Before I Wake (15 page)

She was crying, thin rivulets of tears trailing unchecked down her cheeks, collecting at the corners of her jaw, falling soundlessly away.

 

“This is John Sellers for News At Noon. I'm outside the Barrett residence in Fernwood, where, sources tell us, miracles have started to happen in Victoria. I'll be joined by Pam Harding, who was apparently miraculously cured of cancer by Sherilyn Barrett last week, and Todd Herbert of the
New Sentinel
in a few moments, but first a little background…”

 

KAREN

“You need to explain,” I said, holding fast to the doorknob, my body between Jamie and the house. “You need to tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Karen, I had no idea.”

Jamie glanced over her shoulder at the other reporters watching us from the far side of the fence and the small crowd that had gathered behind them. “Can we do this inside?”

I didn't move for a long moment, then stepped back, allowing her enough space to slide past me. I closed the door behind her and shot the deadbolt. I could hear the shouts of indignation from the sidewalk.

She started to take off her jacket. “No,” I said, turning to her. “You're not staying. Not until I find out what's going on.”

“Karen, how can you even think…”

“There's a story in
your
paper about how my daughter is some sort of healer. What am I supposed to think?”

“Damn it, Karen, I tried to protect you.” Her voice came out in a squeak.

“What?”

“Can we please…” She started toward the kitchen, and I followed.

Ruth was at the table, and neither of them said anything when Jamie sat down across from her. I sat down between them.

“So.”

Jamie shook her head. “Karen, I tried to stop this.”

“So what happened?”

She glanced at Ruth. “Have you asked her?”

“I'm asking you.”

She sighed. “Todd—you remember Todd—sent me an email. Said he had received a phone call from a woman who claimed that Sherry had healed her.”

“Pam,” Ruth said quietly.

Jamie nodded. “That's what he said. Anyway, he was asking a lot of questions, talking about how she could describe the inside of the house, right down to what flowers were on the table. White carnations.”

She sniffed.

“So I told him I'd check it out. I told him that I didn't think that there was anything to it, but that I'd check it out.”

I just sat and waited.

“So that day I came over, and I made a point of looking around Sherry's room.”

“Oh, Jamie.”

She shook her head. “No, I wanted to prove to him that this woman was making the whole thing up. I tell you, I've never been happier than when I saw that there weren't any carnations anywhere in the room.”

“So what—”

“Until I looked in the garbage can,” she continued, as if I hadn't said anything. “And there they were. Broken stems, all crunched up, gone brown. A bunch of carnations.”

I felt like I was going to be sick. “So you told him.”

She shook her head firmly. “No. No, I didn't. I tried to misdirect him. I made up something about your sister, Ruth. I didn't know anything about any Pam…” She dropped her head.

“But if you didn't…?”

She shrugged. “I guess he didn't believe me.”

“So what happened to the story you were working on.”

“They killed it. They weren't interested in anything from me. At least that's what Ron Kozak said.”

“The managing editor?”

She nodded. “It's a hell of a way to start a day. Being told that you've lost your objectivity. That you've betrayed your employer. It was a nice little chat. And then I packed up my desk.”

“You were fired?”

“Suspended, with no fixed date of return. I got the feeling they wouldn't be calling anytime soon.”

“Oh Jamie,” I stood up and moved to her, intending to embrace her, but she pushed me away.

“No,” she said, looking across the table at Ruth. “I need to know what's going on around here.”

 

“This is Troy Shepherd with the CFAX News Cruiser. I'm here at the home of Karen and Sherilyn Barrett. I'm talking to Todd Herbert of the
New Sentinel
, who wrote a story in this morning's paper…”

KAREN

The house was dark, silent. None of us spoke, so focused were we on trying to ignore the murmur from outside the windows. We were playing a waiting game, but none among us knew what we were waiting for.

After Jamie had heard Ruth's side of the story, I borrowed
her cell phone. I dialed Simon's cell, then pressed Cancel. Instead, I called Dr. McKinley.

“I saw the paper. What's going on over there?” I could hear genuine concern in Stephen's voice.

“Well, I've got reporters camped out on the sidewalk.” I pulled back the living-room curtain to check on the group and jerked back in shock, almost dropping the phone. “Jesus Christ!”

“Karen? Karen, what is it?”

About a dozen people were milling around on the front lawn, right under the window. They turned to look as I parted the curtain. Several of them rushed up to the window and pressed their hands and faces against the glass, trying to see in. Trying to see Sherry.

I dropped the curtain, but images of their faces lingered in my mind: blind eyes, scars, patches of hair, yellow skin…

“Karen? Are you still there?”

“I'm here.”

“What's going on over there?” he asked again.

“It's, it's a little crazy. Could you…” I stammered, not even really sure what I was asking.

“I'm done here at two. I'll come right over.”

When he arrived, I let Jamie and Ruth explain it to him, all of us sitting in the family room, away from Sherry, away from the crowds of reporters and onlookers who were separated from my daughter, it seemed, only by a curtain. When they finished, he looked between the two of them, first at Jamie, then at Ruth.

“Total remission?” he asked.

Ruth nodded. “That's what Sarah said.”

Stephen looked thoughtful. “We should get her checked out by an independent physician.”

“Why?” Jamie asked.

“In case this is all a big scam. So we can go to the paper with the test results, maybe get them to back off a little.”

“But it's
not
a scam,” Ruth said, quietly but forcefully. “It's not.”

“The records can be checked. There must be tests we can do.”

“On who?” Jamie asked.

“On you,” he said to Ruth, who looked at the floor. “On your sister.” He turned toward me. “On Sherry.”

“I don't want this,” I whispered, afraid that if I met anyone's gaze I would start crying again. “I just want all of this to go away.”

Jamie came over and, perching herself on the arm of the chair, rubbed my back. Her hand was cold through my thin sweater, but I was grateful for her touch. “Kar, I don't think that this is going to just go away.” She gestured toward the front of the house. “I don't think those people out there are just going to go away.”

“I know,” I whispered. “I just, I just want my old life back.”

At that moment, there was a knock at the front door.

Instinctively I rose to my feet, stepped toward it, stopping as Jamie took my arm.

“Leave it,” she said.

Instinct and habit were at war with rationality. I couldn't let a telephone ring unanswered either.

Stephen rose to his feet. “Let me get it.”

I shook my head and pulled free of Jamie's hand. “No, I'll get it. I can't just sit here anymore.”

Bracing myself, I opened the door a crack, holding tightly to the knob in case I needed to slam it shut again.

“We got here as soon as we could,” Simon said. Mary was standing just behind him.

Fanned out at the foot of the steps were more of the damaged people, their ranks swollen in the dimming light.

“Can we come in?” Simon asked.

SIMON

For several seconds it seemed as if Karen might not let us into the house. She looked at me as if she didn't even recognize me, then at Mary. Finally, biting her lip, she stepped to one side and allowed us in, closing the door behind us.

Out of habit I bent down to take my shoes off. Mary followed my lead.

“Just leave them on,” Karen said, walking past us toward the family room.

I led Mary into the living room to see Sherry.

“Hello, baby.” I leaned over her bed, touched her face. “Daddy's here. Daddy's here.”

Mary stood stiffly next to me.

“This is Mary, honey,” I reached out and found Mary's hand, took it into my own. “Do you remember her from Daddy's office?” I glanced up at her, smiled a little, feeling at a loss. I turned my attention back to Sherry. “So I hear you've been getting into trouble,” I teased my silent daughter. “What did Daddy tell you about that, eh?”

Straightening up, I turned to Mary. “You can talk to her, if you want. I don't know if she can hear it or not, but I like talking to her.”

“It's so sad,” she said, her voice rough. “She's so small…”

“I know. That's what everyone says.”

“I should go,” she said. “I should go home.”

She hadn't wanted to come in at all. I'd spent most of the last hour of the drive down-island trying to persuade her. I asked, “Why?”

She shook her head. “It's not right. I shouldn't be here.”

“No, it's fine,” came Karen's voice from the doorway. We both jumped, turning to face her like children caught misbehaving. “You came all the way back down. You should both stay.”

It was hardly the response that either of us was expecting, and I suppose our surprise was apparent in our faces. Karen took a deep breath. “I don't care…Just stay.”

She was pale and worn, as if she might disappear into the painted wall behind her. Her eyes were darkly outlined, her face stretched taut.

“Everyone else is in the family room,” she said.

I knew that Mary still wanted to leave, despite what Karen had said. Or perhaps more so because of it, I couldn't be sure. I also knew that I wanted her to stay. We walked into the family room in silence.

Karen was standing with her back to the window. “Find a seat. I'll get you some coffee.”

The room felt like a minefield. “Yes,” I said. “Coffee would be nice. We've been driving for hours.”

Her jaw tightened. “Mary, why don't you sit here.” Karen gestured back to the chair, as she crossed the room.

“Uh, no, that's okay. I'll just find a piece of floor.”

I caught the sidelong glance between Jamie and Ruth as I sat down on the couch next to Dr. McKinley. Mary folded herself into a sitting position, leaning against the couch by my legs. I reached out and smoothed her hair.

There was an awkward pause. To cover as I pulled my hand away, I asked the doctor, “So where are we at right now?”

He shifted a little in his seat, and shook his head. “I don't really understand it myself. Ruth?”

After Ruth finished speaking there was a lengthy silence. It took me a long time to realize that everyone was waiting for me to say something. To have an idea. A plan.

I drained my coffee cup and rose to my feet, beginning to pace the room. I always think, and speak, more clearly if I'm in motion. “Well, leaving aside everything else,” I started, then stopped short. I had no idea how to continue. “I…”

I looked at Mary, who smiled at me, clearly believing that I would know what to do. Looking at Karen, though, was like seeing a reflection of myself—trapped and frantic, with absolutely no idea of what to do.

“I…”

From the front yard, I could hear the sound of singing, voices raised in a hymn, people calling out my daughter's name.

HENRY

The library was closed for the night. Tim was in the children's section, his massive frame squeezed into one of the tiny little chairs, pulled up to one of the tiny little tables. He was chuckling over a picture book.

“Tim.”

He glanced up. “Ah, Henry.” He didn't seem surprised to see me, folding his book closed on the table and looking at me expectantly.

I sat down next to him. “Can I ask you a question?”

A smile touched his lips. “You just did.”

“Ah. I guess I did—”

“Anyway,” he interrupted.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you.” I struggled to get my focus back. “I wanted to ask you about miracles.”

He raised an eyebrow, his face spreading into a smile. “What about miracles?”

I couldn't really pin it down: I wanted to know everything about miracles, everything Tim knew about them. Ever since reading the newspaper articles that morning, I needed to learn as much about miracles as I could.

“Well, just…what are they, to start? I mean, I know what they are, but…”

He paused for a moment, looking at me. “Well, there's really no single answer.” His voice trailed off. “If you're King Lear, well, then, your life, sir, is a miracle. If you're having a wedding at Cana, and you have no food, then you hope there's a messiah nearby with some loaves and fishes.” He waited, I think expecting me to comment, but I had nothing to say.

“But if it's a little girl you're talking about, a little girl more dead than alive, who seems to be able to heal people without being able to heal herself, well then, that's something completely different, isn't it?”

I felt the blood leaving my face, a sudden lightness as if I might pass out. “But, how…”

“How did I know?” He laughed. “You make such a point of reading the local paper every morning. As soon as it's out on the rod, you've got it. But you don't really read it. You just scan through, looking for something. When I saw you reading this morning, I thought you might want to talk about that little girl that you almost killed in the spring.”