The biker noticed Booker staring at him. “I’m sorry, man,” he said, his face contorted with remorse. “She came outta nowhere. I couldn’t stop in time.”
Booker looked away, unsure of what to say to the biker.
“I’m trying to get contact information for her family. Her phone won’t power on.” The woman held up a mangled iPhone. He recognized the pink glittery case as Regan’s.
Booker was grateful for the Xanax, which enabled him to remain calm. “I can get in touch with her family,” he said, removing his phone from the front pocket of his tuxedo trousers.
Booker stepped aside as the EMTs loaded the stretcher into the ambulance. He placed the call to his mother, who answered on the second ring. “I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight. Are you having a wonderful time?”
“Mom, listen, I don’t have much time to explain. I’m not even sure how it happened. But Regan’s been in a bad accident. She was hit by a motorcycle in front of the school.”
Nell let out an audible gasp. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t think so. They’re taking her away in an ambulance. I don’t know her mother’s number. Can you call her?”
“Of course. But I need to know where they’re taking her. This is important, Booker. Make sure they’re taking her to MUSC. They have the only trauma center in the area.”
Holding the phone away from his face, he asked the EMT with the glasses, “Are you taking her to MUSC?”
“That’s correct,” the woman said, slamming the back doors of the ambulance. “We have room up front if you want to ride with us.”
He nodded at the EMT and returned the phone to his ear. “They’re taking her to MUSC. I’m going with them. I’m scared, Mom.”
“Hang in there, son. I’ll call Lady and meet you there.”
Booker climbed into the passenger seat, and they took off, sirens blasting through the rain-soaked streets of downtown. As the ambulance dodged cars and flew through red lights, Booker gripped the dashboard with one hand while using the other to shoot off a text to Stuart, explaining the situation. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, promising the Lord he would go back to being a nice guy if he saved Regan’s life.
“Will she be okay?” he asked the EMT as she backed the ambulance up to the emergency unloading area.
“I don’t know, bud. I certainly hope so. She took an awfully bad hit to the head.”
Booker saw Regan’s mother and grandmother arrive at the emergency room within minutes of the ambulance. Lady walked down the hallway ahead of her mother, who limped along after her with a cane. Lady confronted Booker outside the examining room where a team of doctors and nurses worked on Regan. “Where’s my daughter?”
“In there.” He aimed his thumb over his shoulder at the cubicle behind him. “They told me to wait out here.”
“Do you know the extent of her injuries?” Lady asked, slightly out of breath with a film of sweat covering her face.
“Only that she took a bad hit to her head,” he said, tapping his forehead.
“How did this happen, Booker?” Lady asked. “She was in your care. What was she doing outside in the rain in the middle of the street?”
“I don’t know, Ms. Bellemore. We were watching the band, and Regan went to get something to drink. When she didn’t come back, I went to look for her. That’s when I heard the sirens.”
“How long was she gone?” Lady asked, her face red with anger.
Booker shook his head. “I have no idea. Maybe an hour.”
“You left your date alone at the prom for an hour?”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.” He looked up and down the hall, praying his mother would arrive soon. “I just assumed she was talking with one of her friends.”
“Why would she have gone outside?”
“Calm down, Lady,” Willa said in a warning tone. “He already told you he doesn’t know. How this happened is not important. I’m more concerned about her condition.”
Lady stepped closer to Booker, her legs planted wide. “Unless you were doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing.” She gave him the once-over. “You’re acting strange. Are you on something?”
Booker’s mouth went dry. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t think you know me well enough to make that judgment.”
“Why you rude—” Lady stopped in midsentence at the sight of Nell hurrying toward them. She shifted her anger toward his mom. “I told you on the phone not to come.”
“I’m here for my son’s sake. Like it or not, he and Regan are close friends.” Nell kissed Booker’s forehead. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m just worried about Regan.”
Nell started off down the hall toward the examining room, but Lady stepped in front of her. “Don’t you dare go in there. I don’t want you anywhere near my child.”
“Lady, for heaven’s sake.” Willa whacked her daughter’s leg with her cane. “I understand you’re upset, but there’s no reason to be rude when Nell is only trying to help.”
Nell turned to face Lady. “I worked in this trauma unit for several years when I first moved back to Charleston. I still know many of the doctors and nurses on staff. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t feel I could be of use to you. But if you want me to leave, I’ll go. It’s your call.”
Lady started to speak, but Willa hit her again with the cane. This time Lady called out in pain. “Ouch, Mom! That hurts.”
“We’d like for you to stay,” Willa said to Nell. “We need you here.”
Nell handed her purse to Booker and approached the nurses’ station across from them. The nurse gave Nell a sterile paper gown to put on before entering the curtained cubicle.
Lady asked one of the nurses to find her mother a seat, and while the two Bellemore women huddled together, whispering, Booker leaned against the wall, with his mother’s purse slung across his body, texting with Stuart. Word of the accident had spread throughout their classmates. According to Stuart, no one remembered seeing Regan during the dance.
Regan’s cubicle buzzed with activity as doctors and nurses came and went, wheeling a host of different medical devices in and out. Fifteen minutes passed on the wall clock before his mother emerged.
“Regan has suffered a severe head injury,” she explained to Lady and Willa. “They’re doing a CT scan now to determine the extent of her injury. She’ll probably need surgery to repair the damage. The neurosurgeon on call is already in surgery with another patient and likely to be a while. With your permission, I’d like to call a friend of mine who is on the neurosurgery team. In my opinion, David Summers is the best.”
“That would be wonderful, Nell,” said Willa. “Thank you.”
“Hand me my phone, please, son,” she said with an outstretched hand.
He dug in her purse for the phone and handed it to her. She located the contact and pressed the phone to her ear. “David, it’s Nell. I’m sorry to wake you in the middle of the night. I have an emergency, and I need your help. A young woman”—her eyes settled on Booker’s face—“a special friend of my son’s, was in a horrible accident tonight. I’m here with her at the emergency room. Dr. Powers is in surgery with another patient. He’s going to be a while.”
Nell paused, listening. “Would you?” Her shoulders slumped in relief. “That’d be awesome. I owe you one.” She ended the call and slipped her phone into her back pocket.
“He’s on the way. Fortunately, he lives downtown. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
True to his word, the neurosurgeon, a large black man whose immense size commanded attention, arrived thirteen minutes later. He kissed Nell on the cheek and nodded at the Bellemores before entering the cubicle. His expression was impassive when he emerged a half hour later.
Nell provided the brief introductions. “Your daughter suffered a severe head injury,” Dr. Summers said to Lady. “She has significant bleeding on the brain. We’re preparing her for surgery now.”
B
ooker broke out in a cold sweat when Lady asked, “Is she going to die?”
Dr. Summers squeezed Lady’s shoulder. “I’ll do everything I can not to let that happen.” He turned to Nell. “I’m having a member of my team prepare a private waiting room for you on the third floor. You know the drill. We’ll keep you updated as we go.”
“Can I see my daughter, Doctor?” Lady asked with a trembling chin.
Dr. Summers nodded. “But only for a minute. We need to get her to the OR, stat.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
LADY
Lady’s gut ached and her skin itched and her brain throbbed against her skull. Sweat seeped from every pore in her body. Once they were shown to the private waiting room Dr. Summers had promised, she went into the restroom, locked the door, and vomited her dinner into the toilet. She flushed the vile contents of her stomach, and then—with knees on floor, elbows propped on toilet seat, and fingers intertwined—she prayed to God with every fiber of her being to let her daughter live. She would gladly trade places with Regan, her sweet baby girl. She’d felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest as she watched Regan’s body, so fragile and still, being wheeled into a surgery she might not survive. She sat back on the cold floor and sobbed, her voice echoing off the tile floor and walls. “How is this even fair? She’s only seventeen years old. She has her whole life ahead of her.”
She buried her face in her hands and cried like she’d never cried before, mournful howls from a woman possessed. She’d lasted thirteen whole days without alcohol, but she couldn’t face the worst crisis of her life without a drink. She needed to get out of the hospital, away from Nell. Surely there was a restaurant or bar nearby where she could get a glass of wine. Or a bottle. She forced herself to get up. At the sink, she blew her nose several times, the cheap toilet paper rubbing it raw, rinsed her mouth out with cold water, and patted her face dry. Despite her new haircut and makeup, her reflection in the mirror frightened her. She couldn’t go out in public looking like Carrie. She’d have to find booze from somewhere else.
She considered whether to call Daniel but opted to wait until she knew more about Regan’s condition. She was stressed enough without having to defend herself to her ex-husband, who would undoubtedly accuse her of being responsible for the accident.
Three sets of eyes stared at her as she emerged from the restroom. Two small sofas and rows of comfortable armchairs were positioned in front of a large window overlooking the darkened city of Charleston. Willa, her face pale and drawn, sat on the edge of one of the sofas with Nell and Booker seated to her right.
Lady went to stand in front of her mother. “The doctor said the operation could take hours, maybe all night. Why don’t I take you home? I’ll put the phone by your bed and call you the minute we know something.”
Nell jumped to her feet. “I can take her home, Lady. You need to stay here.”
“I should be the one to take her.” Not only did she feel her mother, in her fragile state of health, would be better off getting a good night’s sleep in her own bed, but she also had an ulterior motive for wanting to go home. She hoped to find there a stray bottle of liquor or wine she may have missed when she’d cleaned out her stash last week.
“Nobody’s taking me anywhere!” Willa said, her voice raised. “I’m not leaving this hospital until I see my granddaughter smile again.”
“In that case, I’ll go see if I can find some pillows and blankets,” Nell said with a smile before disappearing from the room.
Lady admonished herself. You can’t leave the hospital while your daughter is fighting for her life in the operating room.
She checked her purse for some sort of relief, but all she found was one bent and broken cigarette at the bottom. Moving to the refreshment station, she investigated the offerings of K-cup beverages and the assortment of cold drinks in the refrigerator. But there were no miniature bottles of wine or vodka. Man up, Lady. Regan needs you now more than she’s ever needed you before. Abandoning the search for booze, she brewed two cups of Earl Grey tea, handing one to her mother, and sat down on the sofa opposite her.
Willa took a sip of tea and then placed the cup on the table beside her. “Come sit with me, young man,” she said, motioning Booker to join her. “I want to tell you about my guardian angel. I feel her presence here with us tonight.”
Booker appeared skeptical but did as he was told.
Willa settled back on the sofa. “I want you to know about your grandmother. Mavis was the best person I’ve ever known. With the exception of my Regan, of course.”
Lady felt hurt that she hadn’t made her mother’s List of Best People. Then again, a washed-up alcoholic didn’t deserve the honor.
Booker’s lips curled into a soft smile. “Regan is a really good person. She’s considerate of everyone.”
“Your grandmother was like that too—always thinking of others. She died way too young. She left a great big hole in all of our lives. I, for one, was never able to fill that hole. I don’t think Lady and Nell ever did either.”
When Lady felt their eyes on her, she shook her head.
“What did Mavis look like?” Booker asked.
Willa drew her head back in surprise. “Have you never seen a picture?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I have plenty of pictures at home. I’ll show you sometime.” Willa tapped her chin in thought. “Let’s see. Mavis was dark skinned with warm brown eyes. And she was plump. She squished me with her big bosom every time we hugged.”
Lady’s mouth fell open. “Mom! I don’t think Booker wants to hear about his grandmother’s bosom.”
Booker snickered. “It’s fine. Clearly, my mom didn’t inherit her . . . um . . . you know.”
“No, I guess she didn’t,” Willa said, shaking her head. “Mavis had the greatest laugh, a deep throaty cackle. We didn’t hear that laugh often, but when we did, it reverberated throughout the house.”
“Why didn’t she laugh much?” Booker asked.
Willa angled her body toward him. “Mavis was a serious woman most of the time—quiet and shy but devoted and hardworking. She started out as my housekeeper, but we quickly became friends. The best friend I ever had. And let me tell you, she could cook. Man alive, how that woman could cook. And she worshipped your mama to pieces.”
Booker grinned. “What can you tell me about my grandfather? I’ve asked my mom, but she either doesn’t know or doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“I suspect she doesn’t know, son. That’s the way May May wanted it. She told me about your grandfather once. Not the particulars, not his name or anything like that, only that he was not a good man and she was lucky to escape him. She begged me never to tell Nell. And I haven’t. May May had her reasons for not wanting her daughter to find her father, and I’ve respected that all these years.”
Nell returned with her arms piled high with blankets and pillows. She positioned a pillow behind Willa’s back and tucked a blanket around her.
Booker leaned forward, his eyes aglow. “Will you tell me more about my grandmother?”
Willa reached for his hand. “In due time, my boy. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. But we’re in for a long wait. We should all try to get some rest.” She closed her eyes and was snoring softly within seconds.
Lacking the strength for idle conversation, Lady set her teacup on the table beside her, relaxed her head against the back of the sofa, and closed her eyes, tuning out their murmured voices. She wouldn’t sleep until Regan was out of surgery. Maybe not even then. Maybe not until Regan went home from the hospital or off to college or on her honeymoon. Provided, of course, that all those things were in the cards for her. This accident was a reminder of the fragility of life. If she got another chance with her daughter, she’d do things differently. She would make Regan proud of her. And Willa too. She would not stop trying until she reached the top of Regan’s and Willa’s Best People lists.
She was lost in her own th
oughts, remembering how lovely Regan had looked in her prom dress, when she heard Booker say, “Mom, I did something tonight I shouldn’t have.”
Lady listened, her interest piqued.
“What’s that, son?”
“I took a Xanax. But not for the reasons you might think. I wasn’t trying to get high. I wanted to get rid of the stress.” Lady heard sniffling and assumed he was crying. “For once, I just wanted to get rid of the stress.”
A moment of silence passed before Nell responded. “I was wondering why you seemed so calm. Taking pills and drinking alcohol are no way to relieve stress. What’s bothering you, son, that’s making you so uptight? You know you can always come to me with your problems. Is this about Harvard?”
“Yes’m. I’ve been stressed out for weeks. I even had a full-fledged panic attack one day at school.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was handling it on my own until I had lunch with Dad today,” Booker said. “He’s refusing to pay for college unless I go to Duke.”
Nell gasped. “Why, that rotten . . .”
“I know, right? What a jerk. I was such a mess when I got to Regan’s. I’m surprised I didn’t have a panic attack right there in the yard while we were taking pictures. When we got to Janie’s, Owen could tell something was wrong and offered me a Xanax. In a moment of weakness, I took it. It relieved the stress, but I hated the way it made me feel. I’ve been in a funk all night. I ruined the prom for Regan.”
“Does this have anything to do with Regan getting hit by a motorcycle?”
“I honestly don’t know why she was outside. She was irritated at me because I wouldn’t dance with her. Nothing against Regan. I just didn’t feel like dancing. She went to get something to drink and never came back. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to her.”
A long period of nose blowing and throat clearing followed. Lady felt guilty for eavesdropping on such a private conversation, but if she revealed herself now, she risked making Nell angry.
Nell and Lady: A Novel Page 23
