Angel Wings (11 page)

But when she opened her eyes, he was gone. A shower of snow sprinkled on her from the branches of the cherry tree overhead.

What did he mean? About remembering him?

A cool touch of dread seeped into her, making her shiver, and she tried not to think about it. Then, straightening her shoulders, she told herself everything would work out, somehow. Everything in its time, like her grandmother used to say.

· · · · ·

When Jessibelle arrived at City Realty, Betsy, Bobbi and Bea were standing in a circle in the reception area holding loose pages in their hands.

“We’re practicing,” Betsy said. “We have to present our part of Romeo and Juliet today.”

“We get the hard part,” Bobbi said. “Where he dies.”

“Well, she dies first,” Bea said.

“No, she doesn’t,” Betsy corrected her. “She’s in a deep drug-induced sleep.”

At that moment, Daphne came charging through the main door. “I hate this snow,” she wailed. “Why can’t it be spring? I’ve got a Spring Wedding to plan. It can’t snow now!”

“Calm down, girl,” Bea said. “It’ll blow over. And probably something good will come of it.”

“Like what?”

Bea shrugged. “Like all that moisture for the grass.”

Daphne stared at Bea for a few seconds, then closed her eyes and shook her head, as though she might dispel the image of the girl. Finally, she flopped down in one of the waiting room chairs. “This is so annoying.”

Jessibelle hadn’t moved from her position by the door. “The snow?”

“No, not the snow,” Daphne moaned. “Hanna and the wedding. And,” she sighed and slumped, “and—crap—my boyfriend. Luke the lawyer.”

Bobbi’s eyes lit up at the prospect of new gossip. “What about him?” She sat in the chair next to Daphne’s.

“All he thinks about is the bottom line,” Daphne complained. She stared at the reception coffee table in front of her, hardly noticing Bobbi. Or any of them.

“I can’t stand him,” Daphne said, like she’d just come to that conclusion. “I should have stayed with Gabe.”

A chill feathered over Jessibelle and her heart thudded. She could hear her heartbeat, pounding in her ears, and feel pieces of her world breaking apart.

“With . . . Gabe?”

“My old boyfriend,” Daphne whined. “Except he’s still at Mercy Hospital. In a coma.”

· · · · ·

After Daphne’s announcement, Jessibelle ran outside, flagged down a bus, and thirty minutes later she was at Mercy Hospital.

“I’m sorry,” the ICU nurse told her. “Gabriel Black is on life support and only family members are allowed to visit.”

It couldn’t be so, Jessibelle thought. To be this close and not be able to see him. “Is his family with him now?”

The nurse’s shoulders drooped. “Actually,” she said, “they stopped coming about a month ago. There hadn’t been any change in him, not in six months. And then . . .”

Excitement and relief flashed through Jessibelle. Gabe would be all right. Somehow he would be all right. “And then—?”

“He seems to be waking up. This past week, starting on Monday, his vital signs normaled and his EEG activity picked up. But . . .”

“But?” Jessibelle prompted, needing to know everything she could. And hardly able to believe she’d found him.

“It’s taken so long,” the nurse said. “It’s taken so long for him to start waking up. And his body is weak.” She took a deep breath. “But, he’s struggling. It’s like he wants to come back to us.”

Jessibelle sighed, feeling her anxiety lessen. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew that this Gabriel Black was her Gabe. And she knew he would come back. “Can I please see him?”

The nurse hesitated. “I’m sorry,” she said, again. “It’s very busy in the Unit right now. And I’ll have to contact his family to get their permission. Then I’ll see if we can make an exception.”

· · · · ·

It was almost twelve when Jessibelle returned to City Realty. All three afternoon receptionists were still there . . . and so was Rodney. He sat in the reception area watching a small television that someone had set on top of the bookshelves.

“We decided to play hooky this morning,” Betsy told her, “because we’ve got to get our Romeo and Juliet lines memorized.”

“And you weren’t here,” Bobbi added. She glanced at Rodney. “Your old boyfriend wouldn’t go away. I think he’s waiting for Hanna to show up. She’s taking you to lunch, right?”

“Where did you go?” Bea asked.

Before Jessibelle could form an answer, Rodney sauntered over to her. “Have you seen Daphne?”

Not
Hanna
? “Daphne?”

“I need to talk to her about the seating plan for the wedding.”

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Hanna?”

“She’s not answering my phone calls.” Rodney glanced over his shoulder at the car race on the television. “Daphne’s been stick handling the event anyway.” He smiled. “You can always depend on Daphne,” he said, as he returned to his chair, and his car race.

Right, Jessibelle thought. You can always depend on Daphne . . . unless you’re in a coma and of no use to her.

Jessibelle came around behind the Reception Desk. Bobbi held the phone to her ear, listening and then giving the caller an appointment time. When she hung up, she clicked the phone to service. “They shouldn’t be calling at noon hour anyway.”

“Let me sit here,” Jessibelle said. And then, “Where did the television come from?”

Bobbi got out of the big swivel chair and moved to another chair. “Kyle,” she answered. “That cute blond realtor. He wants to watch the race too.”

Jessibelle sat in her chair and took the phone off service, in case the hospital called.

And then Betsy was back at the desk, pulling up another chair. “Rodney’s cousin Eric Madison is racing today,” she said. “The Eldorado 500. He’s famous. Did you know that?”

“Yes, I know,” Jessibelle answered. Rodney talked about his famous cousin all the time, as though his cousin’s reputation somehow spilled over onto Rodney.

Just then Daphne pushed open the big glass door, flipping her blonde hair out of her eyes and stomping snow off her feet. “Rodney! I was hoping you’d still be here. You can help me with this.”

Daphne opened a large piece of beige paper and spread it out on the coffee table.

“It’s a seating plan,” Bobbi said. “She was working on it when she was here earlier this morning.”

Then, like the race was no longer important, Rodney gave his full attention to Daphne.

Which was nice, Jessibelle thought. Rodney showed a keen interest in helping with the wedding plans. Except, as far as Jessibelle knew, his bride-to-be Hanna had not changed her mind.

The realtor Kyle came out of his office. “Hey! How’s the race going? Madison still leading?” Kyle plopped down in the chair next to Rodney.

Now Bea was back at the desk, pulling up a chair too. “Eric Madison is Rodney’s cousin,” she told Jessibelle, repeating Betsy’s information. “He’s been in the lead for most of the race.”

Jessibelle blew out an impatient breath. She’d never been interested in car racing. All she wanted to do was see Gabe.

“How long does this race take?” she asked, not expecting an answer.

“It depends,” Betsy said.

“On how many crashes and caution laps they have,” Bobbi said.

“On average,” Bea said, “I’d say about three to three and a half hours. But this one is fast, only a couple minor crashes so far. It should be done soon.”

Rodney focused on the race again. Daphne bent over the seating plan making notes.

Jessibelle remembered Daphne talking about leaving her boyfriend. “Daphne?”

She glanced up at Jessibelle.

“Your old boyfriend, Gabe? He had a mountain climbing accident?”

“Yeah, Search and Rescue.” She chewed on her pencil, staring at the seating plan. “He was a hero. He rescued some kid, and got him hooked into the sling for the helicopter.” She flipped the paper over and drew something on it. “Gabe should have known better—because he was very experienced—but somehow he slipped. It was icy up there, and he fell. As far as I know, he’s still in a coma.”

The emptiness of the words pierced Jessibelle’s heart. “As far as you know?”

Daphne paused in her note making. “Well, he’s not my boyfriend anymore,” she said. “And—no—don’t look at me like that. I’d already left him. Before the accident. It’s not like I have any obligation to visit him.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Daphne—sitting beside Rodney—continued to work on the seating plan, the menu and—according to Betsy—Rodney’s wedding vows.

Kyle brought pop and potato chips to the reception area and continued to follow the race.

Rodney—sitting between Daphne and Kyle—multi-tasked, answering questions for Daphne, taking calls on his cell phone and watching the car race with Kyle.

The phone rang and Jessibelle immediately picked up.

“City Realty,” she said.

“Is Rodney there?” It was Rodney’s mother, Gertrude Remington.

Jessibelle took a silent breath, steadied herself, and then answered. “He’s on his cell phone, talking to clients, I think. Can I have him call you back?”

Gertrude gave no indication of recognizing Jessibelle’s voice, though she had to know Jessibelle was the receptionist at City Realty.

“Don’t bother,” Gertrude said. “You can give him a message.”

Jessibelle closed her eyes for a moment. It didn’t matter that she was City Realty’s receptionist, not Rodney’s receptionist. “What would you like me to tell him?”

“Tell him his grandmother Lackster has taken a fall but it’s nothing serious. She’ll still be able to attend the wedding. Oh, yes, and also tell him that I told the caterer we decided on the chocolate cake.”

Jessibelle said she’d relay the message and hung up.

“Rodney?”

He glanced at her, holding his cell phone to his ear, and sneaking glances at the television.

“That was your mother. She said to say your grandmother Lackster has taken a fall but it’s nothing serious and she’ll still be able to attend the wedding. She also said she told the caterer you decided on chocolate cake.”

“Thank you, Jessibelle,” he said, as he watched the TV screen. “Now, be a dear, and bring us some coffee.”

Jessibelle felt her jaw drop.

And then Kyle jumped out of his chair, spilling potato chips. “HOLY CRAP!”

“Oh my,” Bea said from beside her. “That’s Eric Madison’s car.”

· · · · ·

The TV cameras followed the ambulance along the race course as a cutaway insert showed the slow motion sequence of the crash, with the TV announcer providing a second by second description of what had happened: with cars slowing to conserve fuel in the final laps of the race, Eric Madison had sped into a tight short chute between turns three and four. Unknown to him, Brad Brennan’s car had run out of gas, blocking the way.

Madison’s car winged the tires of the stalled car, and launched into the air at 200 miles an hour. The car twisted in mid air, smashed backwards into the catch fence, and splintered apart across the racetrack.

In the City Realty reception area, everyone stood, waiting for more information. Bea whispered, “Be safe. Be safe.”

“The cockpit’s intact,” Kyle said. “The cockpit’s intact,” he repeated, like a mantra, or a prayer. “He has a chance.”

As the ambulance reached the site of the forlorn cockpit, the phone in City Realty started to ring. Jessibelle automatically answered.

“Hello,” she said, held mesmerized by the TV screen and the carnage spread along the race track.

“Jessibelle Shay?” the voice on the phone said. “This is Mercy Hospital calling.”

· · · · ·

The world fell out of sync. Jessibelle gripped the phone and dropped down onto her chair again.

“Can you come to the ICU right now?” the nurse said. Background noise in the ICU made it difficult to hear. It sounded like a PA announcement, repeating, Code Blue Intensive Care, Code Blue Intensive Care.

“Did you get permission for me to see him?” Jessibelle asked.

But there was no answer. The line had gone dead.

On the television, the cameras zeroed in on the wreckage strewn across the track while a microphone in the background announced the winner of the Eldorado 500. The cameras snapped back to the desolate cockpit waiting by the edge of the track as the paramedics ran toward it.

Another image filtered over Jessibelle’s mind: the solid doors of the ICU—as close as she’d got to Gabe. She had to get back to the hospital.

She glanced at her watch. Half past twelve. “When do you have to be at school?”

“Two o’clock,” Bea said. “Are you leaving again?”

“I have to go somewhere.”