2-in-1 Yada Yada (33 page)

Wordlessly, Josh bent over the bed and kissed me on the forehead. My mouth twitched in an attempt to smile. He smelled like Denny's aftershave. Josh straightened and jerked a thumb toward the door. “Avis is here. C'mon, Amanda.” He and Amanda disappeared out of my vision.

I tried to turn my head, but the movement created a stabbing pain near my left eye. “Avis?” I croaked.
How did Avis—?

A commotion somewhere outside the curtain stirred up like a pot coming to boil. Voices argued; grew louder. Denny bent close to my ear and started talking rapidly. “Avis called me, worried because you didn't show up at Nony's—only seconds after I got a call from the hospital. I called Pastor Clark and he brought me straight to the hospital. Avis picked up the kids at youth group.”

Avis drifted into my view, clutching her big Bible. “Hey, sister.” She went around the bed and took my fingers, avoiding the tubes taped to the back of my hand. Her touch was gentle, her face calm. “Why didn't you just tell us you wanted Yada Yada to meet at St. Francis?”

I stared at her face, confused. I had no idea what she was talking about.

Avis smiled gently. “Sorry. Lame joke. But Yada Yada is here, praying in the waiting room. Pastor Clark, too.” She looked at Denny. “Denny, you okay?”

The churning voices outside formed words, invading our curtained space. “Where is he? Where's my baby? I want to see my baby!”

I searched for Denny's eyes. “Is . . . someone's baby sick?” I managed.

Denny just shook his head, avoiding my eyes. “You stay here, Avis. I'm going to go see the kids a moment.” I felt his fingers leave my hand.

Avis paged through her Bible. “Satan gave you a good lick, sister, but we're not going to just stand by while he messes with you. Here, listen to Psalm 103 . . . ‘Praise the Lord, O my soul, all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion—”

“What do you mean,
dead?”
One voice outside rose above the others to a shriek.
“Not my baby! Not my baby! Oh God, no-ooooo.”

My fingers groped for Avis's hand. “What's . . . happening out there?”

“No, you keep listening to me, Jodi. ‘The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever—'”

“Who killed him?
Who killed him!”
I turned my face toward the screams, ignoring the shooting pain in my head. “Tell me who! . . . He's going to jail for this! He's going to pay!”

Avis's voice clothed the naked screams, pulling me back into the sound of her voice. “ ‘He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love. . . .' ”

I tried to concentrate on the words she was reading. But I felt strange . . . lightheaded. I heard a sound behind my head.
Beep . . .
beep . . . beep . . .

A nurse swept the curtain aside, checking the machines just out of my sight. “Ma'am, you need to leave,” she said to Avis. “Now.” She swept out again, calling, “Dr. Lewinski? Get Dr. Lewinski, stat, in Number Seven!”

“Hold on to Jesus, Jodi.”Avis's dark eyes locked on to mine. “He who is for you is stronger than he who is against you.” And then she was gone.

My breaths were coming fast and shallow. “Avis?
Avis!
. . . Denny! I want Denny!”

36

I
was swimming again . . . swimming forward . . . but the
water was loud, drumming on my head . . . something was
holding me back, clutching my middle in a viselike grip . . .
Oh God, it hurt . . .

Swipe, swipe . . . swipe, swipe . . . windshield wipers swept the
water from before my eyes . . . follow the red lights . . . bright lights coming
toward me . . .

A face! . . . a brown face in the water . . . lit up bright . . . lit up scared
. . . lit up—

I forced my eyes open. I felt sick as a dog. Immediately Denny's face filled the space in front of my own. “You're awake.” A smile crinkled his gray eyes. “Doc says surgery went smooth as glass—but you're going to have to stay a few days.”

Pincers with jagged teeth seemed to grasp my whole left side, from my ribs down to my leg. I fought a wave of nausea. A tube hung out of my nose, taped to my face. “Hurts,” I moaned.

“I know, babe. You're going to be okay, though. Just hang on.”

I was vaguely aware when I got wheeled through the halls . . . an elevator . . . more halls . . . into a room. The bare walls were blue . . . no, gray . . . something. Tall ceilings, tall windows . . . like a reformatory or convent.

I dozed, fighting nausea every time I awoke. People came in and out . . . Dr. Lewinski . . . Pastor Clark . . . a male nurse . . . Nony and Mark . . . Piecing together different comments, I realized I was minus one mangled spleen and had a metal rod holding my left femur together.

“Where are . . . kids?” I asked Denny at one point.

“Avis took them home. Edesa is going to stay at the house with them. Josh is okay, but Amanda . . . well, she'll be all right with Edesa there.” He brushed the hair from my forehead. “They love you, you know. They're worried . . . your folks, too. They'd be here in a millisecond, but your mom's had a bad chest cold and her doctor's worried about pneumonia. I told 'em to stay put; we'd take care of you.”

I squirmed under his intense gaze. “I must look awful.” I couldn't look good and feel this awful.

“You're alive. You look beautiful to me.”

THAT FACE
! . . . the arms flailing . . . lit up bright . . . lit up scared . . .

I opened my eyes. The pain had dulled. The nausea diminished.

Denny was asleep in a chair in the corner, one leg over the arm of the chair, his head slumped at an uncomfortable angle. A shadow of a beard covered his chin and jawline. I watched him, remembering . . .

We'd had a fight . . . I was late. Late and mad. It was raining—no,
pouring. The kind of rain that flooded the sewers and left small lakes at
every street corner. And dark too early. I was trying to make the green
light, trying to hurry . . .

Denny stirred and stretched. “Hey, babe. How you feel?”

I took several slow breaths. It hurt, but I had to get some air. “I remember the accident.”

Immediately Denny was at my side. “Don't think about it, Jodi. Right now you just gotta get—”

“A boy, he . . . he ran right in front of my car. It was raining. I could hardly see. I tried to stop . . . I jerked the wheel. That's . . . all I remember.”

“That's okay, honey. We don't have to talk about this now.” Denny fussed with my blankets and pointed to a basket of flowers on the windowsill. “Look. They're from Yada Yada—well, Stu sent them for everybody, I think.”

I didn't see the flowers. I didn't see anything.
Only the face, the
flailing arms . . .

Another wave of nausea brought a vile taste into my mouth and I retched, but only spittle came dribbling out. Denny grabbed a tissue and dabbed at my mouth. “You okay?”

I focused on his eyes. “Denny . . . what about the boy? Is he . . . okay?”

Denny looked away.

“Tell me!”

Denny shook his head. “No. He . . . died last night.”

I heard Denny's words, but they didn't compute at first.
Died?
The boy died?
But as the words sank in, they flowed like ice water into my veins.

“I . . . hit him?”

Denny nodded, tears wetting his cheeks. “That's what they're saying. Nothing's for sure yet, not until they investigate—”

“They who?” My voice came out in a whisper.

“Uh . . . the police. When you're better they want to talk to you . . .”

I think Denny said more words, but it was like a dream and far away.
The boy . . . I hit him . . . I killed him . . . I killed a boy . . . somebody's
child . . . killed him! Killed!

I heard a scream, a scream piercing the blueness of the room, ripping it like fingernails on skin . . . I heard Denny's voice from far away . . .
“Don't, Jodi, don't!”
. . . footsteps came running . . . hands held me down . . .

The scream was my own.

WHEN I AWOKE, I couldn't remember where I was. What day was it? Why was I here? A blue room . . . bags of clear fluid hanging on a pole with long skinny tubes taped to my hands . . . my hands—tied by strips of cloth to the bedrails . . . why?

And then it all came back to me like getting smashed in the gut by a heavyweight boxer . . .

I screwed my eyes shut, trying to shut it out.

A car accident. I'd killed somebody. Killed . . . a boy.

The wail started in my aching gut and burst from my mouth. “Oh God, no-oo-ooo!”

“Jodi? I'm right here, girl.” A cool hand touched my face, brushed the tears from my cheeks. I opened my eyes. Bright sunshine streaming in the tall window created a halo of light around Florida's dark face and tiny ringlets.

I groaned and turned my face away.
Oh God, does everybody
know?
“Please! Pull the blinds.”

“But the sun is shining! And look at all these flowers that keep coming in.” She peered at the little cards. “Denny's folks . . . couple of families from Uptown Community—”

“I want it dark!” I snapped. I wanted to yell,
I don't want flowers,
either! Don't people know I killed somebody? They oughta send the flowers
to his funeral!

“You gotta get a grip, girl, else they gonna leave you tied up so's you don't pull out all these tubes.”

I refused to look at her. “Just . . . go away.”

“Huh. You got some attitude there. Well, it won't work with me. I'm gone . . . all the way to this here chair.” The room darkened, then I heard the plastic cushion on the corner chair
wheeze
as she plopped down.

I kept my eyes shut. Maybe she'd think I was asleep and leave. But I heard her humming and filing her nails.

Finally, I opened my eyes. “Where's Denny?” I whispered.

“Comin'. Avis, too. They gotta be here by ten o'clock. But your man needed some sleep. He's been here nonstop since Sunday night.”

I mulled on that for a moment.
Why ten o'clock?
Then it occurred to me that I didn't even know what day it was. “What's today?”

Florida got up out of the chair, came over to the side of the hospital bed, and looked me up and down. “Tuesday mornin'. When the sedation wears off, Doc says you can get up and walk a bit today—test out that walker over there.”

She had to be kidding.
“Don't feel like it,” I mumbled. Tuesday . . . Tuesday . . . I was supposed to do something on Tuesday. But for the life of me, I couldn't remember what.

“Gotta. Doc says he'll take that tube outta your nose when you pass some gas.”

I glared at her. “Why is the doctor telling
you
anything?”

Even in the now-shaded room, I could tell Florida was grinning ear to ear. “Told him I was family. The look on his face was priceless.”

Oh, right. Like he believed her. I started to turn my head away again, then turned back. “Why ten o'clock?”

She shrugged. “Police want to talk to you, ask you about the accident. Denny said they had to wait till he could be here.”

My lip trembled, and I started to cry. “I-I'm scared, Florida.”

“Hey. Sure you scared. But it's gonna be all right. Police gotta do they job. They gotta talk to everybody when there's an accident— including you.”

She thinks she knows what I did. Oh, God, if she really knew . . .

A middle-aged nurse I'd never seen before came in to take my vitals. “Good, you're awake, Mrs. Baxter. Can we take these off, now, hmm?” She looked at me over the tops of her glasses as if I were an erring child and proceeded to untie my wrists. I said nothing, just lay still and looked away.

Denny and Avis showed up shortly before ten. “My private taxi,” he grinned, jerking a thumb at Avis, then leaned over the bed to give me a kiss.

I stared at the thin blanket making lumps and valleys over my body, gripping its edges in my fists.
Oh, right. I've also banged up the
minivan, so now Denny has to bum rides from our friends.

Avis touched my hand. “Yada Yada is praying around the clock for you, Jodi. Everybody sends their love.”

Tears welled in my eyes, and I squeezed them shut. They could forget praying for me. They had
no idea
what they were praying about! Love me? Not if they knew. They should be mad—mad as hell! That would feel good. We could just yell at each other then. That's what I wanted to do . . . just yell! Yell bloody murder!

“Jodi?” Denny's voice broke into my stupor. “The, uh, police are here. They want to ask you some questions. Can you do that?”

“I don't know,” I whispered, and started to cry.

“It's okay, honey. I'll help you.”

I grasped the front of his sport shirt and pulled him close to me, “I don't want Avis and Florida here when the police . . .”

He turned and whispered something to Avis and Florida, who quietly left the room, passing two uniformed police officers who came in, holding their hats with the signature blue-checkered bands under their arms.

Déjà vu.
Just a month ago, two Chicago policemen had come into José Enriques's room, and Avis and I had tiptoed out. I'd wanted to hang back and listen then . . . were Avis and Florida listening just outside my door?
Go away!
I screamed at them in my mind.