Some Day Somebody (56 page)

“Giselle...” he whispered, making his way around to the passenger side. His heart plummeted at the blood pooled around the gouge on her forehead, until he saw the rise and fall of her chest as she labored to breathe. He ripped a piece from his already torn shirt to wipe the area clean, and allowed himself to relax once he saw the bleeding had nearly stopped. He thought of the couple’s two young daughters.
 
What would happen to them if they lost both of their parents?
 
“Oh, God, she has to be okay,” he spoke in a tortured whisper. “Help...she needs help,” he croaked, stepping away to find someone.

He staggered back to Chloe’s body, swaying unsteadily as he struggled to remain on his feet. He fought the blackness closing in on him, determined to remain conscious until he made sure someone helped Giselle.
 
Finally, two EMT’s ran to him.

“Sir, are you seriously injured?” one asked him.

He grabbed his head, squeezing his eyes against the sudden pain, then fell on his knees beside Chloe. “My wife is gone...you can’t help her.”
 
He struggled to lift a finger toward the black Expedition.
 
“My friend Toby didn’t make it, but his wife has to live, for their little girls.” He grabbed for the debilitating pain in his head again before collapsing onto the I-210 roadway.

***

He woke trying to scream, jerking away from the image of Chloe’s bloody face filling his mind.

“It’s okay Mr. Broussard,
it’s
okay,” the ER nurse spoke in a calm voice.

Jackson blinked once, twice, and again to clear his eyes, and searched the nurse’s face for clues.

She smiled down at him. “You’re at St. Luke’s hospital, and you’ve got a mild concussion but you’ll be all right. How’s the pain?”

He reached slowly for his head and felt. No bandages. He grabbed the nurse’s hand as one particular memory rushed at him. “I need to find somebody.”

“And I’ll help you do that, Mr. Broussard. Is it a family member? Was there a passenger in the vehicle with you?”

“No, my wife was with me, and she...didn’t make it,” he said, his voice calm. “There was a black SUV with a couple in it. The driver was my friend and I...his neck...I couldn’t find a pulse. His passenger, his wife, had a cut on her head, but she was breathing. They have two young girls and no other family. I need to see if she’s okay.”

“I need her name and a description.”

“Her name is Giselle Granger. She’s tall and slim, about 5’8”, with shoulder length, curly, brown hair and green eyes.
 
She had a big cut on her forehead, right about here.” He touched his own head above his right temple.

“I’ll check, and be right back. You stay here, Mr. Broussard.”

He grabbed her hand again. “What did they do with my wife? She...” He swallowed the bile as the image of her flashed in his mind again. “She went through the windshield.”

The nurse gave him a look of sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Broussard. I’m not sure if they’ve transported her yet. I’ll check on that for you, too. If she’s not already in the morgue, she will be soon, and we will need you to ID her.”

He nodded at the nurse and tried to sit up.
 
“I can do that whenever you need me to, but can you help me find Giselle?
 
She’s a co-worker of mine and her husband was a close friend.”

She nodded. “I’ll go see if I can find her.”

“Ma’am, did I have a phone on me?” he asked before she could leave.

Jackson pulled his phone from the bag of belongings she handed him and made two calls. First, to his only living relative, his Uncle Bill, asking him to meet him at the hospital. The second call was much harder to make. He knew Toby and Giselle’s girls were staying with another co-worker, and close friend, Carrie Langley. He’d heard the two women making arrangements at the office yesterday. The phone rang several times before Sam, Carrie’s husband, answered the phone.

“Sam, this is Jackson. Is Carrie around? I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said, struggling to control his emotions.

It wasn’t long before he heard Carrie’s concerned questioning on the line. “Please tell me you weren’t involved in that horrible accident, Jackson. At least fourteen vehicles, it’s all over the news.”

He cleared his throat. “I wish I could, Carrie. God, you don’t know how bad I wish I could. Toby,” he whispered, collecting the nerve to speak the words he hated. “Toby is dead.
And Chloe.”
 
He heard her sob one word.

“I’m waiting to hear,” he said, his voice breaking.

This is a nightmare,” she groaned.

“If it was, we could wake up from it, Carrie. As it is, well, if she...” he swallowed, unwilling to face the thought. “
When
she wakes up, she’s going to need you here.”

“I’m on my way.”
 

He stared at the I-Phone, saw
Call Ended
flash across the screen. In his mind, he saw the picture Giselle kept of her girls in her cubicle at the office. He knew the devastating pain of losing a parent. He had lost his on the same night before his fifth birthday. Thank God for his one relative, his dad’s brother, Bill Broussard. He hated to think what would have happened if he hadn’t had Uncle Bill.

The door opened as the nurse entered his room, jarring him from his thoughts.

“Mr. Broussard, there’s a woman by that description upstairs, but I can’t give you any information other than she seems stable. She’s still unconscious. Do you feel like taking a trip to her room to verify her identity?” She pulled a wheelchair over to the bed.

“I can walk,” he insisted.

“I’m sure you can, but you won’t on my shift,” she returned, in a voice that demanded respect.
 

Jackson sat obediently, and gathered his thoughts on their way to the fifth floor. Before the elevator doors were opened, he heard Giselle’s hysterical pleading. He catapulted out of the wheelchair, limped toward her heartbroken cries, then stood in the doorway. He stared at the woman he’d worked with for five years, barely recognizing her through her tortured facial expressions. His heart ached as her cries rose in volume.

“Somebody tell me where my husband is! Is he alive?
 
He has to be!
 
Please, tell me!
 
His name is Toby...Tobias Granger and he was driving a black SUV.
 
Please tell me if he’s okay—I have to know.
 
He’s got black hair, brown eyes, he’s six two and slim.”

Jackson stood tall as stiff resolve seeped into his core.
Be strong for her.
 
“Giselle.”

She swung her piercing green eyes in his direction.
 
“Toby?”

As recognition dawned, Jackson watched her hope melt away like ice under hot tap water.
 

“Jackson...where is he?
 
Have you seen him?
 
They won’t tell me anything.
 
Please, tell me,” she begged.

He spoke from the doorway, his voice steady...as calm as he could manage.
“Giselle, just try to calm down.”

A doctor paused at the door before pulling him away.
 
“Sir, are you a member of her family?
 
We’re trying to find someone to be with her when we tell her about her husband. He was
d.o.a
.”

Jackson shook his head, his gaze reverting back to Giselle. “She has no family. Neither she, nor her husband had any living relatives, other than their two young daughters.
 
She’s a co-worker of mine, and her husband is...”
 
He swallowed hard.
“Was a good friend.”
 
He turned back to the doctor. Dr. P.
Allemand
, he read from the tag. “We were all involved in that accident. I’d like to be with her when you tell her, if you don’t mind.”

She gave him a slow nod and patted his arm. “Okay, but you need to get back in your wheelchair. You don’t look too steady.”

He sunk into the chair the nurse held for him and let her roll him into the room then next to her bed.
 

“Giselle,” he said, staring up into huge, green, amber flecked eyes, now red-rimmed from tears.

She spoke in a voice hoarse with crying. “Jackson...where is he?”
 

“Mrs. Granger,” Dr.
Allemand
began. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but your husband didn’t make it.”

Jackson watched as she let her head fall back on the bed, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Giselle...I’m so sorry,” he said, fighting back his own tears.

Hearing his voice she lifted her head to meet his gaze with her own wild eyes.
 
“You’re lying.”

He grabbed her hand as his own voice cracked.
 
“I’m so sorry, Giselle. Toby was such a good man...a good friend.”

“No!
Noooo
!”
 
She pulled her hand from his.
 
“You’re lying!
 
You’re jealous...because we’re so happy and you and Chloe aren’t.
 
It’s a lie - it has to be!
 
I can’t live without Toby!

I can’t!” she wailed, breaking his heart.

“Giselle, I know how happy you were but you still have two beautiful daughters.
 
Think of Mackenzie and
Lexie
.” He gripped her hand tightly as the doctor moved in to give Giselle a sedative.

“Oh God...I can’t do this without him.
 
How can he leave me?
 
How could he?
 
I can’t take this...I can’t take it.
 
I don’t want to live without him.” She crossed her arms in front of her face. “Please, God...Take me too!”

“Don’t say that, Giselle.
 
Think about your girls...Two beautiful girls—Mackenzie and
Lexie
.
 
Toby loved you so much and he would want you to live so you could take care of them.”

Her body shook with hysterical, heartbreaking sobs.
 
Jackson cried with her, repeating her daughter’s names.
 
Slowly, the sobbing lessened and she began to calm.
 
The drug seeped into her system, calming, quieting her.
 
Giselle pulled her hand from his, and turned away, remaining silent as the tears flowed continuously.

Jackson felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and nodded as the nurse wheeled him out of the room and back into the elevator. The gentle whoosh of doors closing shut out the image of Giselle’s crushed presence. He closed his eyes and zoned out, wanting to mourn for his friend properly, knowing he couldn’t until Toby’s wife and daughters were taken care of. And Chloe...
what the hell was he supposed to do with Chloe?

“Mr. Broussard?”

Jackson opened his eyes, shocked at the sign on a set of double doors three feet in front of him. The single word in thick, block letters, MORGUE, was a harsh reminder of his reason for being here. He nodded and the nurse pressed a button on the wall. Two seconds later, the technician opened the doors to let them inside. Within two minutes, he sat in front of a table as the tech lowered the vinyl sheeting to expose the body.

“Dear God,” he groaned, covering his mouth with one hand, thankful for the shock he’d apparently suffered at the accident scene. Nothing could have prepared him for what lay before him. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been halfway clothed, and the other half covered with blood. This...this showed the ravaging effects of how her life had ended...and it sickened him. The soft voice of the nurse reminded him that he wasn’t alone.