Even here, even with Nola nowhere in sight, Roddy could sense an echo from her. He could feel his sister’s rage, her fury, at knowing that Royall, the ultimate cheater, had even cheated death. Yet none of that compared to what really had been driving Nola these past few months. Those visits Waggs had been tracking—Nola’s trips to various hospitals and patients—they had nothing to do with Mint, or Grandma’s Pantry . . . nothing to do with Nola’s anger or fury at the lies about Royall being alive. That’s your real secret, isn’t it, sis?
Those visits Nola took were about something more fundamental in her life, the one thing she’d never admit even to herself. Despite the self-protective walls she’d erected, despite the exquisite rage, worn as armor, to make her believe that she could take on anything, when it was late at night, in one of those quiet moments when the world made her feel like she was the only person still awake, there was still a little goblin lurking out there in the darkness that even the mighty Nola Brown was afraid of—the only goblin she’d ever been afraid of—the one she’d never been able to control: Royall himself.
That’s why you went to see those victims with brain injuries. When it came to Royall, Nola was trying to answer the unanswerable questions: Will he be like this forever—or is he going to wake up? Which made Roddy wonder: If he does wake up, what is she planning to do?
“I take it he doesn’t get many visitors?” Roddy finally asked, studying Royall’s open mouth, his cigarette-stained lower teeth, like slanted books on a shelf.
“We don’t do visitors. Just the one I told you about. The woman from the Army. She came here once. We had to ask her to leave—and no offense, but since your warrant is limited to a quick ID, I need to ask the same of you.”
“Yeah, of course, my apologies,” Roddy said, still standing there, taking a last good look at Royall.
On the nearby sound dock, Def Leppard sang that love was like a bomb and you should come and get it on. Roddy couldn’t agree more.
For years now, he’d thought about searching for Nola, trying to track her down—to reconnect, to learn a little bit about her, and . . . he hoped, maybe . . . learn some more about himself—but the truth was, he never went through with it. It was the one white lie he told Zig. All these years, Roddy thought about looking for Nola, but he never did. Not until he had info about her—the most important her in his and Nola’s life.
Back behind the funeral home, Roddy tried telling Nola, but she wouldn’t listen. Replaying their short conversation, Roddy wondered if maybe Nola didn’t realize who he meant, but c’mon, she was the one person both Roddy and Nola cared about.
In the end, that’s what made him come searching for his sister. After years of digging, he’d finally found new info—an actual lead—about what really happened when his and Nola’s mother was murdered.
Simply put, Roddy was searching for help. In the process, though, he’d found something far more important. He’d found insight. Now, when it came to Nola, he finally knew what was driving her.
The only question was: What would he do with it?
“By the way, who told you he likes Def Leppard?” Roddy asked.
“Excuse me?”
“The music. Who told you Royall likes this music?”
“Um . . . he did,” Odessa said, pointing toward the bed.
Roddy cocked his head, confused.
“He woke up two weeks ago,” the nurse added.
Roddy turned just in time to see the breathing tube in Royall’s neck start to shake as he blinked himself awake.
“Who the hell’re you?” Royall challenged, his voice an angry rasp as he covered the tracheostomy tube to speak.
“Me?” Roddy asked, standing there, his spidery fingers excitedly touching his own chest. “I’m nobody.”