Nell and Lady: A Novel

by Ashley Farley

  With the paltry alimony Daniel gave her, Lady didn’t have the money to buy a car for herself, let alone one for Regan. Living in the heart of a walking city like Charleston, they got along fine by sharing Willa’s old Buick Riviera.

  “Excuse me,” she said to a white-coated female doctor passing by. “What’s the address for this building?” She waved her phone at the doctor. “I need to text it to my daughter.”

  “You’re in the emergency department at Ashley River Tower. Have her google the address.”

  “Thanks,” Lady said absently as she texted Regan the name of the building.

  Ashley River Tower. Isn’t this the building where Nell works? She’d been so focused on following the ambulance, she’d failed to notice where they were going. Lady glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if Nell was on duty on one of the upper floors and whether she should get in touch with her. She quickly dismissed the idea. If Nell was concerned about Willa’s health, she would not have broken her promise to visit her on Saturday. She hoped Willa didn’t land on Nell’s floor. She couldn’t remember if Nell had mentioned her specialty.

  Lady returned to her mother’s cubicle, where a nurse informed her that a room had become available. She directed Lady to a bank of elevators. “We’ll take your mother up in a separate elevator and meet you on the fourth floor. Room 1426.”

  Lady sent Regan another text. Willa’s been assigned a room. Meet you by the elevators on the fourth floor.

  On the way up, Lady studied the faces of the men and women in the elevator—family members of patients who wore grim faces. The doors opened and deposited Lady on the fourth floor. She stared out of the bank of windows across the Ashley River. The sun shone bright in a cloudless periwinkle sky. Perfect weather for outdoor activities. She remembered the day her father had extended a rare invitation to take Lady and Nell sailing. The girls were about ten at the time. With Nell sitting close to Lady and her father at the helm, they’d glided across the harbor, giant sails flapping in the wind. It seemed like just yesterday, yet it had been so long ago. She’d let time slip away from her, not days or months but decades.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  BOOKER

  Booker’s stress escalated with each passing day. Although he hadn’t experienced another full-fledged panic attack, the symptoms were ever present, threatening to strike at any given moment. At night, he woke covered in sweat from the same stress dreams in which he showed up for class without his homework assignment or unprepared to take a test. While Booker was holed up in the library, his friends were out partying every night, enjoying their last months together before they ventured off into the world. A part of him yearned to join them, to forget about Harvard and pick one of the schools that had invited him to be part of their student body. He reminded himself repeatedly that these last two months were mere blips on his radar, that partying with his friends could not compare to having a degree from Harvard. He was trying as hard as he could but felt his chances of getting off the wait list slipping further from his grasp as Regan continued to finish one step ahead of him at every turn.

  Regan was still angry at him, which added a whole different layer of stress. He desperately wanted to talk to her about her father and his mother, but she refused to respond to his texts or answer his calls. He sensed something was very wrong in her life, something that had nothing to do with him. Something with her grandmother maybe. He’d questioned her friends, but none of them seemed to know what was troubling her either.

  Booker’s concern for Regan mounted when he saw Mrs. Redmond pulling her aside after third period on Monday. He lingered at his locker while he eavesdropped on their conversation. Stringing tidbits of overheard conversation together, he deduced that Regan’s grandmother had been admitted to the hospital that morning.

  When he saw Regan making a beeline for the front entrance, he caught up with her. “Regan, wait.”

  “Not now, Booker,” she said over her shoulder as she burst through the double doors.

  He lengthened his stride to keep up with her. “I overheard your conversation with Mrs. Redmond. Is your grandmother okay?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m on my way to the hospital now, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Why don’t you let me drive you?”

  She glanced at him and then did a double take. “Since when do you have a car?”

  “Since last week. Mom decided to give me my graduation present early, her way of getting back at my dad for leaving her.”

  Regan stopped walking. “Wait, what? I didn’t know your parents got separated. When did that happen?”

  He shrugged. “A couple of weeks ago.”

  Her face softened. “That sucks, Booker. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s been a long time coming,” Booker said. “I would’ve told you about it if you’d returned any of my calls or texts. I’m sorry about the other day and the way I handled the situation. It was insensitive of me.”

  “I can’t talk about this right now. My Uber’s gonna be here in a minute.” She turned away from him and continued to the end of the sidewalk.

  He joined her on the curb. “The thing is, Regan, whatever happened between my mother and your family has nothing to do with us. We were friends long before we knew about their past.”

  She shifted her backpack from one arm to the other. “That’s just it, though. Their relationship is no longer in the past. Their lives have collided again, and the impact from that collision affects you and me. Your mother broke her promise to visit my grandmother on Saturday. And because of that broken promise, my grandmother might die.”

  Booker thought back to Saturday. His mother had mentioned a visit with Willa, but when he’d met her at Taco Boy that night for dinner, she’d been dressed in scrubs and on her way home from a shift at the hospital. “I think you’re being overdramatic. What does my mother’s broken promise have to do with your grandmother’s health?”

  “If you’d seen her, Booker, you’d know what I’m talking about. Willa was so excited for your mother’s visit. She put on makeup and fixed her hair. She waited eagerly all day long for her to come. Not only did your mom not show up, she didn’t bother to call either.” Regan’s voice broke, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  At that moment, as she stood there looking so vulnerable, Booker realized how much he loved Regan. Not love, as in romance. He wasn’t into white girls. But he cared about her more than he’d ever cared about any of his other friends, and it made him sad to see her hurting so.

  “I vaguely remember Mom mentioning something about visiting Willa on Saturday, but I was so wrapped up in worrying about studying, I wasn’t really listening. I know she went to work, so I’m not sure what happened. She should’ve called Willa to explain, though. I know she’s been having problems with her phone. Maybe she didn’t realize how important her visit was to your grandmother.”

  “I’m pretty sure she knew,” Regan said in an unsteady voice. “And there’s no excuse for breaking a dying woman’s heart.”

  A silver Toyota sedan with an Uber decal on the back passenger-side window pulled to the curb in front of them. Regan climbed in the back seat and slammed the door.

  When the car started off, Booker ran alongside it, knocking on the window and yelling, “Stop!”

  The driver slammed on the brakes, and Regan cracked her window. “I’m in a hurry, Booker. What do you want?”

  “Promise you’ll call me if you need anything. Or if you just want to talk.”

  With a curt nod, she closed the window.

  Booker watched the car speed away from the curb before turning back toward the building. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders and considered cutting classes for the rest of the day. But he couldn’t afford to get slack now. He had to last for only two more months.

  Class was already underway when he got to fourth period.

  “You’re late, Mr. Grady,” his chemistry teacher said when Booker interrupted his le
cture on his way into class.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I was talking to Regan. Her grandmother was rushed to the hospital this morning. She’s upset, and I was trying to make her feel better.”

  “Oh.” Mr. Shaffer’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He motioned Booker to his desk. “Please have a seat.”

  Booker’s mind began to race as soon as he sat down at his desk. Unlike his dad, his mother was not one to break promises. Then again, he’d learned a lot about his mother in recent days that surprised him. Was Willa going to die? Could Nell somehow be responsible for her decline in health? Regan clearly blamed his mother, but did she blame him too? Why had he called her father a rapist? His heart began to palpitate, and sweat trickled down his back. Breathe deeply and think positive, he told himself. He’d researched panic attacks on the internet and learned certain techniques to ward them off when he felt them coming on. Thus far, he hadn’t needed to use them. Taking deep breaths, he reminded himself that he was only having a panic attack, not a heart attack, and that he wasn’t dying.

  He removed his phone from his pocket, and under the cover of his desk, he typed out a text to his mother. Regan’s grandmother was taken to the hospital this morning. She may be dying. Thought you should know. He opened his chemistry book and tried to focus, but thoughts of Regan and Willa and Nell kept intruding on his concentration.

  He’d read enough online to understand that fear was the source of his panic attacks. But what was he so afraid of? He was disappointed, for sure. Disappointed in his father for too many reasons to count, and his mother . . . well, he wasn’t exactly sure why he was so disappointed in her. Perhaps that she wasn’t the strong moral woman of high values he’d always thought her to be. That she was human, capable of making mistakes. That she’d banished Willa Bellemore from her life when Willa had done so much for her. That she was guilty of bias. He admitted that sounded harsh, but wasn’t it true? Mostly, though, he was disappointed in himself for not being smart enough for Harvard, not working hard enough to secure the position of valedictorian, for being soft when he should’ve stood strong. Booker was afraid of failure. And he was failing in every aspect of his life.

  He thought maybe he should see a doctor about his anxiety, but he was too young to start medicating himself to relieve stress. If he couldn’t stand the pressure in his small high school in Charleston, South Carolina, he’d never survive the pressure cooker at Harvard or out in the cutthroat world.

  There was no place for emotions in the real world. He had a choice. He could be a nice guy. Or he could be successful. But a man couldn’t be both. Nice had gotten him nowhere. Certainly not into Harvard. Regan’s father, a man who assaulted women, was one of the top criminal attorneys in the country. And his own father, a womanizer who repeatedly cheated on his wife, was considered one of Charleston’s best anesthesiologists. Not that Booker condoned their abusive and immoral behavior. That wasn’t the point. The point was, he needed to toughen up. Stop being a mama’s boy. Stop letting his emotions show. Better not to have any feelings at all. He’d made a fool of himself just now chasing after Regan, begging for her forgiveness. He didn’t blame her for rolling the window up in his face. He’d freaked her out by blubbering like an idiot. Promise you’ll call me if you need anything. Or if you just want to talk. Who said stuff like that? Not his friends. Most of them were jerks. He saw the way they treated their girlfriends. Certainly not like a gentleman should.

  How did that saying go? Nice guys finish last? That’s it, Book! No more Mr. Nice Guy.

  He cleared his mind and turned his attention to the chemistry lecture.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  REGAN

  The elevator doors parted, and Regan stepped out, into her mother’s arms. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she sobbed.

  “Nothing’s happening yet, sweetheart.” Lady cupped her head as she held her close. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought you’d want to be here.”

  Regan sniffled as she pulled away. “I’m glad you called me. Where is she? I want to see her.”

  “They just brought her up from the ER. I haven’t been to her room yet. I was waiting for you.”

  They walked arm in arm down the corridor until they found room 1426. A team of four nurses surrounded the bed, but Regan managed to catch a glimpse of her grandmother’s face, pale with rosy splotches on her cheeks. Fresh tears began to well, and Regan bit down on her lower lip to stop it from quivering. Her mother took her by the hand and led her to the other side of the bed, over by the window and out of the way of the activity.

  Regan couldn’t tear her eyes away from her grandmother’s frail body. Even from a distance, she could see a thin film of perspiration covering Willa’s face. “Is she in a coma?”

  She’d intended the question for her mother, but a pretty nurse, who couldn’t have been much older than Regan, offered her a sympathetic smile. “Not a coma. She’s somewhat responsive. She’s in a state of delirium caused by the fever and her illness.”

  Regan relaxed a little. “So she knows we’re here?”

  “To some extent.” An older nurse spoke to Regan as she injected a clear liquid into the IV tube. “Many of my patients, after recovering from their illnesses, have reported they were aware of the goings-on around them while in similar states.”

  She removed the needle, tossed the syringe into a biohazard disposal container, and moved to the whiteboard on the wall. “I’m Linda, and I’ll be Mrs. Bellemore’s nurse for the rest of the day.” She scrawled her name across the board in black marker. “And this is my nurse technician, Lisa.” She nodded at the pretty nurse. “If you need anything, press this call button.” She pointed to a red button on the side of the bed. “There’s also a call button here”—she held up a remote control that was attached to the bed—“as well as the controls for the TV.”

  Regan doubted her grandmother would be watching any TV.

  “You should talk to her,” Lisa said as she squirted hand sanitizer on her hands. “The sound of your voices will comfort her.”

  As she watched the nurse technician leave the room, Regan admired her long silky black ponytail.

  She waited until the nurses were gone before inching closer to Willa. “What do I say? I don’t know how to tell her goodbye.”

  Lady joined her daughter bedside. “It’s premature for goodbyes. Let’s focus on the positive. Tell her how much she’s loved, and encourage her to keep fighting.”

  Regan pressed her fingertips against Willa’s flushed cheeks. “If her skin is so hot, why is she shivering?”

  “That’s the fever.” Searching through the room’s wardrobe, Lady located a stack of thin cotton blankets and spread them over Willa’s body.

  “We should read to her,” Regan said. “I bet she’d like that.”

  “I should’ve thought to bring Pride and Prejudice. I left the house so quickly, I didn’t have time to pack a bag. I’ll run home later and grab some of her things.” Lady started toward the door. “I saw a bookcase in the lobby near the elevator when we came in. I’ll see if I can find a novel she would approve of.”

  Regan pulled the recliner close to the bed. “We’re here for you, Willa. Just let us know if you need anything.”

  Lady returned with a paperback copy of Jeannette Walls’s The Glass Castle. “I hope you don’t mind a memoir. There’s not a whole lot to choose from, mostly cowboy romances, mysteries, and Harry Potter.”

  “This is fine,” Regan said, and thought, Just what we need, more family dysfunction.

  Regan read for more than an hour, until her voice was hoarse and her mouth dry. She closed the book and held it out to her mother. “Would you like to read for a while?”

  Lady glanced down at the book and up at the wall clock. “Let’s take a break. I can’t believe it’s past one already. No wonder my stomach is growling. There’s a cafeteria downstairs. Why don’t you go grab a sandwich. I’ll stay with Willa until you get back, and then I’
ll go.”

  Regan shook her head. “You go ahead.” She was anxious to have some time alone with her grandmother. “I have a protein bar if I get hungry,” she said, patting her backpack on the floor beside her.

  “You need to eat more than a protein bar, honey.”

  “I’m fine, Mom, really. But you can bring me a bottled water.”

  Standing, Lady removed her purse from the floor beside the bed. “All right, then.” She tucked the thin white covers tight around Willa. “I won’t be long. Call or text me if you need me.”

  Regan waited for Lady to leave before reaching for her grandmother’s hand. “You can’t go dying on me now, Willa. You have to get better so you can come to my graduation. I’m working hard to keep my grades up. My adviser thinks I’ll be named valedictorian. I want you to be proud of me.”

  She moved to the edge of her seat and leaned in close to Willa, elbows planted on knees. “There are so many things I need your help with. For starters, you have to go shopping with me for my dorm room.” She cupped her hand over her mouth and lowered her voice. “You and I both know Mom has terrible taste.” She lowered her hand. “I’ve met some girls on the UNC Facebook page for accepted students. Several of them have asked me to room with them. How do I go about picking a roommate? They all seem so nice. Several are from North Carolina. But the girl I really like is from New Orleans. We have a lot in common, as much as I can tell from Facebook.

  “There’s a girl in my class at All Saints who’s on the wait list for UNC. She asked me to room with her, but based on her grades, I doubt she’ll get in. She’s too much of a partyer for me, and I’d prefer to live with someone I don’t already know anyway. How do I say no without hurting her feelings? I need you to wake up, Willa, so you can help me figure these things out.”

  Regan shifted from the lounge chair to the edge of the bed. “My friends were talking this morning before school. Over the weekend, they all got asked to the prom. I don’t wanna go. Well . . . not really, but sorta. I mean, it’s my senior prom. I’ll always regret it if I don’t go. At least that’s what you told me. See, you need to get better so you can convince me to go. I’m sure no one will ask me. There’s this one boy in my class, Arthur Broadbottom. He’s super shy.” She giggled. “I would be too if I had a name like that. But he’s cute in a little boy kind of way with his big blue eyes and white-blond hair. I thought about asking him. But what would I wear? Mom would pick out some slinky long gown with sequins and heels so high I’d embarrass myself by falling on the dance floor. Remember that god-awful dress she made me wear to cotillion that time, the one with the big pink flowers all over it? Ugh. I can’t go to prom if you’re not around to help me get ready.” She swatted at her ponytail. “And what would I do about this hair?”