Kinitra took the pen from her and signed it.
Des told her she’d be right back with Jamella. Then she and Cindie left the room, closing the door behind them.
“Cindie, how long will you be keeping her here?”
“After a near drowning we like to keep them under observation for six to eight hours, then have them come back the next day to be reexamined. There’s a risk they can develop a lung infection.”
“I need you to do better than that.”
“Better as in?…”
“I want her out of that house for a day or two. It’s an iffy situation there. An extended family of in-laws and hangers-on. A party atmosphere. Can you admit her overnight to Middlesex for, say, a psych evaluation?”
Before Cindie could respond, there was a disturbance outside the glass door at the admitting desk. Tyrone had gotten tired of waiting around. He was hollering, screaming and generally acting as if he wanted to hit someone. Little Rondell was trying to calm him down while Jamella pleaded with the woman at the desk.
Cindie watched them, her brow furrowing. “That big one in the orange T-shirt is Tyrone Grantham, isn’t it? The pro football player who’s always beating the crap out of people?”
“He’s married to Jamella. The pint-sized one’s his kid brother Rondell.”
“Am I seeing things or is Jamella pregnant, too?”
“Seven months.”
Cindie promptly got busy at a computer. “I’m going to admit Kinitra to Middlesex for that psych evaluation.”
“I owe you one, Cindie. And you’ll fill Jamella in?”
“You bet. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
Des opened the glass door and motioned to Jamella. “You want to see Dr. Tashima. She’s right over there.”
“Oh, thank God!” Jamella came waddling into the E.R. in a loose-fitting yellow shift and gold sandals, clutching a Prada handbag.
“Yo, what about us?” Tyrone demanded angrily.
“Please remain out here for now.”
“No way!” he roared, barging his way through the doorway.
Des put her hand up against his massive chest and stopped him, lowering her voice. “Tyrone, Kinitra is very upset right now. She wants to be with her sister. Just let this process unfold, okay? I’ll call you when it’s time.”
“To hell with that! I want to know what’s happening right now!”
The folks in the waiting area were missing none of this. Tyrone Grantham was huge. He was black. And he was famous. Already, their cell phones were starting to come out. In three more seconds there would be video of this whole incident. Then the media would get into it-and Kinitra’s privacy would be lost.
“Okay, fine,” Des sighed. “Come with me.”
“That’s more like it. Come on, little man. We’re going in.”
The Grantham brothers followed her into the E.R. Jamella was huddled with Cindie, shaking her head in disbelief.
Des found a small, vacant examining room and ushered Tyrone and Rondell inside. “Wait right here, okay?”
“What the hell’s this?” Tyrone demanded.
“The V.I.P. lounge. If you create a scene out there I can guarantee you it will be the lead story on SportsCenter tonight. Is that what you want for Kinitra?”
“No, we do not,” answered Rondell, who looked totally distraught.
“Is Clarence waiting outside in your car?”
“He’s still in the rack,” Tyrone replied. “Up all night with that Asia.”
“How about Calvin?”
“Naw, he never stirs before noon. There’s nobody out in the car.”
“Did any media people follow you here?”
Tyrone shook his shaved head. “Too early for them. We’re good.”
“Thank you for your consideration, Trooper Mitry,” Rondell said. “We’ll be right here when you’re ready for us.”
By now Jamella had gotten the full dose of bad news about her kid sister. The tears were streaming down her face. “She’s… how many weeks?”
“Eight,” Cindie informed her.
“I-I don’t believe this. She’s never even had a serious boyfriend. It must be a mistake.”
“It’s no mistake.”
A lab technician approached Cindie with a computer printout.
Cindie studied it for a moment before she said, “No trace of alcohol or drugs in Kinitra’s blood. She was clean last night.”
“Of course she was,” Jamella huffed. “My sister’s no party skank. She’s a serious artist.”
Des put her hand on Jamella’s shoulder. “I’d like for the three of us to have a talk together. Do you think you can keep it together in there?”
Jamella breathed in and out. “I’ll try. But who did this to her?”
“That’s what I want to find out.”
Des led her into Kinitra’s room, closing the door behind them.
Jamella rushed toward her and gave her a hug, her eyes widening at the sight of those bruises around Kinitra’s throat. “Hey, baby,” she said gently.
“Hey, I’m really, really sorry about all of this.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I let you down.”
“How did you let me down? You didn’t let me down.”
“Trooper Mitry wants to ask us some questions, okay?”
“Questions?” Kinitra had a puzzled expression on her face. “What about?”
Jamella settled into a chair, her fists clenched, eyes fixed on the floor.
Des leaned against the closed door with her arms crossed. “About what happened to you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Jamella gave her a hard stare. “You have to talk about it.”
“No, I don’t. And don’t look at me that way.”
“What way?”
“Like you think I’m some kind of ho.”
Jamella’s face tightened. “I don’t think that, baby.”
“And stop calling me ‘baby.’ I’m all grown up.”
“Okay, okay. Just… chill out for me, will you? I got Tyrone out there about ready to kill somebody. I’m sitting here, size huge, trying to wrap my mind around what in the hell has happened a-and I got you all of a sudden giving me an attitude like I never, ever… Just, p-please…” Jamella broke off with a sob. Des went over to the sink and got her a tissue. “Sorry, it’s my danged hormones. I cry all of the time.” She dabbed at her eyes, sniffling. “Just tell us what happened, okay?”
“It’s private,” Kinitra snapped.
“Girl, there’s nothing private about some dog raping you!”
“Why don’t we back this up a little bit?” Des suggested, keeping her voice low. “How long have you two been living with Tyrone?”
Jamella stiffened. “Why, what’s he got to do with this?”
“Not a thing, as far as I know. I’m just trying to get a sense of your situation. Walk me through the past, say, twelve months.”
“Twelve months is like a whole lifetime ago,” she said. “Kinitra and I were still living in the same apartment in Houston where Moms raised us. I met Tyrone when his team flew down to play the Texans last season. He came to the club where I danced and did choreography. I waited tables and slung drinks, too. Whatever it took to
