Wonders Never Cease (22 page)

“She needs a cranial MRI. No, there's no referring physician. My daughter's name is Pelton—that's ‘P' as in ‘Patrick.'
Leah—L-E-A-H—Leah Pelton. She's six years old. What? No, she's never had an MRI before.”

The car horn continued to blare.

“I'm sorry, could you repeat that? I think somebody's car alarm is going off. Yes, I hate that too—I feel like grabbing a baseball bat. What? You've got an opening? Is that a Thursday? Great, that would work for me. Sorry? Oh—Blue Cross.”

Now the car horn began to make short, intermittent blasts.

“Yes, I know where you're located—I work at UCLA too. What? Yes, I heard about that. Has anyone seen him yet? Smithson—he's a neurologist. I used to see him all the time and he just vanished a couple of weeks ago. Was he married? I know, it's kind of scary—I can't help thinking about it every time I walk out to that parking deck at night.”

The horn made a long, insistent wail . . .

“Fine, I'll have her there thirty minutes early. Is there anything else I need to know—anything I should bring? Okay then, thanks. Bye.”

The car horn began to emit a codelike signal—short taps followed by longer bursts. Natalie slammed down the phone and charged into the kitchen. She threw open the door and shouted at the street, “Hey! Do you mind? People are trying to—”

“Man, it's hard to get your attention. What were you doing in there, taking a nap?”

Natalie's mouth dropped open. Kemp was standing at the curb, grinning at her and leaning against the hood of a gleaming new car.

He tipped down his sunglasses and winked at her. “Like it?”

Natalie stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Kemp—what is that?”

“I believe they call it an ‘automobile.'”

“I know what it is. Where did you get it?”

“I bought it.”

“You
bought
it?”

“Leased it, actually, but I expect to pay it off soon. The Mercedes CL65 AMG: 604 horsepower, biturbo V-12 engine, 5-speed driver-adaptive automatic with sport suspension—hottest production coupe on the road. What do you think, babe? Does this thing look good on me or what?”

“What do I
think
? I think you're out of your mind! We can't afford something like this—that thing must cost a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Closer to two.”

Natalie threw up her hands in desperation. “Kemp—what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it's about time I did something for myself. Why shouldn't I? I think I deserve it.”

“But—where did you get the money?”

“Forget the money, Natalie. Our ship is about to come in.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I've been working on a little business venture that's about to pay off—big-time.”

“What business venture?”

“The one that kept me from getting any sleep for a few days. You know, a couple of weeks ago—the thing you got all worked up about. Now aren't you glad I didn't come home on time?”

“Kemp, I'm not stupid. You can't make that kind of money in a few days—not legally.”

He ran his hand over the side of the car. “Apparently you can.”

“What kind of a deal was this? I need to know.”

“Now there you go again—always looking for the downside.”

“I just don't want you to get us into any trouble. I have a daughter to look out for, you know.”

“Yeah, you keep reminding me.”

“Exactly how much did you make on this ‘deal'?”

“Don't worry, babe, there'll be plenty when the deal pays off in a few months.”

“Wait a minute—are you telling me that you don't actually have this money?”

“Not yet—but it's a sure thing.”

“Oh, Kemp.”

“Hey, it's not like I'm waiting for some horse to come in—this is a legitimate investment. It just takes a few months to pay off, that's all. Stop worrying.”

“Kemp, you spent money we don't even have. You should have waited.”

“I'm always waiting, Natalie—waiting to have a decent car, waiting for that place near the beach in Santa Monica, waiting for two lousy weeks of vacation so I can finally do something I want to do. Well, I'm sick of waiting. I had an idea—a brilliant idea, a real stroke of genius—and it's working, Natalie, it's about to pay off. After all these years of waiting, I am finally going to get to do what I want and buy what I want and go wherever I please.”

Natalie waited. “Don't you mean, ‘we'?”

“Sure. Of course—we.”

She glared at him. “I'm sick of waiting too, Kemp. I'm sick of waiting for you to grow up—for you to stop acting like a spoiled teenager and take some responsibility around here. All you do is whine about how your life didn't turn out the way you wanted it to. Well, neither did mine, but I've still got responsibilities and so do you. Leah needs an MRI, Kemp—she's still having these visions, and her teacher and counselor think there might be something wrong with her. Do you know what an MRI costs? Do you even know what the deductible on our health insurance is? Two thousand dollars—that's the part we'll have to pay. I don't have two thousand dollars lying around, and unless you've been keeping something from me, neither do you. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?
Leah needs an MRI and we don't have the money
—but you just went out and leased a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car.”

“We'll get the money,” Kemp said. “It might be a little tight for a couple of months, but—”

“What's the lease payment on this car?”

He hesitated. “Thirty-three hundred a month.”

“
What
? Where in the world is that supposed to come from?”

“It doesn't matter, Natalie. We'll put it on the MasterCard—it's only for a couple of months.”

“Just until your deal comes through.”

“Exactly. We'll have all the money we need then—enough for the MRI, enough for the place in Santa Monica, enough for everything.”

“And what if your deal falls through?”

Kemp shook his head in disdain. “What does it take to make you happy, Natalie? If I do nothing, you complain that I'm not carrying my weight around here. If I show some initiative and grab a once-in-a-lifetime business opportunity, you complain that it might fall through. There's no pleasing you, is there? That's the difference between you and me, babe—you like to worry, and I like to enjoy life.”

He took the keys from his pocket and dangled them in front of her. “I came by here to show you my new car—and to take you for a drive. Maybe that's not such a good idea. I might drive too fast. I might wreck the car, and where would we get the money to repair it? I tell you what—why don't I go for a drive, and you can stay here and worry about it.”

“Kemp—”

He climbed into the car and roared off.

28

E
mmet guided the floor polisher into the custodian's closet and coiled the thick black extension cord around the silver handle. He took a toilet brush and a pair of rubber gloves from a shelf and picked up a corroded metal pail; he held it under the spigot of a fifty-five-gallon drum and pumped the handle until a thick, sweet-scented liquid spurted into the bottom of the bucket.

He heard the door close behind him. He turned and looked.

“Hey,” Kemp said simply.

“Hey yourself.”

“I thought maybe we could talk.”

“In the janitor's closet?”

“There's not a lot of privacy around here.”

“In other words, you don't want nobody to see you talkin' to me.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Emmet set down the bucket. “Well, go ahead and talk.”

“A couple of weeks ago, when that movie star was here.

Olivia Hayden—remember her?”

“I remember. The woman seems to be in the news a lot lately.”

“She was my patient.”

“I remember that too.”

“You . . . walked in on me one night. Do you remember that?”

“Sorta hard to forget.”

“You didn't say anything at the time—you just turned around and walked out again.”

“Didn't quite know what to say. In my experience, when a man don't know what to say it's best not to say anything.”

“I was just wondering . . . what you think you saw.”

Emmet paused. “Now that's an odd question.”

“I mean, it probably looked a little strange.”

“Strange in what way?”

“Well, that's what I'm asking. Did it look strange to you?”

“Mr. Kemp, I been around here a long time. I seen all kinds of things—things a man with my background can't even begin to understand.”

Kemp seemed to relax a little. “That's true—some of these procedures are very technical and they must look pretty strange. That's all it was, of course—just a standard procedure.”

“What sort of procedure?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The thing you were doin' when I walked in. What sort of procedure was that?”

“Well—”

“I remember a big light with you standin' right in front of it. I remember you dressed up like a doctor—in a white coat instead of your usual scrubs. I remember the woman starin' up at you even though she was supposed to be sound asleep. And if I'm not mistaken you were talkin' to the lady, though I had the feelin' I interrupted when I poked my head in.”

Kemp said nothing.

“Now that you mention it, it did all seem a bit odd—never saw anything quite like it. What sort of procedure was that, anyway?”

“It was just—an examination, that's all. That's what I needed the light for.”

“You know, you might get a better look if you step to the side a little—you seemed to be blockin' the light.”

“I—didn't want the light to hurt her eyes.”

“Funny they were open right about then.”

“Well, that's why I was examining her. Patients can grow resistant to anesthesia over time—we have to constantly regulate it. I saw her coming out of it a little so I thought I'd better check.”

“And the white coat?”

“Oh, right, the coat. See, when a patient comes out of sedation too quickly they can experience anxiety and agitation. I thought it might have a calming effect if I looked more like a doctor than a nurse.”

“So you were talkin' to the woman just to calm her down a bit.”

“That's right—just to reassure her.”

“Well, that makes perfect sense then. That explains all of it—except for one thing.”

“What's that?”

“If it was all just a standard procedure, how come we're talkin' in a closet?”

Kemp's eyes began to dart like gnats.

“Like I told you, Mr. Kemp, I been around here a long time, and I seen all kinds of things. I seen patients come runnin' out of their rooms buck naked and nurses runnin' right after 'em. I seen people who were supposed to die walk right out of here, and people who came in with nary a scratch pass on. I thought I seen just about everything—but I got to admit, I never saw a man pretend to be an angel before.”

“Now, wait a minute—”

“You're good, Mr. Kemp—good at lyin' I mean. You're just about the best I ever seen. You're light on your toes—you think on your feet. I can't say I admire the quality, but I truly am impressed. Please don't take that as a compliment.”

“You've got it all wrong,” Kemp said.

“Do I? You once asked me what the janitors are reading these days; let me show you what I been reading of late.” From a shelf beside the door he took a copy of
Star
magazine and showed Kemp the cover. “Have you seen this? Somehow I got a feelin' you have.”

The cover headline announced: LIV AWAKES! MOVIE STAR MEETS HEAVENLY HOST—BRINGS DYING CAREER BACK FROM THE DEAD.

“It's not my usual fare,” Emmet said, “but I found it in the waiting room and the headline caught my eye. Interesting story—let me read you part of it.” He opened to the first page and read:

Most people in comas spend their days and nights in a deep and dreamless slumber. Not movie star Liv Hayden—she passed her time in conversation with an angel, dispatched to her bedside with what Hayden calls “a life-changing message of hope and renewal.” Hayden, seriously injured in a recent automobile accident, was kept in a coma at UCLA Medical Center for more than a week. Upon awakening, Hayden immediately reported her heavenly visitation—and announced a change in career. “Something precious has been entrusted to me,” Hayden said in an exclusive interview with Star magazine. “I feel responsible to pass it on.” Hayden apparently intends to “pass it on” by publishing her story with Vision Press, well known for the international best seller Lattes with God. Industry insiders tell Star that if Hayden's book is anywhere near as successful as Lattes, the angels won't be the only ones rejoicing.

Emmet closed the magazine and returned it to the shelf. “Sorta makes you wonder, doesn't it?”

“What do you mean?”

“The woman's supposed to be in a coma, but she comes out of it just a little. When she opens her eyes she sees a man standing over her—a man dressed in white. The next thing you know she thinks she's seen an angel. That's quite a coincidence.”

“You think she confused me with an angel?”

“Not by accident.”

Kemp lowered his voice to a whisper. “Look, Emmet—”

“You know my name. I wasn't sure.”

“The whole thing was just a harmless prank.”

“Does that seem harmless to you? You put words in an angel's mouth—that's a mighty bold thing to do. You're foolin' with things you don't understand, Mr. Kemp. An angel's just a messenger; that means you put words in the mouth of the Almighty, and that's a fearful thing to do.”