Authors: Carolyn Nash
“Hey! Wait a minute.” It was the voice of the nurse at the
duty station. “You can’t all come up here, even if it was visiting hours which
it’s not! They don’t start for another hour.”
There was a short silence, and then, “I am Dr. Richards’ fiancée.
I must see him.” The tone was an attempt at being imperious, but much of the
authority was lost due to the fact that the words were enunciated with that
concentrated diction of hers.
I shifted over so that I sat in a chair with my back to the
hall, and then sat rigidly, hugging my bandaged hand to me.
The sound of footsteps started again, the sharp tap-tap of
high heels distinct among the shuffle. The rumble of voices started again.
“Ms. Granzella, please. When did you find out about Dr. Richards?”
The hubbub grew in volume as the group came near.
“Did you always know he was innocent?”
“What have the police told you?”
“It’s been five days since the explosion at the lab. Where
have you been during that time? Where has he been? Has he been in contact with
you?”
I turned my head carefully to look back over my shoulder
just as she appeared striding forcefully, yet gracefully, ahead of a pack of
reporters. She wore a short, terrifically chic dress that showed her perfect
legs, her tight, fit, shapely body--a dress of the perfect shadings of wheat
and sienna to set off her golden skin and blond hair. Her hair hung loose down
her back--unbelievably thick, straight and shining. Her flawless skin had not a
touch of makeup, but her violet eyes were framed with carefully darkened
lashes.
I turned away and stared out the window, ignoring the
reporters as they spilled into the room and filled the tiny space. They backed
up against the rack of chairs I sat on, knocking against it. I waited for the
inevitable discovery, the finding of Andrew Richards’ accomplice, but instead,
they ignored me, treating me I were just another piece of the furniture. The
purse of a woman wearing a light grey wool coat swung against my head. A man
with two cameras hanging by his side turned and the telephoto lens on one
nearly clipped my ear. I just sat, wondering where the temper I’d fired at the
taxi driver, and at J.P. had gone. Into the fog, it seemed.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” Caren said carefully. “Please. I do
understand that you need to know what has happened, but so do I. I just want to
go in and see my Andrew, and I will be right out to answer your questions. So
if you will bear with me.” I chanced another look. Between two of the
reporters, I could see Caren’s beautiful smile. The men in the crowd responded
automatically, smiling and nodding their heads. The women were only slightly
less susceptible to the charm.
I wanted to get up and leave, move away from this room and
these people, get as much distance between me and this place as possible. In
the last five days Andrew and I had been in a world apart, a world where at
times I could let myself believe that Andrew and I had a future. But the sight
of Caren Granzella, the crowd of reporters, the nurses and doctors who had
taken Andrew from my care, all of these things brought the real world crashing
down, lifting Andrew further from me with every passing second.
But you knew this. You knew
this would happen and you chose to get involved. Stop sitting here torturing
yourself with what-ifs and maybes. Andrew’s taken care of. Start taking care of
yourself!
I looked up around me at the crowd. They filled the space. There
was no avenue of escape. If I tried to push through, they would see the torn
sleeve of the t-shirt, the burn underneath, and the large bandage around my
hand. And then they would see my grey face, so similar to the face of the
twenty-four year old student whose picture and reputation had been splashed
across the headlines. An older sister, maybe. No, it’s her. Tell us how it
feels what you did how it happened what Andrew Richards is really like so you
spent five days and nights with him.
I stayed motionless for several minutes until there was a
stir in the crowd. A nurse pushed up the hall, elbowing through the crowd,
shooting looks of impatience at the faces around her. She pushed open the door
to Andrew’s room and the entire crowd surged forward, craning to see. She edged
in through a crack and quickly shut the door, and the crowd receded.
A few minutes later the door edged open again. This time
Caren stepped out, and behind her, in a wheel chair, a pale Andrew Richards. The
crowd surged forward, cutting off the sight, and as they moved forward, a path
to the hallway cleared behind their backs. I stood carefully, keeping the crowd
between me and Andrew.
“Dr. Richards how does it feel to have your name cleared?”
“Good.”
“Uh, could you elaborate on that?”
“No.”
“I think what he means,” Caren said, “is that it is
wonderful to have the ordeal over. But, he is very tired.”
“Is that what you meant?”
“Yes.”
“Ms. Granzella, you mentioned to the nurse that Dr. Richards
is your fiancé. So is it official now?”
I stopped, one hand against the corner of the waiting room. The
entire crowd paused. For an instant there was absolute silence.
“Andrew?” I heard Caren say.
“Yes,” Andrew said. “It’s official.”
I pushed off the wall, headed toward the stairwell.
“What about this Melanie Brenner who has been helping you?”
“Who?” Andrew said.
“Melanie Brenner.”
“I don’t know a Melanie Brenner,” he said. I turned back. The
crowd shifted slightly, and through a brief opening I saw Caren standing
straight and beautiful, smiling down at Andrew sitting in the chair. I saw Andrew’s
face, looking up at one of the reporters. The side of his face where the men
had struck him had darkened to a deeper red with shadings of yellow and black. His
lip looked a little better with the blood washed off but it was still puffy. “There’s
a Melinda Brannan who works in my lab,” he said. He started to turn my way, but
the crowd shifted, cut off the sight of him. “She gave me a ride to the
airport,” came his voice from within the crowd, and I pushed open the stairwell
door, and headed down the stairs to the street below.
I stood beneath the hospital sign, my back to the lobby
door, staring out into the city. A middle-aged couple passed me going in,
seeing me only long enough to avoid running into me as they looked up at the
hospital windows, eyes staring and red-rimmed, hands tightly clasped together. The
automatic sliding glass doors behind me whooshed open to let them in and to let
out a wheelchair carrying a young woman with a babe in arms, her husband
walking beside them, a nurse pushing. I watched their progress down to the curb
and into the mini-van parked there as the man and woman cooed over the child
and beamed at each other.
I crossed my arms, cradled my injured hand in the crook of
my elbow and shivered. No sunlight penetrated the mid-morning overcast that
hung low over the city. Grey clouds shrouded the top of the hill across from
the hospital. I had my coat, but it didn’t keep out the chill that seemed to be
all the way through to my bones. My purse hung from my good hand like a lead
weight.
I stepped back through the doors and walked over to the
information desk. An older man sat behind it, a tag on his blue smock
announcing, Hi, I’m Bob, Med Center Volunteer.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Yes?” He looked up and smiled cheerfully.
“Is there a hotel nearby?” I asked.
“There’s a pretty good one five blocks south of here.
Reasonable price. Clean.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like me to call you cab?”
“I’m walking.”
His eyebrows went up. “Pardon me, ma’am, but are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said softly, and turned and walked back out the
door.
I called Cheryl on the walk over. She didn’t answer so I
left a quick message that I was okay, that everything was over, and to let
Maggie know.
I used my credit card to check into the hotel, went to my
room, pulled off my coat and dropped it on a chair, kicked off my shoes, pulled
off my jeans, climbed under the covers and was instantly asleep.
I woke sometime after six o’clock Thursday morning. There
was no period of half-wakefulness; I was instantly alert. I stared at the
ceiling for several minutes, eyes wide and dry as I planned the day, then I
reached to flip back the covers on the bed. My bandaged hand came up and I
winced as I tried to bend it enough to take hold of the bedcover. “Ouch,” I
whispered, as I stared at the bandage, and my dry eyes began to moisten, but I
shook my head fiercely and swung my legs over the side and sat up.
I called the Pacific Crest. The desk clerk practically had a
heart attack when I said my name.
“Call the police,” I said. “They will tell you everything is
over.”
“But ma’am…”
“Just, please have my things packed and my bags brought
downstairs. I will have someone pick them up.”
“Certainly, but…”
I ended the call and then punched in Mr. Kent’s number.
Within the hour, Mr. Kent had dropped off my bags, I was
clean, had changed my clothes, and Mr. Kent waited for me outside in the limo.
I called the airport to confirm a flight and to switch my
ticket to today, and then I called Maggie.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Maggie. I’m glad you’re home.”
“Melanie!” Maggie cried. “My god, are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been worried sick.”
“Didn’t Cheryl call you?”
“Yes, but still. Where have you been?”
“It’s a long story. Could it wait until I get home?”
“It can wait,” she said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“No,” I said, and with that small word, I lost my struggle
to hold back the tears. “No.”
“Honey, I’m coming. Where are you?”
“No, I’m coming home. Can you pick me up at LAX at 3:45?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. United, Flight 208.”
“Got it.”
“I’m checking out of this room as soon as I hang up. There
are a few things I have to do this morning then I’ll head straight for the
airport.”
“What happened, Melanie? Is it over? Are you safe?”
I waited for a second, staring down at the bandage on my
hand. “Yes, Maggie.” I paused to clear my throat. “It’s over.”
As I stepped down to street level Mr. Kent climbed from the
front seat and came around to take my bags and stash them in the trunk. He
opened the back door of the limo, but as I bent to step in, I looked at the
seat where Andrew and I had sat together, at the window he had leaned through
to kiss me. I backed up and straightened. “Mr. Kent, would you mind if I rode
up front with you?”
“Why, not at all.” To his credit, he looked no more than a
little puzzled. He escorted me around, held the door, and I slipped in and
buckled my seatbelt. I didn’t give the backseat another glance.
Mr. Kent slid behind the wheel and smiled over at me. “Where
may I be taking you this fine morning?”
I handed a slip of paper to him. The apartment’s address was
on it.
He nodded. “We’ll be there in two shakes,” he said as he put
the car in gear. In no more than fifteen minutes we turned down a street that
looked familiar. We turned once more and pulled up in front of the apartment
house. Cars lined the curb all along the street; Mr. Kent had to double-park to
let me out.
“I’m afraid it will take me a while to find a parking place,”
he said.
“What I have to do here will take me no more than an hour,”
I said. “Why don’t you go get a cup of coffee then come back?”
He beamed with delight. “Well, that’s certainly a very nice
suggestion. I’ll do that.”
I really did want to smile at him in return, but it just
couldn’t come, so I shut the door and he pulled away. I turned and walked up
the path to the old house, up the steps that Andrew and I had first walked up five
days before. Less than a week, I thought. It can’t possibly be anything less
than a year, an eon, a lifetime. The bougainvillea was scarlet in the daylight,
and quite beautiful. The porch no longer looked in the least eerie. The front
door was unlocked. I walked through, closed it behind me, and stood for a long
moment, seeing myself trying to hold Andrew up as he staggered, nearly fell. I
had held him to me until he had recovered and could go on.
I closed my eyes tightly, took a deep breath, then crossed
the lobby and stopped at the door on the left to knock.
Tim answered. He smiled his bright, charming smile. “Well,
hello there. We haven’t seen much of you. How are you liking the apartment?”
“I have loved the apartment,” I said, more truthfully than I
would have liked. “But I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to stay after all.”
Tim’s smile faded. “Well,” he said slowly. “That’s too bad.”
“Look,” I said quickly. “I really am sorry. I hope I haven’t
put you to too much trouble. Of course you can keep the rent and the security
deposit. And I’m on my way in now to clean up.”
“But if you like the place.”
“I do.” I stopped, swallowed, and blinked quickly to keep
the tears at bay. “I do like the place. I love it. It’s just…” I shook my head.
Tim stepped through the door and put his long, delicate hand
on my arm. “Oh, now, don’t be crying. You and your husband haven’t had a fight,
have you?” He caught sight of the bandage on my hand. His eyes narrowed and
flicked up at mine. “Did he do that to you?”
I shook my head quickly. “No, no. It was an accident.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Really,” I said.
“But you’re leaving him anyway?”
“Yes. No!” I shook my head. “Andrew and I just realized… I
realized that we don’t have… anything in common… and…” I stopped.
He patted my arm. “Don’t you think you might be being a
little hasty?” he said gently. “Maybe you’ll work things out. It took Doug and
me a lot of ups and downs, but look how happy we are.”