Epilogue

ONLY THE OLDER COUPLE REMAINED in the intensive care waiting area. Except for the small section of wall with a flatscreen TV mounted on it, the entire area was a glass enclosure.

“Seriously, another Judge Judy episode?” the woman scoffed, wearing a droopy pink sweatshirt that read ‘Grandma is Awesome!’ “This is torture. Why don’t they have a remote in here?”

Without lowering his large book, her companion answered in a barely audible mumble. “Beats People’s Court. Judy’s got spunk.”

The woman nudged him. “Here she comes. William, put your book away. Here she is.”

The old man complied, folding his reading glasses into his breast pocket as he stood.

A smartly dressed, middle-aged woman immediately raced to hug the elderly one in the Grandma sweatshirt. They embraced without reservation.

After a few sniffles, the younger woman kissed her cheek and then hugged her even more tightly. “Oh, Beverly, thank you so much for being here.” She buried her face in Beverly’s plump shoulder. “I didn’t know what else to do when they told me. When I heard the news, I just… I just thought—”

Beverly gave her a comforting pat on the back. “Being here is the right thing, Josephine. This is important… for all of us.”

Josephine took a tissue offered by the older man. “Thank you, William.” She blew her nose softly.

He nodded. “You should’ve seen this place an hour ago. Security had to do crowd control. It was absolutely crazy.”

She sniffed and forced a smile. “Yeah, I had to pass through a group of supporters outside and show my ID to a guard to get in here.”

He tugged at his grey, speckled beard, a nervous habit that Josephine had come to adore over time. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ve always said Gavin Curtis fans are bright. Guess it didn’t take too much to figure out he’d be in one of three hospitals in the area once the media released the story.”

Tears welled up in Josephine’s eyes again. “Did he say anything to you yesterday when you saw him? Anything about doing this?”

“No, not exactly. I mean, he was acting a little off, though, but nothing that he said hinted at anything like—” He bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

“I know, I know. We talked on the phone two days ago. He said he was going through something but wouldn’t tell me what. I should’ve come then instead of sending you, but I promised him I wouldn’t.” Tears ran from Josephine’s eyes. “They say he completely trashed his room. I think it’s ‘cause we kinda got into a fight on the phone… about Ray.”

Beverly quickly shifted her eyes from Josephine’s gaze.

After a few more sobs, Josephine continued, “I should’ve come. I should’ve known that he… I coulda… coulda—”

“Now, both of you stop it,” Beverly ordered. “There’s no way to know what’s going on in somebody’s head. If somebody is contemplating something like this, there’s no way to know unless they come out and tell you—no way at all. Whatever he did, for whatever reason he did it, is nobody’s fault but his. Josephine, my dear, none of this is your fault, not one bit. Am I clear?”

She answered with a nod and a sniff. Wiping tears from her cheeks and eyes, she regained her composure. “What are the doctors saying about the chances of recovery?”

Beverly looked to her husband, who’d found something remarkably interesting to stare at on the ground. A few awkward seconds passed before Beverly answered. “Well, they say it’s too soon to tell. They did two surgeries before we arrived here this afternoon. That helped get the blood off the brain. According to the second surgeon, he seemed to come through that pretty well, but the trauma Gavin took to the head was pretty severe. So they’re in a ‘wait-and-see’ mode for the next few days.”

“You’ve seen him, right? How… how does he look?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him,” Beverly said. “I just came out about fifteen minutes ago. They had to do some routine checks, and policy is that no one can hang around while they’re doing that kinda stuff. He looks… well, you know… considering everything…” She put her arm around her husband. “William isn’t ready to see him just yet.”

He looked up. “I’ve got better things to do than watch Gavin Curtis take a nap.” The wink he offered Josephine made her smile.

Always one to get the final word, Beverly added, “I think he’s afraid he’ll lose it if he sees all the tubes and things, but it’s not that bad. It’s really not.”

“I told you, I’ll see him before we go.” His response was curt, but his eyes never left Josephine.

She jumped in before Beverly could retaliate. “Thank you both so much for being here. I can’t believe you came all this way.”

Beverly left her man’s side to rub Josephine’s shoulders. “Nonsense, sweetie. The drive only took a couple of hours, and we didn’t want you to face this by yourself.”

A black woman in dark blue scrubs approached the trio, addressing Beverly with a trace of a Haitian accent. “We’re done for a bit if any of you want to go in there.”

“Brigitte, this is Josephine Garner, Gavin’s former wife. She just flew in from California.”

“Hello and welcome. I’m Mr. Curtis’s nurse until seven tonight. Would you like me to take you to his room?”

Josephine extended a handshake and exhaled. “Yes, that’d be good.”

She turned, offering her designer purse to Beverly. “Can you keep this for me?”

“Of course I will. William, hand her some more tissues.”

He offered three and held up his thick book in his other hand. “I’m only a third of the way through, so take as much time as you need.”

Josephine gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks again for coming.”

The nurse led her through a set of double doors into the unit.

Half an hour later, the door clicked open again, and Billy wedged a bookmark in the middle of his book.

Josephine emerged alone. Beverly was quick to hand the purse back to her, along with more Kleenex.

“Thank you,” Josephine said, dabbing the mascara at the corner of her eyes. “The nurse told me that coma patients can hear people talk to them.”

William said, “I seriously doubt that with all the drugs that they have him—”

A hard nudge and a dirty look from Beverly silenced him.

He defensively asked, “What?”

A nervous laugh escaped from Josephine. “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I told him that we were here, that we loved him. That I… I loved him.”

Beverly clasped Josephine’s free hand. “I think that’s good, dear, and really brave of you. That could be just what he needs to wake up, and they do sometimes. A lot of times, they do.”

She signaled to William like a stage actor who had forgotten his line.

“Uh, yeah, right. All the time. If I know Gavin, he’s just faking it to get out of the last few stops on the book tour.”

The rebuke from Beverly was instantaneous. “William Randolph Cavanaugh! That’s an awful thing to say! How could you even think of—”

“No, it’s okay, Beverly. It’s funny. He’s right. Gavin hates doing tours.” Josephine’s expression turned curious. “I want to ask you something, though. When you were in there, did you notice anything odd?”

“Like what exactly?” Beverly asked.

“Did you see his hands—his fingers?”

“Are you talking about how they were moving?”

This got William’s attention.

“Yes.” The answer snapped out of Josephine. “His fingers were moving the entire time I was in there. The nurse said that she’d seen something like it once before and not to worry. But what did you think of that?”

“I dunno. I just figured it was a reaction to the medicine or something.”

“No, the nurse said it wasn’t.”

“What are you saying, dear?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but did it… do you think he was typing?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I can see how it would look like he was typing. Yes, I could say that, possibly.” Beverly turned to her husband with a questioning look.

“Don’t ask me,” William said. “I haven’t even been in there yet, but there have been cases of coma patients dreaming. They told us he’s not brain dead—in fact, far from it. So I guess it’s possible that he could be—”

“Sleep-typing?” Beverly said before he could finish.

Josephine nodded as she formed a half-smile.

William scratched the back of his neck. “I know one thing. If he is writing, or sleep-typing, as you say, I guarantee you that he’s not writing a Damien Marksman story.”

Josephine smiled. “That’s true.”

Beverly looked confused, not getting the joke.

He stroked his beard. “However, I do wonder—sincerely wonder. What story do you think Gavin Curtis is writing now?”

It was Beverly who saw her first and quickly moved to place herself between the woman and Josephine.

“Jeez Louise!” William exclaimed, nearly dropping his book. “How long have you been standing there?”

The old woman with the harelip ignored the question and took a step closer to the trio. Pointing to an old publicity photo of Gavin in the newspaper she was holding, she asked, “Are you this? The writer?”

Josephine, ever the publicist, moved from behind Beverly’s human shield and extended a hand. “Are you a fan? Do you read Damien Marksman books?”

The old woman asked again, “You are this? For him?”

Josephine shot a glance behind her to William, who seemed to be scanning the area for security. When their eyes met, he shrugged.

Josephine turned back to the woman, who looked like she was wearing a homemade dress. Before she could answer, Beverly said, “Yes, we are Mr. Curtis’s… family. Are you a Gavin Curtis fan?”

Satisfied, the woman folded the paper away and addressed Josephine. “No, I’m not reading the stories, but I come telling you something, something important for your ears.” Though she was not an attractive woman, the three could not take their eyes off her as she said, “He did good thing when he jumped. He stopped—”

A gasp from Beverly called William into action. Pointing an index finger at the woman, he rebuked her. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’d better turn around and head back out that door before I put my boot up your—”

Josephine lifted a hand, stopping him short. Her voice wavered, but she managed to ask, “What do you mean—what good thing? He stopped what?”

“My daughter. He keep her from doing bad thing, very bad. It over now.”

Beverly moved to steady Josephine.

William demanded, “What are you talking about? Is this some kinda prank or something?”

The old woman shook her head from side to side. “He not jump because of sad. He jump to keep bad away—to protect.”

Josephine was crying again.

“No sad, no sad,” the old woman said in a comforting tone. “Wait, I have something for happy.” As she pulled the green, pear-shaped necklace from around her neck and over her head, she asked, “You the wife? The writer wife, no?”

Josephine sniffed and nodded repeatedly.

“This for you, for happy. It’s gift.”

Josephine waved her hands before her in refusal. “I can’t… you don’t need to do that.”

“The writer stop my daughter from doing bad thing. It’s gift.”

After a few seconds of looking into the persistent stare of the woman, Josephine gave in. She stooped to allow the woman to place the necklace over her head. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

The woman ignored the question. “It make you happy to wear it, you see. It make you happy very soon.”

Josephine received another tissue from William as Beverly offered a comforting shoulder squeeze.

“I will go now, but remember I said the writer not jump because of sad.”

“I’ll remember,” Josephine said, drying her eyes.

“Good to remember this. Bye now.”

The three watched in stunned silence as the odd harelipped woman walked down the hallway.

The pear-shaped necklace had some weight, but it wasn’t too heavy. Josephine clasped a hand around it and squeezed.

She was surprised at how warm it felt.

THE END