Detective Foxx shook his head. “We don’t have it here yet, but maybe I’ll be able to arrange that. She’s a witness, so we need to talk to her.”
I raised an eyebrow. Clearly, he wasn’t taking this seriously enough. “She’s his wife and you have to find her.”
“I promise you, we’re doing all that we can to find whoever was with Doctor Blake. Now, we’ve already made some progress, we know there was no gang affiliation with the flash rob, so that’s good news. The hospital will be alerted. But everything else, we’re still working hard. You can trust that.”
It was only because of what he’d done for me with Jacqueline that I didn’t press the detective anymore. He’d already proven to me that he always handled his business, and this time, would be no different.
When he sent me and Hosea back to the hospital and told us that he would do his best to arrange for me to see the video, I left, not satisfied, but hopeful. And then, that hope turned into ultra-relief when we walked into the hospital and saw Kyla just standing there.
Right away I was taken back to the first day we’d met. And just like that first day, all I’d wanted to do was rescue her.
The only thing about doing that, though, was that I hadn’t thought this whole thing through. It wasn’t until Kyla had turned around and stared at me that I wondered if I’d made a mistake. I had been so concerned about her safety that I had all but forgotten that she probably still hated me. She had to — because if anyone I knew tried to sleep with Hosea, I would (gladly) catch a case for sure.
That was the way Kyla had looked at me. Like if she only had a knife and if I only had a heart.
But then, she cried and I held her like the sisterfriend that I wanted to be, especially under these circumstances. As I led her up in the elevator, we didn’t exchange a single word. Even at the nurse’s station, it was Hosea who did all the talking, the liaison between Kyla and the nurses.
I stood back and took in my friend. The years had done nothing to her, except matured her from pretty to beautiful. Kyla wasn’t attractive in that model girl sort of way. Although she was older, she had the aura of Monica Calhoun, a quiet sophistication that was so sweet — until it wasn’t. Maybe that was why I watched “The Best Man” so much. Maybe it was because Monica reminded me of my best friend.
Even now as she stood there in jeans that were more like leggings and a white tailored shirt, Kyla could rival anyone who walked in wearing a ball gown.
Her voice had broken through my thoughts. Kyla said, “Would you mind holding my purse, Jas?”
It was more than her voice that surprised me. It was her tone and what she called me.
“Of course.”
I’d taken her bag, shifted it onto my other shoulder, and then watched Hosea and a nurse escort her to a room that was just feet away from where we’d been standing.
Really? If I’d known this morning that we’d been that close to Jefferson’s room ….
“Darlin’?”
Hosea’s voice and then his hand on mine, brought me back from those memories of earlier in the day. I gave him a smile and then, rested my head on his shoulder as we sat just waiting.
I said, “I’m so scared for her.” “I know.”
“I hate to see her hurting this way.”
“I know.” Then, he lifted my chin until our eyes met. “I not only see, but I can feel your concern.” He entwined my fingers with his and brought the back of my hand to his lips. I stiffened a bit. Because that was such a Hosea move. Not that my husband wasn’t affectionate. He always was, everywhere. And he especially loved embarrassing our eleven-year-old daughter, inside our home and out.
But this kind of move, specifically, was the prologue to what would be an interrogation. And before he even began, I knew where his questions would lead.
“You care so much about Kyla and I could tell that she cares about you, too. So … why haven’t you two been in touch? Why did you disconnect?”
I tried to hold his gaze, but it didn’t work. I turned away, afraid that he would see the betrayal from all those years ago still in my eyes.
I’d shifted, but that didn’t stop my husband. “What happened? Why did you two stop being friends? Because after what we went through this morning, it’s obvious that at one time you were very close.”
I sighed, my way of stalling. And in those moments, I scanned the ICU waiting room. First, my glance settled on a couple, a man and a woman, both wearing crowns of silver hair. The two clung to each other in what looked like desperate fear. Quickly, I turned away from them only to focus on a Hispanic woman, who clutched her rosary, and mumbled words (probably prayers) in Spanish. I would have been able to keep my eyes on her, except for the woman who sat directly across from me and rocked back and forth.
All of these people — their pain was as apparent as their clothing and I felt such an urge to go into my Lady Jasmine role; I wanted to kneel before each of them and pray.
Until, my eyes rested on the woman who sat closest to the waiting room door. There weren’t any tears in her eyes, there wasn’t any fear in her countenance, there wasn’t any pain in her demeanor. She just flipped through a magazine, though every couple of seconds, she did glance up at me. I was sure though that I wasn’t the target of her gaze. She was probably studying Hosea, probably recognized him, though it was hard to tell. It was a challenge to see her eyes through the fascinator that she wore; the veil half-covered her eyes. I was fascinated with her fascinator. Really? Who would wear that kind of a hat to a hospital … on a Tuesday?
“Darlin’?”
I guessed I’d let too many seconds pass without answering my husband, but now I couldn’t concentrate on anything except for this woman. She seemed so out of place, not only because she wore a hat instead of any kind of concern, but the rest of her outfit was just as curious — a form-fitting red dress that seemed more appropriate for an after-five affair rather than the ICU waiting room.
“I guess you don’t want to talk about it, huh?”
It took a bit for me to break my stare and I turned to my husband. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell Hosea about what happened with Kyla, it was just that — I didn’t want him to remember the woman I’d been when we’d met. I didn’t want to take him back to the time when I’d been so scandalous that I married him while carrying another man’s baby. I only wanted him to think about who I was now, not who I’d been then. And if I told him that I’d slept with my best friend’s husband ….
But I wasn’t going to lie. Lying was part of my old ways and I was now a woman who still fell short, but always wanted to do better, always wanted to be better. So, I’d have to tell him the truth, no matter the consequences of what I would see in his eyes.
“Pastor Bush?”
Hosea and I looked up and we both smiled, though Hosea was smiling because he was looking into the face of a friend. My smile came from the fact that his friend had saved me in that moment. “Doctor Knight,” Hosea said, though outside of the hospital, he called his friend, Roger.
Not only was Roger Knight a long-time member of City of Lights, but he was one of the doctors who had worked to save Hosea’s father’s life when he’d been brought here to Harlem Hospital in a situation that was quite similar to what happened to Jefferson.
“I got your text about Jefferson Blake.” The doctor looked around at the other occupants and then cocked his head. “Let’s step into the hallway.”
We stood to follow him and as we passed the lady in red, I expected her to glance up. It seemed, though, that she was engrossed in some magazine article and by the time I stepped into the hallway, I’d forgotten about her.
When we were a few feet away from the waiting room entrance, Dr. Knight stopped. “So, Jefferson Blake is a friend of yours?”
I spoke up, “He’s married to my best … he’s married to a friend of mine. But I know him … well.”
Dr. Knight nodded. “Well, it’s been all over the news.”
“We
saw the reports,” Hosea said.
I said, “I was just wondering if you could tell us anything.”Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red. Turning just a degree or so, I saw the woman who’d been sitting in the waiting room. Now, she stood outside the door, too close to us, as if she were eavesdropping.
I turned my head, just a little more, to make eye contact with her. But she looked down at the cell in her hand. Maybe the signal in the room was bad and she’d stepped into the hallway to check her messages. I shook off thoughts of her and turned back to Dr. Knight.
“I’m sorry, I wish I could help, but you understand the HIPAA laws.”
Hosea nodded, but I didn’t. What I understood were the rules of friendship. Dr. Knight knew that whatever he shared with us, stayed with us. But he was one of those stand-up kind of guys. Following all rules that he’d been given and oaths that he had taken. I guess that was why he and Hosea were friends.
“But his wife is here now, right?” he asked me.
“Yes, we just brought her up and she’s in with Jefferson now.” “Great. Well, the neurosurgeons will talk to her. I think Doctor
Reid did the surgery. If you have any general questions after she fills you in, let me know.”
“So that’s it?” I asked, hoping that Dr. Knight would be moved by my anxiety.
He shook his head.“I’m sorry. All I can tell you is what’s already been on the news. Doctor Blake is in critical condition.”
Once again, my peripheral vision distracted me and I watched the woman dab at her left eye as if she were trying to keep a tear from falling. Then, she glanced up and it was the way her glance locked with mine that I knew she wasn’t standing there to check her messages. She was listening.
Why?
“Excuse me,” I said, as I took a step toward her.
Behind me, I heard Dr. Knight say, “I have to get back to the fifth floor,” but my ears couldn’t focus because all of my energy was on my sense of sight — and this woman in front of me.
She held my glance for only a moment more before she turned and power-walked toward the elevators. I was amazed at how she moved in stilettos that looked like they’d been dyed to match her dress. She turned to the left, disappearing from my view for a couple of seconds.
As I rounded the corner to the elevator banks, I expected her to be standing there. But she wasn’t amongst the three who were waiting.
Glancing around quickly, I saw the exit and rushed to that door. The moment I opened it, I heard heels clicking on the concrete steps. Looking over the railing, I saw her three flights down already, sprinting like she was wearing track shoes.
“Hey,” I shouted, but she did not look up.
Who was that woman?
The question was still swirling in my mind when I stepped back into the hospital and almost bumped into my husband.
“Where did you go?” he asked, though he didn’t give me a chance to respond. “It’s Kyla. She’s looking for you. She just spoke to the doctor and it’s not good.”
“Oh, my God.”
“She needs you, Jasmine.”
I nodded and then, took off like now I was the one running a race. Of course, that woman was still on my mind, but I had to push her aside. Because all that mattered right now was my friend. I had to take care of Kyla.
chapter 6
Kyla
I glanced down at the card that Dr. Reid had given to me and I leaned against the counter at the nurses' station because I needed that surface to steady myself from all that I’d just seen and all that I’d just been told.
For a moment, I closed my eyes, wanting a little reprieve. But behind my eyelids, the image remained: Jefferson, looking like he was just sleeping, the rise and fall of his chest under the cotton sheet seeming so natural. Except that there wasn’t anything natural about any of it. Because his brain was held in place by the heavy gauze cap that he wore. And his face, so swollen it made him look like he’d gained at least fifteen pounds, right after Evander Holyfield had punched him in both eyes. There was a thick tube that was lodged deep inside his mouth, down into his throat. And then, there were the two machines, one with blue lines, the other with green that were attached to my husband and, for now, were giving him dear life.
At first, the look of Jefferson and all of that equipment that was an extension of him had shocked me, but once I’d steadied my legs, I had rushed to his side and taken his hand before I leaned over and pressed my lips, as best as I could, against his. There was a part of me that had hoped that just my kiss would bring him back to life. But this was no fairy tale. So, I’d shifted just a bit, brought my lips so close to his ear and told Jefferson that I loved him and Nicole loved him and my mother loved him and Alexis loved him and Brian loved him ….
I had continued down the line, giving him lots of names and reasons to come back to us. I had told him that he was loved until my back ached from leaning over for too long.
My plan had been just to stand for a moment, to get the crook out of my muscles and then go back to talking to my husband. But the moment I stood up, the doctor walked in ….
“Mrs. Blake.” The doctor spoke my name as if he already knew me, with familiarity yet concern. Coming across to the side of the bed where I stood, he reached his hand toward mine. “The nurses told me that you were in here. I’m Doctor Reid, the lead neurosurgeon on your husband’s case.”
I was about to tell the doctor that it was nice to meet him, but then, I yanked those words back. That wasn’t the truth. I wish I’d never had to meet this man. But I didn’t want to be rude, so I said, “Thank you.”
Dr. Reid glanced at Jefferson, then when he faced me again, he said, “There’s an office right down the hall where we can talk.”
My eyes were on my husband when I nodded at the doctor and then followed him into the hallway. It wasn’t until he turned to the left that I wondered if I should go the other way to find Hosea. I didn’t know him, but I could tell that Hosea Bush would stand by me and with me and help me to navigate through since I had no one else.
But if I found Hosea, I’d probably find Jasmine, too. That thought of Jasmine made my decision. I followed Dr. Reid alone. He led me into a small office, with just a desk and a couple of chairs, clearly not Dr. Reid’s personal space, probably shared among the doctors in the ICU. He held out a chair, then sat behind the desk. Opening his tablet, he tapped on a couple of screens before he began, “I usually find that it’s best for me to describe the patient’s condition and the care the patient’s being given. Then, if you have any questions, I can answer them all for you.”
I had to take a breath to get enough oxygen, to have enough energy to nod.
“I’m going to be completely honest,” Dr. Reid continued, and I wondered why didn’t he just get to the parts that I needed to know. “If at any time you want to stop me to ask questions ….”
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Doctor Reid, I’m a doctor’s wife. I can take whatever you have to tell me. The hard part is not knowing and the waiting.”
He nodded as if he understood.“The first thing is your husband is a blessed man.”
It was only then that I realized I’d been holding my breath … and now, I breathed. Dr. Reid was not only a man of medicine, but it seemed like first, he was a man of God. To me, that just increased my husband’s chances exponentially.
Continuing, he said, “People rarely survive gunshot wounds. About ninety-percent don’t make it. Yet, your husband was conscious when he came in.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. But then, I hadn’t asked Travis anything — except was Jefferson alive.
Dr. Reid nodded. “Doctor Blake had what we call a throughand-through wound, meaning that the bullet entered right above his eye and exited at the back of his head.”
Oh, my God. That image was so vivid and I closed my eyes at that thought. A bullet had traveled through my husband. Traveled through his brain.
I wasn’t sure if Dr. Reid w
as aware that I was about to faint, but he kept on, “This is a very good thing.”
I opened my eyes.
“This means that the bullet didn’t break into fragments nor did it lodge in his brain. And he was more than conscious. He was able to follow a few simple commands.”
He survived … he was conscious.
“We performed the surgery — another good thing. Less than an hour after the shooting and we were able to extract skull fragments from his brain and determine the path of the bullet.” He paused to breathe.“The bullet passed through Doctor Blake’s head without crossing the midline of the brain.” It must have been my blank stare that made him add, “That’s the third very good thing because if not, we’d be talking about a critical injury here.”
“He’s not critical?”
“Oh, he is. Make no mistake, he’s had trauma to his brain. Like I said, we removed skull fragments, stopped the bleeding, but then, we did have to perform a decompressive hemicraniotom.”
A decom what?
The doctor heard my thought, that was the only way to explain why he repeated the name of the procedure. “A decompressive hemicraniotomy. We removed a portion of your husband’s skull, giving his brain room to swell, because it will swell in this case.”
I shuddered, then, I spoke, “His skull. Removed?”
“A portion of it,” the doctor said. “That sounds scary, but it’s become a common procedure to protect the brain after such a severe traumatic injury. And that’s why we felt it was best to put Doctor Blake into coma. He’s been given pentobarbital that will allow his brain … and his body to rest. Depending on his progress, we’ll gradually begin to wake up your husband in the next few days. And at that time, I’ll be able to give you a better assessment and prognosis.”
“A prognosis. So, you don’t know if ….”
“We don’t know anything, Mrs. Blake.” He closed his tablet. “The truth is while I’ve given you the facts and some good news, your husband was shot at close range in the head. A bullet traveled through his brain. And so, we have to wait to see if he wakes up, what kind of damage has been done.”
Temptation: The Aftermath Page 4