All The Pretty Dead Girls (14 page)

“Well, then, there is the possibility that she was trying to please you in some way,” Dr. Vaid observed.

“This isn’t the work of my daughter!” Maddie shouted. “This is the work of Our Blessed Mother!”

Dr. Vaid had turned to look in Pierre’s direction. “You don’t believe it, do you, Mr. deSalis?”

Pierre didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know what’s easier to believe, to be honest. That my daughter is a hysteric, or that my wife somehow caused this to happen, or that the Virgin Mary really appeared to Bernie and left the stigmata behind as proof.” Pierre looked at the doctor with hard eyes. “What do
you
believe?”

Dr. Vaid smiled kindly. “I believe that your daughter honestly believes that she saw and spoke to the Virgin and that the Holy Mother caused the stigmata to appear as a sign of her presence.” Dr. Vaid pressed her hand to the girl’s cheek. Bernie’s eyelids fluttered but did not open. “I am not saying her story is either true or untrue, simply that this is what she believes.”

“When can she come home?” Pierre asked.

“If the wounds continue to heal, and if she becomes more alert, then I see no reason to keep her here.” Dr. Vaid faced Pierre and Maddie. “But she will need encouragement to get well. I would try to engage with her. Bring her friends in. Mrs. deSalis, by all means keep praying your rosary. But
talk
with your daughter, too. Tell her things about the world. Bring her back to a state of alertness.”

But that would mean to give up all this sainthood nonsense, to leave the miracles behind and go back to a normal life,
Pierre thought. He wasn’t sure that Maddie would do that.

Dr. Vaid approached Maddie and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Even if this is a miracle, surely Our Lady would not want this beautiful child confined to a hospital bed mumbling to herself.”

Maddie nodded. She turned away, overcome with emotion.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Pierre said, extending his hand, his voice thick.

Dr. Vaid shook it. “There are many things in this world that we cannot understand, Mr. deSalis. Perhaps it is not
for
us to understand. Medical science cannot explain everything. And when we encounter those things we cannot explain, we have two choices. We can either disbelieve, or we can have faith.” She looked back at Bernie in the bed. “Scientifically, I cannot explain how your daughter received those wounds. Bernadette did not suffer any nerve or ligament damage in either her hands or her feet. That in itself is miraculous.”

“I suppose it is,” Pierre said, looking over at his sleeping daughter.

“Would it be so terrible if it were true?” Dr. Vaid asked.

Pierre looked at her. He couldn’t answer.

Dr. Vaid patted his hand. She promised to speak with them again later that day, then bade them each good-bye as she quietly left the room.

Would it be so terrible if it were true?

Pierre kept his eyes on Bernie.

He didn’t know. He just didn’t know.

Half the booths in the Yellow Bird were empty when Billy Honeycutt and Mike deSalis walked in after football practice. The dinner rush was just winding down.

“Hey, boys,” Marjorie Pequod called from the counter, where she was filling a cup of coffee for Jed Plunkett, who worked at Bud’s Shell. “Grab a seat and I’ll be with you in a minute, okay?”

“Sure thing, Marj,” Billy called as they slid into a booth in the back.

He winced. His right shoulder and ribs were a little sore from a rather intense tackle in a scrimmage near the end of practice. His blockers had failed miserably to stop the defense from coming after him, and Billy had been gang-tackled, winding up under about five other players.

They better do a better job during the game on Friday night,
Billy thought as he grabbed a pair of menus from the side of the table, passing one over to his best friend.

“Thanks.” Mike’s face was immediately hidden behind the menu.

“Dude, you okay?” Billy asked. “You’ve been awful quiet today.”

“I’m fine,” Mike said from behind the menu.

“Well,” Billy teased, “I don’t really mind you being quiet, since I’m pretty tired of listening to you go on and on about things, like how much you hate science class or how you want that Audi they’re fixing up at Bud’s or how you think Nancy Fox is just that—but still, it’s pretty weird.”

“Fine.” Mike still didn’t put the menu down. “Don’t worry about it.”

Billy sighed.
Okay, man, you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool with me.

He didn’t even bother opening his own menu. He knew what he was going to get—what he always got at the Yellow Bird. You couldn’t beat one of Wally’s cheeseburgers, smothered in his own homemade chili. If Billy could eat Wally’s chili cheeseburgers every night, he would. But then Gayle Honeycutt’s idea of making dinner generally included opening a can of Franco American or microwaving some frozen pizza. “I have a job, you know,” was Mom’s standard response when either of her children complained about whatever mess she’d thrown together for dinner. “I am a
journalist
. I have
responsibilities
. So sorry I’m not here at home to play June Cleaver and wait on you both hand and foot.”

Billy and Mike had been best friends since grade school. They’d always been the two tallest and most athletic kids in their class, and they’d gravitated toward each other. They both picked up sports easily—whether it was football, soccer, basketball, or tennis. They did pretty much everything together. Nobody could make Billy laugh the way Mike could. Mike had a funny response to everything, but never in a mean-spirited way. People genuinely liked Mike. He was a shoo-in to be Homecoming King. Billy knew that people tended to like Mike better than they liked him. Mike wasn’t nearly as vain, he never bragged, and he never made anyone feel he was above them.

Billy knew the same could not be said about himself.

He looked over at his best friend, who had finally set down his menu and was thrumming his fingers on the table as they waited for Marjorie. Mike’s thick mop of black hair was always messy and out of place. He never had a comb or a brush. He was sloppy with the way he dressed, too—sometimes wearing a shirt that clashed violently with his pants. He was always dribbling ketchup on his shirts. They’d had Sloppy Joes at school for lunch that day, and sure enough, there was a crusty red splotch just below the collar of his shirt. Mike was a good student—something else in which he parted company with Billy. He effortlessly breezed through his classes with straight A’s. Mike never seemed to worry, never seemed to get angry or lose his temper. You could always count on Mike if you needed cheering up.

Until his sister went into the hospital Monday morning before school.

“Okay, boys, what will it be?” Marjorie asked, suddenly at their table, pad and pencil in hand.

Billy ordered his chili cheeseburger and a side of fries and a supersized Coke. Mike just had fries and a lemonade. “I’m not that hungry,” he explained.

“So,” Billy asked, after a few more minutes of awkward silence had passed between them, “how’s Bernie doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know.”

“They don’t tell you anything?”

Mike looked away for a minute and sighed. “Mom hasn’t been home, and Dad—well, Dad…” He ran his hand through his tangled hair. “Dude, this has freaked all of us out.”

“Well, what’s wrong with her?” Billy asked. “She’s going to be okay, right?”

Mike looked at him for a few moments before answering. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he finally said.

“I’m your best friend, man. If you can’t talk to me about it…”

Mike glanced around before leaning across the table and lowering his voice. “You have to swear not to tell anyone, okay?”

“Sure, man.”

“She’s lost her mind.” Mike made a circular motion with his index finger beside his right temple. “She’s gone completely insane.” He shook his head. “It’s fucking freaky. She just went completely nuts Monday morning. I don’t know if they are ever going to let her out of the hospital.” His eyes filled with tears. “And Dad doesn’t want anyone to know, so you can’t say anything to anyone.”

Billy’s jaw dropped. “I swear, man. I won’t say anything to anyone. But you gotta tell me what happened.”

Mike just shook his head. “I don’t know. No one does. It was horrible, man. Monday morning Mom was calling her to come down for breakfast, and she never answered, you know? Which isn’t like Bernie, she’s always the first one up, way before me and Frank, you know. And Mom kept calling and calling—and finally went upstairs to see what was wrong. Then she started screaming.” Mike shuddered. “So we went running up to see what was wrong. And then we saw her…
man
.” He swallowed and leaned across the table. “She was lying there in the bed, and there was blood everywhere.”

“Blood?”

Mike nodded. “From her wrists.”

“She tried to kill herself?”

“Nope. At least she says she didn’t do it herself.” Mike stopped speaking as Marjorie placed their drinks on the table, and waited for her to leave before continuing. “Are you ready for this? Bernie thinks she saw the Virgin Mary.”

“What the
fuck
?”

The word exploded out of his mouth so loud that everyone in the diner stopped talking and turned to look at them. Mike glared at his friend.

“Dude, I told you, keep it down.”

“I’m sorry. But now I know what you mean by insane.”

“But here’s the really freaky part. It wasn’t just her wrists. She was bleeding from her hands
and
her feet. It’s
stigmata
.”

“Stig-whatta?”

“Right. You’re not Catholic.” Mike barked out a short laugh. “Stigmata—the wounds of Our Lord and Savior. You know, nails through the hands and feet?”

“Fuck.” Billy’s head was swimming.
“Crazy.”

“Exactly. Mom thinks it’s a miracle, and I don’t know what Dad thinks.” Mike ran a hand through his hair again. “Bernie swears that’s what happened, but she won’t tell anyone what the Virgin supposedly told her. The Virgin, she says, swore her to secrecy. I’ve gone online and looked some of this stuff up. There are lots of cases of stigmata happening to people who believe it’s a sign from God.” He sighed and shook his head again. “It’s all so damned crazy, you know? I mean, Bernie could have looked up all this stuff, too, but why would she? Why would she fake it? There’s no reason for Bernie to pull something like this. She’s just not like that.”

“Dude, maybe she’s looking for attention.”

“I thought of that. Mom’s always been a little nuts about the Church stuff—you’ve been to our house, you’ve seen all the saints and the candles.” Mike gave another harsh laugh. “Lately, Bernie’s been kind of that way, too.”

“Maybe she’s telling the truth.”

Mike frowned. “Don’t even say that, man, even as a joke.”

“I’m not joking.” Billy shrugged. Religion for him was more perfunctory than anything else, a part of his weekly routine. The Honeycutts were Methodists, and every Sunday morning the family got up, put on nice clothes, and headed over to the church. His mom especially liked going to church, because afterward she got to talk with everybody outside, hearing all the latest gossip. They never prayed at home, didn’t read the Bible, never really talked about religion much. But his mother always told them that being Christian meant they had the “keys to the kingdom,” whatever that meant. “Everybody else has to wait in line to be saved,” she’d tried to explain. “We get into heaven through the fast lane.”

Billy shrugged. “I mean, you got to keep an open mind, dude.”

“I don’t know.” Mike sipped at his lemonade. “These are my choices. I either believe my sister is some kind of visionary, a saint, or that she’s insane.”

He leaned back against the booth as Marjorie slid their plates of food in front of them. She looked from one face to the other.

“You boys all right?” she asked, raising one of her penciled eyebrows.

“Fine.” Billy gave her a weak smile. “Wow, this looks good.”

She winked. “Well, if you need anything else, just give me a holler.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Mike hissed from across the table.

“I won’t, I swear.” Billy raised his hand. “Besides, who would I tell?”

“Heidi. You’d tell Heidi.”

“I won’t tell Heidi.” Billy shook his head. “I don’t tell her everything just because she’s my girlfriend. What do you want me to do, swear a blood oath?”

“I mean it, man.”

“Okay!”

They ate their food in silence. When they were finished, Mike pulled a ten out of his wallet. “Man, I got to get going. Dad’s going to be home from the hospital at any minute, and I got to be at work at seven.” Mike worked as a stock boy three nights a week at the A&P. He slapped the money down on the table. “Not a word to anyone, you understand?”

“Dude…I told you.”

“Okay. See you at school tomorrow.”

Billy’s eyes followed Mike as he walked out of the diner, sidestepping to avoid a young woman who was just walking in as he was going out.

Now that is one hot babe,
Billy thought.

She wasn’t conventionally pretty like Heidi. Her nose had a little bump in it, and her face was a little narrow, but she had a great ass, showcased in a pair of tight black jeans. Her ash blond hair hung down to her shoulders. Billy watched as she took a seat at the counter and leaned forward to get a menu. Her sweater crept up a bit, showing smooth white skin just above the waistband of her jeans. Damn.

He didn’t recognize her from Lebanon High, which could only mean one thing.
She’s one of the Wilbourne girls.
Billy popped a french fry into his mouth as she glanced over at him. He smiled at her. She gave him a half smile in return and opened her menu.

He tossed a ten down on the table, finished his Coke, wiped his mouth, and stood up. One quick glance in the mirror on the wall confirmed his hair looked good and no ketchup smeared his chin. He strutted over to the counter.

Marjorie was watching him and gave him a crooked grin. She’d seen Billy make his moves before.

“Hey,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to the knockout chick. “I’m Billy.”

“Hi,” the girl replied, not looking at him, keeping her eyes on her menu.

“Billy Honeycutt.” He put his hand out. “And I don’t recognize you, so my mental calculations tell me you must be a Wilbourne student.”

Finally, the girl looked up at him. She didn’t take his hand right away.

“Well,” she said, “with all that mental calculation going on in your head, you might be a little exhausted. Why don’t you have a seat?”

“I think I will, thank you.” He grinned. “I suppose I should have asked first if it was all right to sit down.’

“And here I supposed all you country boys were perfectly mannered.” Finally, she accepted his outstretched hand and shook it. “I’m Sue Barlow.”

“Hello, Sue Barlow,” Billy said. “And am I correct about you being a Wilbournian?”

“Your calculations were indeed correct. And where do you go?”

“L-High. I’m a senior—but don’t hold it against me.”

“Why would I do that?” Sue shrugged, raising her shoulders a bit and then dropping them, which briefly deepened the cleavage slightly exposed by the V-neck of the sweater. A gold heart with a solitary diamond hung there on a chain of gold links.
A rich girl,
Billy thought. Most Wilbournians were. “I’m a freshmen, so we’re probably close to the same age,” she said.

“I’ll be eighteen in December.” Billy tried to keep his eyes away from her cleavage. “But most college girls won’t have anything to do with a high school boy.”

“I just turned eighteen in June.” Sue smiled, lighting up her entire face. “So there’s really not that big of an age difference between us, is there?”

“Not at all, not at all.” He waved Marjorie down. “Another supersize for me, please, and the lady here will have…”