Coma Girl: part 2 Read Free Page A

tiers.”
    Wow. Most of the wedding cakes on Pinterest wedding boards are three layers, sometimes four. Five is… impressive. Repeating, not that I’ve ever haunted the Pinterest wedding boards.
    “I thought your name would come up,” she said. “But it didn’t.”
    Of course it didn’t. Why would it?
    “Gotta run. Later, Coma Girl.”
     
     
     
     

August 6, Saturday
     
     
    “ALEX SENDS HIS LOVE,” Mom said. “He’s hoping to get leave soon for a visit home, but he doesn’t know when that will be. I told him Dr. Tyson said the experimental drug isn’t going to work out for you, and he’s really disappointed.”
    I wondered if Dr. Tyson had found out what Dr. Jarvis had done and shut him down. But if he’d been reassigned, he hadn’t come back to reclaim his iPod which still played classical music… and played… and played…
    It’s to the point now where I can almost see the notes on a sheet of music. I learned the basics of reading music in middle school, but haven’t used it since. Still, those long-dormant lessons are coming back to me—the staff, the clef, the parts of a note, and acronyms to help remember the notes: Every Good Boy Does Fine, and FACE. I can recognize a C note, so I’m building from there.
    “And Winnie calls every day to ask about you. She sent me the oddest gift—a pendant she found somewhere.”
    Ah—the amulets the psychic had conned Winnie into buying to help “pull my spirit back through the tunnel.” Winnie had purchased one for my mom.
    “Anyway, I suppose she meant well, but it’s too ugly to wear.”
    So apparently my mom can’t even be tricked into faux helping me.
    “Your father sends his love, too,” she said. “He was called away on business. One of his municipal accounts in Georgia is a town called Climax and apparently they were the victim of some prank because all the town’s signage disappeared overnight.”
    Okay, that was kind of funny.
    “We’re still waiting to hear from the district attorney’s office on what charges will be filed against Keith Young.” She made a frustrated noise. “He’s all over the news, tossing around a football and hamming it up for the camera like he doesn’t have a care in the world.”
    The chair creaked as she shifted her weight.
    “Sometimes I get so furious, I think I’m going to lose my mind!”
    My mother rarely gets emotional, so I’m riveted.
    “I just want this to be over,” she cried.
    Over, as in me waking up, or over, as in me going the other direction?
    A knock on the door sounded, then it squeaked open.
    My mother sniffed, then asked, “Can I help you?”
    “I was hoping to see Marigold Kemp?” a woman asked.
    I know the voice, but can’t place it.
    “I’m her mother. Are you a friend of Marigold’s?”
    “Not really. My name is Tabitha. I’m a student of hers.”
    Oh, of course—Tabitha!
    “You must have the wrong Marigold Kemp,” my mother said. “My daughter isn’t a teacher.”
    “She teaches me at night, once a week.”
    “Teaches you what?”
    I wish my mother would let it go—she was going to embarrass Tabitha.
    “Um… I’m not the best reader. But I have a good job, and my boss said he could promote me if my reading and writing skills improved. I went to an agency and they connected me with Marigold.”
    I can almost hear that info settling into my mother’s mind.
    “Oh. I didn’t know Marigold… did that.”
    “She’s a volunteer,” Tabitha said. “And she’s a great teacher.”
    But she’s being generous. She’s an eager learner, and she made my job easy. I’m ashamed I haven’t thought of Tabitha and how my absence might have affected her progress.
    “It’s very kind of you to stop by,” my mother said. “Unfortunately, Marigold is… asleep.”
    “I understand. I just wanted to drop off this card. When she wakes up, will you give it to her? I picked it out myself.”
    “Of course.”
    My mother can’t appreciate how long it must’ve taken