I spent Tuesday night and all day yesterday with Lillian. It was now early Thursday, and the first light of morning was filtering in through the closed window blinds. Dr. Mork walked in two hours before his usual rounds. After a ‘good morning’ and a few minutes reading Lillian’s chart, observing her breathing, and registering the readings from the many connected monitors, he lifted her eyelids and focused a small light on each of her pupils. According to the doctor and head ICU nurse, Stella Newsome, who accompanied him, Lillian was doing great other than being in a coma. Her vital signs were good. She simply needed to wake up. After his examination, Dr. Mork head-motioned the nurse to leave, and sat beside me in the extra chair. He expressed his firm belief Lillian would exit her coma in the next few days. When I asked why he thought this, he surprised me. He and his staff were praying for Lillian and God had assured him she was going to be okay.
To his credit, he added a factual basis: the lack of swelling and bleeding, and near-perfect electrical activity. He emphasized he had seen nothing in Lillian’s recent electroencephalogram (EEG) that would lead him to a troubling diagnosis, things like seizures, epilepsy, head injuries, dizziness, headaches, brain tumors, and sleeping problems. I asked him several nonmedical questions and offered head-nodding to his responses.
It was troublesome to hear a medical doctor, especially one board certified in both psychiatry and neurology, ground his professional opinion, in whole or in part, on something as subjective as prayer and God. Regardless of Dr. Mork’s insane beliefs and sane thinking, I hoped he was right. I missed the intimacy Lillian and I shared and couldn’t imagine my life without her.
After he left, I stood by Lillian, held her right hand, and shared in a soft whisper the hypothesis that had been forming inside my head ever since leaving Ms. Bennett’s room on Tuesday. Rachel had not accidentally found Sharon Teague’s dog tag. Ray had given it to her for safekeeping, like he had the pistol he used to kill Kyle. I suspected Rachel had knowledge of what Ray had done to the Albertville cheerleader. Possibly, Rachel assisted in her disappearance and presumed death, like I suspected she had with Kyle.
I had just kissed Lillian’s forehead and vocalized an ‘I love you,’ when nurse Newsome reappeared. At first, she didn’t say a word, but the look on her face was sympathetic, a slight smile with soft, non-staring eyes. She walked to Lillian’s bed, opposite from where I stood. She finally spoke. “Ray Archer came last night. It was early this morning, about 2:00.”
I released Lillian’s hand after Ms. Newsome noticed. “What did he want?”
“Lee, can I call you Lee?”
“Sure, that’s my name.” My tone carried with it a tinge of smart ass. I sensed Rachel telling me, once again, ‘Honey, it’s not always what you say, but how you say it.’
“Lee, working in ICU is great training for personal observations and what they mean. I know love when I see it.”
“Are you speaking of Ray?” The nurse smiled as though my question was funny. “I’m talking about a different type of love. Ray, according to my friend Jane Fordham, loves Lillian for the benefits she provides, things like status and respectability. Oh, maybe sex on demand, but that’s not what I see in you. Lillian isn’t an object of desire. She’s your heartbeat.”
“Okay.” I paused, hoping someone would summon Nurse Newsome away. This conversation was too, well, personal.
“By the way, in response to your question, Ray asked how Lillian was doing. It might be the rumors, but I didn’t want him alone with Lillian, even if you were in the same room.”
“Why? What rumors are you speaking of?” I felt like a stranger in my hometown.
“Ray has always been a bully and is used to getting his own way. You are taking away the principal thing that gives him respectability.”
We spent another ten minutes talking. Mostly, I listened. ICU nurse Stella Newsome seemed to have a monitor connected to the entire town of Boaz. She was aware of Ray’s trouble concerning the Hunt House fire and was sympathetic to the rumor it involved him in the disappearance of Billy and Buddy James.
The moment she returned her focus to me personally, declaring her sorrow over Rachel’s death, a gruff-voiced woman paged Nurse Newsome to Room 106. Our conversation was over. Thank goodness.
I returned to the Lazy Boy and explored the Internet for over an hour searching for an appropriate gift for the two law school colleagues saving my butt during upcoming exams.
A few minutes before 8:00 PM, my iPhone vibrated. It was a text from Kyla. She and Jane had just parked and were headed inside. I both dreaded and looked forward to my second meeting with Rachel’s best friend. Yesterday, I was eager to meet and talk but Jane had some all-day thing at First Baptist Church of Christ. Today, I was reluctant. Jane’s secrecy had me on high alert, especially given what Lillian and I had found inside her house.
I’d let Kyla convince me to hear Jane out. Somehow Jane persuaded my normally skeptical sister she was serious about joining our team and seeing that Ray receives justice.
The Pencil Driven Life 