“I remember knowing you were here.”
“So you don’t remember anything I might’ve said?”
When I see the utter humiliation hovering in her eyes, I decide Joanna has enough to rebuild without worrying she said something that would make me think less of her.
“Sorry… but no.”
Her expression instantly eases. “Ah. Well, I’ve screwed up my life and I’m hitting the reset button.”
“Ah. Well, I’ve been in a coma for six months, woke up pregnant, and I’m hitting the reset button.”
Joanna laughed. “Who’s the father?”
“Duncan Wheeler—do you remember him?”
“I do. You were crazy for him.”
I nodded. “Still am.”
“So when did it happen for him?”
“When I was in a coma and he was about to marry someone else.”
Joanna squinted. “Isn’t that the plot of a telenovela?”
We laughed.
“How far along are you?”
“About thirty weeks. It’s a girl.”
She smiled wide. “You’ll love having a daughter.” Her face crumpled, but she regained her composure. “I love having a daughter, and a son. They’re both different, and special.”
“Do you have pictures?”
She nodded and proceeded to show me pictures of her beautiful children. “I’m on my way to the airport to pick up Stuart and the kids. They’re visiting for a week to see how things go.”
“I hope it goes well.”
“So do I,” she said, then exhaled. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of.”
“I think if given the chance, most people would choose some things they’d go back and do differently.”
“One thing I wouldn’t do differently,” she said, “if having you for a friend.”
“What a sweet thing to say.”
“You got me into recovery, Marigold and you didn’t even realize it. But I drew on your inspiration every day I was there.”
I made a face. “You mean when things got bad, you told yourself, ‘at least I’m not in a coma’?”
“When you put it that way it sounds bad, doesn’t it?”
I purse my mouth and nod.
We both burst out laughing.
December 22, Thursday
MY ARMS AREN’T yet strong enough to operate a rolling wheelchair, but I’ve become proficient enough with a motorized scooter that if Teddy or Duncan or Dad are around to lift me into the chair, I can strap myself in and zip to and from physical therapy sessions.
Today when I get back to my room, I find someone has crawled into my bed and is taking a nap.
Christina Ann Wells.
As much as I’d love to let her keep sleeping her deep little girl sleep, I’m sure someone, somewhere is looking for her now or will be soon. So I sit in my scooter and gently shake her awake.
She rouses slowly, then opens glazed eyes to stare at me for a few seconds and whispers, “Hey, Magic Lady.”
“Hey, Christina.”
“You can talk.”
“Yes, I can. How’s… your mama?”
“She’s good. She had to come back today for tests. I went for a walk because I was afraid they might make me take a test, too, and I didn’t study.”
“Good thinking. But won’t… your mama… be looking for you?”
“She’ll put my name on the God speaker.”
“The God speaker?”
She pointed to the ceiling. “The voice you can hear all over the hospital.”
“Oh. Right.”
Her eyes got big. “Guess what happened in school yesterday?’
“What?”
“A tall policeman came to tell all the bullies to stop it! Stop calling people names and stop putting gum in my hair and stop making fart noises when kids walk by.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
“It’s very good because Jeremy Hood gots scared and now he doesn’t call me Fatso or Fathead or Fatface anymore. Or Fatbutt.”
Nice going, Jack.
“I like your music,” she said.
“Thanks. I like it, too.”
“Why are you in that scooter?”
“Because my legs aren’t strong enough to walk yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been asleep for so long.”
“My legs get numb when I sit in the floor and play jacks. Is it like that?”
“Sort of.”
She sat up and grinned. “Do you wanna dance?”
“But my legs don’t work.”
“You can stay in the scooter and I’ll stand up. Then we’ll be the same amount of tall.” She scrambled down from the bed. “See?”
“Okay, but you have to be careful.”
“My meemaw gots a scooter, so I know how to dance with it.”
In the fearless way kids are, she reached over and expertly turned up the volume on the iPod, then starting swinging her shoulders and hips and arms in front of me.
“Wave your arms around,” she instructed. “And now do this with your head. Now clap.”
I try to keep up. “You’re better than I am.”
“I’m a good dancer,” she agreed.
We danced until the end of the song, then Christina gave us a big round of applause.
“Christina Ann Wells.”
We both looked up to see a woman standing there, eyeing Christina. “What are you doing?”
“Hi, Mama!” Christina ran over to hug her waist. “This is Magic Lady I told you about. She’s the one who made you better.”
I winced. “I’m just Marigold. It’s nice to meet you finally.”
“I’m Nora. And I’ll take all the magic I can get. I’m sorry if Christina was bothering you.”
“She wasn’t. She was teaching me how to dance.”
“Well, little girl, it’s about time to dance on home.”
“Did you do good on your test, Mama?”
Nora smiled. “An A+.”
“Yay!” Christina said as she went out the door. “I think we should stop and get some ice cream on the way home…”
December 23, Friday
THE DOOR BURST OPEN and Jonas Suh skidded into the room. “Karen?” He rushed to her bed. “Karen?”
“Mr. Suh?”
He turned his head and glanced at me, shocked, I assumed to find someone in the coma ward talking.
“My name is Marigold. I’m the person… who called you.”
“The message said you had news about Karen.”
“I said I… wanted to… talk to you… about Karen. I didn’t mean… to alarm you.”
He looked confused. “How do you know Karen?”
“I don’t actually. Except for… lying in this bed… for the past six months. I’d like to help… you and Karen. What I’m… going to tell you… might sound… a little strange… but please… bear with me.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“A few months ago… I overheard… a conversation… you had with Karen… about some work you’d done… around the yard. In particular… you mentioned a pear tree… you’d had to take down.”
“I remember.”
“Sometime after that… a well-meaning relative… brought in a psychic… to talk to me… in hopes of establishing… some kind of communication. That was a big fail… but on the way out of the room… the psychic said… Karen was calling to her. I thought… the same thing… you’re probably thinking… that it was a scam. The psychic wrote down… a message from Karen… and it was to you. It said… something to the effect of… ‘I never liked that pear tree.’”
Jonas looked confused.
“There were three people… privy to that conversation… and two of us… were in a coma. So the only way… the psychic could’ve known… about the pear tree… is if you told her.”
“I didn’t,” he said. “But why didn’t I get the message?”
“Someone tossed it… in the garbage… b
efore you could see it. So when I woke up… and could communicate… I asked the psychic… to come back… and talk to Karen.” I extended a sheath of ten sheets of paper. “This is what… she transcribed.”
Jonas crossed to my side of the room, and when he reached for the papers, his hand shook. As he began to read, he gasped and made noises of exclamation.
“This is impossible… this is incredible. No one could know this information except me and Karen.” He looked up at me. “She’s in there. She’s in there and she can hear me.”
I nodded, smiling. “I know. But you’re going to… have to help… convince the doctors. The psychic’s name… is on the back… if you wish to contact her. She is prepared… to translate between you and Karen… at no charge.”
“You’re an angel,” he said, his eyes brimming with tears.
But I’m not. I’m just someone who was in the right coma at the right place and the right time.
December 24, Saturday
“I THOUGHT DUNCAN might visit Christmas Eve,” my Mom said, her voice chiding.
“We talked… about this, Mom. Duncan has to work… either Christmas Eve or Christmas… at the Peace Corps office. This way… when you’re in Savannah… with Aunt Winnie tomorrow… Duncan will be here… to take me… to physical therapy. And don’t forget… he’s still working… to get his house… retrofitted for… a wheelchair.”
“How much money does Duncan make?” Dad asked.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“It couldn’t be much working for the Peace Corps.”
“Probably not,” I agreed. Surprised by the sudden tension, I decided to change the subject. “Mom, it’s nice of you… to accept Winnie’s invitation… for Christmas dinner.”
“Siblings are important. When your father and I are gone, it’ll be up to you to make sure you and Alex and Sidney are always close.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You’re the strong one, Marigold.”
“I’m the pregnant one… in the hospital… in a scooter.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t be sassy.”
Wouldn’t dream of it.
“Still no word… from Sid?” I asked lightly.
“No,” Dad said. “Her attorney assures us she’s taking the steps necessary to deal with her problems. How is Duncan going to support you and a baby?”
“I’ll be… going back to work… as soon as I can. We’re resourceful adults, Dad. We’ll figure it out.”
“But how are you going to pay your medical bills?”
“I have insurance.”
“Not enough. And you might need care for years to come. And then there’s the baby—”
“I know. But the foundation money—”
“Sidney said David Spooner took it all.”
“Now that… he’s in custody… maybe some of it… will be recovered.”
“I hope so, because it’s going to take everything your mother and I have to help Sidney out of her mess.”
“This isn’t a nice topic for Christmas Eve,” Mom cut in. “Let’s try to count our blessings.” She nodded toward the inert figures of Karen Suh and Shondra Taylor for emphasis, and passed out ginger ales.
“You’re right,” Dad said, giving her a contrite kiss. “Sorry. What should we toast?”
A rap on the door sounded. Dr. Jarvis lifted his hand in greeting. “I might have just the news. “Marigold, your rehabilitation is so far ahead of schedule, I’ve decided to release you to go home New Year’s Eve.”
My heart bounces high at the unexpected news.
“That’s the best gift ever!” Mom said, leaning over to give me a hug.
“Yes, indeed,” Dad said, pouring Dr. Jarvis a plastic cup of ginger ale. “Let’s toast to Marigold going home!”
“Cheers!”
The ginger ale is fizzy and cool in my mouth as I toast my own good news. I thought the day would never come… and now it’s happening so fast.
December 25, Sunday
“MERRY CHRISTMAS,” Duncan said. Then he kissed me.
I kiss him back, but he must’ve detected something is… off.
He lifted his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Duncan, I need… to tell you something.”
He is instantly concerned. “Is it the baby?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… to scare you. The baby is fine, and so am I… considering.”
“Then what is it?”
I winced. “Trina came to see me.”
“What? When?”
“About… ten days ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was ashamed.”
“Of what?”
“That I let her get to me.”
“What did she say?”
“She said I was your project du jour, and you would get tired of me.”
He picked up a lock of my hair. “Wow… and you believed her?”
“I’m sorry to say I did a little. My medical bills—”
He quieted me with a finger to my lips. “Sweetie, one thing my job gives me is a perspective of most of the problems we have in this country compared to problems people have in other parts of the world. Medical bills for bringing you and our baby through what you’ve been through, are still First World problems.”
“And that… is why… I love you,” I whispered.
He kissed me again, this one a lingering promise of our life together. The baby kicks hard between us. I am simply the luckiest woman in the world.
When bootsteps sounded on the floor, I’m surprised. It’s Sunday, but I’m sure Jack Terry has someplace better to be.
“Just passing through,” he said, extending a manila envelope. “Trying to get all my cases updated before I take some time off.” He winced. “I wish I had better news, but Spooner had already spent all the cash he siphoned out of the foundation. The D.A. will try to get some of it back, but it might take years.”
Disappointing, but not unexpected. “Thanks for the update, Jack.”
“Sure thing. Hey, congrats—I hear you’re going home New Year’s Eve.”
An involuntary smile split my face. “Yes.”
“Good… I need my Sundays back.” He gave me a wink. “Send me a picture of the baby.”
“Right back at you,” I called.
At the door he turned back. “By the way, I found something of yours I thought might come in handy and stuck it in the envelope, too. Cheers, Coma Girl.”
Intrigued, I looked inside the envelope. I flipped past the pages of statements from the foundation accounts showing overdrawn balances. Behind the statements, I noticed a thin slip of paper, and pulled it out.
A lottery ticket. I scanned the date and time and realized with growing incredulity it’s the lottery ticket I’d bought the night of the accident. Jack must have found it in my wrecked car.
“Will you pull up the lottery website on your phone?” I asked Duncan. “And check these numbers.”
“Give me the ticket—I can scan it with the app to see if it’s a winner.”
He waved the ticket barcode over the app, and a bell sounded.
“It’s a winner,” Duncan said with a chuckle.
“How much?”
“It’s still loading…. Here it comes.”
He stared at the screen, then turned to look at me.
“How much?” I asked.
He turned the screen in my direction. Winner: $77,000
December 26, Monday
WHEN THE DOOR opened, the last person I expected to see was the person I wanted most to see.
Sidney. She looked thin and sallow, with dark circles under her eyes.
I burst into tears. “Where have you been?”
She came over to hug me, and held on tight, the way she used to when she was little.
“I’ve been getting well. I’ve been in a rehab program to prove to the prosecutor I want to kick my addiction.”
She sounds different. Humbled, b
ut also calm and peaceful.
“I’m so sorry, Marigold, for making such a mess out of everything. It’s probably my fault you’re even here.”
“Don’t go there. I’m better and I’m being released New Year’s Eve.”
Her face lit up and I saw hints of the old Sidney. “That’s the best news of my life.”
She gave me another long hug, then pulled back.
“Marigold, I have to ask you… when you were in the coma, could you hear what was going on?”
I stalled. “What do you mean?”
She wet her lips. “I mean, were you aware of what was happening around you?”
Did I remember that she’d tried to smother me? Yes. But did I want to relive it for the rest of my life? No.
“Oh, no… I couldn’t hear anything. When I woke up, it was like I’d lost six months of my life.”
Her eyes welled, and she puffed out little exhales. “Good,” she said, her voice cracking. “Because I don’t think I could live with myself if I thought you remembered some of the things I did to you. Even though you don’t remember them, Marigold, I do, and I’m so, so sorry. I love you so much.”
She pulled my face against hers and our tears mingled for long minutes. When I pulled back, I brushed her hair back from her face. “What happens next for you?”
“I have to complete another more intense cycle of rehab. My attorney thinks it will reduce my jail time by half. But that will have to wait until I can earn the money. I sold my car and my jewelry and everything else I had of value. But it’s still going to be a chunk of change.”
“Mom and Dad said they would help you.”
Sid shook her head. “No. I’m not going to take money they’ve worked hard for all their lives to pay for my mistakes. It just means things will be on hold for a while.”
Sidney was paying dearly for her mistakes. Practicing law was off the table. And she’d always have a drug charge on her records.
“It’s okay,” she said, squeezing my shoulder. “I’m clean for the first time in years, and even though everything sucks right now, I feel free. And long-term sobriety—that’s worth the wait.”
“A friend of mine just went through a program here in Atlanta.” When I mentioned the name, Sidney nodded.
“It’s one of the best, but it’s also one of the priciest, like fifty grand—no way can I afford it.”
I clasped her hands. “If I could get you in, would you go?”
Coma Girl: Part 6 (Kindle Single) Page 5