by Joy Fielding
“You’ll have to go downstairs and ask Mrs. Singer,” Patsy said. “I’m under strict instructions not to leave Casey’s side until Mr. Marshall gets back.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“I think he’s just being extra cautious.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
“Her blood pressure’s been a little erratic. And she’s been having these spasms.”
“What do you mean, spasms? Since when?”
“Since last night. First her head was tilted off to one side, and then, later, when I looked in on her before I went to bed, I found her slumped over on her side.” She laughed. “Mr. Marshall said it almost looked like she was trying to get out of bed.”
“Casey was trying to get out of bed?”
“What? No! Of course not. How could she?”
“I don’t know. I just …”
“Warren called her doctor first thing this morning. He rushed right over and checked her out, said maybe she was experiencing muscle spasms, which can be quite painful, so he gave her a shot and prescribed some painkillers and a muscle relaxant, which is where Warren is now—picking up the medication.”
No. I don’t want any more drugs. They just make me dopey.
Which was exactly the point, she realized. Warren wasn’t taking any chances.
“Well, I can watch Casey now,” Drew said. “I’m sure Warren wouldn’t mind if you took a half hour break.”
“It’s time for the final showcase on The Price Is Right!” the announcer declared.
“I better not. Besides, it’s time for the final showcase. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”
Please, Drew, get this woman out of here. We have to talk.
Drew pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed, her arm reaching under the covers to clasp her sister’s hand. “Are you okay, Casey? Are you in pain?”
Casey squeezed her sister’s thumb twice, as the announcer began his description of the first showcase. “It’s a set of encyclopedias!” he said to a chorus of exaggerated appreciation.
“As if anybody is going to get excited about a stupid set of encyclopedias,” Patsy scoffed.
“These handsome Britannica encyclopedias are bound in genuine leather … and you can use these encyclopedias to learn about everything from A to Z, starting with … the Acropolis,” the announcer continued. “Information that might come in handy on your trip to … Greece!”
A prolonged series of oohs and aahs. A burst of applause.
“Yes, you and a companion will fly first-class to Athens, where you’ll stay at the fabulous King George II Palace hotel for five nights, and visit the Acropolis and the other many amazing sites of ancient Greece. Then it’s off for a spectacular cruise of the Greek Islands.”
“You like cruises, don’t you?” Patsy asked. “Have you ever been to Greece?”
“I was there a few years ago,” Drew answered.
“Is it as spectacular as he’s making it sound?”
“It’s pretty amazing.”
“I’ve never been anywhere.”
“You should go.”
You should go right now.
“I can’t afford it.” Patsy chuckled, as if she knew something they didn’t. “But who knows? Maybe one day.”
“I’ll pass on this showcase,” the contestant declared.
“She thinks the next showcase will be better,” Patsy said.
There has to be a way to get rid of this woman, Casey thought. There has to be a way to tell Drew what happened last night. There has to be a way to tell her about Warren.
“I tried contacting Jeremy,” Drew said, relaying the news to Casey while ostensibly speaking to Patsy. “But the hospital wouldn’t give out any of his personal information. So I stopped by there last night and left him a note. They said they’d give it to him, but he hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”
Yes, you have to find Jeremy.
“Your showcase begins with camping equipment,” the television announcer began.
“Why would you want to contact him?” Patsy asked.
“Just to see if he’s okay,” Drew answered. She squeezed Casey’s hand a second time. The squeeze said, To tell him about Casey. “Warren was pretty brutal with him yesterday.”
“No more than he deserved.”
“Anyway, I could do some of the exercises he showed me with Casey,” Drew suggested.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Patsy said.
“Why not?”
“Because Casey has a new therapist now, and he probably has his own way of doing things.”
“And you can carry all that equipment in your new car!” the TV announcer continued to a thunderous ovation.
“Warren hired a new therapist already?” Drew asked. “Who is he?”
“His name’s Nick something-or-other. Margolin … Margolis? Something like that. He’s pretty cute.”
“Well, that’s important for a therapist. Where’d he find him?”
“He’s a trainer at the gym where Warren works out.”
“Warren hired a personal trainer to look after my sister?”
“He’s very qualified.”
“And you know this because …?”
“Because Mr. Marshall would never hire anyone who wasn’t highly qualified to look after his wife.”
“He hired you,” Drew said.
“And if you get tired of sleeping in the great outdoors,” the TV announcer declared, “you can spend the night in your new trailer!”
“I’m taking excellent care of Casey,” Patsy bristled. “You have no right to be so judgmental.”
“I’m concerned about my sister.”
“You have no idea how good that man is to her,” Patsy continued, unprompted. “You should get down on your knees every day and thank God for Mr. Marshall, instead of giving him such a hard time.”
“I should get down on my knees?”
“Why not? From what I understand, it’s a position you’re quite familiar with.”
“Ouch,” Drew said. “Good one, Patsy.”
“I’ll bid twenty-three thousand, five hundred dollars,” the contestant said.
“Way too low,” Drew remarked absently.
“Warren is a wonderful man,” Patsy persisted. “If Casey were conscious, I bet she’d be pretty pissed at the way you treat him.”
“Do you think so?” Drew’s fingers wrapped around Casey’s under the blankets. “Is Warren a wonderful man, Casey? Is that what you think?”
Casey grasped Drew’s fingers.
“Okay, let’s see who came closest to the price of their showcase without going over….”
Casey squeezed once.
Then again.
Twice for no.
“That’s what I thought,” Drew said.
“You thought what?” Patsy asked.
“I thought her bid was too low. Now that other lady has to go all the way to Greece to see some old ruins she couldn’t care less about. Look, I owe you an apology,” Drew said in the same breath.
“You do?”
You do?
“I’ve been very rude and I’m sorry.” Drew squeezed Casey’s fingers, as if to say Bear with me. “I know you’re doing your best for Casey. It’s just so hard seeing her in this condition day after day.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“And I’ve been taking out my frustration on you and Warren.”
“He deserves better.”
“I know he does.”
Casey recognized the mock sincerity in her sister’s voice, remembered hearing it herself on many occasions. She pictured Drew’s downcast eyes, the slight tremble in her lips, the soft fluttering of her hands, as if she was searching for just the right words of contrition.
“Wow. I’m not used to apologizing. That took a lot out of me.” Drew laughed, a disarmingly soft sound that floated through the air like a wisp of smoke. “I don’t suppose you’d reconsider getting me that cup of coffee.”
<
br /> “Not a chance.”
Shit.
“Bitch,” Drew muttered under her breath.
The front door opened and closed. “I’m back,” Warren called from the foyer. In the next minute, he was up the stairs and inside the room. “Drew, hi. Nice to see you.” Casey felt him lean forward to give her sister a kiss on the cheek. Clearly, he was trying a new approach.
“I understand Casey had a bit of a rough night,” Drew said.
“The doctor thinks she’s experiencing muscle spasms.”
“So Patsy was telling me. She seems okay now, though.”
“We’ll give her a shot later, make sure she has a restful night.”
No, I don’t want a shot of anything. I need my head to be clear.
“Do you really think drugs are a good idea?” Drew asked. “Won’t they just interfere with her progress?”
“I’m really not seeing a lot of progress, Drew. Are you?”
“Well, no. But you never know….”
“I don’t want her in any pain.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then suppose we let the doctor decide. Patsy, I’m dying for a cup of coffee. What about you, Drew?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put Patsy to any trouble,” Drew said sweetly.
“Would you mind?” Warren asked Patsy.
“Of course not.”
“Thank you, Patsy,” Drew said. “You’re so kind.”
“So, how’s my niece?” Warren asked Drew as Patsy left the room.
“She’s fine.”
“I was thinking maybe I could take the two of you to Gettysburg this Sunday. If that works for you.”
“You want to take us to Gettysburg?”
He wants an alibi.
“I thought you might enjoy it. I know I would. Casey and I had such a good time when we went there. And it would give me the chance to make up for being such an asshole lately.”
No. Don’t fall for this.
“I haven’t exactly been all sweetness and light myself,” Drew said.
“So, how about it?”
Don’t do it.
“Think you could give me another chance?”
Several seconds of silence.
No. Please, no.
“Sunday would be great,” Drew said.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“ ‘Dorothea seldom left home without her husband, but she did occasionally drive into Middlemarch alone, on little errands of shopping or charity such as occur to every lady of any wealth when she lives within three miles of a town,’ ” Janine was reading.
Where am I? What’s happening?
“ ‘Two days after that scene in the Yew-tree Walk, she determined to use such an opportunity in order if possible to see Lydgate, and learn from him whether her husband had really felt any depressing change of symptoms which he was concealing from her, and whether he had insisted on knowing the utmost about himself.’”
Was she back in the hospital? Had the last week been nothing but a dream?
“ ‘She felt almost guilty in asking for knowledge about him from another, but the dread of being without it—the dread of that ignorance which would make her unjust or hard—overcame every scruple.’ ”
Dread, yes, Casey thought. That was a good word to describe what she was feeling.
“ ‘That there had been some crisis in her husband’s mind she was certain: he had the very next day begun a new method of arranging his notes, and had associated her quite newly in carrying out his plan. Poor Dorothea needed to lay up stores of patience.’ Poor Dorothea needs to get a life,” Janine said.
What’s happening? Would somebody please tell me what’s happening?
“Almost finished that book?” Patsy asked, her voice swimming somewhere above Casey’s head.
“Page three fifteen.”
“Still a long way to go.”
“Guess I could say the same thing about Casey,” Janine said.
“I guess.”
“Gail told me she was making progress.”
“I think it was a case of wishful thinking.”
“She hasn’t opened her eyes since I’ve been here.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Patsy said. “And at least she’s not in pain anymore.”
When was I in pain?
“I guess that’s something to be thankful for.”
Casey fought through the fog in her brain to piece together the puzzle of what was happening. It came to her in fits and starts, a series of images exploding across her mind’s eye, as if from one of those twirling mirrored disco balls. In one such flash, she saw Patsy standing over her bed, her voice penetrating the darkness, commenting on her raised blood pressure and continuing distress, assuring her she was going to make her more comfortable. And then the prick of a needle in her arm, the subsequent floating in and out of consciousness.
How long had she been floating? What day was it?
“Casey,” she heard her sister whisper. “Casey, can you hear me? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”
How long ago was that? Had she been able to muster the strength required to tell her sister she was still cognizant?
“Casey, listen to me,” Drew had said on another occasion.
Or had it been the same occasion?
“Tap once for yes, twice for no.”
What day is it? How much time do I have left?
“Warren’s taking Lola and me to Gettysburg on Sunday. He’s being awfully nice to me all of a sudden. I can’t tell if he’s really trying to make up for being such a jerk lately, or if he’s up to something.”
He’s going to kill me.
“You come in, you put a pillow over her face, you leave without anybody seeing you,” Warren had said.
When had he said that?
“I love your T-shirt,” Patsy was saying now. “Who’s Ed Hardy anyway?”
Ed Hardy? Who the hell was Ed Hardy?
“The designer,” Janine said.
“Designer T-shirts. Wow. Guess it was expensive, huh?”
“Reasonably.”
“What’s reasonable?”
“Two hundred dollars.”
“Two hundred dollars for a T-shirt? Doesn’t sound very reasonable to me.”
A buzzer sounded.
“That buzzer means you’ve all overbid.”
What?
“What’s that?” Patsy asked.
“My BlackBerry. Oh, God. Another message from Richard Mooney.”
The little twerp?
“Who?”
“A client. I actually managed to find him another job, and he’s still not happy. Look, I’m going to call him back, get rid of him once and for all. Is there a room I can use for a few minutes?”
“Only about eighty of them.”
“I’ll just be down the hall.”
“Take your time.”
What time is it?
How much time had she lost? Casey wondered. How many days had passed since the last time she was fully conscious? How much time before she was sedated again?
“Your friend sure has expensive taste. Imagine spending two hundred dollars for a T-shirt.”
Casey tried moving her fingers beneath the covers, but she felt nothing. She tried wiggling her toes, but they refused to cooperate.
“Squeeze my hand,” she heard her sister urge. “Casey, squeeze my hand.”
When had she said that? Today? Yesterday? The day before that? When was the last time Drew had been here?
“It’s nice that Janine still comes over so often,” Patsy was saying. “And on her lunch hour, too.”
Her lunch hour? That means it’s a weekday.
“Although who knows how often she’ll come once she’s finished that damn book.”
The front door opened and closed. Was it Drew? Again, Casey tried flexing her fingers. If it was Drew, she had to be fully conscious and prepared.
“I’m back,” Warren called up the stairs.
Not Drew. Warren. W
here had he been?
“Hi,” he said from the bedroom doorway moments later. “How’s Casey?”
“She seems to be resting peacefully,” Patsy said. “How was your workout?”
“Not great. I think I might have pulled something in my shoulder.”
“Oh, no. Let me have a look at it.”
“No, that’s all right.”
“Come on,” Patsy said. “I’m the one with the magic hands, remember? Now sit your ass down and let me have a look. Sorry,” she apologized immediately. “I didn’t mean to overstep …”
“You haven’t,” Warren said, chuckling. He plopped down in the nearest chair.
“Where is it sore?” Patsy asked.
“There. And a bit there.”
“Okay, take a deep breath and release it into my fingers. That’s right.”
“God, that feels good. You really do have magic hands.”
“Those seem to be your trouble spots.”
“In more ways than one,” Janine said flatly, returning to the room.
“Janine,” Warren said.
“I think this is where I came in.”
“I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Clearly. That’ll be quite enough, Patsy.”
“Thank you, Patsy,” Warren said.
“We need to talk,” Janine said.
“Certainly. About anything in particular?”
“In private.”
“I’ll be in my room,” Patsy said.
Seconds later, Casey heard the door to Patsy’s room close.
“Is there a problem?” Warren asked Janine.
“You tell me.”
“You mean other than the fact my wife is in a coma?”
“What’s with you and Florence Nightingale?”
“If you’re insinuating …”
“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m asking flat out. Are you sleeping with her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”