David Baldacci - First Family

"No she won't. I got that all covered too."

"What do you mean, all covered?" the doctor said skeptically.

"Every piece of equipment you got in her room keeping her breathing, I got too."

"How could that possibly be? It's all very expensive. And complicated."

"Medical supply warehouse had a fire about a year ago. They had lots of stuff that wasn't even damaged that they let go cheap because of health regulations. Ventilator with a trach tube. Vital signs monitor. Feeding tube. Oxygen tanks and a converter. IV meds dispenser unit. I checked it all out and it works just fine. In fact, I'll bet you a hundred bucks the stuff works better than the shit you got here. It's all pretty old. I should know, I been coming here many a year, and I don't think you folks have changed any of it."

The doctor gave a forced chuckle. "Now really, Mr. Quarry."

Quarry cut him off. "Now you just get her all ready to go. I'll get them to pull the ambulance up front."

"Ambulance?"

"Yeah. What? You expect me to take her home in my pickup truck? Use your damn head, man. I hired me an ambulance, a special one with life support equipment. It's waiting outside." He snatched the papers back. "Now you just make sure she's ready to go." He walked off.

"But how will you possibly take care of her?"

Quarry wheeled back around. "I know the routine better than you do. I know how to feed her, medicate her, clean her, exercise her limbs, and turn her to keep the bedsores away, the whole shebang. You think I just come here and look at the damn floor? By the way, you ever read to her?"

The man looked perplexed. "Read to her? No."

"Well I do. Have all these years. Probably the thing that really kept her alive." He pointed at the doctor. "Just get her ready, 'cause my little girl's finally getting outta here."

Quarry signed a mountain of papers absolving the nursing home of any liability and, at last, Tippi left her prison while the sun was still shining. Quarry squinted against the glare and watched as they loaded his daughter into the back of the ambulance. He climbed in his old truck, gave the nursing home the finger, and led the ambulance down the road to Atlee.

When they arrived home everything was ready. Carlos and Daryl helped the ambulance attendants carry in the gurney. Ruth Ann, tears running down her cheeks, and Gabriel, watched the procession. The adult daughter was returned to the same room she'd occupied as a young girl. Everything that had been in the room when she was young was now in it once more. Quarry and his wife had kept it all, ever since Tippi had headed out in life for what had turned out to be a too brief time. College, a stint at a marketing firm in Atlanta; and then sucking on a breathing tube at a nursing home when she was still in her twenties.

His beautiful girl had come home, though.

The ambulance left after a critical care nurse who had come along made certain that the equipment Quarry had was adequate and was connected up the right way. After that, Quarry closed the door behind all of them, sat next to Tippi, and took her hand in his.

"You're home, little girl. Daddy brought you home, Tippi."

He held up her hand and pointed with it to various items in the room.

"There's that blue ribbon you got for writing that poem. And over there's your prom dress that your ma made for you. And you looked so beautiful in it, Tippi. Didn't want to let you out of the house with that dress on. No sir. Didn't want to let the boys see you like that. So pretty." He pointed her hand at a photo on a small bookcase.

The picture was of the entire family. Mom, Dad, and the three kids when they were still just children. Daryl wasn't thickset yet, just cute with some baby fat. Suzie was in the middle with her usual defiant look. And then there was Tippi wearing a hat she'd made from a newspaper and a strip of leather, cocked sideways on her head, her golden hair draped around her shoulders. She had this wondrous smile on her face and this mischievous look in her eyes. Nothing much could make Quarry weep anymore. Yet every time he stared at that image of Tippi, with her life all ahead of her, in that funny hat, with those eyes burning to take the world head-on, not knowing, not even suspecting for one moment the despair, the devastating loss that they would all have to endure, the tears rose to the man's eyes like chill bumps on a fall evening.

He gently put her hand back down next to her side and rose to look out the window. His girl was home. And he would rejoice in that while he could. And then he would type his next letter.

He turned back to Tippi, listening to the mechanical rise and fall of the machine that was keeping her lungs pumping, and her heart beating. Then he glanced over at the photo and managed, by closing and then reopening his eyes, to transfer the Tippi in the photo to the one in the bed. In this imaginary world, his daughter was merely resting. And at least in his mind, she would wake up, get up, hug her daddy, and get on with life.

Quarry sank into a chair, closed his eyes again, and stayed in this other world for a little bit longer.

MICHELLE'S PHONE RANG again. They had been waiting two days now to hear back from Sean's Army buddy, but apparently getting records on AWOLs in three states was not an easy matter.

"Who is it?" Sean asked as he leaned back in his desk chair.

"Same number who called me before but I didn't know who it was."

"Might as well answer it. We're just sitting in neutral here anyway."

Michelle shrugged and punched the button. "Hello?"

"Michelle Maxwell?"

"Yes, who's this?"

"I'm Nancy Drummond. You left me a message about your mother. I was a friend of hers."

"But the area code on your phone number isn't Nashville. And the caller ID said Tammy Fitzgerald."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't think about that. I'm using my daughter's cell phone. Fitzgerald is her married name. She lives in Memphis but she's staying with us for a while. It's cheaper to use the cell for long-distance calls. I only have a hard line."

"Oh, right, sure. Why didn't you leave a message?"

"I get flustered with cell phones and voice mail." She added bluntly, "I'm old."

"That's okay. Sometimes I get flustered by them too."

"I was out of town when your mother died. I'm so sorry about her."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." Michelle sat down at her desk while Sean doodled on a legal pad. "I was calling you because, well, I guess you heard my mom's death wasn't by natural causes."

"I heard that someone had killed her."

"Who told you that?"

"Donna Rothwell."

"Right. Look, Mrs. Drummond."

"Please call me Nancy."

"Okay, Nancy, I was calling because I wanted to know if you had any idea about who could have wanted to hurt my mom." Michelle expected the woman to issue a resounding "no" in a shocked, breathless tone, but she didn't.

"When I said I was sorry your mother was dead, I meant that Michelle. I liked her. But I can't in all honesty say I was surprised."

Michelle sat straight up in her chair and motioned at Sean, who stopped doodling. Michelle hit a button on her cell, turning it to speakerphone mode.

"You say you're not surprised that someone killed my mother?"

Sean put down his pen and walked over to Michelle's desk and sat on the edge.

"Why would you say that?"

Nancy Drummond's mellifluous voice swooped into the room. "How well did you know your mother?"

"I guess not all that well, actually."

"This is difficult to say, your being her daughter and all."

"Mrs.-Nancy, don't pull any punches. I just want to find who did this."

"I didn't know your father very well. He and your mom didn't go out much together. But Sally enjoyed the social circle we had down here. Very much."