dramatic breath, and announced, 'I'm regaining the use of my legs.'
'What?' Beau looked at me, but I said nothing.
'That's right. My paralysis is going away. Soon I will be competition for Ruby again, and she's not too happy about that, are you, Sister dear?'
'I've never been in competition with you, Gisselle,' I retorted.
'Oh no? What do you call your hot romance with my old boyfriend here?' she snapped.
'Hey, I think I might have something to say about all this,' Beau told her. 'And besides, Ruby and I were seeing each other way before the accident.'
She smirked and then laughed her thin, sardonic laugh. 'Men think they've made a decision, but the truth is, we have them wound around our little finger. You were always a bit too conservative for me, Beau. It was my decision to leave you behind. I was the one who made it possible for you two to meet and . . .'—she twisted her lips into her condescending smile—'get to know each other.'
'Yeah, right,' Beau said, peeved.
'Anyway, New Year's Eve, I’ll be dancing again and I expect to dance with you. You won't mind, will you, Sister dear?'
'Not in the least,' I said. 'That is, if Beau doesn't.' She didn't like my tone, and her smile evaporated quickly. 'I've got to call John and give him the good news. It might break his heart. He so enjoyed my helplessness last night.'
'Just don't recuperate that fast then,' I suggested, but instead of getting angry, she laughed.
'Maybe I won't. Don't knock it unless you try it,' she added with narrowed eyelids. Then she laughed again and wheeled herself out.
'Is she telling the truth about her recovery?'
'No.'
'She can't move her legs?'
'Yes, but she could do it weeks, maybe even months ago.' I quickly related the incident at school and why I was blamed.
'Well, I’ll be damned. You've had your share of surprises,' Beau said.
'There's more.'
'Oh?'
'Daphne is permitting me to take Uncle Jean his Christmas gift. She said you could go with me, if you like.'
'Really?' He shook his head in amazement and sat back. Then I told him why she was being so nice to Gisselle and me. 'Married? So soon?' he said.
'She said after a proper period of mourning, but who knows what she considers proper.'
'My parents had suspicions,' he told me in a whisper.
'The two of them have been seen everywhere together.' He looked down and then up again to add, 'There were suspicions even before your father's death.'
'I don't doubt it. I don't care what she does with herself now, and I don't want to talk anymore about it,' I said angrily.
'Well then, why don't we just go visit Jean today and have lunch at one of the roadside restaurants on the way back,' he suggested.
I went to get Uncle Jean's gift and told Daphne we were leaving.
'Make sure he knows that's from me,' she said.
But when we arrived at the institution and were brought to him in the lounge, I knew immediately that not only wouldn't he understand who the gift was from, he wouldn't even realize he had visitors. Uncle Jean had become little more than a shadow of his former self. Like one of Nina's zombies, he sat staring blankly ahead, his eyes turned inward, where he could revisit all the places and times he had formerly experienced. When I spoke to him and held his hand, there was only a slight blinking and a tiny light in his eyes.
'He's like a clam closing its shell!' I moaned to Beau. 'He barely hears me.'
We sat in the lounge. It had started raining on our trip out, and the rain built a frantic tattoo on the window we now gazed through. It matched the rhythm of my heart. Uncle Jean looked so much thinner, the bones in his nose and cheeks more prominent, He looked like someone who was dying slowly from within.
I tried again, talking about Christmas, some of the things I had done at school, the decorations at the house. But his expression didn't change, and he wouldn't turn his eyes to me. After a while, I gave up. I leaned over and kissed him goodbye on the cheek. His eyelids fluttered and his lips trembled, but he said nothing, nor did he really look at me.
On the way out, I stopped to talk to his nurse.
'Does he ever speak?'
'He hasn't for a while now,' she admitted. 'But sometimes,' she added, smiling, 'they do return. There are new medications coming out every day.'
'Would you see that he puts on his new shirts? He used to be so proud of his clothes,' I said sadly. She promised she would, and Beau and I retreated. Visiting Uncle Jean had made this Christmas Day even more gloomy than the dark clouds and rain. I barely spoke, and I had little appetite when we stopped for lunch. Beau carried most of the conversation, describing plans for us for the near future.
