“First of all, find out where the woman is now who shared a room with your mother! They may have moved her. Let us know,” said Mattheus.
Loretta was excited. “Definitely, I will,” she said. “Also, I can tell you that her name was Ann. From the first minute I saw her I knew she’d be fine.”
Cindy swallowed hard at the sound of her sister’s name, suddenly missing her deeply.
“Ann was also in her forties,” Loretta filled Cindy and Mattheus in. “She was also in a bad accident, but I knew she’d wake up and be fine. I even said that to her when she was sleeping,”
“You didn’t think your mother would be fine though, did you?” Mattheus interrupted.
“No, I knew she wouldn’t,” said Loretta. “And part of me wondered if she even wanted to die.”
“You didn’t help your mother die, did you?” asked Cindy, startled. She couldn’t miss an opportunity to follow up on the comment.
“I had nothing to do with my mother’s dying,” Loretta was offended. “I didn’t think she’d wake up, but I didn’t kill her, either. There’s no reason for you to say something like that.”
Mattheus took out his card then and gave it to Loretta. “Go do the assignment I’ve given you,” he said “and contact me at this phone number.”
Loretta took the card, delighted. “I’ll be right on it,” she breathed and left.
Cindy and Mattheus stared at each other then.
“She needs something, needs someone,” Mattheus murmured. “She needs to feel she can make a difference in this world.”
Cindy was touched by Mattheus’s wisdom and caring. “You’re right, she does,” Cindy replied, “and it was good of you to give her that assignment. But what I can’t get over is why no one told us about the other woman who shared Tara’s room?”
“There’s a lot of things no one told us,” Mattheus grumbled. “So, we’ll find out where she is and go talk to her ourselves.”
“I’ll go speak to her myself,” said Cindy. “It could be too much to have both of us in her hospital room.”
“That’s a good idea,” Mattheus agreed. “In the meantime, I want to dig into the medical mistakes in this hospital, and spend more time with Konrad. There’s a jazz festival coming up I was invited to where hospital officials will be present.”
“Great,” said Cindy, grateful for the new possibilities.
“I’m glad we’ve got Loretta on our team, too,” said Mattheus. “She could find out things that would be hidden from us.”
Cindy was not sure what Mattheus was talking about. “Since when is Loretta on our team?”
“The kid’s alone, she’s got no one,” said Mattheus.
“Excuse me, she told us she had a rich father she lives with, who gives her everything,” Cindy objected, not at all sure she wanted Loretta on their team. There were too many loopholes in her story and situation.
“But her mother just died,” Mattheus wouldn’t drop it.
“A mother she never knew,” Cindy reminded him.
“All the more reason why this has to be a total nightmare for her,” Mattheus persisted.
Cindy wondered if Loretta didn’t remind Mattheus of his own long lost daughter. Was he helping Loretta as a way to be close to his own daughter as well?
“Loretta’s not on our team, Mattheus,” Cindy broke into the fantasy he was developing. “She’s a young girl whose mother just died. She’s strong, she’s interesting, but we really know nothing about her. If she wants to become a detective one day, she can go about it with her father’s support. It’s not up to us to take over her life.”
“You’re right again,” said Mattheus, suddenly sorrowful. “I just wanted to help her through.”
Chapter 16
Loretta contacted Mattheus and Cindy immediately with the number of the room where Ann was recuperating. Cindy decided to go immediately and Mattheus left to continue his research on medical mistakes at the hospital. Cindy walked down the hallway looking for the room. Fortunately, it was a private room, and when Cindy arrived, Ann was alone.
Cindy walked into the room quietly, looking at Ann who was resting in bed, her eyes half closed. Ann was a sensitive looking woman, but frail now and thin. Her taut face clearly showed the enormous strain she’d just been through.
As Cindy approached the bedside she wished her own sister Ann was alive, that she could be visiting her as well.
“Hello, Ann,” said Cindy, as she took a seat beside her bed.
Ann tossed a moment, groaned softly and slowly opened her eyes. Cindy felt badly disturbing her, but there was no other choice.
“Who are you?” asked Ann, rolling her head over and looking at Cindy. “Are you from the social work office?”
“No, I’m not,” Cindy replied. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No, not at all,” Ann propped herself up a bit, seemingly glad to have a visitor. “It’s just that all kinds of people keep coming in, checking on how I’m doing and what’s happening next.”
“How are you doing?” Cindy asked, sincerely, wanting to know.
“Much better,” Ann smiled, “I can’t believe how I’m improving day by day.”
“I’m so glad,” Cindy answered warmly, as if the two of them were old friends.
“Why are you here?” Ann woke up fully then, interested in who Cindy was.
“I’m a private detective,” said Cindy more quietly. “Have you heard about what happened to the woman you shared the room with?”
Ann’s eyes opened wider. “Yes, I heard she passed away,” she said breathlessly.
“Yes,” said Cindy, looking away a moment. She felt odd talking about death with someone who had just been in a coma herself. “I’m sorry to have to bring this up.”
“No, go right ahead,” said Ann, fascinated. “I didn’t think she would die, I thought she would make it. I thought both of us would be better one day.”
“What made you think that?” asked Cindy fascinated.
“I didn’t know her, but I liked her,” said Ann. “Laying so close to someone, sharing the same room, struggling for life, you feel a bond.”
“I can understand,” said Cindy.
“Really, can you?” Ann’s eyes lit up. “No one else seems to. I try talking about it and everyone just tells me to put it out of my mind and rest.”
“That must be frustrating,” said Cindy.
“Is it ever,” Ann propped herself up on her elbows and spoke more intensely. “I don’t want to rest, I want to talk. I’ve heard a lot of things. When you’re in a coma people say everything right in front of you and think you don’t hear. They’re so wrong. Sometimes you’re there, other times not. Sometimes you can listen to every word, other times you’re drifting away.”
“Where are you drifting, tell me?” Cindy felt her heart beating hard.
Ann looked at Cindy sadly, feeling her desperation. “It’s a beautiful place,” Ann whispered softly, “there’s no danger there at all.”
Cindy closed her eyes swiftly. Was it true what Ann was saying or was she only imagining it? Cindy could find out, she could see if what Ann told her could be corroborated.
“What did you hear when you were in the coma, Ann?” Cindy continued with bated breath.
“When I heard things I’m not sure I was in the coma,” Ann responded thoughtfully. “Sometimes you’re in, sometimes you’re out.”
“What did you hear when you were more awake?” Cindy pursued it.
“I heard the doctors around me saying that I was doing better,” Ann was reflecting. “That helped me so much. I heard my husband tell me he loved me over and over, that he was waiting for me to return.”
“Was it true that he said that? Have you asked him?” said Cindy.
“Yes,” Ann smiled, “he told me he said that to me again and again.”
That was encouraging, but not enough proof for Cindy. Ann could have expected her husband to say that, imagined she actually heard those words. Cindy needed more.
“You were laying close to Tara,” Cindy’s voice got lower. “Did you hear her husband say the same thing to her?” she asked.