in Gran’s world, you didn’t go to a sickbed empty-handed. I arrived at the hospital bearing a batch of chocolate chip cookies for Karen and for her mother, two paperbacks, a travel toothbrush, a variety of tea bags, and a bottle of aspirin.
Mrs. Foley, who probably had her daughter’s friendly smile when her mouth wasn’t framed by deep lines of worry, held up the pain reliever in wonder. “How did you know?”
“The Force is strong with my family,” I answered. “Do you want to take a break, go down and get a drink or something? I can bore Karen until you get back.”
The offer tempted her, but she glanced at her daughter in the hospital bed. “Go,” Karen said. “I’m fine, and Maggie will be here.”
She wavered another moment, then said, “I’ll just be a few minutes.” She picked up her purse and the aspirin.
“No hurry.” I turned to Karen. “You look better than the last time I saw you.” It was true. Her color had returned and she wasn’t covered in blood. She looked pretty good except for the goose-egg on her head. They’d had to shave some of her hair to put in stitches. Maybe she could manage a tasteful comb-over.
“Thanks.” She gestured to a chair. “You want to sit down?”
I sat, mostly so she wouldn’t have to strain to look up at me. “I’ll bet your mom was pretty freaked.”
“God. I thought she was going to come apart. But Coach kept telling her: ‘Don’t give up the ship, Carol. Winners stay focused. Eye on the prize.’ ” We laughed at her Milner impersonation, and Karen winced, holding her head.
“How about you?” I asked. “How are you feeling?”
“Well, it hurts when I laugh.”
“You really scared the crap out of me. Out of all of us.” I studied the Technicolor lump on her head. “Have they said when you can go home?”
“They did some X-rays and an MRI. They want to make sure no swelling develops, but it looks pretty good.”
“Not on the outside, it doesn’t.”
“Gee, thanks.” A smile told me she hadn’t taken offense. “I hope I can get back to school soon. I can’t let my grades slip.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because a concussion wouldn’t be an excuse or anything.”
“I’m trailing D and D Lisa for valedictorian. I know she’s your friend, but I can’t let her off easy.”
“No argument here. You should definitely make her work for it.” I paused, trying to frame my question without influencing her. “At the pool, you couldn’t remember what happened. Has any of it come back to you?”
“Let’s see.” She gazed at the ceiling, trying to recall. “I remember you turning chicken …”
“I did not!” There was a disbelieving pause. “Okay, I totally did. Please continue.”
“I climbed on the low board, and heard the hags cackling. And then I started to jump, and that’s all I remember.”
“So you don’t know what went wrong?”
Her forehead knotted, not with pain, but confusion, maybe.
“Coach Milner said I must have placed my foot wrong, not had it all the way on the board.”
“Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she? I mean, if you slipped, it could have been the equipment, and then the school would be in trouble.”
Her brows knit more tightly. “Did I slip?”
“I couldn’t really tell what happened.” I tried to reassure her. She seemed upset by the hole in her memory, and who could blame her? “It doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“I just had the strangest feeling …”
I waited a polite nanosecond, then prompted, “Did you remember something?”
She gave her head a very careful shake. “I don’t know. I have this memory of jumping into the air and seeing my shadow underneath me, but it was moving in the wrong direction. I wonder if it’s some kind of distortion from banging my head.”
“Optical illusion, maybe?” I kept my voice neutral. “That’s not so strange.”
“That’s not the weird part. There was—or I imagined there was—a horrible smell. Like food gone bad. I thought, ‘No wonder Maggie doesn’t want to jump in there. It smells like a sewer.’ ” She worried at the memory a little longer, then let it slip away. “And that’s the last thing I remember.”
With a slightly determined smile, she changed the subject. “I didn’t do anything to help you get over your phobia, though. What do they call that? Aquaphobia?”
“I-don’t-wanna-die-ophobia.”
“Ow! Don’t make me laugh.”
“Sorry.”
We talked about random, unimportant things—gossip, school, homework, college—until her mother came back. Mrs. Foley looked better for the break, and I gave up her seat.
“Here’s my cell phone number.” I scribbled it on the pad by the phone. “Call me if you need anything or … well, anything.” I didn’t want to say “if anything weird happens,” because I wasn’t even sure what was normal anymore.
For instance. You could have blown me over when five minutes later I met Stanley Dozer in the hospital lobby. I actually said “Stanley?” though there was no mistaking his pale, gangly form for any other.
“Hi, Maggie.” He didn’t look very pleased to see me, which, considering he’d called me a bitch the last time we’d met, wasn’t really a shock.
“Mr. Yanachek asked me to bring Karen her math homework.” He held up a folder and didn’t meet my eye.
“That’s nice of you.” Considering that you called her a dork, I added silently.
“Yeah, well. No one else wanted to do it.”
“You really try and spread sunshine and light wherever you go, don’t you, Stanley?” He looked at me blankly. I sighed. “I’ll take it up for you, so you don’t pain yourself.”
“No. I have to explain the problems. You’ll never understand it.”
“There are lots of things I’ll never understand,” I said as I strode past him. Then I paused. “Hey, Stanley. What did you mean when you said that everyone who picked on you was going to be sorry?”
He gave me a long, unreadable stare, then shrugged. “You know what I mean. I’ll join the space program, and they’ll end up like their kind always do: fat, divorced, and managing a Safeway.”
Yeah, well, there was a fate worse than death.
I watched him go, wondering if there was something different about him, or if it was his outburst yesterday that changed my viewpoint. I didn’t spend too much time on it, though. I had bigger fish to fry. It was time for some old-fashioned sleuthing. I was going to have to unleash my inner Nancy Drew.