hemorrhage in the brain. Without blood, sections of brain tissue quickly deteriorate or die, resulting
in paralysis of limbs controlled by the affected brain area. In this case, his speech has been affected, too."
"Won't he get better?" she whined.
"He'll improve with therapy, I believe, but he'll never be the same as he was," Doctor Covington told her in his brusquely honest style of diagnosis. He turned back to me. "I have a neurologist coming in to see him later today. Most of his progress will be made during the next six months. We'll have to take better care of him and he'll have to cooperate now," Doctor Covington continued with a small smile. "No more alcohol or cigars and we have to watch his diet."
Belinda looked dazed and sat.
"Let's see how much he recuperates over the next week or so, Olivia, and then we'll talk about the therapy," Doctor Covington concluded.
"I understand," I said. "How is he now? Can we see him?"
"You can see him, but don't let him see how upset you are. We have to encourage him, build up his hope," Doctor Covington lectured, looking more at Belinda than Samuel and me.
When we went up to see Daddy, Belinda remained in the background whimpering. I held his hand and he looked at me with his helpless eyes and tried to talk.
"Not now, Daddy," I said. "You've got to rest and get better."
He closed his eyes. I could almost hear him say, "The bottom line is I won't."
It wasn't until we left the hospital that the question occurred to me: what would I do now with Belinda? Daddy wasn't much of a brake on her wild ways before, but at least he was something. Without him home, what would she turn the place into and what would she be like? And yet, I wasn't excited about bringing her back to my house.
Samuel was the one to bring it up in the car.
"What about Belinda?" he asked as we drove away in a dead, sad silence.
"I'm afraid," she moaned.
"You should be," I said. "It was your behavior, your antics that aggravated him and caused this, Belinda. You heard the doctor talk about stress," I accused. She wailed louder.
"Olivia," Samuel said softly. "Don't . . . it won't do any good now, will it?" he asked quickly when he saw the fury in my eyes.
I felt myself calm down.
"No, You're right. It won't." I turned around and looked at my sister. "You'll come home with us for the time being," I said, "and let Effie get the house in order. It's better you're not there anyway."
"I'm sorry, Olivia," she said.
"It's too late for that. It's been too late for a long time," I said in a voice too low for either Samuel or Belinda to hear.
"What a bad time for this to happen," Samuel said. "I bet you didn't even have a chance to tell him, did you, Olivia?"
"No."
"Tell him what?" Belinda asked through her tears of self-pity.
"That she's pregnant. Your sister's pregnant and you're soon to be an aunt," Samuel told her.
"Oh, really?"
For a moment my mind raced years ahead and I envisioned Belinda having a bad influence on my child. One of the first things I would have to do as soon as he or she was old enough to understand would be to warn him or her about Belinda. She would always be a burden, I thought.
"I'll help," she volunteered. "I'll change, Olivia. I'll come to work again. I'll help you."
I had to laugh.
"And do what, Belinda? Misfile documents, tie up the phones, flirt with delivery boys?"