Free Coma Girl: part 2 by Stephanie Bond

was barely above the limit. His attorney has already insisted on retesting. And even if the results are verified, no jury is going to find Young guilty if they think she’s going to wake up. And frankly, this Coma Girl social media blitz is doing just that—people are convinced she’s Sleeping Beauty and she’s going to open her eyes any minute.”
    Jack made a frustrated noise. “So everything is on hold.”
    “For now. Unless there’s a change in her condition one way or another. If she doesn’t improve within a few months, the hubbub will have died down and it’ll be easier to convince a jury that she’s not going to wake up. Trust me, it’s in the best interests of her family to wait.”
    “And meanwhile, the Falcons get to start their season with their hotshot receiver.”
    “I know Keith Young is cocky, but I talked to him, and he’s not a bad guy.”
    “I thought the same thing when I saw his interview. But it just seems so unjust for that young woman to be lying in that bed, and no one is held accountable.”
    I don’t know what I’ve done to gain a champion in Jack Terry, but I’m grateful.
    “I understand,” ADA Spence said. “But just because a situation is tragic doesn’t mean it’s criminal. That why it’s called an accident, Detective.”
    I’m tragic?
    “Say, didn’t you used to date Liz Fischer?”
    He coughed. “Liz and I go way back.”
    Aha—and the plot thickens with yet another woman.
    “You know she’s pregnant?”
    “I’d heard that, yes. Are we through here?”
    “Yes. Actually, I was just on my way to get a drink if you’d like to join me.”
    Ooh, smooth.
    “Sorry,” Jack said. “I have another commitment.”
    “Okay, maybe another time.”
    “Maybe.”
    The woman’s heels clacked on the floor as she left the room. I’m disappointed Jack has somewhere else to be.
    Then he dragged a chair closer to my bed. “It’s Braves versus the Giants in San Francisco. We really need this one, Coma Girl. Are you with me?”
    I’m with you, Detective.
     
     
     

August 29, Monday
     
     
    “YOU’RE STILL RUNNING a temperature,” Gina said to me. “But Dr. Jarvis assures me that’s okay.” She sighed. “I hope he’s as good a doctor as I think he is.”
    That makes two of us.
    A knock on the door sounded, then it opened.
    “May I help you?” Gina asked.
    “I’m here to visit Marigold Kemp,” the woman said. “I’m an old friend of hers.”
    The voice tickled a memory chord.
    “Did you leave your name at the desk?”
    “Yes. I’m Joanna Fitz.”
    Joanna—my college friend who now lives in Pennsylvania. After receiving a card from her, I never dreamed she’d visit in person.
    “Visiting hours are over, but you can have fifteen minutes.”
    “Thank you. Can she hear me?”
    “We don’t know for sure,” Gina said. “But assume she can.”
    When Gina left, Joanna was silent. I knew she was studying me.
    “Oh, Marigold,” she said on a sob.
    She’d last seen me the summer I’d met Duncan. I’d been happy and bouncy and flush with possibilities. I’m sure my slack, scarred appearance is a shock to her. She, on the other hand, is probably still beautiful, slim and tanned from all that tennis.
    Joanna dropped into the chair next to my bed, sniffling.
    “I decided on an impromptu visit to Atlanta to see my folks,” she said, “and thought I’d stop by. Brian and the twins are good… his practice is good… everything is… good.”
    She broke off on a sob, and I wanted to reach out to her. Compared to her life, I probably seemed—how had the ADA described me? Oh, yeah—tragic.
    Joanna cried for a little while, then sniffed. “Marigold, I lied. My life isn’t good—it’s awful. I came home to stay with my parents because Brian is having an affair and the twins have behavior problems, and I’m drinking too much.”
    Whoa—what ever happened to breaking bad news gently?
    She blew her nose noisily. “Nothing has turned out the way I