***
I WISH I didn't have to tell this part of the story.
Susie was in an ambulance, being whizzed off to the nearest emergency room, her head cracked open and bleeding all over her white wedding gown. Marianne might have been a logical choice as storyteller because she and Susie go back further than Susie and I do, but Marianne was awfully busy trying to save our sister's life.
So it falls to me to tell what happened.
I'm Susie's younger sister, Abigail Burton, but everyone calls me Sissy.
*
This is what I witnessed that day, and in the months that followed the wedding.
The sanctuary was filled with guests. On the groom's side were all the brown and black folks, and mulattoes, like Rodney. On Susie's side were the white class who curried favor from our dad, Bob Burton, ex-mayor and former senator who still wielded power and influence throughout Toussaint Parish.
Daddy showed up at the last minute and walked Susie down the aisle, which shocked everyone because he had been against the relationship between Susie and Rodney from the beginning. In fact he had organized an old-fashioned posse of guys with guns and ropes to hunt Rodney down in the early 70s when he attempted to move to New York to marry Susie.
Daddy wore a black tuxedo, and since I was one of the bridesmaids, I was close enough to see him fur his brow and sneer when he shook hands with Rodney at the altar. Marianne was also a bridesmaid, and her face turned scarlet because she was embarrassed by Daddy's presence so close to her. She is our half-sister whom Daddy fathered with Tootsie, our help. Lilly was the third bridesmaid and she didn't notice anything amiss. She just stared lovingly at her parents, so proud that they were getting married to each other.
Susie looked confused, since she never expected Daddy to show up. He dropped her arm and didn't lift her veil to kiss her, like fathers-of-brides are supposed to do. He hadn't attended the rehearsal, so maybe he didn't know how to act, but I could tell Susie was upset, and even a bit sad. Rodney later lifted her veil and kissed her in front of the entire world.
Daddy plopped down in the pew behind my mother and her Mafia boyfriend from Houston, and crossed his arms over his chest. He remained like that for the entire mass, communion, and vow exchange.
Marianne and Susie are the same age and they have a strong sisterly bond. I am almost a decade younger, and they pulled me into their reationship when they told me that Lilly was Susie's daughter. Lilly was born in New York when Susie was an eighteen-year-old sophomore at Sarah Lawrence University. Susie chose a mixed-race couple, Emalene and Joe Franklin, to adopt Lilly, and never told a soul about the baby. Susie revealed her big secret to Lilly at age twelve, and to Rodney when Lilly was almost fifteen. Lilly and Rodney became very close over the last year as they got to know each other as father and daughter.
Rodney is a great guy, plain and simple.
The aroma of fresh lilies filled the air and the organist played Pachelbel’s Canon in D as Susie and Rodney walked down the aisle and out of the church after their vows. Lilly was right behind them, then Marianne and Jeffrey, Rodney's brother; then me, with Joe Franklin.
As I walked through the double church doors into the sunshine, I heard two gunshots and saw an old, blue, pickup truck peel-out and spray gravel and dirt behind the tires as it sped towards town. Susie lay on her back on the concrete landing that spanned the entire front of the church, with Rodney face down on top of her, blood drenching her red hair and wedding gown. Lilly screamed and I grabbed her arm while Marianne ran back into the church calling for Dr. David Switzer, a family friend and wedding guest.
Dr. Switzer directed Jeffrey and Joe to roll Rodney off Susie and shouted, "Someone call for ambulances." My brother Robby, number four of us six Burton kids, ran towards the priest's house next door and left our other three brothers and their girlfriends standing around like dummies, the girls in mini skirts and tube tops looking as though they'd shopped together for their inappropriate wedding outfits.
When they rolled Rodney onto the concrete, Susie's chest swelled as though she'd been holding her breath while underneath him, and was finally able to draw the damp summer air into her lungs. I knelt on one side of her in my fuchsia, taffeta bridesmaid dress and tried to block out the sounds of human voices murmuring like a huge swarm of bees.
Blood covered Rodney's face, and his right arm looked broken and was blood-coated. More red liquid collected under his torso while his stiff and still body lay prone on the concrete. Lilly hung onto me, shouting, "Oh, God, please!" over and over.
Susie's head was in a huge pool of blood, and her eyes were closed. After that initial intake of breath, her chest didn't rise and fall again. I thought she was dead and began to shake.
Marianne, who is a nurse at Jean Ville Hospital, knelt on the other side of Susie and put her ear on Susie's chest. It seemed like a very long time before Mari lifted her head and nodded at me as if to say, "She's breathing."
I inhaled hot tar and burned rubber from the pavement where the truck had peeled-out, and got a whiff of something like soured milk in the close space around Susie. That's when I noticed her retching, but she was on her back and couldn't get it up. Marianne and I rolled Susie onto her side so the vomit could spill out on the concrete. It soaked her thick hair that I tried to lift and hold out of the way. Lilly still hung on my back and screamed, "Oh, God, please."
It all happened in slow motion, so I can't say how long it took before I heard the beautiful sound of sirens and clanging bells. Finally, I saw a reflection of blue lights bounce off the church's stained glass windows. Two ambulances, three police units, and a fire truck pulled up in front of the church. The responders got out of their vehicles and stood in the street as though the parking lot—filled with Lincoln Continentals, 98 Oldsmobiles, and GTOs—was a barricade. I felt helpless, shocked, and totally out of my element as I knelt on the concrete between the unconscious bodies of my sister and her new husband.
I counted ten uniformed men, who walked around each other on Jefferson Street when they should have been tending to the injured. Marianne ran past the cars in the parking lot and snagged hold of the shoulder of one of the EMTs. I sat back on my heels and chewed my fingernails while Lilly leaned against my back, screaming, "Oh, God, please!"
"Get over here and help me, Gary." Marianne hollered, and one of the EMTs grabbed a bag and followed her as she weaved between a Ford LTD and a Cutlass to get to Susie. Dr. Switzer seemed to hover over Rodney's lifeless body, holding one eye open for a few seconds, then the other eye. Someone handed Dr. Switzer his bag, and he grabbed a stethoscope and began to poke it around on Rodney's chest.
Once Marianne got Gary to follow her, the other responders began to move, and soon two paramedics knelt beside Susie, and two beside Rodney. The three police officers stood around as though they had never been near a church. Four volunteer firemen emerged from their truck wearing fireproof get-ups and milled around with some of the wedding guests as they exited the church onto the concrete landing.
Gurneys magically appeared, and the paramedics hauled Susie and Rodney through the gravel, potholes, and rows of cars, and slid them into separate ambulances. Marianne got into the front of the unit that held Susie and Dr. Switzer in the one with Rodney.
Lilly screamed, broke loose from my arms, and ran after the men who pushed Susie's stretcher, and before I could stop her, she jumped in the back of the ambulance with her mom. The doors closed and the two emergency units took off up Jefferson Street, heading north towards the hospital.
I ran after Lilly and stood on the street with my hands in the air as sirens blared, bells clanged, and the police units twirled their blue lights and followed the two ambulances in parade-like fashion.
It was a few moments before I realized I'd been left behind. I took off walking, holding the hem of my floor-length bridesmaids dress in one hand, my high heels in the other. The hospital was only a half-mile away.
After I'd walked a little more than a block and was in front of the Fox Theatre, Warren Morrow pulled up beside me in his black Ford pickup and said, "Get in." I stared at him as though I didn't know him, although we'd dated through high school and had restarted our stagnant relationship when I dropped out of college and moved back home a couple of years back.
Warren was a Cajun with questionable friends, a dead-end job assisting a surveyor, barely a high school education, and the manners of a prison refugee. I don't know why I continued to date him, except that there were no alternatives in the small town of Jean Ville where I was imprisoned by my own lack of education and ambition.
I climbed into the front seat of Warren's truck and it was rolling before I closed the door.
"Did you see what happened?" I didn't look at him, just stared out the front windshield.
"No. When I came out of the church, everyone was gathered around Susie and the black guy. I couldn't see nothing."
"Maybe you could ask around. Your 'friends' might know something." I pouted when I thought of Warren's friends and the things they were capable of.
"Yea. Sure." He dropped me off at the emergency entrance to Jean Ville Hospital and said he was going to park his vehicle.
"Don't come in, Warren." I held the door ajar and stood on my tiptoes because his damn truck was jacked up in the air. "I'll call you later."
"But…" Warren stammered and I slammed the door because I had more important things to do than to argue with a dumbass like him.
Two paramedics pushed an empty gurney out the double glass doors as I walked into the emergency department at the small hospital, which was abuzz with activity. The paramedics who'd rolled the gurney out the door returned and joined the three police officers who hung around the nurses’ station like stooges. I presumed they were waiting for news as to the fate of Susie and Rodney.
No mixed-race couple had ever been brave enough to show themselves in public in Jean Ville. I told Susie it was a mistake to have their wedding in this town. She'd lived in New York since she was seventeen and she refused to believe that bigotry still existed in the Deep South to the extent it did.
I didn't have to look far to find Lilly. She stood in the middle of the bustling emergency room between the patient cubicles and the nurses' station. I grabbed her and found a corner where we'd be out of the way. She sobbed on my taffeta-covered shoulder.
"What will I do without Susie?" Lilly called her mother "Susie" because they met when Lilly was four, and she thought Susie was Emalene's friend. When Lilly was almost six, Emma became very sick and had brain damage from her disease, causing severe dementia. She no longer recognized Lilly, Susie, or Joe, who went off the deep end and gave custody of Lilly to Susie, but he remained in Lilly's life. Susie married a plastic surgeon named Josh Ryan who died in a helicopter crash six years later. His death was almost the end of Susie. If she hadn't had Lilly, I don't think my sister would have survived.
Two years after Josh's death, Susie heard from Rodney. They got together in New York and discovered they were still in love. That's when Susie finally fessed up about Lilly. She told Rodney first, then she was free to tell everyone else. Of course, she had already told Marianne and me, but we had kept that info among us three sisters.
We all adore Lilly. She's an amazing teenager who has been through a lot: the loss of Josh, her mom's dementia, her parents' divorce. Losing Susie would be catastrophic for her—for all of us. Susie's the rock of our sisterhood, of which I tend to include Lilly, since she's only ten years my junior.
Lilly couldn't be consoled at the hospital. I asked someone at the nurses’ station where they'd taken Susie, and the nurse said, "She's in the trauma room with Dr. Cappell." I asked about Rodney, and the nurse said he was not a patient at Jean Ville Hospital; that they might have taken him to Alexandria if his injuries were serious.
I held Lilly and assured her that I would take care of her if anything happened to her mother, but in my mind, I wondered how I would handle a sixteen-year-old?
Give me a break.
I'm single, no real job, no real home. Susie built a garage apartment for me at the house she bought on Gravier Road in Jean Ville where she and Lilly stay when they come for visits. Susie refused to spend even one night in our family home with our dad, where I lived until Susie built my apartment.
I guess I still harbor some resentment towards Susie for leaving me when I was only eight. She rarely came home for visits in all the years she went to college and grad school in New York. I was stuck with four brothers and parents who hated each other.
I'm number five of the six Burton kids, and spoiled rotten by my dad. It's funny, Susie and I have completely different relationships with him. Daddy acts as though he hates her, but he dotes on me. As for Marianne, Daddy has never recognized her as his child and ignores her altogether.
I teach piano and voice lessons to kids whose parents can afford such luxuries. My income pays for gas in the Camaro my dad bought me, as well as cosmetics, and wine. That's all I really need. I don't have to pay rent and I have my dad's credit card for food, clothing, and other essentials.
*
Marianne came out of one of the cubicles and saw Lilly and me standing in a corner wrapped in each other’s arms. She said that the doctor had stitched Susie's head and inserted a drain.
"He's concerned about fluid buildup." Marianne washed her hands in the sink that hung on the wall outside the trauma room. "It's a nasty gash. Looks like her head split open when she hit the pavement."
"Was she shot?" I squeezed Lilly's shoulder. Her eyes were as big as watermelons.
"We didn't find a gunshot wound. She has a sprained wrist and a gash on her ankle that took a few stitches, but it's the head wound that's concerning." Marianne whispered in my ear, "It's serious," then walked towards the nurses’ station.
"What about Rodney?" Lilly followed closely behind Marianne and I was hot on their tails.
Marianne called central dispatch, who patched her by radio to the ambulance transporting Rodney. The driver told her they had just gotten to Alexandria Regional Hospital, but Dr. Switzer mentioned they might have to airlift Rodney to New Orleans.
Mari took us to a small conference room where Lilly sat down and finally ran out of hysteria. Mari said she didn't want to lie to Lilly; there were so many things that could happen with a head injury and that she wasn't sure, herself, whether Susie would make it. As for Rodney…?
We were in the conference room when Rodney's parents found us. Mari hugged her aunt and uncle and told them Rod was probably in Alexandria. My mother came into the conference room with her boyfriend and hugged me, then Lilly, but ignored Mr. Ray and Mrs. Bessie. Whew.
Mama asked about Susie, and Marianne said she would go to ICU to see how she was holding up. Mrs. Thibault had her arms around Lilly, and Mr. Thibault stood behind the two chairs with his hands on Lilly's shoulders. He was pale, which says a lot about Ray Thibault. Both his grandfathers were white, so his skin tone is not really brown; it's more the color of walnuts, like Rodney's.
I left the conference room with Marianne and waded through the antiseptic smell and eerily quiet activity of nurses coming and going without speaking. A glass door led into the ICU where a nurse with a name tag that read, "Martha Chenevert, RN" sat behind a desk watching monitors. Their constant beeping and pulsing gave me hope that Susie's condition was stable for now. Mari slid open the glass door between the room with the monitors and Susie's room. There was a window above the monitors through which I watched Marianne feel Susie's pulse and place a stethoscope on her chest. Mari bent forward and placed her mouth beside Susie's ear, and it appeared Marianne whispered to Susie, but I saw no reaction from my white sister, who looked like sleeping beauty, her long reddish hair spread out, her left ear pressed against a pillow.
When we walked out of ICU, I ran into Daddy, who seemed lost.
"How is she?" He actually seemed concerned, which surprised me since his relationship with Susie was tenuous, at best.
"She's alive, but not out of the woods." I hugged him and took his hand to lead him to the conference room where our family and Rodney's had gathered. When I opened the door and he saw my mother and Rodney's parents, he turned and marched back down the hall and, I guess, out of the hospital.
*
It was a long night. Lilly insisted on staying at the hospital, so Marianne found a gurney and placed it in the little conference room, and I tried to doze off and on in a chair. The Thibaults went home to wait until we discovered where Rodney had been taken. When Marianne called them at midnight to say he was in New Orleans, they agreed to drive the four hours to Ochsner Medical Center in the morning.
Mama peeked in on Susie once, then said she was going to her hotel in Alexandria, would I call her with any news? "Of course," I said, but she didn't seem overly concerned.
Warren showed up, and I sent him home. Suddenly I couldn't look at him without thinking about some of the things I'd witnessed with him and his friends off-and-on over the past ten years. I wondered whether the shooting had shaken me up so that those actions I'd been able to justify in the past, now seemed to bother me, even eat at me; especially when I saw Warren or heard his voice.
After he left, I went to a payphone outside the emergency room and called my dad.
"She's still hanging on," I said when he answered.
"Is your mother there?"
"No, she's gone for now." We hung up, and about fifteen minutes later, Daddy appeared in the conference room. He hugged me and sat in the other chair, but we didn't speak. I wasn't sure whether he was there to keep me company or to be close to Susie in case things took a turn. As hard as he was on Susie, I knew he must love her. After all, she was his daughter. Daddy left about midnight, and I drifted off to sleep.
Marianne and I took turns going to check on Susie during the early morning hours. Although we never said the words to each other, Mari and I were worried Susie would die during the night, and we didn't want her to be alone. She was unconscious, but she fluttered her eyelashes a couple of times when I talked directly into her ear.
Dr. Switzer came in at about six o'clock on Sunday morning and said that Rodney was still hanging on. The surgeons in New Orleans had removed the bullet from his head but weren't sure how much brain damage there was. Rodney's arm was torn up pretty badly by the second bullet that went all the way through his arm and re-entered his back, under his shoulder blade.
"Thank God it didn't reach his lung," Dr. Switzer told us. "They got that bullet out, too, but he has a long road ahead, if he makes it." Lilly cried, and Marianne asked Dr. Switzer a bunch of medical questions I didn't understand.
I thought about the strong friendship Rodney and I had formed since he and Susie decided to get married. I hadn't known him all the years before, but he had become an important part of my life over the past year. He had questioned me about Warren.
"You can do better, Sissy." Rodney was direct but kind. He looked me in the eye when he spoke to me, as though I were his equal. "You are smart and talented, and he's… well, he's a zero."
"I know, Rod. I guess it's just habit."
"Habits can be hard to break, but think about it. He's bad news. His friends are really bad guys. They've done things that would put them in jail if they lived anywhere but Jean Ville." Rodney shook his head, and I knew he meant that discrimination was still prevalent in our little town and parish in South Louisiana. I knew some of the things Warren and his friends did to black guys.
It's funny how I stopped seeing race once Lilly, Marianne, and Rodney came into my life.
I thought a lot about what Rodney had said to me as I waited in the hospital that entire weekend. My disgust for Warren grew, and I began to have flashbacks about some of the things I'd witnessed. I felt embarrassed and disgusted with myself for being a part of those horrible actions, even if I didn't participate.
*
Dr. Switzer went into Susie's room, checked her vitals, read the monitors, and spoke with the nurses.
"It depends on whether there's brain damage." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "It's possible there is only tissue swelling, but I'm concerned that she's still unconscious. The sooner she comes out of this coma, the better her chances of survival without long-term problems."
Dr. David Switzer was a kind, gentle man who had delivered all six of us Burton kids. He lived across the street from our antebellum home on South Jefferson Street and had doctored Susie when she had "accidents," which he later discovered were beatings by our dad. Susie and Daddy had sort of patched things up over the past ten years, but neither of us had expected him at the wedding.
And Daddy was a sick man—liver disease from drinking; plus he could be as mean as a rabid wolf.
*
Lilly, Marianne, and I slept in shifts in the conference room and checked on Susie throughout the weekend. She remained in a coma, and Dr. Switzer said that wasn't a good sign.
We three girls were in the cafeteria having sandwiches for lunch on Monday when one of the nurses came running over to our table.
"She's awake." Martha Chenevert said. "She's asking for someone named Rod." All three of our chairs scraped the linoleum floor, and mine almost fell over backwards as we pushed away from the table and pace-walked towards ICU as though escaping a burning house.
"You and Lilly stay in the hall." Marianne stopped us just before we got to the ICU door. "Let me examine her first." Lilly wanted to go in, but I held onto her in the monitor room where we could see Susie in her bed through the glass above the screens. A nurse had a stethoscope on Susie's chest.
Marianne walked into the room, and it was obvious that Susie recognized her.
"Thank you, Rebecca. I'll take it from here." Marianne went to Susie's bedside, and the nurse left the room. Susie's eyes were opened and followed Mari.
"You're awake. That's good. How are you feeling?" Marianne shined a penlight in Susie's eyes. Susie stared at Mari, her glare wide and questioning, but her lips didn't move. "Can you talk?" A frightened look crossed Susie's face. Her lips parted as though she were about to say something, then she pressed them together and closed her eyes.
"It's okay. It might be a while before your brain can tell your mouth how to get words out," Marianne spoke softly while she examined Susie, bending her arms one at a time at the elbow and running a silver instrument on the bottoms of Susie's feet. "You're worried about Rodney, right?"
Susie opened and closed her eyes rapidly. "He's hanging in there," Marianne whispered and continued to examine Susie. "They took him to New Orleans. He needed surgery that we don't perform here. His parents are with him."
Susie blinked again.
"Lilly? She's right through that window with Sissy. Worried about you, but she's fine." Marianne sat in the chair next to the bed. "I'd like to call Dr. Cappell and let him check you out before Lilly and Sissy come in." Mari looked through the glass and nodded at the two nurses who sat behind the monitors. One of them picked up the telephone and paged Dr. Cappell. Susie moved her hand over the bed as though she wanted to reach Marianne.
"I know, sweetie." Marianne stood up and bent over Susie. "You have lots of questions. Let's take this a little at a time. Right now all you need to know is that you will be okay, Rodney is still alive, and Lilly is right through that window with Sissy."
Dr. Cappell barreled into the room. He filled the space with his large frame, wild hair that stuck up as though he'd been electrocuted. He had dark, recessed Jewish eyes that were concerned and professional at the same time. Marianne moved aside so he could get close to Susie.
After he examined her and tried to get her to talk he motioned to Marianne to follow him into the nurses’ station where Lilly and I stood waiting impatiently.
"I think she's out of the woods." His voice was deep and easy with a northern accent. "It's not unusual that she can't form words, yet. There's still a lot of swelling, but the fact that she is awake is a good sign. It means that the inflammation is receding."
"Can Lilly and Sissy see her?" Marianne put her arm around Lilly's shoulder. We were crammed into the small chamber between the hall and Susie's room with the two nurses.
"Yes. But only for short periods." He glanced at Lilly, then at me, directing his words to both of us. "Susie needs rest, and any stress could cause a setback." He patted Mari on the shoulder and went back into Susie's room. Lilly, Marianne, and I followed him. Mari caught Lilly by her arm as she walked through the doorway.
"Be calm around her, Lilly," Marianne whispered. "Talk softly. Don't cry. No excitement, just love. You got that?"
"Yes." Lilly looked at Mari, then at me, her big, almond-shaped green eyes glazed with tears. Marianne stood next to Dr. Cappell on one side of Susie's bed. Lilly stood on the other side but couldn't see Susie's face because she was turned on her side, facing Mari and the doctor. I stood at the foot of the bed with a feeling of utter horror. Susie looked awful and smelled worse. Her hair was matted with blood and vomit. She was pale as a ghost, and her hand shook like she had Parkinson's when she tried to lift it.
"Whew. You need a bath." I couldn't hold it back. Susie looked at me standing at the foot of her bed and tried to laugh. She was happy to see us and attempted to look over her shoulder at Lilly, who bent over and kissed Susie on the cheek. Two tears crept out of the corner of Susie's eye and dripped down the side of her nose. Silent tears ran down Lilly's face, but Susie couldn't see that.
"It's okay. Don't try to talk." Marianne put a straw to Susie's lips and told her to take a couple of small sips of water, which she did. "Just blink if you hear me."
Susie blinked once.
"That's good. Now blink twice if you know who I am." Mari squeezed Susie's hand.
She blinked twice and shifted her eyes towards Lilly, who leaned over Susie from the other side of my bed, her tears dripping on Susie's cheek.
"Do you know Lilly?" Marianne motioned towards Lilly, who walked around the bed and stood next to Mari and Dr. Cappell.
Susie blinked twice.
"This is Doctor Cappell. He stitched you up." Marianne motioned across Lilly to the doctor. Susie shifted her eyes towards him.
"You have a pretty nasty gash in the back of your head, Mrs. Thibault." His use of Susie's new name jarred all of us. "I placed a small drain in the wound in case there is fluid buildup, so you'll have to remain on your side."
The drain he inserted was a good move. Blood and yellow fluid filled the tube, and Dr. Cappell called the lab and instructed them to examine the contents to determine what was in the fluid.
"Head traumas are scary," Dr. Cappell said the next time he came into Susie's room. He pointed a light in one of her eyes, then the other. "You don't know if the injured brain is bruised, swollen, or fluid-filled, so we need to watch you closely over the next seventy-two hours."
Susie dozed off and on. There was a constant beeping and the whishing of air, plus a sort of buzzing sound that came from a vent in the ceiling.
Marianne had a stethoscope around her neck and looked beautiful, as always. Her thick mahogany-colored hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, tendrils popped out around her face, her huge, round eyes glinted their greenish cast and amber glow. None of us look alike. Susie has red hair, alabaster skin, and eyes the color of a bluish-grey sky after a rain. She's tall and slim like Marianne, and carries herself like a model. I am only five feet two inches, and that's stretching it. I have dirty blonde hair that I highlight—well, I don't do it—I use Daddy's credit card and go to a hairdresser in Alexandria every month. My eyes are the color of artichokes, and my skin tone leans towards olive.
Even though we look different, and I'm nine years younger than Mari and Susie, we share similarities that point to our shared genetics. And we love each other unconditionally.
*
I was only four years old when Susie and Mari met. They were twelve, almost thirteen. That was the summer Marianne's grandfather, Catfish, retired from his job at the slaughterhouse and stopped walking in front of our house on South Jefferson Street where he and Susie would have long conversations. Susie started sneaking off to the Quarters to see him, and he told her stories about his granddad and dad, and some of the folks who had been slaves, then sharecroppers at Shadowland Plantation.
Susie adored Catfish. He died just before she completed her master’s program in writing at St. John's University in New York. She was devastated and used her grief to write a book, The Catfish Chronicles—a compilation of the tales he'd shared with her over a period of more than ten years. It was published after Josh died.
"I know you have lots of questions, but you can't talk yet." Marianne took Susie's hand and held it in both of hers. "That's normal, for now. Once the swelling in your head subsides, your speech and motor skills will return. Be patient. Meanwhile, let me try to answer some of the questions I know are plaguing you most." Mari sat in a chair she'd pulled up close to Susie's bed and spoke softly, as though trying not to awaken a sleeping baby.
"Today is Monday. You've been here since Saturday afternoon. It's been a long weekend for everyone. Lilly and Sissy will be leaving in a little while to go home and get some rest. I'll stay with you tonight. Right here. In your room. If you need anything, just move your arm, and I'll be here. Do you understand?"
Susie blinked.
"Good." Marianne took a deep breath. "You want to know about Rodney?"
Susie blinked twice, and tears began to pour from her eyes.
"Rodney's still alive. He was shot. Twice. One bullet in the side of his head above his right ear, the other went through his right arm, came out, and reentered his back under the shoulder blade. It missed his lung, thank God." Susie's eyes looked like Frisbees, wide-opened, unblinking. "They've removed both bullets. He's in ICU in a coma, but he's still alive. Doctors say that every day he holds on is a good sign."
She closed her eyes as though trying to absorb the information.
I stood there and, for the first time, wondered: Who shot him. Were they aiming for Susie too? Why would someone want to shoot Rodney and Susie?
*
I took Lilly to the Shadowland Quarters to stay with Tootsie so I could do some recognizance.
First stop, my dad's house. I was in a stew and hollered for him as soon as I entered the back door.
"Daddy! Where are you?" My steps on the tiled kitchen floor sounded louder than usual. I was on a mission and stomped through his bedroom to the office he'd built when he enclosed the side porch. We called it the Lion's Den, because we were all afraid to enter it; and if we were summoned, we knew it meant trouble.
Daddy wasn't in his bedroom or his office. I went back into the hall that ran from the front door to the back door in the antebellum house. My shoes slapped against the hardwood floor, announcing my presence as I paraded towards the huge, wooden door that led to the long porch across the entire front of the house.
I let the screen door slam behind me and stood staring at my dad, who sat, nonchalantly, in one of the rocking chairs, staring at Dr. David Switzer's house across South Jefferson Street.
"Here you are." I stood with my hands on my hips, unaware that my anger was reflected in my tone of voice.
"What's the matter with you?" He glanced at me then back at the street.
"Are the police looking for the people who shot Rodney?" I spoke softer, calmer, trying to entice Daddy into a conversation that I was sure he didn't want to have.
"I don't know." He scowled at me then looked back at the street.
"Daddy. He's Susie's husband. He might not make it. They flew him to New Orleans."
"I heard."
"He was shot twice. Once in the head, once in the arm, and that bullet lodged in his back. They aren't sure whether he'll survive, and if he does, he might have brain damage. Don't you care?"
"Of course I care, but I can't be involved." He rocked harder and gripped the arms of the chair so tightly, his knuckles were white.
"Will you call Sheriff Desiré and ask him if he has any leads?"
"Why would I do that?"
I stared at the side of his face for a while. I'm not sure whether I was shocked, disgusted, angry, or frustrated. Maybe all of the above. Finally, I walked down the steps from the porch to the front yard and traipsed across the thick St. Augustine grass towards my car that I'd parked around back.
That night I called my brother, James. He's the oldest of the six of us, a prominent attorney in Jean Ville. I asked him if he would help me find out who shot Rodney, and he told me he would ask around.
"Do you know whether a police report was filed?" I gripped the receiver in my hand and stared out my kitchen window at the shadows of the pecan trees that crisscrossed the backyard.
"I'm not sure. Do you want me to look into it?"
"Yes, please find out and let me know." I took a deep breath and felt relieved that James would help me. "We have to find out who shot Rodney and make sure they are charged with a crime."
"Of course, Sissy." James hung up without elaborating, but I felt as though I had a partner in my quest.
*
By Wednesday, the fourth of July, Susie could speak a little and was moved to a regular hospital room where she could have visitors. Tootsie came, as did Jeffrey and Sarah Thibault. Tootsie's sister, Jesse and her husband, Bo, who was Ray Thibault's brother, also came along with Marianne's uncles Tom and Sam, and their wives Gloria and Josie. Mari's younger sisters and some of her cousins streamed in and out of Susie's room during visiting hours when only two people could visit at a time. They had all known Susie since she was twelve years old, and I guess Susie was more like family to the Massey clan than to us Burtons.
For days there was a constant flow of visitors. Lilly sat in the chair beside Susie's bed and slept there at night. She took it upon herself to make sure every visitor stayed for short periods and didn't create excitement.
On Friday afternoon, Marianne and I were in the cafeteria having a cup of tea. I was pensive and stirred my tea over and over without thinking.
"Have you noticed that, like, other than my mother and my dad, I'm the only white visitor Susie has had all week?" I didn't look up from my tea.
"Hmm. I hadn't really noticed, but I'm not surprised." Mari took a sip and put her cup back on the table. "Susie hasn't lived here for more than fifteen years, and has lost touch with all her white friends. As for my family, Susie's been close to all of us for twenty years."
Marianne looked over my head as though in a trance. "I remembered the first time I met Susie. She was sitting on my grandfather's porch one afternoon when I walked out of my house next door with a book I was going to read to him. There was this beautiful, redheaded white girl in the extra chair on his porch, and they were talking as though they had been friends forever. Come to find out, they had been, since she was six or seven. He would walk down South Jefferson Street every afternoon and stop to visit with her if she was in y'all's front yard. After he retired and no longer saw her every day, she started to come to the Quarters to see him.
"I was put off by her at first, but she was so genuine and looked at me as though I was just like her—no difference." Marianne's eyes were wet, but no tears flowed out of them. "That was Susie. She never saw color or race or gender or any deviation as different from her. She accepts and loves everyone, which makes it easy to love her.
"I remember how she listened and squeezed my hand when I talked about tragic things that had happened to me. I always knew we were half-sisters because I had figured out long ago that your dad was my biological. I never say biological father because the word father sticks in my throat; so in my mind, he's simply my biological.
"Susie was in her twenties before she realized your dad had been screwing my mother all those years… decades, in fact. Since before Susie was born, for sure, because I'm a few months older than Susie." Marianne paused as though remembering something she didn't want to talk about. I took the opportunity to ask the question on my mind.
"On another subject, is there any talk about who did this?" I looked up from my cup of tea. "I mean, are the police looking for the shooter or shooters?"
"I haven't heard." Marianne looked at me with a questioning brow. "I don't know if there's a case."
"A crime was committed." I was surprised that this was the first time we'd discussed who shot Rodney. "I mean, someone shot an innocent person. Rodney could die, in which case it's murder."
"Sissy, this is Jean Ville, Louisiana. Do you think these people care that a black man was shot?" Marianne's eyebrows lifted, and she stared at me as though I could answer such a nebulous question.
"I would hope so. This is 1984, not 1964 for God's sake. A black woman became Miss America last year."
"Yeah. And there's talk they want to oust Vanessa Williams. Something about posing nude for a magazine." Marianne seemed agitated, and I wondered, for the first time, what it must feel like to be black in this whitewashed world.
"Well, you have to admit, it's against the Miss America rules to pose nude."
"If she had been white, they'd have given her a slap on the wrist."
I glared at my tea, then at Mari. "Well, all that aside, someone needs to talk to Sheriff Desiré. Maybe my dad?"
"Has he mentioned it?"
"No, in fact, I talked to him about it, and he said he couldn’t be involved." I watched Marianne's expression, which was one of disgust. "He says he cares, but he doesn’t act like he does.”
"Since he was never a dad to me, I suppose I don't expect him to be one to Susie, either." She got up from the table and headed towards ICU. I watched her and thought about what she said, then my mind automatically returned to finding out who shot Rodney.