Snapped (29 page)

“Oh my God!”

“They managed to revive him, and we got him here in the ER and repaired the site where the graft had been. We gave him three bags of blood, and we’ll give him some more
soon. That will, hopefully, bring his blood pressure up. However, he hasn’t regained consciousness at this point.”

“Where is he?” Dominique’s eyes scanned the room full of gurneys as she searched for her father.

The doctor led her to a bed in the far corner of the room, where she saw a figure lying beneath a white sheet. Machines beeped and buzzed, and a myriad of tubes ran from those machines to the patient. Dominique stood at the foot of the bed, refusing at first to believe that the slight, frail figure lying there was her father—the man whom she’d seen as larger than life for so many years. She slowly inched forward, and tears flowed heavily once she gazed down at her father’s face. Bill was unconscious, with tubes in his nose, probes on his chest, and a respirator breathing for him.

“Oh, Daddy . . .” She moved to the side of the bed and touched his face, praying that he would wake up at the sound of her voice. She looked at all the machines, listened to all the beeping and buzzing, and squeezed her father’s hand. “Daddy, what happened?”

The doctor stood nearby, watching her crying and feeling extremely sympathetic toward her. It was clear that this was a daughter who adored her father, and as she dissolved into sobs that shook her to her core, he stepped forward and patted her on the back to comfort her.

She rubbed her father’s hand, stroked his face, and spoke in a soft voice. “Daddy, it’s me . . . Mimi. I’m here. I got here as fast as I could. I need you to open your eyes now. Please. Open your eyes or squeeze my hand. Come on.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “Miss Storms, I want to talk to you about signing a DNR.”

Dominique looked at the doctor and shook her head. “What is that?”

“DNR stands for ‘do not resuscitate,’ and what that means, basically, is that if your father should suffer cardiac arrest again, we would make no effort to revive him.”

Dominique looked at Dr. Yang like he had lost his mind. “Why wouldn’t I want you to revive him?” she asked, shocked. “This is my father.”

“I understand that—”

“I want you to do everything possible to keep him alive.”

“Miss Storms, with the amount of blood that your father has lost and the fact that he has not responded to any stimuli—verbal, physical, or otherwise—the likelihood that he will regain consciousness is very slim. His pupils are fixed.” The doctor stepped in and pulled one of Bill’s eyelids up, flashing a small flashlight in his eye. Bill’s pupils didn’t respond at all. “Most patients who come in here having lost the amount of blood your father has don’t make it. I’m afraid that, in my opinion, he will not make it through the night.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care about most patients, Dr. Yang. This is my father. And I want you to do whatever you need to do to keep him alive. I’m not signing any DNR.”

Dr. Yang nodded, although he still believed that it was wishful thinking to expect much improvement. “I’ll let you have some time with your dad,” he said. Touching Dominique lightly on her arm, he paused. “Many experts believe that comatose patients can hear you talking to them, even though they are unable to respond. So keep talking to him. I’m sure he’s aware that you’re here.”

As the doctor walked away, she thought about what he said. The thought of her father dying so soon shattered her resolve and she openly wept, her tears dropping steadily
onto his hand. Realizing that this might be the last opportunity she had to say all the things she never had the chance to tell her father, she pulled up a chair and leaned close to her father’s ear as she spoke.

“Daddy . . .” She fought to keep her voice under control. “I really love you. I know that you can hear me, so please fight. Wake up and prove these doctors wrong. They don’t know you. They have no idea how strong you are. And they don’t know how much I need you. What will I ever do without you?” The very thought of losing him was tearing her apart. “Remember when I was a kid and you used to watch Muhammad Ali when he fought; how he used to call himself the greatest? Well, you’re the greatest to me. And you’re the real champ. You’re the toughest man alive, Daddy.” She squeezed his hand. “Wake up. There’s still so much for you to see and do. It’s not your time yet. Don’t give up, Daddy.”

Dominique bowed her head and prayed from the depth of her soul that God would have mercy on her father and spare his life. When she was done, she sat there, still gripping his hand, and talked to him as minutes bled into hours. Finally, Dr. Yang came back over and asked her to step away for a few minutes so that the nurses could clean him up and get some bloodwork. Reluctantly, she stepped out into the waiting area and called her sister. She explained the situation to Whitney and told her what the doctor had said about their father’s condition.

“This is terrible,” Whitney said. “I’m glad that you were able to drop everything and get there, Dominique. I just can’t believe that you are literally watching Dad die.”

Dominique frowned. She was stunned by the coldness she heard in her sister’s voice. “When will you be here?” she asked.

Whitney sighed. “Well, Dom, I have no money right now. Plus, you know that Chris and I are going through some problems. He’s moved out for a while so that we can have some breathing room. You know how it is with the kids, and—”

“Yeah, back to Daddy.” Dominique was growing more disgusted by the minute. The last thing she wanted to hear, for the umpteenth time, was how Whitney and her husband were having problems, how money was tight, how everything revolved around Whitney all the time. “He’s in serious condition, Whitney. You’re saying that you have no money whatsoever to get a flight out here from Florida?”

Whitney could hear the aggravation in her sister’s voice, but she felt that Dominique had to understand that not everyone was making the kind of money that she was. Whitney worked for the IRS and made a decent living. But all she ever heard about was Dominique’s high-profile, high-paying job as a Def Jam A&R. Their father was constantly telling Whitney how Dominique was flying from one location to the next, meeting all kinds of people and making him proud. Certainly, Dominique could understand that Whitney’s life wasn’t as glamorous as hers. “I can’t drop everything,” Whitney said. “I have the kids, remember?”

“I have a kid, too, Whitney.”

“Yeah, but you’re already in New York. I can’t afford it, and I don’t think I have enough frequent-flier miles to get me there. And I can’t leave the kids behind since Chris is not here with us . . .”

Dominique let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “I will pay for you to come,” she said. “If I do that, can you get here?”

Whitney answered quickly. “Yes. I mean, I’ll have to find someone to watch the kids, but—”

“Bring the kids, Whitney. I’ll pay for them to come, too.” Dominique gave her sister her credit card information and hung up before she lost her temper. She was pissed that Whitney was so transparent. It was clear to Dominique that her sister thought she was balling. Despite the fact that Dominique was a single mother and worked hard to achieve the success she enjoyed, Whitney saw only the high-profile nature of her sister’s career. While Whitney had a husband and two teenage children and lived in a lovely home, and everyone—including the kids—had their own cars, Dominique was hustling daily to pay single-handedly for the luxury apartment she and Octavia lived in, as well as spending a fortune for the prep school her daughter attended. Still, this was not the time to get into all of that. Dominique feared that her father would lose his battle to survive before both of his daughters were gathered by his side.

Next, she called Toya.

“How is he?” Toya asked.

“Not good.” Dominique stood against the wall in the waiting room, looking defeated. “The doctor said that he doesn’t expect my dad to make it through the night.”

“What the hell happened?”

Dominique recounted what the doctor had told her, including his request that she sign a DNR.

Toya sighed. “Damn. Well, think positive, Dominique. Doctors ain’t God, and they don’t know everything. He’ll pull through.”

“What about Octavia? Is she with you?”

“I’m pulling up as we speak,” Toya said, making a U-turn in order to pull up in front of the dance school. She saw Octavia standing alone. “What do you want me to tell her?”

Dominique sighed. “Just tell her that her granddad is
sick and in the hospital and I’ll pick her up from your place as soon as I know something.”

“No problem. Don’t worry about Octavia. I got her and she’ll be fine. I’ll take her back to my house and we’ll chill. If you’re not back by the morning, I’ll take the day off and stay home with her until you get here. Focus on your dad. Don’t worry about nothing else.”

“Toya, I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Please! Stop all that bullshit. We’re friends, bitch. Bye!”

Dominique laughed through her tears as she hung up. Only Toya could make her laugh at a time like this. She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and headed back inside.

Octavia walked into
Toya’s big brownstone and looked around. She was impressed by how beautifully decorated it was. She had only met Toya on a number of occasions, but each time she found her to be hilariously funny. Toya had a mouth like a drunken sailor, which Octavia found very entertaining in comparison to her mother. But never in her wildest dreams had Octavia expected that Toya’s home would resemble something out of an episode of
MTV Cribs
. She looked at a painting on the wall and recognized immediately that it was a Picasso. She had studied him in her art class and had never expected to see any of his work this up close and personal.

Seeing the young lady standing there looking mesmerized, Toya walked over and smiled at her. “Make yourself at home, darling. Kick off your shoes, relax, and come get something to eat.” Toya opened the box of pizza they had
picked up on the way home and pulled some plates out of the cabinet.

Still clad in her prep school uniform, Octavia joined her in the dining room and sat down at the table, tapping the wood floors nervously with her stockinged feet.

“So did my mom tell you what exactly happened to Granddad?”

Toya shook her head. “I really don’t know much, sweetie. But she said that it’s serious. Just say a prayer for him and for your mom, since she’s at the hospital with him. This has to be hard on her.” Toya glanced at Octavia as she passed her the soda. “Dominique is a good daughter,” she said. “She dropped everything and ran to be by her father’s side. She’s always talking about your grandfather—all the conversations they had and all the funny things he would say. I hope that you’re being a good daughter for your mom, because she’s giving you a great example to follow.”

Octavia nodded, chewing her pizza. She thought about what she’d been doing that afternoon before Toya had called her. She had been at Dashawn’s place, moaning and writhing beneath him with her legs in the air as he dug her out. She hated to think that while that was happening, her beloved grandfather was dying. The thought caused her to choke on her pizza. She swallowed a gulp of soda in an effort to wash it down.

Toya noticed the troubled expression on Octavia’s face and frowned. “Don’t
you
get sick on me now,” she said.

Octavia caught her breath and chuckled a little at Toya’s attempt at humor. They ate the pizza and talked about what Octavia’s favorite subjects in school were and what she hoped to do after graduating from high school. Toya even
shared some of her own recollections of her experiences when she was in high school. When they had finished eating, Toya led her downstairs to the basement, where they got comfortable on the leather sofa and turned the TV on.

Toya looked at Octavia. “So,” she said. “You got a boyfriend?”

Octavia paused, wondering if she could trust her mother’s friend with the truth. Toya seemed so cool and down to earth. And for a moment, Octavia considered asking her opinion about Dashawn. He hadn’t told her that he loved her or even referred to her as his girlfriend yet. All that he’d allowed was that she was pretty, sexy, and smart. She was beginning to wonder if their relationship was all about the sex they were continuously having, but she was scared to actually ask him that. Still, she decided not to tell Toya the truth. After all, she was her mother’s friend, and that could spell trouble for Octavia if she revealed too much.

“Ummm . . . no. I’m not allowed to have a boyfriend.”

Toya wasn’t buying it. She had noticed Octavia’s hesitation and figured that there was likely some boy in her life. “I didn’t ask you what you were allowed to do.” She waved her hand as if it didn’t matter. “I wasn’t born yesterday, honey. There’s probably some boy who says he likes you. Most likely he tells you that you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, that your body is banging, and that he only has eyes for you.”

Octavia laughed, wondering how Toya knew that.

“And let me tell you that you are a beautiful girl. No question about it. But don’t let guys fill your head with compliments just so that they can get in your pants. Boys will lie like hell in order to get what they want. Trust me! I know it seems foul that your moms is not allowing you to
date. But she’s got your best interests at heart. Men are nothing but trouble. You can take that shit to the bank!”

Octavia laughed, enjoying Toya’s in-your-face personality. The doorbell rang, interrupting them, and Toya went upstairs to answer it. Octavia listened from the bottom of the stairs.

When she reached the front door, Toya was tempted to curse this fool out. But knowing that Octavia was going through a trauma, she didn’t want to add to her stress by making a scene.

“Yes, Russell?” she sang as she swung open the door. “What is it now?”

He smiled at her, knowing that she was annoyed. “I just came by to bring you a present.” He pulled a bouquet of yellow tulips from behind his back and held them out for her.

Toya took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. “Flowers, huh?”