Hidden Jewel

17

Please Wake Up

Despite being exhausted by the time we all returned home and to bed, I tossed and turned, slipping in and out of nightmares. When I woke, I welcomed the morning sunlight, but I felt as if I had just run a marathon in the middle of the summer. My sheet and blanket were drenched with perspiration, and when I sat up, my legs and my back ached from the twisting and turning I had done in my sleep.

I was the first to rise, wash, and dress. Both Mommy and Daddy looked as if they had been through the same wringer of horrors when they entered the dining room and sat down to breakfast. Mommy had already phoned the hospital and spoken to Pierre's nurse, who told her there was no change.

"At least he's not getting worse," I said, hoping to find a ray of sunshine in all this gloom.

"Yes, but he's not getting better," Mommy replied in a voice that was totally devoid of energy and expression. She ate mechanically, her eyes fixed on nothing. Daddy reached across the table and took her hand. She smiled weakly at him and then turned and chewed and stared. Daddy flashed a sad look at me, and I could tell that he was at his wit's end.

"Jack's coming tomorrow," I announced, deciding that a change of subject might be the best antidote to our depression. Mommy's eyes widened with some interest, and Daddy looked impressed. "Is that all right?"

"He's coming here?" Mommy asked.

"Yes. I invited him to stay."

Mommy looked at Daddy, who shrugged.

"From what I hear, we owe this young man a great deal," Daddy said. "The least we can do is offer him hospitality."

"I don't think I'm up to being a hostess," Mommy said.

"Jack won't expect anything special, Mommy. He's here to be at my side and offer his comfort."

"He sounds like a special young man," Daddy said.

Mommy sighed deeply. I knew there was no room in her heart and mind for anything but sadness right now, but I also knew we had to dwell on hope and find new strength.

While Mommy got ready to return to the hospital, Daddy returned the phone calls of friends and business acquaintances who had been inquiring about Pierre's condition. Afterward we drove to the hospital.

The three of us stood around Pierre's bed gazing down at him in silence. Mommy choked back a sob and sat beside the bed to hold his hand and talk to him softly. She left his bedside only to eat some lunch, and only at Daddy's and my insistence.

There was a great deal of pressure building on Daddy, too. He had business problems and tried to handle them over the telephone, but some things required his presence. I told him it made no sense for all three of us to hover around Pierre's bed. He finally agreed and had a driver pick him up in a limousine to take him to some business meetings. I sat with Mommy and spoke with Pierre's nurse, Mrs. Lochet, a pleasant woman in her late fifties with short, thick gray hair and light blue eyes. Afterward I met Sophie for coffee in the cafeteria. I told her I had informed the hospital I wouldn't be able to return to work.

"My parents need me at home right now," I ex-plained. She was sad about it, but I assured her we would always be friends.

"Maybe when you become a doctor, I can come work for you," she suggested.

"There's no one I'd rather have at my side while I tend to patients," I told her.

When I went back to Pierre's room, I found that Mommy had fallen asleep in her chair. The nurse and I gazed at each other and stepped outside the room to talk so Mommy could sleep.

"Have you ever seen a patient like Pierre improve?" I asked her.

"Well," she said hesitantly, "this is my first case where the patient has gone into a coma from psychological reasons. I have had comatose patients who were injured and who improved. I even had a young man who was shot by a mugger and who went into a deep coma and later improved. You can't give up hope," she added, but I didn't see any optimism in her eyes, and she did shift them away from me quickly.

Dr. LeFevre visited and merely said, "We'll see," when I asked her for an opinion.

Daddy returned to take us to dinner, but Mommy was so tired that we decided it would be better to just go home. Sitting in a chair and talking to Pierre all day didn't require much energy, but it was emotionally draining for my mother. She looked so bad, my heart cried for her. Her eyelids drooped, her lips trembled, her complexion was pallid, and she walked with stooped shoulders.

When we arrived home, Mommy decided to lie down. Her supper would be brought to her room, but she insisted Daddy and I eat in the dining room. We did, but we weren't very talkative. It was as though Pierre's funeral had begun.

"The doctor told me Pierre could go on like this for months and months," Daddy finally said. "I don't see how your mother is going to last. She was convinced her rituals and appeals to various spirits would help. Now that all of this mystical business has failed, she's at the lowest point I've ever seen her. I'm afraid we'll be visiting her in a hospital soon, too."

I tried to sound hopeful, to find the words that would restore faith and hope to him as well as to myself, but my well of optimism had run dry. All I could do was shake my head and mutter, "She'll be all right. Everything will be all right."

Daddy smiled. "You can't let any of this get in your way, Pearl. I know you are not a self-centered person by nature, but I don't want to hear any talk of you postponing your college education," he said firmly. "It's enough you had to quit your job at the hospital."

"But—"

"Pearl, promise me," he insisted. When I didn't respond immediately, he looked as if he might burst into tears, but he raised one arm and added, "We can't lose everything, even our dream for you."

"Okay, Daddy. I promise," I said. My chest ached. I knew if I didn't get up and go upstairs soon, I would sob openly and only make things harder for him. I forced a smile and excused myself.

When I looked in on Mommy, I saw she was asleep. I started for my room, but something drew me to the twins' room instead. I opened the door that had been kept shut tight since Jean's death and Pierre's transfer to the hospital, and I stood there gazing at their toys—Jean's frog and insect specimens on the shelf, his model airplanes and cars, their bookcase filled with adventure stories and books on animals and soldiers. How many times had I looked in and pleaded with the two of them to straighten up their things before Mommy saw the mess?

I smiled, remembering Jean's impish grin and Pierre's serious concern. I recalled them playing checkers, each of them looking into the other's identical face after every move in search of a reaction. Usually, Pierre won, and when Jean did win, I had the feeling Pierre was letting him win.

They were both hoarders, refusing to throw anything away. Their toy chest was filled to the brim, and in their closets were cartons of older toys and books. It was as if they wanted to mark and save every stage of their development, every moment of pleasure, every new discovery. Mommy was always pleading with them to sort out the things they would never use again, but how do you throw away a memory?

What would become of all this now? I wondered. Would Daddy see that it was discarded or given to poor children, or would it be stuffed in some attic corner and left to gather dust and cobwebs?

I stood in the doorway until I realized the tears were streaming down my face so fast and so hard they were dripping off my chin. Then I closed the door softly and went to my room to read myself to sleep.

I did fall asleep with a book in my hands. I never heard Daddy come upstairs, and later, much later, I never heard Mommy sneak out. She didn't go to the cemetery this time, nor did she go to see some voodoo mama. She returned to the hospital and to Pierre's bedside. Later she would tell me she heard his voice; she heard him calling for her in her sleep.

Well after three in the morning, when everything in the world seemed to be slumbering, when even the stars blinked like tired eyes, I woke to the sound of the phone ringing. It rang and rang until someone answered it. When I realized what time it was, my heart thumped with a deep, hard pounding that took my breath away. I held my breath anyway, listening hard for the sounds I feared most—the sound of wailing, the sound of sobbing, the sound of death.

I heard a door open, and then I heard the tap-tap of Daddy's crutches. He came to my door. My reading light was still on, and I was still dressed, my book open on my lap. I sat up slowly. He looked confused, just woken from a deep sleep.

"What is it, Daddy?" I asked in a small voice.

"Your mother got up and left the house without my knowing," he said. "I never heard her. She must have walked on air."

"Where did she go?"

"To the hospital," he said. "She just phoned." I brought my fist to my lips.

"She said Pierre . . . Pierre just spoke to her."

As soon as the words registered, I leaped from my bed and ran to him. We embraced, both of us crying so hard from happiness that neither of us could catch enough breath to tell the other to stop. He was kissing my hair, and I was holding him so tightly I was sure I was crushing his ribs.

Then he started to laugh through his tears, and I smiled and wiped mine away as quickly as they emerged.

"I'll throw something on," he said, "and we'll rush right over. My boy, my boy is coming home," he cried happily.

It was enough to turn even the most skeptical person into a believer. When we arrived at Pierre's room, we found him sitting up and sipping warm tea through a straw. Mommy turned to greet us, her face beaming like some previously dying plant resurrected, blossoming again with those bright and beautiful eyes full of light. Even her cheeks glowed, the richness rushing back into her complexion.

"Hi, Pearl," Pierre said. His voice sounded strained, like the voice of someone who had a bad sore throat, but it was his voice and he was looking at me.

"Hi, Pierre." I hugged him. "How do you feel?"

"I'm tired, but I'm hungry," he said. He threw an angry gaze toward his nurse. "They won't give me anything good to eat until the doctor comes, they said. When is she coming already?"

"Not for a while, Pierre. It's four in the morning," I told him and laughed.

"Four in the morning? I've never been up that late, have I?" he asked, looking from Mommy to me.

"No."

He looked past me and saw Daddy on his crutches in the doorway. Pierre's eyes grew bigger than silver dollars. "Dad, what happened to you?"

"Oh, I slipped and fell down the stairs," Daddy said nonchalantly. He hobbled up to the bed.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not much anymore. Later I'll let you sign your name on my cast."

Pierre smiled. Then, just as quickly as that smile came, it faded. "Jean can't sign it," he said.

"Then you'll sign it for him," I replied quickly, before the tears could come to anyone's eyes.

"Yes," Pierre said, thinking. "I will sign everything 'Pierre and Jean' from now on," he said excitedly.

"Well, people might not understand that, Pierre. When you sign your name, it's enough that you know you're signing for Jean, too, okay?"

He thought a moment and then reluctantly nodded.

But I sensed that from that moment on, everything Pierre did in his life, he would do for his dead brother, too. He would drive himself to do twice as much twice as well. He would try to live two lives. It would take a long time for him to bury Jean. When he did that, Jean would die again for him, and he would suffer the tragedy a second, maybe even harder time.

Pierre couldn't believe how long he had been sleeping. We told him as much about his condition as we could. He was smart enough to understand most of it. I promised him that when he was up to it, I would explain it in more detail. He loved to learn, and it occurred to me that he, perhaps as much as I, had the potential to be a good doctor.

We remained with him until he got tired and closed his eyes again. Mommy was terrified he would slip back into unconsciousness, but the nurse and Dr. LeFevre, who arrived hours earlier than usual, having been told of Pierre's recovery, assured us the worst was over.

"But there is much to do," she added quickly. "He's going to need loads and loads of tender loving care and therapy. It will take time. Don't expect him to put on his running shoes and go off to join other children his age right away," she warned.

"We'll do whatever it takes to help him get well again," Mommy pledged.

Although it was still quite early and none of us had had enough sleep, we were too excited to just go home to sleep. Daddy took us out for breakfast, and we discovered that we were quite hungry. We hadn't done much more than nibble at our food the past day or so.

It was good to see my parents reanimated, talking excitedly about the things they were going to do to prepare for Pierre's homecoming. Mommy thought it might be wise to hire a tutor for him as soon as possible, and Daddy suggested some short sight- seeing trips. I warned them about moving too quickly and advised them to wait to see what the doctor thought before we made any decisions or took any actions.

"Look who's become the wise old lady," Daddy kidded and then reached for Mommy's hand across the table. "And look who's become as giddy as a child."

She smiled at him and they exchanged that magical look I had seen so many, many times before, a look I envied and dreamed of having between me and someone wonderful . . . someone like Jack.

Jack! I thought.

"Daddy, we've got to get home soon. Jack will be arriving."

"Jack?" Mommy said. "Oh, I had forgotten."

"How could you forget Jack?" Daddy teased.

"You stop it right now, Daddy," I warned. The two of them laughed. It was the sweetest music I had heard in a long time.

Just as I feared, when we returned to the house, Jack was already there.

"You have a guest in the sitting room, mademoiselle," Aubrey told me. I thanked him and hurried down the corridor.

Jack looked lost and unsure of himself seated on the velvet settee in our grand sitting room. He wore jeans, boots, and a cotton plaid shirt, but his dark hair was brushed neatly, not a strand out of place.

"Jack!" I cried, rushing to him. He almost didn't get to his feet before I embraced him. I kissed him and held him for a moment.

"Whoa," he said.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you arrived," I said, laughing. "But we had the most wonderful news this morning. Pierre came out of his coma. We've been at the hospital since very early this morning."

"That's fantastic." He looked up as Daddy came to the doorway on his crutches. "Bonjour, monsieur," he said.

"Bonjour." Daddy came in as quickly as he could and extended his hand. "I want to formally thank you for all you have done for my daughter and for my wife," he said. "I am in your debt."

"Oh, no, monsieur," Jack said gazing at me. "I am in yours for having such a wonderful daughter."

Daddy raised his eyebrows and turned a small smile at me. Blushing, I turned and saw Mommy in the doorway.

"Bonjour, Madame Andreas. I am glad to hear the good news," Jack said.

"Thank you." She came in to greet him. "If we don't behave like proper hosts, please forgive us. We're so full of mixed emotions. It's exhausting."

"Oh, please, madame. Don't think twice about my being here, and if I am in the way, even slightly, I will be gone before you can blink your eye, hear?" he said with his Cajun intonation.

Mommy seemed to drink in his accent, and I suspected that memories of her Cajun life were rushing over her. "I doubt my daughter will permit you to get away that soon," she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Now I did blush, and so did Jack.

"Are you hungry, Jack? I'll have something fixed for you," Daddy said.

"No, thank you. I ate just before I arrived, monsieur."

"Well," Daddy said. "I guess I had better see to my business concerns so someone can pay the mortgage around here," he jested.

"I'm going to show Jack around New Orleans," I said.

"Good idea," Daddy said. "Why don't we take him to one of our finer restaurants for dinner tonight, make a reservation."

"Please, monsieur, don't plan anything special for me," Jack said.

"What are you talking about?" Daddy asked. "This is New Orleans. Everything we do for everyone is always special," he said. He turned to me. "Run him by your mother's current exhibit in the French Quarter," he suggested.

"Oh, Beau, there are many more interesting things for her to show him," Mommy said.

"I'd really like to see the exhibit," Jack said.

"Very diplomatic, monsieur," Daddy said. He gazed at me again. "You'll see that Jack is settled in the guest room?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Bien. Have a good time," he said, and then he and Mommy left us.

After we put Jack's things in the guest room, I took him to my room. He stood by the window and gazed out at the gardens, the pool, and the tennis court, watching the grounds people clear away fallen palm fronds and manicure our hedges and flowers.

"You're right," he said. "This isn't what I think of as city life. You have a beautiful home, Pearl. And your room and your closets . . . practically as big as my whole trailer. You've grown up in a magical place, a castle," he said with a sad note in his voice.

I knew what he was thinking and what was happening. He was becoming overwhelmed with our wealth and feeling inadequate. He was sorry he had come.

I went up to his side and threaded my arm through his as he gazed down at the grounds.

"None of this means anything if you can't share it with the right person, Jack. I know a great many sad rich people who would trade most of what they have just to have a sincere, loving relationship."

"You say that now, little princess, but I wonder what you would say after you'd lived without servants and fine foods and cars and clothes."

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, and I spun him around to face me.

"I'll tell you what I would say, Jack Clovis. I would say I love you, and all the servants in the world and all the fine clothes and cars couldn't compensate if I lost that love. I'd say that there's nothing more beautiful than a sunset when I'm in the arms of someone I love and nothing more precious than waking up in those arms, whether I'm sleeping in a trailer in the bayou or in a mansion in New Orleans.

"Being rich doesn't make falling in love impossible. I'm not sorry my parents have done well, but falling in love with someone who really is in love with you—that's really being rich, Jack. Maybe that sounds like a schoolgirl's fantasy, and maybe you're right that most people would regret losing their pleasures and comforts, but I'm not most people.

"Don't you forget I'm part Cajun, too, and my blood can be traced back to those swamps you cherish."

Jack's face broke into a wide smile. "You're not kidding about your Cajun heritage," he said. "I remember I said I didn't want to risk your wrath. That was a smart piece of advice I gave myself. I should have listened."

I softened. "Just see me for who I am and not for what my family owns," I pleaded.

"Okay. I'm sorry," he said. "That's the last time I'll make a big deal of this overgrown shack."

I laughed and hugged him. "Let's go. There's nothing like showing someone else your hometown," I told him and hurried him out and down the stairs.

I took him on a whirlwind tour. First I drove him past Loyola and Tulane. We stopped at the Audubon park and zoo, and then he said he wanted to ride a streetcar. I drove back to the house, and we walked up to the stop and took the streetcar to Canal Street. We crossed into the French Quarter and had po'boy sandwiches at a sidewalk café near the river where there was something of a breeze. For a while we just watched the steamboats and barges going up and down the Mississippi and listened to the street music performed by guitarists and harmonica players, and trumpeters.

"It's nicer here than I expected," Jack offered, but there was still some hesitation in his voice.

"What is it you miss the most, Jack?" I asked. We were holding hands, but he suddenly seemed hundreds of miles away.

"The stillness, I guess. Nature, the animals, even the dangerous ones. And your well," he added. "They're drilling for a different kind of oil in these streets, hawking from the storefronts, pushing their wares." He shrugged. "I guess you gotta be what you are . . . but it really is pretty here," he added.

I thought about what he'd said and wondered if the gap between us was too wide. We lived only hours away from each other, but the way we were brought up had become part of us and had given us a different view of the sunrise and the sunset. How strong was love? Could it bridge the gap and show us how to really know each other?

We did have a wonderful day together, though. Late in the afternoon, after we visited Mommy's new exhibit, we had coffee and beignets at the Café du Monde. Jack smiled and said Bart was right: their baker, back in the bayou, was right up to par. His loyalty made me laugh, but it made me a little sad, too.

Before dinner we all visited Pierre again. He was more animated, and he liked Jack, especially when Jack promised to show him how an oil well brought the oil up from the depths of the earth.

"Can we go up there as soon as I get out of the hospital, Pearl?" he asked me excitedly.

"Not as soon as you get out, Pierre. You have to get strong and healthy first. Then we'll go," I said flashing a look at Mommy.

"We'll all go there. I promise," she said, smiling at me, and I had the feeling she had killed all the demons that had kept her from visiting her past. We would go back often.

Jack was concerned that he didn't have the proper clothing for the restaurant Daddy had chosen. He mumbled about it, but Daddy overheard and told him not to worry. He considered him, nodded, and suggested Jack try one of his older sport jackets.

"I bought this a while ago, when I had a trimmer figure," he explained. The jacket fit Jack well. Daddy loaned him a tie, too. Jack was reluctant to take the clothing, but did so at Daddy's insistence.

Our dinner was spectacular. Daddy went overboard to impress Jack and to celebrate. After our rich desserts, Jack leaned over and whispered, "I bet the bill for this dinner is as much as I make a week." He laughed, but once again I felt the gap between us.

Mommy and Daddy drank a little too much wine. They were both giddy and pleasantly tired by the time we arrived home. Jack and I went out to the patio and pool, and they went upstairs to fall asleep in each other's arms.

It was a particularly starry night, no moon but a myriad of twinkling lights.

"Most of those stars are bigger than our own sun. But when you're far away, bigger things look small. Then, when you get closer, you see how small you are," he said. I knew what he was saying.

"No matter how far away I am from you, Jack, you will never seem small to me."

He laughed. "I only went to high school. My daddy taught me all I had to know about being an oil rigger. The fanciest party I've been to is a wedding, and I bet the whole affair didn't cost as much as tonight's dinner in that restaurant. And you're going to be a doctor."

"Don't make me regret it," I replied quickly.

"Why would I do that? I think it's terrific. You know what you are," he said, suddenly turning to me. He gazed up at the stars and then at me. "You were named Pearl, but you're really a diamond—a diamond in the rough. They're going to polish you and make you dazzle just like those stars."

Before I could speak, he raised my hand to his lips and then he leaned over to kiss me.

"Thanks for a great day," he said. "I guess I better go to bed. I've got to get up early and drive back."

"You're staying only one day!" I cried. He nodded. "But . . . can't you stay one more?"

"You've got a lot to do here, Pearl. Your family needs you. You can't be spending your time entertaining me, and I do have to get back."

"But your visit's too short. I don't know when I'll be able to get up to Cypress Woods. Pierre won't be home for a few more days and—"

"I'm sure you'll come when you can. I'll call you, and you can call me." He stood up. Reluctantly I did so, too. We held hands and walked back into the house. The lights had been turned low. Without speaking, we ascended the stairway and stopped at Jack's room.

"Is there anything you need?" I asked.

"No. be fine. Thanks again for a great day," he said and kissed me. Then he went into his room and closed the door. I looked down the hallway toward Mommy and Daddy's closed door. They were probably asleep in each other's arms by now. I sighed and went to my own bedroom. After I changed into my nightgown, I slipped under the cool sheet and stared at the ceiling.

Had Mommy been right? Had my great love affair been stimulated only by my vulnerability and emotional strain when I was in the bayou? I felt the cold tears filling my eyes and turned over to bury my face in the pillow.

Then I thought about the night Jack and I had spent together in the old Cajun mansion, how passionate and loving we were with each other. I remembered how wonderful and happy I felt when he found me in the swamp and how loving and tender he was afterward.

I couldn't bear the ache in my heart. Telling myself I wouldn't stand for it, I decided to get up and go to Jack. Quietly I walked across the corridor to his room and opened the door. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. I could see his eyes were open.

"Jack," I whispered.

"Hey, what's up?"

I rushed to him and threw my arms around him. We held each other quietly for a long moment.

"I don't want us to lose each other," I said through my tears.

He smiled. "Maybe we won't," he said.

We kissed. "We won't," I said determinedly.

"I want to believe that, too, but I'm not smart enough to see past tomorrow, Pearl. Let's wait on the promises so we don't hurt each other, hear?"

"I won't ever hurt you, Jack."

"That's a promise," he warned.

"I'm not afraid."

"Well, I am. I can't help it. Even when we drill in a known oil field, we got no guarantee until that bit hits that vein. We aren't deep enough into each other's lives yet, Pearl," he said wisely.

"Just hold me, Jack. Hold me and dream of only good things. Soon enough my life's going to be filled enough with facts and statistics, piles of details and piles of data and objective proof. I want some dreams, some fantasies, too."

"Sure," he said.

He held me and kissed me, and I fell asleep for a while. Before morning I returned to my own room, calmer, more contented.

Daddy and Mommy were surprised to hear Jack was leaving. At breakfast, he explained that he had planned only to be away from his job for only one day. Daddy made him promise he would come back soon.

Jack returned the sport jacket and tie to Daddy, thanking him, but Daddy asked him to keep the coat.

"I doubt that I'll get back to that size and you just might be going to more formal affairs in the future."

"But, monsieur—"

"Please," Daddy insisted. "It's nothing compared to what you've done for me." Reluctantly, Jack took the jacket.

Before Mommy and I returned to the hospital to visit with Pierre, I said good-bye to Jack in front of the house.

"I forgot to give you back your clothes," I reminded him.

"Can't trust you city folk."

I laughed.

It was a very sunny morning without the usual haze. Everything looked brighter, cleaner, and the air was filled with the scent of flowers and bamboo. We could hear the city coming to life, the streetcar rattling, cars honking horns, someone shouting down the street, and lawn mowers and blowers being started.

"I'll see you before I start college, won't I?"

"Absolutely," he said. "Besides, you should visit your well more often, get to know her. And bring Pierre."

"I will."

We kissed.

"Safe trip," I said putting my finger on his beautiful lips and drinking in the softness in his eyes. "I'll miss you."

"Me too." He got into his truck. "I hope I don't get lost in these city streets," he complained.

"A man who can find his way around those swamp canals shouldn't have any trouble navigating the streets of New Orleans," I said.

Jack laughed. Then he put on a serious expression and gazed at me.

"I don't know if I have a right to love you, but I sure think I do," he said.

"You have more than a right, Jack Clovis. You have an obligation. You better love me."

He flashed that wonderful smile, the smile that would have to last me for some time, and then drove away.

I started to cry, but then drew back my tears and took a deep breath. I had to be strong for Mommy and Daddy. We had a long road ahead with many steep hills to climb and many sharp turns.

Two days later we brought Pierre home from the hospital. He was shaky, but he wanted to walk. I held his hand and guided him. He wanted to go out to the gardens. I knew why. He wanted to look at the tree house he and Jean and Daddy had built long ago. The doctors thought he should get as much air as he could. They said it would make him tired, at least for the first week or so. It did. He fell asleep in his chair after lunch, and I carried him up to his room.

But he was outside every morning. I spent a great deal of time with him, reading to him, playing board games, answering his questions about his illness. He went to therapy once a week and had a good checkup from Dr. Lasky, who was impressed with Pierre's physical recuperation. "The mind is far more powerful than we can imagine," he told Mommy. She was the one person in the world he didn't have to tell.