VisionSight: a Novel

by Connie Lacy

  25.

  When I came to, I was in a quiet place. My head throbbed and my chest felt like someone had taken a bat to me. There was a voice but it was muffled and I couldn’t understand and drifted off again.

  No idea how much later, I awoke from a deep sleep and realized I hurt all over. I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes because I knew it would make the pain worse. So I lay there breathing and listening. Distant sounds of people moving about and talking. And then I realized a hand was holding my hand.

  “Jenna?”

  A man’s voice, a good voice. But opening my eyes was too hard so I said something, I think, and drifted back to sleep.

  When I finally opened my eyes it was dark. A small lamp provided enough light for me to make out that I was in a hospital room, an I-V in my arm. Just breathing was painful, which was scary. I closed my eyes again.

  “Jenna?”

  It was the same voice from earlier. And then he was sitting by my bed but I was too weak to open my eyes. There were words, some his, some mine, I think. And then more sleep.

  Bright sunlight against my eyelids. Way too much. I squeezed my eyes tight.

  “Jenna? Can you hear me?”

  My eyelids struggled open. Dad was standing at the foot of my bed. He looked as bad as I felt, his face drawn, his brows knotted.

  “You suffered a concussion and you’ve got a couple of fractured ribs,” he said, but he didn’t come around to the side of the bed. “And a lot of bruises and scrapes. The doctor has you on some pretty strong pain medicine so you can breathe normally because it hurts to breathe when you have fractured ribs. Don’t try to get out of bed without someone helping you.”

  I didn’t know what to say and couldn’t make my mouth work anyway.

  “Do you understand?” he asked.

  His voice was too loud so I closed my eyes again.

  “I’ll be back later to check on you.”

  And he was gone. But the bright light remained. If only the blinds were closed.

  And then someone was holding my hand. It was a man’s hand, I could tell, and I thought it was Dad. But when I opened my eyes I saw it was Brian. He had pulled a chair close to the bed on my left.

  “Hi,” he said softly.

  It puzzled me that he was here and Dad was not. I sighed and my chest was racked with pain.

  “Your dad’s with Meg,” he said. “She was injured in the crash. But not too badly. The baby’s fine. She’s in a room on the fifth floor.”

  “Crash?” I said, surprised how weak my voice sounded.

  “The doctor says you might not remember the accident but that’s normal.”

  It was normal to suffer amnesia? I was so confused and tired and woozy.

  “Meg?”

  “She’s fine. Don’t worry.”

  And then he jumped up, crossed the room and closed the blinds like he’d read my mind. As soon as the light dimmed I must’ve relaxed because I fell asleep again.

  *

  On the third day of my hospital stay Tia showed up. She swept into the room, flipped on the overhead lights, opened the blinds and proceeded to pace back and forth.

  “So, my dad’s insurance agent says they’re talking with your insurance company about paying for the repairs to the house. Of course he’s pretty upset about the whole thing. It’s like a bomb went off in there. And it’ll be that way for a long time before the front wall is rebuilt and the interior is redone and he can buy new furniture. Oh, and then there’s his car, which has front end damage. But, as Dad says, no one was killed. So that’s a good thing. Of course, it’s like a huge embarrassment. For him and for me.”

  “Tia…”

  “I mean, everyone knows about it.”

  “How does everyone…”

  “It was, like, the lead story on every local TV station. No one told you?”

  She pulled her phone out of her bag and swiped a couple of times and then handed it to me. The Channel 9 news anchor reported they had breaking news – a car had crashed into a home. They went to Alex who was standing on the street in front of Mr. Spencer’s home. It was dark outside but the TV lights showed my car lodged about two thirds of the way inside a gaping hole in the front of the house. Pieces of wood and roofing dangled over the car and there was yellow crime scene tape behind him.

  “Katie, what started as a dinner for family and friends ended in near tragedy this evening as a guest at Louis Spencer’s home here on Faison Avenue crashed her car through his front living room wall. Mr. Spencer declined to talk with us but we’re told the guest, Jenna Stevens, had been drinking and may have rammed the house accidentally in her attempt to leave the dinner party. We talked earlier with Officer Brian Mitchell who was first on the scene.”

  Alex paused and stared into the camera for a few seconds and then a piece of video was shown with Brian – my very own yard man cop – speaking into Alex’s Channel 9 microphone.

  “We ordered a blood alcohol test based on witness statements that the subject had consumed alcohol during the dinner. And while we won’t get the results back for a few days, we have reason to believe the driver may have been impaired at the time of the accident.”

  I handed the phone back to Tia. I didn’t want to see any more.

  “It was the lead story on every station,” she said. “So, like, everybody and their brother knows you were drunk when you crashed your frigging car smack dab into my father’s living room!” She shook her head and resumed pacing.

  I was mortified. My former boyfriend covered the most humiliating event of my entire life while my yard man ordered a blood alcohol test on me as I was rushed unconscious to the E.R.

  “When I saw Alex and his cameraman pull up in front of Dad’s house, I locked myself in the bathroom,” she said, stuffing her phone back in her bag. “No way I was gonna let him know it was my dad’s house, although he probably figured it out. Bad enough he knew it was you on that stretcher. Of course, I don’t think he saw you close enough to recognize you and you were covered in blood anyway, but by the time he went on the air at eleven, he was reporting your name. So I guess he got it from the cop.”

  I squeezed the button on the tube that increased my pain medication. And in a moment I felt the drug hit my brain and closed my eyes. She was still babbling as I slipped quietly away.

  Dad was angry too when he stopped by that evening. He said Meg was at home and he was taking a few days off to take care of her. He explained she’d been cut in several places by flying shards of glass but, fortunately, she’d turned away just in time so the injuries were on her back and the backs of her upper arms. But he said she was very sore.

  “The doctor says you can go home any time,” he said, “but your recovery will take a month or two. And you have to do breathing exercises to keep your lungs healthy. And he says it’ll be painful. So I’ve arranged for a home health nurse to come by once a day to help you with that and anything else you need. Because I’ll be busy with Meg.”

  “Dad, I…”

  “What the hell is going on? You nearly killed yourself and the rest of us with that stunt the other night, including my wife and child. Good God!”

  “I’m sorry, Dad, I…”

  “I’m not interested in excuses or apologies. I’m totally out of patience. If you need counseling, get it! If you want to talk – to really talk – let me know. I’m sick of the evasiveness and I’m tired of you never looking in my eyes anymore. Like right now.”

  He took three steps toward the door and stopped.

  “I’ll be here in the morning to take you home.” And he was gone.

  No hug. No smile. No taking my hand. No reassurances. There was a box of tissues on my night stand but it hurt to reach that far so I just used the sheet to wipe my eyes and nose. I wished Sam were here. He would smile at me and give me a hug and talk with me. But I suddenly realized he had no clue I was even in the hospital. My phone was on the night stand by the tissues. I could call him. But as I reached slowly for t
he phone it occurred to me that if I had two fractured ribs I couldn’t be in his play. Rehearsals were set to begin in a week and a half. So all my agonizing over joining him in New York was a moot point because I wouldn’t be going to New York. At least not right away. He would give someone else my part. I wondered if he would give someone else my part in his life as well.

  26.

  I was standing at the bottom, gazing up the stairs to where all my clothes and things were stored in the guest room on the second floor. But the steps were way too steep and there were so many of them that it might as well have been Mount Everest. So I returned to my place on the couch.

  Dad had driven me home, as promised, and helped me up the front porch steps and through the door. Then he carried in several bags of groceries and put them away in the kitchen. He tidied up a bit and then dashed upstairs for a moment before returning to the living room where I was resting on the sofa.

  “You’ve got food to eat and the house is in good shape. A physical therapist named…” and he reached in his pocket for a slip of paper, “…named Brianna Williams will be here tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock to help you with your breathing exercises. And, you’ve got my number.”

  He nodded and glanced around like he was avoiding looking at me and then cleared his throat.

  “How’s Meg?” I asked.

  “Her wounds are healing.”

  I started to say ‘I’m sorry’ but he cleared his throat again.

  “Lock the door after me,” he said.

  And he was gone, just like that.

  My eyes closed of their own accord. As I drifted off to sleep, it occurred to me I should send flowers to Meg. And maybe Mr. Spencer too. Yes, I would send flowers and a note of apology. Tomorrow.

  *

  For Meg, I ordered a potted blue hydrangea, knowing she would enjoy planting it and watching it bloom every summer. And I sent a card telling her how sorry I was about the accident and hoped she felt better very soon. For Mr. Spencer, I ordered a fresh bouquet of sunflowers and had the florist attach a note telling him how deeply sorry I was about the damage to his house and car. When I completed my online orders, I felt better for a moment. Of course, it was a small gesture on my part, all things considered. So I found my checkbook, which I rarely used, and made out a check for a thousand dollars to Mr. Spencer. I still had money from my mother, although I knew if I didn’t get a job at some point, it would run out. But it helped ease my guilt a tiny bit. To say I’d ruined his goodwill dinner was putting it mildly.

  A drink would make me feel better. I grunted as I rose from the couch, holding my rib cage. But when I opened the cabinet where I kept the bourbon and mixer, I found a box of Special K, cereal bars, several cans of soup, crackers and some other groceries. But no liquor. I looked in the other cabinets and the refrigerator. But there was no alcohol of any kind. Not even a bottle of wine. Dad! He removed them when he stashed the groceries. Maybe he hid them somewhere? No. That’s what was in the green Publix bag he was carrying when he left.

  And I was stranded. My car was parked in a junkyard somewhere, totaled. Well, I could order groceries and have one of those home delivery services bring them to me. Including a bottle of wine. Or I could call a cab and go to the package store. But that was an overwhelming prospect right now. I retrieved my phone to search for a delivery service and found a text from Sam responding to the message I’d sent him before I left the hospital.

  “No problem. Found a perfect actress to play Rachel. And she needed a fourth person for her apartment so I sublet a room. Feel better soon.”

  Which made me wonder when he’d cast her as the Goth girl – before I messaged him about my accident or after. I’d been so ambivalent about going to New York that it hadn’t really crossed my mind that maybe he had mixed feelings too. I felt blindsided, deflated. I thought of my vision-sight episode on closing night of Magnolias and wondered if his enthusiasm for my acting abilities might’ve cooled.

  I sat down at the kitchen table, staring at his message, and jumped when the phone rang in my hand. It was Brian. I almost didn’t answer but then it crossed my mind that maybe I could ask him to bring me a bottle of something.

  “Hello.”

  “Jenna, Brian. You at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mind if I drop by to do a little gardening?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I have a young friend I’d like to bring along, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure.”

  “Great. We’ll be there around seven. Can I pick up anything for you on my way?”

  My mouth opened but closed again as I remembered – oh yeah, he’s the police officer who charged me with DUI. What the hell was I thinking?

  “I’m fine.”

  I searched online till I found a personal shopper who said, yes, she could buy a bottle of wine for me along with the rest of my order and she could deliver it tomorrow. Jesus! Tomorrow! Even though Dad had stocked my cabinets, I made up a list and asked her to get a bottle of Merlot and a bottle of Chardonnay.

  So I took a pain pill slightly ahead of schedule, figuring I’d need it when the physical therapist came. She arrived right on time and I was glad I’d taken my meds. She taught me how to do coughing exercises while holding a pillow against my ribs. It hurt like hell. She said I was supposed to do that every couple of hours so I wouldn’t get a lung infection. By the time we were through, I was ready for another pain pill. She reminded me, just like the doctor did, that I shouldn’t drink alcohol while I was on the medication since it was a narcotic.

  “Got it,” I said, ready for her to leave.

  I was feeling woozy again like I might throw up so I returned to the couch for an afternoon snooze.

  The doorbell woke me. The light coming through the windows told me it was evening. I’d slept a long time. Sitting up was a struggle. Standing would be even harder, so I waited a moment as the doorbell chimed again. When I finally opened it, Brian was standing there, a teen-aged boy beside him. His young friend was black, about half a head shorter than Brian, with large, friendly eyes.

  “You sure you should be up?” Brian asked, a worried look crossing his face.

  Instead of answering, I returned to the couch, lying down carefully. My pain meds had worn off but the thought of getting a glass of water and my pill was too much.

  “When was the last time you had a pain pill?” he asked.

  I shook my head slightly.

  “Raymond, can you go in the kitchen there and get a glass of water?” he said, pointing the way.

  Raymond disappeared and reappeared in an instant as Brian found my pill bottle on the coffee table. I lifted my head just enough to swallow and then collapsed again.

  “I’m not sure you should be home by yourself,” he said, squatting down in front of me.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “Had my first physical therapy. That’s all.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long time so I slipped into dreamland again. When I opened my eyes, it was dark and quiet. A streetlight provided a sliver of light through the window. When I rose from the couch I found a note on my phone from Brian saying he locked the door on his way out but would return the key tomorrow.

  *

  When he arrived I was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of orange juice. He rang the bell and let himself in and called out to me.

  “In the kitchen,” I said.

  The aroma of coffee and bagels followed him as he sailed into the room carrying two cups of coffee and a brown bag. He toasted two bagels before joining me at the table, setting out butter and cream cheese along with milk and sweetener for my coffee.

  “You need more than juice,” he said.

  As we ate, he told me about Raymond, who he’d met through Big Brothers Big Sisters.

  “You’re a big brother?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got two boys right now, Raymond and Carlos.”

  “Yo
u’re a regular good Samaritan,” I said, giving him what must’ve appeared to be a weak smile.

  “Far from it. But you – Amy told me all about how you took the outcasts under your wing in elementary school and middle school. That’s how you became friends with Tia. You befriended her when no one else would. Amy says she feels guilty to this day for not following your lead. And for not making friends with you. She says she and a lot of the other girls resented you because they thought you were trying to be a saint.”

  I sipped my coffee.

  “I didn’t become a big brother until after I was a cop and had my eyes opened. Your eyes didn’t need opening. You instinctively recognized the need even when you were a little girl, which is pretty damn amazing.”

  It was sweet of him to say all this stuff but I was too tired to sit up any longer and pushed myself up from the table to return to the couch, leaving half a bagel on my plate. He followed me into the living room.

  “I’m not trying to flatter you,” he continued. “I just wanted to remind you that you’re a good person with a warm heart, just in case you’ve forgotten.”

  I don’t know why exactly, but I began to cry.

  He looked around the room until he spotted a box of tissues and handed me one.

  “And I’ve thought a lot about what you told me in the hospital,” he said.

  “What did I tell you?”

  “And I believe you.”

  “Believe what?”

  “Your gift.”

  I think my heart skipped a beat.