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  "What will I do without Susie?" Lilly called her mother "Susie" because they met when Lilly was four, and she thought Susie was Emalene's friend. When Lilly was almost six, Emma became very sick and had brain damage from her disease, causing severe dementia. She no longer recognized Lilly, Susie, or Joe, who went off the deep end and gave custody of Lilly to Susie, but he remained in Lilly's life. Susie married a plastic surgeon named Josh Ryan who died in a helicopter crash six years later. His death was almost the end of Susie. If she hadn't had Lilly, I don't think my sister would have survived.

  Two years after Josh's death, Susie heard from Rodney. They got together in New York and discovered they were still in love. That's when Susie finally fessed up about Lilly. She told Rodney first, then she was free to tell everyone else. Of course, she had already told Marianne and me, but we had kept that info among us three sisters.

  We all adore Lilly. She's an amazing teenager who has been through a lot: the loss of Josh, her mom's dementia, her parents' divorce. Losing Susie would be catastrophic for her—for all of us. Susie's the rock of our sisterhood, of which I tend to include Lilly, since she's only ten years my junior.

  Lilly couldn't be consoled at the hospital. I asked someone at the nurses’ station where they'd taken Susie, and the nurse said, "She's in the trauma room with Dr. Cappell." I asked about Rodney, and the nurse said he was not a patient at Jean Ville Hospital; that they might have taken him to Alexandria if his injuries were serious.

  I held Lilly and assured her that I would take care of her if anything happened to her mother, but in my mind, I wondered how I would handle a sixteen-year-old?

  Give me a break.

  I'm single, no real job, no real home. Susie built a garage apartment for me at the house she bought on Gravier Road in Jean Ville where she and Lilly stay when they come for visits. Susie refused to spend even one night in our family home with our dad, where I lived until Susie built my apartment.

  I guess I still harbor some resentment towards Susie for leaving me when I was only eight. She rarely came home for visits in all the years she went to college and grad school in New York. I was stuck with four brothers and parents who hated each other.

  I'm number five of the six Burton kids, and spoiled rotten by my dad. It's funny, Susie and I have completely different relationships with him. Daddy acts as though he hates her, but he dotes on me. As for Marianne, Daddy has never recognized her as his child and ignores her altogether.

  I teach piano and voice lessons to kids whose parents can afford such luxuries. My income pays for gas in the Camaro my dad bought me, as well as cosmetics, and wine. That's all I really need. I don't have to pay rent and I have my dad's credit card for food, clothing, and other essentials.

  *

  Marianne came out of one of the cubicles and saw Lilly and me standing in a corner wrapped in each other’s arms. She said that the doctor had stitched Susie's head and inserted a drain.

  "He's concerned about fluid buildup." Marianne washed her hands in the sink that hung on the wall outside the trauma room. "It's a nasty gash. Looks like her head split open when she hit the pavement."

  "Was she shot?" I squeezed Lilly's shoulder. Her eyes were as big as watermelons.

  "We didn't find a gunshot wound. She has a sprained wrist and a gash on her ankle that took a few stitches, but it's the head wound that's concerning." Marianne whispered in my ear, "It's serious," then walked towards the nurses’ station.

  "What about Rodney?" Lilly followed closely behind Marianne and I was hot on their tails.

  Marianne called central dispatch, who patched her by radio to the ambulance transporting Rodney. The driver told her they had just gotten to Alexandria Regional Hospital, but Dr. Switzer mentioned they might have to airlift Rodney to New Orleans.

  Mari took us to a small conference room where Lilly sat down and finally ran out of hysteria. Mari said she didn't want to lie to Lilly; there were so many things that could happen with a head injury and that she wasn't sure, herself, whether Susie would make it. As for Rodney…?

  We were in the conference room when Rodney's parents found us. Mari hugged her aunt and uncle and told them Rod was probably in Alexandria. My mother came into the conference room with her boyfriend and hugged me, then Lilly, but ignored Mr. Ray and Mrs. Bessie. Whew.

  Mama asked about Susie, and Marianne said she would go to ICU to see how she was holding up. Mrs. Thibault had her arms around Lilly, and Mr. Thibault stood behind the two chairs with his hands on Lilly's shoulders. He was pale, which says a lot about Ray Thibault. Both his grandfathers were white, so his skin tone is not really brown; it's more the color of walnuts, like Rodney's.

  I left the conference room with Marianne and waded through the antiseptic smell and eerily quiet activity of nurses coming and going without speaking. A glass door led into the ICU where a nurse with a name tag that read, "Martha Chenevert, RN" sat behind a desk watching monitors. Their constant beeping and pulsing gave me hope that Susie's condition was stable for now. Mari slid open the glass door between the room with the monitors and Susie's room. There was a window above the monitors through which I watched Marianne feel Susie's pulse and place a stethoscope on her chest. Mari bent forward and placed her mouth beside Susie's ear, and it appeared Marianne whispered to Susie, but I saw no reaction from my white sister, who looked like sleeping beauty, her long reddish hair spread out, her left ear pressed against a pillow.

  When we walked out of ICU, I ran into Daddy, who seemed lost.

  "How is she?" He actually seemed concerned, which surprised me since his relationship with Susie was tenuous, at best.

  "She's alive, but not out of the woods." I hugged him and took his hand to lead him to the conference room where our family and Rodney's had gathered. When I opened the door and he saw my mother and Rodney's parents, he turned and marched back down the hall and, I guess, out of the hospital.

  *

  It was a long night. Lilly insisted on staying at the hospital, so Marianne found a gurney and placed it in the little conference room, and I tried to doze off and on in a chair. The Thibaults went home to wait until we discovered where Rodney had been taken. When Marianne called them at midnight to say he was in New Orleans, they agreed to drive the four hours to Ochsner Medical Center in the morning.

  Mama peeked in on Susie once, then said she was going to her hotel in Alexandria, would I call her with any news? "Of course," I said, but she didn't seem overly concerned.

  Warren showed up, and I sent him home. Suddenly I couldn't look at him without thinking about some of the things I'd witnessed with him and his friends off-and-on over the past ten years. I wondered whether the shooting had shaken me up so that those actions I'd been able to justify in the past, now seemed to bother me, even eat at me; especially when I saw Warren or heard his voice.

  After he left, I went to a payphone outside the emergency room and called my dad.

  "She's still hanging on," I said when he answered.

  "Is your mother there?"

  "No, she's gone for now." We hung up, and about fifteen minutes later, Daddy appeared in the conference room. He hugged me and sat in the other chair, but we didn't speak. I wasn't sure whether he was there to keep me company or to be close to Susie in case things took a turn. As hard as he was on Susie, I knew he must love her. After all, she was his daughter. Daddy left about midnight, and I drifted off to sleep.

  Marianne and I took turns going to check on Susie during the early morning hours. Although we never said the words to each other, Mari and I were worried Susie would die during the night, and we didn't want her to be alone. She was unconscious, but she fluttered her eyelashes a couple of times when I talked directly into her ear.

  Dr. Switzer came in at about six o'clock on Sunday morning and said that Rodney was still hanging on. The surgeons in New Orleans had removed the bullet from his head but weren't sure how much brain damage there was. Rodney's arm was torn up pretty
badly by the second bullet that went all the way through his arm and re-entered his back, under his shoulder blade.

  "Thank God it didn't reach his lung," Dr. Switzer told us. "They got that bullet out, too, but he has a long road ahead, if he makes it." Lilly cried, and Marianne asked Dr. Switzer a bunch of medical questions I didn't understand.

  I thought about the strong friendship Rodney and I had formed since he and Susie decided to get married. I hadn't known him all the years before, but he had become an important part of my life over the past year. He had questioned me about Warren.

  "You can do better, Sissy." Rodney was direct but kind. He looked me in the eye when he spoke to me, as though I were his equal. "You are smart and talented, and he's… well, he's a zero."

  "I know, Rod. I guess it's just habit."

  "Habits can be hard to break, but think about it. He's bad news. His friends are really bad guys. They've done things that would put them in jail if they lived anywhere but Jean Ville." Rodney shook his head, and I knew he meant that discrimination was still prevalent in our little town and parish in South Louisiana. I knew some of the things Warren and his friends did to black guys.

  It's funny how I stopped seeing race once Lilly, Marianne, and Rodney came into my life.

  I thought a lot about what Rodney had said to me as I waited in the hospital that entire weekend. My disgust for Warren grew, and I began to have flashbacks about some of the things I'd witnessed. I felt embarrassed and disgusted with myself for being a part of those horrible actions, even if I didn't participate.

  *

  Dr. Switzer went into Susie's room, checked her vitals, read the monitors, and spoke with the nurses.

  "It depends on whether there's brain damage." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "It's possible there is only tissue swelling, but I'm concerned that she's still unconscious. The sooner she comes out of this coma, the better her chances of survival without long-term problems."

  Dr. David Switzer was a kind, gentle man who had delivered all six of us Burton kids. He lived across the street from our antebellum home on South Jefferson Street and had doctored Susie when she had "accidents," which he later discovered were beatings by our dad. Susie and Daddy had sort of patched things up over the past ten years, but neither of us had expected him at the wedding.

  And Daddy was a sick man—liver disease from drinking; plus he could be as mean as a rabid wolf.

  *

  Lilly, Marianne, and I slept in shifts in the conference room and checked on Susie throughout the weekend. She remained in a coma, and Dr. Switzer said that wasn't a good sign.

  We three girls were in the cafeteria having sandwiches for lunch on Monday when one of the nurses came running over to our table.

  "She's awake." Martha Chenevert said. "She's asking for someone named Rod." All three of our chairs scraped the linoleum floor, and mine almost fell over backwards as we pushed away from the table and pace-walked towards ICU as though escaping a burning house.

  "You and Lilly stay in the hall." Marianne stopped us just before we got to the ICU door. "Let me examine her first." Lilly wanted to go in, but I held onto her in the monitor room where we could see Susie in her bed through the glass above the screens. A nurse had a stethoscope on Susie's chest.

  Marianne walked into the room, and it was obvious that Susie recognized her.

  "Thank you, Rebecca. I'll take it from here." Marianne went to Susie's bedside, and the nurse left the room. Susie's eyes were opened and followed Mari.

  "You're awake. That's good. How are you feeling?" Marianne shined a penlight in Susie's eyes. Susie stared at Mari, her glare wide and questioning, but her lips didn't move. "Can you talk?" A frightened look crossed Susie's face. Her lips parted as though she were about to say something, then she pressed them together and closed her eyes.

  "It's okay. It might be a while before your brain can tell your mouth how to get words out," Marianne spoke softly while she examined Susie, bending her arms one at a time at the elbow and running a silver instrument on the bottoms of Susie's feet. "You're worried about Rodney, right?"

  Susie opened and closed her eyes rapidly. "He's hanging in there," Marianne whispered and continued to examine Susie. "They took him to New Orleans. He needed surgery that we don't perform here. His parents are with him."

  Susie blinked again.

  "Lilly? She's right through that window with Sissy. Worried about you, but she's fine." Marianne sat in the chair next to the bed. "I'd like to call Dr. Cappell and let him check you out before Lilly and Sissy come in." Mari looked through the glass and nodded at the two nurses who sat behind the monitors. One of them picked up the telephone and paged Dr. Cappell. Susie moved her hand over the bed as though she wanted to reach Marianne.

  "I know, sweetie." Marianne stood up and bent over Susie. "You have lots of questions. Let's take this a little at a time. Right now all you need to know is that you will be okay, Rodney is still alive, and Lilly is right through that window with Sissy."

  Dr. Cappell barreled into the room. He filled the space with his large frame, wild hair that stuck up as though he'd been electrocuted. He had dark, recessed Jewish eyes that were concerned and professional at the same time. Marianne moved aside so he could get close to Susie.

  After he examined her and tried to get her to talk he motioned to Marianne to follow him into the nurses’ station where Lilly and I stood waiting impatiently.

  "I think she's out of the woods." His voice was deep and easy with a northern accent. "It's not unusual that she can't form words, yet. There's still a lot of swelling, but the fact that she is awake is a good sign. It means that the inflammation is receding."

  "Can Lilly and Sissy see her?" Marianne put her arm around Lilly's shoulder. We were crammed into the small chamber between the hall and Susie's room with the two nurses.

  "Yes. But only for short periods." He glanced at Lilly, then at me, directing his words to both of us. "Susie needs rest, and any stress could cause a setback." He patted Mari on the shoulder and went back into Susie's room. Lilly, Marianne, and I followed him. Mari caught Lilly by her arm as she walked through the doorway.

  "Be calm around her, Lilly," Marianne whispered. "Talk softly. Don't cry. No excitement, just love. You got that?"

  "Yes." Lilly looked at Mari, then at me, her big, almond-shaped green eyes glazed with tears. Marianne stood next to Dr. Cappell on one side of Susie's bed. Lilly stood on the other side but couldn't see Susie's face because she was turned on her side, facing Mari and the doctor. I stood at the foot of the bed with a feeling of utter horror. Susie looked awful and smelled worse. Her hair was matted with blood and vomit. She was pale as a ghost, and her hand shook like she had Parkinson's when she tried to lift it.

  "Whew. You need a bath." I couldn't hold it back. Susie looked at me standing at the foot of her bed and tried to laugh. She was happy to see us and attempted to look over her shoulder at Lilly, who bent over and kissed Susie on the cheek. Two tears crept out of the corner of Susie's eye and dripped down the side of her nose. Silent tears ran down Lilly's face, but Susie couldn't see that.

  "It's okay. Don't try to talk." Marianne put a straw to Susie's lips and told her to take a couple of small sips of water, which she did. "Just blink if you hear me."

  Susie blinked once.

  "That's good. Now blink twice if you know who I am." Mari squeezed Susie's hand.

  She blinked twice and shifted her eyes towards Lilly, who leaned over Susie from the other side of my bed, her tears dripping on Susie's cheek.

  "Do you know Lilly?" Marianne motioned towards Lilly, who walked around the bed and stood next to Mari and Dr. Cappell.

  Susie blinked twice.

  "This is Doctor Cappell. He stitched you up." Marianne motioned across Lilly to the doctor. Susie shifted her eyes towards him.

  "You have a pretty nasty gash in the back of your head, Mrs. Thibault." His use of Su
sie's new name jarred all of us. "I placed a small drain in the wound in case there is fluid buildup, so you'll have to remain on your side."

  The drain he inserted was a good move. Blood and yellow fluid filled the tube, and Dr. Cappell called the lab and instructed them to examine the contents to determine what was in the fluid.

  "Head traumas are scary," Dr. Cappell said the next time he came into Susie's room. He pointed a light in one of her eyes, then the other. "You don't know if the injured brain is bruised, swollen, or fluid-filled, so we need to watch you closely over the next seventy-two hours."

  Susie dozed off and on. There was a constant beeping and the whishing of air, plus a sort of buzzing sound that came from a vent in the ceiling.

  Marianne had a stethoscope around her neck and looked beautiful, as always. Her thick mahogany-colored hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, tendrils popped out around her face, her huge, round eyes glinted their greenish cast and amber glow. None of us look alike. Susie has red hair, alabaster skin, and eyes the color of a bluish-grey sky after a rain. She's tall and slim like Marianne, and carries herself like a model. I am only five feet two inches, and that's stretching it. I have dirty blonde hair that I highlight—well, I don't do it—I use Daddy's credit card and go to a hairdresser in Alexandria every month. My eyes are the color of artichokes, and my skin tone leans towards olive.

  Even though we look different, and I'm nine years younger than Mari and Susie, we share similarities that point to our shared genetics. And we love each other unconditionally.

  *

  I was only four years old when Susie and Mari met. They were twelve, almost thirteen. That was the summer Marianne's grandfather, Catfish, retired from his job at the slaughterhouse and stopped walking in front of our house on South Jefferson Street where he and Susie would have long conversations. Susie started sneaking off to the Quarters to see him, and he told her stories about his granddad and dad, and some of the folks who had been slaves, then sharecroppers at Shadowland Plantation.