THE HOSPITAL
On Christmas morning, Norris drove me and Daddy to the hospital in Harlan. Afore he left to go back to Smoke Ridge to spend Christmas with his folks, I give him a kiss on his cheek. Not jist a peck this time.
“Thank ya, Norris,” I told him. “Ya been a good friend. To Pick and to me.”
He put his arms around me and kissed me on the mouth. Right in front of Daddy. Afore Daddy had a chance to say a word, Norris clumb in the truck and pulled away, calling “Merry Christmas” out the window as he drove away.
A nurse directed us down a long hall with doors along both sides. Raynelle stood outside one of ’em, surprised to see us.
“We come to spend Christmas with you and Blissie,” Daddy said.
I handed the new Lula to Daddy. “I think this should come from you,” I said.
Raynelle’s mouth fell open. “Where’d ya git that? Who made it?”
“It was made by the same person who made the first Lula,” I said to the stunned look on her face. “It’s a right long story. We’ll tell ya ’bout it later. Kin we see Blissie?”
“The nurse is dressing her burns. When she finishes, we kin go in.”
Raynelle filled us in on Blissie’s progress, which she said was going well.
“Ya likely need a good night’s rest by now,” Daddy said. “Ya ought’a come home with us.”
Raynelle’s look towards Daddy was cold. She talked mostly to me. “I been spending nights on a couch in the apartment of a couple nurses. They live jist down the street. Only a short walk. And they’s nice ladies.”
We didn’t tell her about finding Pick. Or about Raymond. If Pick changed his mind about coming here for Christmas—or if Mamaw or Mr. Grayson changed it for him—we didn’t want Raynelle ending up disappointed.
As much as I’d tried to prepare myself, I wasn’t ready to see Blissie. Her bed was one in a row of four, but only one other had someone in it. Blissie looked small in the big bed, its metal bedstead painted white. She lay against a white pillowcase, her face near as pale as it was. Her burnt arm was covered with a sheet, and pain stood out stark in her eyes.
But she smiled when she seen us—even Daddy. Or did she smile at the doll in Daddy’s hands? She reached out for it with her good hand and stroked its face and rubbed its hand against her lip like she always done with the old Lula.
“Ya fixed her! Ya fixed her!” Blissie’s smile grew big enough to hide her pain. “Raynelle, did you do this?”
“Not me,” Raynelle said honestly.
“Ya know I cain’t sew,” I said.
Daddy shook his head. “I wished I could’a fixed her a thousand times, but it wasn’t me.”
“Then who?”
“It’s a gift from someone special,” I said. “After all, it’s Christmas.”