before carrying it to his mouth and nodded, all for keeping his daughter safe. “Well, you make sure you call me before you go buying anything. Remember what happened when you bought that Pinto wagon.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “Dad,” she said quietly, “that was twenty years ago.”
“Biggest lemon on the lot,” he said, going on as if he hadn’t heard her, grinning and turning to address himself to Charlie. “Needed a new transmission. And that dealer knew it too. That’s why he gave her such a ‘deal’ on it. He sure saw her coming.” Werner chuckled and chewed. “Didn’t he, Bunny?”
Margot looked down at her plate and nodded.
“So you just make sure you call me before you sign anything this time,” he said, pointing his fork at Margot.
“Yes, Dad.”
“I can drive down, give it a test drive for you, and help negotiate the deal—make sure they don’t stick you for any of those crazy ‘extras’ and dealer fees.”
“I’d hate to make you drive all the way from Buffalo just to—”
Werner beamed and patted his daughter’s hand. “I’d go to the ends of the earth to help my little girl. You know that.”
A ringing sound, like an old-fashioned alarm clock, came from the kitchen. Margot jumped to her feet just as her mother came through the kitchen door holding a full bowl of cranberry sauce in one hand and Margot’s cell phone in the other.
“That’s probably Mari,” Margot said, smiling with relief.
“Hope she’s just late and not lost,” Werner said, addressing his comments to the table. “Or broken down somewhere. Wouldn’t surprise me. She drives an Audi.”
He rolled his eyes meaningfully and then, seeing that Margot had covered her ear with her hand so she could hear what the caller was saying, lowered his voice.
“Or she did the last I heard. She only lives a few hours south, but she can’t be bothered to come see us. And she never invites us down there, not even for Olivia’s kindergarten graduation. Never calls unless she wants something. I told her about buying an Audi, didn’t I, Lil? Those things are always breaking down and they cost a fortune to fix. I told her over and over, but would she listen?”
Lillian, who was only half listening to him, her attention (and mine) being divided between her husband’s monologue and Margot’s phone conversation, which was filled with too many long pauses and short responses to be a chat between sisters, frowned.
“Sweetheart,” she said, clamping her hand over her husband’s without looking at his face.
Werner put down his fork, looked at his wife with surprise and then at Margot. By that time, we were all looking at Margot.
“Yes. All right. We’ll be right there.” Margot ended the call and turned to face her parents. Her eyes were wide and her face drained of color.
Lillian rose from her chair. “What is it?”
“There was an accident. Black ice, the policeman said. Mari skidded off the road and went over an embankment. He didn’t know how long she’d been there before they found her. He found Mari’s phone on the floor and saw I was the last person to call ….”
Werner got up and stood next to his wife. “Where are they now?”
“In an ambulance. Two ambulances. One for Mari and one for Olivia.”
Lillian’s hand covered her mouth. For a moment, she dipped lower, as if her knees might give way, but Werner grasped her around the shoulders and pulled her body in close to his.
“How bad is it?”
Margot shook her head. “I don’t know. The officer just said we should get to the hospital as soon as possible. But,” she said, choking on her own words, “I think it’s bad, Daddy. I think it’s very bad.”
11
Margot
Everything was upside down.
My dad has always been the impatient one, the person who honks at people who drive even one mile per hour under the speed limit and barks at checkout clerks whose registers run out of tape. But when we got to the hospital and had to wait while an officious woman scanned our identification and attempted, unsuccessfully, to print out our visitor badges, it was my mother who bristled at the delay.
“Our daughter is here, Mariposa Matthews, and our granddaughter, Olivia Matthews,” Mom snapped. “They’ve just brought them in. There was an accident. A serious accident! Why are you keeping us waiting?”
“It’s for your own protection,” the woman replied dully, frowning as she tapped on the computer. “And the protection of the patients.”
“I don’t need to be protected!” My mother’s voice rose to a nearly hysterical pitch. “I need to see my daughter and my grandchild, do you hear me? Right now!”
Dad put his arm around Mom and patted her on the shoulder. “Calm down, Lil. Miss, can’t we leave our identification here with you and get the badges later?”
The woman glanced up at him. For a moment, I thought she was going to waver, but then she pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry, sir. Hospital policy. Every visitor must be cleared through security and wear a badge.”
Philippa, who’d volunteered to come with us while Evelyn and Charlie stayed at my house to clean up, stepped up to the desk and took off her coat, revealing her collar.
“I’m Philippa Clarkson, the new pastor at New Bern Community Church.”
The woman looked up from her keyboard in surprise. “That’s my church. You’re taking over for Reverend Tucker?”
“Just for a few months, until he’s feeling better.”
“I’m sorry, Reverend. I didn’t recognize you. Normally, I never miss services, but I wasn’t able to go today. I’m new here and you know how it is,” she said with a trace of bitterness. “The low man on the totem pole gets stuck working the holiday.”
“That’s all right, Cheryl,” Philippa replied, glancing at her name tag. “It’s good of you to sacrifice your own Christmas celebrations to help people who are going through such a hard time. Do you think it might be possible to let me escort the Matthews family back to the ER? Since I’m a member of the clergy …”
Cheryl bit her lower lip. “I don’t know, Reverend. It’s kind of irregular and, like I said, I’m new here. I went six months without a job before I found this one. I don’t want to risk losing it, but …”
She looked at Philippa and then at my parents, her eyes resting a moment on my mother, who was weeping on Dad’s shoulder.
“Let me check with my supervisor.”
Five minutes later, a tired-looking nurse wearing a cranberry red cardigan and necklace of red, green, and blue Christmas lights ushered us to a waiting room. “Dr. Bledsoe will be right in to talk to you.”
My mother clutched at the nurse’s arm. “Where are they? When can I see them?”
The nurse smiled sympathetically and rubbed her palm over the back of my mother’s hand. “Soon.”
Mom sat down on a beige sofa with her pocketbook in her lap, clutching at the handle, her back stiff and eyes alert, as though she were waiting for a bus and was afraid she might miss it. Dad sat down next to her, but she seemed not to notice.
“Perhaps I should go find somewhere else to wait,” Philippa said, looking at me uncertainly.
“No,” my father said hoarsely. He glanced at my mother, who was staring straight ahead. “If you don’t mind, Reverend,” Dad said, looking up at Philippa, “I’d appreciate it if you