Chapter Nineteen #2
I drove in silence up Fifty-five through Arkansas and into Missouri.
Past the fireworks stores on Fifty-seven, and over the river to Illinois.
There, I continued through miles and miles of nothing.
My speedometer pretty much sat at eighty-five, which wasn’t really that fast. I knew that if I got pulled over, it would take nothing at all to conjure tears.
I saw no cops, though, just darkness obscuring fields full of dead cornstalks.
Normally, I would have had a hard time staying awake after leaving town so late, but as the dash read ten thirty, eleven, I was still completely coherent.
As I neared town, I realized I didn’t know which hospital. Our family had usually gone to Good Samaritan for procedures, but Franklin was a lot closer to home. Off the highway, I texted Kevin again at the first light. What hospital?
This time, I got an ellipsis. Franklin. ICU. I’ll fill you in when you get here.
I had to use GPS to get there. I might have been able to find it when I was living there, but now that I’d been gone for so long, there was too much new shit to navigate. It was twenty after one when I pulled into the visitor parking lot.
I pulled my backpack with my laptop and piles of tests onto my shoulder, remembered to lock the car, and found my way to a large, marble counter draped with a red tinsel garland. “I’m looking for Helen Travis.”
The woman behind the desk said nothing and took her sweet time, typing for a moment, staring at her computer, typing again. I was about to spell it for her when she finally gave me a room number and directions to the ICU.
My breath was catching in my throat again, and I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. Dad wouldn’t get it and Kevin wouldn’t get it and I’d feel absolutely stupid. I was tougher than that. I’d had to be throughout my life and it wasn’t fair that I was having trouble now.
On the unit, nurses were running around, muttering to one another, laughing about things.
There was more garland. A fake Christmas tree stood across from the elevators, covered in little stockings with names glitter-glued on them.
The door to room C132 was closed. I knocked gently, not sure what I’d be interrupting.
Did I need to be quiet if Mom was unresponsive? What was the use?
My brother answered the door. “Hey, you. Is Lisa here?”
I stared at him. I hadn’t told him about our brief breakup, but even if we’d been together the whole time I didn’t know if we were there yet. We’d only been together for a couple of months. “No. May I?” I nudged past him and shut the door behind myself.
The room was small and dim; the lights were turned off and a sickly glow came through the window from the LED in the parking lot below.
The monitor next to my mother’s bed glowed blue.
Mom was lying propped up part of the way, eyes closed, a bandage around her head and all kinds of tubes and wires coming out of her.
I tried not to wince, but I’m sure I failed miserably.
I nodded at Kevin, trying to keep it together. “Thank you for getting back to me.”
Dad was sitting by the bedside, his chair cocked back, as if he’d been there for so long he was no longer shocked by the situation. “He was in jail.”
Kevin’s jaw tightened. “I was not in jail, Dad.”
“Well, he was at the jail,” Dad said evenly.
I stared between them. “What is going on?”
Kevin offered me a chair and leaned against the windowsill. “What do you know?”
“Nothing! I know nothing. I know that she fell and hit her head and here we are.”
“She left to go to church,” Dad said. “And slipped on the walk.”
“We didn’t realize anything had happened until like twenty minutes later, when I saw her car was still in the drive,” Kevin said. He sounded a lot more tense than Dad. “We found her and called an ambulance.”
“And the cops picked him up,” Dad finished.
“Dad.” Kevin closed his eyes. “Dad.”
“Well, they did.”
I couldn’t tell if he was upset or amused or what. He wasn’t looking at Kevin, but that didn’t mean anything. “Why the hell were you at the jail?”
Kevin sighed. “We got in a big fight before everything…” He made a vague gesture with his hand, sort of toward Mom, who lay there, stock-still, silent except for the beeping of machines.
“Apparently the neighbors heard this, because they told the cops we were yelling at one another and they assumed I clocked her over the head.”
“Jesus Christ on a bike. So they took you into custody.”
“They did. Four hours in an interrogation room until they got video from the Lyon’s security camera and found the rock where she’d hit her head.”
“One of the rocks along the walk?” I asked.
“Yep,” Dad said. He was still not looking at us. “One of those damned rocks she made me put in.”
I was thankful that it sounded like the police inquest was over. I didn’t want to talk to anyone at all let alone the cops. “So what is going on here?”
Dad held out his hand toward Mom. “Well, this, pretty much.”
“Has she been awake at all since it happened?”
“Not since we’ve seen her, no,” Kevin said.
“Have you called anyone else?”
“Ava, Joyce, and Harriet,” Dad said, mom’s sisters. “I suppose we need to call Pastor Hardeman in the morning.”
Kevin’s eyebrows jumped. “I suppose.”
I didn’t want him showing up, either, but since she worked for him, I figured that would have to happen. Surely I could duck out to the cafeteria or something. “Not it,” I said. Kevin smiled.
Dad nodded. “I’ll do it.”
We sat in the room for a very long time, saying almost nothing.
It was amazing how quiet my family was without Mom blathering constantly.
I remembered going out fishing with Dad, just sitting in a silence that felt so nice.
I remembered closing myself in my room constantly to avoid Mom. I remembered a lot of things.
Dad fell asleep with his head leaning back against the wall and started snoring. Kevin motioned me out into the hall. “He called you?”
“Yeah, like oh, Mom’s in a coma, you should probably come up.”
“He’s been that way all day. Like some people would be like okay this is where we are, but he’s—”
“Completely lacking the tiniest shred of emotion,” I agreed.
“That,” Kevin said. “I’d say it’s weird, but it’s really not. I don’t think he can process this.”
“Has Missy come with the kids?”
Kevin shook his head. “We didn’t think this was something they needed to see. Even the older ones.”
“Yeah. It’s fucking weird. It’s so fucking weird.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, the last time you saw her was…”
We stared at one another, playing chicken. I finally gave in to him. “That.”
“Had you spoken with her since?”
“Nope,” I said, “and yes, to answer your next question, I do feel like shit about it.”
“Oh, Sam.”
I shook my head. “Don’t. I don’t need to think about that. Have you spoken to a doctor?”
“I haven’t. There’s definitely substantial brain injury but the nurse told us they’re going to do an MRI in the morning.”
All three of us spent the rest of the night at the hospital.
I nursed nasty-tasting coffee from down the hall black since I couldn’t find any creamer.
Both Kevin and Dad slept a little, draped uncomfortably over poor excuses for furniture, and I eventually sat on the floor under the window and corrected tests.
I wondered how Vera would get the ones she was proctoring to me. I wondered a lot of things.
1991
That Thursday afternoon, I had a dentist appointment, so I went to the church with Mom around twelve so we could leave from there. I’d barely settled in the corner with a book when Mom sighed. “I left my purse in the car. Do you want to go get it?”
I did not, but I took the keys from her and went out the business door, which was around the sanctuary from the parking lot. I had gotten Mom’s purse off the back seat and locked the car back up when Jackson Hardeman fell into step with me. “Good afternoon.”
“It was before I saw you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Please. You know you like me.”
“I do not.”
“Let’s go to the barn.”
“Never.” I followed the sidewalk in the direction of the door, but Jackson stepped in front of me. “I said let’s go to the barn.”
I didn’t want to be frightened. I didn’t want to remember everything he’d done to me. It was all I could think about. “And I said no.” I tried to duck past him, but he caught me by the arm.
I yanked it away from him. “Leave me the fuck alone.” It was the first time in my life that I’d dropped the f-bomb.
“Ooh, language.” Jackson grabbed me again and started dragging me through the lawn.
We struggled there for what felt like a long time. There was no way he could do it to me again. No way. I kept trying to yell but my voice felt small. He almost had me to the barn door when I wriggled loose, but when I tried to run, he tackled me onto the grass.
“Get off of my daughter.”
Jackson stumbled upright, so quickly he had a hard time coordinating his arms and legs.
I picked myself up almost as fast, and looked back to see my mother standing across the lawn from us.
She stood with her legs apart, both hands holding tightly to a Glock nine-millimeter. It was pointed at Jackson.
“Now get away from her.”
Jackson stood frozen in front of the barn, his eyes huge, his hands raised slightly like he was under arrest. He didn’t move, so I ran toward the business entrance, just as far as I dared.
“I want you to leave her alone. Do you understand?”
Jackson’s mouth opened, but he didn’t make a sound.
A shot rang out. My heart plunged to my feet and Jackson wet himself. To my complete shock, the bullet entered the barn about two inches to the left of his right ear. “Do you understand?”
Now, Jackson’s voice was tiny and as high as a seven-year-old’s. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I never want to see you anywhere near her again.”
Jackson gave a desperate look toward the parsonage, then toward the church.