Coma Girl: part 2 (7 page)

A phone rang and Sid answered, “Hello.”

She pushed up from the chair and walked toward the window.

“Yes, I have good news. The project is finished, I just need to find a way to get it to you.”

I was glad to hear Sid had completed her school project in between handling the Coma Girl media.

“I’ll get back to you when I work it out,” she said, then ended the call.

When she came back to the chair, she was humming, so I assume the project had been weighing on her mind.

“This time I’m putting yellow on your fingernails and blue on your toenails,” she sang.

The door opened and I smelled Roberta’s sugary sweet presence.

“Who are you?” Sidney asked.

“I’m Roberta, Marigold’s roommate. Who are you?”

“I’m Sidney, Marigold’s sister.”

I can sense them sizing each other up and deciding they don’t like each other.

“I brought her mail,” Roberta said.

“Oh, you can just leave it, and I’ll go through it.”

“No, actually, I like reading it to her, so I’ll come back another time.”

“No, actually, that wasn’t a question,” Sidney said, and I imagined her smiling.

I hear Roberta’s footsteps, then the sound of something being dropped on the floor—a bag of mail, I presume.

“Thank you,” Sidney said. “Why are you carrying my sister’s purse?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. It’s a Chloé bag. I know because I bought it for her.”

It’s true—Sid said she was tired of seeing me carry a backpack and for Christmas, had given me the purse. It was beautiful, but unpractical for all the crap I had to carry around. Still I liked opening my closet and seeing it there.

“She gave it to me,” Roberta said. “I guess she didn’t like it.”

Not true. Roberta has been shopping in my closet.

“What did you say your name is?” Sid asked.

“Roberta. I was talking on the phone to Marigold when the accident happened.”

“No, she’d already hung up when the accident happened.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But I know so,” Sid said firmly. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Don’t mention it,” Roberta said, her voice menacing.

The door opened, then closed.

And Sidney started humming again.

“WE’RE PLAYING THE NATIONALS AT HOME,” Jack Terry said. “I’m eternally optimistic.”

Detective, give it up—even I know there will be no post-season.

“Hey, I see you’re minus a roomie. When I heard on the news a comatose patient at Brady had woken up and started talking, I was sure it was you.”

Sigh…

“But I see you’ve decided to extend your nap a little longer. I brought pizza from Nancy’s and root beer. You’re missing out.”

I heard the metallic click of a soda can opening.

“Whoever painted your nails did a pretty terrible job. I’m a moron about stuff like that and even I can tell.”

Hm… Sid is usually so particular. The encounter with Roberta must’ve distracted her.

“Carlotta wears a pink color I like.”

I wonder if he’s ever told her.

“Guess I should’ve told her,” he muttered.

Ah… past tense.

“But hey, enough about me… I want to know about Esmerelda.”

I froze. How did he know?

He gave a little laugh through a mouthful of food. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a burlesque dancer.”

It’s not as risqué as it sounds. I took a class, and we all had a recital of sorts. And okay, I performed in a handful of shows at small venues, but always incognito, ergo the stage name. Even Roberta doesn’t know—so how did Jack Terry find out?

“I found the suitcase of costumes and a few handbills in the trunk of your car, and did a little investigating.”

Oh, right. My family would freak
out
.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe until you wake up. No one else has to know.”

I owe him one. When I wake up, I’ll sign his girlfriend’s Coma Girl T-shirt, if she’s still in the picture.

“Feels good in here. I can’t remember when we’ve had such a hot summer.”

Sounds like a good day to be on the lake… in a boat.

“Weekends are impossible at Lanier,” he offered, as if he’d read my mind. “Between the cigar boats and the cruisers, you get tossed around just sitting in a slip at the marina. Drop in every redneck in three counties with a pontoon and a cooler of beer, and it’s a freak show.”

He’s chatty today.

“I’m going to have to move anyway,” he added with a heavy sigh. “Find a proper place to live.”

I wondered what had prompted the change in his living arrangements.

“Hey, maybe I’ll give your mom a call. I saw her billboard on Georgia 400.”

Billboard? She must be going gangbusters, which explained why she’d been so scarce. Well—partially explained.

“Damn, my battery’s almost dead. Let me find an outlet for my phone charger.”

He must have found one because a few minutes later, he was streaming the game from his phone and munching on pizza, his life decisions postponed for the time being.

I wish I could talk to him and ask him what was going on in his life. And tell him about Sister Elaine. And the phony psychic ripping off my aunt. And that Mr. Palmer might be planning to hurt Keith Young. And that a guy posing as a volunteer might be working for a tabloid.

But I can’t. So I’ll just lie here and silently scream.

“LOCK THE DOOR,” Dr. Jarvis instructed.

“Why?” Gina asked.

“Just do as I ask.”

I heard the click of the lock.

“Dr. Jarvis, what’s going on?”

“I asked you to be here because I know you’ve taken an interest in Ms. Kemp.”

“It’s hard not to grow fond of certain patients,” she agreed.

“So I’m sure you want for her the best possible chance at recovery.”

“Of course,” she said, but her voice sounded suspicious. “What’s this all about?”

“Dr. Tyson and I spoke with a neurologist at Walter Reed Army Institute about a new drug the military is using to help TBI patients recover.”

“I know. Dr. Tyson told me. But she said the insurance wouldn’t cover it.”

“An appeal was filed… and I secured the formulary.”

“The drug is in that syringe?”

“Yes.”

“But that’s great news. Why the secrecy?”

“The board hasn’t yet signed off.”

“Then why are we talking?” Gina asked, her voice suddenly stern.

“Because I need your help. The sooner Ms. Kemp gets this drug, the sooner she might get better. If we wait for the board, it could take weeks. By the time they say yes, she could already be on the road to recovery.”

“What if they say no?”

“She’s a public figure now—they won’t say no.”

“But if they do, I could lose my job, and you could lose your license.”

“If this goes sideways, don’t worry—I’ll take full responsibility. No one will know you were involved.”

I feel for Gina. No matter what he says, she knows if things go wrong, she might be implicated. And she has a child to support.

“I’ll administer the drug,” he said. “I just need you to watch and make sure I follow procedure.”

“Except for the getting approval part,” she said dryly.

Touché.

“You know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t believe it would help Ms. Kemp,” he said.

“Did you administer another motor response test?”

“Yes, this morning.”

“And?”

And I couldn’t respond.

“And she didn’t respond to my commands. But she did twice before, I swear to you. I want to give her the drug now because I’m afraid she’s losing ground.”

“This is unethical, Doctor.”

“Is it? Look at her, Gina. She’s twenty-eight and she could spend the rest of her life like this. I think if Ms. Kemp could talk to us, she’d tell us to try.”

Darn tootin’, I would. Come on, Gina!

Gina sighed. “Okay. Follow my instructions.”

“Thank you, Gina.”

“Don’t thank me. Put on gloves… then clean the IV port with an alcohol pad.”

They were really going to do it!

“Okay, now insert the syringe.”

The doorknob rattled, then a hard rap sounded on the door. “Hello? Why is this door locked?”

“That’s Teddy,” Gina whispered, her voice panicked.

“Relax,” Dr. Jarvis said. “This will take only a few seconds.”

“Flush the syringe slowly.”

The knock sounded again. “Gina, are you in there?”

“Just a minute!” Gina called.

“Almost done,” Dr. Jarvis said. “There.”

“Hide the syringe,” she hissed.

Her footsteps sounded, then she unlocked the door.

“What were you doing?” Teddy asked.

“Physical exam,” Dr. Jarvis said. “I didn’t want the family to come in and be startled.”

“Ah,” Teddy said, then he grunted. “Looks like someone painted her nails again.”

“We’ll get that tomorrow,” Gina said and even to me, she sounded flustered.

“Dr. Jarvis,” Teddy said, “I believe Dr. Tyson is looking for you.”

As Scooby-Doo would say:
Ruh roh.

“Why?” Gina asked, sounding panicked.

“She didn’t say,” Teddy said slowly.

“Thank you,” Dr. Jarvis said. “I’m just going to check Ms. Kemp’s vitals again.”

“Good idea,” Gina said, too loudly.

The door closed. Dr. Jarvis checked my pulse, blood pressure, respiration, and temperature, and seemed satisfied.

“All seems to be well, Marigold. I’ll be back to check on you. In the meantime, fingers crossed.”

Ah… coma humor.

“HER SISTER MUST’VE been in a hurry,” Teddy said. “It looks like a preschooler painted her nails.”

“Uh-huh,” Gina said.

“Why do you keep looking at her?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do, every few seconds.”

“I… I don’t mean to.”

“You’ve been acting strange since yesterday.”

“No I haven’t.”

Yes, you have, Gina. Even I can tell.

“What were you and Dr. Jarvis doing when the door was locked?”

“Nothing,” she said, but her voice squeaked.

“I think I know.”

“What?”

“You were fooling around, weren’t you?”

“What? No!”

“Then why are you acting so funny?”

“I… I guess I’m just spooked about the other patient waking up. That’s why I keep looking at Ms. Kemp—I keep hoping she’ll open her eyes.”

I hope I do, too. I feel the sensations in my fingertips and toes like before and thank goodness for Sid’s sloppy nail-painting job because it’s taking longer and they’re applying more pressure. The repetition has to be good for my brain.

“I’m sorry for giving you a hard time,” Teddy said. “Not that anyone would blame you for tossing over Gabriel for a doctor.”

“I’m not tossing over Gabriel. We had a great time the other night.” Her voice was giddy. “I will deny this if you repeat it, Teddy, but I think he’s the one.”

Uh—no, he’s not, Gina. Unless you mean the one who is already lying and cheating.

“Don’t fall too hard yet. You hardly know him.”

“I know, but can you ever really know a person?’

“These days with social media, I feel like I know too much about people.”

“My son lives on social media, it’s taken over our lives.”

“I went out to look at the Coma Girl Facebook page and Instagram,” Teddy said. “She has close to a half million followers.”

That’s… kind of scary, actually.

“And there’s all this merchandise,” Teddy added. “T-shirts and sleep masks and pillow cases and tote bags… it just seems like people are celebrating the fact that she’s in a coma. I mean, do people even understand that she’s
in a coma
?”

“I doubt it. I believe most people think it’s romantic, like some kind of mystical state, you know?”

“That’s because people only remember the reports where patients wake up from comas—they don’t remember the stories where people wither away for years before their bodies give out.”