Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [122]
Greg, on the phone: “Can you … are you game? Just for a second. I don’t think he can take much…. No, you need to take care of you. We’ll take care of him. Victoria … Vic … Trust me on this one. Evan needs you healthy. That’s what your son needs.”
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy,” Evan whined, still twirling.
Greg held out the phone. “One sentence, Evan. Listen to your Mom’s voice. Know she’s all right. Tell her you’re all right. Then we’re done.”
Evan grabbed the phone. He pressed it to his ear. He smiled, one bright second of relief as he connected to his mother. His posture relaxed, he came down off his toes.
Then, before I could move, before Greg could snatch the phone back:
“I will get you next time, bitch,” Evan snarled into the receiver. “Next time I will carve out your FUCKING HEART!”
The boy hurtled the phone to the floor, then flung himself at the wall, banging his head savagely.
“Oh Evan,” Greg said tiredly.
I rushed down the hall to get more Ativan.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
VICTORIA
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Evan.
Evan who?
Evan, the little boy who loves you.
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Evan.
Evan who?
Evan, the little boy who wants to kill you.
Knock knock. Who’s there? Michael, your husband who’s going to marry another.
Knock knock. Who’s there? Chelsea, your daughter who thinks you don’t love her anymore.
Knock knock. Knock knock. Knock knock.
I lie in my hospital bed, watching the green line on my heart monitor. Sounds echo down the crowded floor. Busy nurses, grumpy patients, chirping machines. I fixate on the stark white paint on the wall nearest me. The mirror-bright silver of the bed’s guardrails. The heavy black phone, weighing down the blanket on my legs. Then I study the monitor again, amazed at how a heart can remain beating long after it’s been broken.
My side hurts. Red blood flecks the white bandage. A deeper burn stings somewhere on the inside. Maybe an infection’s already building. It’ll taint my blood, shut down my vital organs. I’ll die in this room, and never have to go home.
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Evan, the little boy who loves you.
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Evan, the little boy who wants to kill you.
Knock knock.
Then it comes to me. Fuzzy at first, but with growing certainty. I don’t want to live like this. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to lead this life. I need a new approach, a new attitude. I need to move, even if it kills me, because God knows, I’m already dying on the inside.
I think of summer sand. I remember the first time I held both of my children. And I remember the look on Michael’s face the day he left me.
So many dreams that never came true. So much love I gave away, that never returned to me.
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Victoria.
Victoria who?
Well, isn’t that the million-dollar question? Victoria who?
I need to get out of here. Then, suddenly, absolutely, I know what I’m going to do.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Meditation turned out to be a complicated matter, which must explain why D.D. never did it. There was much settling of oneself into a comfortable position, most of the staff members opting to sit on the floor, the pros in fancy lotus positions, the less converted sprawling casually, their backs against a wall.
Space seemed to matter, people selecting spots where they could be on their own. Even Greg and Danielle, late arrivals to the party, didn’t buddy up. Greg positioned himself partway down the hall, while Danielle sat not far from where D.D. was currently standing.
The young nurse glanced at her. Opened her mouth slightly as if to say something. Then her jaw snapped shut. She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the middle of the common area, where Lightfoot directed efforts in a low, melodic tone.
The shaman sat on top of a table, a bottle of iced green tea positioned within easy reach, a wrist resting on each knee and his fingers pointing up.
He spoke firmly, with a strong cadence. D.D. still thought he looked tired. Then again, it was after midnight now. She and her crew were equally beat, which