***
SUSIE HAD BEEN on the neurology floor for a week when she could finally hold her head up on her own, although not for long. She wore the neck brace when Marianne rolled her down the hall in a wheelchair, onto the elevators, to ICU. I walked alongside, and Susie took the brace off her neck and handed it to me just before we all entered Rodney's room.
Marianne explained to Susie that Rodney was partially unresponsive, had lots of tubes and machines around his bed, and his head was wrapped like a mummy. Lilly was sitting in the chair on the side of his bed when Marianne rolled the wheelchair to the other side. Susie reached up to find Rod's hand under the sheet that covered him to the top of his chest.
There was a clear tube in both his nostrils, an IV line in his right hand, and a catheter that led to a bag of yellow fluid on the underside of the bed; but Susie didn't notice of any of that, nor the gauze wrapped around his head and the cylinders that made whooshing sounds beside the bed.
She picked up his hand, and before she spoke, he turned his head slightly towards her and opened his eyes halfway. Susie winked at him, and a grin started slowly at the corners of his lips. His mouth lifted slightly, then his half-mast eyes began to turn up on the outer edges, and his nose rose and widened. Finally, I saw the bottoms of his upper teeth, white and straight as his top lip spread across his face.
Rodney reached his left hand across his chest and held Susie's hand in both of his. She dropped her head to his bed and kissed his fingers, one at a time. She cried sweet, soundless tears.
Before I realized what Susie was doing, she had lifted herself out of the wheelchair, her hands on the armrests, and stood up. I froze while Marianne rushed to stand behind her in case she fell. But Susie had something else in mind. She bent at the waist and laid her head and torso over Rodney's chest, her long, red ponytail flipped across him, her head turned so that her mouth was in the bend of his neck under his chin. His right hand was trapped under her, but he lifted his left hand and wrapped it over her back and pulled her closer to him. Her hands went around his neck.
He smiled broadly, eyes opened, his hand stroking her back.
Dr. Warner walked in and stood beside me, smelling of antiseptic, shaving cream, and coffee. We all watched as though viewing a beautiful sunset, sole witnesses of something unspeakable.
Rodney mouthed, "I love you," and tears streamed down my face and pooled under my chin in the folds of my neck. I could hear Susie murmur something to Rodney, and he nodded slightly, just a small movement, but it was important, and Warner walked around me and gently pushed Marianne aside so he could get closer to Rodney. The doctor didn't try to move Susie away, but shined a light in Rodney's eyes to look at his pupils. Lilly stood on the other side of the bed, watching, her mouth opened, her auburn curls askew from sleeping in the chair.
Warner nodded and grinned. He backed away and motioned for Marianne to follow him through the nurses’ station and into the hall. I stood at the foot of the bed and felt as though I was watching a movie.
*
Later, Marianne told me that Warner believed Rodney's reaction to Susie was miraculous progress. "He looked down at me and I realized how tall he is, and beautiful, almost seductive." Marianne leaned against the wall in the hall outside Rodney's room.
"Who?" I faced her and shuffled my feet on the mint-green linoleum floor.
"Warner. The doctor." Marianne looked at me as though I should know whom she was talking about. "He said he didn't believe me when I said Susie would be good medicine for Rodney. I told him I've known them both for a very long time; that their bond is stronger than any I'd ever witnessed. While we talked, he held one of my hands between us, like we were connected.
"I found myself looking at his hands for a wedding ring." She took a deep breath and looked at me with a questioning expression. "Then he said, 'You know what I really think? I think you are a good nurse.' He smiled at me, and I noticed so many things about him at once. The way his hair curls above his collar, dark with a few lighter streaks. His features are sharp, and I can't distinguish whether he's Jewish, Italian, or French; maybe a combination. His smile isn't wide, but it's sincere, and his eyes are a deep blue, topped by thick, dark eyebrows and lashes."
I took Marianne's hand, and she smiled at me as though she remembered something pleasant.
"I wanted to laugh at myself for such a pointed observation, but I was mesmerized by his aura and stood dumbfounded." She laughed aloud at herself. "Then he asked me, 'Aren't you going to say something?' and he started to laugh. It caught me off-guard, but I said, 'Thank you,' and laughed, too.
"He asked if we could grab a cup of coffee or glass of wine this evening after he's done with rounds. He said he wants to talk to me about working for Ochsner." Marianne sighed.
"What did you say?" I couldn't believe Marianne was attracted to a man. She had been raped by white Klansmen when she was twelve, and the way she'd coped was to hate men and say she was attracted to women.
"Do you think it's okay?" She scrunched her nose and lowered her eyebrows like someone deep in thought. "I mean. Well, I don't know what I mean."
"Of course it's okay. I'll be here with Lilly and Susie." I laughed out loud.
*
"It makes me so angry that no one will tell me anything." I was in Susie's room, getting her tucked into her bed. "Most of the politicians in Jean Ville are bigots." I told Susie about my discussion with Daddy, the DA, and the receptionists at the sheriff and city police departments.
"Dr. Switzer took me to see Judge DeYoung." I felt agitated and realized I needed to get back home to find out about that report. "He doesn't seem like a bigot. He told me he'd get someone to produce a police report."
"Rodney is friends with, uh, umm…" She closed her eyes as though trying to remember something she should not have forgotten. "The A-gee… uh."
"You mean Louisiana's Attorney General? Robert Morris?"
"Yeah… friends… law school. The, uh, bar exam together."
"How can I get in touch with him?"
"My suit… house."
"Are you saying it would be in your suitcase at your house in Jean Ville?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, my, does that mean the luggage you packed for your honeymoon is still at your house? Do you want me to bring it when I come back?
"Yeah Pleeeeees."
"Sure, no problem." I pulled her sheet and blanket up to her neck, and she closed her eyes. "So you don't mind if I go through your suitcase to find your address book?"
"Don't mine…" She opened her eyes and stared at me. "Gov-Bro. Rod knows."
"Governor Breaux?" I felt a surge of optimism. "Do you mean Rodney knows the governor, too?"
"Uh, huh, worked for him…"
"Would his contact information be in your address book, too?"
"Uh, huh." She nodded a couple of times. "Call them. Pleeesss. They luv Rod. Will help."
"Well, I'd better get going. I have a long drive and lots to do." I kissed her on the forehead. "Get some rest."
She winked at me and shut her eyes. I hurried out of the room, down the hall, to the parking garage and set off towards Jean Ville with a new sense of purpose.
I'm going to get those SOBs who did this to Rodney and Susie, I thought as I barreled North on I-10 West.
*
"I happen to know that the Klan still exists in this parish." I sat across from Judge DeYoung in his office. It wasn't quite eight o'clock in the morning, but I'd parked near the place he usually parked his car, as I'd learned from sleuthing around over the past few days. I didn't have to wait long when he slid his car into his regular spot, got out, and crossed the street from the Bailey Theatre to the back of the courthouse.
"Hey. Judge. Wait up." I ran to catch up with him. He didn't seem put off by my intrusion and led me through a series of doors and hallways, up a tiny elevator, to the third floor. Lydia wasn't at her desk, yet.
"How would you know that?" He squinted his grey eyes, partially hidden behind glasses that sat on the end of his nose.
"I just know. In fact, I think I know who some of the members are." I had been busy since I'd gotten home, talking to people, following up on leads. I felt pretty confident that my information was correct.
"So what does the Klan have to do with the shooting?" He rocked in his chair a couple times then leaned forward, his hands folded on his desk.
"I think the Klan was behind it." I crossed my arms and leaned back.
"Do you have proof? Names? Motive?" He talked like a lawyer, which he was before he became a judge.
"No, sir. It's a gut-thing. That's what investigators do, right? Find proof and motive?"
"Yes. But I don't have anything to do with that." He pulled on his earlobe. "The police, who investigate a crime, turn over a case file to the district attorney, who will review it and make a decision to bring charges. My job is to try people who are charged either by a bill of information filed by the district attorney or a bill of indictment filed by the grand jury."
"I understand. But you have some leverage over Reggie Borders."
"Maybe."
"If the police don't investigate, there won't be a case file. And even if a case file is developed, I don't see Mr. Borders filing a bill of information or taking the case to the grand jury. He wants to see it evaporate." I took a deep breath and dropped my hands to my lap, trying to hold the judge's gaze without looking away. "How can we get him to recuse himself so the attorney general can take over the case?"
"Actually, Borders can make the decision, himself, for recusal. If he doesn't recuse, the victims, in this case your sister or her husband, or perhaps you, in their stead, can file a motion for recusation—considering that you have valid grounds."
"Okay, I can do that. What happens next?"
"There will be a hearing, and the judge, in this case, I will decide whether or not the district attorney should be recused. If I find he should be, I will appoint an attorney or notify the state attorney general, and he can appoint a member of his staff or an attorney from another parish to prosecute." He pushed back in his chair.
"Then I'll talk to Mr. Borders and explain it to him." I stood, ready to leave.
"He knows the rules. I don't think you need to explain them to him."
"Then, I guess I need to convince him."
"That makes more sense. Let me know what he says." Judge DeYoung smiled at me and stood up.
*
I walked across the street to the DA's building.
It was still not eight o'clock when I walked into Reggie Border's building. No one was at the receptionist's desk, so I strolled past it as though I belonged there. I went directly to the door marked, "Private."
Mr. Reggie stood behind his desk, gathering files and putting them in a briefcase. I slammed the door behind me. He straightened up and looked at me with a huge surprise across his face.
"How'd you get in here?"
"Just walked in." I went to his desk and stood about two feet from him. "I want you to recuse yourself from the case."
"We don't have a case." He didn't look at me, just kept stuffing things in his briefcase.
"Do you have a police report?" I looked at the pile of papers on his desk, on the floor, on every surface. It was chaotic.
"Yes, I have one somewhere. It doesn't say much." He looked around at all the stacks as though he were looking for the report.
"It says a shooting occurred, right?"
"Yes. But no details. No suspects. I closed the case."
"Look, Mr. Reggie. You know me. Bonnie is my best friend." I tried to appeal to his daddy side, and his expression made me think it might work. "I've spent more nights at your house than at my own. This is me, Sissy Burton. Help me out here."
"You think you've got an ace in the hole, because Thibault knows the AG, huh?" He started to laugh.
"No, but I've been told that the state attorney general, Mr. Morris, can reopen the case if a family member makes a request and the state investigators turn up evidence." I stared at him, not blinking.
"Don't threaten me, young lady. The AG can't do anything without a police report. Anyway, I've done the investigation. The case is closed." He pulled his hand out and snapped his briefcase shut. "I have to be in court. Goodbye, Sissy."
"Make sure this is your last word." I talked to his back, and he stopped at the door and turned around. "I'm giving you a chance to be in control of this case."
"You can't do anything. I'm the DA." He walked out the door and left it opened. I was about to leave when I had a thought. I shut the door and started rooting around in the filing cabinet, but I didn't find anything there, so I began shuffling papers and manila folders on his desk and around the office.
There it was—a file marked, Thibault, mixed in with a bunch of files on a coffee table. In the file was a simple police report with the date, place, and victim: “Rodney Thibault, Negro.” I read it several times and memorized the names of the three police officers who'd been at the scene. I knew one of them, a loser named Joey LeBlanc. I didn't remember seeing him at the church, and I would have recognized him had he been there. Red flags appeared behind my eyes.
Also in the file were a few quotes from wedding guests who said they didn't see anything. Of course they didn't. They were all still in the church during the shooting. I put the file back on the table and left.
*
I went back to the courthouse and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Judge DeYoung was headed down the hall to the back entrance to his courtroom.
"Judge. I just need one second." I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around. He was wearing a long black robe, a red-and-blue striped tie, and a starched white shirt. His wing-tipped shoes peeked out from the hem of the robe.
"Miss Burton." He turned around and looked surprised.
"Sissy, Judge." I was out of breath from the twenty steps on the outside of the courthouse and the additional twenty steps inside. I put my hand on my chest. "I just left Borders. He said he did an investigation and closed the case."
"If you can get a copy of the police report to the AG, he has the authority to order the state police to investigate." He started to walk down the hall.
"I'm on it, Judge." I stopped in the middle of the hall. He turned around and smiled at me, then went through the door to his courtroom. I almost ran down the staircase to the second floor and picked up a copy of the Free Advertiser, a newspaper that promoted businesses in Toussaint Parish. I stuck it under my arm and flung my purse strap over my shoulder.
I skipped down the outside steps and crossed the street to the DA's office—only thirteen sidewalk cracks. I was moving fast, and told the girl at the front desk that I'd left my drivers license in Mr. Borders's Borders' office.
"I'll get it for you." She started to get out of her chair.
"No, that's okay. I know exactly where I left it. I'll run in and get it myself and will be out of your way in less than a minute." I was already through the door before she could stop me. I went directly to the table and grabbed the file I'd just put back in the stack. The police report was still there and I wrapped in the Advertiser and put it back under my arm. I pulled my drivers license out of my wallet and waved it at the girl as I walked past her desk on my way out the front door.
"Just as I remembered. I left it on the table. Thanks." The door slammed behind me before I could hear a response.
*
I drove home to pack, and stopped to see my dad. He was in the wing-backed chair in his bedroom with a book on his lap.
"Hi, Daddy. How are you feeling today?" I kissed him on the forehead and sat on the edge of his bed.
"I feel okay. I'm bored, though. I wish I could go back to work." He scratched his head but didn't look at me. Daddy was the type to feel sorry for himself, but he didn't have empathy for anyone else.
"Sorry. Maybe you could do some part-time accounting work at home."
"Maybe." His expression didn't change.
"I'm going to Baton Rouge, then to New Orleans to see about Susie." I wanted to set a basis for the use of his credit card. He didn't like surprises.
"Yea. There were charges on my latest bill for a hotel called the Brenthouse in New Orleans." He didn't seem angry, which surprised me. "How is she? I'd like to go to see her, but I'm not allowed to drive."
"Maybe James can take you one weekend."
"Why can't I go with you?" He looked sad, and I almost thought he was serious about going to New Orleans to see Susie.
"Well, I'm going to Baton Rouge, first, for a couple of days, to meet with the attorney general."
"Why are you doing that?" His brow furred, eyes darting.
"I'm going to ask him to take the case away from Mr. Borders."
"What case?"
"The shooting. Someone shot Rodney. That's a crime. He could die."
"Oh, yes. The shooting." The color started to rise on his neck, an indication he was getting angry.
"Look, I'm trying to get someone to pursue this case." I was pissed and could feel the color rise on my own cheeks.
"No one cares about that shooting." He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair.
"I care. Susie cares."
"I think you should let it go, sweetie." His face turned red, my cue to skedaddle.
"I'm not going to let it go. I'm going to find out who shot Rodney and tried to shoot Susie." I kissed him on the forehead and walked out of the house. Sometimes Daddy could be so obstinate. Well, maybe all the time.
*
I found a parking spot on North Third Street, directly across from the attorney general's office Monday morning. Susie was right, my phone call to Robert Morris's home the night before was well received. He said he had a full day but could see me before 8:00 AM, so I walked briskly across the street in my low-heeled pumps and tried the front door of the building. It was locked. There was a buzzer next to the door, so I pressed the beige button and heard a crackling.
"Yes, can I help you?"
"I'm Abigail Burton, here to see Mr. Morris."
"I'll be right there." He opened the door himself. I peeked into offices along the hallway as I followed his grey suit to a door at the end of the corridor. No one appeared to be in the building but the two of us.
"Miss Burton, it's a pleasure." He extended his hand and shook mine as though we were equal, not like I was some young, air-headed girl. I liked him even before he stared directly into my eyes as though I held his interest, somewhere behind my panicked look.
"Sissy, Mr. Morris. My name is Abigail, but everyone calls me Sissy." I faced him inside the office door.
"Then Sissy it is." He pointed to a round table with four chairs. "Have a seat. How's Rodney? And Susie? I think the world of both of them, you know."
I'd already told his wife, Brenda, about the shooting, so I figured Morris knew that part. What he didn't know was why I wanted to meet with him.
"Rodney was moved out of ICU to a step-down unit this weekend, which is progress." I sat in one of the chairs and crossed my ankles on the side. "He still can't speak, and there's no feeling in his feet and lower legs, but he seems to have survived, although barely."
"Ever since Brenda told me about the shooting, I've wondered why I didn't know." He sat across from me and leaned on the table. "How could I have missed it in the newspapers?"
"It hasn't been in the news." I folded my hands together on the table and leaned forward. "That's one of the reasons I'm here." I told him about the case, at least what little there was. I explained that there had been no police report and how I'd gotten the runaround in Jean Ville.
"Judge DeYoung pressured someone at City Hall to produce a police report, but the DA closed the case. The judge would like to see the case reopened and thinks you are the one to do it." I didn't blink, and he was totally engaged.
"Did the police show up at the scene?" He got up and went behind his desk, picked up an ink pen, and scribbled something on a legal size pad with yellow lined paper.
"Yes, there were three police units, plus two ambulances, and the volunteer fire department at the church." I leaned my back against the chair and folded my hands on top of my purse that sat in my lap. I felt fidgety and deliberately held my hands together to keep them steady. I didn't know whether I could trust this man with my secret theft.
"This is how the process works." He sat in the chair behind his desk, still holding the pen, poised to write something else on the yellow pad. "I can take the case if I have proof it should be reopened, or if the DA recuses himself. Would he do that?"
"I don't think he would recuse himself, no." I stared at him, and he didn't blink. "I believe Mr. Borders wants to sweep this under the rug."
"Why?" He sat back in the large, tan leather chair, and it creaked.
"Rodney's black. He married a white girl." I looked at him as though he should understand how politicians in Toussaint Parish operated. "Poetic justice is what I believe they are thinking."
"They?"
"I don't think Borders is alone in trying to downplay this crime."
"Do you have any idea who else might be behind this?" He was poised to write something on the pad, then changed his mind and put the pen down.
"I have my guesses—the mayor, maybe the sheriff. The Klan, for sure, but I don't know who, specifically."
"I forgot there are still factions of the Klan in some rural areas of Louisiana." He picked up his pen and jotted something down. "I'll give Borders a call and see what I can find out. Give your contact information to Millie at the front desk so I can reach you." He stood up, my cue to leave. Meeting over. "I'm sorry, but I have to be at a meeting at the Capitol in a few minutes. Please give my best to Rod and Susie. I'll be in New Orleans next week and will go by to see them. Would you leave their room information with Millie, too?" He pushed the knot on his tie up closer to his collar.
"Sure. And thanks." I walked towards the door then turned around. "Mr. Morris…"
"Robert, or Rob. That's what your sister calls me." He grinned and reached for his briefcase.
"We can't let this go away. Louisiana is better than this." I stared at his reaction.
"You're right. I'll stay on top of it." He started to walk towards the door. "If you can get a police report, though, that would speed things up."
"I'm all over that!" I walked down the hall and noticed all the offices now had people in them, busy working, steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee on their desks. Robert Morris must have taken a rear exit because he didn't appear in the waiting room when I got there.
Millie was a middle-aged woman with mousey-brown hair coiffed like a helmet. I almost laughed at her shirtwaist dress, thick shoes with rubber soles, and embroidered cardigan buttoned at the top, but thought better of it.
"Hi, I'm Abigail Burton. Everyone calls me, Sissy." I reached my hand out. She looked at it and back up at me. "Mr. Morris asked me to give you some contact information."
Millie picked up a pen and stared at the white paper in front of her. I spelled my name and gave her my address and phone number. I gave her Rodney and Susie's information, too and the phone and room numbers at Ochsner.
"Anything else?" She looked up at me over her cat-eyed glasses.
"There is one more thing. May I use your copy machine?" I smiled at her, and she nodded her head towards the machine that was behind her. I made a copy of the police report and put the original and copy in my purse. I was out the door before Miss Millie could question what I'd done.
*
I checked into the Capitol House Hotel downtown and used my dad's credit card for the room. I spent the afternoon sunbathing by the pool and dressed for dinner at six o'clock.
Nikole Breaux had given me the address of their personal residence in a subdivision called Country Club of Louisiana. She said that since they were new to the governorship, they wanted to start out by having personal gatherings at their home rather than the Governor's Mansion, which was being renovated. When I arrived, she met me at my car, introduced herself with a welcoming smile, looped her arm through mine, and walked me through the double front doors under a portico of stone and plaster.
"We are terribly disturbed about Rodney and Susie." She patted my arm with her free hand as we walked on the marble floors. "What happened?"
"They walked out of the church after their wedding, and someone shot Rod twice," I spoke softly and tried to sound as sophisticated as Nikole.
"Who would do a thing like that?" We were in a kitchen the size of a basketball court with marble countertops, tall dark-stained cabinets, and black appliances.
"We don't know, and it doesn't seem that the authorities in Toussaint Parish are interested in finding out." I was guided to a bar stool on one side of a huge island made of stone and topped with marble. There was so much marble in the house that I wondered whether they had a quarry out back.
"Greg will be so upset when he hears this, Sissy." She picked up two crystal wine goblets off a glass and silver tray that sat on the counter with an opened bottle of white wine in a silver chiller. "Greg and Rod have been friends since Rodney was in law school. He worked for Greg, who was the clerk of court for Baton Rouge Parish back then. Greg thinks the world of Rodney. They even exchanged letters when Rod was in the army."
"Oh, I didn't know the connection. Susie just asked that I meet you and the governor. She isn't speaking very well, yet, so she wasn't able to explain the friendship."
"We adore Susie, too." Nikole asked whether I'd like a glass of Maçon Village.
"Sure. Thanks." I didn't know what Maçon Village was, but I crossed my ankles that dangled from the bar stool and acted sophisticated while she poured two glasses of white wine and set one before me. The governor came in through a back entrance, kissed his wife on the cheek, and walked towards me.
"You must be Abigail." He extended his hand and stood in front of me.
"Sissy, Governor." I shook his hand like a man. "Everyone calls me Sissy."
"And you can call me Greg, just like Susie and Rodney do." His Cajun accent was thick and appealing, and bled into his laugh. He was tall, with dark curly hair, dark eyes, and skin that looked permanently suntanned. He asked me about the shooting. I described what I knew and told him about the attitude of the political leaders in Jean Ville.
"Everyone but Judge DeYoung." I took a sip of wine, and Nikole handed Greg a highball she'd mixed while we'd been chatting. "He seems intent on finding justice, although I think his hands are tied, to some extent. Although he did pressure on a few people, like Borders, Desiré, and Wallace."
"Remind me who they are." He took a sip of his drink and sat on the stool next to mine, facing me.
"Borders in the DA, Desiré is sheriff, and Wallace is the Mayor of Jean Ville." I turned to face him. "The chief of police and fire chief might also be involved in ignoring this crime—Marchand and Brazille."
"Have you given those names to Rob Morris?" He stood up and motioned to Nikole that he wanted to move our conversation to the patio. It was a balmy evening, and we stayed outside about thirty minutes, until a pretty older lady in a black dress with a white apron came out and said dinner was on the table. Nikole took my arm again, and Greg followed us to the dining room that was set with beautiful, but casual, white china and silver.
We all sat on one end, Greg at the head and Nikole and I on either side of him, and we ate crawfish étouffée over rice with French bread and a salad. An older gentleman came in and poured wine in our glasses and made sure our water was replenished. Greg thanked him and spoke with him as though he was an old friend, but he never introduced us.
We talked about their kids, who had both graduated from LSU. The older, a boy, was in New York pursuing a career in finance while their daughter lived in Baton Rouge, was married, and had a new baby. I told them about Lilly, whom they said they'd met before Susie and Rod were married. I said that she would be at LSU in the fall. They mentioned how impressed they were with Lilly, and how they wanted her to call them when she was in Baton Rouge so they could have her over for dinner.
"She was planning to attend Columbia, and had been accepted, but the shooting happened, and she doesn't want to leave Susie and Rodney to go back to New York." I folded my napkin and put it on the table, beside my plate.
"Understandable," Greg said. "How are they? Rod and Susie?"
"It seems like slow, small steps, but their doctor is happy with their progress," I told them about how far Susie and Rodney had come in the six weeks since their wedding.
The conversation ultimately turned to who did it, why it wasn't on the news, and the way the politicians swept the crime under the rug. Greg talked about bigotry and discrimination. The governor reiterated how much he cared about and admired Rodney, "Not only for his brain and determination, but also for his ethics and character. He's quite a guy."
"I couldn't agree with you more. He's the best, and you'd really be impressed with him if you could witness how hard he's worked to learn simple things, like how to lift his arms and use his hands." I sat back in my chair, and Greg motioned for the gentleman to refill our wine glasses.
"Let's go to the den." Nikole stood up, and we carried our wine to a huge glassed-in room with two sectional sofas and a baby grand piano.
"Oh, you have a Steinway baby grand." I ran my hand over the shiny black ebony as though caressing a baby's behind. "Do you mind?"
"Please." Greg pulled the bench out, and I sat on it. The couple sat on the sofa behind me, and I started to play a slow waltz, feeling the ivory keys under my fingertips as though I were rubbing pearls. I worked my way to a boogie-woogie, and soon Greg and Nikole were standing on either side of the piano singing along with, When the Saints Go Marching In, and Kansas City, then I slipped into When a Man Loves a Woman and Unchained Melody. They danced to the final number.
We drank more wine; I got loose and told some jokes, like a stand-up comedienne, which were really true stories about things that had happened in our family— Mama living with a Mafia guy in Houston, and Daddy nursing his sick liver with Cutty Sark. They were in stitches and said I could get a job as a stand up at the Roadhouse in Baton Rouge, or as a piano player at Pat O'Brien's in New Orleans.
Greg insisted that his gentleman drive me back to the hotel in my Camaro and get a cab home. It was probably a good idea because I'd had lots more wine than I was accustomed to drinking.
The next day when I called Susie, she said Greg had called her. She was laughing. "Greh say you, uh, um, good time."
"They are a great couple." I yawned because I hadn't slept well. "They love you and Rod."
"Luh-Key. Grey friends." I could almost see her smile because her joy seeped through her words and made me happy that she felt lucky.
"I met with Robert Morris yesterday morning. Another good friend, I'd say." I sat on the side of my bed and rubbed my forehead.
"Yea. I, uhm… him, too." She was saying more words, although some of her choices were not clear. Marianne told me that Dr. Warner said that her speech would return in time.
"I'm working on things, trying to get someone to reopen the case." I yawned.
"Than you, Sis."
*
When we hung up, I called Marianne. She told me that Susie had visited with Rodney twice.
"She's impatient about her progress and bothers Lilly and me all day to take her to visit Rod. She doesn't understand the visiting restrictions for patients in ICU." Marianne sighed, and I could tell the stress was getting to her.
"Look, I'm in Baton Rouge. I can drive down there tomorrow and take some of the pressure off of you."
"That would be great. We need to discuss a long-range plan." Marianne's voice raised an octave.