Alarums. Part 14

'No. It wouldn't be nice.'

'Bodie thinks you're afraid to stay there alone.'

'How flattering.'

'Are you?'

She shrugged, but Melanie's back was to her. 'A little bit, maybe. Nothing I can't handle.'

Melanie lifted out a black skirt.

'We're not going to a funeral tonight,' Pen said.

'Not tonight.'

'You're really going to wear that?'

'Bodie likes me in black.'

'Oh. That's different.'

'You approve, then?'

'I approve.'

Bodie shook his head, rolled his eyes upward. 'What happened? Disaster. G.o.d save me from the streets of Los Angeles. It all started when I couldn't get over into the right-hand turn lane from San Vicente onto Wils.h.i.+re. That resulted in quite a detour. When I finally did get to the restaurant, they didn't have our pizza. Apparently, something got screwed up with the phone order - they lost it or something. So I had to reorder and wait around while they made it.' He blew out a long breath. 'At any rate, here I am. An older man but wiser.' As they ate the pizza, they agreed that it was well worth his trouble.

By six o'clock, they were done eating.

That left an hour and a half before time to set out for the hospital.

Joyce went upstairs to bathe and change her clothes.

In the living room, Pen sat in an armchair. Melanie and Bodie took the couch, sitting close together, Melanie's hand on his leg. They talked. But there was no talk of Joyce or Harrison or Dad, as if the subjects were taboo.

Pen's uneasiness grew as the time pa.s.sed. She had difficulty sitting still, and her chest had a tightness that made breathing a struggle. Finally, she got off her chair. She lay on the floor, knees upraised. That seemed to help.

'Are you all right?' Bodie asked.

'Just nerves,' she said.

'Maybe you need a Valium or something,' Melanie said.

'Don't think so.' She rubbed her face. 'I could use a good snootful, though.'

'You've had a pretty good snootful.'

'Hardly. A few gla.s.ses of wine do not a snootful make.'

'Pen thinks that she can't be a writer without being a drunk.'

'I'm not a drunk. Tonight, however, I might prefer it.'

'What's stopping you?'

'I don't want to make an a.s.s out of myself staggering into the hospital.'

Joyce entered the room. She wore a white pullover that looked like cashmere, a gray jacket and matching pleated skirt, hose and high heels.

Joyce and Melanie, both in skirts. Me in my white jeans. Great, Pen thought.

She should've asked Bodie to run her over to her apartment after dinner so she could put on a dress.

So who cares? she asked herself. Who am I out to impress, the nurses? Dad isn't likely to notice. And if he doesa She pictured him awake, sitting up in bed, breathing for himself, the tubes and wires disconnected.

Don't get your hopes up.

They would've called.

'Are you feeling all right?' Joyce asked, staring down at her.

'I'm fine.'

'Too much wine,' Melanie said.

'Not enough.' Pen sat up. 'Is it about time to go?'

'Pretty soon,' Joyce said. 'I'd be glad to do the driving,' she told Bodie.

'Fine.'

Joyce slipped the Lincoln Continental into an open s.p.a.ce of curb on Pico Boulevard, and they climbed out.

Pen, realizing they wouldn't have to walk across the road, thought about the car that had come so close to running her down that morning. A Porsche. A sports car.

A sports car had hit Dad.

The same one that almost got me?

That's crazy, she told herself. Just a coincidence. Don't try to make something out of it.

The night air chilled the material of her blouse. s.h.i.+vering, she folded her arms across her chest and clamped her teeth together.

Melanie, ahead of her, walked stiffly with her shoulders hunched, but she was pressed against Bodie's side and his arm was around her back. That had to help.

The warmth of the hospital lobby felt good.

They entered an elevator. Bodie pushed the b.u.t.ton for Dad's floor. The piped-in music was an orchestral version of 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'. Pen wondered if the tune had been selected for purposes of irony.

When they left the elevator, Joyce led the way to the nurses' station. A nurse guided them down the corridor and opened the door to Dad's room.

He wasn't awake, sitting up, breathing for himself.

He looked the same.

He looked dead.

Pen's eyes darted to the cardiac monitor. The line on the screen jigged with each heartbeat. Every jump of the line was accompanied by a beep.

Joyce went to the bedside and squeezed his hand.

The rhythm of his heart didn't change.

He has no idea we're even here, Pen thought.

'It's Joyce. Can you hear me? Can you understand me?' Joyce waited as if for a reply. 'Your daughters are here. Melanie came all the way from Phoenix to be with you. We're all pulling for you, Whit. You're going to be all right. You'll be just fine.' She was silent for a little while. Then she looked around at the others. 'Could I be alone with him for a few minutes?'

They went out to the hallway. Pen closed the door.

'Why doesn't she want us in there?' Melanie whispered.

'She's his wife,' Pen said. 'She wants a little privacy with him.'

'He's in a coma.'

'A little privacy with a gal like Joyce might pull him out of it,' Bodie suggested.

Melanie glared at him.

'Sorry,' he muttered. 'My big mouth.'

'Don't worry about it,' Pen said, more to her sister than to Bodie.

'I wonder what she is doing in there.'

'Talking to him, I should imagine,' Pen said. 'About things that don't concern you and me.'

'Maybe she's telling him to go ahead and die.' Melanie, so prim and Victorian in her choker and frilly white blouse and black skirt, had spoken the unthinkable and was staring at Pen as if she thought Pen was dimwitted for not realizing the obvious.

'My G.o.d, Mel,' she muttered.

'If Dad dies, she gets Harrison, the insurance, the inheritancea'

'Have you lost your mind?'

'She might even pull the plug on him.'

'Alarms would go off,' Bodie whispered. He was frowning, shaking his head. 'I thinka the machines are tied in to the nurses' station. If anything like that happeneda'

'She wouldn't do that,' Pen said.

'Oh, no?'

'Melanie, Jesus.'

Melanie swung open the door.

Gazing past her shoulder, Pen saw Joyce turn her head in surprise. She was bent over the bed, straightening a blanket at Dad's shoulders. She pressed a hand to her chest and smiled nervously. 'You startled me.'

'Sorry,' Pen said. 'Is everything all right?'

'Fine. I was about to ask you back in.'

They entered the room.

'Did hea make any kind of response?'

'I'm afraid not.'

Pen followed Melanie closer to the bed and b.u.mped her when she jerked to a rigid stop.

Melanie began to groan.

Joyce looked puzzled, then alarmed.

Melanie's back arched and she suddenly quaked. She pressed her fists to the sides of her head.

'What's she doing?' Joyce blurted. 'My G.o.d!'

Pen's mind seemed to freeze as she stood at the back of her twitching, moaning sister.

'Don't worry,' Bodie said. He sounded worried. 'It's like lasta'

Melanie lurched against Pen. Bodie stopped her from falling. With Bodie at her back, Pen braced herself up and wrapped her arms around Melanie's chest. The girl's whole body jumped with spastic shudders. Pen kept her face turned away to avoid the thras.h.i.+ng head.

'You got her?' Bodie gasped.

'Yeah.'

'You got her? Don't let her fall.'

'Should I get help?' Joyce asked.

'No. It'll be okay.'