“NOT FAR–ALMOST THERE! CAN YOU SEE HER?” Sal’s voice was filled with panic.
“No, the house is dark. Toby wants me to go on the beach–I can’t go on the beach, son, not in my wheelchair. Hurry, Sal! I’m gonna call-a-the police to be safe.”
Tony hung up with Sal and strained to see something, anything, but it was too dark and the wind was blowing sand into his face. Toby took off on his own towards the beach.
Tony touched the screen to his cell and called the police station.
* * *
“Keep moving Gracie,” Camille snarls through her teeth. “Just to the edge of the pier, looks like you’re going to have an accident or some might even say you committed suicide. I bet even Richard would believe that–he always says how weak-minded you are.”
I’ve got a fistful of Camille’s coat. If I’m going in, she is too. “Don’t!… Just leave me alone, Camille... not weak” I puff. But I am weak. And so tired…
“Let go, Gracie!” Camille shouts.
I try hard to hold on and to help myself. My pajamas are soaked and I’m freezing. And so weak from the pills. I can’t believe this is happening–Yvette was right. The threat was about me. It would be Sal’s turn to live without me…
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. As Camille pushes me into the enraged ocean, I see so many memories–good and bad–racing through my mind like lightening.
I hit the water and the coldness is like being electrocuted. Struggling, trying to swim with the waves twirling me, lifting me up, then sucking me under. I hold my breath till it hurts.
The sea slams me up against one of the pilings, I try to hold on but my arms are as strong as wet noodles.
Some where I hear Toby barking–then I hear a gunshot. I try to look around, but wave after ferocious wave keeps slamming me into the wood. I try to hold on as the undertow pulls at me–it’s impossible.
Water fills my throat and goes up my nose, burning like fire every time. I gasp for air. I can’t feel my hands and feet anymore. I’m exhausted and so tired… I finally just let go.
* * *
“GRACIE!! I yell, as my feet hit the sand.
I spot a figure of a woman running up the beach to the access road. “GRACIE!” I call out, but she kept running.
I bolt up the beach, fighting the winds and the sand nicking at my face. TOBY! I see Toby lying on the sand. I kneel beside him and run my hands over his wet fur, I came away with blood all over my hands. He was shot, but alive and whimpering.
“Oh no Toby.” I moan. I strip out of my coat and laid it over him. Shit, where the hell is Gracie?
I look around–search the beach, the ocean–and there in the waves I see her! I run down to the water–I see Gracie holding on to the piling under the pier.
A huge wave encases the top of her, dragging her out. I dive into the churning sea, the cold waves slapping at me. I swim as hard as I could in her direction–fighting the current and pounding the water like I’m boxing.
I spot her briefly and dive under. Blinded by the dark water I reach out to her but come up empty. I make it to the same piling I’d seen her holding onto. I focus on the choppy ocean trying to center myself when I spot her again–she’s caught in a wave.
I dive after her and her body slams into mine. I held onto her and headed back to the shore. A strong wave helped push us to land. I carry her body, limp as a rag doll out of the water. The cold wind slices us, zapping the rest of my energy. I set her down gently.
“Gracie…Gracie…” I give her CPR. “BREATHE, GRACIE, BREATHE!” I scream. I breathe some more air into her and finally some bubbles come out on a choke. She coughs. “GRACIE.. COME ON! OH, NO PLEASE!! BREATHE!” I scream again.
“SAL! Hey SAL!”
I focus on two police officers running up the beach towards us yelling my name. “CALL 911!” I yell to them.
“We did–they’re on their way! Hang on!”
They toss me a blanket and I wrap it around her. I hold her tight and kiss her head. They wrap Toby up too. He let out a soft growl.
I call over to him. “Easy, buddy. Easy.”
“Did you see the woman?” I ask them, still panting for my breath. She was headed up to the access road. A blonde, I think.”
“Yes, the other officer’s in the patrol car apprehended a woman running to a black Escalade. She was armed. They’re taking her in.”
The one officer knelt down beside me. “Sal–it’s Mr. Boumont’s fiancée, Camille James.”
CHAPTER 28
In the emergency room I wait in a private area for the doctor. Pop arrived a few minutes after I did and we watched the medical staff as they hooked Gracie to monitors, and tubes, then wheeled her down a hall for tests. Her hands and arms where bloody and cut from the barnacles on the wood pilings of the pier. I shudder thinking about how close I was to losing her.
“Son, she is alive, she will pull through…” Pop says softly.
“She hasn’t opened her eyes. She’s out cold.”
“Sal, you saved her–she’s a strong girl–she’ll pull through.”
A nurse dressed in yellow scrubs heads toward us, her eyes are warm, friendly. She nods at me.
“Mr. Petroni? I’m Julie–I’m going to clean up your cuts for you. Can you step over to the table for me please?”
I glance down at my arms and notice that I have a few open cuts - I didn’t even know they were there. I go over to the table and let her fix me up.
“Your fiancée was lucky you showed up when you did. The nurse tells me you saved her life!”
“How is she? Did she wake up?”
“Her vitals are stable, but, let the doctor fill you in. I don’t get all the details. I’m sure he’ll be just another few moments.”
She continues cleaning my arms and wraps them in gauze. “You were lucky too–the cuts aren’t real deep, but we’ll start you on an antibiotic anyway. Just wait here–the doctor will be in shortly.”
When the nurse leaves the room, I look over at Pop. “Where’s Toby?” I ask.
“Veronica picked him up–the paramedics helped him till she came. She’ll call me as soon as she’s done getting the bullet out.”
“Pop, what the hell happened?” I say, shaking my head. “Why was Camille there with a gun?”
Before Pop can answer, the doctor walks in. “Salvatore Petroni?” He asks, holding out his hand to me. “I’m Doctor Rosaro. I’ve been taking care of Gracie. I understand you’re the next of kin?”
“I am. How is she? Can I see her?”
“She’s…doing pretty well. She got pretty banged up: she has a concussion from a blow to the back of her head, causing trauma; she’s lost some blood; and we also found a mix of barbiturates in her system.”
“Barbiturates?” I question, “like what?”
“A mix of the commonly used ones for sleeping. Some Xanax, Valium that kind of stuff. Did you know if she took these regularly?”
“She used to. She sees Dr. Brooks on occasion. I’ll check with him when I can. She took them for her anxiety attacks but for the most part she’s gotten over them. I’ve been away on business for a while. When I left, she’d stopped–she didn’t need them anymore.” I tilt my head toward the doctor.
“When you say a mix, you’re not thinking she overdosed, are you? Gracie would never do that!”
“Well, that’s what we’re trying to figure out. It wasn’t enough to kill her, but enough to knock her out, put her in a weakened state. Sometimes, people taking sedatives don’t realize they’ve mixed meds or they get confused. At any rate, we’ve cleaned her system but, with the head injury and all, she’s in a coma.”
I catch my breath and stifle the desire to scream. “A coma?” I whisper instead.
The doctor puts his hand on my arm, then glances at Pop. His smile is gentle. “The good news is she is breathing on her own–we just have to wait for the swelling to the brain go down. I’m pretty confident she’ll wake up–I j
ust can’t say when. We have to give it time.”
I swallow around the huge lump in my throat and battle back tears. Princess, Have I done this to you? I look at the doctor. “Can I see her now?”
“Yes, of course. Follow me.”
Pop and I follow the doctor down a hall into the ICU. We walk into the room and there’s my Gracie sleeping and hooked up to an EKG. The sound of steady bleeps tells me her heart is pumping. She has an IV drip along with an arterial line measuring her blood pressure.
Bandages cover her arms from above her elbows down to her hands–just her fingertips are showing.
My heart on the other hand, is beating loud and erratically. I want to rage against all this, turn back time and sweep her into my arms. Make love to her. Hear her laugh. See that smile that’s just for me. I kept my promise and came home safe, didn’t I? I swallow again and get my feet to move.
I go to her side–touch her–she’s cold. I start to tuck the sheet around her. “She’s cold–she feels cold! Get her a blanket!” I demand.
Doctor Rosaro echoes my request to the nurses standing near. One of them returns with a warmed blanket on her arm. I put my hand out to stop her from covering Gracie. “Let me do it…please? And, thank you. I didn’t mean to snap.”
“It’s all right, sir,” she says, handing me the blanket.
I tuck the blanket around her and kiss her forehead, then her lips. I gently put my head on her chest, listening to her heart, her lungs taking in breaths.
“You should talk to her,” one of the nurses suggests. “Let her know you’re here–tell her you’re waiting for her. She’ll hear you.”
I slowly pull myself away from Gracie’s heart and warm tears slide down my face. I wipe at them as I turn to the nurse standing in the doorway who smiles before exiting the room. I look over at Pop and he nods. “Go ahead, son”, he says. “Talk-a-to her–she loves you, her heart–her soul–will hear you.”
I bend down close to her beautiful face. “Gracie,” I say softly. “I’m here. I came home. I promised you I would.” My breath catches in my throat as more tears flood my eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere–I promised you I’d never leave you. I’m staying right here till you wake up, I love you. I’m never going to leave you again. Please Gracie,… baby, come back to me.”
After a few minutes, I kiss her. I pull up a chair next to her bedside. I look over at Pop–he’s drying his eyes with a handkerchief. I inhale a deep breath and let it out, lean back in the chair, and turn my eyes back to her.
“Where are you, Gracie?”
* * *
Sun is shining through a small window and it wakes me. I’m warm and comfortable in my strange bed. I lay very still, listening to the chirps of the birds outside my colored glass window. I hear a commotion and the big wooden door bursts open.
“Sophia! Get up!” a voice calls and I feel a thump as someone jumps on my bed.
Today’s the day!” she says with such excitement. I open my eyes wide and rub them. The young girl sitting next to me is smiling, dressed in a long billowy dress with long sleeves and corset. Brown curls try to escape from a clip on top of her head. I know her–she’s my sister–and my heart recognizes her as Maggie.
“What are you going on about sister?” I ask.
“Today is the day–Uncle Sabastion’s ceremony! For the Knights Templar, remember? We are to have a feast this afternoon!”
I sit up quickly. “Yes!” I squeal. “Of course I remember–Marsilio comes home today!”
“That’s right,” she answers. “And mother is promising your hand to him! Now get up–we must prepare for the day’s events.”
As my feet hit a cold stony floor, some women come in with hot buckets of water and fill a small tub.
“My Lady,” they say as they curtsy upon entering my sleeping chambers. “We’ll leave you to bathe, My Lady.”
I slip into the little tub and soak. My sister comes and sits in a big wooden chair next to me. Her glee is radiating from her like heat off the stove in the kitchen chambers.
“Everyone has arrived! You can see ships at the harbor. When do you think you will marry Sir Marsilio?” she asks.
“Picking up a cloth, I rub it over my belly. “As soon as possible, Anne. I think I am with child from my last meeting with my handsome knight.” I giggle, despite the fact that our mother, the Queen, might want to kill me for not waiting.
“SISTER! Are you sure? How long since?”
“Three fortnights, I believe.”
“You have not bled?”
“No sister, I have not. And my breasts feel tender.”
She skips and claps around the room happily laughing. “Anne…ANNE,” I shout and she halts in place, still grinning at me, her light eyes twinkling.
“You must promise me, not a word to mother or to our half-sister Caterina. No one must know–do you understand?”
“Yes of course sister, you can trust me.. You will tell Marsilio, won’t you?” she asks, her smile replaced by a frown.
“Yes, after the feast when I am properly betrothed to him. We may be able to steal a moment of privacy. Then and only then will I share my news with my beloved.”
“Good enough, sister,” she says, making a cross across her chest with two fingers. “If you don’t need my help to dress, I will see you out on the castle yard. Mother is already at court waiting our arrival.”
* * *
While Gracie sleeps, Pop and I sit vigil, praying, hoping, and looking for any sign that she knows we’re here. And, while Pop kept watch, I showered the salt and sand off and redressed in stiff jeans and sweater.
The next afternoon I’m still by Gracie’s bedside. Every half-hour, I tell her we’re still waiting for her–that I still love her and I’ll wait no matter how long it takes. The nurses come in every two hours and check on us. They’re monitoring Gracie from the desk as well, so they know as well as I do that there’s been no change. Once a shift, they come and draw more blood. I wonder if she’s got enough to spare. She’s lost a lot of weight in the weeks I’ve been gone and the dark circles beneath her eyes tell me the whole story.
The evening tech comes in and draws the blood they need for more tests. “Any changes,” she asks. “Sometimes they can be subtle, but you’ll see them.
I shake my head. “No, she’s the same.”
“Well, it’s only been twenty-four hours,” the tech says. “It takes time. I’ve seen coma patients wake after two days or sometimes it may take two months. Depends how much rest their brain and body needs. Only time will tell.”
“Two months?” I groan.. “Oh, please god... no.”
Just as the tech is putting away the vials and labels, the floor nurse drops in. She puts a hand on my shoulder and smiles.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “We have every reason to think Gracie is going to be fine. Everyone heals in their own time–brain injuries are tricky. We’ll be in later with an ICP monitor which measures the pressure in the brain. We can keep track and notice when it starts to go down. Really, the best thing is that she’s sleeping and resting. I’ll be back later. I suspect we’ll move Gracie out of the ICU shortly. The doctor is making his rounds–he’ll be in to talk to you.”
“Thank you,” I say as I she walks out. Pop is sleeping in his wheel chair in the corner. I need to get him to go home, but he’s as stubborn–and as worried–as I am.
“Pop…POP! I raise my voice a bit so he’ll wake up.
“Is she up son? What’s-a-wrong?” he struggles to sit upright and wake up at the same time.
“Nothing, Pop. Why don’t you go…get home, I’ll call you and keep you updated.” Pop looks at Gracie and back to me, then nods.
Before we can call him a cab, the nurse comes back into the room. “You two have a visitor, but he shouldn’t come in here. An Officer Dan? You can go talk in the lounge area.”
She sees my hesitation–I don’t want to leave Gracie for a second–which I know is obsessi
ve. “We have her monitored, Sal. If there’s the slightest change, I’ll come get you.”
I get to my feet and walk beside Dad as we follow the nurse through the heavy ICU doors and down a short corridor. I spot Dan pouring himself a cup of coffee.
He turns and sees us coming up on him.
“Hey guys,” he says, “I got some information to share with you–unless it’s a not a good time?”
I shake his hand. “Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Any change, Sal?” he asks as he swirls the wooden stirrer in the paper cup.
“No, but they keep telling me that’s normal. She’s stable and comfortable, I hope.”
Pop puts his chair next to the small sofa and motions for us to sit down. “Hey –what-a-you got? What happened?”
He takes off his coat and lays it over a chair, then sits so he’s between Pop and me.
“Well, where do I start? Umm..Tony–do you remember a Nancy Jamison, who used to clean the Boumont’s residence years ago?”
“Si…yes, poor lady,” Antonio said, shaking his head.
“Do you remember her little girl?”
“Si…yes, yes… Carolann, I think. She was a little thing-a-with brown hair. Quiet, cute little one.”
“Yes, well, she now goes by the name of Camille James. She told us a crazy story last night about her mom and Mr. Boumont–do you know what I am referring to?”
I watch my father’s eyes bulge from their sockets as he puts a hand up to his head as if trying to remember was causing him pain and confusion.
“Pop–what’s going on? What is it?” I ask him.
“Oh my god,” Pop whispers. “She crazy just like her mother. Son, I knew Camille when-a-she was little.”
And for the next ten minutes, my father tells me a sad, sad story of a cleaning woman, a selfish man, and a vindictive wife. And, of his role in that story. I watch him age as he remembers things he had no idea would come back to hurt so many he loved.
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