Читать книгу DARK WORK - Barbara Rush - Страница 3

Erin’s eyes fluttered open. A pleasant dream … white, sandy beaches, palm trees swaying in the breeze, sparkling blue water, and white walls. White walls? What? She thrashed her head to the right to look at her alarm clock and instead saw a steel pole with a plastic bag hanging from it, attached to her arm with a slim tube. A hospital? Then it all came rushing back — walking out of the restaurant, seeing all the blood. All the blood. Her mother’s blood. An anguished wail arose involuntarily, from deep within, and she tried to suppress it, but the pain was unbearable and if she breathed, her lungs would shatter. Awakening to the reality of what had happened was, hands down, the worst experience of her life.

The door flew open, and a nurse’s aide strode briskly to her bed.

“You’re awake, Erin. Good.”

Erin barely heard her. My mother … dead? How could it be? She was so — alive. Mom couldn’t be gone. Maybe I just dreamed it all.

“My mother,” Erin said weakly. “Mother. I want my mother.” She began to sob uncontrollably, deep, gut-wrenching sobs. It felt like her stomach was going to split apart with each breath.

The aide had a name tag identifying her as “Debbie.” It was Debbie’s first day on the job. After adjusting Erin’s sheets and then wringing her hands for a few moments, she pressed the call button on Erin’s bed to summon a nurse. Within seconds, the door opened again and a uniformed nurse walked in.

“She’s awake.” This was obvious, but Debbie was nervous about the patient’s hysteria, and needed to say something.

“And her Diazepam has worn off,” the nurse observed. “Erin, how are you feeling?”

Erin tried to sit up. Debbie reached out. “Be careful. Don’t tangle your I.V.”

“Just lie back for right now,” the nurse said. “My name is Jennifer, and I’m going to be helping you get back on your feet and outta here. Right now I need to check your blood pressure.”

Erin fell back onto the pillow. Her blonde hair was mashed into flat clumps from the pillow, and her face was splotched with red patches and tears. She nodded. She didn’t care. She just wanted to die, to somehow get rid of the incomprehensible truth that Liz was gone, forever.

Debbie thrust a box of tissues toward Erin. Erin grabbed a handful and dabbed at her eyes.

“This is St. John Medical Center,” Jennifer continued. You were brought in by ambulance from the scene of the hit and run. “I know how hard this was for you. You have been in shock, and we gave you a strong sedative. Your blood pressure has been a little high, so we’re monitoring that. Once you stabilize, we can let you go home. That will be when your blood pressure starts looking normal.”

Release her? No! She couldn’t go home. Liz was dead. It wouldn’t be the same. The phone would ring and it wouldn’t be Liz. “Home” was normal, and didn’t belong in her life any more.

Jennifer wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Erin’s arm. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

“Kristy Mitchell. 403-7629,” Erin said without hesitation. Her best friend. I could stay with Kristy for a few days.

Debbie wrote it down and left the room.

“And one more thing,” Jennifer said. “If you don’t feel like it right now, just say so, but the police want to interview you about the accident.”

“Accident? Is that what they’re calling it? That was my mother! Someone ran her down! Why are they treating it like an accident?” Erin was surprised at the rage she felt.

“If you don’t want to speak with them, I’ll tell them to get lost,” Jennifer said, removing the blood pressure cuff. “But I think you’re good to go. Your blood pressure is a perfect 120 over 80. I am going to recommend that the doctor release you once your friend gets here to take you home.” She glanced at her watch. “It will take us about a half hour to process the paper work. Dr. Gilmore will need to sign off on the release, and he’s in surgery right now. He’s going to send you home with a prescription to help you relax.”

Jennifer removed the tape from Erin’s arm and began to pull out the I.V. needle.

I shouldn’t be wasting their time. There are people here who are critically ill, and I’m taking up hospital room because I am a cry-baby. I’d better toughen up. I’m on my own now.

But Erin felt like there was a large rock inside, where her stomach used to be.

“Send the police in,” Erin said suddenly in a new raspy voice she didn’t recognize. “It shouldn’t take long. I don’t know anything. I want to find out what happened to my mother.”

Jennifer dropped the needle in a plastic box on the wall that was plastered with dire warning labels. She took a clipboard from the end of Erin’s bed and wrote on it briefly. “I’ll send him in. Just relax, Erin. Can I get you something to eat? Or some juice?”

As if I could eat. Erin shook her head no.

“Your clothes are there on the chair. Go ahead and get dressed. Crack open the door when you’re finished and I’ll send the police guy in.”

Jennifer abruptly left the room. Erin stared numbly at her jeans and blouse, remnants of another life, and then slowly got out of bed. Her legs felt weak.

Erin remembered how Liz, a single teenaged mother, had put herself through college while caring for an infant daughter and grieving for her own mother. She thought about all the nights when Liz would rock her to sleep and then tackle another round of Russian sentence structure — all so that she could provide for Erin. They had lived in that tiny house, with Liz making every dollar stretch until the time she could get a better job and bring in money for the essentials. Erin had it easy because of all Liz had done for her. Erin never had to work during high school or college; Liz had paid Erin’s college tuition. Erin had majored in history, thinking she could get a job teaching when she graduated. She still planned to teach some day when a job opened up. In the meantime, Erin worked as a paralegal trainee for a law firm. She was going to have to call in and take some time off. She’d probably get fired for it. Robert Vincent, the lawyer she worked for, was probably blowing a gasket that Erin was not there to index documents today. And then, there was Liz’s house. Erin would have to go through her things. That thought brought another jolt of searing pain. I can’t do it. I can’t go through her things. How had such a strong woman like Liz had such a wimp for a daughter?

When Erin was dressed, she opened the door a few inches and sat in the chair. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Ms. Griffin?” A man tapped tentatively on the door. He looked as though he was around 40 years old, slightly over five feet tall, with thinning brown hair and a mustache.

Erin motioned for him to come in.

He extended his hand. “I’m Ken Malone, Ms. Griffin. I am so sorry for your loss.”

Erin stiffened. She recognized Ken. He was the one who had told her Liz was dead.

“And I didn’t know I was speaking to — ah — a relative of the deceased,” he said awkwardly. “There at the scene.”

When Erin did not respond, he pulled up a chair and sat down, removing a small notebook and pen from his front pocket. “I know you are struggling with this, so I’ll be brief. How did it happen that you were there when — ah — the incident occurred?”

“I had lunch with my mother. She left the restaurant. By the time I came out … ” Erin’s eyes filled with tears, and she could not finish the sentence.

“Yes, ma’am, I understand now,” he said, tapping the notebook with his pen. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Griffin.”

“Call me Erin.”

“Yes, ma’am. I need to fill out an accident report, and … well, I need to discuss arrangements with you.”

Erin’s heart sank. She hadn’t even thought about a funeral.

“I mean …” he paused awkwardly. “There is normally an identification of the body, but in this case you were there, so we can waive that.”

Erin nodded. Body. Her mother was now a body.

“And we have eye witnesses who saw her on the sidewalk, and it was a red pickup truck that hit her.”

“She was hit on the sidewalk?” Erin said, her mouth quivering. “How could that happen?”

“Well, ma’am, I mean, Erin, we think it was a drunk driver. The truck was being driven very erratically, according to the witnesses. Weaving all over the road. Finally jumped the curb, and came within an inch of hitting an electric pole, swerved to miss it, and hit the pedestrian, I mean, your mother. I’m very sorry.”

“Who was in the truck?” Erin felt anger rising. “Was it a man or a woman?”

“So sorry, but we don’t know. It happened fast, and according to the witnesses, the windows were tinted dark. The truck was red and not too old, and we’re fairly sure it was a Ford because that’s what most of the witnesses thought. The vehicle was very dirty, covered with mud. The driver was most likely male. He was wearing a baseball cap. Three of the witnesses described certain decals in the windows which would be distinguishing. No one could make out the license plate, either, or even identify what state it was from.”

“So you have no leads. A dirty red Ford truck. This is Oklahoma! That could be any one of a million trucks!”

“I’m sorry.”

Erin was irritated by the repeated apologies. A drunk just ran her mother over, and the police acted like it was nothing! The anger was building.

“If you don’t have any more questions, what I really need to find out from you is where we should take your mother’s body. Did she have any pre-arrangements?”

“I — I don’t know anything about that. I don’t know what to do,” Erin said with despair. “My mother was young. I don’t think she made any funeral plans.”

“I would suggest that you contact the Nelson Funeral Home. They’ve been around a while. They will come to your home, and talk to you about what you want done. They will take it from there.”

“Thank you. I’ll call them.”

“And, Erin … I recommend that you do not view the body.” He paused, not wanting to explain that the vehicle had inflicted severe damage to Liz’s face and head, but he would do that if necessary. “It’s just generally better for you to try to remember your loved one as she was in life.”

Erin nodded. “I think Mom would have wanted it that way, too.” I would love to see her again, but not like that. Tears began spilling from her eyes.

“Here’s my card, Erin. You can call me any time if you have questions, and we’ll keep the case open as long as it takes to catch the person who did this. Maybe someone will come forward with information. You never know.”

I will never know. Someone has carelessly gotten behind the wheel of a car while intoxicated, and I will never even know who to hate.

“Come on in,” Ken said.

Erin looked up to see Kristy standing in the door, her shoulder-length black hair slightly damp as though she’d just gotten out of the shower.

“Kristy!” Erin began crying again.

“I’ll leave you for now. Call me if you need to.” Ken started to leave, and then paused in the doorway. “Her personal effects,” he said. “Her clothing, well, I don’t think you would want it — but we have her purse. I can drop it off at your house if you like.”

“Yes,” Erin managed to get out. “I’m not going home. I’ll come and get it tomorrow.”

Ken closed the door behind him as he left. Kristy took Erin’s hands. “What happened? The nurse said your mother died!” Kristy was shaking. “I knew something was wrong when you didn’t show up today.”

“Oh, Kristy, it’s awful. My mother was run over by a drunk driver. She’s gone.” Great, heaving sobs wracked Erin’s body.

Kristy knelt down beside Erin’s chair and took her hands. “Oh, man, that’s awful.” Kristy began crying, too. “Do they know who did it?”

Erin shook her head and extracted another handful of tissues from the box. “Will you take me to your house?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse from crying.

“You bet.” Should she ask Erin for the details? Maybe it would be best to just wait, and let Erin tell her when she was ready.

“I saw her after it happened,” Erin said, staring vacantly at nothing in particular. “She was just lying there, and there was blood everywhere, and I just collapsed, and they brought me here.”

Jennifer knocked on the door with a handful of papers. “Sign here,” she said, “and you’re free to go. Here are your prescriptions.” She turned to Kristy. “Pick these up and make sure she stays on them for a few days, until she’s feeling better.”

Kristy helped Erin to the car. After a short stop at the drug store, they went to Kristy’s house. “I’m going to go by your house and you can sit in the car while I get some of your things,” Kristy said. “I don’t want to leave you alone right now.”

Kristy owned a small brick house in an older area of town. She was a freelance photographer with her own studio in a nearby strip mall. To help support herself, she took occasional clandestine photos of visiting musicians, which she sold on the internet or to news magazines. Her home was comfortable, and familiar to Erin. Right now, it just felt like a safe place to be. Kristy had no family. Her mother had deserted the family when Kristy was two years old. Her father, who had raised her, died while Kristy was a senior in college. Kristy was like family to Erin and Liz.

Kristy called the funeral home and spoke with a representative who promised to take possession of the body until Erin could focus on funeral arrangements. Erin was surprised that Kristy, who tended to be somewhat disorganized, was able to take charge in such a serious, responsible manner. The two women had been friends since the third grade and Kristy was the closest Erin had ever come to having a sister.

Kristy made a couple of fried egg sandwiches. At her insistence, Erin ate half of one of the sandwiches with a cup of green tea. Kristy gave her one of the sedatives that had been prescribed.

Kristy built a fire in the fireplace and refilled their tea. They sat in front of the fire, talking and crying.

“You know what I liked about Liz?” Kristy said. “She was so much fun. Remember that time she had the Christmas dinner at her house, and she hired us to work as waitresses?”

“And we sat in the kitchen and ate the leftovers.” Erin was smiling at the memory.

“Remember when the three of us went to Mexico, and Liz insisted on parasailing?” Kristy said. “And she kept flirting with the man driving the boat!” Erin could remember it like it was yesterday. “He tried to kiss her, and she pushed him off the boat.”

Kristy stoked the fire and they shared more of their favorite stories about Liz. It was painful, but it also felt comforting to remember the good times.

Eventually they turned to the reality of the terrible decisions that needed to be made. Erin was contemplating a simple graveside memorial service with a few close friends. Kristy would call the pastor of her mother’s church and find out if he could conduct the service. Liz would have wanted it to be simple. Kristy called her uncle Dan, a lawyer specializing in tax and estates. He would help them figure out what needed to be done to take care of Liz’s estate. Erin had a copy of Liz’s will in her safety deposit box. They would go to the bank the next morning and fax a copy to Dan. Liz maintained a stash of emergency cash in an account in Erin’s name — more than enough to pay the expenses of Liz’s funeral. Kristy would go to Liz’s house every day and pick up her mail and water the plants and make sure everything stayed in order until Erin had the courage to go there herself. Kristy would take Liz to the police station to find Ken Malone, and get Liz’s purse.

The details had been a welcome distraction, but it was getting late. Erin didn’t want to go to bed. She didn’t want to wake up again to the horrible realization that her beloved mother was gone forever. It was too much. When she had awakened in the hospital, it was as though the whole nightmare happened for the first time, all over again.

Toward midnight the warm fire and the sedative took over. Kristy brought out blankets and made a bed for Erin on the sofa. “I don’t have to work tomorrow,” Kristy said. “Sleep as long as you need to.”

Erin fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.