Authors: Pat G'Orge-Walker

Somewhat Saved (27 page)

BOOK: Somewhat Saved

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“I'd like to see it, too, if you don't mind,” Bea added, nicely, just as she was about to slide off the chair from trying to lean forward for a sneak peek.

Chandler laid the items on the coffee table as Bea and Sasha rose to come closer. There was an old photo of Zipporah as a child. She looked to be around seven years old and was playing in the snow in front of a store. The sign on the store read,
TEABOUT'S OF AMSTERDAM FURNITURE STORE
.

Chandler turned that photo over and read aloud what was written. “This is your child, Zipporah, age six. She's fine, as you can see.” There was also a name written, “M. Teabout.”

“Are you saying that he always knew about Zipporah?” Bea asked.

“I don't know what he knew or when he knew, but the man obviously suspected she was his.” Chandler quickly turned to another piece of paper.

“This letter with a seal is sort of smudged, probably because he's carried it around so long. Anyway, it reads,

“Dear Mr. Epps,

“Many years ago, when I was initially assigned your case, I advised that I didn't think it would have a successful conclusion. The information you provided about your child, her mother, and you was not as complete as I would've wanted. You insisted upon and paid for my continued investigation and I have done my very best to give you some closure.

“This is what I have discovered, to date. The name Zipporah was given to the baby by the mother, when birthed at the Amsterdam Hospital in Amsterdam, New York. When the child was initially placed in the foster care system her first name was never changed. However, the birth mother gave her own last name as being “Moses” at the time of delivery. Although we now know that name to be false, that name was attached to this baby and was not changed. All paperwork, and history from that point on, list the baby as Zipporah Moses. She was never adopted.

“Now for the sad news. I've tracked Miss Moses to Las Vegas, Nevada. Unfortunately, she has not fared well since leaving the foster care system as a young adult. She is now almost thirty and living in a homeless shelter in a neighborhood certainly not of her choosing. I am enclosing a most recent picture as you mentioned the urgency of securing one because of your health issues.

With all facts considered and proofs retained, we are happy to this extent to confirm that Zipporah Moses is your biological daughter. Upon receipt of your written approval I will send a copy of this letter and all attachments to Miss Areal Hellraiser, since she is listed as the child's biological mother. Be reminded that I cannot forward the necessary paperwork unless and until you remit written approval.

“On a more personal note, I must add that I admire your tenacity, as well as your willingness to dedicate substantial financial commitment to this search. Not many men would've gone to the lengths you have to find a child that had less than a thirty-percent chance of being a biological match. I'm sorry it took far too many years to accomplish your goal.

“Yours truly,

“Max Reinhardt, Private Investigator”

Chandler refolded the letter and watched the astonishment on the women's faces. He then displayed several other photos of Zipporah at different times in her life.

“Does Zipporah have a clue?” Sister Betty asked.

“Not about this she doesn't.” Chandler quickly gathered up the items and placed them in his shirt pocket just seconds before Sasha reached for them.

“How could she not know if she was the one they gave Jasper's property to?” Bea asked.

“I took the liberty of going through the things when I took her back to the suite.”

“She didn't see you?” Sasha asked.

“No, I did it while she was in the bathroom.”

“So there's no getting around it now,” Sasha conceded. “She's gonna find out about the whole matter one way or another.”

“I'm going to wait another hour so she can finish resting a little. I'll go back to her room and figure out how to tell her.”

“What about her performing tonight?” Bea asked, “She'll be so upset, she might not perform well.”

“And I won't get my gospel album,” Sister Betty said in disappointment. When she realized her selfishness, she sprayed herself, lightly.

“Fortunately,” Chandler answered, “She's not on tonight.”

“How do you feel about her living in a homeless shelter?” Bea asked. “I wondered how you'd react when you found out.”

“You wondered?” Chandler moved to where Bea sat looking almost ashamed. “What do you mean, you wondered?”

“I mean . . . since you read it . . . in the letter.” Bea was tripping over her lie just as she had been over the drawers about her ankles earlier.

“She's lying,” Sasha blurted. “I know a liar when I hear a liar. I've got experience!”

“Spit it out, Bea, or suffer the consequences.” Sister Betty sprayed an oil mist in the air to remind Bea of the consequences.

“Okay,” Bea confessed. “When Zipporah left her wallet behind in my hotel room, I went through it and found her shelter I.D. card. So I called the shelter and pretended to be a relative to see if it was really hers.”

“And,” Chandler urged.

“It was hers. I later found out that she could've been tossed out of the shelter if she has relatives, which means she has somewhere else to stay.”

“You never said a word!” Sasha hissed. “You tried to get my niece put out onto the street!”

“You abandoned her in a hospital!” Bea replied. “I oughta whup your skinny behind for doing that!”

Once again, they had to stand around and dab seltzer water on their clothes after Sister Betty started spraying the blessed oil everywhere.

Zipporah was glad she still had enough money for a cab. As she rode she started having second thoughts.
What am I doing?
She never liked hospital smells. Why, she didn't know, but they smelled too sterile.

The cab pulled up in front of the hospital. As soon as she entered she tried to wade through the gunshot wounds, blood pouring from stabbings, urine-drenched and hallucinating druggies; yet none of that bothered her as much as the sterile odor. The fact that it tried to mask all the misery in its midst was almost laughable.

She looked out of place in her pale pink dress with a ring of red roses around the hem. She exuded innocence as she walked slowly, her footsteps silenced by a sea of chatter from white uniforms and rickety rolling medical carts.

It had taken a lot of effort and pleading to get the Luxor triage administrator, Mr. Phelpson, to release the name of the hospital. It was only after she'd lied and said that she was a relative of the patient that he did so. It seemed crazy that earlier he'd already given her the man's belongings without making her prove who she was. Now she had to almost beg him to find out where they'd taken him.

All the way over from the Luxor, she'd struggled with why she would bother to go to a hospital to see a complete stranger. She concluded that she didn't have a reason, at least not a sane one, and came anyway.

Zipporah checked the room number on her visitor's pass the information desk clerk handed to her. In a voice so monotone she almost put Zipporah to sleep after the first ten words, she instructed her to wear the sticky-back label on her dress. Zipporah wasn't about to have adhesive mess on her dress, so she carried it. She was also given the speech about not bringing live plants or foods to the intensive care unit. She hadn't thought about bringing either. Why would she?

“Can I help you?” a nurse stopped chatting on a phone to ask.

“No. I think I can find the room.”

Arriving at his room, Zipporah entered and found the blinds were partially closed. But even that couldn't hide what looked like a death shadow hovering over his bed. It had crept over him and quickly disappeared. Zipporah had barely seen it, or at least she thought that's what it was. With all the beeps and the buzzing echoing from the large computer that instructed his care, she couldn't concentrate. He looked as though he was struggling, again. Had he always fought so hard? She could admire that trait if she knew him.

Zipporah crept further inside the room. Even she had not heard the door close behind her, yet he'd turned toward her as though he had.

There was nothing familiar about the figure that lay before her. Although, she was sure that if she turned her head, just a little to the side, she could picture him as a once handsome man. He was tall, she could tell that much. The soles of his feet almost touched the very end of the bed. She saw a chart hanging on a plug over the side cabinet. She was tempted to read it. But what would it tell her, that the man was extremely ill? She didn't need a nursing or medical degree to figure that out.

He moaned, which caused Zipporah to jump. He was still watching her as though she were something curious. He hadn't tried to reach out to her like he had back in the hotel's triage room. The ticking sound on one of the monitors quickened. She saw his chest heave. It was pumping rapidly but didn't seem to be doing it on its own. Zipporah's eyes followed the line from the machine to his chest. The ticking sound suddenly turned into a long hum. The man's eyes searched Zipporah's for her help. He let out another long moan. She didn't know what to do or think.

She didn't have to. Not a moment later help arrived. Three nurses raced behind the doctor. They reminded her of a horse race as they entered the I.C.U. room. The doctor, with a five o'clock shadow that looked days old, was clearly the winner. A tall nurse, Asian with both a stethoscope and glasses intertwined around her chest and wearing an ill-fitting uniform, placed second. In third place was a short brown-skinned nurse. She looked about a day past retirement age as well as a prime candidate for gastric bypass surgery. The nurse seemed to use her large belly to shove a cart filled with all sorts of gadgets. She rushed, her feet making a slapping sound on the tiles as she did.

“Wait in the hallway!” It was the nurse who placed third. She pushed the cart near the side of the man's bed while forcing Zipporah out the door.

Two other doctors sprinted toward her. They nearly trampled her as they pushed past to enter the room. One yanked his stethoscope off so fast Zipporah thought he'd get whiplash. She couldn't see inside as they'd had the professional sense to close the door. Whatever she needed to find out about him would have to wait. Or if he died, it would die with him.

There was nothing more Zipporah could do at the hospital. So she left the sterile odors that had her upset, but not before tossing the sticky-backed label back at the woman at the receptionist desk.

A few blocks away from the hospital, another Las Vegas cab weaved in and out of traffic. It was still early in the morning and yet the weather was in triple digits and distorted waves of heat emanated from the street. Everyone in traffic and on the streets moved with an urgency to get to someplace cooler or at least quickly.

However, it wasn't the heat outside that was forcing the cab driver to step hard on the gas, it was the two bickering old crones in the backseat. He almost felt sorry for the young man crushed between them with his head lowered in his hands.

If Bea and Sasha didn't stop arguing, Chandler swore that either they or he would be the next ones to end up in triage.

He hadn't slept in almost twenty-four hours, and as far as he knew, they hadn't either. Where did they get the energy? Everyone's nerves were on edge and he could imagine they would easily kill one another. He almost wished they would.

Chandler had argued with every reasonable idea he could imagine to keep them from following him to the hospital. Only Sister Betty, probably because she was close to passing out from exhaustion, had listened.

What a mess,
Chandler thought sadly. He'd taken time off from the conference center to help launch not only Zipporah's career but his own. It was going to be not only her big break but their big break. In less than a week, a mere few days, all hell had broken out, and it wouldn't be mended with apologies or even money. This woman's life was about to be turned upside down.

Zipporah would probably be a lot safer and happier, Chandler considered, if he just returned her to the shelter and made sure she never saw any of them again.

“You're crazy, Sasha,” Bea snapped. “Zipporah don't have to know everything about Jasper. If you had any kind of upbringing, you'd just love her 'cause she's your kin.”

“What's love got to do with anything?” Sasha said as she reached across Chandler's chest, poking him by accident. “I'm trying to look out for her. She don't need to know how messed up her DNA is!”

Chandler didn't say a word as the bickering continued. He looked up in time to see the cab driver's reflection in the rearview mirror. The man was shaking his head in disbelief.

After visiting the hotel triage room, Chandler had managed to find the administrator, Mr. Phelpson, who was still on duty. Great minds must've thought alike because Chandler told the same lie Zipporah had and that's how he knew she'd left the hotel. So getting Jasper's hospital whereabouts was the easy part. Trying to sneak out of the Luxor under Bea and Sasha's radar was impossible.

“Bea wears her Tuesday drawers on Thursdays.” Sasha poked Chandler in the arm to get his attention as she tried to raise Bea's skirt with the tip of her cane. In return, Bea reached across Chandler and tried to grab Sasha's cane. There was no doubt that Bea had planned on sticking that cane in a place where it would make Sasha look like she had three legs.

Chandler could only hope that the hospital had a room for him when he checked in voluntarily.

After self-recrimination and the decision to accept everything that had happened as providence, Chandler accepted the truth. He was attracted to Zipporah on a level he didn't understand. It wasn't love as he always understood love to be; it was a connection of a different sort. He just couldn't put a name to it. There was no time to dwell on it. So, if one good thing came out of the entire fiasco, it was that Zipporah would learn the truth about her parents. He would stand by her decision as to what she wanted to do with it.

A jerk from the cab threw Chandler back against the seat. He should've been upset with Zipporah that she'd left the hotel without telling him, but she wouldn't be part “Hellraiser” if she hadn't. He'd address that issue later.

“There she is!” Bea called out. Her sudden outburst startled the others. Leave it to old eagle eyes to see her.

Chandler and Sasha yelled at the cab driver to stop at the same time. The driver hit the brakes thinking they saw something he hadn't. He cursed when his green, red, and black knitted cap flew out the window, and he almost jumped the curb avoiding Zipporah, who of course thought she was about to die.

Zipporah had seen the cab careening toward her yet couldn't move. Like everything that was going on around her, she'd simply thought it, too, was a part of the dream. Fortunately, someone from the crowd snatched her back onto the curb just in time.

Before Zipporah had a chance to even find out who saved her life or better yet, to thank the stranger, Chandler had leapt from the cab. He didn't know if she had just arrived and might've been going inside the hospital or if she were coming out.

“Zipporah!” Chandler grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the waiting cab. “What in the world are you doing here?”

Bea stuck her head out the cab's window to get a better glimpse. Once she'd seen Zipporah was all right, she chimed right in. “Zipporah, you were about to give us a heart attack!”

Sasha never said a word. She watched Chandler put a protective arm around Zipporah, and when she saw that Zipporah had not resisted, she really became concerned.

“Are we moving or what?” the cab driver asked.

Chandler opened the rear door and placed Zipporah inside, then climbed into the front seat next to the driver. “Back to the Luxor,” Chandler ordered.

BOOK: Somewhat Saved

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