a way, they were absolutely right. It was much better to be brought up as a fundamentalist Christian than as a kid who didn't know what a real meal was, a kid at the mercy of whatever scum our parents let into the trailer. Because that was the way I'd been brought up after my preteen years. Mariella and Gracie were well clothed, well fed, and clean. They had a stable home to come back to every day, and they had rules to follow. These were great things, and if their early years led them to rebel against this regimen now and then, well, so be it. We were trying to build bridges to the girls, but it was uphill work.
Iona's reaction to our new relationship hardly bore thinking about. "Ah, I guess that's a bridge we'll have to cross when we come to it," I said.
"We're not hiding anything," Tolliver said, with sudden firmness. "I'm not going to even attempt it."
That had a very nice permanent sound to it. I'd been sure how I felt, but it's always nice to know your partner is feeling the same way. I let out a silent sigh of relief.
"No hiding," I said.
We ate peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. "Ted's wife probably whipped up a four-course heart-healthy meal on a woodstove," I said.
"Hey, you eat heart healthy most of the time."
My eating habits had gone by the wayside while we stayed in Doraville, for one reason or another. I'd have to resume them soon. With variable health problems like I had, it paid to stave off as much as I could by following good rules.
"How's your leg?" Tolliver asked, following the same train of thought.
"Pretty good," I said, extending my right leg and rubbing the quads. "I can tell I haven't been running in a few days, though."
"When do you get to leave off the cast? "
"Five weeks, the doctor said. We'll have to try to be in St. Louis then, so I can check with our doctor there."
"Great." Tolliver smiled so broadly that I knew he was thinking of several things that would be much easier when my arm healed.
"Hey, come here," he said. He was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, leaning back against a chair. He patted the floor between his legs, and I eased myself against him. He put his arms around me. "I can't believe I can do this now," he said. If my heart could have wagged its tail, it would have. "It's okay to touch you. I can touch you as much as I want. I don't have to think twice every time."
"Were you really thinking twice?"
"I thought I might scare you off."
"Same here."
"Idiots."
"Yeah, but now we're okay."
We sat there in contentment until Tolliver told me his leg was asleep, and we figured if we were ever going to try to go into town, the time was right.
Ten
SEVERAL times during the trip into town, I was almost sorry I'd turned on my cell phone and gotten Manfred's message. That was the most frightening driving experience I've ever had. Tolliver managed it, but he said every bad word in his vocabulary, even a few I didn't quite understand. We met one other car on our journey, and it was filled with teenage boys, who all have a built-in death wish. As soon as I thought that, I remembered the boys in the frozen ground, and I was sorry.
There were mighty few visitors' cars parked in the hospital parking lot. Snow had covered the sodden yard around the little building, so it looked almost pretty. When we went in, the reception lady was not at her desk, so we wandered back until we found a nurses' station. We inquired there about Xylda Bernardo.
"Oh, the psychic lady," the nurse said, looking a bit impressed. "She's in ICU. Her grandson is in the ICU waiting area, if you want to see him." She gave us directions, and we found Manfred sitting with his head in his hands. He was in one of those waiting areas that's just a little nook lined with chairs and littered with coffee cups and old magazines. It looked as though the hospital cleaning staff hadn't made it in this morning. That wasn't good.
"Manfred," I said. "Tell us what's happening with Xylda?"
He raised his head and we could see his eyes were red. His face was tear- stained.
"I don't understand," he said. "She was better. She kind of collapsed last night, but this morning she was better. The doctor had been in to see her. The minister came and prayed with us. They were going to move her to a regular room. Then she just—I left just for a minute, just to get some coffee and use the phone—and when I came back she was in a coma."
"I'm so sorry," I said. There's really nothing you can say that'll make the situation any better, is there?
"What does the doctor say?" Tolliver asked. I sat beside Manfred and put my hand on his shoulder. Tolliver sat at right angles to us and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. I looked at his face, so serious, so focused, and I felt a wave of love that almost knocked me over. I had to concentrate to get my mind back on Manfred and Xylda's misfortune.
"It's the same doctor that saw you, Harper," Manfred said. "The guy with white hair. He seems okay. He says he doesn't think she's going to wake up. He doesn't know why she took such a turn, but he says he's not surprised. It's all…it doesn't seem definite enough. No one's telling me exactly what's happening with her. I thought medicine was sharper than that now."
"Have you called your other relatives?"
"My mother is on her way. But in the traffic conditions between Tennessee and here, there's no way she'll get here before Grandmother passes away."
This was awful. "Your mom's relying on you to make the decisions?"
"Yeah. She says she knows I'll do the right thing."
What a great thing for a mother to say, but what a huge responsibility.
"I was hoping," Manfred said after a long moment, "if you could go in to see her, you'd be able to give me some advice." He was looking at me when he said this, and he said it very seriously. I understood what he meant, after a moment. He wanted to know if her soul was still there.
Okay. I was cringing inside, but I nodded.
He showed me the door to the ICU unit, which of course was quite small at such a little hospital. I thought Xylda would benefit from going to somewhere larger with more machines—isn't that what it boils down to?—but there was no way to get her there. Nature had overthrown technology once again. That seemed amazing to me, as I looked at all the machines Xylda Bernardo was connected to. They silently recorded everything that was going on inside her; and yet, when Manfred wanted to know something as basic as whether or not his grandmother's soul was still attached to her body, he had to ask me to do it.
I held Xylda's limp hand for a moment, but it wasn't necessary for the task that had been set me. Xylda's soul was still there. I was almost sorry. It would have simplified the decisions ahead for her family if her soul had already departed.
Barney Simpson stuck his head in the door and looked at me quizzically.
"I thought we'd kicked you out," he said, keeping his voice low out of respect for the quiet figure on the bed.
"You make visits to the patients in the ICU?"
"No, to the families of those patients. I saw someone in here, so I came to check."
"I'm just standing in for her grandson for a minute," I said.
"You're a good friend. This is the other lady, right? "
"Xylda Bernardo. The psychic. Yes."
"She told the law enforcement people about Chuck Almand."
After a second, I nodded. That was more or less true.
"Yes."
"What an extraordinary talent," Simpson said. He ran a hand over his bushy dark hair, trying to tame it, but he didn't have any luck.
"She's definitely out of a different mold," I said. I took a step toward the door. I wanted to report back to Manfred. Simpson stood back to let me pass. A nurse went by us as she entered Xylda's room. "You again," she said to Simpson. "Can't get rid of you today."
"Nope. My car's iced in," he said, smiling.
"Oh, so your stay isn't voluntary," she said.
"I'd love to go home."
So would I.
By the time I reached Manfred, Barney Simpson had continued on with his round of visiting.
"She's still intact," I said. Manfred closed his eyes, whether in dismay or gratitude I couldn't imagine.
"Then I'll wait in there with her," he said. "Until she goes."
"What can we do for you?" Tolliver asked.
Manfred looked at him with an expression that almost broke my heart. "Nothing," he said. "You've claimed her, I can see. But having you two as friends is good, and I'm really grateful you made the effort to get into town to see us. Where are you staying?"
We told him about the lake cottage. He smiled at the story of the Hamiltons. "When you two leaving?" he asked. "I guess the cops have cut you loose?"
"I guess we'll leave tomorrow," I said. "But we'll come by the hospital to check on you before we go. Sure there's nothing I can get you?"
"Since the hospital still has electricity," Manfred said, "the shoe may be on the other foot. You can get hot food here. The cafeteria is open."
The phrase "hospital cafeteria" didn't sound very appetizing, but "hot food" did. We coaxed Manfred into going with us, and we ate hot biscuits with gravy poured over them, and some hamburger steak, and some green beans. I had to swear to myself I'd do double running the next week.
At the last minute, I almost turned back to stay with Manfred. He seemed so alone. But he said, "There's no point in you staying here, Harper, as much as I appreciate the offer. There's just sitting and waiting here, and I can do that on my own. My mother should be here tomorrow morning, if the roads clear. I'll step out of Grandmother's room from time to time to check my voice mail."
I gave Manfred a hug, and Tolliver shook his hand. "We'll come if
