Marcia Talley - A Quiet Death

‘Well, duh.’ I put the towel I had folded on top of the pile.

‘Good. Which reminds me, why are you here today? When you called, you didn’t say.’

‘I’m going to visit somebody in the hospital. At Kernan.’

She snapped the wrinkles out of an undershirt, folded it into neat thirds. ‘Anybody I know?’

‘No. It’s the guy I was sitting next to when the Metro train crashed.’

Georgina’s head shot up. ‘Wow! You found him, then!’

‘Dennis did,’ I said, giving my brother-in-law full marks.

‘It’s certainly an advantage having a cop in the family, that’s what I always say.’ Georgina stacked the folded laundry in the basket, picked the basket up, and balanced it on one hip. ‘I’m glad the guy made it. How’s he doing, anyway?’

‘As soon as I find out, I’ll let you know.’

From Georgina’s, it was a quick six-mile drive to the sprawling, multi-acre Kernan Hospital campus just off Windsor Mill Road. I parked in the visitors’ lot.

I hadn’t been kidding about the flowers and balloons. Before I left Annapolis, I’d popped into the Giant near I97 and made what I thought was a suitable selection – an arrangement called Autumn Daze, and a Mylar ‘Get Well’ balloon in a cheerful yellow. I hauled them out of my trunk, locked, then strolled up the sidewalk past a flagpole and into the main entrance of the hospital, with the balloon bobbing gaily overhead.

‘I’m here to visit Nick Aupry,’ I told the volunteer at the information desk. ‘I’m his Aunt Hannah, from Iowa. I just got off the plane, and hoo-boy! I don’t know why I bother to fly. I could have walked here faster than that. I was supposed to be here yesterday,’ I rattled on. ‘And Delta Airlines? Don’t get me started! You know what they say?’ I paused for breath. ‘They say Delta means Don’t Expect Luggage to Arrive!’ I chuckled. ‘Isn’t that good?’

The woman behind the counter smiled indulgently. ‘I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. He hasn’t had very many visitors since they transferred him up here from trauma.’

‘We’re a small family, all spread out. Go where the jobs are, you know! I just found out about Nick’s accident! Can you believe it?’

The woman handed me a visitor’s pass. ‘He’s in 129B. Just down the hallway there, and take the first left.’

I found the man I knew as Skip in a private room, lying flat on his back with a brace like a halo encircling his head. From the halo, four long metal rods extended, screwing the device directly into his skull. Other metal bars stretched from the halo down to a stabilizing shoulder brace.

The TV was tuned to the Discovery Channel where MythBusters appeared to be exploring the dangers of taking a shower during a thunderstorm.

I walked into his line of sight. ‘Hello, Skip. Remember me?’

Skip closed his eyes for a long second, then opened them again, and blinked as if trying to focus. ‘The lady on the train.’

‘That’s right. Hannah Ives. I came to see how you’re doing.’ I still held the flowers in one hand and the balloon in the other.

Skip’s hand rose slightly, then fell back on to the covers. ‘As you see.’

‘That looks like a medieval torture device,’ I said, indicating the head brace.

‘It is.’

‘I’m very glad you survived the crash,’ I told him as I set my autumn bouquet on the windowsill next to another similar arrangement. ‘These are pretty,’ I told him, touching a yellow chrysanthemum.

‘They’re from my mother.’

‘Ah. Well, now you have a matched pair!’ Keeping my back to the window, I added, ‘You’re incredibly lucky, you know. When you passed out on me… well, I thought you had, you know…’

‘Died?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Only the good die young,’ he said.

The TV remote lay next to his hand. He patted his way over to it, fumbled for a moment, then switched off the set.

‘What’s wrong with you, if you don’t mind my asking. Your legs…?’

‘I have a C5 contusion,’ he said. ‘The legs are the least of my worries.’ He whacked his right leg with the remote. ‘Smashed, but healing.’

‘What’s a C5 contusion?’’

‘A spinal injury. To begin with, I was pretty much paralyzed from the chest down. I’ve come a long way since then.’

‘Kernan is as good as it gets, I understand.’

‘So they tell me.’

I pointed to the halo. ‘How long do you have to wear that contraption strapped to your head? Is it really screwed into the bone? My God.’

‘Dr Frankenstein’s finest invention. It might come off in a week or two, they tell me, but I’ll still have to wear a neck brace of some sort.’

‘Can you walk?’

‘That remains to be seen.’ Beneath the blanket, he wiggled his toes. ‘They’re coming back, slowly, but they are coming back.’

‘Do you remember the crash?’ I watched his face closely. With his head completely immobile, the eyes said it all. They stared back at me vacantly.

‘I spend my days just lying here, trying to remember, but it’s all a blank. I remember the heat. God, it was hot! I remember sitting next to you on the train, lusting after your iPhone. Asking about the weather. After that, nothing, until I woke up here.’

‘Ah. Probably just as well. It was pretty horrific.’

‘So they tell me.’

‘I was attending a charity luncheon that day, Skip. I’m curious. What were you doing in DC?’

Skip closed his eyes as if the answer to my question was written on the insides of his eyelids. ‘I was doing genealogical research at the Library of Congress.’

‘In the Adams Building?’ I asked, feeling a little mean about trying to trip such a sick man up.

‘No. The Genealogy Library is in the Thomas Jefferson Building. The one with the dome.’

‘Oh, you’re right.’ And he was, too. I’d visited the Genealogy Library on several occasions.

An aide slipped into the room to top up Skip’s water pitcher with fresh ice. After he’d gone, I said breezily, ‘Say, Skip. A guy named James Hoffner came to see me the other day.’

‘Hoffner, yes. He’s my attorney.’

‘Oh.’ What else could I say? Who is that asshole you hired?

‘You probably don’t remember, but I was carrying a bag on the train. A ratty old one from Julius Garfinkels.’

‘I remember it well,’ I told him. ‘We chatted briefly about the store. Do you remember that?’

Skip nodded. ‘Hoffner’s supposed to be helping me get it back. It’s got family stuff in it.’

‘I know. There was a mix-up at the hospital and they gave the bag to me by mistake.’

Skip’s eyes widened in what seemed like genuine surprise. I made a mental note to check if he’d majored in theater at Stanford. ‘Great! Do you have it with you?’

‘No, but relax! Don’t worry about it. I was able to locate your mother, and I returned the bag to her. It’s perfectly safe.’

If Skip was alarmed by this news, he didn’t show it. ‘It’s her birthday coming up,’ he rushed to explain. ‘I was having some old photographs restored as a surprise. Re-colored. Matted and put in a nice frame. You know.’

‘Sure,’ I said, catching him in the fib almost at once. I’d seen his mother’s passport, but he didn’t know that. Lilith’s birthday was on April 4th, some six months away. Unless Skip was a guy who really planned ahead, his birthday surprise story was pretty fishy.

‘I had to look at a couple of letters,’ I confessed. ‘You know, to track the owner down.’ I imagined Skip, left alone in his mother’s appalling house, tossing clothes and shoes and unopened boxes around the cluttered house in disgust, frustration and rage. I pictured him finding the bag, opening the shirt box, going through it with growing shock and surprise.