Chapter Twenty-nine
I pulled into Holly’s driveway, parked the car and turned off the engine.
“In some cases I studied,” she said as she got out of the car and shut the door, “patients described floating out of the room they were in, moving through walls and seeing other things that were happening in the hospital. Maybe that’s what happened to Leah. Maybe she saw you enter the ER, recognized you and wanted to stick around to make sure you were okay.”
“Now you’re sounding crazy,” I said, as I stepped out of the car as well. I shut the door and pressed the lock button on my key ring. The vehicle beeped.
Following Holly up the front walk—while trying to ignore the throbbing ache in my thigh after walking too quickly around the hospital—I could barely fathom what we were discussing. This just wasn’t the kind of thing I had ever been into, except for being a fan of movies like Poltergeist or Amityville Horror.
We climbed the steps and she unlocked the front door. We entered and she set her purse on the small mahogany table by the stairs.
“I hope you don’t have plans for tonight,” she said, “because I’d love it if you could stay for supper. Clearly there’s a lot to talk about and I’m all alone here anyway. At least for tonight.” There was a melancholy look in her eye, and I knew she was missing Leah.
“I don’t have plans,” I said.
“Good. Are you hungry now? And are you okay with leftovers? I made a lasagne last night and hardly ate any of it.”
“I love lasagne,” I replied.
“Great.” She pointed a finger. “You can hang your coat up in the back hall, then come on into the kitchen and have a seat.” She glanced down at my leg briefly before leaving me.
I shrugged out of my jacket and hung it up, then bent over for a minute to take a few deep breaths. My leg was stiff and throbbing and my abdomen was sore. I’d definitely done too much walking.
A moment later, I found Holly uncorking a bottle of red wine on the center island and pouring two glasses. Maybe that would help numb the pain, I thought as I approached and slid up onto a stool.
She opened the fridge and withdrew a pan of lasagna wrapped in foil which she carried to the stovetop.
“How thoughtless of me,” she mentioned as she pressed the power buttons on the oven. “I didn’t even ask if you liked red wine before I poured it. I have beer if you’d prefer that.”
“Wine is good,” I replied, reaching for the stemmed glass she had placed in front of me.
She opened the oven door, slid the lasagne inside and set the timer for half an hour. “Are you okay?” she asked, glancing at my leg again. “Is that bothering you?”
“I’m fine. It just aches sometimes when I overdo it.”
“Stay seated, then,” she said. “I’ll make us a salad. We can talk while I chop.”
Holly returned to the fridge and withdrew some lettuce, carrots, cucumbers and tomatoes from the vegetable drawer. She set everything on the island and slid a blade out of the stainless steel knife block.
“How long were you in a coma?” she asked as she washed the lettuce at the sink.
“Five days—and this part you might find interesting. Remember when I told you that I watched my life flash before my eyes?”
“Like a fast motion movie?” she mentioned.
“Yes. Well…get this. The moment I was reliving, just before I woke up, was the day I visited you in the hospital when you were born. Leah was the one who put you in my arms as I sat in a rocking chair. Then she started saying things like, ‘Open your eyes, Josh. Can you hear me?’ I was confused because I was living in that memory, but when I opened my eyes, there she was.”
“What do you think it means?” Holly asked, watching me with interest. I still wasn’t sure if she thought I was insane and was just testing me or humoring me, or if she believed there was something real about all this. “Do you think there was some sort of overlap between your memories and your return to the real world?”
“Maybe.”
I then recounted everything I could remember about my conversation with Leah that first night. I also told Holly about the questions she’d asked when she returned the next day to conduct the first interview.
“She seemed to do everything by the book,” I said, “ticking off boxes, asking standard questions. She seemed very competent. It never—not even for a single second—occurred to me that she might not be a genuine doctor.”
“Oh, she was genuine,” Holly said. “When it comes to medicine and psychiatry, she was brilliant. She graduated at the top of her class and if she hadn’t gotten sick, I’m sure she’d be working somewhere amazing right now, making an incredible difference in people’s lives.”
“What about you?” I asked. “You must have done pretty well for yourself, to get accepted to the neuroscience program at Harvard. Then med school. Were you always a good student?”
She shrugged indifferently as she tore the lettuce leaves off the stalks and tossed them into the salad bowl. “I don’t know that I was any smarter than anyone else. I just worked really hard. You wouldn’t believe how strict my dad was about homework and extra-curricular activities.”
“I do believe it,” I replied, sensing some obvious bitterness. “Remember, I lived down the street from Leah and Riley, so I knew your father. I still feel guilty about the fact that your family moved out of our neighborhood. For a long time, I blamed myself for that.”
“Why?” She tossed more lettuce into the bowl.
I went on to tell her the story of Riley and me biking to the old Clipper Lake Hotel and getting locked in the stairwell.
“That was the night your father warned me to stay away. A For Sale sign went up the following week, and it was the end of our friendship as we knew it.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Holly said with a shake of her head. “But I’m sure there were other reasons why my dad wanted to move. I saw pictures of that house. I suspect it wasn’t quite good enough for his lavish tastes. It was probably too bourgeois. He always demanded the best. Still does.”
“Like this place,” I noted, glancing up at the Tiffany-style chandelier over the kitchen island.
By this time, the Italian seasonings in the lasagne were filling the air with a delicious aroma. Holly grabbed a couple of oven mitts and removed the pan from the oven.
While she spooned up two servings, I carried the salad bowl and wine to the table in the dining room.
Pausing a moment, I looked around at the shiny mahogany table, the antique sideboard, and the expensive looking draperies. It was a room fit for royals.
“I can’t imagine growing up here.” I pulled out a chair at the table which sat twenty guests.
Holly paused in the doorway with a plate in each hand. “We could eat in the kitchen if you’d prefer. It’s more casual.”
“This is fine,” I replied, stretching my leg out. “Just don’t sit at the opposite end or we’ll have to shout.”
Together, we occupied the nearest corner of the table and continued to talk about our childhoods and academic and professional careers.
“You know,” she said as she picked up her wine glass and took a sip, “there was a time I wanted to be a cop.”
“Really?” That surprised me.
“After something that happened when I was young, I started taking karate lessons to learn how to defend myself. Then I became obsessed with all those police dramas on television. That was a major bone of contention in the house because I was only allowed to watch TV for two hours a week. Weekends only.”
I nearly spit out my wine. “Two hours a week?”
“Yes. That’s why I got such good grades. I was reading science textbooks while all the other kids were watching SpongeBob.”
I set my glass down. “Do you still take karate?”
“I’m a third degree black belt,” she replied, “and I still practice three times a week.”
I raised my glass to clink against hers. “I’m impressed.”
We regarded each other over the rims of our wine glasses with a curious intensity as we sipped. By now the pain was gone.
“So what happened when you were younger that made you take karate and watch cop shows?” I set my glass down on the table. “Or do you mind if I take a guess?”
“Go ahead,” she replied, watching me with mild amusement.
“I think maybe you and your parents were victims of a break-and-enter situation. You were about thirteen or fourteen and had to lock yourself in the bathroom with your mother. But the police came and you were grateful, and that instilled in you a great respect for the brave officers of the law.”
A momentary look of discomfort crossed her face. “How did you know that?”
“How do you think?”
“Leah?”
I nodded soberly.
“Wow.” Holly set down her fork and sat back as the reality of the situation sank in.
“She also told me it was your brother Riley who broke into the house,” I added, “and that he went to jail afterward.”
Holly picked up her fork again and moved the food around on her plate. “It wasn’t one of my family’s finer moments, that’s for sure.”
The grandfather clock chimed the hour and we waited for it to finish.
When it grew quiet again, I resumed the thread of our conversation. “Leah spent a lot of time talking to me about Riley,” I carefully mentioned. “She told me she regretted not trying to help him when she had the chance, and I promised I’d look him up after I got out of the hospital.”
Holly inclined her head. “I can’t believe she told you all that. None of us have spoken to Riley since he got out of prison, and he hasn’t set foot in this house since the night he broke in. He didn’t come to Leah’s funeral, but I doubt he even knew she was sick. I certainly didn’t call him. How could I? I don’t even know where he is or if he’s dead or alive. I’m not sure what my mom knows, but it doesn’t matter because we don’t talk about him.”
“That didn’t bother you?” I asked. “That he didn’t come to Leah’s funeral?”
She raised an eyebrow in contemplation. “I had other things on my mind—like how I was going to survive without my older sister. My junkie brother was not a top priority.”
Looking down at my plate, I nodded with understanding and thought about whether or not I should even tell Holly what Scott had uncovered about her brother’s fate after his release from prison. She didn’t sound like she wanted to know, which was exactly how Leah had described the situation.
“It wasn’t easy for me to hear about Riley,” I explained, “because he was my best friend for a good part of my childhood.”
“That makes me sad,” she thoughtfully replied. “I never really knew the boy you and Leah must have known. By the time I was old enough to have a conversation with him, he wasn’t interested. He had an angry chip on his shoulder every time he walked through the door. I was kind of afraid of him and I think my parents were relieved when he moved out because they didn’t want him to be a bad influence on me.”
Holly finished her wine, and I reached for the bottle to refill her glass.
“Thank you,” she softly replied, though she didn’t touch it. She simply sat there, staring at a large framed painting of a sailboat on the wall. I suspected she was thinking of Leah.
I finished my dinner and sat forward with my forearms on the table. “That was delicious. Thank you.”
At last, she pulled her gaze from the painting and turned toward me.
“Did you look him up?” she asked. “Did you find out what became of him?”
I thought about the regrets Leah had described. Since that’s what brought me here in the first place, I decided to hold nothing back. “Yes, and that’s partially the reason why I knocked on your door earlier today, but I expected to relay the information to your sister. She’s the one who asked for it.”
Holly raised her chin. “Well then. Since it was Leah who sent you on that errand and she’s not here to follow up on it, I’ll do so in her place.”
Recognizing Holly’s clear grief over the loss of her sister, I reached into my pocket and withdrew a sheet of paper, which I unfolded, laid down on the table and slid toward her.