Rachel Alexander 04 - Lady Vanishes

when we walked in, I saw that the curtain around Venus’s bed was open, the bed stripped. Suddenly my mouth tasted sour, and the room seemed to be moving on its own.
    “She’s awake.”
    I’d turned to see Nurse Frostee standing right behind me.
    “Down this hall, third door on your left. Pinch your . cheeks first, woman, you’re as white as he is.”
    She bent and scratched Dashiell’s head.
    “Therapy dog,” she’d said. “There’s days I could use some of that myself, that and a good hot soak for my feet.”
    So I took a few breaths and headed for Venus’s room, to See what she could remember.
    “Two of them were sitting along the wall opposite the desk,” Venus had said, propped up in bed, her hair so black against the smooth white hospital sheets. “I’d just turned around to get Jackson a paper towel. David was standing at the window, looking up at the light coming in through the leaves of the tree out there.”
    “What about Jackson? Could he have—”
    “No.”
    She stared right at me, defying me to accuse Jackson, to point the finger at any of her kids.
    “Not Jackson. And not David either?”
    “Rachel, David didn’t hit me. I was looking right at him.”
    “Did you hear the door open?”
    “No. I had the radio on for them and the air conditioner going.”
    “But the door was locked?”
    “I’m not sure. Sometimes when the kids are in with me, I unlock it. They have trouble opening it when it’s locked. But I can’t say for sure.”
    “When did they move you?” I asked. She had a room to herself now, a window with a view of Eleventh Street.
    “This morning.”
    “That’s great,” I said. “I’m so happy to see you’re doing better.”
    Dashiell’s tail thumped against the floor.
    I wanted to say something about Lady, but I didn’t. I decided to wait until I knew more—specifically, where she was now.
    If she was, now.
    “I have your necklace safely at home,” I told her, holding her hand, reluctant to leave.
    She reached up and touched her neck.
    “I guess it got twisted or something when you fell.” I didn’t think this was the time to tell her how I’d found it. “I have to go. Dashiell’s up for a heavy round of ring-around-the-rosy.”
    She smiled.
    “I’ll be back later.”
    I turned to go, then turned around again.
    “Venus, did the hospital inform Eli that you’re awake now?”
    ‘The doctor said he was going to call right after his rounds, share the good news.”
    I nodded. And on the way back to Harbor View, I’d called my old boss, Frank Petrie, to send someone over to sit with Venus, just in case whoever hit her was dissatisfied with the outcome of their efforts.
    Samuel was still tossing the ball. This time it landed on Cora’s lap and, through no effort on her part, stayed there.
    “Good job,” he told her, waiting in vain for her to toss it back.
    Anyone else would have looked over at me and shrugged, giving it the old one-two, but having a little humor about how it wasn’t proceeding. Not Samuel. He kept at it, giving it everything he had, as if midway through the class some miracle might occur, and Willy and Charlotte and Jackson would be lobbing the ball back to him like pros, trying out for the Knicks or the Yankees in a week or two.
    When the class was over, he carefully put the chairs back, settling Willy in front of a toddler’s puzzle, whispering something to Cora, then Dora, watching as Charlotte returned to where she’d been sitting, her pad, colored pencils, | and sharpener where she’d left them. I got up and followed him out into the empty lobby. “Dashiell’s game went well,” he said, disappointed that I the ball playing had been a bust. “Not everything works out, f* but I always try. Dad says that in some places people are just b warehoused, fed and clothed, but not stimulated at all.”
    I didn’t respond. Something else had gotten my attention. It was Dashiell, vacuuming Samuel’s pants, then moving his attention to the shoes, leaving little wet marks where his nose and Ups were pressed to the leather, reading the news.
    “I guess someone forgot to scoop,” I said.
    “What?”
    I pointed to his shoes.
    “Dog poop. You must have stepped in some.” I looked up, and so did he.
    “They say it’s good luck,” he said, smiling his crushed little smile.
    “Not in your case it isn’t.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, we’re going for a little cab ride, you and me. And Dashiell.”
    “What are you