She and Thomas went to the beach for the July Fourth holiday and caught up with Lovely, Diane, and Bruce. After three days of rest, she took off again, without Thomas, for a swing through the Midwest, stopping in Louisville, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Indianapolis, and Chicago. For the most part book tours were relics from the past, but Viking was willing to fund as much as Mercer could stand. With Bruce’s constant encouragement, she had agreed to forty cities in fifty days.
On July 18, some five weeks after publication,
Mercer sat on the edge of her bed, tried not to cry, and called Thomas. He promised to meet her in Denver. After that, she called Bruce, who, of course, already knew. Etta called back with the news that Viking was printing another 50,000 copies.
In an author’s note at the end of
The checks were arriving, and not all of them were from spare funds. Almost all were individuals who read and were inspired by the book. By the time
When the phone buzzed at 2:34 in the morning, Mercer found it, knocked it to the floor, picked it up, saw that it was from Diane, and knew immediately something had happened to Lovely.
“Mercer, where are you?”
A helluva question. She looked around the dark room as if the furniture or curtains might hold a clue to the city. “Portland, I think. What’s wrong.”
“Miss Naomi found Lovely on the floor tonight. She couldn’t get up. We’re at the hospital now and she’s doing okay, resting, probably another stroke. I hate to bother you in the middle of the night but you told me to call.”
“That’s okay, Diane. No worries. Can she say anything?”
“Don’t know. She’s sedated but it doesn’t appear to be that severe.”
“I can’t get home right now.”
“Don’t even think about it. There’s nothing to do. The doctors will watch her for a day or two. We should know more tomorrow. How’s the book tour?”
“Up and down. The crowds are nice but it’s beginning to get old.”
“Hey girl, you’re number one. Savor the moment.”
“Thanks.”
“We’re all very proud of you, Mercer. The entire island is enjoying your big moment. Including Lovely. It’s all she talks about.”
“Give her a hug and tell her I’m sending prayers.”
“Will do.”
The damage was not slight, the stroke was neither a “mini” nor a “mild.” After two days in the hospital, Lovely realized that her left leg and arm were not working too well. Physical therapists gently pulled and stretched, with little success. They put her in a wheelchair for the first time in her life and rolled her down the hall to lunch. Diane and Miss Naomi checked on her every day. They were told that she would no longer be able to live alone. She had to have care.
When told this, Lovely objected strenuously but there was no one to argue with. After ten days in the hospital, she was moved to a rehab facility in Jacksonville where she stayed for two weeks before being moved to an assisted living home ten miles west of Camino Island.
When Mercer completed her tour and returned to the beach, she and Thomas drove over to see Lovely. It was not an uplifting visit. Diane warned them that she was not improving.
Lovely looked much older and the left side of her face sagged. Her speech was slurred and she said little. She was happy to see Mercer but immediately began crying. Mercer sat on the edge of her bed for an hour, rubbing her arm and telling her about the bookstores she had visited and all the people across the country who now knew about Lovely Jackson and Dark Isle.
Mercer returned the next day, and the next, and alternated times with Diane. The nurses said their visits buoyed Lovely’s spirits, but she was clearly declining.
In late August, Mercer and Thomas said goodbye and began their drive back to Ole Miss. Classes started in three days. Mercer promised Lovely she would see her soon, but she suspected that was their final visit.
Barely audible, Lovely thanked her for such a wonderful book, for caring so much about her and her people. “You made us famous,” she said.
Mercer left in tears and cried for an hour in the car.
Diane called every day with the same update. Nothing much had changed, things had certainly not improved.
On September 28, Lovely Jackson died at the age of eighty-two, the very last descendant of the proud people who lived on Dark Isle.
