Chapter 14

As I looked at Emma’s empty hospital room, a fear seized my gut as if I had been entrusted with something extremely valuable and I had no idea where I’d put it.

My puzzled expression asked the question for me after I’d fumbled my way to the nurses’ station.

A nurse answered, “Emma Yates is on the other wing now.”

“The other wing?”

“Yeah, follow the blue line on the floor straight ahead to room 22-B.”

“Why?” My mouth suddenly dry, I stuttered, “Did-did something happen?”

“Her condition stabilized. Patients in this wing need more care than she does at the moment.”

I reveled in this good news for the length of the hall, but when I pushed open 22-B, another surprise awaited.

Vivian Reece’s face was a mask of frozen horror under a remarkable feathered and bejeweled black hat. “Isn’t this just too tragic for words? Dennis said she was doing something at your place when a space heater caught fire. That’s how it happens, you know. Somebody leaves something cooking or candles burning or it’s one of those dang space heaters.”

She was a short, stout woman dressed in a navy blue designer suit. It was good to know they made them in that size because by the end of my pregnancy my waist girth would match hers.

Emma had beaten Vivian twice in the run for president of their sorority chapter. Not a lot of love lost there, so her worry was probably feigned.

“Hi, Vivian. Yeah, well…” I walked over to Emma. She looked like something the cat had dragged in. Hair in disarray, her legs and right arm secured so she wouldn’t hurt herself more if she flailed about unconsciously. Beeping machines were attached to her with tubes and wires.

I smoothed back her hair the best I could. I’d buy her a comb and brush as soon as I got the chance. “Emma’s on the road to recovery. When the paramedics first saw her they thought her burns were more severe than they turned out to be, and that’s why they brought her here instead of to another hospital. That’s the good news. The bad news is that she hit her head in the fall.”

“My Lord. That’s a crying shame. Jumped out a window. Burned and in a coma. Umph, I will certainly keep her in my prayers.”

“Thank you.”

“I—I mean we, our chapter members, are going to hold a special meeting later this week and I’m going to shoulder the responsibility of the chapter presidency. We’ve got the scholarship ball before Christmas and the winter retreat after it. The voter registration rally at Temple Hill Baptist Church is on Doctor King’s birthday. Somebody needs to be at the helm to make sure everything goes as planned. I’m willing to make the personal sacrifice and do what has to be done, even though my daughter is visiting from Italy.”

Emma had told me Vivian’s daughter had received a dishonorable discharge from the army for leaving her post while on duty in Italy, but I wasn’t supposed to know that. “I’m sure Emma appreciates you stepping in.” Yeah, like Al Gore appreciated George W. Bush.

“No problem. Emma’s going to need some time to recuperate and adjust to the changes.” Vivian settled in a chair near the window.

“There shouldn’t be any lasting changes, Vivian. Second degree burns heal completely. All her injuries are temporary.” I spoke with confidence based on faith and being up most of the night doing research on the Internet.

Her expression indicated she thought me delusional, but she’d go along with it for my sake. “If you say so, you poor thing. You must be just riddled with guilt. And your poor house! What a shame.”

I nodded and gave up on the idea that I didn’t need to sit and chat for a few more minutes. I sat across from her, thinking how kind she was to state the obvious.

“Well,” Vivian said, “I’ll be coming regularly and I expect this place will be jam packed with visitors.”

“I’m sure she knows everyone is rooting for her. There’s a two visitor at a time limit.” I made up that second part. I knew Emma wouldn’t want to be on display, and a two-person limit sounded reasonable. But that wasn’t the only reason I’d said that. Emma’s sorority friends tended to see themselves as uniquely special and a tad better than the average Jane or Shiniqua. Having identified myself as average all my life, being around a group of them made me uncomfortable. Sure, their sorority causes were community-oriented and noteworthy, but could they get over themselves already?

Of course, Emma didn’t seem to mind; in fact, she fit right in. Hearing their chatter might help bring her out of her coma faster, but I’d made a selfish decision, something I seemed to be doing with greater frequency when it came to Emma these days. I refused to be knee-deep in sorority sisters for the duration of Emma’s recovery. I already had Dennis to contend with, and endless versions of Vivian were more than I could handle at the moment.

“Okay. I’ll spread the word.”

“Will you? I’d appreciate it.”

We sat smiling stiffly at each other. I glanced at my watch.

Vivian shrugged. “With her being up here in Baltimore, many sorors might wait and see her when she gets home.”

“That might be best.”

“When do you think that will be? When will she be home?”

“Predictions are hard to make, but you know Emma. Once she sets her mind to something, she can’t be stopped.”

“Now that’s true. She does have a certain pit bull quality about her. I hope it serves her well. So you’re here all the time, huh?”

“Yes, I plan to be.”

“Where’s that handsome fiancé of hers? I see her ring is off for safe keeping.”

She meant why wasn’t Dennis keeping a twenty-four-hour vigil, and could she please have something else to gossip about?

“He’s around, you know. Keeping his shop going.” Plotting my murder.

“I sure hate I missed seeing him. That is one fine man.”

I smiled again and stood. Thankfully, she followed suit.

“Call me if there’s something I can do.”

“Yes, I will. Thanks for stopping by, Vivian.”

“You have my number?”

I gave her yesterday’s newspaper. “Write it on here.” The paper and her number shared equal value in my book.

* * *

At the hospital the next day, Emma looked tousled because they’d just changed her dressings. The coma was good for something, otherwise the pain would be excruciating.

“I’m here, Emma.” I braved a kiss hello. “I’ve got the rest of Dangling Hearts, I’ve got Patti LaBelle, Bony James and Norah Jones.” Fortunately, my car was well-stocked musically. “So what do you want to hear first? Who? Bony James. Okay, we’ll listen and I’ll check the newspaper for a place to live close by.”

I must have been exhausted because when I woke, it was after eleven. The crick in my neck clicked louder than the soda can I crushed and threw in the trash.

I massaged my neck and gazed at the Baltimore skyline. The moon hung low and orange in a dark blue sky. Mac had been good at rubbing my neck two days ago. Was that just two days ago? I wondered what he was doing right now. Despite the corniness I hummed, “Somewhere Out There” from that animated Spielberg movie.

“Hi, I can rustle you up a cot if you’re gonna be here all night.”

I turned to Tereka’s voice. “Hi. Oh, thanks, that would be great. Did Dennis come by tonight?”

“I come on at seven. I haven’t seen him.”

“Okay.” I wondered how long he’d keep up the façade. Emma wasn’t in a position to write checks, so Dennis was effectively cut off. Maybe he would shrivel up and blow away.

Tereka rolled my cot in and helped me open it.

“Thanks.” I accepted the fresh bedding.

Tereka glanced at the food tray I’d converted into a desk. I’d been looking through rental ads in the Baltimore Sun.

“You looking for a place near here?”

“Yeah, you got any suggestions? It would just be until Emma is better.”

“Yeah, I do. I can hook you up. It’s nothing fancy, but they finally got the roaches in check.”

“The ro—”

“Girl, I’m just messing with you. You should see your face. It’s a two-family flat and my cousin was gonna rent out the bottom floor to this man last month, but he changed his mind. She’s hurting for rent money ’bout now. There’s some basic stuff there, but I’d get a new mattress if I were you.”

“You bet. And the neighborhood is pretty safe?”

“Pretty safe. Where you from?

“I grew up in D.C.”

“So you know what to expect and how to be careful. It’s a mostly white, working class, poor neighborhood. Blacks have been moving in for the past ten or fifteen years.”

“Oh, okay, sure.” I knew how to live in an urban environment, not taking unnecessary risks, but not being afraid either. “Do you live near here too, Tereka?”

“No, I live in northeast Baltimore for now. I plan to move to Columbia as soon as my money gets right. Better schools for my daughters.”

Columbia, Maryland, was a planned community midway between Baltimore and Washington, D.C. “Oh, how old are they?”

“Four and five. Anyway,” she took out a pad from her purple top pocket, “it sounds perfect for you for a couple of months. Here’s my cousin’s name and number.”

* * *

Tereka’s cousin Rachel pushed open the door to her lower flat. Her smooth sepia skin complemented her coarse gray hair, which was pulled back and piled high, librarian-style. Her black, rectangular glasses added to an air of seriousness.

The door thudded and bounced against the doorstop. A medley of smells greeted me—Lysol on top of new paint on top of a pervasive fried food smell. The dirty, pale orange carpet was probably culpable for the last one.

“Here’s the coat closet.” Rachel pulled the door ajar.

“Okay,” I said. I pulled on the light chain, peeked into the stuffy darkness a second, then closed the door. Rachel opened it and pulled the chain once again.

The living room was a good size and a large picture window let in a lot of light. Light and city noise. This house sat ten feet from the curb on a semi-busy street named Addison Court. The kitchen was on the right and beyond that were three doors. The walls were stark white.

Seeking something positive to say, which meant overlooking the furniture, I came up with, “Nice window, and the paint job is nice too.”

The kitchen, big enough for a small table and two chairs, had the typical, nondescript appliances. I checked the counter for mouse droppings and the cabinets for scurrying roaches. I didn’t see either. The hot and cold water worked.

I considered the living room again. Rachel must be the master salvager of post-eviction furniture as witnessed by the black vinyl couch, mismatched end tables, the gray plastic rectangular coffee table reminiscent of the ’70s, and one mauve lamp with no shade.

The black lacquered dresser in the bedroom confirmed it. It was huge, leaving just enough space for the fake brass bed and a floor lamp. Where was the decorating team from Trading Places when you needed them?

I contemplated the black-and-white-tiled bathroom that could be accessed from the bedroom and the living room. Let’s just say I would be investing in new flip-flops and taking only showers for the duration. At least it had a linen closet.

The sun porch was a bright spot. The French door that led to it added a whisper of charm. Someone had left a wind chime, which tinkled gently.

Rachel stepped out beside me and together we looked through the bank of screened windows. “It’s not heated, but it gets the morning sun,” she said.

The neighborhood had seen better days, but that was true in any big city in America. In the waning evening light I saw overturned trashcans and a fence that looked as if people walked over it rather than around it. The proximity to Bayview and downtown Baltimore couldn’t be beat. The property itself was gold. It was only a matter of time before somebody bought up the whole block and made a fortune.

Turning to Rachel I said, “Instead of paying you six hundred a month, I’ll spend two thousand on furniture and other improvements, and you can keep everything when I leave.”

“No,” she shook her head and folded her arms across her chest, “that won’t work. I need the cash. What? You got your own furniture?”

“I will have it, yes.”

“All right, I can get somebody to take what’s in here out, but that’s gonna cost you a hundred. And when you move your stuff in, be careful with my walls.”

“The tub and sinks need to be caulked.” I was not about to pay six hundred dollars a month to watch fungus grow inside cracks. “A burglar alarm has to be installed.”

“I’ll have the caulking done, but you’re on your own with the burglar alarm. Tell them to put the control box inside the coat closet. I don’t want them messing up my new walls. I just had drywall replaced.”

“What about the carpet?” I asked.

Her eyebrows bunched and she looked at me over her glasses. “I just had it cleaned.”

You win some, you lose some.