Page 35 of Roark
There were a few moments of silence that seemed to sit in the space between them like a boulder. He didn’t know what else to say; he didn’t want to push, and he didn’t want to let her go to her room alone. Not tonight.
His heart thumped quickly when he saw her hands go to the belt of the robe. He watched her shrug out of it and then reach down to pull back the covers on the bed.
When she was in the bed, she patted the space beside her and said, “You coming?”
Roark had no idea what he was doing. Why now? Why this woman? More questions and more answers that eluded him. He climbed in beside her.
They lay in silence until they both fell asleep and sometime during the night, Roark turned over and reached for her. She was there, so it wasn’t a dream, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, spooning his body against hers. Seconds later, his hand moved upward to cup her breast. She sighed in her sleep and snuggled back closer to him.
Roark held her tight and for the first time in weeks, slept deeply until the morning.
Her mother’s hand was warm, her body was still, her eyes closed and Tamika’s heart was heavy.
She sat in the chair beside the hospital bed the next morning, holding her mother’s hand and letting her head rest on the rail the nurses had lifted along the side of the bed. Throughout her childhood, her mother had insisted they go to church every Sunday. Mostly, Tamika had just played with her dolls, lining them up on the dark wood pews. She’d dress them in their church clothes on Saturday night and stuff them into the backpack. It was the only time she played with what were considered “girl toys,” and that was because Sunday was the only day her mother had insisted she wear a dress, tights and those shiny patent leather shoes—black in the winter and white starting on Easter and going through to Labor Day.
The memory made her smile, and Tamika wished she’d paid more attention in church all those years ago. If she had, maybe she’d know how to pray now. But even after she’d outgrown the dolls, she still hadn’t gone to church to listen to the hymns or the sermon. By that time, she’d learned the church participated in a community basketball league and there were boys from the church wearing basketball shorts and tank tops instead of the ill-fitting dress pants and shirts she’d seen them in on Sunday mornings. However, seeing them in their basketball uniforms on Saturdays during the games had changed her whole outlook on them when Sunday morning rolled around, so much so that she’d begun sitting in the back of the church with some of the other boy-crazy girls just to be closer to the boys.
She’d been such a child back then. That thought had her giving a little chuckle because what else was she supposed to be. Now, her mother needed her to be so much more. She’d spoken to the insurance agent on her way to the hospital this morning and had an appointment to meet the representative at the house the day after tomorrow, because that was when the Fire Brigade said the scene would be released.
The “scene” was her mother’s home, and Tamika had no idea if Sandra would be able to return there. She had no idea if Sandra was ever going to wake up.
“Her vital signs are good. The burns will take a little more time to heal, but we’re giving her plenty of pain medication to keep her comfortable. Skin grafts may be an option at some point, but that’s nothing to worry about right now.” That was what Dr. Duvall, the slim woman with coal-black hair that hung straight down her back, had told Tamika the moment she’d arrived at the hospital today.
“Is that why she’s not waking up? Because of all the pain medication?” she’d asked.
“It could be. Sometimes after a traumatic experience such as your mother endured, patients will slip into a coma. It can be their body’s way of dealing with all it’s been through. But as I said, we’re monitoring her carefully, and her brain activity is fine. She’s just resting.”
Tamika hadn’t liked the word “coma” and had wanted to push it far out of her mind. Unfortunately, there was another word she’d needed to say at the moment. “There’s a possibility she was drugged,” she’d blurted out before the doctor could walk away. “I know you had to do blood tests while you were treating her, but did you run a tox screen?”
Dr. Duvall had shaken her head, her eyes immediately filling with concern. “She came in as a burn victim. We did run normal blood screenings, but there was no need to do a toxicology workup.”
“There’s a reason. What I mean is there might be a possibility she was drugged before the fire. Would it be too late to do it now?”
“It depends. I mean it’s only been two days since the fire, but some drugs linger in the system longer. I could try to see if there’s something notable.”
Tamika had reached out to grab the doctor’s hand at that point. It was totally unprofessional and definitely jarring for the other woman, but Tamika hadn’t let her go. “Can you do that please? I really need to know if that’s what happened to her.”
The doctor’s face had gone from concern to sympathy, and before she’d pulled her hand from Tamika’s grasp, she’d given it a reassuring squeeze and said, “I’ll let you know what I find.”
“Thank you.” Tamika had felt a wave of relief wash over her, only to replaced quickly by more concern. “What about Ms. Gregory? I still haven’t been able to see her and I’m wondering why. How serious was her injury? How do you think she was injured so badly and my mother wasn’t?”
The truth had been in the immediate hooded look of Dr. Duvall’s eyes. “It’s my guess that she fell into something while trying to escape the fire and it punctured her liver. There was a deep laceration we repaired during surgery. Unfortunately, she’s developed an infection and we’re trying to keep her stable while we wait for that to heal. Her body’s not reacting to the antibiotics the way we’d hoped—that’s another reason we’ve limited visitation, because we don’t want her to incur any other infections while we’re trying to fight this one. Does she have any other family we can contact?”
“No,” Tamika had said around the tears that had clogged her throat. “I’m all they both have. Can I see her today?”
“We’re trying a different antibiotic this morning, and since you’ve just mentioned the possibility of some sort of drugging, I’ll do a toxicology screen on her too. I’ll have the nurses come get you when you can see her.”
Worry had mixed with a measure of relief that they were both still alive, and Tamika had thanked the doctor before entering her mother’s room.
Who had done this to them? Who had started that fire and tried to kill both of them?
That question still loomed in her mind two hours later as her eyes remained closed like her mother’s, and she tried to think back to her days in church, to the prayers the pastor would say. How did she ask for her mother’s life to be spared when she’d never paid the least bit of attention when others had been praying? Would God even hear her if she did?
As she continued to wonder and chastise herself for things she knew she couldn’t change, something happened. Her mother’s fingers twitched.
Tamika’s head shot up. “Mama?” She stared at her mother’s closed eyes, at her naturally thick eyebrows and long lashes. Her high cheekbones and full lips and her black hair with the sprinkle of gray that had just begun to sprout at her roots. “Wake up, Mama. I’m here. I’m right here waiting for you to wake up.”
Sandra’s fingers moved again, and Tamika lifted her mother’s hand to her cheek.
