Sammy Keyes and the Kiss Goodbye (10 page)

“Come, child,” Sister Mary Margaret said (addressing her in the way nuns do when they don’t recall a person’s name). “Father Mayhew told us about Samantha. We thought prayer was in order.”

“Oh,” Holly said, greatly relieved.

“We’ve also been reminiscing with Samantha,” Sister Josephine added, and now Holly noticed that each sister was holding one of Sammy’s hands.

“About the Sisters of Mercy,” Brother Phil said from the foot of the bed. “We were just getting to the part where Sammy crashed their motor home.”

“Into a police car!” Mary Margaret exclaimed.

The cluster of clergy laughed at this memory. Not in a dignified manner, as you might expect from people of the cloth, but in a chortling, sniggering, tittering way.

Sister Mary Margaret, especially, seemed to relish the memory. “You did good, sweetheart,” she said to Sammy, then kissed her on the forehead.

“God has a plan for you, Samantha,” Sister Josephine said, and she, too, kissed her on the forehead.

“Let’s hope that plan includes her wakin’ up,” Brother Phil said, and although he said it under his breath, the nuns heard him.

“When are you going to learn to give things over to God?” Sister Mary Margaret chided him.

“When she wakes up,” Brother Phil muttered.

“Better get to your prayers, then,” Sister Josephine said with a frown.

“Well,” Sister Mary Margaret said to the others, “we’ve had more than our fair share of time with Samantha. Shall we?” Then the three of them bid Holly farewell and left the room.

“Wow,” Holly said aloud as she took the seat next to Sammy’s bed, “they haven’t changed a bit, huh?” And although she was trying to sound upbeat, seeing the two sisters and Brother Phil reminded her of a past that wasn’t at all cheery. A past when she had been hungry and alone, stealing to survive, and living in a cardboard box down by the riverbed.

And, flashing back to that time, Holly suddenly broke down and sobbed, “I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t dragged me over to Meg and Vera’s. My whole life has changed because of you. If you hadn’t followed me home from the soup kitchen, if you hadn’t stopped that guy from … from probably
killing
me … if you hadn’t helped me fit in at school … if you hadn’t … Sammy,
please
. You’ve got to wake up!”

But Sammy just lay there.

Which made Holly cry even harder.

And the harder Holly cried, the worse she felt. She was back to being helpless and hopeless and fearful and vulnerable—all things she’d rallied so hard against.

And then a hand stroked her back and a soothing voice said, “Hey … hey …” When she turned around, she found herself face to face with Sarah Rothhammer, the school’s sometimes fierce (but always fair) science teacher.

Holly’s immediate reaction was that she was in trouble.

She had, after all, ditched school.

“What time is it?” she asked, wondering if school had already let out.

“Almost one o’clock. And don’t worry,” Ms. Rothhammer said (clearly reading her mind). “I found people to cover my last two classes, but if you ask me, school should have just been canceled today.” Then she studied Sammy a minute and addressed her directly. “No homework tonight, Sammy. I gave everyone the night off in your honor. But tomorrow? Tomorrow you need to be back with us, okay? I can’t have you falling behind after all the progress you’ve made catching up.” And then dropping her voice to speak to Holly again, she asked, “Have they given any indication when she might wake up?”

Holly shook her head. “It’s all wait-and-see. But I know the longer this goes on, the worse it is.”

Sarah Rothhammer gave a knowing nod. She didn’t mean to, but scientific sensibilities controlled her head, and her head was closer to her neck than it was to her heart. So the nod confirmed Holly’s statement before she could consider its emotional impact. But then, seeing her normally
stoic student’s new wave of tears, she quickly added, “But it’s early still—give her a chance.” And then, in an effort to turn the mood around, she addressed Sammy again with “You wouldn’t believe what a commotion you’ve caused. The waiting room’s a zoo! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Yeah,” Holly said, catching on. “Madame Nashira’s out there. And so is Slammin’ Dave. And André. And Justice Jack! Jack says he’s ready to give whoever did this to you a tour of Stomp City!”

“And all your friends are out there, too,” Sarah added. “Including the miraculously converted Heather Acosta.” She shook her head. “You have to tell me what you did to that girl. I thought she was a goner, but what a turnaround.” Then she eyed Holly and said, “I hope.”

“Yeah,” Holly said with a frown. “I’m not a true believer yet.”

The science teacher laughed. “It’ll take all of us a while, I think.” Then she shifted gears, saying, “I was surprised I could even get up here to the room, but nobody stopped me, or even questioned me. Maybe because of all the commotion?”

But security concerns were immediately forgotten as a primordial squeal emanated from a nurse mid-hallway.

Fortunately, it was not a squeal of pain or danger.

It was a squeal of sheer delight.

Darren Cole had entered the ICU.

The delay in Darren getting from the cafeteria to the ICU was not Lana’s doing.

It was Marko’s.

“Dude!” he’d suddenly said as they were waiting for the elevator. “I need to bring Sammy something.”

“She’s unconscious,” Darren reminded him.

“But she’s gonna wake up! And when she does, there needs to be something from her uncle Marko! Right there! Center front!”

“Her uncle Marko?” Lana choked out, and the already present knot in her stomach tightened.

There was, in fact, no biological relationship between Sammy and the drummer, but Lana’s reaction stemmed from the clear (and painful) truth:

Sammy liked Marko.

Really-really liked him.

And it was clear (and also painful) to Lana that Sammy
didn’t
like her.

Really-really
didn’t
like her.

So as Lana and Darren followed Marko to the gift shop, Lana’s eyes filled with tears, which Darren noticed.
“She’s going to be all right,” the rocker said, wrapping an arm around her. “We have to believe she’s going to be all right.”

Lana just shook her head, and Darren (to his credit) could see that there was something more on her mind. He stopped, letting Marko go into the gift shop alone. “What is it?” he asked softly.

So with the swipe of a spilled tear and a little cringe, Lana confessed, “I feel so left out.”

“Left out?”

“She’s only known you and Marko a few months, and it’s like she’s known you her whole life. Me she’s known her whole life, but we’re practically strangers. She doesn’t want to do anything with me, she’ll barely text me back, and she never returns my calls. But you? You’re like her best friend!”

Darren looked away and tried not to acknowledge the truth in Lana’s words. “Well, we took that cruise together and—”

“That’s not it. You two just
clicked
. You laugh and joke and talk for hours. Do you realize how long you’re on the phone with her? And Marko’s got that same ease with her. But me? I feel like I’m in the way. I’m uptight and no fun and too worried about every little thing.” She gave him a pleading look. “I know Marko hates that I’m back in your life.”

“He does not.”

“Oh, Darren …”

Darren studied her a moment, then gathered some resolve. “Look, he knows you make
me
happy.” He dropped
his voice even further. “But it would help if you could relax a little around him.… Maybe try not to be so disapproving of his, you know … youthful qualities?”

Lana cringed. “It’s that obvious?”

Darren laughed. “Yes, my love.”

She cringed harder. “With Samantha, too?”

Now, a weak (or cowardly) man would have lied. Or given a diplomatic (or spineless) response. But Darren Cole was not fainthearted, so out came the simple truth. “Yes.”

Rather than be defensive (which would have been a very natural reaction and almost
required
of a more seasoned diva), Lana instead broke down. “Why am I like that? I don’t
want
to be judgmental. I don’t
want
to be uptight. It just … it just happens!”

Darren gave her a scrutinizing look. “Are we really discussing this right now?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, then.” He thought for a few seconds, then just came out with it. “Marko thinks it’s because you’re insecure.”

“
Marko
does?” Lana asked, arching an eyebrow.

The archy eyebrow (although a small gesture) elicited a big reaction from Darren. “That right there?” he said (pointing to the archy eyebrow). “That’s condescending. Marko is a smart guy. He may be a child at heart, but that’s part of his intelligence. He knows how to connect with the truth.” He calmed himself with a deep breath, then continued. “You need people around you who keep you anchored to the truth, Lana.”

“But … how can he think I’m a diva—which I know he does—and say I’m insecure?”

Darren gave her a wry smile. “In our experience they usually go together.”

“What?”

“It’s true! It’s an overcompensation thing.” But since Lana was obviously not buying what he was saying, he sighed and explained, “Look, you were basically a kid when you had Sammy. And I was off being an oblivious rock star, which I’m sure made you feel abandoned and betrayed and all of that. Then your dad bailed on your mom for some biker chick because he couldn’t take the idea of being a grandpa, and he crashed his Harley and died. So you felt abandoned and betrayed and
guilty
, and you’ve spent all the years since then trying to be perfect to prove you could rise above the … mess.” He looked at her directly. “But real life
is
messy. Being perfect
won’t
change the past. And it won’t get you anywhere real.”

Lana looked down, quiet. And after a long minute had gone by, she said, “All that from Marko?”

Darren hesitated. “Let’s just say he set the rhythm and I put in the notes.” Then he tipped up Lana’s chin and said, “Those of us out front shouldn’t undervalue the rock-solid people behind us.” He looked into the gift shop. “Even if mine just bought seventeen stuffed bears.”

“Dude!” Marko cried as he waddled out of the gift shop. And although it seemed impossible that he could see where he was going through all the synthetic fur he was hugging, he made a beeline for Darren and dumped his load of bears (along with a stowaway unicorn) at Darren’s
feet, then dashed back to the gift shop, where he retrieved a dozen helium balloons and a gift-shop bag containing Sharpie markers and rolls of extra-wide ribbon. “Flowers are not allowed in the ICU,” he announced, then started picking up bears and shoving them at Darren. “Help me out, man!”

Lana wanted to tell the drummer that there was no room for seventeen stuffed bears (and a stowaway unicorn) in her daughter’s room, but she bit her tongue. And while she was biting her tongue (and Darren was picking up bears), a bubble of regret percolated through her.

Did she really have to be uptight about teddy bears?

“Here, I’ll carry some,” she volunteered.

Now, the simple truth was, Lana had never been mistaken for a roadie. Or even a distant friend of a roadie. It was fully understood that Lana Keyes didn’t carry stuff.

Well, her purse.

And boutique bags.

But guitars or amps or drums or even cables?

Her fingerprints on those were nowhere to be found.

And although teddy bears were certainly not guitars or amps or drums (or even cables), it was the simple act of volunteering to carry
anything
that stunned Marko. His arms froze. His eyes bugged. His jaw dropped.

And then, when Lana actually stooped down to pick up bears and said, “This is very sweet of you, Marko,” it seemed that the rim-shot-slammin’ drummer might just fall over.

Fortunately, he had a dozen helium balloons helping to keep him upright. “I’m thinkin’ everyone can write a
message,” he explained (once his jaw was back in socket). “Her friends, her grandparents, us … maybe a teacher or two.”

“Write a message?” Lana asked.

So Marko showed her the ribbons and the packs of Sharpie markers. “I’m thinkin’ the bears could use some message bows, you know?”

Lana’s eyes were suddenly stinging with tears. “Like the shoes,” she choked out.

“Aw, Lana,” Marko said, and he would have dropped everything to hug her, only he’d learned a long time ago that Lana Keyes was not the hugging type. So instead he simply said, “She’s going to be okay, okay?”

“Please tell me that again,” she said with a quivery smile.

“She’s going to be okay, okay?”

Lana made a noise somewhere between a sniff and a laugh, then picked up the unicorn and said, “She is going to hate this one.”

Marko gave Darren a quick look that clearly conveyed Uh-oh, because he’d picked out the unicorn specifically for Lana.

Something Lana had already figured out.

“I don’t want to be a unicorn in a forest of bears,” she said quietly.

“But a unicorn is a beautiful, magical creature,” Marko said. Then he quickly added, “Besides, the surface on that is going to be awesome to write on. Check it out. See how smooth it is?”

Lana found herself laughing (in the best of ways) at
Marko’s exuberance. And being considered beautiful and magical was not a
bad
thing.

Still. Beauty and magic didn’t matter now unless she had some magic that would bring Sammy back.

Which she didn’t.

And really, at this point, no other kind of magic mattered. She just wanted Sammy to wake up.

She wanted the chance to start over with her.

To relax and accept and … and appreciate.

So she took a deep breath and told Marko, “Maybe we’ll get some of her friends to write on this one. I think I’d rather have a bear.”

“All righty, then!” Marko said, giving Darren a very pleased bro-grin. “Let’s get these woodland creatures up to Sammy!”

So off they went with their balloons and bears (and a stowaway unicorn) to the elevator and up to the ICU.