“What if we’re wrong?”
Tabitha shakes her head, the tinkle of crystals accompanying the sounds of the car’s wheels on the pavement.
“We’re not.”
I try to make out my cousin in the darkness, try to catch the expression on her face. Her tone’s so confident, so unlike anything I’d expect from her. Mimi’s lesson comes back in a rush – “Don’t underestimate people or nature. Always look below the surface because you’ll be surprised what you’ll find. Reality is a funny thing, and it’s different for everybody.”
What is Tabitha’s reality? How does she see me? If I had to guess, it’d be the uppity cousin from New Orleans who’s too good to come visit.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
She turns her head and the tiara jingles. “Sorry for what?”
I smile because hopefully I’m wrong. Again. “Sorry for not visiting more often. I’ve meant to, just got caught up in my own life.”
I feel my hand gripped by hers. “Oh, my goodness, Vi. After all you’ve been through.”
I squeeze back but I’m ashamed of myself. “Lillye died a long time ago. And Katrina’s been two years now. There’s no excuse.”
She doesn’t just squeeze my hand, she picks it up and rocks it back and forth. “That’s crazy. Your dad disappeared, you left your husband, and now you see ghosts everywhere. Whatever guilt you feel on my account, you stop that right now. Ya hear?”
I smile but tears well up. I lean across the seat and give my tiara-wearing, fashionista cousin a big hug. She laughs and returns a one-arm pat but then admonishes me in that sugary sweet Bama drawl. “I’m driving, honey bee.”
I pull back and wipe my eyes, glad to have family on this dark, freaky night because as much as I want to believe my father may be lying comatose in a neighboring hospital, I’m still not convinced he’s alive.
“We’re almost there,” she tells me. “But I have to ask. What’s up with TB?”
The lights of Butler pierce the darkness and my anxiety ratchets up a notch. Thinking about my absent husband doesn’t help.
“We’ve become closer since the storm and I thought things were going well while we were on the road in Texas. Then he got called back to work and I haven’t really heard from him in well over a week.”
“Does he know about the baby?”
I whip my head around and this time view the outline of my cousin’s face now that we’re coming into town and street lights appear. “What?”
She shrugs. “I could be wrong. Lord knows I’m new at this. But I’m sensing more than one energy coming off of you.”
I don’t know what to say, and when I’m quiet for several moments Tabitha takes my hand again. “I’m sorry, Vi. This probably isn’t the time.”
I nod, because wondering if you’re pregnant is one thing, imagining having a child after losing one is another and I haven’t allowed myself time to consider that. And right now, Butler Memorial is coming into view and focusing on bringing a new life into the world while my father may be exiting his is too much for me to bare.
We park near the ER entrance and rush inside where a nurse is busy doing paperwork. I head to her desk and practically pound on the counter which makes the nurse jump. “Do you have a John Valentine here?”
Her eyes enlarge and she rises with a back-off look so Tabitha squeezes in between us. “Her father has gone missing and we’re wondering if he might be here.” Tabitha follows up with a sweet smile. “If you could look him up, we’d so appreciate it.”
The nurse softens and settles back down, starts searching through her computer. Several seconds pass and I’m sure I will die of a heart attack if she doesn’t look up and give us his room.
“No John Valentine.”
“What?” I practically shout.
“What I said. No Valentine here.”
“You must be mistaken. Can you check again?”
As my voice rises, the nurse sends me an evil eye and motions over for security. Tabitha places an arm about my shoulders and holds me tight. “How about a John Doe?”
“I’ll have to look that up.”
“That would be nice,” I say too loud and way too tersely. At this point, security begins walking our way and Nurse Ratchet nods in my direction.
“Wasn’t there a John Doe on the third floor?” an orderly behind her says.
That’s all the incentive I need. I slip out of Tabitha’s grip and head for the elevators, but security’s hot on my heels. I notice an exit sign and run in that direction, open the door to find stairs. I fly up, two steps at a time, until I hit the third floor. When I open the door, I realize Tabitha’s behind me, panting away.
“I’m so…out of…shape,” she says, gripping her chest.
We enter the third floor and look around but there’s no way to determine where my dad might be. At this point, between the idea that he might be alive and the sprint up three flights of stairs, I can hardly breathe. I lean over, hands on my knees, and feel Tabitha’s palms on my back.
“Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”
“Can you feel where he is?” I ask.
Still breathing hard, Tabitha gazes around but there are four corridors stretching out in different directions.
“I don’t know, Vi. Like I said, I’m new at this.”
I’m not, I think, as the elevator bings, which means security has arrived.
“Dad!” I shout and start running down one corridor. “Dad!”
Nothing, which frightens me to the core. What if we’re wrong?
I spot security coming my way so I start down another corridor, Tabitha’s heels right behind, clicking like delicate horse’s hooves on the terrazzo tile.
“Dad?” I shout again, but silence follows.
I backtrack and slip through the center aisle where two nurses gaze at us, surprised.
“You can’t be in here,” one of them says.
I keep going but I don’t feel Tabitha behind me. I look back and see that security has grabbed her elbow. She gives me a look as if to say “keep going” while she explains why we’re here to both the guard and the nurses.
“Y’all still can’t be in here,” I hear the nurse repeat to my back.
I pause at the end of the aisle, looking down one corridor and then the other. Which way? If I choose wrong and Dad’s not there, security will catch up with me and haul me off. I close my eyes and think of our conversations over the past two weeks, my Dad and I talking in the dark. “Dad!” I think to myself. “Where are you?”
“Vi?” comes a quiet voice.
He’s in my head so I still could be sensing his ghost, but I’m not ready to give up yet. I swallow the pain threatening my throat, open my eyes, and this time I yell, “Dad!”
The voice emerges softly again. “Vi?”
I sense the crowd behind me, led by a nurse telling me to be quiet and leave without a struggle, but I have direction at last. I start walking fast down the left corridor, calling out my father’s name.
“Dad? Where are you?”
“Vi, I’m here.”
The voice is stronger now and insistent. He’s as anxious as I am. I begin to cry but as much as I want to believe my father’s lingering in a coma behind one of these doors, I’m still afraid he’s calling to me as a ghost, gone for good.
“Dad, where are you?”
There’s silence when I hit the end of the corridor and the nurse and security are only steps away. I’m crying hard now, about to melt down on the spot, when a soft voice repeats my name.
And it’s not in my head.
I throw open door number four-forty-four and find my father lying in a hospital bed, tubes and machines attached everywhere. His eyes are closed but his lips are moving.
“Vi. Sweetheart.”
I rush to his side and take his hand, hold it up to my cheek. “Yes, Dad. I’m right here.”
“You came.”
He’s speaking out loud but his eyes are still shut and
I hope I’ve reached him in time. The crowd arrives but one of the nurses holds the security guard back, does the sign of the cross. “Dear Jesus,” I hear her say.
“What’s going on?” the guard asks.
“That’s her father,” Tabitha says. “His name is John Valentine.”
I’m bawling, trying to get a hold of myself, holding my father’s hand tightly in mine.
“Dad, come back to me,” I plead.
Everyone must have heard me for the room becomes eerily silent.
“Dad,” I whisper inside my head. “I’m here now.”
His eyelids flutter and his hand comes to life. I feel one finger move, then another. I wipe the tears away with my free hand, lean over the bed.
“Dad,” I whisper out loud this time. “Please come back.”
At first, he smiles. Then his eyes slowly open. He tilts his head in my direction but I can tell the movement’s difficult. I reach up and smooth the hair from his forehead, but I can’t stop crying.
“Vi,” he whispers.
Suddenly, the room’s a beehive of activity. Nurses are checking his pulse, his vitals, machines are buzzing. A doctor comes running in, shining a light in his eyes, asking him questions. Tabitha inches closer and says hello to Uncle John. All the while I never let go of his hand and he never stops smiling at me.
In the midst of the chaos he turns his head slightly and whispers, “I knew you’d come.”
Hours go by and practically every doctor in the county arrives to check on John Valentine because not only has he returned from a comatose state, but he’s sitting up in bed, laughing, talking up a storm. I’ve explained things in pieces leaving out the murder, the body switch, our long trip through Texas, and how we discovered him at Butler Memorial.
So, no, I haven’t really told him anything.
I did make the phone calls, first to mom in New Orleans, then Portia, Mimi, and that FBI guy. Wanda was the last. I assured my family members I would explain all when I got home and the FBI is on its way, but I needed to relate the whole tale and Wanda deserved to know every detail.
“Oh, wow, Vi, that’s incredible,” she says, but there’s no joy in her voice. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I wish I could say the same to you, my friend.”
“Did you tell your dad about Elena yet?”
I sigh. “It’s a long drive back to New Orleans. I’ll explain everything then. Right now, he seems happy and I’ll let that last for the time being.”
We talk for a long time, both of us needing the comfort of a friend. Around midnight, we sign off and I head back inside Dad’s hospital room. He brightens when I reach his bedside and he takes my hand.
“This is my baby girl,” he tells the doctor proudly.
The doctor and I do small talk introductions.
“She’s a journalist,” he adds. “Covers New Orleans.”
I cringe because that was two years ago and I realize my father has a lot of catching up to do.
“I have another daughter who’s a big-shot lawyer,” Dad adds, but then his eyes grow dim. I wonder if he and Portia will make amends once we get back home.
“And Sebastian,” I tell the doctor. “My brat twin who’s a chef and been getting all these plum assignments since Hurricane Katrina. He’s been traveling the world.”
My father’s smile disappears no doubt because I mentioned the storm, the disaster that happened while he was off chasing birds in Texas. I remember Wanda telling us how much he wanted to return to New Orleans when he heard the news of the flooding and devastation.
While the doctor’s busy filling out paperwork on his clipboard, John leans over to me and whispers, “What’s with Tabby’s tiara?”
I can’t help but laugh because my dear cuz is still wearing that damn rhinestone accoutrement.
“What?” she asks when she finds us both staring.
“I’ll explain later,” I tell my dad, then grab “Tabby” by the sleeve and pull her into the hallway. “You need to go home,” I tell her. “It’s late and Thanksgiving is tomorrow.”
“I’m fine.”
She looks like she’s about to close her eyes and sleep standing up right here in the middle of the corridor.
“I called Jerry. He’s on his way. That way you don’t have to wait for me to take you home in my car.”
“But I need to stay here with you.”
I wrap an arm about her shoulder and hug her tight, so grateful she’s been with me all this time. “I probably won’t leave until tomorrow. They have a lot of tests to run on my father and that FBI guy said he’s on his way and who knows when he’ll arrive.”
“You may need me,” she insists, but I can tell she’s stifling a yawn.
As if on cue, the elevator bings and Jerry emerges, giving us both an exasperated look. “You still have that damn thing on?”
Tabitha shyly removes the tiara, places the magical instrument inside her oversized purse. I suddenly remember TB and his aversion to using his angelic light. For the longest time I couldn’t understand why a descendant wouldn’t run around saving people but now I get it. It’s tough having supernatural powers, and who would believe you, anyway?
Tabitha and I hug tightly. “I’ll be back for the Carnival ball,” I assure her.
“Come early and we’ll go shopping for clothes. You have such great complexion but some caramel-colored shadow would really make your brown eyes pop.”
I can’t help but smile. “Sure. Or if you want to meet in New Orleans, we could go shopping there.”
Now, my cousin’s really lighting up. “There’s a Sax Fifth Avenue on Canal Street.”
Definitely out of my price range but I nod anyway. “Whatever you want.”
She starts discussing our trip, adding brunch at Commander’s Palace and a steamboat ride down the Mississippi, spending the night at the Windsor Court and enjoying its afternoon tea. I can hear the cash register ringing loudly in my head but I give her one last smile before she and Jerry disappear behind the closing elevator doors.
Now that I’m alone, I’m suddenly dog tired. Which makes me remember my dog-like cat that I left behind at the homestead. I call Tabitha immediately.
“You miss me already?”
“Can you look in on Stinky?”
“Jerry already took care of it. The cat’s at our house being pampered by three children and Jerry’s mother, who brought over braised tuna she had left over from lunch.”
“Great.” I wonder if Stinky will want to leave once I’m done with the hospital. “I’ll come get him as soon as we’re done here.”
I head back toward Dad’s room and find Clayton Ginsburg waiting for me in the hall.
“Didn’t expect to see you in Alabama,” he says.
After our meeting in Galveston, Clayton headed to Butler to investigate Dad’s murder and tie up loose ends with the case. When I called earlier, I figured he was sleeping at home in his bed, either in the Washington, D.C. area or some Southern branch of the FBI. Turns out Clayton was watching The Late Show at his Butler hotel a few blocks east.
He pulls out his notebook and asks me to start at the beginning. Suddenly, I’m so tired I feel like Tabitha looked, about to collapse on the spot.
“You don’t look so hot,” he says.
“Thanks.” I want to add some sarcastic comment but I don’t have the energy. My knees start buckling and Clayton grabs both of my elbows and leads me to a set of chairs along the wall. He calls for a nurse, even though I beg him not to, and she arrives to give me a once-over.
I realize I haven’t eaten in a while and explain as much and the kindly nurse fetches a chocolate Ensure. I practically devour the can. Once my blood sugar rises, I explain how I came to find my dad, although I leave out Tabitha’s tiara. I tell him I used my psychic abilities as the reason we thought to check on John Does at the area hospitals. I mention that there might be blood stains on the floor of Grandma Willow’s house, in case he needed to match DNA.
“I wonder if Ruiz had second thoughts after Elena was killed,” Clayton says quietly, but I leave that thought in the air between us. “Too bad he went to Jack for help. We could have gotten Ruiz into witness protection and used his information on the cartel.”
Once Clayton has what he needs, he excuses himself to go talk to my father. I don’t waste time, slink down into the rigid set of plastic chairs and, despite their stiff seats with no cushions, fall fast asleep.
Next thing I know, someone’s poking me in the side, sunlight’s flowing through the windows of the corridor, and Portia’s standing over me.
“Hey kiddo. You’re drooling.”
I wipe the spit from my cheek and sit up but when I do the world starts spinning. I feel like I’m about to throw up so I lay back down, close my eyes. I feel Portia sitting down next to me. She places my head on her lap and begins to caress my hair.
“You okay Vi?”
I’m afraid to talk, afraid it might dislodge the nausea waiting to make itself known, so I simply nod.
She keeps petting my hair and it feels good to have someone take care of me for a change. “Thanks Mom,” I manage to say.
Finally, the nausea settles and I sit up. “Sorry, not feeling well.”
“I see that.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Walter and I decided to drive over, figured one of us would drive Dad back and the other would drive you. I assumed you would have been up all night and needed a break. But if you don’t want us here….”
I grab her sleeve, hold on tight. I need my sister right now and I can feel her smiling. I pull my hair behind my ears, lean my head on her shoulder. Portia wraps an arm about me and pulls me into her embrace.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper.
“Me too,” she whispers back.
After a while Portia leaves me in the corridor and starts barking orders in Dad’s room, including at Walter, who just nods and does her bidding. John Valentine has been in a coma for almost a month so his bullet would has healed. The head trauma he received when he fell was another story and the doctors want to hold him for further observation, which Portia demands is out of the question. Dad would hear none of it, too, insisting he has a Thanksgiving dinner to attend. Once Portia assures the doctors we will deliver him to Ochsner Hospital in New Orleans first thing Friday morning, they acquiesce.
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