by Kennedy Ryan
Even as I relish my solitude, Lotus won’t leave me alone.
“What’s your favorite song to listen to when you want to unwind?”
“‘It Never Entered My Mind.’”
“Well, let it enter your mind.”
My laughter at the memory breaks the silence in the car, and I wish she were here beside me, curled up in the passenger seat talking about everything or nothing. I’d settle for her silence, her voice, her scent. I’d take anything of her I could get.
It makes me eager to get home—to put this road trip behind me and find a way to see her. I’ll speak with Dr. Packer and figure out when we can talk to Simone, what to say. It’s time to bring Lotus back into my life, into our lives.
I’m not-so-patiently stuck riding behind a slow truck carrying huge pipes when my headlights illuminate a chain anchoring the pipes as it pops loose. The pipe slides off the truck and toward me, headed for my windshield.
“Shit!”
I swerve, avoiding the pipe that lands in the road where my truck was mere seconds ago. Another pipe slips from the truck’s flatbed, bouncing on an unpredictable trajectory. The entire sequence takes seconds, but everything retards to a slow-moving, terrifying crawl. Inside of me, though, accelerant douses everything—my racing, pounding heartbeat, the blood rushing through my veins like river rapids, the quick, shallow breaths chopping up in my chest as my body deploys adrenaline to every vital organ.
The wheel slips through my hands as the truck hurtles toward the guardrail. In my mind, I see Lotus clutching her little saint, her face wreathed in fear and love by the flickering light of candles, eyes fixed on me, never looking away. All I hear is Lotus’s urgent recitation, the psalm falling from her lips with the determined persistence of raindrops pinging a tin roof.
It’s the last thing I hear before the groan and crash and moan of colliding metal take it all away.
45
Lotus
“You ready to hit this J train?” Yari asks.
“In a minute.” I glance up from the dress I’m pinning for JP. “Isn’t this gorgeous?”
“Girl, yes.” Yari walks farther into the fitting room where the models usually try on the clothes. I’m working from a body form, though. “What’s that for?”
“A certain Hollywood actress wants to be wearing this when the Oscar goes to her,” I mumble around the pins in my mouth. “We’ve got plenty of time since she hasn’t even been nominated yet.”
We share a quick laugh. I get up and stretch from the long time on my knees. “Let me grab my stuff.”
My phone rings in my pocket as I’m walking back to my cubicle. Iris’s ringtone.
“Hey, Bo. What’s up?” I ask, motioning to Yari that we can keep walking out. “You calling to complain about how hungry my nephew is again? I’ve told you that formula—”
“Lo,” she breaks in. “No, I, um . . . that’s not why I’m calling.”
The somber note weighing her voice down stops me shy of the elevator. Yari stops, too, eyeing me curiously.
“Oh,” I say. “You sound funny, Bo. What’s up? The kids okay?”
“The kids are fine.” Her voice catches. “It’s, um, it’s Kenan, hon.”
All my bodily functions pause. Or at least, it feels that way. The whole building, the whole city, the whole world seems to stop for a second. I want to stay in this tiny window of time before I know how bad it is, before she tells me something that will demolish my heart and ruin my life.
“What about . . .” I clear my throat, but the fear doesn’t move. An unbudgeable dread gathers and ties knots in my belly. “What about him? He’s okay, right? Iris, he’s okay?”
The silence that follows blares in my ears. I pull the phone away and press it to my chest, closing my eyes and forcing myself to listen again.
“Lotus?” Iris asks. “You there?”
“Yeah. Just tell me”
“He was in a car accident.”
“But he’s okay. He’s alive. I’d know if he weren’t.”
Iris’s skepticism reaches me across the phone—the same skepticism I get from Kenan. She thinks I make it up—that I’ve bought into some of MiMi’s old-lady nonsense. She doesn’t understand. She never really has.
My soul would know. I’d get goosebumps. The damn sky would open up and pour out fire. Somehow, some way, I would know if Kenan Ross had left this Earth.
“He’s alive, yeah. He’s in surgery now,” Iris says. “But it’s serious. You need to come. August is chartering a flight to get you here as quickly as possible.”
“Okay.” My body is all over the place. My heart has splintered into a million shards but my mind is so incredibly focused, as if I’m watching this all from an observation tower. It’s not happening to me. It can’t be happening to him.
Yari calls Billie, who meets us at the airport. I swing by our apartment and grab my stuff. A few items of clothing, my lunch box, salt, candles, St. Expedite. I’m fully prepared to make a fool of myself. I’m braced for skepticism and accusations of lunacy, but I refuse to give a fuck.
My friends have never seen this side of me. They watch me carefully as I sit in my seat, clutching the little figure in my hand and reciting Psalm thirty-five until my mouth is dry and cottony. I take up the litany in my head, barely blinking or breathing. I frantically assemble everything MiMi ever told me about life, about death and healing. The afterlife. The diaphanous walls that separate time from eternity—how they fall without notice, and the ones we love can so easily slip from this life into the next.
“Help me, MiMi,” I whisper with my head pressed to the cold window as we fly above the clouds. There’s no sign of pink. No cotton candy in the sky. “You said I have your heart. I truly believe that’s all I need. Don’t let me miss the things our eyes can’t see. I need you.”
Salty tears run hot and fast into my mouth, and I pray around them. I open my little lunch box-cum-sewing-kit and pull out all the notes Kenan sent me. There’s one I need. One I cling to.
“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.
It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame.”
– Song of Solomon 8:6
“Love is as strong as death,” I mutter, my eyes wide, not seeing the ocean below. “Love is as strong as death. Love is as strong as death.”
I’ve forgotten my friends, and only realize they’re still there when we land. Worry knits their brows and tightens their expressions. They think I’m losing it.
“Come on,” I say without further explanation. “Let’s go.”
The ride to the hospital is a blur. I don’t look out the window or make conversation or pretend I’m not worried. I don’t have time to accommodate people’s concern, their doubt. In the Uber, I press my forehead to the headrest of the passenger seat and close my eyes, blocking out the sounds of the city and erecting an impenetrable wall around my faith, my beliefs, my wild notions of life and death and what’s possible. I’m prepared for anything. I dive so deep inside myself searching for the heart MiMi left me, that it’s as if she’s in the car with me, not my friends. Her heart is my inheritance. My birthright. I take silent, certain possession of it.
“Um, we’re here,” Billie says.
I open my eyes and nod. A light rain falls as the car pulls up to the hospital’s emergency entrance. The three of us get out, bringing our suitcases with us. When we reach the waiting room, August and an older woman I don’t recognize are the first ones I see. Mack Decker, the front office executive whom I’ve met at a few functions with August, sits in the corner with a phone pressed to his ear. Iris rises from the boxy waiting room chair. At the sight of my cousin, the fragile hold on my composure slips and a sob flies free from the cage of my chest.
“Bo,” I cry brokenly.
Iris crosses the room immediately and her arms close around me, the comfort we’ve expected and given each other since we were
kids flowing between us like a balm. My tears soak her hair, and I let myself go limp. I share my heart’s heavy burden, drawing strength from her she doesn’t even know she has.
After a few seconds, the pattern MiMi braided into my hair so long ago tingles, eyes in the back of my head deciphering the weight of someone’s scrutiny.
I turn from Iris’s embrace to face Bridget. Her cheeks are wet and splotchy, but resentment still burns in the ice-blue flame of her stare. She doesn’t want me here, but she would have to drag me from this hospital to get rid of me, and were she of a mind to listen, I’d advise her not to try.
Movement behind her distracts me from our stare down. The last time I saw Simone, she was unresponsive and EMTs were shoving a tube down her throat, intubating to save her life. Her face is so pinched with worry, she doesn’t look much better now. She slips one thin hand into her mother’s, I suppose an act of solidarity against me, the sworn enemy. I can’t be angry at her—can’t blame or hate her. She’s the most precious thing in Kenan’s world. I long to hold her. His blood runs in her veins. She has his mouth, his cheekbones, his DNA. She’s the closest thing to the man I love in this room, and if she’d let me, I’d give her a bone-cracking hug and lavish her with kisses.
“Hi, Simone,” I say instead. I’m braced for rejection, but will settle for indifference. Before she can mete out either, a white-coated man holding a clipboard strides into the waiting area. He eyes the small group assembled and speaks, sounding weary.
“Kenan Ross’s next of kin?” he asks, inquiring brows lifted.
“Here,” the older woman I don’t know says, standing and stepping forward. “I’m his mother.”
Another person who shares his blood—a woman Kenan wanted me to meet. I never imagined it would be under these circumstances. Not in my wildest dreams or tortured nightmares.
“And I’m his wife . . . ex-wife,” Bridget amends, pushing the hair back from her face, making the wedding ring she insists on wearing glint under the harsh fluorescent light. “This is his daughter. What can you tell us?”
I step closer to hear what he says, because fuck them all if they think they’ll shut me out.
“He came through the surgery well,” Dr. Madison, according to his name badge, says. “He’s strong, that one. He swerved to avoid the pipes and miraculously sustained few injuries when his car collided with the guardrail. The trauma sustained by his torso, though, caused extensive internal bleeding. We have it under control, but it’s tricky and has to be monitored closely. If not stopped, it could cause brain damage, cardiac arrest, and any number of organ dysfunctions.”
“But it’s under control?” I ask, ignoring the three sets of Ross women’s eyes that shift to me at the question. “He’ll be okay?”
I see him making the calculations. If the older woman is Kenan’s mother, and Bridget and Simone are his “wife” and child, then who am I?
Bridget gives me a flinty look. “I really don’t think—”
“Lotus is Daddy’s girlfriend,” Simone says, watching me with unblinking eyes. “She needs to know, too.”
Bridget’s mouth drops open, but Kenan’s mother brushes her hand over Simone’s hair in a caress and looks at me.
“He’s talked a lot about you,” Mrs. Ross says.
She wants more grandkids.
I bite my lip, beating back the fear that I’ll never be able to give them to her. I nod jerkily, unable to form words, and look back to the doctor, silently urging him to go on.
“So yes,” he addresses me and my question. “But we aren’t out of the woods yet.”
“When can we see him?” I ask.
When can I see him?
I need to lay eyes on him, to see that massive chest rising and falling at regular, reassuring intervals.
“He’s just out of surgery,” Dr. Madison says. “It’ll be a while.”
He turns a concerned look on Simone, who seems to be fading, her eyes heavy. “You’ve all been here for hours. This would be a perfect time to go home. Catch a shower and a few winks. By the time you return, you’ll be able to see him.”
Simone shakes her head, her chin setting to a stubborn angle. “No, I want to—”
“Dr. Madison’s right,” Mrs. Ross interrupts gently, firmly. “We’ll run home, shower, lie down for an hour, and come back.”
“But Grandma—”
“Listen to your grandmother.” Bridget puts an arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “It’s just for a little while.”
Simone’s shoulders droop, and she wears her disappointment in every line of her body.
“We’ll talk when I come back,” Mrs. Ross says to me through a tired smile. “We have a lot to learn about each other.”
“I’d like that,” I reply. My eyes drift back to Simone, disconcerted to find her staring at me.
“You love him,” she says, a statement, not a question. There’s a sobriety to her that reminds me so much of her father, my heart reaches out to her like hands stretched toward a fire, seeking warmth.
Maybe it’s unwise, maybe it will unravel all that we’ve worked to make right for her these last few weeks, but Kenan said she was better and we were close, so I’ll take him at his word.
“I love him very much, yes,” I answer, struggling to keep my voice steady.
“He loves you, too,” Simone whispers. Tears gather over her blue eyes, an ocean of fear.
“He’s going to be fine,” I say to her, holding her stare and hoping she feels my faith. “He will.”
She stares back for a few seconds before dropping her head to her grandmother’s shoulder.
“Let’s go, Moni,” Mrs. Ross says. “The sooner we go, the sooner we come back.”
Simone nods and trails after her grandmother toward the exit.
Bridget doesn’t follow them, but stands her ground in front of me. We eye each other, neither wavering or backing down.
“When he pulls through,” she says, her voice stiff, “you be better to him than I was.”
Shock holds me completely still for a moment, and then I draw a breath. I don’t speak, because anything I say to the woman who lost the best man I know would be wrong, inadequate. There’s no consolation prize on Earth that could satisfy me if I lost Kenan. I don’t know if she still actually loves him, or just regrets that someone has assumed the place in his life she forfeited. Either way, it’s obviously hard, so I nod, silently assuring her that he’ll have my very best. Without another glance, she walks the path Simone and Mrs. Ross took.
“We’ll be back,” she says over her shoulder, rounds the corner, and disappears.
“You go home, August,” Iris says. “With Michael and Sarai. Relieve the sitter. I’ll let you know when he’s awake.”
I’d forgotten August was here—forgotten Yari and Billie, curled up in hard chairs, nodding off to sleep. August gives me a quick reassuring squeeze and then leaves.
“Hi, Lotus,” Decker says. “Not sure if you remember me.”
“Yes, I remember,” I say, managing a smile and accepting the hand he offers. “And Kenan’s talked about you a lot, Deck.”
“Same.” Decker squeezes my hand. “I need to go report back to the team, but wanted to at least say hi.” He leans close enough to whisper, “He’s a great guy. He’ll make you happy.”
Tears prick my eyes, and my smile widens. “I’m gonna make him happy, too.”
Decker smiles down at me. “He deserves that.”
And then he’s gone. The room is quickly emptying, everyone taking Dr. Madison’s advice, but I cannot leave. I won’t.
“You okay?” Iris asks, studying me closely.
“Yeah.” The exhaustion I’ve ignored since we landed in San Diego falls on me like a pile of rocks, but I don’t want to go to sleep. “I think I’ll grab some air to clear my head.”
“I could use some fresh air, too,” Billie says, standing.
“I’ll come with,” Yari says.
“I’m gonna call the
sitter.” Iris fishes her phone from her jeans pocket. “I know August is on his way home, but I need to talk to her myself.”
“We’ll be right back,” I tell her.
Once outside, the “fresh air” Billie needed is a smoke break. Yari and I step a breathable distance away from her noxious puffs. It’s later than I realized. Or rather, earlier. It’s morning. We arrived in the middle of the night, and the sun has already started its climb, illuminating another day. A vise cross-stitched from anxiety and fear still grips me by the throat, but with each passing second, I breathe easier. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he will be. Void of complications, he’ll recover. I cling to that and try to clear my mind of the scenarios that tortured me while I tried to reach him.
“Glad the rain stopped,” Yari says, leaning against the brick wall a few feet down from the glowing tip of Billie’s cigarette.
“I know.” Billie takes a long draw. “It supposedly never rains in Southern California.”
I’m about to agree when I hear it. The faintest whisper I’ve learned to trust.
Look up.
And I see what I’ve only ever seen once before. The thing most never witness once in a lifetime, I’ve now seen twice. Colors set aflame, an omen streaking through the clouds. A fire rainbow.
“No.” The word ejects itself from my body. A denial. A rebuttal to the sky’s prophecy. “No.”
“What?” Billie asks. “No, what?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I sprint back to the hospital entrance and down the hall, my legs and arms pumping, my heart exploding. I barrel around the corner and into the waiting room. Iris sits there alone, still chatting with the sitter, I presume.