I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I’ve heard that before. And besides, I don’t want to feel like an obligation. I’d love for things between me and my dad to be less awkward, but I don’t expect for us to work thing out while I’m in a coma.
“This whole situation has really thrown me for a loop. First the accident, then the coma, then the baby.”
His voice sounds hollow, and my heart squeezed. My dad isn’t built for drama. He’s the most low-maintenance, by-the-book, squeaky clean guy you’d ever want to meet. I hate that I’m putting him through this. Frankly, I’m not surprised it’s pushed him farther away.
“I’m going to fix this,” he said. “I’m going to fix all of this.”
Now I’m confused.
“I’m done dragging your car around to these lame mechanics. I had it towed to the house. I’m going to fix it myself.”
Oh, my car—of course. But my dad isn’t a mechanic—no way can he fix it. Although it’s very sweet of him to try.
“I don’t know if you can hear me, Sweetheart. I’m pretty sure you can’t. The doctors are telling us you’re getting worse.”
Wait—I am? I mean, my sense of smell still hasn’t returned, and I haven’t been able to respond to Dr. Jarvis’s commands for a while, but I’m still here. I’m still aware of everything going on.
“I realize our family is broken… and it’s all my fault.”
Whoa—where is this coming from?
“If your mother seems distant, it’s because I drove a wedge between us with a lie.” His voice broke off on a sob.
Now I’m getting a little freaked out.
“Before you were born, when Alex was little, twenty-five thousand dollars in cash was stolen from our safe.”
I vaguely remember the story. They’d assumed a contractor working for them had stolen it, but he was long-gone by the time they discovered the money was missing.
“That money was every penny your mother and I had saved for ten years. It was supposed to go toward a down payment on a house your mother had her heart set on.”
Ergo my mother’s pervasive sense of dissatisfaction with every house we’d lived in. Which had emasculated my dad, and it was no secret my mom thought he was too passive.
“We weren’t robbed,” he said. “I took the money to pay off gambling debts and let your mother believe it had been stolen.” He exhaled heavily. “There, I said it.”
I so wish he hadn’t. My dad is a gambler? And a liar? And a thief? This is a bad country song. I feel disoriented.
“But I’m going to fix our family,” he said solemnly. “And I’m going to fix this situation with Keith Young.”
What does he mean by that? Can someone tell me what just happened?
October 23, Sunday
JUST WHEN I was wondering if Jack Terry was going to show, or if he was still in Las Vegas, the door opened.
But when I heard the click clack of high heeled shoes instead of low-heeled boots, I realized it wasn’t Jack.
“Hello?” ADA Spence said tentatively.
In my direction, I believe. Although I’m not sure what part of “coma” she doesn’t get.
She sighed with exaggerated irritation, then paced over to the window, then paced back to my bed, then made another loop.
The door opened and I heard the familiar squish of the shoes of someone on staff.
“Hello,” Gina said tentatively. “Can I help you?”
“I’m from the DA’s office. I came to visit Marigold Kemp.”
“Then you’re in the right place,” Gina said, and since her voice swung in my direction, I assume she gestured toward my bed.
“Yes, I know that’s her. I—” The woman faltered. “I just don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Talk to someone who’s in a coma.”
“Just sit down and talk to her.”
“But can she hear me?”
“We do believe Marigold can hear us. We’re just not sure how often, or how much she comprehends.”
“So she doesn’t communicate back?”
“No, ma’am. She has occasionally responded to her doctor’s commands to move her fingers, but that hasn’t happened in a while.”
“She’s getting worse?”
“You should make an appointment to talk to her doctors, ma’am.”
“Just yes or no, is she getting worse?”
“She’s slipping some, yes, ma’am.”
“And the baby?”
“Is healthy as far as we can tell.”
“Thank you,” ADA Spence said.
When Gina left, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I still wasn’t sure why the woman had come to see me.
She sat in the chair, and from the sound of it, slipped off her high heels.
“I hate my job,” she said finally.
That’s a hell of an opener for someone you’re supposed to be helping.
“I work for a boorish, misogynistic, toad, and he tosses me all the bad cases. For example, I get the case with the comatose client, which sounds like a sympathetic case, but in reality, is proving damn hard to prosecute. And frankly, I’m tired of spinning my wheels.”
I’m pretty sure no response is required from me.
“Marigold, do you know what attorneys do really well?”
Lie?
“We lie. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to tell the defense attorney that you can communicate and are going to testify in a taped interview about what happened in the accident, and we’re going to see if he will plea to a lesser charge to avoid going to trial. That gets me a conviction, and that gets you and your family an almost guaranteed civil judgement.”
She repositioned in the chair.
“The risk of course, is they call our bluff. If that happens, we’ll just fold and say your health has declined to the point that you can’t testify. But by doing things this way, we have a lot to gain, and nothing to lose.”
She made a pensive noise in her throat.
“And I’m sorry to say this, but if your health is failing, the sooner I extend the offer, the better. Plus I’ll go ahead and get things moving as if we’re going to tape your interview for say, November 1. That way our story will check out if the defense digs a little.”
The woman is good… she reminds me of Sidney.
“I’ll try to touch base with your parents to give them a heads up, but they’re difficult to pin down. Worst case scenario, I’ll inform them if we get a plea deal and before we settle.”
ADA Pence pushed to her feet.
“I have no idea whether you can hear me or understand me, Marigold, but it’s been nice talking to you.”
I believe I’m supposed to feel good about the plan, but between you and me, I’m having trouble concentrating. I hope I’m just tired, and not…. something else.
October 24, Monday
“I THINK YOUR father has lost his mind,” my mom said, her voice elevated. “He put a punching bag in the garage, and all he does is ‘spar” and do pushups. He’s eating grilled chicken every two hours. I caught him flexing and posing in our bathroom mirror.”
Oh, brother. Is this what he meant by fixing things with Keith Young? Getting buff and roughing him up? Really Dad? On what planet and in what time machine?
“It gets worse,” my mom said, her voice breaking up. “He got a tattoo on his shoulder—a tattoo. Then he tore the sleeves off all his T-shirts.”
Sigh… maybe it’s just a generic mid-life crisis.
“And he’s listening to hip-hop music!”
That’s not bad, that’s just weird.
“Wait a minute—why do you have a San Antonio Spurs hat on your bedrail?”
Why are you asking the girl in the coma questions?
“Never mind. I told him I cannot deal with this right now. I have too much on my plate. I’m worried sick about you, I’m worried sick about the baby, and my job is so demanding. The last thing I need is for him to�
� change!”
Except only for my entire life, my mother has been begging and pleading with my dad to change.
“I’m not kidding, Marigold, I’m hanging on by a very thin thread.”
She gasped for air in a wheezing breath. “Ack… I can’t breathe.”
Mom, hit the nurse call button.
She wheezed. “Marigold, I can’t breathe.”
Hit the nurse call button.
She wheezed. “Marigold, I can’t breathe!”
Seriously, Mom, is this a trick? Are you trying to get me to wake up to hit the nurse call button for you?
I heard the squeak of a mattress and realized with mortification she had climbed into the bed that had been wheeled into the ward in preparation for a new patient. In between the wheezing, I heard flailing, then the ping of the nurse call button.
Several seconds passed before the door opened because the veggies don’t press call buttons.
“Ms. Kemp, are you okay?”
She wheezed. “A panic…” Another wheeze. “Attack.”
A flurry of activity followed to administer oxygen and ply her with Xanax. Within a few minutes, she was chatting and laughing, enjoying the attention and the promise of a prescription.
I was mentally shaking my head. Only my mother could find a way to upstage her comatose daughter.
On a deeper level though, I’m worried about my parents. They seem to be spinning off into their own orbits. And I sincerely hope my dad doesn’t decide to confess to Mom what he confessed to me. I have a feeling my mother will not be quite as forgiving or forgetting. Because my mother has never done anything illegal or immoral in her life. Ever.
That I know of.
October 25, Tuesday
“PEACE BE WITH YOU, ladies.”
Oh, no. Not today… Please, God. I can’t take it.
“Oh, ladies, I heard about dear Jill… let’s say the Lord’s Prayer, shall we?”
I tried to mentally recite the words, flubbing most as they floated back to me a couple of beats too late. Plus I was already steeling myself against what was to come.
Sister Irene lingered over Karen, giving me time to sweat, I presumed. But eventually she made her way over to my bed.
“Hello, Marigold, oh, my goodness, you’re definitely showing. Motherhood becomes you. Your skin is positively glowing.”
Yeah, yeah, skip the small talk and get down to brass tacks, Sister.
“I’m sure you’re wondering how things went with my new handyman, Mr. Gilpin. Unfortunately, he took a spill.”
She threw him down the stairs. Or tossed him off the roof.
“He fell off a ladder changing a light bulb, and broke his leg, of all things.”
With the help of a baseball bat?
“So he’s spending a few days at my place, recuperating.”
She has him tied to a bed, torturing him. Or hogtied in her basement.
“It’s definitely not what he expected,” she said merrily.
Hey, I won’t be crying any tears over a half-human like the man who murdered her sister being toyed with—or even hurt. I can only imagine how I would feel if Sidney were taken away from me in such a brutal fashion. But I do worry about what’s going to happen to Sister Irene when she gets caught. Is there a special prison for nuns, like the military?
“Don’t judge me too harshly, Marigold. I’ve been a good person and sacrificed a lot for God. I think I’ve earned a pass, don’t you?”
I’m not a religion scholar, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.
“Anyway, I’ve been very astute in who I’ve confided in. You’re the only person who knows, and you’re not going to tell anyone, are you, Coma Girl?”
No, ma’am.
“What a beautiful day God has given us. I have to move along, ladies, so I can get back to my houseguest. Peace be with you.”
God help us all.
October 26, Wednesday
“HELLO, COMA GIRL. Remember me?
The honey-throated poet is back after a long absence. I’d decided he’d been barred from coming into our room, that someone had caught him taking pictures and leaking them to tabloid sites.
“Sorry I’ve been away. Aw, I see you lost another roomie. That has to be hard. I imagine there are only a few people who’ve had the same experience. I suppose people either get better, or they get worse. I pray you both get better.”’
But maybe I’m wrong about him… I hope I’m wrong.
“Nice hat, Coma Girl. Spurs fan, huh? That’s cool.”
I heard the swish of pages as he opened a book.
“I found this poem by Emily Dickinson, and it’s about how all the people you meet change you, and I thought it would be appropriate. It’s called “Experiment to Me.”
He cleared his throat politely. “Experiment to me, is every one I meet. If it contain a kernel? The figure of a nut, presents upon a tree, equally plausibly. But meat within is requisite, to squirrels and to me.”
That’s me, a little squirrel busily storing nuts when people throw them at me. I’m starting to feel like my cheeks are getting full. People who are in a coma are repositories for whatever anyone else wants to dump on us—medicine, confessions, even abuse. It’s a scary, vulnerable place to be… especially when you know you might be in this limbo for months, years… decades.
“Coma Girl, you’re going to be a mother, how about that?” He gave a little laugh. “You’ve got to wake up to see that little face.”
Yes, I’m hoping if childbirth doesn’t kill me, that it jars my body enough to shock me out of this malaise. What if years from now I’m like this still, and my child is visiting, will never know me as anything other than a living corpse?
I don’t want my mind to go there, but I can’t help it. Depression is pulling at me. Every day I’m fighting harder and harder not to succumb.
“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said. “Take care of yourself and your little one.”
He slipped from the room so quietly I barely heard the door close.
But then my hearing is starting to fail me, too. Dr. Jarvis hasn’t been in to see me in a while… or if he has, I’ve forgotten.
I feel myself being erased, like a pencil drawing, and I’m utterly terrified.
October 27, Thursday
“CAN I HELP you?” Gina asked.
“I came to see a patient,” a female voice said. “Marigold Kemp?”
“Are you a friend?”
“My fiancé is a friend of Marigold’s. We used to Skye with her. He’s out of the country, so I came in his place.”
“What’s your name?”
“Trina Gold. I signed in at the desk, and I don’t have a phone or camera.”
“Ten minutes,” Gina said. “It’s bedtime for the patients, and Marigold especially needs her rest.”
My brain is moving sluggishly these days, especially as the day goes on, but I realize with some amazement that Duncan’s fiancé Trina is here. I rally all my resources because I’m curious as to why she would come to see me. And I feel completely exposed because I wonder if she knows, or does she suspect the baby is Duncan’s?
“Hello, Marigold,” she said. “I’m Trina, Duncan’s girlfriend. This is a little strange because we’ve never met in person. I don’t know if you remember, but we did Skype a few times.”
I’m trying to recall what she looks like… all I can remember is pretty blonde hair.
“I wanted to drop in since he’s not around. He’s still working with refugees in Germany, although I’m not sure where since he moves around so much. I haven’t talked to him in weeks, but he promised to be home before our wedding. I know he was hoping you could be there.”
I was hoping I could be at Duncan’s wedding, too, but not as a guest.
She gave an awkward little laugh. “I used to be jealous of you. Because you knew Duncan first, I felt like the intruder. I know how much you mean—meant to him.”
Past tense.
“I hope you and your b-baby recover soon. And I know Duncan wishes it, too.”
I wish I could hate her, but I don’t even have the strength. And except for the unfortunate choice of a pink grapefruit wedding cake, she seems perfectly lovely.
“I’ll go now,” she said. “I’ll tell Duncan I saw you.”
Then her footsteps faltered and she gave a little laugh. “A San Antonio Spurs hat. That’s so strange… someone asked me recently… no, I can’t recall. Goodbye, Marigold.”
Goodbye. Take care of Duncan.
October 28, Friday
“WHAT’S WITH the empty bed?” Rico asked.
“Planting a new vegetable next week,” Gabriel said. “To replace that expired cabbage we moved to the morgue a couple weeks ago.”
Jill… her name was Jill.
“I remember,” Rico said. “Hey, how’s it going with Gina?”
“Grrreat. Get the sample the honeypot soon.”
“Yeah? What does Donna think about that?”
“Donna’s cool. She knows I’m not a one-woman man.”
“But does Gina know?”
“No, and you better keep your mouth shut.”
“Man, you don’t have to worry about me. One of the girls will get wise and burn you down.”
“Better to go out smoking than stokin’.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Hey, man, take my picture with Coma Girl.”
“That’s against the rules.”
“Oh, come on. We could make a lot of money selling the pictures to the tabloids, people are crazy for her. We could say I’m the baby daddy.”
“You’re insane.”
“Okay, but I’m going to take a picture of just her, and get that big belly in it. No one will know who took it. Be my lookout, I’ll pay you half.”
“No way, you’re on your own. Tyson will have your job and your scrawny neck.”
I heard the camera click three times.
“See, already done, and no one the wiser.”
“Whatever.”
“Hey, I like this hat. Spurs are playing great. I think I’ll make it mine.”
No, don’t take the hat… the last connection I have with Duncan. Please.
“Man, that’s stealing.”
“Veggie ain’t gonna miss the hat, man. Let’s go.”
No… please…
Coma Girl: Part 4 (Kindle Single) Page 5
