Early Spring 01 Broken Flower (22 page)

She walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. When I looked at the clock. I saw it was not quite seven A.M. Even Grandmother Emma wasn't usually up and dressed and down to breakfast as early as this. I thought. Did Miss Harper wake her, too?
Miss Harper returned to my bedroom and looked at my bed. She shook her head.
"Not much improvement over yesterday," she said. "When I was your age. I was helping my mother clean the house. Of course, I wasn't as spoiled. We had to watch our pennies. We couldn't afford a maid every day, and after my father died, we didn't have a maid any day."
"Where is my medicine?'" I asked her. She didn't have it in her hands.
She stared at me with that same cold
expression. My lips began trembling.
"Where is my medicine, please, Miss Harper," she replied.
"Where is my medicine, please, Miss Harper?" I parroted.
She looked at me as if she was still deciding on whether I deserved it or not. "You'll get it after you clean up the bathroom."
"It's clean," I said.
She went in and looked at everything. I had folded up my towel neatly.
"Wash out the sink," she ordered. "You spit your toothpaste in it and it looks disgusting."
I did it quickly.
"Follow me," she said after that. "You'll come to my room for your medicine every morning." "Why?" I asked, and she spun on me.
"You didn't just ask me why, did you? You didn't start that questioning of your elders again, did you?"
I shook my head, and then I quickly said, "No."
"Good. For a moment I thought you would have to be locked in your room without breakfast."
I followed her to what had been my parents' room. She went into the bathroom and brought out my medicine. Then she stood by as I inhaled it. She practically grabbed it out of my hand when I was finished and put it back in her bathroom.
"We'll go down to breakfast now," she said.
Again, I followed her out. I hesitated at Ian's door, but I heard nothing.
To inv surprise I discovered that Grandmother Emma had risen even earlier so she could get herself over to the supermarket.
I was afraid to ask why, but Miss Harper answered ray question by telling me inv grandmother wanted to make unexpected and unannounced visits to see how well it was being run under the managers.
"It's the only way to deal with common laboring people like that," she muttered. "Surprise them."
She watched me begin to eat my breakfast and then started to complain about every move I made. I was too far from the table. I didn't bring my spoon to my mouth correctly. I didn't wipe my lips with the napkin when I should have. I made too much noise chewing. Before it was over, my stomach felt like I had swallowed stones.
"You can go upstairs and begin reading your textbooks," she said when I was finished. "I'll be up as soon as I finish my breakfast and make some phone calls. I have to see how my mother is doing. We'll start on all that you got wrong yesterday."
It was another beautiful day. Would I spend it all inside again? I was afraid to ask.
I started up the stairs, but stopped when I heard Ian whisper my name. I turned and saw Ian standing in the living room doorway. I knew he wasn't supposed to come out of his room, so I quickly looked back to see if Miss Harper had heard him. He beckoned for me to come closer. I practically tiptoed down the steps.
"Did you do your medicine?" he asked.
"Yes. She keeps it in Daddy and Mama's room, where she sleeps. I had to go in there," I told him.
"Where is Grandmother Emma?" I told him. "And where is Miss Harper?"
"She's still eating breakfast and then she's going to call her mother, she said."
"Good. Follow me," he said. He started for the front door. "Where are you going?"
"To see Mother," he said. "Do you want to go or not?" I nodded quickly,
"Then come on. I have money. Be quiet," he added.
I joined him at the door. He opened it softly and we slipped out. My heart was poundin2.
"Just walk like nothing's wrong," he said. "People never know anything, if you don't show it."
He started, stopped, took my hand, and then led me down the driveway. We picked up our pace when we reached the road.
"We're taking a taxi to the bus station," he said. "There's a taxi stand at the strip mall down on the four corners. It's not that far."
I looked back at the mansion disappearing behind us as we turned a corner. Ian felt my fear. He tightened his grip on my hand. "Don't worry," he said. "No one will hurt you."
I nodded, Ian doesn't lie. I thought, and he's almost always right.
And besides, we'll see Mama and we'll get her to wake up and then all this will be over.
I stopped looking back.

Whenever adults spoke to Ian or he spoke to them, they always treated him as they would another adult and never as they would treat or speak to a child. I think that was because he was always so clear and so firm when he spoke or answered a question.

The taxi driver looked at us askance when we approached him. He was leaning against his car and talking to another man. I could set him watching us out of the corner of his eye as he talked. He was surely thinking. What do we have here?

"We would like to go to the bus station in Bethlehem," Ian told him. Then he looked at his pad. "We need to make the ten o'clock to Philadelphia."

The driver didn't answer. He looked past us for a moment to see. I think, if there was an adult accompanying us.

"We would like to go now," Ian said. "Please." "It will be twenty-four bucks," the driver said.
Ian smiled. "Fine," He showed him he had money and the driver suddenly came to life, moving quickly to get into his cab.
Ian opened the door for me and we got in. It was the first time I was ever in a taxicab, but I tried not to act like it was. I sat back and looked out the window, swallowing down all my fear. The driver glanced at us in his rearview mirror and then started his cab and drove away.
"Why are you going to Philly?" he asked. "We're visiting relatives," Ian said. And then, although it was clearly a lie, he added, "We've been there at least a dozen times."
"No kidding. Where in Philadelphia?" Without blinking an eye. Ian rattled off an address. The driver was very quiet after that. When we arrived at the bus station. Ian gave him twenty-five dollars.
"Keep the change," he told him as if it was something he often said and did.
The driver nodded and watched us go into the station. Ian bought our tickets and we sat on a bench near an elderly black lady who had a large bag stuffed with clothing. She looked at us and smiled. I saw she was missing teeth, but she had a very warm, sweet smile that made me feel better.
"Ain't you a doll," she told me. "How old are you, honey?"
I looked at Ian to see if I should answer. His eyes told me it was all right.
"Seven," I said.
"And you're a big girl, going on a bus with your brother, is it?"
"Yes. Ian is my brother."
"I wasn't much older when I first went on a bus with my granny Pauline. Matter of fact. I think I was seven. too. Yes. I was. We went from Memphis. Tennessee, to New Orleans and we had to make a few changes in those days. Took us two days to get there. We slept in a station one night. She had a lap as soft as a downy pillow. My granny Pauline..." She stopped in the middle of her sentence and looked out the window. I thought her eyes filled with tears. Ian poked me gently. "When we get to the hospital, you let me do all the talking, Jordan. Even if someone asks you a question, you wait for me to answer, okay?"
I nodded. 'Grandmother Emma is going to be very angry at us."
"She'll get over it," he said. "We have a right to see our mother." He studied a bus schedule and then told me we would return on a bus that left
Philadelphia at six forty-five.
"Where will we have our lunch?" I asked. "Don't worry about lunch. Hospitals have cafeterias for visitors and staff."'
"Can we go see Daddy, too?"
"Not today, but we will if we want," he said with determination. "Will Mama wake up and talk to us when we get there, Ian?"
"Maybe. Maybe she's already awake and talking and Grandmother Emma didn't tell us," he said.
"Why not?" I asked, wide-eyed.
He shook his head. "Why does she do anything?" he replied, which made no sense to me. "We'll set. Just relax," he told me.
"Aren't you afraid, Ian?" I asked him. He turned slowly. "We sat in the woods just a few yards from a black bear, didn't we?"'
"Yes."
"Well, there's no one out there as big or as strong as a black bear."
That made me feel better, but my heart was still thumping when the bus we were to take pulled up in front of the station. Ian rose and nodded for me to do the same. We started out and I looked back at the elderly black lady. She was still sitting with her hands on her bag of clothes.
She smiled at me and said, "Have a nice trip, honey."
Ian tugged my hand and we went out, but I could see her through the window, even when we got on the bus. She was still sitting there.
"Where is she going, Ian?" I asked him. "Why didn't she get on the bus, too?"
He looked back and shrugged. "Maybe she's not going anywhere. Maybe she just hangs out there because it's a warm place to be. She looks like a bag lady."
"What's a bag lady?"
"People who have no home," he said. "They wander around and carry their entire belongings like that in a bag. Some push carts."
"Why don't they have homes?"
"Lots of reasons, Jordan."
"Are we going to become bag people?" He looked at me. "Hardly," he said. And then I saw his eyebrows rise and his eyes narrow. "Maybe, in a way, if Mother and Father don't return," he added. As the bus pulled away. I looked back and saw the elderly lady step out of the station and start walking down the sidewalk. Ian was right. She wasn't waiting for a bus after all.
I
thought. What was she waiting for?
Suddenly, being out in the world like this was as frightening to me as seeing a black bear only yards away in the forest. What else would we find? What else awaited us at the end of this trip? Cities always made me nervous as it was, even with our parents beside us. There were so many people and cars and buildings. It looked easy to get lost and Mama always warned me about staying close and never listening to any stranger. There were traps everywhere. Could Ian get us through it all safely? Had I made a mistake going with him?
"How do you know where to go, Ian?" I asked him.
"I retrieved all the information we need through my computer," he said. "I have directions." He took some folded papers out of his pocket. "Once we get to the hospital, it will be easy to find Mother. I'm hoping the doctor will be there or someone with information for us. We have a right to know about her condition," he added. He put the papers back into his pocket. "Miss Harper will lock me in my room again," I told him.
"We'll see about that."
"Grandmother Emma said she would send you to a military camp."
He looked at me as if he thought I had made it up.
"She did," I said.
"We'll see about that, too," he told me. "Remember how I told you to act when we left," he said as the bus picked up speed. "Walk as if there is nothing wrong, as if you know exactly where you are going and what you are doing. That way no one will question or bother us."
I nodded, but I wasn't sure I could do it as well as he could. I watched him constantly and tried to imitate the way he sat, how he looked forward, even his facial expression. When the bus arrived at the station in Philadelphia, he took my hand.
"We'll take another taxi," he said, seeing all the cabs parked nearby.
As soon as we stepped off the bus, we approached another driver. "Moss Rehabilitation Center," Ian told him, as though he had been taking taxicabs there for years.
This time the driver didn't question us to see if we had money or even give us a quizzical look. He opened the door for us and we got in. He asked us no questions while he was driving either. He just drove off, weaving his way quickly through the traffic as if we were actually on an emergency. He was driving so fast I thought we were going to be in an accident, which would surely make Grandmother Emma very angry, but Ian sat calmly staring out the window at the people on the sidewalks, the stores, the traffic. I was quite interested in it all, as well
After we pulled up to the entrance. Ian paid the driver and we walked into the center. I couldn't help looking at everything, even though Ian wanted me to be like him and keep my eyes forward and not look so confused and frightened. No one took much notice of us anyway, even though any other children we saw were with adults. Ian found the information desk and asked for Caroline March. The lady behind the counter was very pleasant and gave him a paper that showed how to get to where Mama was being treated. The woman didn't say anything else about her, but she did smile at me.
When we arrived on the floor, a tall, thin, redheaded nurse came out of a room and greeted us immediately. Ian explained who we were. She stood there staring at him and me for a moment and then asked who had brought us.
"Our grandmother arranged for us to come by limousine," he said without hesitation. "Is my mother's doctor on the floor?" he continued. "No. not at the moment," she replied. She looked like she didn't quite believe him, but I could see she wasn't perfectly confident about it.
"Are you her case manager then?" he asked. That raised her eyebrows. "No, Mrs. Feinberg is," she said. "One moment."
She went to the main desk and another nurse, much older, stouter, and shorter, looked up from some paperwork at us. She shrugged at the redheaded nurse and then came around the desk to us.
"Hello," she said, smiling. "I'm Mrs. Feinberg. I understand you are Mrs. March's children."
"Yes, ma'am," Ian said. "We're here to see how she is and visit, please."
"What do you know about your mother's condition?" she asked him.
"We know she had a brain trauma from the car accident and she's been in a coma. Has she moved into a vegetative state?" Ian continued, without showing any signs of crying or fear.
"You understand what that means?"
"Yes, ma'am. I am well aware that if she remains in that state too long, she would be less likely to regain full consciousness." "Who explained all that to you?"
"I read about it myself," he said. "I intend to pursue a career in medicine."
"Oh, really. How old are you?"
"I'm sixteen," Ian said, which was another bold lie.
She looked at me and held her smile. "And this is your sister?"
"Jordan, yes. She knows she has to behave and we promise not to disturb anyone or anything you're doing. Is our mother in a vegetative state or is she still comatose?"
"Are you sure your sister understands all this?" she asked, showing her concern for me.
"She'll understand," Ian promised.
Mrs. Feinberg turned to me. "Your mother's eyes are open, honey, but she doesn't see yet. Don't be frightened or surprised about that, okay?"
"She won't be," Ian insisted. "She's seen her before, soon after the accident."
"It's always difficult to understand how someone can open and close his or her eyes, even move and make noises, but show no sign of awareness."
"We understand," he said. "I explained all that to her on the way here."
He hadn't, but I was afraid to say a word, even utter a sound.
She thought a moment and then she told us to follow her. We entered a room where Mama lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling. I saw her left hand open and close, open and close. She's moving, I thought. How wonderful. I wanted to shout for her, cry out immediately. I hurried to her side and put my hand into hers. She closed on it and then opened, closed and opened.
"Talk to her, honey," Mrs. Feinberg said. "Hi, Mama. It's me. Jordan. Ian is here, too.'
We watched her head, but she didn't turn toward me. Her eyes closed and then opened. "How long does it take to evaluate her?" Ian asked.
"It could be a while. She's in our
Responsiveness Program we can work on her response to stimuli. Just keep talking to her, honey. You never know when a patient will start to respond, but it's good they hear familiar voices."
"If they hear," Ian muttered.
"I'll be back in a little while," Mrs. Feinberg said. "Mama, please talk to us," I pleaded. I pressed my face against her shoulder and then I kissed her cheek. "We need you to come home."
She didn't respond. Her mouth didn't move. Her eyes didn't turn to me and her hand kept opening and closing on mine.
"When will she hear me, Ian? When? Why can't she hear me?"
"It's difficult to know, Jordan. She might hear you--the nurse is right. But she might not be able to respond yet. Don't cry," he warned me in a loud whisper. "They might get nervous about us being in here."
"I can't help it," I wailed.
"You've got to help it, Jordan. See. That's why I wasn't sure I should bring you with me."
"Okay, okay," I said, sucking hard on my breath and squeezing myself to smother my sobs. "I won't cry,"
"Just talk to her. Tell her whatever you want. Go on," he said, and then he wandered about the room, looking at all the medical equipment as though he really knew what everything was.
I started to tell Mama about Grandmother Emma bringing Miss Harper into the house to take care of us, to teach me during the summer. Then I thought if I told her the terrible things Miss Harper had done to me. Mama might make herself wake up. I saw even Ian considered that possibility because he watched Mama's face closely as I described Miss Harper washing out my mouth with soap, locking me in my room, slapping my face, and making me work on school stuff all day.
"She slapped you?" Ian asked. I hadn't told him about that.
"Yes."
"Tell me if she as much as threatens to do it again," he said with visible anger. Sometimes, when he got that angry, his whole body seemed to tremble like a mountain during an earthquake or something. I continued to talk to Mama, describing the schoolwork, and then I remembered to tell her about Grandmother Emma moving me to Daddy's old bedroom and moving Miss Harper into her and Daddy's bedroom. I thought that would surely get her upset enough to come back to us quicker.
However, nothing worked. Mama continued to blink, to open and close her hand, but she didn't turn her head or smile. She did make what sounded like a small cry and that perked Ian's interest for a moment, but the sound stopped. I shook her hand and began to plead with her to wake up.
"That won't help, Jordan," Ian said. "We're just going to have to wait."
He hadn't yet touched Mama or kissed her, but now he approached the bed and did take her hand into his, looking down at it. That hand wasn't moving. He moved her fingers and then he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. I watched him closely, awed by his emotional expression. He brushed back Mama's hair and then took a deep breath.
"We're just going to have to wait," he said, this time more to himself than to me.
Suddenly, Mrs. Feinberg returned. Her steps and speed turned us both to look at her.
"Well now, young man. I just happened to get off the phone with your grandmother," she said, and I knew we were in very bad trouble.
I also knew that no one could move as quickly and as decisively as my grandmother Emma. Apparently, the moment she ended her conversation with the nurse, she had a talk with the hospital's security. Two uniformed men were outside in the hallway even before we learned what Grandmother Emma had told Mrs. Feinberg.
"You ran away from home this morning," Mrs. Feinberg said, and turned to Ian. "You took your seven-year-old sister to the city without permission, and you lied to me, young man. You said your grandmother sent you two in a limousine."
"She should have," Ian responded, undaunted. "You're not sixteen, either. You're just thirteen." "Chronological age isn't what's important," he said dryly. "It's mental age."
"Whatever, it's not right to lie and to sneak around, especially with a child this young."
"She's with me. She's fine," Ian said. The nurse couldn't get him to be repentant or even be slightly afraid.