Bitter Root (23 page)

“I think you just answered your own questions. And again, it’s
not in your hands or the doctors. It’s up to Bertie and whoever looks out for
her up there.” He looked up at the ceiling and put his hands together in
prayer. “Those machines they have breathing for her? Those aren’t Bertie. If
she wants to live, then she will. Let her decide.”

“So tell them to stop breathing for her?”

“It’s not like she had an accident she can recover from. She had
a stroke. A big one. Seems to me we’re robbing her of choice by keeping her on
those machines. Let her decide. She’ll stay if she has a mind to. If not, well,
then she was probably already gone to the good Lord, and it’s just her body
here anyway.”

“But what am I going to do without her? If she doesn’t wake up?
Bertie is all I have, T.”

“I know you feel that way, but you have me, and Jose. I know how
hard this is, but believe me, we did all of that mechanical breathing and
therapy stuff with my mamma. She was never the same. It was hard to watch her
live but not live.”

“What if you’re wrong, T? What if she wants me to let her keep
breathing?”

“If she wants to keep breathing, don’t you think she will?”

Adi didn’t know how she felt about that answer, but most of what
T’Claude said made sense. She knew Bertie would fight to live if she wanted to.
She also knew Bertie was a spiritual person on good terms with God. Bertie had
never feared death. She had often talked about when her time came and was
content that she had lived a good life.

She thought about what Bertie might do if Adi was the one on life
support. Would she choose to let Adi fight without help? Or would she extend
her life artificially? She was pretty sure Bertie would believe that she would
fight if she were meant to go on. How would Adi feel if she were lying there
waiting for Bertie to decide? Heck, she probably wouldn’t even know she was in
that bed. If it were her, she wouldn’t know to fight until life started
slipping away.

She had to let go and let Bertie fight or let Bertie die. It
couldn’t be right to keep her pinned to earth if it was her time to go. That’s
what Bertie would choose, she was certain.

“I think I know what to do. It’s going to be so hard, though.”

“Life ain’t easy, kid. We both know that. I’ll miss that ornery
old woman like she was my own too. She practically raised me. But life is life,
right?”

“I guess we need to go let Dr. Klein know our decision.”

“Yeah, let’s finish up and go.”

*

Adi watched the ventilator as it slowly stopped, and looked to
the monitors. Bertie had been placed on a drip of what the nurse called
“comfort medication.” Morphine for any pain and Ativan. Adi wasn’t sure how to
feel about that, but Dr. Klein said it would guarantee that Bertie didn’t feel
as if she were suffocating. T gripped her hand tightly as they stood watch.
Bertie seemed to be sleeping. Her heart rate was still strong. The alarms from
her machinery were all set to silent. The doctor and the nurses left them but
monitored Bertie from the desk area.

Adi moved away from T and took one of Bertie’s hands. T took the
other.

Their vigil lasted well into the evening, and just before eight
p.m., Bertie’s breathing stilled and her heart rhythm dropped to nothing. The
staff entered and unhooked the monitors and were quietly respectful of their
grief. They did nothing to hurry them out. Tears ran down Adi’s face, but she
didn’t wipe them away. She leaned down and kissed Bertie’s cheek one last time.

“Good-bye, Bertie.”

T’Claude started really crying, then. Sobbing like his heart was
broken. Adi couldn’t take it. She walked out into the corridor, then kept
walking until she felt the night air hit her.

Run. Just
run.
She started slowly, heading off with no idea of direction. She
hit a sidewalk and turned to follow it, her pace increasing. The cement gave
way to dirt, and still she ran. She ran to keep from feeling. Her heartbeat was
the only thing holding her focus. She ran until her lungs were burning and her
legs felt like they were on fire. She ran until finally, the pain of her grief
overwhelmed her.

And then she screamed. She screamed out her anger at being
helpless. Her regret at not keeping Bertie here, because she needed her. She
screamed at the pain of losing her family, and the fear of being alone. When
her voice gave out and her screams were silenced, she dropped to her knees and
pounded her fists against the damp earth in futility.

Finally, she collapsed onto the gritty path and rolled to the
grass beside it. She lay on her back, staring at the vast, empty sky, as empty
as her heart.

Griffith found Conq’s Grocery about two miles up the
highway. It looked as if it had been there for quite some time. The door was
plain wood fronted by a full screen door. There was a little bell tied above
the door to announce visitors.

“I’ll be right there,” called a voice from the back room.

Griffith felt nostalgic looking at the mid-high wooden display
shelves packed with assorted dry goods. They had probably been built when they
built the building. The register was at the front with a door to the back open
to the left. It wasn’t long before a young woman came out carrying a baby on
her hip.

“How can I help you?”

“Hi, my name is Griffith McNaulty. I’m a reporter working on a
story about runaways and the way those left behind cope. I understand the
daughter of the owners had a friend who ran away.”

“You’re kidding, right? You trying to trick me into something?
What’s your scam?”

“No scam. The girl may have been a friend of Rachel’s?”

“What? That can’t be. I’m Rachel, and I didn’t have any friends
who ran away.”

“No? I could have it wrong, but I was led to believe you knew
Merley Nerbass.”

The woman froze, visibly paling. “Merley didn’t run away. No matter
what they say. I know what happened to her.”

“I don’t mean to upset you. I’m just following a lead. She was
reported as a runaway, but if that’s wrong, I apologize for my mistake.”

“She never ran away. Her father. He killed her and dumped her
somewhere in the marsh.”

Griffith was shocked at the strength of her belief.
How did she come to that
conclusion?
“And how do you know this?”

“Because. He told me he did.”

“What? He told you he killed his daughter? If that’s the case,
why isn’t he in jail?”

“He’s too rich to go to jail. He has the law in his pocket.”

“What made him tell you he killed Merley?” If it were true, that
Merley was dead, this lead wasn’t going to be anything to do with Adi, and she
could follow it to the article she wanted to write. If it wasn’t true…

“I was angry. I knew he had something to do with her being gone.
She wouldn’t have run away without telling me. I went right down to that bait
shop when I heard and asked him to his face what he had done with Merley. He
tried to laugh me off, but I wouldn’t shut up. I got louder and practically
screamed at him. He grabbed me by the arm and shook me so hard. He said,
‘Listen. Merley is feeding the gators and you’ll be feeding them too, if you
don’t shut up.’”

“Didn’t you go to the police?”

“Of course I did. I told my mamma and we went down to the police
station. Back then they had a little office on the highway. I told the
policeman what Mr. Nerbass had said. He acted like it was old news. He didn’t
even try to act like he was going to do something. No. He just looked up from
his paperwork at my mamma. Then he told her that she should take me home if she
knew what was good for me. He told me if I ever told any more lies about Mr.
Nerbass he’d throw me in jail.
Me
.
For reporting my friend’s murder.”

“Why do you think the police officer reacted like that?”

“He was on Nerbass’s payroll. That’s what I think. Mamma said he
just thought I was making up tales. She told me we should wait and see if
Merley came home, but she never did. I never saw her again.”

Or maybe
he’d had experience with distraught teenagers and knew enough not to overreact.
“And you really believe her father would’ve killed her?”

“Listen here, lady, my best friend disappeared and her squirrely
stepfather tells me she’s feeding the gators. What would you think? You think
he admitted to killing her just for fun? I do believe he killed her, because if
she were alive, she would’ve found a way to let me know.”

“Losing a friend is hard, especially hard when you’re young. I’m
sorry you had to go through that. Do you think it affects your life now? The
loss? Do you think of Merley often, or have you mostly moved on from that
time?”

“What do you think? Of course it affects me. She was my best
friend. She…I mean, we were very close. Really close. It hurt so bad when she
was taken from me. And that asshole just got clean away with it. Got to throw
up his big helicopter company and get rich. He never loved Merley. Never missed
her. It was like she was an obstacle he had to overcome. And man, when he gets
those big ole gator tears and cries about losing her as he dedicates this and
that to her. Jerk. I hate that man.”

“Her stepfather has spent several thousand dollars searching for
her. Did you know that? He has a standing offer of twenty-five thousand dollars
to anyone who can help locate his daughter. Why would he do that if he knew she
was dead? Why not just let the memory of her fade away?”

“Ha. That’s easy. He knows he’ll never have to pay that money,
that’s why. And looking for her makes him look innocent. Plus, it makes people
feel sorry for his ass.”

“The second part of the story I’m working on is about how adults
who ran away reconcile their past. How disconnecting from their roots affects
the way they develop and build relationships as adults. I’ve tracked down
several former runaways and talked with them at length about why they did what
they did. For the most part, they’ve been happy with their decisions, but some
of them can’t let go of the regrets and fears of their youth. It hampers them,
you know? Keeps them from living fully. How would you feel if you found out
that your friend really
had
run away? What if she’d built a new life?”

Rachel sat on the bench behind the register and gently placed her
baby in the nearby playpen. “Why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why would they run away and never let folks know where they
were?”

“That’s a question only they can answer. I will say, some of them
are frightened about things beyond their control in their early lives.
Something made them run. They need to be able to let go of their fear and live
life free and happy. Sometimes that means confronting their past and making
amends. Sometimes it just means forgetting and forgiving. Each case is
different. There’s no single answer.”

“I don’t know how I can help you.”

“I don’t want to put you in any danger. If Nerbass is a killer, I
don’t want him looking your way for anything so I’m just going to ask some
questions, and then you should forget I was here. What can you tell me about
Merley’s life here? Where did she live? What about her mother? Anything you can
tell me might help me put the pieces together and find out the root of her
fear.”

The baby started crying then, and not a subtle fussing, but a
full-on rage. Rachel picked her up and tried to soothe her, but she wouldn’t be
calmed.

“I’m sorry, but my Merley, this one, is hungry and won’t be put
off. Could you leave me your contact information and I’ll call you later?”

“Sure. I appreciate any insights you can give me. This article is
going to be about more than one singular runaway, but they all matter. I’m
really sorry I upset you. Thank you for your time.

Rachel nodded, tears still running down her cheeks, as she moved
into the back with the crying baby Merley.

Griffith walked back to her car and thought about Rachel’s reaction
to Merley’s disappearance. What if her Adi Bergeron was, in fact, Merley
Nerbass, stepdaughter of J.B. Nerbass, millionaire? Why had he told Rachel that
Merley was dead? Was he trying to scare Rachel? Make her stay away from him
because she reminded him of his lost child? Or was there something more
sinister to it? Every question she posed led to more questions
. I need to try to call Adi again.
This is all so convoluted, and if she is Nerbass’s daughter, no wonder she’s
afraid
. The call went to voice mail again.
What’s going on? Why can’t I reach
you?
She wanted to get in her car and drive right back to the Pot.
But if Adi’d had second thoughts about her phone call the night before, maybe
she was just avoiding her phone calls.
Besides,
if I did reach her she wouldn’t be happy to hear where I am. I don’t want to
lie to her. I’ll just wait until the morning.

Griff checked the time. It was just after six and most businesses
in the area would probably be closing. Maybe she could find a restaurant or a
bar, grab a bite to eat, and see if any of the patrons cared to shoot the
breeze about Dulac’s favored son.

She made a slow circuit of the tiny township and had no luck
finding any sort of dining or drinking establishment. She had just about made
up her mind to go back to Houma when she thought of the shrimpers and the pier
area. There would be someplace there to eat. She drove the last mile to the
waterfront and found a place to park.

There were any number of rusty old cars and trucks parked along
the embankment. There were five or six shrimp boats tied to cleats along the
cement bulkhead, and random piers jutting out into the bay every few hundred
yards. One of the piers had a small building lit up in neon called Shanghai
Redd’s. She wasn’t sure if it was an eatery or a bar, but there were bound to
be people inside.

She pushed open the wooden door and was greeted by loud Zydeco
music and the smell of week old spilled beer. There was a long bar on the right
and a scattering of scarred tables, mostly empty. The pool tables were busy,
with most patrons gathered around watching a game. TVs above the bar had sports
talk shows on. Three of the twelve bar stools were occupied by a couple and a
single woman. She felt herself relax a bit with the knowledge that she wasn’t
the only woman in the place. She sat on an empty stool and waited until the
barkeep looked her way.