Sissy

by Madelyn Bennett Edwards

  "So, Rodney, I see your bed is raised a bit. How does that feel? Does your head hurt in this position? Just blink once for yes, twice for no." Warner shined his penlight into Rodney's eyes.

  "Oooooh." Rodney's mouth formed an 'O' as he pushed the sound out. Warner backed up and stared at him, then turned to look at Susie.

  "He said, 'No," she laughed at Dr. Warner. "We were having speech therapy. You interrupted us, but I'll forgive you this one time." Warner looked from Susie to Rodney and back and forth a few times, then at Marianne. She shrugged as if to say, "I have no control over this pair."

  "Okay. I can see where I'm not needed around here. When you can sit up at forty-five degrees for thirty minutes or more without additional pain and no medical problems, I'll move you to the Neurology floor where you can have visitors all day." Warner knew this was important to Susie, Rodney, and Lilly. Susie was only allowed to see Rodney four times a day for ten to fifteen minutes each time; although she often convinced the nurses to let her stay longer. Lilly was considered his attendant and could sit quietly in his cubicle for two hours at a time, then the staff had to empty drains, take blood, and do all the medical things Rodney needed several times a day. That's when Lilly went to Susie's room.

  "Yahhhhhh." Rodney seemed to enjoy pushing air over his vocal cords. Marianne contends, to this day, that his determination was spirited by Susie's positive attitude. Susie didn't buy into that compliment. She believed that if she could get better, he could, too.

  Twice a day, Susie insisted on raising the head of Rodney's bed a few more inches and leaving him upright as long as he could stand it. Nurses came in and out, pointing their penlights on his pupils, and agreed he was able to tolerate the new positions. By the end of the week, he was sitting at forty-five degrees for thirty minutes, several times a day and pushing out sounds that almost made words.

  *

  Marianne and I were at the house on Jules Avenue most of the next day, unpacking boxes, hanging art, putting dishes in cabinets, making beds, all the things you do when you move into a house. Marianne was quiet, and when I tried to chat with her she gave one-word answers.

  "I can tell something is bothering you, and I'm wondering when you might spill it." I smiled at her. We were in the kitchen, filling the cabinets with things the interior designer had sent over and stuff I'd brought from Jean Ville. I pointed to the round table in the center of the room, and she sat down. She told me that she'd had an awkward encounter with Dr. Warner at a sports bar on Deckbar Avenue, and that she'd been avoiding him since.

  "What happened?" I put water and coffee grounds in the Mr. Coffee and pulled two coffee mugs out of a box.

  "He got fresh with me." She had her hands folded on the table in front of her and stared at her fingers as she formed a church steeple, then folded her fingers back into a double-handed fist.

  "What's the problem. He seems attracted to you." I rinsed the mugs in the sink and pulled a dishtowel out of a drawer, surprised I remembered where they were. "No one could blame him. You are stunningly beautiful, smart, talented, kind."

  "Sissy. You know my history. I've never been with a man." She continued to stare at her hands, fisted so tightly I could see the veins across the tops. "I think he tried to kiss me, and it scared me out of my skin."

  "Well, how did it feel?" I stood with my back resting against the cabinet in front of the coffee maker and stared at her, but she didn't look up.

  "I felt his breath on the side of my face, and he said that he wanted to kiss me every time he saw me."

  "Hmm. Have you thought about telling him?" I turned when the coffee pot sputtered and spat the last of the water through the grounds.

  "Oh, no! I couldn't." She started to cry, and I went to the table and put my arms around her from behind, laying my head on top of hers.

  "Mari, you need to be honest with him."

  "He'll hate me." She whimpered.

  "He might." I patted her shoulder. "But it's best to find out rather than keep secrets. They will come out eventually, and the longer you wait, the more invested you will be in the relationship, and harder it will be to lose him. If you're going to run him off, do it now before things go any further."

  She didn't respond, and I could feel her whimpers get smaller and further apart.

  *

  The next day, we were in ICU and Susie had Rodney's bed at forty-five degrees when Dr. Warner rushed in with two nurses behind him.

  "I heard you are trying to get out of bed!" He stopped at the foot of Rodney's bed. Marianne was sitting in the corner reading a magazine and looked up over it. His eyes met hers, and she immediately looked down and hid behind the book. Warner looked at Rodney. "What are you trying to do, get me off your payroll?"

  Rodney laughed. Susie was in bed with him, reading aloud Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken, very slowly. She'd stop to ask if he understood, and required him to say certain words, like "wood," "fair," and "way." He pushed sounds out that mimicked the words, and she would pat him on the leg and smile at him each time. Lilly would clap her hands when he made sounds, which were deep, throaty, and sometimes sounded, to me, like a foghorn.

  Watching Susie and Rodney was enchanting, and I sneaked a peek at Dr. Warner, who was grinning at them. Marianne also watched Susie and Rodney, and Warner caught Mari's glance, winked at her and lifted his chin, pointing it towards the door as if asking her to meet him in the hall. She looked back down at the magazine. I stood next to her chair and pinched her shoulder. She shrugged me off.

  "Marianne told me Susie would be the best medicine for you. She was right." Warner looked at Marianne, and she looked up when she heard her name. He winked at no one in particular, and I had to agree with Marianne that he looked pretty sexy. She blushed. He examined Rodney, shined the light in his eyes, ran a sharp object on the underside of his feet, then pulled the sheet back over them.

  "Okay, I'm convinced. I'll spring you out of ICU. You're taking up too much of my staff's time." He laughed, went to the side of Rodney's bed, and shook his hand, man-to-man. "Congratulations. If I were a writer, I'd write an article about you two for the Journal of the American Medical Association."

  Rodney pointed to Susie and grinned. "Sheeeeeeee. Riiiiiiiiiiii."

  "He's trying to tell you that Susie is a writer." Lilly stood on the other side of the bed, watching, smiling.

  "Oh, really. What do you write?" Dr. Warner shifted his attention to Susie.

  "I only have one published book, The Catfish Chronicles. My second, a sequel, is with the editor." Susie was holding Rodney's hand. "Will you really transfer him to a regular room?"

  "Yes. But if there are problems, he's coming back here." Warner shook Rodney's hand again. "Congratulations. Next graduation will be to Rehab. Susie can tell you all about that."

  "By the way, when are you going to discharge me? I'm doing fine." Susie got out of the bed and stood facing Warner.

  "Well, let me get the reports from your therapists. I'm concerned about where you will go when you leave here." Warner looked at Marianne again, then back at Susie.

  "Marianne moved us into a house not far from here. But I'll stay in Rodney's room most of the time."

  "That's what I'm afraid of. He needs his rest." Warner looked at Rodney, who was grinning. Susie acted as though she didn't hear Warner.

  "It doesn't matter. After you move him to a room, I'll start staying with him as much as I want to, anyway. Whether you discharge me or not." She laughed, and I knew she was pulling his leg, but only a little. She would stay with her husband as long as the nursing staff would allow, and then some. She was not going to be shooed off easily.

  "I'll talk to Marianne about this house and make sure you can handle living there." He looked at Mari and motioned with his chin again. "Can I speak with you in the hall?"

  I started to laugh, because Marianne was cornered and had to get up and follow him out of the room. That night she told me that he'd apologized f
or coming on to her and asked for another chance. "He said he wanted to prove he's not a scumbag." We laughed, and she told me that she'd agreed to go out with him again.

  Chapter Seven

  ***

  Investigation

  "OKAY, NOW HOLD this spoon in your left hand." Susie stood next to Rodney's bed and helped him grip a spoon from the breakfast tray. He held onto the spoon and smiled after she let go. The muscles around his jaw tightened. "Good. Now put it in the applesauce and bring it to your mouth." She held the plastic container close to him, and he dipped his spoon in the applesauce. He was able to get some on the spoon and slowly brought it to his mouth.

  He swallowed and put the spoon back into the container and did it again. He smiled at her, and repeated his new trick. I was so happy for them, I wanted to cry.

  "I think you've been sandbagging me." Susie cut his omelet into pieces and handed him the fork. "Now, try this."

  He held the fork as though it were a butcher knife used to stab someone. Once he got the eggs on the fork he couldn't figure out how to turn it around to get it to his mouth. Susie took the fork from his hand and readjusted it.

  "Like this, baby, remember?" They got through breakfast with Rodney sitting up in bed at a ninety-degree angle. She put the head back a little.

  "How's it going, you two?" I stood next to the door to the hall. Susie hadn't seen me, so she was startled.

  "Oh, Sissy, I didn't hear you come in." She turned around to look at me.

  "I've been watching your therapy session." I walked over and hugged her. "Pretty impressive, brother-in-law." I squeezed Rodney's arm, and he smiled at me. "I don't want to disturb your lessons, so I'll be off to Jules Avenue. If you need anything, call me." I kissed Susie on the cheek, and she hugged me for several seconds longer than usual. I kissed Rod on the forehead, told them both I loved them and that I'd come back soon.

  As I walked towards the door, I heard Susie say to Rodney, "Are you ready for speech therapy? I have a novel I think you'll enjoy. The title is A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole and, it's set in New Orleans." She paused, and I turned around to see her pull a book from her bag. "Can you say, "New Orleans?"

  "Noo Ore Lins."

  "Hey, that was good. Say it again."

  "Noo Ore Lins."

  "Where do we live now?"

  "Noo Ore Lins."

  I walked down the hall, laughing at the absurdity of it all, how they could be so happy after almost being killed, simply because they were finally together.

  *

  Marianne came into the house on Jules Avenue at around five o'clock and headed to the kitchen.

  "How about a glass of wine." She talked as she walked, and I followed her. "I'm beat."

  "Sure." I grabbed one of her arms when I caught up with her and steered her to the table. "I'll get the wine, you sit down."

  We sat at the kitchen table with two glasses and one bottle of Chardonnay, and Marianne began to tell me about everything that happened.

  "First off, the governor came to visit Rodney and Susie at the hospital earlier this week. Don arranged it all and sneaked Governor Breaux in through the doctors' entrance and up the exit staircase."

  "Don?" I looked at her with my eyes squinted and eyebrows lowered.

  "Warner. That's his name." She took a sip of wine and smiled.

  "You call him Don?"

  "Actually, I usually call him Warner, but his friends around here call him Don. His family calls him Donato." She grinned and drank the rest of the wine in her glass.

  "Seems you've gotten to know a lot more about Dr. Warner." I looked at her over my glass.

  "He took me to a fancy restaurant last night, called Antoine’s. It's in the French Quarters." She poured more wine into her glass. "He said he'd been married once, but things didn't work out. He's been in New Orleans almost six years and thinks he'll stay here."

  "So what else did you talk about?"

  "He said after his divorce he was a 'rogue.' That was his word for dating lots of girls and leaving them heartbroken. He told me he started meeting with his priest a year ago and quit dating altogether, trying to find his 'authentic self,' again, his words." She rubbed her closed eyes with her thumb and forefinger. "He said, after what happened last week at the restaurant on Deckbar, he went to see his priest, for an 'attitude adjustment.'"

  "His words?"

  "Yep." She took a long sip of wine and turned to look at me. "He said his priest told him that he'd reacted like he did because I rejected him, and women have never rejected him. He said he admitted to his priest that he wants what Rodney and Susie have."

  "Wow. That's pretty honest. How did that make you feel?"

  "It scares me because it feels like his honesty requires me to be honest, too." She grabbed my hand on top of the table and looked directly at me. "I told him I'd never had a boyfriend."

  "Is that all you told him?"

  "Yeah. I just couldn't make myself tell him the rest."

  "It's a start, Mari. Give yourself some credit." I squeezed her hand, and we sat there in silence for a long time.

  She put her head down, and for a minute I thought she was crying, then she looked up at me and grinned. "By the way, my mom and Rodney's parents are coming this weekend to see the house. We're going to have a barbecue, and they are staying over. Rodney's sisters might come, too."

  "Then I'm going to shimmy out of here. Too many people, not enough beds." I got up from the table and rinsed my glass. "Anyway, I got a call from Robert Morris today. He asked whether I could meet with him tomorrow afternoon."

  "If that's what you want to do, but you can always stay at the Brenthouse. It's walking distance."

  "Listen, I love Tootsie, Miss Bessie, Mr. Ray, and all the others, but I'm going to Baton Rouge tomorrow, then back to Jean Ville to make sure things are still moving forward on the case."

  *

  I arrived at the attorney general's office at about four thirty Friday afternoon. Miss Millie met me with her snake-eyed stare, as though I were about to wreck her very busy weekend. Robert ushered me down the hall and told Millie she could go home whenever she was done, and he'd see her Monday. We turned into a doorway before we got to Robert's office. His was the last one at the end of the hall next to the back door that said, "No Exit." I had to laugh, because I knew it was the door he went through to and from the parking lot.

  We entered a conference room where four other men were seated. They all stood when we came in. Two were wearing state police uniforms, two were in suits. I recognized Detective Sherman as one of the suits. Robert sat at one end of the long table and pointed to the chair catty-corner from his. When I sat, the men took their seats, too.

  For the next hour, I heard reports about the investigation that I wasn't sure I should be privy to, but I listened and took notes.

  Lieutenant Thomas Schiller started off the meeting. He reported on a trip he'd taken to Jean Ville with Robert Morris, Sgt. Lee Montgomery—who was the other officer in uniform—and two other state troopers. He said they drove into Jean Ville in three state "units" and parked on the concrete pad on the grounds of the courthouse that was cordoned off for official use only. The five men went to Judge DeYoung's office and met with him for over an hour.

  "We were impressed with the Judge." Schiller's expression didn't change, nor the cadence of his voice shift as he relayed the information he'd recorded. "A straightforward guy who is opposed to discrimination and bigotry and is appalled that his parish still has factions of the Klan who continue to impose violence on black people." He said DeYoung didn't have any information about the actual crime, but asked that he be kept in the loop. They discussed how to issue warrants when the time came to make arrests, which Schiller felt they were close to doing.

  "Next we went to see your friend, the DA." Robert looked at me and emphasized, "Your friend." I wanted to say, "He's not my friend," but decided to keep my mouth shut and listen. "
He's quite a trip. I guess we should have expected him to be defensive and combative." Robert said Reggie Borders didn't understand why they wanted to investigate the incident. He said it wasn't a crime.

  "'Someone's gun went off, and that Thibault boy happened to be hit,' he told us." Robert laughed along with the others, who must have witnessed the idiocy of the Toussaint Parish DA. "He said that even if it had been done on purpose, 'which, I guarantee you, it wasn't. And I should know, I investigated it myself,' he said that we should just 'leave it be.'"

  Robert said that Borders was insistent that they would never turn up any evidence to the contrary and that, if they did, they would never find the person or people who did it. "That made me more determined to turn over every stone and empty every can until we find the guys who did this."

  "We know there were two of them—a driver and a shooter." Sgt. Montgomery stood up and walked to a whiteboard, and used a black marker to diagram where the truck was with respect to the front of the church. He drew red lines to show the trajectory of the bullets.

  "We just got the ballistics report on the projectiles that entered Major Thibault." Montgomery sat back down at the end of the table. "Looks like they came from a 45-caliber handgun. Thank God it wasn't a rifle like those deer hunters use or Thibault would be dead, for sure."

  I took a deep breath when I thought about how lucky Susie and Rodney were to be alive.

  "The blue truck. I'd like to talk to you about that, Miss Burton." Detective Sherman sat directly across from me and met my stare. "Several people saw it, including Rodney, Susie, and Marianne Massey. Jeffrey Thibault said he thought he recognized the guy riding shotgun because he'd been part of a Klan attack on him ten years ago."

  "Jeffrey knows who did it?" I sat up straight in my chair.

  "Yes, he gave us a name, Tucker Thevenot. Do you know him?" Sherman looked at me as though I were guilty of something.