Coma Girl: part 2 (9 page)

“Hello, r-roomies.”

It took me a few seconds to realize the slow female voice belongs to Audrey Parks.

My heart took flight. For all the grousing I’ve done about Audrey getting what I want, I’m so happy for her.

“They tell me I was in this room for two years,” she slurred, obviously still working on her speech, “but I don’t remember very much.”

The wheels squeaked on the floor.

“I never knew there was a window… nice view, too. I can’t believe how things have changed in two years. You can watch anything on TV anytime you want. I’ve been watching the news nonstop.
Crazy
election, and all the things going on in the world are a little scary.”

Her voice trailed off, as if she’s worried about re-entry. That makes sense, I guess. You miss good things when you’re in a coma, but on the flipside, you don’t have to experience the bad things. She’s been sheltered from the world for over two years.

“My mom doesn’t recognize me.” She heaved a sigh. “I finally wake up, and now I’m losing my mother to dementia. It’s not fair.”

She wheeled closer to our beds.

“I had a sense of other patients in the room, but I didn’t know your names.”

I heard the scrape of clipboards being removed from the footboards.

“Karen Suh… Jill Wheatley… and Marigold Kemp.” She gave a little laugh. “So you’re Coma Girl… everyone is talking about you. And I see you’re the source of that awful classical music.”

Technically, I’m a reluctant third-party distributor.

“It’s annoying, but it was one of the few things that cut through the fog, gave me something to concentrate on, like a beacon.”

Dr. Jarvis will be happy to know his scheme worked. Although it doesn’t make the music less maddening.

“Except now that I’m awake,” she said softly, “I don’t even recognize myself. My body is different. My personality is different. This isn’t me.”

Silence fell in the room, then suddenly I realized Audrey was sobbing.

The door opened. “Audrey?” Gina asked. “How good to see you. I was your nurse when you were in the ward. Are you okay?”

Audrey is clearly not okay.

“My therapist thought it would be good for me to come back here,” Audrey said between gulps of air. “But I wish I’d never come, because I don’t want to see what I used to be.” She was wailing now. “Get me out of here, please.”

After a noisy exit, I lay there thinking I’d been jealous of Audrey for no good reason. Her brain injury and two years of isolation had left her melancholy and emotionally fragile and a shell of her former self.

I hadn’t considered that if I ever wake up, I might not be the same person I was before.

“THANKS FOR MEETING me here, Detective Terry.”

“No problem, Ms. Spence. Since Lucas handed you the Kemp case, I thought it would be good for you to meet Marigold.”

“You sound as if you know her,” she said in a silky voice.

And you sound as if you’re flirting. Assistant District Attorney Spence also sounds skinny. And blonde.

“Never met Marigold,” Jack said. “But I’m starting to feel as if I know more about her and her family. They’re eager for Keith Young to be prosecuted. Where do things stand?”

“Well, since his blood alcohol level was over the legal limit, we could get him on DUI.”

“And?”

“And technically, you know he can be charged with reckless driving
, driving to endanger, and assault.”

“So why hasn’t he?”

“Can she hear us?”

“She” meaning me.

“I honestly don’t know,” Jack said.

Her footsteps moved toward the window, and he followed.

“Well, between you and me,” she said, her voice lower but perfectly audible. “Lucas has consulted with several neurosurgeons on this case. And they told him most patients with this type of brain injury will expire within a few months.”

Expire… like a Walgreen’s coupon.

“So he wants to wait to see if she dies so he can up the charges to murder?”

“Or see if she wakes up.” The ADA sighed. “Look, Lucas already explained to the family why proving damages in a coma case is difficult. And Young’s blood alcohol level was barely above the limit. His attorney has already insisted on retesting. And even if the results are verified, no jury is going to find Young guilty if they think she’s going to wake up. And frankly, this Coma Girl social media blitz is doing just that—people are convinced she’s Sleeping Beauty and she’s going to open her eyes any minute.”

Jack made a frustrated noise. “So everything is on hold.”

“For now. Unless there’s a change in her condition one way or another. If she doesn’t improve within a few months, the hubbub will have died down and it’ll be easier to convince a jury that she’s not going to wake up. Trust me, it’s in the best interests of her family to wait.”

“And meanwhile, the Falcons get to start their season with their hotshot receiver.”

“I know Keith Young is cocky, but I talked to him, and he’s not a bad guy.”

“I thought the same thing when I saw his interview. But it just seems so unjust for that young woman to be lying in that bed, and no one is held accountable.”

I don’t know what I’ve done to gain a champion in Jack Terry, but I’m grateful.

“I understand,” ADA Spence said. “But just because a situation is tragic doesn’t mean it’s criminal. That why it’s called an accident, Detective.”

I’m tragic?

“Say, didn’t you used to date Liz Fischer?”

He coughed. “Liz and I go way back.”

Aha—and the plot thickens with yet another woman.

“You know she’s pregnant?”

“I’d heard that, yes. Are we through here?”

“Yes. Actually, I was just on my way to get a drink if you’d like to join me.”

Ooh, smooth.

“Sorry,” Jack said. “I have another commitment.”

“Okay, maybe another time.”

“Maybe.”

The woman’s heels clacked on the floor as she left the room. I’m disappointed Jack has somewhere else to be.

Then he dragged a chair closer to my bed. “It’s Braves versus the Giants in San Francisco. We really need this one, Coma Girl. Are you with me?”

I’m with you, Detective.

“YOU’RE STILL RUNNING a temperature,” Gina said to me. “But Dr. Jarvis assures me that’s okay.” She sighed. “I hope he’s as good a doctor as I think he is.”

That makes two of us.

A knock on the door sounded, then it opened.

“May I help you?” Gina asked.

“I’m here to visit Marigold Kemp,” the woman said. “I’m an old friend of hers.”

The voice tickled a memory chord.

“Did you leave your name at the desk?”

“Yes. I’m Joanna Fitz.”

Joanna—my college friend who now lives in Pennsylvania. After receiving a card from her, I never dreamed she’d visit in person.

“Visiting hours are over, but you can have fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you. Can she hear me?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Gina said. “But assume she can.”

When Gina left, Joanna was silent. I knew she was studying me.

“Oh, Marigold,” she said on a sob.

She’d last seen me the summer I’d met Duncan. I’d been happy and bouncy and flush with possibilities. I’m sure my slack, scarred appearance is a shock to her. She, on the other hand, is probably still beautiful, slim and tanned from all that tennis.

Joanna dropped into the chair next to my bed, sniffling.

“I decided on an impromptu visit to Atlanta to see my folks,” she said, “and thought I’d stop by. Brian and the twins are good… his practice is good… everything is… good.”

She broke off on a sob, and I wanted to reach out to her. Compared to her life, I probably seemed—how had the ADA described me? Oh, yeah—tragic.

Joanna cried for a little while, then sniffed. “Marigold, I lied. My life isn’t good—it’s awful. I came home to stay with my parents because Brian is having an affair and the twins have behavior problems, and I’m drinking too much.”

Whoa—what ever happened to breaking bad news gently?

She blew her nose noisily. “Nothing has turned out the way I thought it would.”

A bed in the vegetable patch wasn’t on my list, either.

The door opened. “I’m sorry,” Gina said, “but it’s time to say goodnight.”

“I’ll be right out,” Joanna said.

She took a few deep breaths to compose herself, then pushed up out the chair.

“Why can’t we hit the rewind button and go back to the last time we saw each other? We were both so happy. Now look at us. You’re in this bed, and I’m just going through the motions.”

Both comatose.

“When did life get so hard?” she whispered.

As she walked to the door, I noticed her steps were wobbly. The sound of the door closing behind her seemed like a gong heralding the end of our youth.

And while I’d always been envious of Joanna’s life, now I wouldn’t trade places with her for a king’s ransom. Because my chances of waking up from my stupor were probably better than hers.

I’VE DECIDED WHEN I wake up, I’m going to learn to play the cello.

I can read music now, from hours of listening to the classical tunes playing on Dr. Jarvis’s iPod, and translating it from sound to notes. And I visualize my fingers on the strings of the cello, turning the notes back into sound. In my mind I picture a symphony, with my hospital bed sitting to the rear of the cellos, between bassoons and trumpets.

I’m bored today, but I take it as a good sign, that my brain is looking for something new to do.

In other words, I take it as a sign the drug Dr. Jarvis administered is working.

Something is definitely different. Whereas before my mind was chugging along evenly, now it seems to ebb and flow, but the extremes are more… more. I’m napping more, but when I’m not sleeping, I seem to be firing on more cylinders.

And the range of my emotions seems to be ever-widening… and sometimes ever-changing. Sometimes I think Keith Young should be punished for his wanton carelessness… other times I wonder if I did swerve into his lane. With Sidney chatting on her phone and Roberta laughing in my ear…

Wait, was that a flash of memory, or simply a manufactured scenario?

I tried to zero in on the image, but it slipped away.

Hopefully, though, it will come back tomorrow.

I didn’t have any visitors today, and it makes me long for even the melancholy of Audrey’s company. And while Joanna’s visit still plagues me, I recognize the encounter as yet a different stimulation that I need to process.

And the realization itself is progress.

I’m getting better, I can feel it.

“THANK YOU FOR ARRANGING to be here today. I know you all have busy schedules.”

Dr. Tyson has asked my parents and Sidney to come in. I’m so excited because I’m sure Dr. Jarvis came clean about administering the experimental drug, and Dr. Tyson is going to tell my parents I’m improving.

“I wanted to talk to you about some changes in Marigold’s condition, and I felt it was important to tell you all together, since what happens to Marigold affects all of you.”

The door opened and closed.

“Nice of you to join us, Dr. Jarvis,” Dr. Tyson said. “You will be interested in this development, too.”

“Sorry for the tardiness,” he said, sounding contrite.

“As I was saying, Marigold’s situation has gotten more exposure than the typical patient, so what happens to her affects all of you on many levels.”

“That’s exactly why I wanted David Spooner here,” Sidney said, sounding defensive.

“You’re free to share updates with non-family members as you see fit. But I hope you’ll keep Marigold’s best interests in mind.”

“That’s a given,” Sid said, still annoyed. “Can we get on with this?”

Dr. Tyson seems to be taking her time, choosing her words carefully.

“As you know, Marigold has shown very little change since she was placed in the long-term care ward two months ago. And even though she’s shown no motor response, I’ve always been encouraged that her organs are functioning well and her brainwave activity is strong. And my hope remains that as the brain injury continues to heal, her condition will improve.”

“So she hasn’t improved?” Sidney asked.

“Not exactly.”