Bitter Root

by Laydin Michaels

  “Why? What reason would he have to harm his daughter?”

  “That man has two faces. He could get you to believe he’s a saint, but that ain’t the real man. She lived under his roof. She’d know.”

  “Who is he, then?”

  “I can’t say. All I know is that when she disappeared, J.B. gave the papers and the police every kind of anxious face they wanted, but when he come around asking after her with her friends, he let us all know she was in for big trouble.”

  “He came here? Were Kendrick and Merley close?”

  “They knew each other from school, of course, but they had a good friend in common back then. Rachel Comeaux. If anyone knows about Merley running away, it would be her.”

  “Does she still live here?”

  “Oh sure. Rachel’s family owns the grocery store. Conq’s. She still works there.”

  “Thanks, Mabel. I won’t trouble you any further. I appreciate your help.”

  “Listen. You steer clear of J.B. Nerbass. We have a name for him down here.”

  “What’s that?”

  “La mort cachée. The hidden death.”

  Griffith saw that Mabel was being completely serious. Her fear was tangible. She nodded her thanks to Mabel and left. I’m coming for you, Nerbass.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Adi felt someone shaking her. She was disoriented when she opened her eyes, unsure where she was.

  “Get up, Adi. The doctor is here.”

  It was T’Claude. The hospital. She sat up and looked at her watch. They had been at the hospital since eleven forty-five the night before. It was well after ten in the morning now.

  “Ms. Bergeron? I’m Dr. Klein.”

  “How’s Bertie?”

  “Let’s go sit in the conference room, okay?” He pointed to a nearby door. T’Claude and Adi followed him and stepped into the small room when he motioned them ahead. There was a small couch and two stuffed chairs in the room, as well as a table and a phone.

  “Sit down. Please.”

  They sat side by side on the couch.

  “Ms. Durall suffered a severe stroke. We’ve done all we can for her, but her prognosis isn’t good.”

  Adi felt like she had been punched in the gut. Her ears erupted in white noise, and she struggled to make sense as the doctor continued to talk. She held out a hand.

  “Wait, wait. Give me a minute.” She put her head down and took deep breaths to gain control. She needed to hear everything he had to say.

  “Could you say that again, please?”

  “Yes, of course. I was saying, we’ve done all we can. She hasn’t woken and is unlikely to regain consciousness. Her stroke was hemorrhagic, bleeding into her brain. We have stabilized her, but as I said, it doesn’t look good.”

  “So what does that mean? You’ve stabilized her? If she’s stable, why won’t she wake up?”

  “Ms. Bergeron, in a stroke like this one the tissues of the brain get flooded with blood and die. The location of Ms. Durall’s bleed is causing her to remain unconscious. When I say we have stabilized her, I mean we’ve inserted a breathing tube and have done our best to stop the bleeding. She remains unresponsive, but we’re keeping her alive with the ventilator. Her chances of waking up from this are very slim, and even then, she’ll be very different than she has been.”

  “So you’re telling me she’s only alive because you’re breathing for her? And if you took the tube out…”

  “Yes, that’s basically it.”

  Adi didn’t know what to say or ask at that point. She was numb with the shock and frightened at what it all meant.

  T’Claude’s arm tightened around her. “I’m here, Adi. We’re going to get through this together.”

  “I’ll let you all have a moment. I’ll be right back.” Dr. Klein rose and left the room.

  Adi turned into T’Claude and let him hold her. She couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. She felt the dam burst and the warm, hot trails racing down her cheeks. “What are we going to do, T?”

  “First, we’re just going to feel. Then we’ll listen and decide what we do next. For sure, we aren’t going to decide anything right now.”

  Adi heard his grief in his voice and knew he was right. Whatever Bertie’s prognosis, they would wait until they had a handle on all possible outcomes before they made any decisions about next steps.

  “Listen, I’m going to go call Jacques. Bertie’s brother needs to know what’s going on. I’ll call Jose too. Will you be okay on your own for a few minutes?”

  “Yes. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay then. I’ll be back.” T’Claude pushed through the door and Adi was alone. Brain hemorrhage. That wasn’t good at all. She wished she had Bertie sitting here beside her. She relied on her to help her with the hard stuff. She never expected Bertie to be the hard stuff. When they had filled out the medical powers of attorney, she felt that was a precaution in case her past ever found her. She never imagined she would be the one using it. She pulled out her phone and started searching for articles about hemorrhagic strokes.

  Twenty minutes later, Dr. Klein returned and Adi felt more able to process the conversation.

  “How are we doing?”

  “Better.”

  “Good. I’m here to answer any questions you might have.”

  “Is Bertie going to survive this? I mean, what part of her brain is involved?”

  “The bleeding was in the lower brain, specifically, the brain stem. This is the part of the brain that controls breathing, heartbeat, and blood pressure, as well as speech, swallowing, hearing, and eye movement. I want you to understand that it is possible, but rare, to have a good recovery from a brain stem bleed.”

  “Then why did you tell me her prognosis isn’t good? If it’s possible to recover, Bertie will.”

  “Ms. Bergeron, the bleeding has been controlled now, but there was quite a bit of damage done before we could stop it. We really won’t know the level of her impairment until she wakes, but I can tell you, there will be impairment. I can’t tell you if she will wake up. Best-case scenario, she wakes and can respond when spoken to. She will need months of therapy, physical and occupational, possibly speech. But she could recover.”

  “What’s the worst-case scenario?”

  “Providing she wakes up?”

  “Yes.”

  “She could be trapped in what we call ‘locked-in syndrome.’ That would mean her entire body, with the exception of her eyes, would be paralyzed. She could learn to communicate through eye movements, such as blinking. She would essentially be on a ventilator, a catheter, and a feeding tube for the remainder of her life. That’s providing she wakes up. I have to say, though, given the severity of the bleeding she experienced, the chances she will regain consciousness are really quite slim.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “This is hard, Ms. Bergeron. I know how hard, but you have to decide whether or not you want to take a gamble and see how she does. I understand from Mr. Michaud that you hold her medical power of attorney.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And you can produce it if requested?”

  “Yes. There is a copy in that folder. But the certified copy is in the safe deposit box at the bank.”

  “Okay. Well, it falls to you to decide whether or not to continue care.”

  “What? What does that mean?”

  “You have to decide if Ms. Durall would want to risk any of the outcomes we have discussed. If you decide she would want to take a chance, we will continue life support and place her in a medically induced coma. That way we can slowly bring her out as the healing process works. If you decide she wouldn’t like to risk these possible outcomes, then we discontinue care. Basically, we would turn off the ventilator and allow her to pass peacefully.”

  “What? You mean… I have to decide whether or not Bertie lives or dies? I can’t do that. That’s not for me to decide. What if I want her body to decide?”

  “That’s wh
at this is about, Ms. Bergeron. If it were me, I would let nature take its course and not go to extreme measures to skew the outcome. I would allow her to be slowly removed from mechanical care and see what happens. The problem is that the most likely scenario would be death. It’s a truly difficult decision. It’s hard not to think of yourself and how the loss would affect you. You have to decide, though, and try to think about what she would want, and if she could live with the possibility of being paralyzed, fed by tubes, unable to communicate. I’m going to leave now, but I’ll be back in after my rounds for your decision.”

  Adi felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest. Bertie was everything to her. It’s not fair. No one should have to decide something like this. She rubbed at her arms, trying to warm them. Why were hospitals always so darn cold? And where was T’Claude? She got up from the couch and walked into the waiting area. Suddenly, she needed to get out of there, be somewhere without cold walls and squeaky floors. She headed toward the exit door.

  “Hey, where you running off too, Adi?” T’Claude called.

  She stopped and let him catch up with her. “I have to get out of here for a minute, T. I can’t breathe.”

  “Okay. Let’s go get some coffee.”

  He drove them to a coffee shop nearby and ordered coffee and Danishes. “So what upset you enough to get you to leave the hospital?”

  “I have to decide whether or not to keep Bertie’s ventilator on. I have to choose if she lives or dies.”

  “Now wait, you don’t have anything to do with her living or dying, kiddo. That’s out of your hands. See, when Bertie had the stroke, the decision went into the hands of someone higher up. She lived through the night. She’s alive now. So you aren’t in charge of that decision at all.”

  “But, T, they want me to tell them to either unplug the breathing machine or keep her body alive, whether or not she ever wakes up. Doc said she could very well be alive and conscious but paralyzed except for her eyes. How could I choose that for Bertie? How could I decide she should live but never taste again? I can’t do that. She wouldn’t want that.”

  “I think you just answered your own questions. And again, it’s not in your hands or the doctors. It’s up to Bertie and whoever looks out for her up there.” He looked up at the ceiling and put his hands together in prayer. “Those machines they have breathing for her? Those aren’t Bertie. If she wants to live, then she will. Let her decide.”

  “So tell them to stop breathing for her?”

  “It’s not like she had an accident she can recover from. She had a stroke. A big one. Seems to me we’re robbing her of choice by keeping her on those machines. Let her decide. She’ll stay if she has a mind to. If not, well, then she was probably already gone to the good Lord, and it’s just her body here anyway.”

  “But what am I going to do without her? If she doesn’t wake up? Bertie is all I have, T.”

  “I know you feel that way, but you have me, and Jose. I know how hard this is, but believe me, we did all of that mechanical breathing and therapy stuff with my mamma. She was never the same. It was hard to watch her live but not live.”

  “What if you’re wrong, T? What if she wants me to let her keep breathing?”

  “If she wants to keep breathing, don’t you think she will?”

  Adi didn’t know how she felt about that answer, but most of what T’Claude said made sense. She knew Bertie would fight to live if she wanted to. She also knew Bertie was a spiritual person on good terms with God. Bertie had never feared death. She had often talked about when her time came and was content that she had lived a good life.

  She thought about what Bertie might do if Adi was the one on life support. Would she choose to let Adi fight without help? Or would she extend her life artificially? She was pretty sure Bertie would believe that she would fight if she were meant to go on. How would Adi feel if she were lying there waiting for Bertie to decide? Heck, she probably wouldn’t even know she was in that bed. If it were her, she wouldn’t know to fight until life started slipping away.

  She had to let go and let Bertie fight or let Bertie die. It couldn’t be right to keep her pinned to earth if it was her time to go. That’s what Bertie would choose, she was certain.

  “I think I know what to do. It’s going to be so hard, though.”

  “Life ain’t easy, kid. We both know that. I’ll miss that ornery old woman like she was my own too. She practically raised me. But life is life, right?”

  “I guess we need to go let Dr. Klein know our decision.”

  “Yeah, let’s finish up and go.”

  *

  Adi watched the ventilator as it slowly stopped, and looked to the monitors. Bertie had been placed on a drip of what the nurse called “comfort medication.” Morphine for any pain and Ativan. Adi wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but Dr. Klein said it would guarantee that Bertie didn’t feel as if she were suffocating. T gripped her hand tightly as they stood watch. Bertie seemed to be sleeping. Her heart rate was still strong. The alarms from her machinery were all set to silent. The doctor and the nurses left them but monitored Bertie from the desk area.

  Adi moved away from T and took one of Bertie’s hands. T took the other.

  Their vigil lasted well into the evening, and just before eight p.m., Bertie’s breathing stilled and her heart rhythm dropped to nothing. The staff entered and unhooked the monitors and were quietly respectful of their grief. They did nothing to hurry them out. Tears ran down Adi’s face, but she didn’t wipe them away. She leaned down and kissed Bertie’s cheek one last time.

  “Good-bye, Bertie.”

  T’Claude started really crying, then. Sobbing like his heart was broken. Adi couldn’t take it. She walked out into the corridor, then kept walking until she felt the night air hit her.

  Run. Just run. She started slowly, heading off with no idea of direction. She hit a sidewalk and turned to follow it, her pace increasing. The cement gave way to dirt, and still she ran. She ran to keep from feeling. Her heartbeat was the only thing holding her focus. She ran until her lungs were burning and her legs felt like they were on fire. She ran until finally, the pain of her grief overwhelmed her.

  And then she screamed. She screamed out her anger at being helpless. Her regret at not keeping Bertie here, because she needed her. She screamed at the pain of losing her family, and the fear of being alone. When her voice gave out and her screams were silenced, she dropped to her knees and pounded her fists against the damp earth in futility.

  Finally, she collapsed onto the gritty path and rolled to the grass beside it. She lay on her back, staring at the vast, empty sky, as empty as her heart.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Griffith found Conq’s Grocery about two miles up the highway. It looked as if it had been there for quite some time. The door was plain wood fronted by a full screen door. There was a little bell tied above the door to announce visitors.

  “I’ll be right there,” called a voice from the back room.

  Griffith felt nostalgic looking at the mid-high wooden display shelves packed with assorted dry goods. They had probably been built when they built the building. The register was at the front with a door to the back open to the left. It wasn’t long before a young woman came out carrying a baby on her hip.

  “How can I help you?”

  “Hi, my name is Griffith McNaulty. I’m a reporter working on a story about runaways and the way those left behind cope. I understand the daughter of the owners had a friend who ran away.”

  “You’re kidding, right? You trying to trick me into something? What’s your scam?”

  “No scam. The girl may have been a friend of Rachel’s?”

  “What? That can’t be. I’m Rachel, and I didn’t have any friends who ran away.”

  “No? I could have it wrong, but I was led to believe you knew Merley Nerbass.”

  The woman froze, visibly paling. “Merley didn’t run away. No matter what they say. I know what happened to her.”r />
  “I don’t mean to upset you. I’m just following a lead. She was reported as a runaway, but if that’s wrong, I apologize for my mistake.”

  “She never ran away. Her father. He killed her and dumped her somewhere in the marsh.”

  Griffith was shocked at the strength of her belief. How did she come to that conclusion? “And how do you know this?”

  “Because. He told me he did.”

  “What? He told you he killed his daughter? If that’s the case, why isn’t he in jail?”

  “He’s too rich to go to jail. He has the law in his pocket.”

  “What made him tell you he killed Merley?” If it were true, that Merley was dead, this lead wasn’t going to be anything to do with Adi, and she could follow it to the article she wanted to write. If it wasn’t true…

  “I was angry. I knew he had something to do with her being gone. She wouldn’t have run away without telling me. I went right down to that bait shop when I heard and asked him to his face what he had done with Merley. He tried to laugh me off, but I wouldn’t shut up. I got louder and practically screamed at him. He grabbed me by the arm and shook me so hard. He said, ‘Listen. Merley is feeding the gators and you’ll be feeding them too, if you don’t shut up.’”

  “Didn’t you go to the police?”

  “Of course I did. I told my mamma and we went down to the police station. Back then they had a little office on the highway. I told the policeman what Mr. Nerbass had said. He acted like it was old news. He didn’t even try to act like he was going to do something. No. He just looked up from his paperwork at my mamma. Then he told her that she should take me home if she knew what was good for me. He told me if I ever told any more lies about Mr. Nerbass he’d throw me in jail. Me. For reporting my friend’s murder.”

  “Why do you think the police officer reacted like that?”

  “He was on Nerbass’s payroll. That’s what I think. Mamma said he just thought I was making up tales. She told me we should wait and see if Merley came home, but she never did. I never saw her again.”