Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [89]
“What happened?” I asked again.
“A friggin’ traffic stop over by the bus station,” he said. “She was driving today so she made the approach. He shot her before she could get halfway to the car. I fired two shots, hit his back window, but he got away.” He took another gulp of coffee. “They caught him up in Paso about an hour later. He had a half gram of cocaine under his seat. She was almost killed for a stinking half gram of cocaine.”
His hand jerked, causing some coffee to slosh onto the shiny hospital floor. He looked down at it, his face a mixture of agony and dismay.
“I’ll get it,” I said, taking a tissue out of my purse and bending down to wipe it up. “Is her family here yet?”
“They’re upstairs. Fourth floor. She’s in intensive care, but the doctors say she’ll be all right. They just want to keep a close eye on her tonight.” He gestured with his cup. Coffee splashed out on his hand. He flinched and said, “Shit.”
“Here, give me that.” I gently took the cup out of his hand and handed him a dry tissue. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
He wiped his wet hand, then handed me the damp tissue. “No, thanks. My shift’s over, so I’m going home. They said there’s nothing anyone else can do tonight, and she’s got her family up there.” His dark eyelashes were shiny with unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have let her approach that driver. I should have taken it.”
“There was nothing you could do. It’s not your fault.”
He gripped the butt of his gun and looked down at the floor.
“Bliss didn’t like being coddled or treated special. It was her turn, and she would have fought you to take it. It was just the luck of the draw, Miguelito,” I said, using his childhood nickname.
He gave a tremulous smile. “Go on up. I’m sure the chief wants to see you.”
I squeezed his upper arm, then walked over to the elevators. Upstairs, I asked the desk clerk which way to the waiting room. Halfway down the hall I could see Bliss’s mother, JJ, and Cappy sitting together on a sofa. Gabe’s back was to me. Lydia stood next to him, and Sam sat on the wood coffee table, his face in his hands. A doctor walked out of a glass door next to them, and they eagerly gathered around him, blocking him from my view. But even from down the hall, I could hear Sam’s agonized cry and watched his mother encircle him with her arms. Susa and JJ clung together, weeping. Gabe stepped over to Lydia and Sam and put his arms around both of them.
I froze, not knowing what to do. Watching Gabe so tenderly hold his son and ex-wife caused a pain in my heart that I couldn’t ignore, but to go up to them now seemed like a crass and self-serving invasion of privacy. Trembling, I turned and walked back down the hall and sat down on a chair near the nurses’ station, wondering what had happened and what I should do. Was Bliss all right? Was it her or the baby? Or both? Finally I went up to a nurse with a friendly face, trying not to stutter, explained briefly who I was and asked if she could find out.
“Honey, I understand,” she said. “I’m a number two myself. It’s an awkward place to be at times like this. Let me find out for you.”
She came back a few minutes later, her round face regretful. “Your stepson’s girlfriend is going to be okay, but she lost the baby. I’m sure sorry.”
“Was it the gunshot?” I asked.
She shook her head no. “Most likely not. Pregnant women are tougher than people realize. Unless she’d been shot right in the stomach, her baby, even at two or three months, was capable of surviving quite a lot of trauma. It seems strange, I know, but most likely she would have lost the baby whether or not she’d been shot. Most miscarriages are caused by chromosomal or genetic abnormalities that can’t be prevented or treated. There’s nothing for anyone to feel guilty about here.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Back at my car I couldn’t help worrying that my decision not to break into the Brown and