The Dead Don't Dance (24 page)

Maggie's absence from our home was more evident than ever on Christmas. I had built no fire, and I didn't intend to. No need to accentuate the obvious. The yard was in disarray. Weeds were rampant. The house was a mess. Laundry was, well, like the weeds. If I didn't know any better, I'd say a bachelor lived in my house.

The wind beat against the tin roof, and somewhere outside Pinky was making noises. Blue was curled up by the fireplace, whimpering.

“If you're gonna keep that up, you can go outside,” I said.

He placed his front paw over his nose and looked at me out of the corner of his eye. His tail was still.

I needed to go to the hospital, but this day was harder than others. I showered, dressed in clothes I had worn several times, and headed out. Blue met me at the door and waited while I pushed against the screen. He knows better. Blue and I got into a cold truck and headed for town. Driving past the Silver Screen, I naturally thought of Bryce. I needed to stop in. “After Maggie,” I muttered to myself.

We parked at the hospital, which was more or less deserted, and headed in. Maggie was in her room, right where I left her. In the air I smelled Amanda's perfume. What was she doing, working on Christmas Eve?

I stood next to Maggs's bed and held her warm, beautiful, elegant hand. Lately, I've sat less and paced more. Or stared out the window talking over my shoulder. Maggie understands. I couldn't sit still at home. What makes me any different here?

Standing at the window, I heard footsteps behind me. Amanda was getting pretty big, and her walk had turned into a distinct shuffle. She was well into the full-blown pregnant-woman waddle. Which is beautiful.

I have experience with only one pregnant woman. I mean, experience that really counts. And I couldn't say this before, but few things are more beautiful than my pregnant wife was as she stepped out of the shower or stood in front of the mirror and asked me if I thought she was fat. Nothing was ever more alluring to me than the sight of my wife carrying my son. If you've never loved a pregnant woman, then you can't understand, but if you have, then you do, and you know I'm right.

I didn't turn around. “Good morning, Amanda.”

“Good morning, Professor. Merry Christmas to you.”

I turned and looked at her. “You look nice. New dress code for working holidays?”

She was wearing casual clothes, not the hospital issue I had grown accustomed to.

“Oh, I'm not working. Just stopped in on the way to my Mammy's.” She paused. “My grandmother's.”

“I got it,” I said, turning back to the window.

“Professor, you got any plans for today?”

“Now, Amanda.” I held out my hand. “Don't you start scheming. Blue and I are spending Christmas Eve right here with Maggie. The last time you schemed, I ended up embarrassing myself in front of your dad and his entire church. Not today. I'm parking it right here. But thank you for whatever you were scheming.” I smiled.

“Professor,” she retorted, “you didn't embarrass yourself.” Her eyes showed excitement. “Daddy's been asking me to invite you to church. He said he wishes you'd come back.”

“Yeah, so he could preach that fire and brimstone right down on me rather than just let it filter through the windows and drift a few miles down the road? No thanks. Your dad's a good preacher and a good man, but I'll pass.”

My voice grew soft, and I turned back to look at Maggs. “Your father doesn't need my doubt in his church. Neither does your church.”

Amanda's face said she realized she was getting nowhere. She opened Maggie's bedside drawer and took out a brush. She gently stroked and brushed Maggie's hair. As she did, it struck me how much Maggie's hair had grown. Maybe an inch or two.

“Where'd the brush come from?”

“Oh, I bought it. Got it at the dollar store.” Amanda didn't look up.

I fumbled in my pockets and pulled out a handful of loose bills and change. “How much was it?”

“Professor.” Amanda looked straight up at me and put her hands on her hips. “It's Christmas Eve. You don't pay people for the gifts they give you.” She dropped her head and continued tending to Maggie.

I sat down next to the bed and slipped my hand under Maggie's. Amanda eyed my Bible.

“I see you brought along something to read. Kind of dusty, isn't it?”

“Yeah, that's what happens when you don't read it,” I said, looking at the drab cover.

“Umm-hmmm,” she said, as if she had a follow-up statement but decided to keep it to herself. She finished her brushing as snow began to fall outside. Heavy, thick flakes started sticking to the windowpane.

We sat in the quiet for a few minutes. “How you doing?” I asked. “I mean, with the baby and all. What do the doctors say?”

“They say he's big, and I'm little. Say I ought to think about a C-section. So I'm thinking about it. I'm not opposed to the idea. I'm just not sure I want a zipper on my stomach.” Amanda made a motion across her stomach and smiled.

I laughed. It was the first time I had laughed in Maggie's room. Amanda too. We actually giggled. It reminded me of Maggie.

Outside, the snow fell more heavily. Inside, the silence hung warm and easy. Not talking was just fine with all three of us. After a while, Amanda stood up from her chair and quietly slid it back against the wall.

“Professor, you take care of Miss Maggie.” Standing in the doorway, she turned to me. “And Professor?” Amanda's eyes searched my face and bored into the back of my head. “You don't have to be celebrating Christmas to talk with God.”

I nodded. Amanda left, and Blue and I continued to sit with Maggie. After an hour or so, I rang for the nurse.

“Yes,” she barked over the intercom, as if I had interrupted her nap.

“Umm, do you know where the Bible talks about the birth of Jesus? You know, Mary, Joseph, ‘no room in the inn,' the wise men?”

“Luke 2,” she said promptly.

“Thank you,” I said, wondering how in the world she knew that. I thumbed for Luke, skipping over it twice, and turned to the second chapter.

Maggie had told me that her dad read the Nativity story to her when he tucked her into bed on Christmas Eve. Holding up the thin pages to the light, I read the whole thing aloud to her. When I finished, the corner of Maggie's closed right eye was wet, but her breathing was slow and easy.

Maggie was at peace. I placed my palm on her flushed cheek and felt the warmth of her face. For another hour, Blue and I sat quietly with her, watching snow fall on oaks and old magnolias. When I stood up at last to look out the window, snow covered everything in sight.

It was ten o'clock when I left. I squeezed her hand and kissed her gently. Her lips were warm and soft. One orange light lit the parking lot and cast an odd glow into the room.

“Maggie,” I whispered. “All this . . . it's nobody's fault. It just is.” I brushed her nose with mine. “I love you, Maggs . . . with all of me.”

Blue and I walked down the quiet hallway. A light shone from the nurses' station, but that was about it. The night nurse was reading the
Enquirer
and munching on a bag of cheese puffs.

While I was walking down the hallway, it struck me for the second time that I had actually laughed in Maggs's room. Amanda and I both had laughed. It felt good too. Maybe, under all that haze of sleep and heavy eyelids, Maggs just needed to hear me laugh. The last time I had really laughed was a few hours before we went to the delivery room—just moments before the bottom fell out of my life.

As I was walking out through the emergency room, I passed the counter where they kept the scanner crackling with police and ambulance activity. It served as mission control for the emergency room. For the waiting room, it provided some sort of entertainment. Over the static, I heard Amos's calm voice saying he was just west of Johnson's Pasture and headed to the hospital with somebody.

That was nothing unusual. During the week, Amos made almost as many trips to the hospital as he did to the jail. I used to tell him, “You know, Ebony, if things don't work out with the sheriff's department, you'd make one jam-up ambulance driver. You already know the entire lingo.”

He never thought that was too funny. There it was, Christmas Eve, and he was probably transporting some drunk who had had one too many at a Christmas party, gotten in a fight, and needed a few stitches. Put me in Amos's place, and I'd have thrown the sucker in jail, slapped a Band-Aid on his face, and let him sleep it off. Not Amos.

If he was west of Johnson's Pasture, that meant he was eastbound on 27 and would be at the ER in about ten minutes. I didn't feel like answering any of his questions tonight, so Blue and I walked through the electric doors and onto the sidewalk. As I did, my feet flew out from under me, I went down, and I almost cracked my tailbone. A solid sheet of ice covered the pavement. Pulling myself up by the flagpole, I cussed, rubbed my butt, and hoped nobody had seen my tumble. Especially not Miss Cheese-puff. Blue stood a few feet away, watching me with suspicion.

The parking lot was empty when I started my truck. Even in this cold, the old girl cranked without a hitch. The older she gets, the more oil she burns, but Chevy made a good truck in this one. The fuel gauge was bumping on E, but I had enough to get home.

We pulled out of the hospital, I touched the gas, and the rear end of the truck slid out from underneath me, spinning us around 180 degrees. “That's twice,” I whispered to myself. “Better take it slow.”

Three miles out of town, I plowed slowly west on County Road 27. Several inches of snow blanketed the blacktop, and the temperature had dropped to twenty-eight degrees. With both hands on the wheel, and keeping an eye out for hazards, I let my thoughts wander. In front of me awaited an empty and cold house on what would have been our first white Christmas. Behind me lay Maggie. And in between, there was me.

A lonely place.

I wasn't in any hurry, so I dropped the stick into low gear and spun up Johnson's snow-covered pasture. Cresting the hill, I coasted down the other side, letting the engine RPMs act as my brake. About midway down the hill, I approached the railroad crossing, where eighty years before Chinese immigrants had laid railroad track for the Union Pacific.

The snow was spreading over the windshield like a blanket. I flipped the wipers to “high” but still couldn't see anything. As I bumped over the tracks, a light caught the corner of my eye. I was only going about five miles an hour, so I slowed to a stop on the other side of the tracks and rolled down my window. Looking down the hill in the direction of the light, I strained my eyes against the cold sheet of white that was biting into my face. The flash looked like a taillight, but down there was no place for a taillight, much less a car. I guess that's why it caught my attention.

I started rolling up the window when the wind swirled, and I caught a break in the snow. This time there was no mistake. It was a taillight, at the bottom of the ditch about five feet off the ground. That meant the car, or truck, or whatever was connected to it, was upside down with its nose in the ditch. I pulled to the side and left the truck running. Blue's eyes followed me out, but he kept his nose muzzled under his forearm and didn't budge from the passenger's side floorboard.

Stepping into the snow, I pulled the collar up on my jean jacket, crossed back over the tracks, and stood in the emergency lane of the eastbound traffic. The taillights were sticking up in the air, creating a small red halo effect around the car. On the snow beneath it were the scattered remains of what looked like blue plastic police lights that were once strapped atop the car. Leaning sideways, I read the upside-down reflective letters on the back of the car: Colleton County Sheriff's Department.

I hit my butt and started sliding down the bank. I had intended to scoot down to the car, using my heels as a brake, but the cold and wind had turned the snow-covered bank into a sheet of ice.

My descent was fast and painful. I couldn't stop, slow down, or veer to the left or the right. Midway down, I hit a small embankment that tossed me head over heels and sent me tumbling like a human snowball. Gaining speed, I passed Amos's car and shot headfirst into the ditch. The splash surprised me, but not as much as the cold water. After a millisecond, the only thing I wanted was out.

I planted my boots in the muck below and reached for the bank. Pulling at snow and frozen grass, I kicked my toes into the bank, pushed up, and reached for the window frame of the car. The car was resting on the edge of the ditch, and every window was shattered. A few more inches, and water would have been pouring in. Dragging myself up on the bank, I didn't have time to think about being cold because I bumped the body of what appeared to be a big, limp man lying in the snow. When I found the face, it shocked me.

“Amos!”

His glassy eyes were looking at me. He was wet, and his face was a blood-soaked mess. Surprisingly, he was not shivering. Without saying a word, he slowly lifted his left hand, clicked on his flashlight, and pointed it through the driver's window. The light was swaying back and forth, and I could tell he was having a hard time staying conscious. Hanging upside down in the passenger seat was a mangled mess of long, black, wet hair. Amos's drunk party-goer, no doubt.

“All this for some drunk . . . ” I grabbed the flashlight and scrambled around to the other side. As I did, the car slid an inch or two further into the ditch, and water started seeping in, filling what used to be the top of the car. I shined the light into the bloody and swollen face of the passenger. Her eyes were closed, and her arms were hanging limp down below her head. Brushing away the hair, I slowly tilted myself sideways, trying to see who I was looking at.

Amanda.

“Amos! What the . . .”

I don't know how long she had been hanging there, but her face looked blue and puffy in the light. The passenger's window was also blown out, and little pieces had cut her face. Glass was everywhere.