When I woke up again, it was pitch-dark, and Jennica was shaking me awake. It took me a full minute to realize I was in my bed at Dad and Jennica’s and that Rosie was sound asleep in the bed beside me.
“What are you doing?” I mumbled to Jennica, my voice thick with sleep. I could feel pain pulsing down the right side of my body.
“I have to wake you up once an hour and check your pupils to make sure you don’t have a concussion. Doctor’s orders.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Still at work.” I glanced at the clock. It was almost 2:00 a.m. “They shut down production for a couple of hours when he found out you were in the Tantamount infirmary…. Once we all realized you’d be okay, he had to rush back and play catch-up.”
I thought about the guy in the suit who was already giving my dad grief and groaned. “Dad’s gonna be furious.”
Jennica squeezed my hand, but she didn’t contradict me. “We’ll talk about all of this in the morning. In the meantime, I’m just glad you’re okay.” She stood up and walked to the door. “See you in an hour.”
“Jennica?” I said.
She turned back.
“Thanks.”
She gave me a small, tired smile before she walked away.
“George Clooney’s car!” Dad was pacing back and forth in the kitchen, clutching a mug of coffee.
Jennica and I were still in our pajamas. She had dark circles under her eyes, thanks to her once-an-hour vigil over yours truly the night before. I had a single crutch to help me move around on my twisted ankle. The right side of my body – leg, hip, and arm – was raw and red and starting to form scabs.
“You hit George Clooney’s car! With a studio golf cart! That you stole! And you’re twelve!”
“Almost thirteen. And I didn’t steal it, I borrowed it –”
“George Clooney’s car!” This particular piece of information was clearly the worst part of it for Dad. “He must be furious.”
“Not really,” I said.
“What do you mean, ‘not really’?”
“I spoke with him. In the infirmary.”
My dad rubbed his temples. “Violet, don’t be ridiculous. George was shooting all day, he couldn’t have visited you in the infirmary.”
“But he did. Just ask the doctor. She was there.”
Jennica said gently, “The doctor wasn’t a she, Violet. His name was Bernard.”
Now I felt confused. “But I did talk to him –”
“You’d hit your head. You were hallucinating,” my dad said.
“If I was hallucinating, how come I already knew I’d hit his car?”
“Because the parking spot had RESERVED FOR GEORGE CLOONEY painted on the curbstone in enormous letters. You must have seen it while you were lying there on the pavement….” His voice broke. “Violet, you could have killed yourself. You had us worried half to death.”
Then he grabbed me and hugged me tightly for a few seconds before letting me go. “Dammit, why can’t we ever have a normal visit with you?” He gave Jennica a quick kiss on the crown of her head. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Call time’s not for two hours, but I have to revise my storyboard, try to make up for lost time.” He shot me a look as he said this.
As he headed out of the room, he shouted over his shoulder, “And call your mother!”
Jennica and I were left alone in the kitchen. We could hear Rosie and the twins, playing happily in the family room. Jennica handed me a pill, something the doctor had given me for the pain. I drank it down with some apple juice.
“Do you really think you saw George Clooney?” she asked.
“Yes. At least, I thought I did. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Is he as good-looking in real life as he is in his movies?”
“Better.”
Jennica smiled, and the smile turned into a yawn.
“Why don’t you go back to bed?” I said.
“I can’t. It’s Anna Maria’s day off.”
“I can watch Rosie and the twins,” I told her.
She looked at me, and I knew she was trying to decide whether or not she could trust me.
“Just for an hour. And I won’t take them outside. We’ll stay in the family room.” Then I said what she really wanted to hear. “I won’t do anything mean. I promise.”
She studied my face for a moment. “Okay. Thanks, Violet, I appreciate it.” Then she handed me the portable phone. “But first, call your mother.”
“Violet, is everything okay?” my mom asked, when I got through to her on her cell phone. She was at work, and I could hear voices in the background.
“Everything’s great, Mom. Me and Rosie are fine.” I paused. “But I did have a bit of an accident yesterday.”
There was silence for a moment. “An accident?”
“I’m fine. I just have a twisted ankle. And I’m pretty scraped up. And they thought I might have a concussion, but I don’t.”
“What happened?” There was a hint of hysteria in her voice.
“Um … I kind of fell out of a golf cart. And it kind of landed on top of me.”
“What?”
“But, you know, it’s a pretty long story, and you’re at work and all, so it can wait till I get home –”
“No. No, it can’t wait till you get home. Karen, take over for me, will you?”
A moment later, the background noise died down, and I knew she’d stepped into the hall. “Okay, Violet. Tell me everything.”
So I did.