by Lori Bell
“I happen to think you look beautiful. E, the wound will heal. Don’t you worry.” Tate wished her a good night and made her promise to call him if she wanted him to come back before morning.
Edie was lying in that dark hospital room with her eyes closed. It only seemed like seconds had passed since Tate left. It was five minutes after nine o’clock. Visiting hours were over, and that end of the hospital was quiet. Still, Edie heard every little sound. Machines beeping. Staff walking by. Nurses talking outside of the door at the main desk. She was extremely tired, but could not rest her mind.
A sudden light from the hallway forced her to open her eyes. She saw the door to her room standing wide open and Sydney was there, in the doorway.
Edie jumped and sat upright in her bed. “Syd?” she called out.
“I’m sorry if I startled you…” Edie could see she was wearing that ridiculous burgundy smock with Ry’s Market stitched in cursive above the left breast pocket. Those baggy jeans and white tennis shoes also made Edie want to roll her eyes. Her sister always unnerved her.
“What are you doing here?” Edie didn’t know what else to say. She was still contemplating accusing her of what she had experienced –or dreamed– while she was under.
“I just left work. It’s been busy since I took over as store manager. Tate texted me the good news, and I told him I’d be here.” Sydney had walked all the way into the room by now and there was only a dim light on as she neared the bed Edie was lying on.
“So are you here because you wanted to keep your word to Tate, or to see me?” The direct, forward nature, was not an unusual exchange between these two sisters.
“You, of course,” Sydney answered. “Where is he though?”
“Home, asleep in our bed.” It was as if Edie knew those words, our bed, would cut to the very core of her sister’s being.
“Well he deserves to get some rest,” Sydney spoke, defending Tate as usual. “He never left your side since the accident.”
“Yes…an accident. My how quickly things can happen. You know, I’ve driven that damn road time and again, day and night. I just don’t see how I just so suddenly ran my car off the road.”
“The fog was heavy, Edie,” Sydney stated.
“Yes, the fog. But, there was no man driving in a truck behind me. That fucker was in my lane, right in front of me. I swerved to save my life.”
Sydney never flinched. “Holy Christ…that’s some imagination you have there. Guess it doesn’t really matter now. It’s over. You’re okay.” Sydney attempted to close this subject.
“Oh I don’t know…I think this is far from over,” Edie said, not taking her eyes off of her little sister. Could she be guilty?
“Leave it to you to want to reem the guy who pulled over to help you,” Sydney stated, and Edie truly wished she could remember what he looked like. She could not recall the man whom she saw speaking to the police or the paramedics. She had been too far away and all she had seen were people in the direct path of the truck beams. She did, however, remember exactly what the man looked like standing in the parking lot of Ry’s Market. She could still envision his truck, too. Were both of those trucks one in the same?
“I know what I saw, Syd. Let’s just leave it at that. For now.”
“Yes, let’s just leave it,” Sydney replied, and a second later a nurse peeked her head into the open doorway and reminded Edie’s guest that visiting hours were over.
They exchanged a meaningless goodbye, and Edie lied there awake the rest of the night. She rehashed in her memory where she was and what had happened when she first slipped into unconsciousness. It felt so real. And she was more certain now, than before, that her accident was intentional. Proving it, however, was going to come at a very high cost.
*
Her story, what Edie believed had happened to her, was going to make others perceive her as crazy. They would focus the blame on the fact that she hit her head. No one would believe she saw, spoke to, and spent time with the late Rex Ryman. And who would ever buy into a truth that an innocent, shy, and introverted Sydney Klein would hire a hitman to murder her own sister?
Edie was lying on the sofa in the living room she shared with Tate. He had just settled her onto that sofa which he made into a bed with pillows and blankets. She was holding the remote control but had left the television off. All she had been doing was thinking. Her head hurt from that, too, she believed.
“You’re staring at a blank screen. Having troubling turning it on?” Tate asked as he stepped back into the living room. Edie was lounging on the sofa with her hair down because it still pained her to pull it up or back on her head. She was wearing a white fleece sweatshirt and a pair of pink plaid pajama pants with fluffy white socks on her feet. She had yet to cover herself with the blankets Tate had placed on the sofa.
“What?” she asked him.
“The TV?” he asked her, wondering if the doctor was right and he would possibly notice mental signs in Edie’s thought process or speech after having a serious head trauma.
“Oh, yes, no I haven’t turned it on yet. Just haven’t gotten that far,” she giggled under her breath.
“You okay? Do you have another headache?” Tate was still worried about her, and he planned to do nothing else but take care of her until she was ready to return to work. A part of him hoped that would be a little while. He loathed how hard she worked and the long hours she spent at the office.
“It’s bearable,” she said. “I just keep thinking about that night and what all happened.” This was her chance. She needed to confide in someone. That confidant obviously could not be her sister. Tate sat down at her feet on the end of the sofa. He rubbed her toes through her thick socks.
“Do you want to talk about what you remember? I mean, what was it like to be in that coma? Could you hear me talking to you, feel me holding your hand? Is that even true what doctors tell us?” Tate had so many questions, and Edie understood, but all she could think about was where she had been and who she was with while she was in that comatose state.
“I did hear you…it was a voice, your voice, in the distance though. I never felt right there with you. I couldn’t always feel your touch. I don’t know, it’s weird to explain. I tried for what felt like days to come to, and I guess it was that long since you said it took me forty-eight hours to open my eyes. It was a struggle. I was just so exhausted. And then, I went somewhere else. I have memories of being somewhere else.” There, she had said it. This was her opportunity to segway to the truth about what had happened to her.
“What do you mean?” Edie had Tate’s undivided attention.
“I’m going to tell you something and I want you to listen before you try to understand, or judge me.” Edie felt nervous. She folded her hands on her lap, overtop of her pajama pants. Tate nodded his head, trying to conceal his sudden confusion. He assumed she had her eyes closed for two days to rest her brain. What else could there be? She was asleep. He was there and had witnessed it.
“I remember an oncoming vehicle. I saw the headlights right in front of me. There was no one behind me. I only had a split second to react. I ran my car off of the road to prevent a head-on collision with a truck that was much larger than my car. I remember that much. I know I hit the ditch and then banged by head on the steering wheel. I must have been knocked unconscious immediately. I do remember waking up though.”
“You do? The paramedics said you weren’t conscious at the scene,” Tate questioned her.
“This is where it gets strange. I woke up and I got myself out of the car. I was able to see what was happening around me. It took me a moment, but then I realized I was watching myself, too.” Edie paused, as she wanted to make sure Tate understood what she was trying to tell him.
“Are you saying you were out of your body?” He did not appear to think she was talking crazy.
“Yes…I am,” Edie answered him. “Believe me, I was really freaked out at first. I thought I had died.”
“What did you all see?” A part of Tate did believe this could have been a dream Edie had while unconscious. He also wondered again if she was talking out of her head, as the doctor had put it, because of the possible trauma to her brain.
“I watched the paramedics work. I was their emergency. The police were speaking to the other driver of the truck, although I can’t remember getting a good look at that man. And I also was able to communicate with someone. He actually came to me at the accident scene.” Tate lifted his eyebrows with a confused look on his face. “Tate, I saw… your father.”
At that moment Tate stood up from the end of the sofa and paced twice in front of Edie. He ran his fingers through his hair, looked directly at her, and shook his head. “You couldn’t have. Pops died. You remember that, don’t you?”
“Of course I remember, but your Pops was there with me.” Edie never raised her voice or appeared to be adamant. She just calmly told Tate what she believed were true. She saw his dead father.
“Edie, honey, that’s not possible.” Tate didn’t know what else to say. He did not believe her, but he didn’t want to upset her.
“I would not believe it either if our roles were reversed right now and you were telling me this,” Edie admitted. “But, Tate, I swear to you. He was there. He spoke to me and he led me on a journey to figure things out.”
“What the hell?” Tate shook his head at her.
“Just listen…please. This is going to hit you as hard as it did me.” Edie looked up at him standing directly in front of her. He seemed intrigued, but also in disbelief. She remembered feeling the very same way.
“Your Pops was wearing pressed jeans, a flannel shirt, and brown-tie shoes. He didn’t need a coat out there because he didn’t feel the cold. I didn’t either, I actually took my coat off outside. You know how I’m always cold!” she added. “He looked so real, he sounded so real. He told me I was going to be okay because I panicked. I thought I was dead, too. I saw your father, spoke to your father. It was your Pops, Tate. I swear.”
“What did he say to you?” Tate asked her, showing no emotion, giving her no indication that he either believed her or did not.
“He told me that I had to stay with him for a little while because he was sent to help me figure out a few things…” Edie distinctly remembered Mr. Ryman saying those words to her.
“Well did you figure out something, do you know what he meant by that?” Again, Tate was playing along, but he was uncertain if he believed what Edie was telling him. He was suddenly worried that Edie’s head injury was more serious than the medical professionals realized.
“Unfortunately, yes,” she answered. “He took me to the market. It was closed, but Syd was still there, working in the office. I watched her and it was so strange being that close and she could not see me. That’s when you called her to tell her about my accident. Her reaction was not a panic – and we both know Sydney gets frazzled pretty easily about almost everything. I thought maybe she was in shock. She did leave and I, along with your father, followed her into the parking lot. She wasn’t alone. A man was waiting for her. He got out of a pickup truck. He told her she owed him the money for running me off the road.” Tate’s face fell, and Edie kept talking, wanting to get all of it out before he reacted. “Syd was angry. She told him she would only give him half the money, and he would get the rest when I die.”
“This is ridiculous!” Tate blurted out. He would not stand there and listen to an accusation against an innocent person like Sydney. She was Edie’s sister for chrissakes.
“Tate. I know what I saw and what I heard. I was there!” Edie was adamant. She knew she would have to defend herself and what had happened to her. She was prepared for Tate not to believe her. She understood how crazy this all sounded. But, even still, she had to tell him.
“You need to take a step back here. Way back. You suffered a head injury that may have been more serious than we all thought. I think we need to get you back to the hospital…” Tate carefully suggested.
“No, I’m fine. Please. It’s a lot to process. Too much, I know. Just see me through this, Tate, please.”
“So you’re asking me to side with you against Syd? I don’t know if I can do that. It’s just not right. I tried to believe that you saw my Pops. I wanted that to be true. I wanted a sign to know he made it safely to the other side. But, your sister plotting murder? Your murder? I don’t believe you, Edie.”
Chapter 8
Tate stood looking out of the picture window in the living room. He stared at the high-back rocking chairs on his front porch, painted the same cobalt blue as the pillars and the window shutters. He looked far out into the front yard that stretched for two acres. He kept his back to Edie, still lying on the sofa. He didn’t know what to say to her. Believing her ridiculous story was just too much for her to ask of him. People were going to get hurt and be embarrassed. He didn’t want to drag his mother through this nonsense that would only cause her pain when her grief was still so terribly raw. And Sydney, especially, didn’t deserve to be falsely accused.
“Say something, please,” he heard Edie say behind him. Her voice was barely a whisper, and he knew she was upset.
“That’s just it…I don’t know what to say,” Tate admitted, turning away from the window and looking at her from across the room. “I really think you need to rest. Maybe in a few days you will have a clearer understanding of what really happened – or did not happen.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Edie replied, deciding it had been a mistake to confide in Tate. It was too soon. She needed proof. She would work to get that proof, and then Tate would believe her.
“Of course, I’m right,” Tate tried to smile at her. “Now lay back, close your eyes, and sleep for awhile. I’m sure getting some rest is exactly what will help.” Edie did as Tate suggested when he covered her up to her chin and kissed her gently on the cheek. She closed her eyes, but she did not drift off to sleep. And when Tate left the room, she opened her eyes, stared at the ceiling and began to plot her next move.
*
That night, Edie dreamed of the accident. First, it was her, behind the wheel, in the fog, and those truck headlights were coming right toward her. Then, that same dream, shifted to Edie and Sydney in the backseat of their parents’ car. In the dream, just as in real life when she was fourteen years old, Edie could hear the tires screeching, metal crashing, glass breaking, and her mother screaming. The car her family was riding in had flipped once, at least. Edie could see, feel, and hear all in that terrifying moment again, and then everything went dark.
Her eyes opened abruptly. Edie sat upright with a start, and her head instantly pained her. Tate woke up, sat up beside her, and wrapped his arm around her. “What is it?” he asked her in their dark bedroom. She had been tossing and turning all night long. Tate knew, because he had been awake beside her. What she said earlier still worried him. Edie was not the type of woman to just drop things. He knew she would want to get to the bottom of it.
“It’s nothing,” she replied. “Just a dream and I startled myself, sat up too quickly, and now my head hurts.”
“Should I get you some water or something?” Tate asked her, wondering if she needed a painkiller. He rubbed her bare back as Edie always slept completely naked on top of white flannel sheets and a matching down duvet. Tate was beside her wearing only navy blue boxer shorts.
“No,” she replied, inhaling a deep breath through her nose as her rapid heartbeat began to calm. Her long blonde hair was down, covering her bare shoulders. “Just hold me.” Tate could never remember a time when Edie had been needy like this. A part of him liked it. Before the accident, Edie was a woman who could take care of herself. Her independence, however, had sometimes bothered Tate. He wished for her to slow down and enjoy life more. If there was anything positive that would come out of Edie’s accident, maybe it would be this. Edie taking the time to appreciate life. Tate placed their pillows upright against the missionary oak wood hea
dboard behind them, and then he guided her closer to him and reclined back. Edie pulled up the sheet and duvet over her bare chest, and while Tate held her, she drifted off to sleep again.
*
Edie was still asleep at sunrise when Tate slipped out of bed. He took a shower in the hall bathroom so he would not risk waking Edie while running the water in the master bathroom. He dressed inside of the walk-in closet in jeans, a navy blue t-shirt and a matching flannel shirt. He carried his thick white socks out into the kitchen and pulled out a chair by the table where he put them on. He skipped coffee or any breakfast, grabbed his truck keys, cell phone, and wallet off of the countertop, and slipped into his Timberlands out in the mudroom before leaving the house.
As he drove off, he thought he should have left a note for Edie. He remembered seeing her cell phone charging on the kitchen counter, so he sent a text that he knew would not wake her. Making a quick trip to the market. Please rest. Text me if you want me to bring you anything before I head back home.
Tate drove straight to the market and arrived just before seven o’clock. He grabbed a cup of coffee from the café area inside of the store that offered donuts and other ala cart breakfast items daily. He shared a little small talk with the employee working behind the counter. He knew her name was Dottie. She asked him how his girlfriend was doing –because everyone in town had heard about her one-car accident in the fog– and Tate replied that she was doing well.
When he walked away he responded to a few Good Morning Mr. Ryman greetings as he made his way straight to the office. He knew Sydney was already in the building because he had seen her hybrid in the parking lot.
The door was closed and he opened it and walked in without knocking, as most of the employees did. It was a confined location where a wall of lockers, a shelf with time cards and a time clock were displayed, and then there was that small desk with a laptop on it in the corner. And that’s where Tate found Sydney. She never looked up when he opened the door and walked in. He imagined she dealt with interruptions all day long. He had when he sat in that chair and occupied the manager’s position when his father was ill.