“When?”
“I don’t know. Maybe like eight o’clock? Just before visiting hours were supposed to end. Marie said your boy was here all day and things were fine. But when the father showed up tonight, I guess the shit hit the fan. Hell, they kept going at it in the parking lot, too. We were watching them out the staff room window.”
“Could you tell what they were arguing about?”
“Sounded to me like Ms. Sinclair’s grandson is about done with his father’s bossiness.” She glances over at Ms. Sinclair to make sure she’s still asleep. I do the same. “All I can tell you is that they were out in the parking lot for a long time after they walked out of here, and it looked like they were both really angry. When the father’s car ripped out of the lot like his ass was on fire, your boy sat down on the asphalt and buried his face in his hands. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was crying. Must’ve sat out there for a good ten minutes before he left.”
I shake my head, trying to fathom the words said between Adam and his father. More sadness rises in my throat. Sondra starts whispering again.
“Listen, I’m not gonna tell you what to do, ’cause clearly you’re not gonna listen to me anyway. You never do. But here’s the one thing I’m begging you to remember, girl…you’ve got to protect yourself from whatever’s happening between the two of them. Don’t get caught up in it.”
“I already am.”
Sondra sighs, dropping her shoulders and straightening her mouth into a hard line. She steps over and puts her arms around me, clipboard and all, wrapping me in a caring and thoughtful hug. “Oh, Lord,” she says into my ear. “I’m telling you, you’re gonna get your heart broken.”
I don’t tell her it already is.
She squeezes tighter and holds me there for a long minute. By the time she lets go, I’ve managed to choke back the tears without letting any more of them fall. I’m building a wall, just like hers.
“You’ll get through this,” she says. “Whatever it is.” She looks over at Ms. Sinclair and touches the end of the bed with her fingertips. “These people need you, K’acy. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” I whisper.
Sondra nods and snuggles the clipboard close to her chest. “I’m leaving now, and I’ll make sure the hallway is clear, but you’d better get yourself out of here in a hurry, you hear? Before anyone else sees you.”
I offer her a small smile as I pick up my gig bag.
On her way out the door, Sondra passes the photograph sitting on Ms. Sinclair’s dresser. She stops and looks at it for a second before turning back to me. In a hushed voice she adds, “Mr. Sinclair brought that in for her today. Might be the only nice thing the man’s ever done. It’s amazing how much Adam’s little brother looks like him.” She starts walking again. “Those Sinclairs must have some potent genes.”
She’s out in the hallway before I can think fast enough to stop her. Her words echo in my ears as I rush over to the photograph. I flip it over on the dresser and open the frame, pulling the picture out from behind the glass. There’s writing on the back.
Bradley, Spring 2004.
My broken heart shatters for Adam.
WHEN I GET off the bus just after one o’clock in the morning, Jarrod is sitting on the steps of my building. He has a lit cigarette pinched between his fingers, and he’s leaning back on the step behind him, looking every bit the epic ass shaker. I take the cigarette from him as I put the StingRay on the bottom step and sit down next to him. I suck in a single breath of hot, unfiltered smoke before handing it back to him. The rush of nicotine hits me hard, unwinding my brain and temporarily settling my nerves. He takes a drag of his own and looks off down the street. I don’t have to ask him why he’s here because I already know.
We sit together for a long time, side by side, each lost in our own thoughts. My exhausted mind is sifting through the remains of the night, trying to process what it all means, when he finally speaks.
“Hope you don’t mind. I had to let myself in to take a piss. I’ve been waiting a long time.”
“Sorry,” I say, rubbing my palms against the top of my thighs.
“Where’ve you been?”
“I went to see her.” He knows how much I care for Evelyn Sinclair. Everyone does. Except for her son.
“In the middle of the night?”
I quietly nod.
“Why?”
“Because I might not get to see her again.”
“But you told me he withdrew the complaint?”
“He did.”
“Then why wouldn’t you get to see her again?”
I shrug, not sure if I should tell him the truth.
“I was worried about you, Kace. Grace was, too. You rushed out of there like some junkie stole your baby. Not to mention the whole emotional breakdown thing. I’ve never seen you like that before. You gonna tell me what’s going on?”
“Adam says we’re over.”
“What? Why?”
I take the cigarette from him and inhale another hit. “Let’s just say I made a deal with the devil, and I should’ve known it would bite me in the ass.”
“Meaning?”
“I took money from Mr. Sinclair, and Adam found out about it.” The truth sounds even worse when I say it out loud.
He looks properly bewildered. “Why’d you take money from that asshole?”
“He didn’t give me a choice. He said if I didn’t take it and stay away from his son, he’d get my work license revoked and accuse me of far worse than what he already has.”
“Jesus. Are you serious? That’s like movie-worthy blackmail, right there.”
I suck in more smoke and tap off the ashes. They float like snowflakes down to the concrete. “He thinks I only want to be with Adam because of his trust fund. And now Adam thinks I picked his father’s money over him.”
“Trust fund?”
I look at him and roll my eyes.
“That sucks, Kace, That really sucks.” Jarrod’s arm reaches around my shoulders, pulling me tight against him. “Looks like you got yourself into a real pickle, schweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
“Because none of it was supposed to matter.” I take a deep breath and focus my eyes on the snowflake ashes at my feet. “The man was supposed to die before Adam could ever find out about our deal.”
“You saw it?”
“Yeah. The very first time I met the man.”
“Do you know when?”
“It started tonight. At 10:46. A car accident.”
He recoils in surprise, then nods in understanding. “I guess that explains the emotional breakdown.”
“Yep.”
Jarrod is the only one who will ever know. It’s one of the precious secrets we hold between us. The deepest one. He’s known since the day we met, because I saw death in his eyes that night, six years ago, at that bus stop. He was too high to function, and something inside me made me want to stop him from staggering out into the street and getting crushed by a moving truck with “AQUARIUS” spray-painted on the side in bright yellow graffiti. I never thought I would see him again. He seemed so lost, and I just wanted to help him find himself. I wanted to give him a second chance. So, to save his life, I told him about what I can see in people’s eyes. I told him it was going to be his day. Unless he didn’t want it to be. I told him about the “AQUARIUS” truck and how the driver was going to swerve to miss a pothole, lose control, and crash into the building on the corner. I told him his body would be wedged between the truck and the brick wall. Right there. At the end of the street.
Then, I asked him to stay next to me until the truck with a bright yellow “AQUARIUS” spray-painted on the side crashed into the corner building and I couldn’t see death in his eyes anymore.
He sat with me until we heard the crunch of metal. And for a long time after.
It was the first time I stopped an accidental death from happening.
But it wasn’t the first ti
me I changed the ending of someone’s life.
CHAPTER 32
The toilet seat is up and the bathroom light is on. It makes me smile because it offers proof of Jarrod’s patience and concern. Even though it’s been a few minutes since he walked off into the darkness, leaving me standing alone on my front stoop, the remnants of our double fist bump are still echoing up my arms. I feel better. A little less lost.
I walk back to my bedroom and start to undress. My exhausted muscles are screaming at me to let them rest. They’ve had enough for one day. Maybe for a lifetime.
My apartment is quiet as I sink down onto my bed, but the night’s events continue to sort themselves out inside my brain, like a bunch of restless kindergarteners jostling to find their place in the schoolyard rank. I search for reasons and predictions among them, but they’re moving too fast, scattering around, only making more confusion. The one solid thought I can find among them is my promise to Ms. Sinclair. I grab hold of it, knowing it’s the only thing I can control. I will not let the promise be empty. I tell myself that somehow, I will find a way to take care of her son.
As sleep comes, the rest of my thoughts—the ones still left fluttering in confusion—change into birds. Ms. Sinclair’s birds. Chickadees, blue jays, finches, swifts. She’s there with them, watching them circle around her as they carry more of her memories away in their slender beaks and protect her from the pain of tomorrow. This time, though, Adam isn’t the only one standing next to her, holding her hand.
I’m there, too. And there’s a mourning dove nestled like a downy baby in the soft cradle of my arms.
THE ACCIDENT IS all over the morning news, but the images on the television are ones I’ve seen before. The bank sign. The burned-out car. The discarded jacket lying on the street. The flashing lights bouncing off the dark asphalt. It’s daylight now, but the darkness of last night is all I see on the screen.
The reporter announces the victim of this one-car crash, Washington state lobbyist Winston Sinclair, is in critical condition at Penn Presbyterian. She says he’s the principal partner of the most contentious and influential lobbying firm in the state, and ends the segment with, “But at this time, police suspect no foul play was involved in the accident. As we understand, Mr. Sinclair was in Philadelphia to attend to a family matter.”
I feel sick to my stomach.
I turn it off, hoping and praying Ms. Sinclair’s television is tuned to the cooking channel. I should have checked before I left her last night. I want her to learn about her son’s accident from someone who loves her, rather than from a television screen. I’m not sure she’ll fully understand what’s happened anyway, but still…
As I shower and dress, I think hard about what to do and say. I won’t be welcome, but I need to go to the hospital in order to keep my promise to Ms. Sinclair. I need Adam to know I care, and more importantly, I need to see exactly where Mr. Sinclair is. Because when the time comes for me to fulfill my promise, I’ll need to be able to find him quickly.
I don’t know how Adam will react when I walk into that hospital, and the last thing I want to do is make this harder on him than it already is. But I love him. And somehow, I’m going to have to prove it to him all over again by showing kindness and compassion to a man who’s done nothing but try to manipulate and control us both. It won’t make Adam love me again, but at least my presence there today might show him how much I care, in spite of the horrible mistake I made when I took his father’s money.
It takes me a little over forty-five minutes to get to Penn Presbyterian. By the time I step off the bus and onto the hospital’s mellow tan floor, it’s nearly lunchtime. The volunteer at the information desk directs me to the trauma ICU, sending me up the elevator and down a long corridor. At the end is a set of double doors. I push through them and into a waiting area.
The air is warm and dry, and the crisp smell of disinfectant hangs in the air. The room is empty except for a dozen chairs, a few magazine-laden end tables, and a middle-aged woman sitting behind the reception desk. She’s bent forward, carefully examining something on the computer screen in front of her. Her reading glasses sit low on her nose, and she sighs as she types something into the keypad. I walk over and stand in front of the desk. A few seconds pass before she talks.
“Patient name?” She’s sour and unfriendly, only making visual contact with her computer screen.
“Winston Sinclair.” The moment his name hits her ears, the woman’s gaze instantly lifts to meet mine and her eyebrows rise in a silent inquiry. She gives me a quick once-over, as if she’s wondering why someone like me is coming to see someone like him.
One of her pudgy hands whisks the glasses off her face and sets them down next to the computer’s keyboard. She folds her arms together and leans her forearms down on the desk as she tilts forward, toward me.
“Are you…family?” The unfriendliness is gone from her voice. It’s been replaced with snarky cynicism. Great.
“Not yet.” I flash a shining, teeth-filled smile at her. Her mouth puckers in response.
“Young lady,” she says, “this is an intensive care unit. It is not the place for jokes and insolence.”
I straighten my back and plump out my chest, standing tall. “I wasn’t aware that smiling was considered disrespectful, ma’am.”
Her eyes narrow. “Only family is permitted to see Mr. Sinclair. At the request of his security detail.”
“Ahh,” I sigh, tilting my head back and glancing at the ceiling before continuing. “Well, then I’d like to change my answer to yes. Yes, I’m family.” If she wants insolence, then insolence she shall have. And, with any luck, that insolence will get me exactly what I want.
She rolls her eyes and asks my name.
“K’acy McGee.”
“You sure you don’t want to change that to K’acy Sinclair?” More conceited sass from a woman whose over-inflated sense of self-worth comes solely from her ability to control who walks through a hospital door. I don’t want them to, but her words hit hard and deep. The sound of my first name followed by the second half of Adam’s pricks me with an intense sting of sadness.
“Maybe someday.” I smile at her again, this one even bigger than the one before.
The woman picks up the telephone on her desk and dials a number that’s handwritten on a piece of paper taped to the desktop. Someone answers quickly.
“Mr. Devine? This is Lois at reception. There’s a young woman here to see Mr. Sinclair.” She stares wryly at me as she talks. “She says she’s family.”
A second of silence passes while Perry Devine asks her my name.
“K’acy McGee.”
More silence as he tells her he’ll be right out.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” She puts the phone down in its cradle, and I instantly know I’ve gotten what I want: a conversation with Perry Devine, and hopefully, a visit with the Sinclairs. “You can have a seat, Miss McGee. Someone will be with you in a minute.” There is so much snark in her voice, it makes me want to laugh. She thinks Perry Devine is going to come out here and kick me out. But instead, Perry Devine is going to come out here and let me in.
A minute later, he comes through the set of double crash doors at the opposite end of the waiting room. He’s wearing the same dark suit as last night, only his crisply ironed, white shirt isn’t so crisply ironed anymore. He tucks his cell phone into the breast pocket of his suit coat as he walks over to me. He doesn’t look at the reception desk as he passes, nor does he say a single word to the woman sitting there. I stay planted in my seat, even as he stops and stands directly in front of me.
“What can I do for you, Miss McGee?” The diamond in his left earlobe looks smaller than it did before.
“I need to see him.”
“He’s not here right now.”
If Adam’s not here, then where is he? I hope he’s with this grandmother, gently telling her about the accident before she sees it on the news.
I immediately switch my foc
us to finding another way to see Mr. Sinclair.
“I’m not talking about Adam.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, and the smell of now-stale cologne wafts through the air. I stand up in the snug space between his body and the chair behind me. Over his shoulder, I see the receptionist staring at us from across the room, no doubt straining to hear our conversation. I glance over at her before looking straight into Perry Devine’s fierce-yet-familiar long-lashed eyes.
“After seeing Adam walk out of the bar last night looking so deflated,” he says, “I’ll assume you followed through with your end of the deal. Is that why you’re here today? For the rest of your money?” He looks peeved. Like he’s upset that he might be correct.
“No. That’s not why I’m here.” My voice is solid and sure.
“Then why are you?”
“I’m here because I heard about the accident on the news and thought I might be able to help.”
A look of intense surprise flashes across his face. “You want to help? You’re kidding, right?”
“No. I’m not kidding.”
Perry Devine’s loud, clear laugh causes the receptionist to nearly jump out of her seat. “You’re not here to help, Miss McGee. You’re here to see how bad it is. ’Cause you think if he dies, you won’t get the rest of your money. Or you think you might be able to get Adam—and his trust fund—back.” He uncrosses his arms and puts his hands into his pockets. I don’t argue with him, or even disagree. Even though none of it is true.
Obviously he doesn’t know Mr. Sinclair already told Adam about our deal.
“I tell you what…if you really wanna see how bad it is,” he continues, “I’ll show you. But don’t tell me you’re here to help, ’cause you and I both know you ain’t here to help.”
“Yes, sir.” I say it because it’s what he wants me to say.
He turns and starts walking toward the reception desk. I follow close behind. When we get to the sour woman sitting there, Perry Devine doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even blink. He says nothing and keeps on walking. I do the same.
The Sound of Light Page 21
