Waking Up Joy Page 5

  Yep, I’m awake.

  A shallow breath caught in my throat and for a second, I worried I was going back to sleep. I gulped air just as Jimmy dropped the mic to his side, then a few seconds later to the floor. The mic rolled to the edge of the stage where Dawson ran to pick it up. The ornery child spoke into the mic, “Thank you, thank you, very much,” and started to sing, but Carey ran to stop him. As all this was happening, my Momma’s friend, the poor elderly Reverend Wilson, stood frozen at the side of the stage looking first at Jimmy and then at me with his mouth hanging open. Did the reverend, a man of the cloth, see something moving between me and Jimmy? Did he remember my broken-hearted teenage drama and put two and two together?

  Behind Reverend Wilson and Jimmy, there was a mass of daffodils that I briefly wondered over, curious as to how so many of the early flowers could be found in late May. They were forced in a greenhouse, I supposed, remembering the few that still dotted the grass at the Talley farmhouse, where I’d only just picked one for Momma the morning before she died. I felt gratitude.

  You did good, sisters.

  Beyond the daffodils, the favorite flower that I shared with Momma, I could see her profile propped on a satin pillow inside the open casket, but my tears for her were mingled with the puzzling emotion I felt about Jimmy. How could he come out of the blue to visit me when I was in a coma?

  Maybe you do judge me, Jimmy. And maybe that’s easier for you when I can’t talk back.

  His dark eyes locked on me, wide and searching, and the shock of waking up to his beautiful face weakened my resolve to be mad at him for his years of ignoring me. I felt my knees go weak and was glad to already be sitting down, even if it was in that stupid wheel chair. I tried to conjure the storm again, but couldn’t bring myself to hate this man with the silver in his sideburns and the smallest paunch of a belly on his otherwise perfect body.

  Oh heavens to Betsy. Why do I always think like this in church?

  Each line of crow’s feet splaying from the corners of his dark eyes and across tanned, weathered cheeks seemed a record of his own sorrow. The storm in my heart broke up into just a few little dark clouds.

  “I remember,” he’d said to me in the hospital when he thought I was asleep. His lips had grazed mine, but what had that meant?

  People were coughing uncomfortably, whispering about how Jimmy, still standing motionless on the stage had dropped his mic, and about how the Talleys couldn’t control their children at their own mother’s funeral. With all the havoc, nobody except little Hannah, Reverend Wilson, and Jimmy noticed my eyes open. Jimmy’s face didn’t change and he didn’t say anything, but our eyes locked.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but my throat was prickly and dry. I tried to swallow and heard my stomach gurgle. Maybe I was hungry. I wanted to say this to Clara, but I couldn’t pry my sleepy eyes away from Jimmy. I wanted to be angry at him, to tell him, to say I didn’t care anymore, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

  Doubt shadowed Jimmy’s face, but after a few seconds, he replaced it with a look of resolve. His right hand slowly formed a fist and he brought it up to his chest where he tapped once and then twice before tearing his eyes away from mine and walking off the stage.

  I recognized the sign, but what did he mean at that moment? Had anybody else noticed?

  Flustered, Reverend Wilson hustled to the front of the stage and tried to get the crowd under control. By then, people had started to notice my open eyes. Strangely, I kept tasting lemon drops, even though my mouth was dry.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” Reverend Wilson proclaimed. “I believe we’ve witnessed a miracle in our church today.”

  A ripple spread through the crowd.

  “Joy is awake!” he declared. And after that, the phrase, “Joy is awake!” was repeated through the church, like it was a declaration at the end of a deep and very long sermon.

  Doc had the wheelchair in mid-turn just as I stretched my fingers out, reaching my lazy arms as wide as I could.

  Stop.

  I swallowed. “St-op.” Only a whisper. I took a deep breath and said as loudly as I could. “ST-OP.”

  Doc quit pushing. I leaned forward and sort of rocked myself, until I thought I would be able to stand.

  “Joy, no.” It was Doc rushing around the chair to stop me, but he noticed the unbuckled belts too late. I felt my body flying through the air and then hit the floor with a thump that almost took my breath away. Thankfully, I hadn’t thrown up on myself and it seemed the catheter stayed in place. Still, things inside of my body were starting to churn. My stomach gurgled.

  Oh great.

  I lay with one side of my face pressed against the floor, drool pooling around my mouth onto the carpet that I knew hadn’t been shampooed in six months.

  What a way to wake up and show people I’m perfectly sane.

  Gasps spread through the room and a few screams from those who were just now realizing I was waking up. There were hallelujahs all around and I swear somebody started speaking in tongues, even though we were Baptists.

  As the worried faces and voices of my brothers and sisters filled the space around me, I tried to laugh.

  How odd.

  Leave it to me to end up looking like the craziest Talley of us all. A guttural sound slipped from my throat and I tried coughing.

  Doc spoke to Clara, his voice urgent. “She’s choking.”

  I couldn’t breathe. I was terrified to think that after so much work trying to wake up, I’d die from choking. The frantic movements of Doc and Clara were all around me.

  “Joy.”

  Doc was over me, hands on each side of my face. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t speak.

  “Joy.”

  Lemon drops.

  He reached inside my mouth and with one hooked finger pulled out a lemon drop that we later learned little Dawson had kindly put in my mouth. I had gone without breath too long it seemed, because my eyes and throat closed again.

  “—not breathing.”

  Lemon drops.

  Lemon drops were in my mouth again and for a minute I thought I must be falling back into some dream because I’d felt Doc pull the lemon drop out of my mouth.

  As a full breath found its way inside my lungs, the fragrance of lemon drops danced into my nose. And that’s when I realized, with some embarrassment, Doc’s lips were sealed over mine. It wasn’t the most romantic way of getting to know him, but it was interesting. I opened my eyes just as he was blowing another breath in. As he pulled away to look at my face, I took several breaths on my own and gave him a small smile.

  My voice was scratchy, but I wanted to greet this man who’d saved my life, made me believe I could wake up, and then saved it again. It was more than I could say for Jimmy, who I now refused to look at.

  Your eyes are amber, Doc.

  “Joy, you’re awake.” He was out of breath and peering into my eyes, as any doctor would, but I must say, I wasn’t unhappy to find his eyes were really as striking as I’d thought back in the hospital.

  “I’m Doc.”

  I smiled wider. “I know.”

  He looked surprised for a fraction of a second and then leaned in close and whispered. “Welcome back, Joy Talley. I had a feeling you were in there.” He smiled, as if we shared a secret the others wouldn’t understand, and in some ways, we did. Then, a friendly face of an older woman with tight brown curls leaned in.

  “Hello, Joy.”

  My voice croaked. “Clara.”

  A memory settled over me as softly as one of my momma’s silk handkerchiefs: Clara knitting by the sound of the radio as she watched us kids when Daddy took Momma on trips. She was older, but still had the same sweet face.

  Clara and Doc, busy checking me out with his stethoscope, shot each other a brief smile and then one at me. River, Rory, Nanette and Carey were suddenly around me again, saying my name, kissing my cheek. I was so happy to see each of their faces outside of my dream world, but I was distressed about Mom
ma resting in her casket, waiting on us for the time being. My feelings swirled together, but I felt safe when Rory picked me up and deposited me back in the chair, since I wasn’t quite strong enough to stand up on my own.

  I guessed my spine was fine, but muscles tend to get jiggly after not being used. It had only been a week, but mine weren’t that strong to begin with, to be honest, which might be why I’d lost my balance up on Momma’s roof. I promised myself I’d get in shape as soon as I could get home and put on a pair of walking shoes.

  “Joy, I missed you.” Carey’s face was in front of mine.

  I tried smiling, but then my face scrunched up on its own, filling up with every emotion I’d been holding back for days. I remembered finding Momma dead under the apple tree.

  “Momma.”

  Tears finally washed out my eyes and dripped like rain down my face. Nanette, Carey, and Clara tried to dry them, but there weren’t enough tissues that hadn’t already been used.

  “Time to get you back to the hospital, Joy,” Doc said. I didn’t want to go back to the hospital, but I wanted something for my tummy. I took a full breath to tell Clara this, and promptly fell forward like a dead duck. My muscles had gone plumb limp lying around and I waited for my face to smash into the floor again, but instead, I fell into Doc, my face buried awkwardly in his shoulder.

  For a moment he tried to help me sit upright, but gave up and pulled me into a slight embrace. He patted my back, while I cried and hiccupped like I was hyperventilating, and pretty soon a whole bunch of people in the audience were crying with me.

  Our silly tears might have drowned everyone if Doc hadn’t gently shushed me until I was breathing normal again. Then, I heard Reverend Wilson shouting.

  “Praise be to God!”

  Nanette and Carey seemed to be having a contest with Peter, Thelma, and Mary Sue to see who could shout praises the loudest. I’d never heard them shout like that in church on Sunday.

  “It’s a miracle!” cried Reverend, his arms raised.

  Other shouts of praise and waving arms rose up from the crowd.

  “Hallelujah!”

  A lady in the pew next to us fainted. Some of the same people who’d just been whispering about Momma and witchcraft were now crying and clapping in exaltation. It was all a little much if you asked me.

  “We are taking her back,” said Doc. I tried to push words through my raw throat that’d had a breathing tube shoved down it for too long, to say I wanted to stay, but my brothers were already blocking his path.

  Oh, thank you, brothers.

  Rory, my gentle giant of a brother, with Doc’s permission, scooped me up and took me to Momma’s side. They were all with me, someone pushing the IV stand, and even the kids were there, and, of course, Ruthie, trying to muffle her sniffles. They couldn’t seem to stop smiling, despite the fact we were at a funeral.

  From my perch in Rory’s arms, I gazed down at Momma, her curls soft, her grayish skin brightened a little by her favorite duster with the blue flowers and her thin mouth shaped into the smallest smile.

  “I did her hair,” Carey said. The boys glared at Carey and some people in the audience tut-tutted, but I couldn’t help but smile.

  “She looks good. Y’all did real good,” I whispered. And they really had.

  I stared at Momma for a long time as the Reverend Wilson stepped back to his pulpit and waited. Finally, I was ready to say goodbye to Momma, so I buried my head in the crook of Rory’s shoulder, but not before letting my eyes scan the audience to see him once more—Jimmy—watching me.

  Are you remembering that day? That night, Jimmy?

  Maybe he felt guilty that I’d fallen, and he should have. If not for him, I wouldn’t have had to dig through the chimney by myself. Before I could attempt a smile or a glare—I didn’t know which to offer him—the good Reverend Wilson’s face appeared in front of me, saving me from making a decision right at that moment. He made me want to smile, sometimes when I didn’t want to. My sister Carey had the same effect on me.

  “Welcome home, Joy!”

  I croaked out what was supposed to be, “Glad to be here,” but came out as, “Gad beer.”

  That’s just great, Joy. Now he thinks you want a beer.

  Reverend Wilson looked momentarily alarmed, but with a clearing of his throat, he raised his huge, worn Bible and addressed the crowd.

  All that attention got my nervous stomach going again. I was starting to think that all the sitting up might’ve been getting things moving through my system that had become lazy in my coma, what with all those tubes and machines that had been doing all the work.

  “This is the strangest funeral I’ve ever been to!” Reverend smiled and I knew people were smiling back. “And being the old geezer I am, I’ve been to a whole lot of ‘em!”

  The crowd chuckled, relieved, I figured, to have a reason to stop whooping and hollering like a bunch of Pentecostals. Not that I have anything against Pentecostals, but after being trapped in my body for so long, I found the excitement exhausting.

  “I think Bess would’ve liked this turn of events.” He held his hand out to include me, in all my groggy glory.

  “God rest her soul—”

  “God rest her,” someone in the crowd mumbled.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter do the Catholic sign of the cross, and I knew he wasn’t Catholic at all.

  What has gotten into this church?

  Whatever it was, I had a feeling it was my fault. The pastor raised his Bible higher over the crowd. I jumped with each staccato of his voice. Reverend had always been kind of like our very own Billy Graham.

  “Amen!” Declared someone and a deep chorus of amens went up from the men.

  The women were quietly humming, “Mh-hmm.” And that’s when it happened.

  Oh my stars. Not right now. Maybe if I hold my breath—

  I closed my eyes, probably looking to the reverend like I was praying.

  “Just let those works of darkness blow away in the wind my brothers and sisters!” He bellowed this part at the top of his lungs. “Are y’all with me?”

  “Oh God.” My scratchy voice was louder than I expected.

  “Now, can I get an amen, brothers and sisters?”

  More amens.

  Reverend paused and I held my breath, hoping with all my might to hold back the whistling sound that trilled up from the seat of my wheelchair.

  Oops.

  The whistling was quiet at first, but then it sort of whirred through the crowd and then, yes, it really did; it rumbled for a little longer than seemed normal for a lady, which I had absolutely always been.

  Oh, heavens.

  The church turned deadly silent, unlike my noisy slip of, well, you know. All I can say is that I wanted to disappear, even though my stomach did suddenly feel better. Reverend hadn’t said another word.

  Say something, please.

  The children began to giggle. The reassuring pat on my shoulder from the cute doctor didn’t help.

  Reverend Wilson looked astonished as he stood with his Bible still outstretched in the air. I smiled, but only because I didn’t want to cry. This was worse than falling face first and drooling on the floor. Maybe even worse than falling off the roof, while digging in the chimney. I’d rather be caught streaking through town naked.

  “Lord,” I whispered, “Please just put me back in my coma.”

  Reverend Wilson lowered his Bible slowly to his side and sighed—really, really big. He wore a sheepish smile.

  “Excuse me, folks!” he exclaimed.

  There was a beat of silence. And then laughter surged through the crowd, at which point the Doc spun my wheelchair around and we escaped before it could happen again.

  You are a good man, Reverend Wilson.

  I waited for the ambulance—or was it just someone’s van—to move, but shouts and beating on the door from outside stopped it. Doc swung open the doors and there stood my kidnappers: River, Rory, Carey, and Nanette
. They each cast me sympathetic looks and then, burst out laughing. I still wanted to be angry at them for the day they thought about unplugging me, even though they didn’t know I knew; but it would have to wait.

  Doc winked at me and grabbed a clipboard.

  “Do you recognize any of these people?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” I pinched my arm until it hurt.

  Ouch.

  “No chance I’m still in a coma, Doc?”

  “No chance.”

  “Can you put me back in one?”

  “Improbable.” He gave me a white-toothed smile that I’m sure was meant to be reassuring, and not at all sexy, but I’m telling you it made the whole experience even more awkward than necessary.

  Dang.

  And that’s how I woke up from the most ridiculous of falls, with no mercy and very little dignity left to my name, but I did have a brand-spanking new sense of humor. It’s a good thing, too, because the absurdity that invaded my life for the next few months would keep me from doing the one thing I needed to do the most; and it would leave me wondering if the universe was laughing at me, or if I was just the unluckiest Talley who’d ever lived.

  Chapter Eight

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  Waking up from a coma, since that’s what they called it, was sort of like being born again, but without innocence or grace. There were no more beeps or whooshes. The only thing still hooked up to me was the IV. I knew what’d happened and I knew what I needed to do. I wanted so badly to jump out of bed and get on with my life, but my body was lazy and weak. I’m telling you the truth; I didn’t plan to ever step foot in that hospital again, not even if my life depended on it, but for the moment, I had no choice. For now, I let myself lay back into the softness of the pillow while my cloudy brain cleared. I didn’t dare close my eyes for fear I’d fall back into that lazy-boned stupor.

  It hadn’t felt like a coma. It’d felt like being trapped in a dream where I could hear everything, but couldn’t wake up.

  Nobody believed me.

  When someone stirred in the chair beside my bed, I turned and stared. I admit my mind was cloudy and I felt sort of confused, until she reached a hand out to me. I grasped it.