Waiting for the Moon

by Kristin Hannah

He gave her a weary look. 'Tomorrow you'll be fine," he said, but she could see that he didn't believe it.

  And neither did she.

  Ian walked through his silent forest cathedral at the break of day. Pinprick streams of sunlight spilled down through the evergreen ceiling, danced in golden patches on the brown-needled forest floor. It was quiet here, as it always was at dawn, the only sound the low, even breathing of the sea.

  He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, feeling the sting of the wind against his eyelids as he came to the water's edge. The smooth wool of his black cape whipped out behind him, flapped softly in the salty air. Overhead, a gull wheeled and cawed.

  He sat down on a hulking square of granite and pulled out his journal. Flipping to a blank page, he put on his spectacles and began to write.

  Twenty-first, April, 1882.

  Ran visual, auditory, and touch tests today on patient. Consistent failure on patient's part to recognize

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  familiar items, to name such items, and to exhibit any understanding of function. Patient had no realization that glass was solid or that fire was hot. Exhibits almost childlike innocence of everything around her.

  On the question of mental impairment�

  He stopped midsentence, unable for a second to write the next words. Images hurled themselves at him. Selena, unable to put the square peg in the square hole, mouthing an endless string of nonsensical words. Crying, pleading wordlessly, touching fire ...

  The tests had gone on and on, failure building upon failure. And the hell of it was, though she couldn't pass a single one, she seemed to understand her ineptitude. She wanted to succeed, wanted it as badly as he wanted it for her. It was like Maeve all over again, wanting the moon and getting nothing.

  Except that he'd stopped wanting anything from Maeve years ago.

  Selena was different. He needed to believe in her future. If she had no future, he had no future. It was as simple, as devastating, as that. Without her as a patient, he would be nothing again. A forgotten man in a forgotten place.

  No. He refused to consider failure.

  She was damaged, yes. More so than he'd thought. But he was Ian Carrick, the great Doctor Carrick to whom lesser surgeons had genuflected for years.

  He could cure her, and when he re-created a whole human being from the fragments of her broken brain, he would be more revered than ever. She would be his greatest triumph.

  He closed his eyes, drawing forth the dream, wrapping himself in its seductive warmth. The watchful eyes of his colleagues as he leads her onstage. The astonishment as he reveals her scar. The hushed murmurs of awe as he recites her case history . ..

  When he didn't need it anymore, he let the fantasy fade and brought his pencil back to the paper. On the

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  question of mental impairment, there can as yet be no determination. It would be precipitous to infer mental deterioration from a mere inability to form words.

  Yes, he thought. Yes.

  It was still early in her recovery. All she needed was time, time with people and time alone. Time without pressure.

  Perhaps then her memory would float gently to the surface. As difficult as it would be for him to keep his distance, he'd give Selena some time to acclimate herself to the strange world in which she'd awakened. It would be difficult, but he wouldn't test her again for a while, wouldn't invite her to fail so repeatedly.

  He'd sit back and study her, watch and record her every move until the time was right. Then, slowly, patiently, confidently, he would begin to work with her, heal her mind as he'd healed her body.

  It would work.

  She hadn't seen God in a lifetime, and she missed him. Every time the door opened, she turned, hoping� praying�to see her god, but he hadn't been back in days. Not since she'd been so bad. So stupid.

  She felt better today than she had yesterday, and yesterday had been better than the day before. The tube was gone now from her throat, and the fiery pain had gone with it. Even the headaches were less frequent. She finally felt ready to try the horrid tests again.

  She turned slightly and stared up at the square glass box above her bed, trying to remember what it was called.

  Window. The word came suddenly, and she smiled. Golden light streamed through the glass and brushed her face, as soft and warm as God's touch. She reveled in the feel of it, the smell of it. Tiny green leaves fluttered against the glass, tapping when the breeze was just right. She wondered what the leaves smelled like, what they felt like, how they hung against the glass without

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  falling down. Her gaze slipped downward. She stared, mesmerized, at the millions of motes of dust that danced in the thick sunlight, wishing she could reach out and touch them, taste them.

  Everything she saw amazed her, sparked a dozen unvoiced questions. There was only that thin sheet of glass separating her from some glorious world out there, a place where leaves hung suspended as if by magic, where great puffy white shapes drifted through a blue, blue sky, where tiny winged creatures sang and chattered. A magical world lay just beyond her reach, just through the closed oak slab of her bedroom door.

  She was sure of it, and soon�maybe even today� God would take her by the arm and show her the marvels of this place.

  Be good. Be . .. smart.

  She closed her eyes and tried to remember words, any words, anything that would impress her golden god and make him smile down at her. Before, she'd failed him. Today she was determined to do better. The answers were inside her mind, locked up somewhere in a vault she couldn't quite open. But they were there. She knew it.

  Leaves . . . window. Every minute, she was improving.

  Suddenly the door swung open. "Well hello there, Selena," God said, strolling into her bedroom. The strangers shuffled in behind him, lined up against the wall.

  Her heart lurched at the sound of his voice. Today, she told herself. Today she would be smart enough.

  She turned to look at him. Click, click, click went his bootheels on the floor. Tap, tap, tap, his pen on the silver metal bookcase�no, tray�in his hands.

  She did her best to beam up at him, though her face was still so swollen, it was difficult, and it hurt to move her jaw.

  He set the tray down with a clank on the green table

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  beside her bed and sat down beside her. "Good morning, Selena."

  She began to hear the rhythm in his voice, the way he breathed between certain patterns of sound. Two words. Good ... morning.

  Good ... morning ... It was a greeting. She looked up at him, wanting so badly to impress him. She concentrated very keenly, thinking the word over and over again. "M ... morning." She finally managed the single word, and disappointment washed through her. He'd said two words to her, two, and she couldn't remember the other one now, couldn't return the greeting.

  He gave her a disappointed look, and she realized that he thought she'd simply repeated his word. How could she let him know that she'd understood? She frowned, searching for the words she needed and finding none.

  "Today we're going to take the bandages off, Selena. Did Edith tell you that?"

  He was speaking too quickly. Helplessly she stared up at him.

  "It's okay, don't worry. It's okay to be confused. Normal. I'm not going to give you any more tests yet."

  Confused. The word registered. "Yes. Con . . . fused," she croaked.

  She saw the pleasant surprise in his eyes and was proud. He had understood her.

  He picked up a pair of pants�no, something else, something silver and sharp�from the tray and very gently began to cut away her bandages. Snip, snip, snip. The layers and layers of linen fell away, became a blurry heap beside his feet.

  He touched her chin, gently turned her face to the side. "The fracture is healing nicely, as is the bruising on your face. Soon we'll know what you look like. Yes, very nice . . ."

  Nice. She understood nice. He liked her. "Thank

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  you." T
he phrase popped out of her mouth almost before she understood it.

  "You seem well enough for a bath today, Selena. Edith will give you one soon."

  She didn't remember what a bath was, but she wanted him to give it to her. She tried to tell him, tried to find the words. "No ... you."

  He laughed, a low, throaty sound that struck her as magic. "Even a rake like me knows that's not proper. I don't think so, Selena."

  Rake. Gardening. She frowned, trying to understand. "Confused," she whispered.

  "Shhh, it's okay." He touched her swollen jaw, his finger lingering for far too short a time. "Soon, Selena," he whispered, stroking her puffy, discolored cheek. "Soon you'll be able to tell us what you want and who you are."

  But she knew what she wanted. She'd known it from the moment she first heard his voice in the darkness. She wanted Ian beside her, forever and always. She tried to tell him. "Want ... God . . . need ..." She lost her train of thought completely. "No ... Aagh!"

  "Don't worry, Selena. We'll get you fed and bathed and then we'll try again. It'll all come back. I promise."

  She worked so hard to understand what he was saying. She recognized one word pattern; over and over he said it to her. It was part of the first word she remembered, fightselena. She concentrated with all her effort to force the single word up her throat. "S ... Selena?"

  "We've been calling you Selena. Until you tell us your name, we have no other."

  She was hopelessly confused. He was talking so fast___

  He touched his chest. "Ian." Then he touched her, a breezing caress beneath her chin. "Selena."

  She understood. He wanted to be called Ian. And she was Selena.

  "Selena." This time the word rolled off her tongue

  I�

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  like a song. It was beautiful, this name, and Ian-God had given it to her. "Selena. Nice." She started to say something else, but she couldn't remember what it was.

  Chapter Six

  "Is her bath ready, Edith?"

  "Aye, Doctor."

  Selena didn't understand the words. Ian-God was talking to one of the strangers�a fat, gray-haired lady with a wrinkly face.

  Ian-God moved toward her and sat on the edge of the bed. "Would you like to walk?"

  She gazed up at him, mesmerized by the incredible hue of his eyes. She remembered suddenly that they were the exact color of a blue jay's wing. A giddy happiness bubbled up in her, and a sound slipped from her mouth. It wasn't laughter, not quite. Something else, something softer, but she couldn't give it a name. It felt good, though. Wonderful. She was so happy that even the pain in her head seemed insignificant. God was here, beside her, smiling at her and asking her something.

  Asking her something. She'd forgotten. She blinked up at him, trying to remember how to ask him to repeat what he'd said and to do it more ...

  "Slow," she said, suddenly remembering.

  "Certainly," he answered, easing back the coverlet that hid her body. "Would ... you ... like ... to ... walk?"

  She forgot to listen to him again. She was enthralled by the sound of his voice and the sight of her own body.

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  He peeled the quilt back slowly, so slowly, revealing a thin, bruised body sheathed in clinging ivory lace. The nightdress bunched around her middle and twisted across her thighs. Pale legs stuck out from beneath the lacy hem.

  He touched her calf. She felt the warm dampness of each finger on her skin. "Would you like to walk�like before?"

  She looked up at him. Some part of her mind wanted to answer, but she couldn't remember what to say. Then she couldn't remember what he'd asked.

  He threaded his fingers through hers, provided her with the anchor of his presence and gently pulled her forward. Her back arched, and her heavy, heavy head fell back. At the movement, pain shot into her skull.

  She moaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut.

  He was beside her instantly, holding her, stroking the swollen side of her face, his arm curled comfortingly around her shoulders. "It's okay. Breathe deeply, relax."

  The words spun through her pain-ridden head, merging, elongating. Meaningless.

  But it sounded so nice. She let his voice wrap around her, soothe her. She concentrated on that, only that, until the pain melted into a dull, throbbing ache. That, she could live with.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, she opened her eyes, and found herself in his arms.

  "All better? Nod if you're better."

  She frowned. What was nod?

  He touched her chin, held it in a soft grip, and forced her head up slowly, then down. "Nod," he said, repeating the gesture until she understood.

  "Now, do you feel better?"

  Hesitantly, staring up at him for approval, she nodded.

  He gave her a bright smile. "Good." Carefully he eased his arm beneath her knees and helped her to

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  stand. Holding her close, he guided her to a slow, unsteady walk.

  The strangers parted in a separating wave. She caught sight of a thin, yellow-haired girl sucking her finger and a frail, red-haired woman. She wanted to say something to one of them, but before she could think of a concrete word, he had moved her past the crowd.

  In a sweeping gesture that made her laugh, he picked her up. Her bare legs crooked over his powerful arms, swung in the cool, cool air. He carried her to the end of the darkened hallway and stopped at a small wooden door that made a lovely creaking sound when he pushed it open. He went inside the room and put her down.

  "This is the bathing chamber."

  It was lovely, so different from the plain, white-walled room that was all she'd ever seen. There were tiny pink flowers and green leaves everywhere. It looked just like the world beyond the window, glowing and vibrant and alive.

  She walked toward the walls and put her hands out to touch the beautiful flowers.

  Flat. Frowning, she pressed closer, sniffed the small pink buds. No smell, either.

  She looked back at Ian-God, trying to find words to express her confusion.

  "Wallpaper," he said, coming up beside her. "Painted flowers." He drew a single flower from the vase on the mantel and presented it to her. "Real."

  She had never seen anything so beautiful. So exquisite. She wanted to feel it, taste it. A perfume-sweet fragrance wafted to her nostrils, teased her with a treasured, unexpected memory. She grabbed the flower from him.

  A dozen spikes drove into the tender flesh of her palm. With a startled cry, she drew her hand back. Dots of red oozed from her skin.

  "Damn it." He yanked the flower back and stomped it beneath his heel.

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  "No!" But she was too late. The beautiful pink petals were crushed, the flower broken. She looked up at him, confused.

  "Thorns. Don't touch it again." At her puzzled look, he grabbed her hand, pulled the bloody palm up toward him. "See? Pain. Thorn. Oh, Christ ..."

  She didn't understand. Had she done something wrong?

  He stared at her for a long time, saying nothing. Then he touched her cheek and sighed. "Who are you, my goddess," he whispered softly, "that you don't remember about thorns?"

  He was talking too fast again. She didn't understand the words, but she heard a wistful sadness in his voice. Somehow, she'd failed him again.

  "Good-bye, Selena. Be a good girl for Edith."

  She stared up at him, afraid he'd hear the tears in her voice if she spoke. Slowly she nodded.

  And then he was gone.

  Selena stood in the center of the room, alone. Fear welled up inside her, made her want to cry. She bit down on her lower lip, wishing she knew what she'd done wrong.

  Edith bustled in from the open doorway. She withdrew a single flower from the vase on the table and wrapped a towel around the thorny stem. Keeping her gaze locked on Selena's, the old woman moved forward, the blossom outstretched. "Here you go, lassie. 'Tis a rose."

  Rose. The flower was call
ed a rose, and she remembered all at once that it came in many colors.

  "I'll put some scent of roses in your bathwater, eh, child?"

  Selena didn't understand. The woman�Edith�was speaking too quickly, and there was a strange foreign-ness to her words. She didn't sound like Ian. Still, it was better to simply nod and pretend. Better that than speak and disappoint.

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  She nodded.

  Edith moved toward her and began unbuttoning the small circles on Selena's nightdress. Selena watched in fascination. The woman's pudgy pink fingers took hold of a pearly drop�button, she remembered suddenly� and pushed it through the hole. One, two, three, four, five.

  "Arms up," Edith said.

  Selena nodded.

  Edith took hold of her wrists. "Arms," she said with a little squeeze for emphasis.

  Selena understood.

  "Arms up," Edith repeated, and this time Selena knew what the old woman was asking for.

  Slowly she pushed her hands up into the air.

  "Good girl." She eased the nightdress over Selena's head and draped the lacy garment over the back of a burgundy velvet chair.

  Selena stared in utter fascination at her naked body. Slowly she ran her hands over her breasts, feeling the pink tips pucker and tighten. At the touch, a shiver passed through her belly.

  Edith laughed nervously. "Come along now, none of that." She took hold of Selena's hand and led her to the small, white stool along the wall. Long brass tubes ran from the back of the stool, disappearing into an ornately scrolled white box just beneath the ceiling. A chain dangled from the box.

  "Toilet," Edith said, pointing at the stool. "Do you remember how to use one?"

  Selena moved slowly toward the toilet and stared down at it for a long time, waiting for some hint of an image to surface in her mind.

  "Sit down on it, lassie. Maybe that'll remind you."

  Selena straddled the thing and sat down. It felt cool and slick on the inside of her thighs. She stared at the brass pipe, marveling at the color.

  Edith touched her arm. "Turn around." When Selena

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  failed to understand, Edith helped her move her position.

  It felt instantly familiar, sitting on the circular opening, and she remembered what she was supposed to do. A second later, she felt a rush of moisture and the tinkling sound of water dripping on water.

  "Good girl," Edith said, handing her some wadded-up paper.

  Selena used the paper and stood up.

  "Now, over here," Edith said, taking her by the arm. "Bathtub."

  Selena stared at the white thing full of water and understood. "Bathtub." She walked toward it, noticing the heated, cloudy haze that clung to the surface of the water. She could smell the humid scent of it, almost remember the slick, hot feel of it against her flesh. She clutched the sleek white edge and started to climb in, but before her toe touched the water, she saw something that surprised her.

  Behind the bathtub was a pink stone fireplace, with a small fire blazing in the grate. Above the mantel hung a huge mirror. Inside the glass, another naked woman was getting into another bathtub.