the little ones here at the hospital. It was Sophia’s idea.”
The woman who had thanked him in person for donating new carpet for the hospital waiting rooms and invited him to lunch. Ah, so she was the source of the twinkle in Saint Nick’s eye.
“Good,” I said. Mr. Palmer deserves companionship.
“Is the baby healthy?” he asked.
I nodded. “It’s a… girl.”
He grinned. “I have just the thing.” From his pack he removed a fuzzy pink teddy bear and set it on the pillow next to me.
“Thank… you.”
“I should be thanking you, Marigold. I wouldn’t have met Sophia if not for you.”
I don’t have a short response, so I simply shook my head to deflect the credit from my coma
tose-ness.
“It’s true,” he insisted. “And now you’re wake and getting well. Everyone at the office is so excited… well, except for the person I hired to fill in for you.”
Oh… yikes.
“But she’s finally getting the hang of things, so I’ll find something else for her to do around there. You can have your old job back as soon as you’re ready.”
I wasn’t sure when that would be, but eventually I would have to earn money again, so I gave him a grateful nod.
Being incapacitated has allowed me not to worry about the financial burden my condition has created. But now that I’m improving and can foresee a day I might go home, I wonder what the final tally will be… and if the foundation funds aren’t recovered, if I have sentenced Duncan to a life of servitude.
December 14, Wednesday
“HELLO, DEAR, It’s Mom.”
I guess Mom has forgotten I can see now.
“Hi… mommmmm.”
She seemed surprised and pleased to hear me speak. My speech is still slow and I tend to run my words together, but I’m making good progress most days.
“Loooook.” I slowly lift my right arm until my hand is over my head, and do the same on the left side.
“Very good, Marigold. Good job.” She gave me a little smile. “Now that you’re awake, it’s hard to remember all that time when you… weren’t.”
Not for me… but I know her cues. She wants to talk about something.
“What was it like being in a coma?”
“Empty,” was the only word that came to mind.
“Empty,” she repeated. “So… could you hear the things that were going on around you? Could you hear people when they, um, talked to you?”
You mean when you told me I’m the product of an affair you had on Dad in retaliation for him not being there for you?
“I’m just wondering because it stands to reason… that is, one might assume the unconscious person they’re talking to isn’t really listening… and won’t be able to tell any tales.”
She was nibbling on a nail.
“Do you understand?”
I nod slowly. “But… I did not.”
“You don’t remember hearing anything?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, good,” she gushed. “I mean… it’s not good or bad… It’s just better if we all get to hit the reset button at the same time, don’t you agree?”
I do, actually.
December 15, Thursday
THE DOOR OPENED and admitted a young blond woman who seemed vaguely familiar. My mind raced to identify her—someone from my burlesque class? I don’t think so. The instructor who passed my tell-all manuscript to a stranger? I remember her being dark-haired. Perhaps she is a visitor for Shondra Taylor, the unfortunate woman in the bed next to me whose hordes of visitors had dwindled over the past few weeks.
Coma Girl: Part 6 (Kindle Single) Page 3
