Best of Luck Elsewhere Page 13

  His message was short and casual, noting that his author reading was done early and that when I got home, he could bring over a movie and some snacks and we could spend a little time together.

  “I know I wasn’t going to call until tomorrow night, so if you’re out or if you get home late, no worries. Just give me a call when you get a chance so we can plan Saturday.”

  I had enjoyed Sea World, but it was nothing compared to the fun Adam and I would have had, and I kicked myself for turning off my phone. Who cared what a few strangers thought about me when my phone disrupted them?

  The voice announced another message, time: 12:13 A.M. The message began, but again it was not Liam. An older man’s voice spoke clearly and gently, calling me “Ms. Tahan.” He informed me that he was calling from our local hospital.

  My throat caught.

  “Your name is on the emergency contact card that Liam Jack had in his wallet. I’m afraid he has been in a car accident, and we ask that you come as soon as possible. He was admitted into the ER and, while you can’t see him at this moment, we hope to be able to transfer him to ICU shortly. You can come at any time—we don’t have strict visiting hours.” There was an address and a phone number in case I had any questions.

  I began to feel dizzy. A sharp breath in. Out. In.

  I pressed “7” on my phone to save the message. There was another message waiting.

  “This message is for Ms. Tahan. We have not heard back from you in response to our earlier message regarding Mr. Liam Jack. His condition is stable now and he is in the intensive care unit. He is still in a coma, but things are looking better. Please call us as soon as possible. If you cannot make it to the hospital, we need you to call with contact information for Mr. Jack’s next of kin.”

  Stable? Intensive care unit? Coma? Next of kin?

  I knew I should be speeding to the hospital but it would be all day to get there on foot. A taxi would be my chariot, regardless of the price. I was already excavating the Yellow Pages from our kitchen drawer, cell phone tucked between my shoulder and ear, when yet another message began.

  “Liz!” Cleo’s familiar voice boomed in contrast to the gentle hospital voices. “Damn it, Liz, why aren’t you answering your phone?” Freeway noises ran all ways in the background of the message. “The hospital said they’ve been trying to get hold of you, leaving messages and stuff. Liam’s been in an accident. He is in ICU right now. When they could not get hold of you, they called me. I don’t know why he has my name on his emergency list, or how many people they had already called who are not picking up their phones. We are far from best buddies, but you know that and this is not the time for me to complain. What can I do but go to the hospital? I’m on my way as I speak. Come right away when you get this. I don’t want to be making any life-or-death choices about your roommate. I’m sorry, Liz, I’m just a little anxious, a little panicked. I don’t mean to scare you. ICU isn’t bad. They’re taking care of him. Just come right away. I want to be there to help you deal with this. Not be the only one there.”

  There was a beep and it was the end of the messages. I tried to discern the meaning of Cleo’s message, clearing away all the extras that came up whenever Cleo was anxious.

  I called a taxi and asked them to hurry.

  * * *

  I’d been able to hold back tears, busy praying in my mind, during the taxi ride to the hospital.

  My voice cracked when I asked for Liam’s room number, hoping they’d say he was fine now and on his way home.

  But when I walked into his room, saw his torso wrapped up, his arm in a cast, and all the machines and intravenous lines to which he was hooked up, the tears began to well up in my eyes. His face with the broken nose and the stitches across his right cheekbone knocked the air out of my chest. The mid-morning sunlight was pouring through the window, making the hospital room so bright it hurt my eyes.

  It wasn’t the light that caused me to walk immediately out of the room, but the tears I was trying desperately to hold in. Standing in the hospital hallway, staring at the calming impressionist painting of cliffs and the sea, the tears finally made their way out.

  It seemed like an eternity that I stood in the hall with my back to his door, before Cleo, who had been reading a book in the corner of the room, came out to meet me. Her arms were around my shoulders, and she was cooing my name. “Liz. Oh, Eliza…”

  I turned, wiping my eyes, to face her. She pulled a tissue out of the purse pack she always had in her jacket pocket. “Eliza,” she repeated. “You’re here. Thank goodness. I was so worried about you. It wasn’t like you not to come to Liam’s rescue, and it was your car he was in and I just had these awful thoughts that maybe you were in there, too, and were thrown out, or something.”

  I looked aside and didn’t say anything.

  Her attitude changed to accusatory. “What the hell took you so long? I’ve been so damn worried! I’ve been here worrying all night!”

  “I didn’t get the messages ’til this morning,” I sniffled. “You’re the one who told me to turn my phone off.”

  Cleo narrowed her lips. “I meant while you were in that thing with Shamu.”

  “It was the manatee exhibit.”

  “Whatever. Don’t feel bad. You had no way of knowing this was going to happen.”

  I looked up, my eyes cleared enough to see my sister. “What happened, anyway?” I asked, comforted by having her there.

  “It was a car accident. Some drunk driver just plowed into him. The drunk driver’s car was just bigger, I guess. It smashed into your Civic, then super-quick, the drunk driver sped away. The other car had to have some damage, and they’re hoping that will help them track who it was.” Her voice trailed off. She shook her head. “God, I’m just glad you’re okay. This has had me totally freaked out. And I’m not easily freaked out, Liz. I was so worried about you. How can anyone sleep at night when someone they care about might be driving somewhere? Shit.” She turned her head and seemed to fight back tears.

  “A drunk driver?” I asked. I wasn’t feeling secure enough myself to comfort her. I wanted to know the facts. Facts are cold and solid. Much easier to face than warm tears and shape-shifting fears.

  Cleo choked back the tears that had threatened to come. I convinced myself that I had done her a favor. Who wants to be bawling in a hospital hall? It wasn’t the time to break up over everything. Facts. I needed more facts.

  “That’s what we think he was. Me and the guy sharing Liam’s room. He’s nice enough, but bored and chatty. He just won’t fall asleep and give me some peace.”

  “So, you’ve told me what happened to the car. What happened to Liam? And how is he, really?” I didn’t want a list of the damage. I had seen that when I had walked in the room, spelled out in tubes and stitches. Cleo knew me, and I knew she would tell me what I needed to know.

  “Liz, the doctor is going to tell you all the details as soon as he comes in. For now, well, Liam is okay, I guess. Under the circumstances. When he first came in, I don’t think they thought he was going to make it. I sure didn’t expect him to pull through. He hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt. I mean, who doesn’t wear a seatbelt!”

  “Liam hates seatbelts. You know that.”

  “Yeah. After I got hold of myself, I remembered you complaining about how he never wears his seatbelt. There was that time we were all in the car together and you were trying to convince him to buckle up and he was saying that it would wrinkle his clothes and he might as well never press his shirts if they were going to be wrinkled by a seatbelt anyway.”

  “I remember that. We had that conversation a lot. Even just the other day, actually.”

  “He has some broken bones, and he hit his head really hard. They fixed all they could right now, and they say he’s stable, whatever that means. He hasn’t opened his eyes or anything.” She glanced back into the room. When she turned back to me, she said with some surprise, “That chatty roommate of his is finally asleep! I guess tha
t would have done the trick, just walking away from the conversation.”

  “I’ll be quiet when I go in.” I wanted to be by Liam’s side.

  Cleo rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Don’t go in if you’re not ready. It’s pretty shocking, and you’ve only just pulled yourself together.”

  I managed a weak smile. “You think I’m pulled together?”

  “See that doctor down there?” She pointed at a handsome black man in a stark white coat at the end of the hall.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve spent your time here cruising for men.” I rolled my eyes.

  “No, that’s Liam’s doctor. I think you should go talk to him and get the lowdown before going in to see Liam. I’ll wait in the room for you.”

  “Thanks, but he looks like he’s heading this way. Anyway, I’m ready to go back in there and see Liam now. I was just…shocked at first, I think.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  “All right, then. I’ll let you be alone with him. And I’ll tell his nurse you’re here. When they couldn’t get hold of you, they looked at his phone to get his parents’ telephone number, so don’t worry about giving the doctors their number. The doctor is on his way, like you said, and the nurse is due to check on him soon, too. She comes every fifteen minutes or so. I think she’ll let you stay while she does her thing, as long as you don’t get in her way.”

  * * *

  After Cleo left I went to Liam’s side. My first glimpse had prepared me to some degree, and though I was horrified at his injuries, and though my legs wanted to buckle at the thought of his pain, I moved forward and gently lifted his hand to my lips for a light kiss.

  “Liam? Can you hear me?” I half-expected a hand-squeeze or something dramatic. But there was nothing. I looked at the monitors next to his bed. The readings were, as they say, Greek to me. I searched my brain for some magic words to say.

  I’d once had a daydream that we were old and married (this was before, when that was still the plan) and that I was in a coma on my way to death’s door. In my fantasy, Liam held my hand and read me poems. Not mushy ones, but profound ones. Rumi and Hafitz and the Psalms. To guide me to the afterlife.

  But I couldn’t think of anything poetic, and I didn’t want to guide Liam to the afterlife. I wanted to pull him back to this life. I squeezed his hand.

  Cleo entered the room, along with the doctor and nurse. The doctor shook my hand and introduced himself before trying to comfort me for an obligatory moment. That business aside, he got down to work. While the doctor was checking Liam this way and that, and the nurse was taking notes from the monitors, the doctor gave me an account of what had happened. What bones had been broken. Where he had been cut and hit. Their expectations for his coma.

  “Who doesn’t wear a seatbelt in this day and age?” He looked at me as though I could answer for Liam. I shrugged, just wanting him to continue. “He was admitted to the ER last night. Because he was not wearing his seatbelt, he hit his head on the windshield, which is why he has the broken nose and deep cuts on his face. His chest hit the steering wheel and broke some ribs. Being tossed around—of course without his seatbelt—caused a fracture in his right arm. His ankle was broken, too. We stitched him up, set his bones and, once he stabilized, brought him here to ICU to see if he is going to come out of this.”

  The doctor concluded, “Your friend is stable, and of course he is young and healthy. That really boosts his chances of making it. You know, we tried to call you several times when he came in.”

  “I was out,” I answered softly. “My cell phone was off. So I didn’t annoy people. I forgot to turn it back on when I went home and went to bed. It was late.”

  “Well, luckily your sister came in. And you’re here now. Don’t feel like you have to keep vigil over your friend, Ms. Tahan.” He looked over at Cleo and smiled. “Cleo here seems to think something terrible will happen if she walks out of the room.”

  When he left, I asked myself if I should keep vigil. What could I do that the doctor and nurses weren’t already doing?

  I turned to Cleo, who was standing at the foot of Liam’s bed. “I’m going to call work. I know the doctor said I didn’t need to stay, but I think I’d rather.”

  “You have to go outside to use your cell phone,” Cleo replied, keeping her eye on the sleeping roommate. “There’s signs posted all over. I’ll wait here for you.”

  “I’ll use the room phone. It’s a local call.”

  I dialed the HR manager.

  “Ms. Li,” I said into her voicemail, “this is Eliza Tahan, from the mystery department. A friend, my roommate, was in an accident last night and is in the hospital in a coma. I’m here at the hospital and I won’t be coming in today, if that’s okay. I’ll try to come in tomorrow, but my friend is in really bad shape and I just don’t know for sure yet when I’ll be able to come in.”

  I left a phone number and hung up, and then made eye contact with Cleo, who had moved to the chair in the corner.

  “You’re out of your element, aren’t you, Liz?” she whispered, trying not to wake up the roommate.

  “I am. You sure do know me.”

  “I’m out of my element, too. Hospitals bring back…memories. Hey, if you’re going to be here, do you mind if I take a nap at your place? I’ve been up all night, and I came right from a meeting so I haven’t slept for too long. I don’t trust myself driving all the way home before getting a little shut-eye. Plus, you know how accidents or the effects thereof really shake me up. I need a break.”

  “No problem, Cleo,” I said, tossing her my keys. “My house key is the one with the blue plastic thingy on it. Drive carefully.”

  “Of course. Are you going to be okay? Got enough info to hold you for a little while before we can find out anything else?”

  “I guess I don’t have many options, do I? I appreciate your coming here.”

  “I didn’t have many options, did I?”

  “Hey, by the way, did they say anything about the other guy in the car?” I asked, thinking about Liam’s date.

  “What car? Yours? What other guy?”

  “Liam was on a date with some guy. That’s why I lent him my car.”

  “I don’t think anyone else was in the car.”

  “He must have been on his way to pick up his date. How would someone be that drunk that early? The other driver, the one that hit him, I mean. You’d have to be drinking a while to get so drunk that you smash into someone! Don’t you think?”

  “Sounds like some bum who doesn’t have a job. Some self-interested Hemingway who just sits around and drinks and no one knows how he can pay his rent or pay for the booze—”

  “Hemingway?”

  “Not literally Hemingway,” Cleo laughed, her voice weak with sleepiness. She gave me a peck on the cheek. “I didn’t mean to offend my favorite English major. I just meant, you know—”

  “An author.” I felt a little faint.

  “I didn’t mean an author in particular. I just meant someone who stays at home and drinks in the middle of the day. Didn’t Hemingway do that?”

  Did she know about S. Rain’s death being a possible murder? By an author?

  She didn’t know about the mandate from the detective to start looking through lists of rejected authors. She didn’t know that while my house didn’t appear in my photo in the article, my car did.

  Could it be that whoever hit Liam had meant to hit me?

  * * *

  While I sat next to Liam’s bed, the day crawled by. As my original anxiety faded, I became restless. The worst part of sitting beside someone in a hospital is the unknown. The waiting and wondering and worrying, every moment a reminder of the fragility of life.

  Whoever hit Liam meant to hit me. I should be in a coma now. Or dead.

  I grasped Liam’s hand again and squeezed gently. Had he taken my place? I didn’t want him hurting, but I found myself focusing more on the fact that it could have b
een me. Not like “coulda been anyone,” but “shoulda been me.”

  I decided I needed something solid to concentrate on. Pulling my insurance card out of my wallet, I called AAA to report the accident. I then called the police department to ask after my car. Not that work mattered much right now, but at least it was something to do. I arranged to have them call me about when I could pick up my car from the police impound yard, and they noted that I “shouldn’t expect to drive it home.”

  I decided on another call.

  “Detective Wilson,” answered the voice on the other end.

  “Sir, this is Eliza Tahan. We spoke yesterday about S. Rain’s murder.”

  “Yes, Ms. Tahan.”

  “My roommate is in the hospital. He was driving my car when someone hit him.”

  “I’m very sorry,” was the reply. Then silence.

  “I think the guy was trying to hit me.”

  “You think it was on purpose?”

  “Yes. There’s this interview I did. I mean, I wanted to tell you yesterday but you had already left for the day. In it I said I did the rejections.”

  I heard Detective Wilson shuffling some papers. “Yes, I have that here. ‘Ms. Orwell usually agrees with me, and she will follow up with contracts. 

  “So you read the article? All of it?”

  “Yes. And it sounds like you thought Ms. Orwell was pretty useless, except to follow up with contracts.”

  “Please, it isn’t important what I thought. It’s important what I said. I did say that, and it was kind of conceited. A bad move. The interviewer was good-looking and I was trying to impress him. Rain had set up the interview right before I was supposed to go on vacation and I was angry with her. I thought I could include the article in a portfolio someday for a promotion or another job, and I wanted to look good.”

  “Did you complain about Ms. Orwell often to your friends and family? Not just to the interviewer, I mean?”

  “No, not exactly. I wasn’t telling it all over town. And never at work or anything. Just venting to a few people. Of course, it wouldn’t matter anymore if I had told everyone because I told the interviewer. Any author who might have killed Rain because of a rejection knows now that he should have tried to kill me.”