Chip didn’t come to the hospital again for the next ten days. He called every night on my cell phone, said he was keeping things together—and that he worried about me. I went cold and told him I was fine. We repeated that scene nightly until it was letter-perfect.
I cocooned myself in the world of the burn unit, which wasn’t difficult. The staff told me even they had to make an effort to keep the patients—and themselves—in touch with reality. Marnie provided enough pictures of Sonia pre–plane crash to fill a museum, and helped the nurses tack them to the walls and even the ceiling. She also suggested they play Sonia’s CDs in her room during the day.
I’d forgotten how rich her singing voice was. I hadn’t listened to her for two years; she turned a phrase differently now, with more passion than precision. The sound of her own voice praising the Lord did seem to soothe Sonia. I hated that Marnie was the one who’d thought of it.
An oversized calendar and a clock practically the size of Big Ben hung in her room, and the nurses said constantly, “It’s Tuesday, Sonia,” and, “What do you know? It’s suppertime!” when they hooked her up to what they affectionately called “the feed bag.” Dr. Abernathy warned me that if we didn’t do that, she’d lapse into delirium.
Personally, I thought Sonia was far too aware of her surroundings. Her eyes expressed everything her face and voice couldn’t, sometimes pleading for information, sometimes sparking with frustration. If she didn’t get to call the shots pretty soon, she’d rip out that tube. I told her every night how many more days until she’d be able to talk.
“Remember how Grandma Brocacini used to tell us when Christmas was coming?” I said. “Three more wake-ups. Two more wake-ups.”
I just wished it was Christmas morning we were waiting for. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what Sonia had to say about all this.
The rest of her “people” could talk of nothing else. If she could just speak to them, they said. They couldn’t seem to stand being in her presence without her reassurance that they were okay. God forbid they should look at her. Francesca and Georgia finally made their tearful exit back to Nashville, and Egan, Nanette, and Ivey departed soon after.
Only Marnie remained, and for ten minutes a day, at Nurse Kim’s urging, she read Sonia the cards and e-mails she received not only from the supporters of her own ministry, but also from others whose names Marnie read with the kind of awe usually connected with Oscar winners. That and the outpouring of prayer reports and financial donations to Abundant Living Ministries brought a sheen to Sonia’s eyes. Egan had obviously wasted no time.
Meanwhile, I tried to avoid being in any room alone with Marnie, but with only two of us left, that wasn’t easy. At least as long as she was there, I knew she wasn’t off with Chip. When she fled to her hotel in the evenings, I made myself a buffet from the vending machines and stuffed it on top of my fears.
On the morning of no more wake-ups, they extubated Sonia. I held my own breath as she tried to find hers. We all expected the rasp that comes with having a tube in your airway for two weeks, but her first words were as cream-filled as they had ever been, and the Southern accent was firmly in place, albeit at half its former speed.
“Thank You, Jesus,” she said. And then, “Hey, ya’ll.”
Marnie clutched Sonia’s mummified hand and literally giggled out, “I’m so glad you’re back.”
For an eerie moment, I couldn’t share that sentiment. As long as Sonia couldn’t speak, I could pretend this injured person wasn’t really her. With her voice restored, and with it the first stirrings of her personality, I couldn’t pretend. I knew the voice that made you feel like you were putting on lotion just listening to her, but it came out of the face of a deformed stranger.
I pulled away from the bed, but Sonia said, “Lucia, don’t go. Marnie, leave us for a minute, would you?”
“I’m going to call Egan,” Marnie said, and danced away as if Sonia’s face were not still bandaged over scars that even then were making inroads in her skin like a mole. As if a nasogastric tube didn’t still await her next feeding. As if Sonia was, indeed, miraculously healed and all was right with their world.
When Marnie had completed her waltz out of the room, Sonia said, “How’s everybody else? Tell me.”
I watched her tongue try to run itself over her lips. It must have felt like two grades of sandpaper rubbing together.
“I’ll see what they’re giving you for dry mouth,” I said.
“No.” Her voice caught for the first time. “Marnie seems to be okay.”
“Marnie’s fine. She just had some stitches, which she was pretty proud of.” I didn’t mention that she’d been eager to show them off to my husband.
“She’s a godly girl,” Sonia said. She groped for a moment. “What about Otto?”
I glanced over my shoulder, half hoping a nurse would be there, telling me that my time was up.
“Lucia.” She pulled her head from side to side. “They’re giving me too much dope.”
“Quit your whinin’,” I said. “Some people would give their right arm to have this many drugs.”
“Otto’s gone, isn’t he?”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “He is.”
“Precious Otto. He’s with God.”
Her voice faded and, to my relief, it took her with it. Her breathing went even; her shoulders relaxed. I was momentarily envious.
Two days after the extubation, we moved Sonia out of ICU and into what they called the rehab unit. I thought of it more as her throne room. She loved being in the middle of everything, and as she emerged from the fog from time to time, everyone else seemed to enjoy having her there.
She prayed with each nurse, med tech, and member of the housekeeping staff who came through, and she doled out her plants and flowers to the other patients because she had too many to fit in her space. She laughed with Dr. Abernathy and assured him he would witness a career miracle.
She kept Marnie bustling, answering every one of those cards and e-mails and giving her a daily report of donations and hits on the Web site. Marnie had to keep her apprised on how God was working, as if He were an ALM employee too.
I helped the day nurses as much as they would let me. They were just as efficient as the ones in ICU and even more taken by Sonia’s riveting personality. While Sonia’s perfection made me want to consume carbohydrates by the bucketful, they were impressed that she wanted them to cut back on the pain meds and the sleep meds at night. They couldn’t get over that she wanted Marnie to hold a press conference in Lounge A, to which Nurse Kim put her foot down. Sonia was convinced that was because she didn’t avail herself of Kim’s counseling services.
“She doesn’t get that I don’t need a psychiatrist,” Sonia told Marnie one day while I tucked her back into a chair after a stroll down the hall. “I imagine she’s a Buddhist, don’t you?”
“Probably,” Marnie said, though I was sure she didn’t know Buddhism from sushi. “Yeah, I bet she’s just not used to people as strong in their faith as you are.”
Sonia smiled. “Bless her heart. We’ll have to work on her.”
I wondered what our Yankee mother would have thought, hearing Sonia use phrases like “bless her heart,” which all Sonia’s people seemed to feel made any statement permissible.
I could only imagine Francesca and Georgia on the flight back to Nashville, whispering in sympathetic voices, “That Lucia is so heavy, bless her heart.” But then again, they had more than likely forgotten about me the minute I was out of their sight.
As for my late mother, anything Sonia did would have been more than all right with her. She would probably have started saying “bless your heart” herself.
Not long after we moved to the rehab unit, I came into Sonia’s room one morning to find her pawing at the sheets with her stillbandaged hands and rocking back and forth.
“What’s going on?” I said.
“It hurts.”
“What does?”
“Everything.”
“Have you had your pain meds yet this morning?”
She put up her hand. “I’m not taking those.”
“Then that’s why you hurt.”
She stopped rocking and glared at me. Her eyes were like two glittering pebbles.
“For Pete’s sake, Sonia,” I said. “Your whole body was traumatized. You’ve been through hell.” I refilled her water glass to give myself time to craft my next sentence. “Look, I know you’re expecting God to heal you, but—”
“It isn’t just that.”
I could feel my eyebrows lifting. “Then what is it?”
Sonia turned her face to the window where the sun teased between the slats of the blinds. She licked at her lips.
“I don’t want to get hooked,” she said. “You know how dangerous painkillers can be.”
Yes, and thank you for your sensitivity on the matter. I rubbed my palms over the tops of my thighs and tried to recapture my numbness on this subject.
“All right,” I said. “Yes, abuse of prescription pain medication is dangerous. But the operative word is abuse.”
“Chip abused them,” she said. “And he never would have if he hadn’t had that back injury.”
“Chip used them for nonmedicinal reasons. That’s what abuse is.” Even to myself, it sounded like a lecture, but how else was I supposed to keep Chip’s past from slashing at me? “Most people who take pain meds as directed never become addicted, even during long-term use.”
“Most people,” she said. Her eyes studied me.
“I know you aren’t ‘most people’ on just about every level I can think of,” I said. “But in this case you are. They’re not going to give you more than you need.”
She drilled her unblinking eyes into me. “It isn’t OxyContin, is it?”
I wasn’t even aware she’d known what drug had destroyed Chip. But, then, he had spent three months with her, doing her program, whatever that meant.
“No,” I said. “But it wouldn’t matter. As long as you don’t take it to relieve anxiety or deal with stress, you don’t have to worry.”
“What about our family history?” she said.
“Who abused drugs in our family?”
“You know I’m talking about Tony.”
Tony. Our father—who had apparently lost his paternal title.
“Alcoholism is an addiction,” she said, “and addiction can be hereditary.”
“What about God?”
I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic. Sonia’s eyes took on a superior gleam.
“You don’t put the Lord your God to the test, Lucia,” she said. “You don’t take a ridiculous risk and expect God to keep you out of trouble. That’s secular thinking. I’m sure Chip thought the fact that he was a gifted doctor would keep him from being caught.”
“You’re not taking a risk. You’re taking care of yourself.”
I stuck a straw in her water glass and pushed it at her. She shook her head.
“I pray for Tony,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since Mother’s funeral. Have you?”
As much as I didn’t want to talk about Chip’s issues, I wanted to discuss my father’s even less. No, I hadn’t seen him since shortly after that day, the same day Sonia had told me Chip looked worse than he had the last time she’d seen him, the same day she’d asked me when I was going to wake up to the fact that he was a drug addict and get him some help.
Really? I wondered at the time. The same kind of help she’d gotten Dad, paying for expensive Christian rehab? While he was in there, claiming to have found Jesus, Mother died from an aneurism. Sonia grieved publicly, while I handled the cleaning out of Mother’s things and the sorry state of their financial affairs, and watched helplessly as my father relapsed.
“Where did you drift off to?” Sonia said. Even when she smiled in the only twisted way she was now capable of, she looked allknowing.
“I’m going to tell the nurses you need more pain meds,” I said, and left her there with her wisdom.
I’d barely delivered that message when Nurse Kim appeared with Special Agent Deidre Schmacker in tow. She wore a deep magenta jacket this time, though she had on the same heavy silver earrings and the same grandmotherly look of concern.
“I told her she could have ten minutes with Mrs. Cabot,” Kim said pointedly to me, “if you will stay in the room.”
“Are you prepared for what you’re going to see?” I said as I led the agent from the lounge.
“Unfortunately, I’ve interviewed burn victims before,” she said. “I’ll be careful with her.”
I wasn’t worried about Sonia’s reaction. I was worried about hers. Since the wounds had closed, they’d switched Sonia from bandages to a clear plastic pressurized mask that molded to her face. As masks went, it was fairly hideous—only the grotesqueness came from inside it. The first time Marnie saw her in it, I watched her turn the color of cream of wheat. I hated to admit that she recovered quickly. I’d have liked to have been able to tell Chip that his lover ran screaming from the room.
Sonia was in a chair, wrapped in a sage green silk robe Marnie had procured for her that made her look, from the neck down, like Marlene Dietrich in a film noir production. If Sonia’s appearance from the neck up bothered Deidre Schmacker, she, too, covered well.
“This is Special Agent Schmacker,” I said. “She’s from the FBI, and she needs to ask you some questions about the crash. It’s just routine.”
“Oh,” Sonia said. “Well, I feel like I’m on Law and Order. Or is it Without a Trace?”
“Hopefully neither,” Agent Schmacker said. “We try not to be quite that dramatic.”
Good. We had enough drama here. I was having trouble keeping my anxiety stuffed at the moment.
The agent accepted Sonia’s outstretched, gauze-swaddled hand. “First of all, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cabot.”
“Please—it’s Sonia. And what should I call you?”
The woman looked nonplussed. Obviously few of the people she interviewed cared to call her anything. Chip had referred to her as Agent Schmuck.
“Agent Schmacker is fine,” she said. “Or just Deidre.”
“I love that. Is it German?”
I rolled my eyes.
“It is.” She opened a folder on the rolling tray. “I’m going to try not to take too much of your time. I know you need rest.”
“I’ve had nothing but rest. This is a nice change.” Sonia looked at me, her stare more disconcerting than ever from the poke holes of the mask. “Lucia, could you get Deidre something to drink?”
No, I wanted to say. She travels with her own tea. Let’s get this over with.
“I’m good,” Agent Schmacker said. “I need for you to tell me as best you remember exactly what happened the day of the crash, beginning from the time the plane left Nashville. You can stop and rest whenever you need to.”
“I’m sure my sister will see to that,” she said.
I felt like Nurse Ratched. I leaned into the corner, arms folded.
“So, you left Nashville International . . .”
“At one o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Anything odd about the takeoff? Any noises that didn’t seem familiar to you?”
Sonia tilted her head. “You think there was something wrong with the plane? They were supposed to service it.”
“We just have to make sure we have all the bases covered.”
“No funny noises,” Sonia said. “Otto kept telling us all systems were go. He always liked to say that.”
Her voice cut out, which didn’t escape Schmacker. She let her eyes droop at the corners. “Did you know Mr. Underwood personally?”
“I kept him on retainer. He was forced to retire early from the airlines, which broke his heart because he loved to fly those commercial jets, but to me it was God’s doing. He was the perfect pilot for my ministry. He would pray with us before every flight—except when we took off from Philadelphia. We were in a hurry.”
Her voice broke again.
“You want to stop, Sonia?” I said.
“No.” She sat up straighter, smoothed the sash on the robe. “I know Otto’s with the Lord. He died doing His work.”
“You may not remember much—people often don’t,” Schmacker said, “but what can you tell me about what happened from the time the engines started for your departure from Northeast?”
“You’ve done this before,” Sonia said.
The agent almost smiled. “How can you tell?”
“Because you’re right—I hardly remember anything. I said goodbye to Chip and Lucia. Otto told us to fasten our seat belts. Marnie was up in front and I was in the back, and I said something to her and she said she couldn’t hear me, and the next thing I knew, my face . . .” Her hand went to the mask as if she’d just discovered it. “That’s all I remember until Lucia was with me on the ground. I don’t know how I got there.”
She was as composed as I had ever seen her.
I, on the other hand, was shredding a tissue I didn’t even recall picking up. I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine what it must have been like for her. Now I had it in my mind, where it could attack me at any time. That had to be stuffed, too, onto the ever-growing compost pile in my chest.
“Nothing beyond that?” Deidre Schmacker said.
“That’s it.”
The agent tapped her pen on the pad. “Mrs. Cabot, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, we’re not at all sure your crash was an accident. We’re trying to rule out foul play.”
“Let me save you the trouble,” Sonia said. Her voice remained as warm and creamy as chocolate sauce, and her arms still hung, relaxed, over the arms of the chair. “No one wanted to hurt me, and if they did, they’ve failed.”
“Have they?”
“This is about what God wants, and what He wants is for people to have a chance to see God’s power at work. I’m going to be completely healed.”
“I’m sure you are. You’re in the best burn facility in the Northeast.”
“But it’s God who is going to do the healing, Deidre. The miracle is already taking place. No one expected me to be able to speak this clearly, and yet I’m having a fluent conversation with you.”
Yes, unfortunately. I wiped my upper lip with the back of my hand.
“The wounds have closed. I’ve already graduated to this glamour mask. I’m going home in a matter of days, when people in my condition are normally here for months.”
If Deidre Schmacker said anything, I didn’t hear it. My own thoughts were screaming in my head. She’s going home? I didn’t know which part of this monologue was the most ludicrous.
“It’s God, Deidre. That’s what we’re seeing. I’m getting great care here—that’s part of it. But this is about faith. I put my trust in the Lord. ‘In your presence there is fullness of joy, and in your right hand are pleasures for evermore.’ ”
Deidre Schmacker didn’t say anything. She definitely wasn’t taking notes on what I assumed was a biblical quote.
“So no more questions about the crash,” Sonia said. “In fact, just stop your investigation altogether, because it’s pointless.”
Sonia settled further into the chair as if she’d just succeeded in sending Special Agent Schmacker back to FBI headquarters with her marching orders.
Schmacker didn’t move except to tilt her head back to look at Sonia. I hadn’t noticed the color of her eyes before. They were a clear gray with a liquid quality. I couldn’t read them, but I could feel them reading Sonia.
“I wish it were that easy, Sonia,” she said.
“Isn’t it?”
“Not under the circumstances. I am not quarreling with the possibility that you will have a miracle healing. I’ve seen stranger things happen. But as far as the investigation goes, I can’t stop that. And in fact, I’m going to need your help.”
Sonia shrugged gracefully. “I’ve told you everything.”
“We’ve barely begun to scratch the surface. I need to know about your relationships with everyone on that plane and with everyone on your staff. I have to pick your brain about all of the events leading up to your trip. And I am asking you to think and think hard about anyone who might want to hurt you. Any hate letters you might have received.”
“There is none of that,” Sonia said. “I only have one more thing to say, and that is that I’ll be praying for you. My whole ministry will. It has to be hard to hear all these stories and not become suspicious of everyone.”
Deidre Schmacker’s voice didn’t change either. “I’m doing my job, which is to investigate a plane crash in which a pilot with no previous history of illness just happened to die from unknown causes and drop a plane that just happened to explode on impact for no apparent reason.” She pressed her palms on the tray. “There were explosives on your plane, Mrs. Cabot. I need you to help me find out who put them there.”
I wanted to hurl myself from the room and lose everything I’d packed inside myself, because I couldn’t take this one more rotten piece of information. But I looked at Sonia instead, and saw as stubborn an expression in her body as she could ever have accomplished on her face.
“I’m so sorry,” Sonia said. “It’s a hideous job that you have to do, but I can’t help you. I have to focus on what God’s doing in this.”
Deidre Schmacker closed her portfolio and tucked it neatly under her arm. “It’s a lot to take in,” she said. “I’ll be back when you’ve had a chance to process it.”
“It will be a waste of your time,” Sonia said.
The liquid gray eyes went steely. “I’ll be back,” she said.
I barely waited for the door to close before I was on Sonia. If I didn’t say this now, it was going to get crammed in with everything else.
“Sonia, I don’t think you can—”
“I can do whatever God wills, Lucia.” The cream in her voice curdled. “Would you please get Marnie? And tell her to get Egan on the line before she gets here—and find Dr. Abernathy for me.”
“Why?” I said. “Why Dr. Abernathy?”
“Because I have to get back to Nashville before this thing gets out of control.”
She was too late. It already was.