Back Where She Belongs(13)

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THE NEXT MORNING, Tara woke exhausted. She’d had a restless night full of worries and plans. She dragged herself out of bed to run, ate the freshly sliced peach and yogurt Judith had set out for her, then took her laptop to the hospital to work on new client proposals between visits with Faye. She missed Rita’s warmth, though the other ICU nurses seemed efficient and caring.

Joseph brought her mother in the afternoon for a short stay. The control her mother had marshaled for the funeral seemed to have drained her. She seemed shaky and small, the circles under her eyes darker than ever, her face gray and drawn. Joseph seemed equally exhausted. She knew he faced a huge challenge the next day at Wharton. The meeting would likely involve dividing up Faye’s and her father’s duties among the managers.

When Tara returned home late that afternoon, Judith was accepting delivery of a huge basket of food and wine. “From Bill Fallon,” she said to Tara, rolling her eyes. “Again.”

Tara jolted. Was the police chief hitting on her mother? Had her mother encouraged him? Tara couldn’t imagine that. Her parents had never seemed close, but she’d believed them to be faithful to each other. “What’s he up to?” Tara asked.

“He’s always been a kiss-up,” Judith said. Judith didn’t seem to be suspicious, which relieved Tara a bit.

Uneasily she realized that her questions might uncover secrets about her family she’d rather not know. That couldn’t stop her. She had to know the truth, good or bad.

Early Monday morning at the hospital, Tara found Joseph asleep, slumped against the back of one of the waiting-room chairs, his briefcase on his lap, legs sprawled, wearing one black sock and one blue one. The poor guy. Tara tapped his shoulder and held out the to-go cup of coffee she’d grabbed in the cafeteria.

“Wh... What is it?” he said, rubbing his face.

“Drink. You need this more than I do.”

“Thanks.” He clutched it in both hands and sipped as if his life depended on it. “Did you bring your mother?”

“Judith’s driving her later. Mom’s car is back, but she doesn’t seem steady enough to drive.”

Joseph nodded, drinking more coffee.

“How’s Faye doing?” she asked, wishing she could ask him about the office quarrels, but knowing it was too soon and too abrupt.

“They’re moving her to a regular room.” He took another sip. “This coffee’s good. You get it downstairs? Was there cream or just powdered crap?”

“Wait! What? She’s getting out of the ICU? She’s better? Why didn’t you call us?”

“She’s far from better. This just means she’s stable.”

“That’s big, Joseph. It’s great news. We have to tell Mom. It’s a first step.”

But her enthusiasm had no effect on Joseph who maintained his grim expression. “Don’t know when they’ll move her. Could be anytime...or hours from now. I’ve got to take off. Lots going on at work.”

“Absolutely.” Like the meeting she hoped to drop in on later in the morning.

A half hour later, two orderlies arrived to move Faye. Tara peeled the Sunset Crater photo from the bed tray, and accepted the plastic bag with Faye’s personal belongings from one of the techs. She tucked the bag under her arm and walked beside the bed as they rolled it toward the elevator.

On the second floor, they headed down a hall. Tara spotted Rita backing out of a supply closet and stopped to talk to her, watching as the techs entered the last room on the left. “Rita?” she said.

The nurse jumped, dropping two boxes, the beads in her hair clicking wildly. “Damn, girl, you took a year off my life.”

Tara bent to pick up the boxes of latex gloves, handing them back. “Sorry, but Faye’s moving onto your floor. Last room on the left.” She pointed.

“And here I thought I’d ditched you.” She grinned. “Don’t forget headphones when you bring in that foul music.”

“I won’t.” She realized Rita might be able to help her with a crucial question. “You can look at my sister’s chart, right?”

“Why?” Rita’s eyes narrowed.

“I need to know if she had alcohol in her bloodstream when they brought her in. Could you check for me?”

“Sorry. Your brother-in-law is the family contact. He would have to ask one of her doctors to do that. Talk to him.”

“I can’t, Rita. He’ll take it wrong. It’s a long story, but, trust me, it wouldn’t go well.” She didn’t want to make Joseph more guarded around her. “People are saying she was driving drunk. It’s her reputation on the line.” She threw in a guess. “Plus, it could mess with our insurance coverage.”

“No can do. And don’t give me those sad-girl eyes. People lose their jobs for violating patient privacy.”

“What about her regular M.D.? Could he see her chart?” Their longtime family physician Dr. McAlister had been at the funeral.

“Depends on what releases got signed, whether or not he’s got privileges at this hospital.”

“I’ll ask him, I guess. They brought my father here, too. He died in the accident. He’d have a chart, right?”

“And his next of kin would be the one to request the information.”

“That would be my mom, I guess, but—”

“You know what I’m going to say.”

“Patient privacy, right. But if you happen to glance at the chart...”

“The favor shop is closed,” Rita said. “Now leave me be.” She set off with her armload of boxes.

Tara sighed. Asking her mother did not sound like a promising option. She headed for Faye’s room. The orderlies were gone and the room was eerily quiet compared to the ICU, where a nurse was always popping in to change an IV bag, get blood or check vital signs. This room was utterly still. It almost echoed. It was like they’d given up on her.

In a way, they had. Medically, they’d done all they could.

Hurry up and heal, Faye, Tara silently commanded, looking down at her sister. She seemed to barely raise a bump in the sheets, as if she were wasting away. Tara attached the photo to the new bed tray. Faye’s smile in the picture was a heartbreaking contrast with how she looked now. The bruises had begun to fade, but she was so pale, so lifeless.

“What you need is a makeover,” she said cheerfully. “That’ll be fun.” Tara would bring in makeup, nail polish, a flatiron and comb for Faye’s frizzy hair. Faye hated when it got bushy like it was now.

The room could use livening up, too, she thought, looking around. Yeah. She’d make the place so homey that life would be far more welcoming than death. At the very least, it would make Tara feel like she was doing something.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Carol. Meeting postponed until Wednesday. Joseph must not have felt ready. That wasn’t a good sign for the company, Tara knew, but that cleared Tara’s day for a visit to Chief Fallon.

She still held the sack with Faye’s belongings, so she carried it to the cupboard. What was inside anyway? Bloody clothes? Probably. She twisted the top of the sack, not wanting to see any of that. Then she noticed it felt boxy at the bottom. And heavy. Faye’s purse probably. And it might have her phone. It felt heavy enough to have an iPad. Both might contain clues about that night.

Tara braced herself to look inside. The first thing she saw was a shoe. It had splashes of dried mud...or was that blood? Her stomach lurched and she averted her gaze, checking the contents by feel. She found Faye’s purse—leather, messenger-bag style—and pulled it out by its strap. It was merely dusty, thank God.

Inside was the usual purse debris—lipstick, mirror, wallet with cash and credit cards, tissues, gum, pen, keys—and an iPad. No phone.

The iPad would have contacts and a calendar, if Faye was as organized as Tara knew she would be. At the very least, she could get Dr. McAlister’s number. Her heart racing, Tara clicked the on button and located Faye’s calendar. The only thing written for the day of the accident was a grocery list: Crowley’s—low-carb ketchup, salad stuff, prescriptions.

What medicine had Faye been on? Tara would pick up the pills when she got to town. Sure enough, Dr. McAlister’s name and number were listed. Tara left a message for the doctor on the machine, which informed her he would return calls at the end of the day.

That was that. Tara shoved the sack into the cupboard and shut the door, unwilling to examine its contents further. She’d felt only one shoe, she realized. Where was the other one? She didn’t want to think about that.

“I’ll find out what happened,” she said, bending down to kiss her sister’s cool forehead. “Just wake up, okay?”

She was so preoccupied driving back to Wharton that she missed the business loop exit. As the highway curved and began to climb the mountain, she realized she was about to pass the accident site.