“She coughed and it sounded horrible, and her breath gurgles.”
“Melody, I’m going to call the hospital to get Quatie some help. I want you to stay with her. I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Make sure you hang up the phone so we can call if we need to.”
I clicked the phone off and hurried back to Quatie’s side. Perspiration glistened on her forehead. I tore into the bathroom, wet a washcloth, wrung it out, and returned to place the compress on her forehead. When I touched her skin, heat radiated from her.
The compress fell off as she doubled over with another coughing spasm. When the attack eased, she opened her eyes. “Melody?”
I grabbed her hand. “I’m right here, Quatie. I made you some creosote tea.”
She closed her eyes and relaxed against the chair back again. “Thank you, child.”
I gripped the cup. “Why don’t you drink some? It might help with the coughing.”
She struggled to lift her head, so I held the cup to her lips. Her hand trembled as she held it against the bottom to tip the cup forward. After a tiny sip, her head plopped back against the headrest.
Where was Miss Prescott? How long would it take her?
Quatie closed her eyes. “Warmth feels good. So cold.”
But she was sweating. The fire crackled in the hearth, heating the room. She was covered with a big knit blanket.
“Take another sip, Quatie. It will help.”
After I helped her drink more tea, she slumped in the chair. My fingers fluttered against the cup. She didn’t look good. It frightened me.
A faint siren wailed in the distance. Quatie had fallen asleep again, her breath rasping in her chest. I placed the barely tasted cup on the side table and took her hand. I wanted her to know I was there, even while sleeping.
The sirens came closer. We usually didn’t get sirens this far from town. I focused on warming Quatie’s hand between mine. Maybe if her hands were warm she wouldn’t feel so cold.
The sirens cut off mid-wail as they pulled into the drive. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I ran to the door and swung it open. The EMTs jumped out of the ambulance and ran to the back to pull out a stretcher. The red lights flashed, glinting off the puddles, and washed over the house staining the walls as they pulsed.
Numb as the EMTs rushed up the steps with the stretcher, I held the door open for them and pointed to the family room. As I followed them into the room, my ears buzzed and I couldn’t feel my feet. They set the stretcher next to Quatie’s chair and lowered it.
The EMT with his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail knelt next to Quatie and asked her questions. As she answered, she had another coughing spasm and he signaled to the EMT with the short hair. The short-haired guy pulled a cylinder out of a case. He connected some hoses, then put a mask on Quatie’s face. Then ponytail guy scooped her up, blanket and all, as if she didn’t weigh a thing, and laid her on the mattress.
They raised the stretcher and started toward the door. As they passed, Quatie Raincrow held her hand out to me. They halted.
I took her hand. “I’m here, Quatie.”
“Don’t leave me, my Atsila.”
“I won’t.”
They continued pushing her through the door, then collapsed the wheels to carry her down the porch steps.
I followed them, taking a moment to look at the spot where the stranger had been standing. Thank goodness he was gone. Maybe the ambulance had scared him away.
I raised my leg to step on the bumper and grabbed the rail to join Quatie in the back of the ambulance.
The ponytail EMT put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, miss. You’re too young to ride in the ambulance.”
I shrugged off his hand. “But I promised her.” Hauling myself up, I stepped inside.
He put an arm around my waist and lowered me to the ground. “It’s against regulations.” He gazed at me with sorrowful eyes. “I really am sorry. We’ll take good care of her for you.”
I bit my lower lip as an inner struggle raged. I wanted them to get Quatie to a doctor as soon as possible, but I couldn’t break my promise to her. If I jumped in the ambulance, they’d only delay.
She called my name.
“I’m right here.” I swung up on the ledge again.
The EMT grabbed me with both arms this time. I grabbed the handrail and held on as he tugged. A car pulled off the road and skidded to a halt, spewing mud, water, and rocks as it did.
“Put her down.”
Thank goodness. I released the handrail and as soon as my feet touched the ground, I ran to Miss Prescott. “I promised I’d stay with her, but they won’t let me ride in the back.”
Miss Prescott gave me a hug. “Get in the car, Melody. We’ll follow.” She released me and strode toward the ambulance. “What are you waiting for? Get her to the hospital.”
The EMT’s head snapped back like he’d been hit. He shut the doors, secured them, then hustled to the cab.
Miss Prescott hurried back to the car. I hopped in and buckled my seatbelt. The ambulance circled around and hit the road, sirens wailing once more. We followed and I prayed the whole way to God and the Grandfathers that Quatie would be well.
We arrived at the hospital not more than two minutes after the ambulance. Miss Prescott spoke to the intake nurse and told me to wait in the lobby. I sat on a couch and hunched forward. A TV on the wall played a commercial. The screen could show nothing more than the Emergency Broadcasting symbol for all I cared.
I chewed on my fingernails and my knee bounced as Miss Prescott paced in front of the entrance talking on her cell phone. She told me she had to make a few calls outside. Every time the double doors swung open, my head jerked around. I wanted the doctors who were working on Quatie to come and tell us something ... anything.
Miss Prescott finally clicked off her phone and put it back in her purse. The double doors swung open again. A woman doctor signaled to Miss Prescott. I jumped up and joined them.
“We’ve stabilized her condition. We need to bring her fever down and reduce the fluid in her lungs. She has pneumonia and will need to stay with us for a few days.”
Miss Prescott put her hand on my shoulder and gave me a squeeze.
“Can I see her?”
The doctor’s lips pressed tight. “If you keep your visit to no more than five minutes. She needs her rest.”
I nodded.
We went through the double doors and when we reached Quatie’s room, I went straight in while Miss Prescott stayed in the hall with the doctor. Sitting next to the bed, I took hold of Quatie’s hand.
“I knew you’d come.”
I tried to smile. “I promised you. You had me worried. The doctor says you’re sick and will have to stay for a few days.”
Quatie looked through the doorway. “Listen to me, Melody. You will have to go with Rebecca. Be a good girl and do what she says. I’ll work on getting better so we can both go home.”
The tears in my eyes made everything in the room shimmer. “I will.”
Miss Prescott joined us. “You’ve given us a scare, Quatie. Melody and I will have to leave you now. Get better.” She stroked my hair. “Come on, Melody. Time’s up.”
I squeezed Quatie Raincrow’s hand. “I love you, Quatie. Get better.”
Chapter Thirty
Spring 2015 – Melody, age 16
Rebecca pulled the car into a slot at the front of the school and turned off the engine.
Melody played with the snap on her book bag, pulling it open and snapping it shut repeatedly. The thought of getting out of the car made her queasy stomach want to lose her breakfast. Not that she had eaten much.
Rebecca opened her door. “It’s going to be okay, Melody. If you have any problems, we’ll get them taken care of right away.” She got out of the car. “I know this is tough, but you can do it.”
New school, new teachers expecting her to talk and participate, new kids taunting her—her breath caught in her throat. If only everyone would
leave her alone.
Rebecca came around and opened the passenger door. “You’ll see. Things are going to be different this time. I’ve already had a chat with the administrators and your teachers. No one is going to push you to talk before you’re ready. And if they do, they have to answer to Dr. Kane and me.”
Melody swung her feet out and stood. Why did she feel like she was walking the last mile? Rebecca had better be right.
“Let’s go get your schedule and get you to homeroom.”
Melody trailed after Rebecca. The bell signaling the start of school hadn’t sounded yet, so kids were still arriving, hanging out in clusters, talking, texting friends. One guy sat on the planter wall, wearing a fedora and sunglasses, strumming a guitar. She smiled. He was completely absorbed in his music and oblivious to all the activity around him.
She followed Rebecca up the steps and into the administration office.
Rebecca greeted the receptionist by name and waved to a few office workers as she passed through the gate and marched directly into the principal’s office. “Hey, Phil. This is Melody Fisher.”
Principal Ward stood and held out his hand.
Goodness, he must stand 6’ 7” and he had a firm grip.
“Miss Prescott and I have had a nice talk about you and what will best help you settle into our school. We’re here to help you get acclimated and make you comfortable with continuing your education.” He smoothed his suit coat. “One of the rules we have here is no use of music players or any digital device.”
Melody’s neck knotted. She couldn’t leave her player at home.
“But Miss Prescott tells me music is part of your therapy, so we will make an exception to the rule.” His brown eyes twinkled. “Do me the favor of keeping it low profile so I don’t have to deal with a revolt.”
Melody nodded.
He clapped his hands together. “Well, let’s talk about your schedule.” He glanced at Rebecca. “In reviewing her schoolwork, we’ve placed her in senior classes. She has already completed all the junior coursework and most of the senior work. Do you see a problem with that?”
Rebecca put her hand on Melody’s shoulder. “I think it will be fine, Phil. What do you think, sweetie?”
She’d be able to finish school this year and never have to face another day in high school? She searched Rebecca’s eyes.
Rebecca arched a brow. “Yes, I really mean it.”
Melody bit back a smile.
Chuckling, Rebecca patted her shoulder. “We have a yes from Melody, too.” She plopped her satchel on the chair back and extracted a file folder, flipped through, pulled out a few pages, and handed them to Principal Ward. “Here are the court documents approving Melody’s return to school and the specific parameters. She will need to continue her daily therapy sessions.”
Principal Ward took the documents and added them to the file on his desk. “Since we had already discussed the therapy sessions, I crafted her schedule to cover mornings and one class after the lunch period.”
“Excellent. One last thing ... I want to stress that no one is to pressure Melody to speak during class or any other time. Her therapist is adamant Melody be allowed to communicate and participate at the level she is comfortable with.” She slung the satchel strap back over her shoulder. “She speaks during therapy and has said a few words at home, so we’re hopeful speech will transition to the classroom soon, but pushing the issue could cause irreparable damage.”
Principal Ward held out his hand. “All of her teachers are clear on the importance of allowing Melody to set her own comfort level.”
Tension drained from Melody’s shoulders. She wouldn’t be forced to speak before she was ready.
Rebecca shook the principal’s hand. “Thanks again, Phil. Keep me posted. I want to know every little thing as it relates to Melody.”
“I’ll keep in touch, Rebecca.” He held his hand out. “Welcome to Laurel High, Melody. I look forward to helping you further your academic career.”
As she entered the quad outside the administration building, the lump of fear Melody had been trying to suppress all morning grew. The students milled through the campus. Her stomach clutched and her breath came faster. Which of them would be the first to hurt her?
“Take a deep breath. You’re going to be fine. I’ll walk you to your first class.” Rebecca checked the campus map and class schedule.
“I’ll be here at a quarter ‘til two to pick you up. Meet me in the parking lot.” When they reached the classroom door, Rebecca hugged her. “You have the cell phone I gave you?”
Melody patted her purse.
“Good. If you need anything or if anything happens, text me.” Rebecca strode away, trench coat flapping with every step.
Melody fought down the panic that she had been abandoned again. Rebecca would be back for her. She had to be.
“Excuse me.”
A boy reached around her for the door handle.
“You’re new to this homeroom?” He pulled the door open. “After you.”
She walked into the class and the teacher came to greet her.
Melody exited the building and faced the quad. Too many students. She needed somewhere quieter for lunch. She wasn’t ready to be around the other kids outside the classroom. So far, the day had been all right, but she now had forty-five minutes to fill and needed some solitude. Two hours left until Rebecca came to pick her up.
The athletic field might be the best place to find a little space to read and eat her lunch. Melody focused on the campus map and her steps slowed. The field should be to the right. She turned and took a step forward.
A big guy wearing a letterman’s jacket plowed into her.
James?
He grabbed her arm to steady her. “Sorry, but next time look before you step in front of someone.”
Melody’s cheeks flamed as he walked away. The same short blond hair, swaggering steps, and spiced cologne reminded her of James like a punch in the gut. She should have known better because James didn’t go to Laurel and would have graduated already.
Taking a deep breath to get her rapid heartbeat under control, Melody checked to see whether anyone else had noticed the encounter. She shuddered. What if he had looked like Troy?
Her heart jumped again when a guy with curly brown hair strode past. It wasn’t Vince, but for a split second, it could have been. Haunted by the past, she hurried away from the quad.
She rounded the corner of the locker rooms then pulled up short. The guy she had noticed at the front of the school this morning sat on the ground in the middle of the volleyball court, strumming his guitar. Hat pushed back on the crown of his head, sunglasses pulled down to the end of his nose, he went through a few chord progressions, then scribbled something on the notepad next to him.
When he played a few more notes, Melody inched closer. She wanted to hear him play. She settled on the ground, out of his range of vision, unpacked her lunch, and ate while listening as he worked through his song. Completely absorbed in his music, he didn’t seem to realize anyone else was around.
She smiled when he hit a point not quite right. He played it then nearly knocked his hat off, running his fingers through his brown hair. He caught the hat and put it back in place. Then he gripped the neck of the guitar, positioned his fingers, and played the notes again, making a minor adjustment. Three times through, and he resolved the conflict and made another note on his pad.
The hour sped past and the bell rang signaling the time for her next class. Before she had packed her things, the boy looked up and saw her.
He slid his sunglasses back up his nose and stood in one smooth motion. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.” He brushed a few small pebbles off his slacks. “How long have you been sitting there?”
Melody froze. She had been so relaxed, but the direct question caused her throat to close off.
He snapped the guitar into the case. “Doesn’t matter. You’re the new girl, right?”
Mel
ody fiddled with getting her things packed. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d leave her alone. At least he’d stopped talking to her. She gathered her books and took a moment to hope he had gone to class. A hand appeared in front of her face. She placed her hand in his.
“Of course you’re the new girl.” He pulled her to her feet. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” He gazed directly into her eyes. “I haven’t introduced myself. Kelly Garland, at your service.” He bowed. “Since you’re new, I’ll be your escort. What’s your next class?”
She handed him her schedule.
He ran a finger down the page. “We have a class in the same building, so come with me, Miss Melody Fisher.”
She had forgotten he would see her name on the schedule. But if she hadn’t handed him the paper, she’d have had to say something. He hadn’t reacted to her name, so maybe he hadn’t heard of her.
“I always come out to the athletic field during lunch to get away from all the chatter in the quad. I’m as sociable as the next guy, but I am serious about my music and need time to work on it.” He shifted the guitar to his other hand so it was no longer between them. “And honestly, it’s a little ironic, but the sometimes homophobic jocks are all over the quad during lunch and completely absent from the athletic field, so the guy who nearly fails PE every year takes refuge on his field of shame.”
He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yes, honey. I’m as gay as the day is long. If I didn’t tell you, someone else would have.”
They reached the building door and he opened it for her. “I get along with most everyone, but I try to avoid the situations where mob mentality can come into play.” He led her to a door. “Here you go, Melody. Your class awaits. I’ll see you around.”
She waved as Kelly went down the hall. Having a friend again might be nice. She missed Vince more today than any other. Maybe things would turn out differently this time.
Chapter Thirty-One
February 8, 2013 – Melody, age 14
Hunching my shoulders forward, I pulled my books tightly against my chest. Wherever I went this afternoon to stay away from home had to be warm. I should have worn a heavier jacket, but it was upstairs, and Hatchet was on the move up there. I couldn’t stomach seeing him and had grabbed the first jacket from the coat closet and ran out the door.
Speak No Evil Page 18
