space. For a moment, she considered remaining there, lost and unknowing. Yet soon panic filled her, as her mind raced to find its way out of its solitary confinement.
Feeling as though she were trapped inside of a horror movie, Kennedy’s fear mounted steadily until she began to scream in her mind at first and then attempting to let that scream out. Her voice was initially barely a whisper. Her lips felt like they were twice their normal size as she slid a thick sandpaper tongue across them. She swallowed the stickiness coating her throat and tried again. With each attempt her voice grew louder, changing from a whisper to a cracked, strangled sound. She tried again and again until finally there came a loud piercing wail of agony.
The intensive care unit door burst open and all of a sudden Kennedy’s room became a mass of activity. Doctors and nurses charged in and began talking all at once, or so it seemed to her confused mind. Kennedy tried her best to make sense of what they were saying as they checked her over, reviewed her vital signs, removed, replaced and tightened bandages, but it was as if they were speaking Greek.
“Kennedy…Kennedy Daniels, I’m Dr. Moskowitz. Ms. Daniels?” a deep voice called, reaching her ears from a distance it seemed.
The voices asked her a myriad of questions, wanting to know if she knew her name or could tell them where she was. Kennedy answered slowly, trying to be as coherent as she possibly could. Each word was painful to articulate, her burning throat and vocal chords refused to cooperate with her. She knew the day of the week and the date. She recited her name and date of birth. She was even able to provide an oral history of her day, right up to Wynton Marsalis and the drive home. Everything after that was a mystery to her.
She begged and clamored for them to tell her what had happened to her. When the clatter in the room finally died down, all but one of the voices faded away.
“Kennedy, I know this must all be very confusing and upsetting to you, but I need you to try to calm down,” the stranger said soothingly.
He introduced himself again as Dr. Moskowitz, head of emergency medicine, and advised Kennedy that she was no longer driving toward her home but in fact at Annandale Hospital. She was in the intensive care unit where a team of doctors and nurses had been working through the night to take excellent care of her.
Kennedy could hear his voice but nothing he said made any sense to her. All she could think was that none of this could possibly be happening to her.
“Kennedy, we’ve contacted your family…the police found their phone number in your cell phone…they’re on their way,” Dr. Moskowitz said.
Kennedy could feel the doctor’s hands on her, cold hands that checked her pulse again. While Dr. Moskowitz’s voice was soft and composed, his hands felt rough against her bruised skin as he touched her.
“Kennedy, you are one fortunate young lady to have come out of that car wreck, and let me reassure you that you are going to be okay.”
By the time the doctor departed, his confident words that her prognosis for a full recovery remained fair ringing in the air, Kennedy had begun to scream again. This time the anguish resonated on the inside, her voice reverberating against the walls of her brain. A heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach like a boulder at the bottom of a creek. She cried a river of tears that soaked her bandages as she prayed for God to make what was happening not be happening to her. However, it was definitely real and she never felt more alone, or more vulnerable in her entire life than she did at that moment. The once fiercely independent young woman cried like a baby for her mother to come and kiss the pain away.
Chapter 2
Kennedy’s parents, Dr. and Mrs. Joseph Daniels, along with her sister, Madison, arrived at the hospital late in the morning following the accident. They imperiously descended upon the intensive care unit and demanded the full attention of the hospital staff. Joseph Daniels quietly, yet firmly requested that the doctors treating his daughter be paged and sequestered for a meeting at once. His wife of thirty years, Elmira Ellington Daniels, stood by his side, apparently used to watching her husband take command.
“Oh, dear Jesus,” Elmira bellowed upon seeing Kennedy as they entered her room.
Elmira crumpled against the stout frame of her husband. Kennedy was stirred awake by the unmistakable sound of her mother’s smoky voice. She turned her head in the direction of the noise and immediately felt the smooth, beefy hands of her father wrap themselves around one of hers.
“Elmira, calm down. She’s going to be fine,” he said reassuringly. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Dad,” Kennedy croaked, her throat still hoarse and hurting.
Suddenly, Elmira was overcome with sobs and, without the ability to see her mother, Kennedy was sure she was dramatically fanning herself to ward off one of her infamous fainting spells. Right on cue, Joseph issued a familiar phrase.
“Elmira, you don’t look very well. Why don’t you go outside for a while? Have yourself a cup of coffee or tea,” he added. “I saw a café right near the security desk in the lobby.”
Kennedy was used to scenes such as this one, but for once she was just not up to playing her part in it. Joseph and Elmira had a perfunctory marriage in which the pampered Elmira was shielded from any discomfort or uneasiness. Kennedy had fallen into the habit of echoing Joseph’s sentiments in many instances. This was not one of them.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Elmira said in a reluctant tone that was worthy of an Oscar award.
Elmira rose from her perch at the side of Kennedy’s bed. She smoothed the front of her brown tweed flare-legged pants. At fifty-two years old, Elmira Daniels looked more like a pampered celebrity than a housewife, married to a cosmetic surgeon. Today’s designer outfit, pantsuit, chocolate-brown patent leather platforms and handbag, was what could be called dressing down for her. Her attire alone could be priced at over three thousand dollars, and that figure tripled if one were to assess the four-karat pear-shaped diamond ring set in platinum, the two-karat diamond earrings or the solid gold watch on her dainty wrist. Kennedy inhaled her mother’s signature scent and the familiar feeling was both comforting and disturbing.
Elmira’s thick wavy hair was cut in a short bob, shaved in the back circa 1986 Anita Baker, dyed dark brown with blond highlighted bangs sweeping her forehead. The only sign revealing her age were the tiny crow’s-feet visible near the outside corners of her hazel eyes. That minor flaw was no match for the meticulously applied cosmetics in which she lived. Her buttermilk complexion was as beautiful today as it was when she was half her present age. Her face wore a dual expression today, the first of which was concern for her eldest child. The second expression—slightly masked, yet apparent to those closest to her—spoke to the indignation she felt that such a tragedy could have befallen one of the Daniels.
Madison rolled her eyes, sickened by her mother’s constant dramatics and her father’s characteristic indulgence. If Kennedy could respond in the same manner, it was no doubt that she would have because as solicitous as her sister was, today’s behavior was extreme.
“Hey, sis, are you hanging in there?” Madison asked, moving closer to the side of the hospital bed after Elmira exited the room.
“Maddie? Yeah, I’m okay,” Kennedy lied.
Kennedy’s heart warmed at the sound of her sister’s high-pitched voice. With the aid of the pain medications she’d been given, which had the effect of making her mind a fuzzy place where happy images of her life rested, she fondly
