The Gemini Bridge (The York Street Series Book 1)

by Shea Meadows

  “Consider it done. What about your car? Do you want me to get someone to drive it to Minneapolis?”

  “I’m hoping Em can do it, but I’ll let you know. Roy, I appreciate your help, considering the circumstances.”

  There was no response for a moment. Then Roy almost whispered. “I’m sorry about all this. I should have been honest. Now you’re going through this thing with us while facing Tilda’s crisis. I feel like pond scum.”

  Ricky sobbed and laughed at the same time. “You are pond scum, but empathetic pond scum. Thanks for admitting you were wrong.”

  “Do you want me fly to Minneapolis with you? It might be nice to have a doctor there to help with decisions.”

  “Thanks, but it would be too painful. I can only handle so much at one time. Besides that, Tilda thinks you’re pond scum too. She wouldn’t want to wake up and see your face.”

  “Yeah, we didn’t hit it off when she visited. It’ll cheer her up to hear we’ve split. But, please, call me if you need anything.”

  “I have to call Em and the airline now. Reach me on my cell if there’s a problem with moving my stuff or getting back my security.”

  “Don’t worry. Tell your dad I’ll be thinking about all of you.”

  “Goodbye, Roy. Do better for Julie than you did for me.” She hung up before he could reply.

  Ricky reached Emily who agreed to drive the car to Minneapolis the following weekend.

  She purchased a ticket on a flight leaving in three hours for an outrageous amount of money, then drove to the bank, withdrew her savings, and closed her accounts. The one thing she’d done right with Roy was keeping her money separate.

  Ricky left her car in guest parking at Emily’s building, put the things from the paper bags into a duffle she found in Em’s spare room, and took a cab to the airport. On the way, she called her dad and told him when she’d get in.

  As the plane took off, she looked down at Chicago. It had been her home for the last ten years. She never thought she’d go back to Minneapolis, especially under these circumstances. But it was time to face her dragons and fight her sister’s dragons as well.

  Best friends always. Betta fredo alda. If only it was true. If only they’d stayed best friends.

  Chapter 2

  Ricky lugged one carry-on through the crowd at chaotic Minneapolis International Airport, bumping into people and being bumped in return. She’d checked the suitcase and duffel, so she made her way to the baggage carrousel. The sound in the airport made it almost impossible to hear on her cell phone.

  “Hi, Dad, I just got in. Who’s picking me up and where?”

  “Do you remember Beth Ann? She’ll be waiting by baggage pickup. She’ll bring you to the hospital, then to Tilda’s house. Tilda’s friends think someone should be living there. Chester’s there now, but he’ll move out when you arrive.”

  Ricky’s heart skipped a beat. Beth Ann and Chester, two people who will always remind me of one of the worst days of my life.

  “Yeah, I remember Beth Ann. I’m sure we’ll find each other.”

  Her dad cleared his throat. “She looks a little different since the last time you saw her. She put on weight. She’s wearing a red cape thingy and a hat with a flower so you’ll spot her in the crowd.”

  “Okay, I’m sure I’ll find her. We’ll get there as soon as possible.”

  “Don’t waste time. Tilda’s doctor will be back in an hour. You’ve gotta interpret the medical jargon. He says he’s gotta tell us something.”

  “That’s why I’m here. See you in a bit. Love you, Dad.”

  She stepped on the down escalator that led to the carrousels and scanned the crowd. Finally, she spotted a rotund figure, tan skin with black curly hair, a red cape and a cloche hat with feathers on it. Flowers, feathers, they’re all the same to Dad.

  Ricky jostled through the crowd to where the luggage from her flight was coming down the chute. Ricky could smell Beth Ann’s mingled scents of lavender and patchouli from three feet away. Beth Ann’s flat, button nose twitched like a surprised rabbit when Ricky came up beside her.

  “Ricky, it freaks me out that you look so much like Moon.”

  “Hi, Beth Ann. Thanks for picking me up. We’re in luck. I think that’s my suitcase, and my duffel’s next to it.” Ricky grabbed the suitcase, and Beth Ann retrieved the duffel. The women worked their way through the milling crowd with Beth Ann jabbering a hundred miles an hour, and Ricky answering with nods and murmurs. They were soon in a ’98 Taurus, pulling out through slowly-moving freeway traffic to Minneapolis General.

  Ricky turned toward Beth Ann who had finally run out of things to say. “You said I look like Moon. What does that mean?”

  Beth Ann’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s what Matilda calls herself. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Moon Banner? Since when?”

  “Not Moon Banner. Her spiritual name is Moon Angel. She does her work, teaches classes, writes books and sees clients using that name. Has been for years.”

  Ricky shook her head and almost laughed. Tilda had been in Chicago three months ago and never said anything about this. Her sister was weirder than she’d imagined. Then the thought struck her: Tilda never told me because she knew I’d make fun of her. That’s what I’ve been doing for twelve years. She was probably grateful I moved to Chicago, so she didn’t have put up with my ridicule.

  “I have to be honest Beth Ann. Tilda and I don’t have much in common anymore. I suppose it’s my fault. I’m going to have to stop trying to convince her I’m right and she’s wrong. I think she’s tired of hearing my opinions about her life, and I got tired of having her tell me I’m making all the wrong choices.”

  Beth Ann turned toward Ricky with a wide-eyed look. She turned back to the road just in time to avoid rear-ending a truck. “Ricky, I’ve never known Moon to be judgmental about anyone. She never gives her opinion unless you ask for it, but if you ask, you better be ready to hear the truth. She doesn’t pretend to be perfect, but she won’t change her opinion to make a person feel comfortable. Some people have a hard time with that.”

  Ricky’s eyes were on the freeway, but her mind was traveling back to the infrequent conversations she’d had with her sister since they’d gone their separate ways. Beth Ann is telling the truth. Tilda never harped at me. She only gave me her opinion if I pressured her into it. Then when she thought differently than me, I’d ridicule her viewpoint and let anger take over. Now I’m stuck with the guilt.

  “Beth Ann, what do you think, honestly, is Tilda going to make it? How bad does it look?”

  Beth Ann’s double chin trembled. “I wish I could tell you she’s going to come out of it, but I think it would take a miracle. Not that I haven’t seen Moon Angel do some pretty amazing things, but this accident might mean she’s ready to leave her body and work from the other side.”

  “I hope you’re wrong. I’d like an opportunity to get to know her again, this time without trying to prove her wrong. Maybe I can be more understanding.” Ricky covered her face with her hands and cried soundlessly.

  Beth Ann reached over and patted Ricky on the knee and gave her a nervous smile. “You’ll get your chance to repair your relationship with Moon. I feel it in my bones.”

  “I hope your bones are right.” Ricky blew her nose and then looked over at Beth Ann. “Since we’re being honest, I was a little upset when I heard you were picking me up, but seeing you isn’t as painful as I thought.”

  Beth Ann’s face scrunched up in bewilderment, her nose twitching again. “Why would it be painful to see me? It’s been ten years. What’d I do to you?”

  “Don’t you remember the last time we were together?”

  Beth Ann still looked perplexed and then her expression changed. “It was at your bridal shower. Chester did readings for people who wanted them, and I insisted he do one for you.”

  “Yeah, you two really made my evening. There, in a room filled with people, Chester told me I w
ouldn’t marry Fred. As if that wasn’t enough, you insisted he tell everyone the details.” Ricky’s could feel her face growing hot from the memory.

  “Poor judgment on my part,” Beth Ann shook her head. “The horrible thing was he was right. Everyone laughed when he said it; we thought he was fooling around. You and Fred seemed crazy in love, but apparently Fred was just plain crazy.”

  “Try addicted, smashed on drugs. He and Todd thought that made an excellent bachelor party. After his binge, the wedding slipped his mind.”

  The scene flashed through Ricky’s mind. Waiting in the bride’s room, for Fred to arrive— a man late for his own wedding. Finally, his dad telling me Fred was too strung out to come. Chester’s prediction at the bridal shower came true. Fred promised he’d go straight, but after that, not trusting him.

  Before Ricky’s mind could take her any further down that path, Beth Ann pulled into the parking lot of Minneapolis General. Even after ten years away from her job there, Ricky remembered the confusing layout. Like any of the older, inner city hospitals in any major American urban area, it was a cobbled collection of addition joined to addition. Hallways that didn’t quite match up, stairways that ended in corridors, that crossed over to half-floors, as the walkways transitioned from the “old building” to the “new building.” It consisted of a confusing tangle of units that seemed to be in the wrong places and inconveniently located services.

  The lab occupied a space three floors away from the emergency department. Specimen delivery took a long trip involving two separate elevators. The radiology department, with its lethal rays, sat next to the OB/GYN labor rooms. The morgue was down the hall from the geriatric ward. Ricky had never understood the lack of logic in the building’s design, and it was probably much the same in 2002 as it had been in 1992.

  She shivered as she walked in the visitor’s entrance and had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and aiming towards the elevators to the fourth floor. Because of the strange configuration of the building, they took the elevator to fourth floor then got off, and followed a walkway to another elevator, to continue to sixth floor, which couldn’t be reached in any other way.

  As Ricky and Beth Ann came into the intensive care unit, they passed the nurses station located at the center of a hub. Their destination was room 604, but a “no admittance” sign stopped them. Ricky glimpsed movement around the bed through an opening in the curtains of the glass-walled room.

  “There’s a visitors lounge down this hall. Your dad is probably there.” Beth Ann led the way. The lounge was about eight-by-twelve, with ratty looking chairs and a battered couch. A soft drink and snack machine took up one wall and radiated heat out into the cramped space.

  George Banner sat near a plastic table, talking on his cell. His light brown hair had a tinge of gray, something Ricky didn’t remember seeing when he visited in Chicago. His usually healthy-looking face, with bright blue eyes, crooked nose and jutting chin, was pale and drawn, wrinkles starting around puffy eyes. His powerful body, which had been muscular the last time she saw him, seemed more hunched than before, decreasing his six foot height by at least two inches. Had it been six months? He turned sixty-two this year. He looked up and smiled when Ricky and Beth Ann walked into the room.

  “Got to go, Mildred. Tilda’s sister just got here.” He switched off the phone and made it over to Ricky in two long steps. “Heavens, I’m happy you’re here.” His face quickly turned from a smile to a frown and then crumpled into tears. This was unusual for George, a stoic man who had been an amateur prize fighter in his youth and rarely showed emotions.

  “Sorry, Ricky. I didn’t mean to do that. You’re so much like your sister. Only the hair is different. Right now …” George breathed deeply to help control his emotions. “Right now, Tilda doesn’t have any hair. They shaved it off to treat the head injuries. Her hair was long, Ricky, really long. It’ll take forever for it to grow back.”

  Ricky patted her father on the back. It felt strange comforting this self-reliant man. Even when her mother died twenty years before, George Banner pretended to be strong.

  Just then a tall, Scandinavian-looking man with a ruddy complexion and spiky blond hair came in wearing scrubs and holding a folder. He paused at the door, and hung a “no admittance” sign before closing it. “Mr. Banner?” he said. “Could I speak with you please?”

  “Dr. Jenson, perfect timing; this is my daughter Rachelle, who just arrived from Chicago. She’s Tilda’s twin. She’s got a Masters in nursing, so she’ll understand what you’re talking about.”

  The doctor reached out to shake Ricky’s hand and then motioned them to the couch. He glanced toward Beth Ann. “This is private. I wonder if you could go down to the cafeteria for a while.”

  “She’s one of Tilda’s best friends. I’m sure Tilda would want her here,” George said.

  The doctor shrugged. “It’s up to you, but this will be difficult.” He took a deep breath, and Ricky noticed a slight tremor in his hands.

  “I have two things to show you. The first is rather unusual. It helps us understand what Matilda’s feelings might be about her present condition. It brings up questions that might have to be examined further by the police.

  “Matilda’s friend, Chester Townsend, brought in a copy of a notarized living will that he says Matilda told him was stored in a safety box in her home. I don’t know when she told him about the document. He claims it was this morning, but she’s been unconscious since the accident last night, so I find that unlikely. Would you read it please?” The doctor pulled a sheet of paper from the folder and laid it on the table in front of the couch.

  George, Ricky and Beth Ann leaned forward to review it. It was dated June 20th, 2001, Tilda and Ricky’s birthday, a year before. Ricky read aloud.

  “I, Matilda Marie Banner, also known as Moon Angel, record the following to be reviewed when this occurrence comes to pass. Approximately one year from this date, I will be involved in a serious accident of some kind. My body will be too injured to survive.

  There will be a time of decision for my family, when it is evident that I am being kept alive by medical intervention. Be it known, that when it is obvious that there is no brain function remaining, I do not wish to be kept alive by artificial means, such as devices that maintain breathing, nutrition or other body functions.

  My sister, Rachelle Therese Banner, who is a nursing professional, should review my medical record to ascertain that hope for my returning to consciousness is unrealistic. Her assurance to my father, George Theodore Banner, that no further intervention will be helpful, should support him in his decision to discontinue medical intervention.

  Please know that I will not intentionally cause my own death. I feel suicide creates an overwhelming karmic debt. The occurrences of June, 2002 will be inevitable, and have been revealed to me through circumstances that most people won’t understand. I know my family will doubt this document. To them I say: please try to come to terms with it and my death.

  Please donate my organs in whatever way they can do the most good. I wish the rest of my remains to be cremated and the family to remain in possession of my ashes.

  My last will-in-testament is stored where this living will was stored. Information about a memorial service is recorded there, as well as instructions as to the disposition of my belongings, and other important directions.

  I remain always one with my family and friends. You are not losing me. I am only changing forms.

  Blessings,

  Matilda Marie Banner, also known as Moon Angel.”

  Beneath the letter, was a scrawled signature which her family and friend knew to be Tilda’s. The letter was witnessed by two employees of First Federal Bank, one of whom was a notary. The notary’s timestamp verified that the document was signed a year before.

  Ricky sat stunned, looking to the paper for an answer that wasn’t written there. Chester brought this here. What’s going on? How could she know about this a y
ear ago? Did someone threaten her or did she kill herself?

  Ricky turned to Beth Ann. “Did you know about this? Did she tell you she thought she was going to die? Did Chester predict something?”

  “She never said anything about this. You’d think if she knew something this important, she’d have told me. I’m her friend as well as her personal assistant. I don’t know what to think.” Tears were streaming down Beth Ann’s face.

  Dr. Jenson cleared his throat. “I’ve mentioned this to Detective Clark who’s investigating the accident. He hasn’t seen it yet. I have a feeling he’ll want to talk to all of you, as well as Mr. Townsend. The whole thing is very unusual, but that’s not the only reason I’m showing it to you.

  “We’ve got to make some decisions.” Dr. Jenson shifted uncomfortably in the creaky plastic chair. “Matilda’s condition is critical. She doesn’t have brain function. We relieved pressure on the brain stem during surgery, but the damage is extensive. At the present time, her life is being maintained by the respirator. It’s impossible for her to regain consciousness. She can be kept alive, but I don’t know how long. She’s had six units of blood, and there appears to be continued internal bleeding. We can take her back to surgery to determine the source of the hemorrhage, but she probably wouldn’t survive the procedure. That’s why I brought this letter to you before showing it to the police. It appears Ms. Banner has very definite opinions about what she wants in these circumstances.”

  Ricky stared at the soft drink machine. It made loud intrusive glugs now and then. What a strange place to be hearing news like this. Doesn’t Minneapolis General have conference rooms? How can I believe this isn’t a nightmare?

  Dr. Jenson was taking another piece of paper out of the folder. “We have a protocol to follow in situations like this. Dr. Webster from our medical ethics committee, and Dr. Marks who heads the neurology department, examined Matilda and her records to determine the accuracy of my prognosis. Here are their opinions.”