Still Life (12 page)

“I tried that,” Casey reminded her friend. “I gave her over a hundred thousand dollars to buy into that gym franchise she was so desperate to have. It went belly-up in less than a year.”

“If I remember, you also gave her another fifty thousand …” Janine began.

“Which went straight up her nose,” Gail said.

“Maybe you could make her a partner in your new business,” Janine suggested, a residue of bitterness clinging to her bright smile.

“Come on, Janine. I thought we were past this.”

“And I thought we were friends.”

“We
are
friends.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

No, no, no. I don’t want to hear this.

“The patient is a thirty-two-year-old woman who was the victim of a hit-and-run accident approximately three weeks ago,” Dr. Peabody announced suddenly, reading from his clipboard as he entered the room trailed by Warren and Drew, both wearing hospital uniforms.

“How is the patient doing today?” Warren asked, looking over her chart.

“This whole situation would be a lot easier if she’d just died,” Drew told him.

Wake up. Please, wake up.

“We should clear out,” Gail said. “Let the doctors do their job.”

“This test could take a while,” the doctor explained.

“We’ll grab some coffee. Can we get you anything, Warren?” Janine asked.

Casey heard her husband release a deep breath of nervous air. “No, nothing, thank you.”

“Try not to worry,” Gail urged. “Like the doctor said, if she can hear, it could mean she’s on the road to a full recovery.”

“Let’s hope so,” Warren said.

Wait. What are you talking about?

Seconds later, Casey heard equipment being wheeled into the room. She listened to the drone of doctors’ voices, the scribbling of notes. Minutes after that, she felt hands at her head, and earphones being fitted over her ears.

In that instant, she understood that it was no longer night, and the ghosts had all gone home. It was morning, and she was fully awake.

This was really happening.

TWELVE

“ ‘W
ho that cares much to know the history of man, and how the mysterious mixture behaves under the varying experiments of Time, has not dwelt, at least briefly, on the life of Saint Theresa, has not smiled with some gentleness at the thought of the little girl walking forth one morning hand-in-hand with her still smaller brother, to go and seek martyrdom in the country of the Moors?’
Huh? Could you say that again?” Janine asked. “Okay. One more time.
‘Who that cares much to know the history of man, and how the mysterious mixture behaves under the varying experiments of Time….’
No wonder you always hated this book. I’ve only read the first sentence and already I’m totally confused. Is it even in English? I thought George Eliot was supposed to be from England.”

The sound of pages being turned.

“Yes. It says right here in the introduction that Eliot was born on November 22, 1819, in Nuneaton, Warwickshire, England, and is considered the best of the English Victorian novelists. Even better than Henry Fielding, at least according to Henry James, who reviewed the book in 1873. There are a bunch of comparisons to
War and Peace
and
The Brothers Karamazov
, and some professor named Geoffrey Tillotson says
Middlemarch
is ‘easily the best of the half-dozen best novels in the world.’ Of course he said that in 1951, when
Valley of the Dolls
had yet to be written. Anyway, to continue:
‘Out they toddled from rugged Avila, wide-eyed and helpless-looking as two fawns, but with human hearts, already beating to a national idea.’
Oh, dear. I don’t know about this. National ideas have never been my strong suit.”

More pages being turned.

“Did you know that George Eliot was actually a woman whose real name was Mary Anne Evans—of course you did—and that her aim in writing
Middlemarch
was to illustrate every aspect of provincial life on the eve of the Reform Bill? Apparently, she wanted to show ‘the effects of actions and opinions on individuals widely separated in rank.’ Which I guess could be interesting, if only Mary Anne Evans had a touch more Jacqueline Susann in her. Let’s see. Where was I?
‘… already beating to a national idea.’
Yada, yada, yada. Really, this part isn’t very interesting. I think we can skip it.
‘Some have felt that these blundering lives are due to the inconvenient indefiniteness with which the Supreme Power has fashioned the natures of women: if there were one level of feminine incompetence as strict as the ability to count three and no more, the social lot of women might be treated with scientific certitude.’
I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. You better wake up soon, or I’ll be in a coma right beside you. Come on, Casey. You don’t really want to have to listen to another six hundred pages of this stuff, do you?”

A laugh, followed by footsteps. Someone approaching the bed.

A giggle. “What are you doing?” Gail asked. Another giggle.

“Making good on my threat.”

“You’re going to read her that whole thing?”

“I’m hoping I won’t have to. I’m hoping she gets so irritated, she wakes up and hits me over the head with it.”

“Do you think she understands what you’re reading?”

“If she does, she’s one up on me,” Janine admitted. Deep sigh. The sound of a book slapping shut. “But now that the tests indicate Casey can definitely hear, her doctors think we should be doing even more to try to stimulate her brain, and what could be more stimulating, I ask, than
Middlemarch
? Dammit, I don’t know if this is good news or bad.”

“What do you mean?”

Janine lowered her voice. “I know the fact Casey can hear means her condition has definitely improved, and she could be coming back to us. But at the same time”—her voice became a whisper—“I can’t help but think how awful for her to have been lying here all this time, unable to see or talk or move, but able to hear everything. What if she
can
understand everything she hears? What if she knows someone might have tried to kill her?”

“What are you getting at?”

The whisper assumed a certain urgency. “Do you think there’s any chance she’d think it’s me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We both know Casey and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on everything. Things were pretty tense when she decided to dissolve our partnership, and I admit to some pretty evil thoughts.”

“Such as?”

“I actively prayed her new business would go under, that she’d lose all her money, even that her hair would fall out.”

“You prayed her hair would fall out?” Gail’s voice was almost as loud as it was incredulous.

“Shh! I didn’t mean it.”

“Still …”

“I wouldn’t have wished this on my worst enemy,” Janine said.

Is it possible that’s exactly what you are? That this past year has been all an act? That you hate me enough to want me dead? That you’ve simply been biding your time, pretending to be my friend? That you’re somehow responsible for this hell I’m living in?

“You know I love you,” Janine said plaintively. “Don’t you, Casey?”

Do I?

“I think we have to stay positive,” Gail was saying. “We have to believe the fact she can hear is a good thing, that it means Casey’s on the road to recovery. And Casey, if you
can
understand what you’re hearing, as scary and as frustrating as that must be, then at least you know how much we all care about you, and how much Warren adores you, and how much everyone is rooting for you, so hurry up and get well.”

Oh, Gail. Sweet, generous, naive, trusting Gail. Forever seeing the good in everyone. At least I can always count on you.

“But what if years go by,” Janine broached quietly, “and there’s no further change, and she’s trapped like this, possibly forever …?”

“She won’t be. Casey’s strong. She’s been through a lot in her life….”

“Oh, please,” Janine interrupted, her tone shifting quickly and noticeably. “Yes, Casey didn’t have the best parents in the world, but at least hers had the decency to die and leave her an obscenely wealthy young woman. Plus, she wasn’t exactly dealt a bad hand in the looks department. Not to mention, she’s smart and educated and—”

“In a coma.”

“Yes, she’s in a coma.” Janine drew an audible intake of breath. “I’m sorry, Casey. If you
do
understand any of this, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I know it probably sounds like a bunch of sour grapes, and that’s not how I really feel.”

Isn’t it?

“She knows that,” Gail said.

It sounded pretty convincing to me.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Janine asked, and Casey wondered for an instant if she was talking to her.

“Of course,” Gail answered. “It was hate at first sight.”

“You hated me?”

“
You
hated
me
,” Gail corrected.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Only to those of us who were breathing.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I felt threatened,” Janine admitted. “I mean, you and Casey had been friends forever. I was the new kid in town.”

“You were her roommate, her college buddy. I was the childhood friend who chose marriage over university, who could never hope to compete with you on an intellectual level—”

“Few can,” Janine interjected, and had the good grace to laugh.

Gail giggled. “I guess everyone who meets Casey wants her all to themselves.”

“So, how did you and I ever end up as friends?”

“I don’t think Casey gave us much choice. She was so persistent. Weren’t you, Casey?
‘She’s a really nice person,’
“Gail mimicked.
“ ‘It just takes a little while to get to know her.’”

“ ‘Don’t underestimate her. She’s really smart. You have to give her a chance,’”
Janine followed.

“All those lunches….”

“Painful.”

“And those girls’ nights out.”

“Excruciating.”

“So, when did your feelings change?” Gail asked.

“Who says they have? I still don’t like you.” Janine laughed. “You do know I’m kidding, don’t you?”

“I know.”

Don’t be so sure.

“I guess it was during Mike’s final stay in the hospice,” Janine continued, unprompted. “You were so loving and strong that it was kind of hard not to admire you. The way you just accepted what was happening, how you never got angry or cursed your lot in life. Unlike me, who’s spent most of her life cursing one thing or another. I thought that was pretty amazing. And I guess that morphed into thinking
you
were pretty amazing.”

“I’m not,” Gail demurred.

You are
.

“Eventually I realized Casey was right, that I
had
underestimated you, that under the frizzy hair and the shy smile, you were a real powerhouse, and I had to admire you. But enough about you,” Janine continued, laughing again. “When did you realize you’d been wrong about me?”

Gail laughed. “Around the same time,” she admitted. “I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to make all the necessary arrangements, to be there for Mike’s mom, who was a real basket case, and to hold myself together when I was pretty much falling apart. And of course, Casey was there, being her usual supportive self, which was no less than I would have expected. But what I didn’t expect was
you
. You were right there beside her. Every time I turned around, there you were, helping with this, organizing that. And after the funeral, you were the one in my kitchen, putting together a plate of sandwiches, and then quietly stacking the dishes in the dishwasher and putting things away, while I talked to guests in the living room.”

“I just didn’t want Casey to get all the credit.”

“Why are you so afraid of letting people see the real you?”

Who is the real you, Janine?

“Maybe because they’ll discover there isn’t that much to see.”

Or too much.

The sound of pages turning. “As George Eliot so wisely observes,
‘Who that cares much to know the history of man, and how the mysterious mixture behaves under the varying experiments of Time, has not dwelt, at least briefly, on the life of Saint Theresa …?’
”

“What?”

“ ‘That Spanish woman who lived three hundred years ago, was certainly not the last of her kind,’”
Janine continued reading.
“ ‘Many Theresas have been born who found for themselves no epic life wherein there was a constant unfolding of far-resonant action …’”

“You’re comparing yourself to Saint Theresa?”

“ ‘… perhaps only a life of mistakes, the offspring of a certain spiritual grandeur ill-matched with the meanness of opportunity.’”

“That’s really quite lovely,” Gail remarked. “I think.”

“And I think I’ve had enough great literature for one day. I should get going.”

The sound of a chair pushing back. A whiff of expensive French perfume. The feel of Janine’s lips on Casey’s cheek.

It’s all coming back, Casey thought, almost bursting with excitement, although she remained motionless. She could hear. She could smell. She could feel. Surely any day now, her body would no longer be able to contain her emotions and she’d be able to move, to talk, to shout from the rooftops.

“Call me later?” Janine asked.

“Sure thing.”

A muffled embrace, high heels clicking against the hard floor, a door opening and then closing, the chair being reoccupied, pulled closer to the bed.

“I hope you didn’t take any of that to heart, Casey,” Gail said. “Janine talks tough, but underneath, she’s a real softie. Did you know she’s been here every day since your accident?”

According to Detective Spinetti, it wasn’t an accident.

“Why would she come every day if she didn’t love you?”

Maybe to monitor my progress, look for an opportunity to finish the job she started?

Casey felt a soft hand brush across her forehead. She inhaled the clean scent of Ivory soap. Could there be a more glorious aroma?

“Anyway, we’re all so excited about the news. Warren called everybody last night. He was so thrilled. ‘She can hear,’ he shouted when I picked up the phone. Even before I said hello. ‘The test showed she can hear.’ We still don’t know if that means you can understand anything, but he says the doctors are very hopeful, and that there’s reason to be guardedly optimistic. That’s the doctor’s phrase—guardedly optimistic. But it’s better than being guardedly pessimistic, right? I think so. Anyway …”

Her voice drifted to a halt.

“I’m not going to read to you. I’ll let that be Janine’s thing. I’ll just sit here and talk to you, if that’s okay, tell you what’s been going on in my life these last few weeks. And trust me, you won’t want to miss a word of this, I promise. It’s pretty juicy stuff. Well,” she qualified, “juicy for me.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. The breath floated across the room in ripples, like a gentle wave.

“I met this guy.”

Another pause. The chair inched closer to the bed. A thrilling combination of strawberries and lime floated under Casey’s nose. Probably Gail’s shampoo, Casey thought, luxuriating in its wondrous scent.

A soft giggle, then, “His name is Stan. You might have heard me mention him to Janine. Anyway, I really haven’t told her very much. You know Janine—she’d want to know everything, and she’d pepper me with questions, and it’s still so early, I’m afraid to jinx it. Am I making any sense?” Another giggle. “Okay, so here goes. His name is Stan Leonard, and he’s thirty-eight. His wife died of breast cancer three years ago, and he has two children, William, who’s ten, and Angela, who’s seven. He’s a computer programmer, owns a house—mortgage-free—in Chestnut Hill, and he likes movies and theater and traveling, although he hasn’t been able to do much of that since his wife died. And what else?

“Let’s see. He’s not all that tall, maybe an inch taller than I am, which is fine by me. Mike wasn’t very tall either. And he could probably stand to lose a few pounds, although not too many. Actually, I kind of like him the way he is—not so perfect. It’s just that I know Janine would say he could lose a few pounds, which maybe is one of the reasons I haven’t said too much to her about him. I don’t want her judging him. Or maybe it’s me I don’t want her to judge. I don’t know. I just know I think he’s really cute. Yes, he has a bit of a paunch, and his hair is thinning a little on top, but he has the most beautiful gray-green eyes you’ve ever seen; they’re really unusual. And when he smiles, the corners of his lips turn down instead of up, and I find that strangely endearing, don’t ask me why.” She laughed again, the soft sound tinkling through the remainder of her description. “But surprisingly, he’s quite muscular. He works out with weights, so he’s got these really amazing biceps. Not like Arnold Schwarzenegger or anything. But certainly more than you’d expect from a computer nerd. That’s how he describes himself, a computer nerd, although I don’t think he’s at all nerdy, and I don’t think you would either.