Ancestors

Chapter 1

They say that right before you die your whole life flashes before your eyes. But as the rope tightened around my neck, it was only the last ten weeks that I saw, from the time since I came out of the coma.

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 2017

Olivia? Olivia?

I heard someone calling my name. Melody, my housemate, stood over me, a worried expression on her face. But her lips weren’t moving. A hand appeared before my eyes and I turned my head to see to whom it belonged: somebody in white—a man. A strange man, one I’d never seen before.

Miss Hunter? he said.

Yes?

Was that my voice? Was that me speaking? I thought I remembered saying the word, but I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure it was my voice.

I turned back to Melody.

She smiled. Hi, Babe, she said.

I returned her smile.

We were worried about you, Melody added.

We? Who was we? And why were they worried about me?

Do you remember what happened?

This time it wasn’t Melody’s voice. I turned to the man in the white coat.

Miss Hunter, do you remember what happened? he asked again.

I closed my eyes and thought hard for a moment. Then I opened them and shook my head.

You fell.

This time it was Melody speaking. I turned back to her, beginning to feel like a spectator at a slow-motion tennis match.

You fell. On the ice, she said. You struck your head. You’re in the hospital. You’ve been in a coma for two weeks.

Am I all right? My voice sounded fuzzy as if not connected to my body.

You are now, said the man in the white coat.

Who are you? I asked.

I’m Doctor Morgan. I want to take a look at you now that you’re awake if you don’t mind.

I nodded, still not sure what was happening.

Doctor Morgan, assisted by a nurse who appeared at his side, took my temperature, checked my blood pressure, asked questions such as, did I know my name, did I know where I lived. By the time they finished, my head had started to clear.

I guess I passed the test, because the doctor told me I was doing fine.

I have to look in on another patient, he said. But I’ll be back later.

As he and the nurse left the room, I turned back to Melody. She was staring out the window. She was crying.

You had us terribly worried, you know, she said softly.

But I’m all right now. I’m out of the coma; right?

It wasn’t only the coma.

Not the coma? What else was it?

Melody must have read my mind. You’d start babbling, she said. Usually only for a few minutes. Once, though, it went on for over an hour. Sometimes you’d hold your hands up over your head. She extended both arms toward the ceiling, palms up. Another time you cried. The doctor said he’d never seen someone cry who was in a coma.

Babbling? What did I say?

No language I ever heard of, girlfriend.

I remembered dreaming. But I didn’t remember what it was about, nor did I remember talking.

You said I slipped on the ice? I touched the back of my head. It didn’t feel any different.

Melody wiped the tears from her cheeks with a tissue. Yes, right in front of that big church. You were on your way to the bookstore. Cas Whitfield was walking a ways behind you, and he saw you start to fall. He said he ran to catch you, but he was too late. When he saw you were unconscious, he called 911.

Cas Whitfield? I said. Who was Cas Whitfield?

Melody lifted her eyebrows in mock surprise. The good-looking guy who lives in the apartment above us? You remember, we met him on the elevator one day, and you told me later how cute you thought he was? And I told you to forget it because you already had a boyfriend.

Bobby! I tried to raise myself up on my elbows but my head began to swim, so I lay back down. Has he been by? Is he okay?

Every day like clockwork. He had to go work today, to get caught up. Somebody needed their Bentley for a big shindig. I told him I’d call if there were any developments. I guess I’d better. Uncle Rich’s been in every day, too.

Rich Underwood wasn’t really my uncle, but he was the closest thing I had to one. He and my parents had been best friends even before I was born. He owned Ancestors, a bar up the street from Leonardos, the bookstore I inherited from my father.

He said he’d come by later, Melody said.

I looked around the room: white, sterile. Yep, I was in a hospital room all right. On one wall hung a snowy scene of the Country Club Plaza where Melody and I live.

That’s like the print I have, I said.

"That is your print, said Melody. I brought it in so you’d have something familiar to see when you woke up."

A bouquet of flowers stood on the nightstand next to my bed.

Those are pretty, I said.

They’re silk. They look real, don’t they? The hospital has a policy about no real flowers: they say they can carry bacteria or something. Sounds crazy to me.

Who are they from?

Melody grinned. They’re from Cas. But when Bobby stopped by the day they were delivered, I told him they were from me.

Good thinking, I said. Bobby had a jealous streak which he had exhibited on more than one occasion.

By the way, I invited Cas down for dinner sometime after you get home—as a way of saying thank you. I told him we’d order in some pizza. He said he’d bring beer.

I frowned. You think that’s a good idea? Having him to dinner?

I knew Bobby would have a fit if he found out.

"Hey, it’s the least we can do to pay him back for saving your life. Besides, if you’re worried about Bobby, I’ll tell him Cas is gay, and he’s my friend."

I laughed. Okay.

Suddenly I felt very tired.

I think I need to rest, I said. Why don’t you go call Bobby, and I’ll take a nap. That way I’ll be awake when he comes.

After Melody left, I thought about Cas. He was cute, as I recalled. And Melody was right—I was already in a relationship; engaged, to be honest about it.

And I knew damn well Cas wasn’t gay!

One dinner—with Melody there, too—and that would be it.

I don’t remember falling asleep. But this time I remembered the dream that followed. At least, at the time I thought it was a dream.

I was in a room filled with women, all wearing gowns—or maybe they were robes. But not just any robes. Many were white, or cream-colored, and elegantly decorated with what appeared to be gold trim. Some wore purple or red or gold sashes, similar to those worn in beauty pageants. I half expected to see Miss Indiana or Miss National Tractor Pull emblazoned across one of them.

A young woman spoke to me. Edna?

Yes? I said.

Edna? Did I just answer to "Edna?" Who the hell was Edna?

You look radiant tonight.

I understood perfectly what she said. At the same time, I realized she wasn’t speaking English which, much to my regret, is the only language I do speak.

Thank you, I replied. And then it struck me: I wasn’t speaking English, either. But I didn’t know what it was.

Are those gold coins? she asked.

I placed my hand to my forehead and touched what felt like metallic objects, round, like coins; a headband of some sort.

Yes, I said hesitantly, not sure what else to say.

You are very fortunate to be marrying James, said the woman. Her eyes sparkled with delight. He is quite wealthy; and so handsome, like his brother!

Yes, I said again. Who the hell was this woman? And who was James? And who was I?

And your gown . . . .

I looked down to see the most gorgeous dress I’d ever set eyes on; satiny white, with gold embroidery everywhere! A gold rope belt encircled my waist and around my neck hung a large, dangly, gold necklace. I brushed my hand over a golden dove wending its way from the hem of the gown to my neck. It felt so rich!

I looked back up to see the young woman still gazing at me with those star-struck eyes, and that’s when it hit me: I was a bride!

My eyes fell to the young woman’s feet. She wore sandals. So did I.

Somehow, though, my feet were different; not as I remembered them. I mean, aside from the fact I wasn’t wearing nail polish, they were . . . different. What more could I say? For one thing, the toe next to the big toe on my right foot has always been a little crooked. This toe was perfectly straight. And where was the toe ring Bobby gave me, the one I wore on the little toe of my left foot?

Girls!

I jumped to see who had spoken so sharply. It was an older woman.

Girls, she said again. The bridegroom comes. Light your lamps.

When I turned back around, my newfound friend had disappeared. Within minutes she reappeared, with a small, lighted, oil lamp in one hand, while in the other she held a cord, at the end of which hung a small vial. All the other women in the room carried the same kinds of lamps and vials.

A knock on the door sent the older woman scurrying to open it. When she did, a dark-complexioned, drop-dead gorgeous man entered, followed by an entourage of other men. Though not unusually tall himself, not six feet, even, he was a good two to three inches taller than the other men, except for one. Like the women, all the men wore robes. The lead man wore a royal blue mantle draped over his shoulder. And each one, with the exception of the one who entered first, had a beard.

His eyes were fixed on me and my face began to flush. He started towards me when—

Olivia?

I opened my eyes to see Melody by my bed. Beside her stood a man whom I recognized immediately: Cas Whitfield!

The doctor said we could wake you, said Melody. Said I should wake you every once in a while, that you shouldn’t sleep too much, because it’s not good when you’ve just come out of a coma. Oh, and this is—

Hi. Cas Whitfield, said the man. He smiled and held out his hand.

Tall—at least six foot two—he looked as though he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ Magazine. I mean, he was a knockout!

I returned the smile. I understand I owe you my life, I said as I accepted his hand. It felt strong and warm.

He laughed. I don’t think I’d go that far. All I did was call 911 when I saw you were unconscious. You were still breathing okay, or I would have given you CPR.

I felt a redness creep up my face from my neck; the second time in the last few minutes if you counted my dream. Somehow the thought of his lips on mine—if only to give me CPR—sent a tingle through my body. Reluctantly, I released his hand.

Nevertheless, thanks, I said. I hear Melody invited you to have dinner with us after I get home. Although calling pizza and beer ‘dinner’ might be somewhat of a stretch.

I love pizza, he said.

You live in the apartment above us?

That’s right. I moved in about a week after you did.

I wondered how he knew when Melody and I moved in if he moved in after we did, but before I could ask he continued to speak.

You liked the flowers? I wanted to bring real ones but—

I know—hospital rules, I said. They’re lovely. Thank you so much.

Uh, Olivia, said Melody. She gestured towards the door with her head.

I turned my head and saw Bobby standing there.

He didn’t look happy.

Chapter 2

Am I interrupting something? He didn’t sound happy, either.

Bobby glared at Melody. I thought you said the flowers were from you.

Bobby, honey! I cried. Come in, come on in! I tried to sound as cheerful and inviting as I could, but underneath I was boiling mad, and my heart was racing, the way it always does when I’m angry. Here was my boyfriend, my fiancé, seeing me for the first time since I’d come out of a two-week coma—and he was upset because this other man gave me flowers?

You all right? he asked, coming over and kissing me on the forehead. He smelled faintly of a combination of machine oil and Bay Rum.

At least he knows I’m here!

I’m fine. Bobby, this is Cas Whitfield. He’s the one who called 911 after I fell.

Cas extended his hand. For a moment Bobby hesitated, then took it.

I guess we owe you a big ‘thank you,’ said Bobby. But his face was like stone, his voice cold and harsh.

Guess? Shit, I could have died on that sidewalk!

I’m just glad I happened to be there, said Cas. Listen, I know you two have some catching up to do, and I have to go. I’m glad you’re feeling better, Miss Hunter.

After Cas left I turned to Bobby.

What the hell was that all about? I asked.

What?

"What? You come in here first thing before you even acknowledge I’m back among the living, you get all bent out of shape?"

What do you mean?

"Am I interrupting something? I thought you gave her the flowers," I mimicked, sarcastically.

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "I was surprised to see another guy here, that’s all. And I thought Melody brought you the flowers. At least, that’s what she told me."

Bobby didn’t like Melody, mainly because she was gay. He hadn’t bothered to hide his disgust when he found out she and I were good friends. And then when he found out we were to be roommates, he freaked out.

She’ll try to get you into bed any way she can! he shouted.

Nonsense, I retorted. Besides, what if she does? Maybe I’ll take her up on the offer.

I said it to piss him off and I’d succeeded. He stormed from the apartment.

Melody didn’t care for Bobby much, either.

I’d be careful if I were you, she told me after the first time she met him.

What do you mean?

I have a pretty good sense of people. He’s no good. He’ll hurt you. Either that or the first time you’re in big trouble he’ll bail out on you so fast you’ll be lucky to see the top of his parachute.

Deep down inside, I realized she was right. Not about him hurting me, but about bailing out.

This little tiff about the flowers was nothing new.

I’d better scoot, too, said Melody. She stood, kissed me on the cheek, and smoothed back my hair. I’ll see you tomorrow.

She didn’t want you to get upset, I said after she closed the door. Which you did. It was a nice gesture on his part, that’s all.

Okay, let’s let it go, then. I’m sorry I was such an ass.

For the next hour, Bobby brought me up to date on what was happening in the world. When he left, I felt better about him. But I was still angry.

Later that day Uncle Rich stopped by.

Older than either of my parents by at least ten years, somewhere in his sixties, he was a lifelong bachelor.

I asked my dad once how they’d met.

One day he was just there, he said. I don’t remember exactly how we met.

Uncle Rich told me once he’d promised my mom and dad if anything ever happened to them he’d look after me. Though I was twenty-eight when my dad died—my mom had passed away four years before—he insisted on keeping his promise. More than once I was surprised to run into him on the street, or at other places and functions. He’d always laugh and tell me he was merely keeping an eye on me.

I’ve never been outgoing and, as a result, don’t have many real friends. The only close one is Melody and, to some extent, Alice, the woman who worked for my father at the bookstore for years before his death and who now works for me. It was reassuring to know someone in the world besides the two of them and Bobby cared for me.

At the same time, something about Uncle Rich’s protectiveness made me a little uncomfortable.

Sweetheart! said Uncle Rich as he swallowed up one of my hands in his which, like the rest of him, was enormous. But, unlike the rest of him, his hands were flabby and soft. I guess you don’t build up calluses from pouring beer.

I got home and found a message on my answering machine from Melody that you woke up, he continued. How you doing?

Everything considered, not too bad. How are you?

He shrugged his shoulders. Oh, okay. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.

Melody tells me you haven’t missed a day coming to see me, I said, gently removing my hand from his.

Tears filled his eyes. I should have looked out for you better, he said.

You can’t be with me all the time.

But it’s my duty. I promised your mom and dad—

Uncle Rich, I’m thirty-two years old. If I can’t take care of myself by now—well, okay, apparently I can’t, I added, remembering where I was.

I’ll try to do a better job in the future, he said.

But not too good a job, I thought.

Melody told me you’d been having dreams while you were out.

I guess so, I replied. "And the strange thing is I had another one today after I’d come out of the coma, while I was asleep."

No kidding! You remember what it was about?

He listened intently as I described the dream. When I mentioned the name Edna his eyebrows arched and he looked surprised.

Does that name mean something to you? I asked.

He shook his head. Um, no. Except in my younger days, I dated a woman named Edna. Haven’t heard the name used since then. So, this dream, he continued. It’s interesting. Any idea what it all means?

Not a clue, I replied.

We talked a little more, and then he got up to leave.

Anything you need? he asked.

A thermos of your famous vodka martinis?

I don’t think so, he said, laughing as he walked out of the room.

Though I felt fine the day I came out of the coma, the doctor kept me in the hospital for another week to run additional tests and to make sure I hadn’t suffered any brain damage. Bobby, Melody, and Uncle Rich made daily visits, and Alice even stopped by twice. But not a sign of Cas. I was more than a little disappointed.

During that time I had two more short dreams.

In one I was a young girl, in my teens, in a courtyard surrounded by other young girls, along with an assortment of animals: sheep and goats and chickens and a donkey. Four posts, cut from small trees, each branching to a Y at the top, supported a thatched roof that extended out about ten feet from a house constructed of bricks. When I say bricks, I don’t mean bricks as we know them: these were made of clay and straw. The other girls and I were washing clothes by hand in the cistern, laughing and having a good old time.

In the second dream I was preparing a meal of boiled fish and lentil soup. Somehow I knew that I would normally have used the oven out in the same courtyard where the cistern was located. But today it was cold and raining, so I was indoors, using the small clay stove my family kept for that purpose. The absence of a chimney resulted in smoke and the smell of food pervaded the house. I stepped outside into the courtyard to get some fresh air. The thatched roof protected me from the rain.

That was all I remembered.

Chapter 3

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 13

God, it’s good to be back home, I said as Melody and I stood holding hands on the balcony of our condo that looked out over Country Club Plaza in Kansas City. It was cold, and as I spoke, little puffs of breath escaped from my mouth, floating off into the air.

Melody only ventured out onto the balcony if I were with her. Even then she insisted we hold hands unless we were sitting. I didn’t discover until we’d moved in she had a deathly fear of heights.

"Why did you let us get this