What She Doesn't Know (14 page)

Madness was that move he’d just made on her. He was taking care of her, as though they were a couple. She took a deep breath and shook off the effects. “I never went to many parades.”

“You get your fill of them here. Fifteen in downtown alone, plus all the truck krewes that finish up after Rex has done their thing. Twelve parades go near the house, creating a logjam of people and cars.”

She was almost too busy imagining how nice it would be to have twelve parades at her doorstep every year to catch his lack of enthusiasm. “Come on, I’ll bet you loved it when you were a kid.”

“I was too busy getting ready for Xanadu’s parade and the tableau.”

 
“What was this tableau?” She remembered Brian’s taunting voice:
You’re getting pretty good for the loser…but you can never win, Christopher.
 

He sat back in the chair and stretched out his legs. “Just a play.”

From the shadow that moved across his face, that wasn’t exactly true. “You and Brian were the main players, then? With your swords?”

“Yeah. Good against evil. Always the same theme, just different ways to present it. The parade would end up in one of the city’s auditoriums, and those lucky enough to be invited watched the performance and then partied the night away.” He took a long drink of coffee, and when she thought he was going to offer her more information, he asked instead, “When is your car due back?”

End of that discussion. “I’ve got a couple of hours,” she mumbled around her second beignet. She wiped powdered sugar from her mouth before he could pull that mind-numbing, blood-slowing, thumb-across-her-mouth thing again. “I want to check on Brian first.”

“Maybe you can resume whatever it was you two started online if he comes out.” He stood and threw a few bills on the table. “It’s on me. Ready?”

She swallowed the last of her coffee. “Yep. Uh, thanks.”

“Follow me. I’ll show you the fastest way to the hospital.”
 

She grabbed up the last beignet and a napkin and followed him out. Did she want to continue what they’d started? A lot depended on Brian and who he’d be when he got out.
 

Fifteen minutes later, they walked into Brian’s room. Christopher stared down at his brother without any expression. She couldn’t help wonder about this enigma of a man standing next to her who obviously harbored years-deep layers of resentment toward his older brother, yet had come home to watch over him. Had flown to Boston looking for the reason behind his supposed suicide attempt. For all his bluster and hardness, deep inside, he harbored a core of honor. And he wasn’t exactly happy about it.

When she realized he still hadn’t said anything to his brother, she stepped forward and whispered, “Hi, Brian. It’s Rita. And Christopher.” She settled against the bed and reached out to take his hand. It slowly began to warm beneath hers. “Look.” She nodded toward the monitor. “He can hear us.”

Christopher was staring at the change in the numbers. “That’s what the nurse said.”

“It’s important to visit him often, keep talking to him, and never say anything negative around him. When I was in my coma…well, it meant a lot when someone spoke to me. It’s the best way to bring him back.” She smoothed Brian’s hair back, repeating, “It’s going to be all right.”
 

His hair was lighter than Christopher’s, and longer. If—no, when—Brian recovered, would he tell her why he’d shut out everyone in his life? Everyone but her, it seemed. Would he tell her about the tableau he and Christopher acted out, the one in which Christopher always lost? She wondered how she’d feel about him. She had almost fallen in love with this man, had hoped for a future based on him.

She glanced up and found Christopher watching her hand pushing Brian’s limp hair back from his face. He was so caught up in that action that he hadn’t even realized she was looking at him. For a moment, she saw something in his eyes, something raw and tender before he blinked and focused on the monitor again.

“I’ll talk to him,” was all he would commit to.

Was it jealousy she’d seen for that one moment? She realized her position now, a woman caught between two rival brothers. Wasn’t that just ironic when that woman was afraid of intimacy? She was drawn to them both, one by her experience in the coma, and the other…she didn’t want to explore what drew her to a man who rattled her, who intimidated her, who had a darkness she could never penetrate.
Probably a deeply veiled masochistic vein in your nature.

 
Sasha walked in. “Hi, Christopher.”
 

“Sasha’s his respiratory therapist,” Christopher explained to Rita. “Sasha, this is Rita.”

“We’ve met,” Sasha said, a flat expression on her face.
 

“Do you need us to leave?” he asked her.

“You can stay. I’ve already done the suctioning part. I’m just giving him a little extra massage to loosen his chest.” She bent Brian forward and tapped his back. She had strong-looking hands with knobby knuckles.

“Any changes?” he asked.

 
She looked at the monitor near the bed. “Nothing good and nothing bad. Blood pressure, intracranial pressure and heart rate all look good and steady.” Her voice rose to a sing song tone. “Don’t you want to wake up in time for Mardi Gras, Mr. LaPorte? Gonna be a good one, not too cold this year.”

Rita asked, “There was another nurse here Thursday. She gave him a sponge bath. Her name was Aris Smith.”

She continued to work on Brian. “I haven’t heard of any Aris Smith. Could be one of the new girls.”
 

“She had bright red hair. She was transferred from the AIDS floor, said she was a floater.”

“We don’t have an AIDS floor.”

Rita’s heart dropped. Had she lied? “Can you check the roster for her?”

 
She looked at Christopher and then shrugged. “Sure.”
 

When Sasha left, Rita glanced at Brian’s monitor. The numbers were increasing. “What’s wrong, Brian?” she asked. “Is it Aris? Or Sasha?” The numbers kept jumping. “He’s afraid.”

Christopher was studying them, too. “He’s just responding to our voices.”

She wasn’t so sure.
 

Sasha returned a few minutes later. “Maybe you got the name wrong. There isn’t any Aris Smith.”

Dread curled through Rita’s body. “How easy would it be for someone to put on a nurse’s uniform and pretend to work here?”

“Usually not easy at all.” The nurse furrowed her brows. “We’ve had a recent influx of new employees, and we’ve got extra help for Mardi Gras. Could be this Aris hasn’t been added to the roster yet.”

“But she lied about where she’d been working.”

“Maybe you just heard her wrong,” Sasha said. “Why are you so worried about her?”

He answered, “She thinks Brian’s afraid of her. The monitor numbers jumped when her name was mentioned.”

“It’s probably just your voices.”

“Can we get a guard posted at his door?” Rita asked as the nurse headed out of the room.

Sasha looked at Christopher. “Why? I thought he was a jumper.”

“In case he didn’t jump,” Rita answered.
 

“You would have to arrange that with the police. And this time of year, I doubt you’d get much help, unless you have proof that he’s in danger.”

“Or we could hire our own, couldn’t we?”

“You’d have to talk to our administrator. You can arrange to speak with him through the nurse’s station. Excuse me.”

Rita turned to Christopher. “There’s no Aris Smith here.”

Unfortunately, he looked as skeptical as he had when she’d told him her story. He tapped a finger against her temple. “Aris Smith sounds like something out of your imagination.”

“Or someone else’s imagination.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You probably just misread her tag.”

“I felt unsettled about the woman, and I didn’t want to leave Brian alone with her. At the time, I thought it was overreaction. Not anymore.” That was hardly evidence enough to convince him that Brian was in danger. Not enough to convince anyone but herself.

“If she was dangerous, why didn’t she do something when she had the chance?”

“Maybe she’s hoping”—she glanced at Brian and lowered her voice—”that nature will take its course. I’ll hire a guard.” Even if it did dip into her dream house fund. Brian’s life was worth it.
 

She found a payphone near the elevators and wrestled with the phone book. She located an agency with a large, impressive ad: Ironclad Security. After she dialed the number, Christopher took the cell phone from her.

“I’ll handle this. He’s my broth—Hello, I want to talk to someone about hiring a security guard.”

He gave the specifics and got the agency’s address to arrange payment in person. Even if he didn’t believe her suspicions, she felt a mountain of relief. Brian would be safe.

“Tell them that the guards have to talk to Brian,” she whispered as he wrapped up the call. When he gave her a questioning look, she took the phone. “Hi, I’m Brian’s psychologist. There are a couple of things the guards need to know. Just because Brian is in a coma doesn’t mean he can’t hear what’s going on around him. It’s essential that the guard on duty talk to Brian as much as possible. It doesn’t matter what he says. It can be about his family, his job, what’s on television, anything. But it can’t be negative, especially about his being a vegetable or any other derogative remarks. Got that?” She didn’t hang up until she was sure the woman had a handle on the situation. Then she turned to Christopher. “If we’re going to bring him back, we’ve got to stimulate him—I mean intellectually,” she added at the surprised expression on his face. “That includes you, too.”

“You’re going to stimulate me?”

She choked on the word, “No! You’re going to stimulate your brother. Tell him what’s going on in your life, in the city, anything. Can you clear the guard with the hospital? I doubt they’ll listen to me. I’ll wait with Brian until the guard arrives. Then I’ve got to go to the airport and try to sweet talk them into letting me keep the car for another few days.”

“Good luck,” he said on a laugh. “Why don’t you try licking your fingers? If it’s a guy, you might have a chance.”

 
She watched him walk to the nurse’s station, her mouth hanging open. She turned to Brian. “Your brother…” She shook her head. “Was he always this impossible? This hard?” She let out a sigh and rubbed Brian’s hand. “I want to understand you, and understand what happened between you two. When you come out, we’ve got a lot of talking to do.” Would she tell him about the kiss? No, that was a fluke. She realized she was running the tips of her fingers across her mouth. Guilt picked at her like a hungry buzzard. “We’ve hired a guard. I feel better knowing someone’s keeping an eye on you. He or she will keep you company, too.” She settled into the chair beside his bed. “He’s supposed to be here in twenty minutes, and then I’ve got to go. But I’ll be back. And so will Christopher.”

Thirty minutes later Orville Dumas had reported in and been given the run-down on his duties. Rita wasn’t sure she’d convinced him that Brian could hear what was going on around him, but the man had promised to talk. He was an older black man with five grandchildren and lots of experience telling stories. Only then did she feel comfortable heading to the airport.

The place was even more crowded with people dressed in Mardi Gras colors. One man with dreadlocks even looped a set of purple beads over her head as she waited in line at the car rental counter.

“Happy Mardi Gras!” Then he added, “You looked like you needed some beads,
cherie
. Smile.”

“Thank you.” She fingered them as she continued to wait. Even the people working the counter were decked out in Mardi Gras finery. She hoped they were in a festive mood, and therefore generous.
 

She asked for the shift manager and handed her the rental contract. “I’m supposed to be returning my car, but I’m extending my stay. The woman I spoke with said I had to turn in my car, but that I might be able to get another one for the next week. Is there a chance, a remote possibility—”

“So remote you have a better chance of catching the next shuttle to Mars.” At Rita’s crestfallen look, the young woman looked at the contract, punched in some keys at the terminal, and studied the screen. “The people who have your car next are already here. Sorry.”

“Can’t you just tell them you made a mistake? Things like that do happen, you know.”

“Sorry, but I can’t. I’ll need your keys.”

Rita didn’t want to give up her independence. She held out the key tag, but her fingers tightened when the woman grabbed for it. They tugged for a few seconds, until Rita realized how ridiculous it was. She imagined beefy security men wrestling her to the floor, cuffing her…she let go.

“There are plenty of taxis around,” the woman said, visibly relieved the mini-struggle was over.
 

Rita fought the crowds at the curb, finding people five deep waiting for a taxi. They all looked in a big hurry to get somewhere else. Then she glanced across the lanes and saw him. Her heart leapt involuntarily at the sight of Christopher leaning against the green Eclipse, his arms crossed over his chest in a casual pose as he looked at her. At first she wondered what other business he might have there. She was the reason, had to be.

He didn’t move until she came to a stop in front of him. “No luck?”

“Not a smidgen.” She took a quick breath. “You came…for me?”

“Call me crazy.”
 

He opened the door for her, and she slipped inside without responding. She wanted to ask why but didn’t press her luck. He got in and started the car, maneuvering into the flow of traffic as a Rolling Stones song blared from the radio.
 

“Thank you,” she yelled over the music.

“What?”

She turned down the volume. “Thank you.”

“No problem,
cherie
.”

She watched the way he handled the sports car, the smooth way he shifted gears. She liked the way he drove, with casual dexterity, without showing a bit of agitation when someone cut him off. She was not that patient.