by Julie Hall
But a little voice in the back of my mind mocked me and told me that I was fooling myself if I thought I could go on without him. When that voice popped up, I locked it away into the far recesses of my mind—for my sanity.
I was barely paying attention as Jared wheeled me back to my room.
“You know, soon you’ll be able to start taking short walks on your own in-between our sessions.”
I barked out a laugh. Awesome. More pain for more of the day.
“Cool, right?” He purposefully ignored my mocking response. “Okay, here we are. Temporary home sweet home.”
“Yay,” I weakly replied.
He stopped before he wheeled me into the room. I looked up at him with a question in my eyes, and he came around the front of my chair. He crouched down until he was level with me, his gaze intense and his lips pressed into a hard line.
A serious look from Jared? Uh-oh, these were few and far between. Someone was channeling a little Shannon right now.
Oh, shoot. I did it again. I batted thoughts of the prickly angel away.
“You’re a fighter, Audrey. You’ll get through this and be stronger because of it.”
I wanted to laugh in his face, but that word popped up again—fighter—it got me every time. These people didn’t know that I had been a hunter. They didn’t know how appropriate the term was.
Who knew that battling with fists and weapons would be one of the easier ways to fight?
“You want me to do . . . wh-what?” It had taken a few months, but I was finally able to get a full sentence out. Yeah, I usually had a break and often a stutter, but I finally felt like I could communicate with people again.
Jared bounced up and down like an excited puppy. “We’re gonna go for a jog . . . on the ‘big kids’ track.”
He pointed his thumb behind him. I didn’t have to look, but I did anyway. In the west wing of the hospital was a full gym. It had all the bells and whistles: not only a full-sized running track, but also a climbing wall and a bunch of fancy machines. The gym sat in the very center of the wing. All the rooms on this side of the hospital looked down on it, reminding me of a hotel atrium. Maybe the architect of this place had thought the view would be inspiring for the patients, but in reality it just made anyone using it feel like they were on display.
I shook my head. “Noo. Definitely not ready for that.”
He nodded, a maniacal smile on his face. “Oh, yeah, you are.”
“I ju-just got com-fortable slow walking. I only d-ditched my wheelchair las-st week. What makes you th-think I’m ready for that?” I pointed out the windows that looked down to what patients called the coliseum.
It didn’t just feel like people were on display down there—that they were being judged—it was a fact. Sometimes when patients got bored, they’d sit on the sixth floor and watch the action. Cringing whenever someone wiped out . . . which always happened. I should know. I’d spent enough time as one of those quiet observers.
One truly delightful ten-year-old always tried to take bets on how long it would take for someone to bite it. I ignored him because I found that to be extremely disrespectful, but I never said anything because he was just a little kid. He was missing an eye from an accident, and his head was shaved bald with a bunch of stitches visible on his patched eye side. I felt bad for him, but I also thought he was a little punk.
Kids . . . shudder . . . at least I wasn’t lamenting the loss of never having to have them. The booger eaters here drove me a little batty. But the circumstances that landed them here made me entirely depressed, so I basically ignored them when I could.
“This is happening, Audrey. Embrace it. Seize the day. Run free and all that.”
“What?”
Jared was weird.
“Come on.” He grabbed my hand and all but hauled me to the elevator that brought us to the ground floor.
I reluctantly followed him out when we arrived because I didn’t want to be dragged again.
Upon stepping into the training space, I was immediately both intimidated and swamped with nostalgia. The hospital’s atrium-like rehab training area in no way looked like the training gyms I’d spent so many hours in with both Hugo and . . . him, but something about the atmosphere brought back a wave of familiarity. And with it a swell of emotions, both good and bad.
Jared led me around the large open space, pointing out different areas and activities and letting me know when he thought I may be ready for each. He was completely oblivious to my near emotional overload.
“All right, now that tour time is over, let’s talk about the training plan for the day.”
Jared turned to me, and his expression instantly dropped. “Audrey, I’m so sorry. We can just have this be a tour today and start tomorrow if you need time to work up to this. I know sometimes I push you a little hard, but it’s because I always know you’ll rise to the challenge.”
“Huh? What?” I didn’t understand his one-eighty degree change. He did a quick search around and then took off, pulling a fresh hand towel from a rack.
“Here.” He handed me the white piece of cloth and shifted on his feet, looking extremely uncomfortable.
I looked up at him with knitted brows. Why had he given this to me?
“It’s for . . . you know, your face.”
My face?
I reached up and touched a hand to my cheek to find it wet. The other cheek was also covered. I’d been crying without even knowing. Since when was that a thing I did?
I quickly scrubbed my face with the abrasive towel, wiping away the evidence of my weakness.
Geez, who cried like that without even realizing it had happened? I was turning into a total spaz.
“All right, so we’ll just go back upstairs and do some similar exercises to yesterday’s and—”
“No,” I interrupted his nervous jabber. I knew a lot of patients leaked out tears during physical therapy. The sessions were often extremely painful. I could only assume he was acting so weird because tears weren’t something he’d ever seen from me before. Sure, witty comebacks and playground insults, but never tears.
“Let’s do . . . th-this. You were right. I c-an handle it.”
Jared placed a brotherly hand on my shoulder. “Really, Audrey, we can start tomorrow.”
I shook my head. “It’s really okay. I-I would like to . . . move forward.”
Jared pressed his lips together and searched my face. After several beats, he gave a sharp nod. “All right then. Step up to the starting line. I’m expecting four laps from you today.”
I swallowed a groan. I should have taken the out. This was gonna suck.
34
Revelations
Telling Jared yes was a mistake—a big, fat, huge mistake.
I leaned heavily on the railings as I limped back to my room. I was taking a detour through a part of the hospital I rarely traveled simply because I knew there would be railings for me to use. I’d refused to be wheeled back out of sheer stubbornness. A decision I regretted at the moment.
I hadn’t even made it four laps. After two and a half speed-walked laps, I was on the verge of collapsing. Jared called it quits with his usual cheerfulness, telling me how great I’d done even though I knew I was a failure.
One step in front of the other.
Keeping my head bent, I focused entirely on my forward momentum. I was like the Little Engine That Could. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.
There was a break in the railing in front of a patient’s door. Sucking in a fortifying breath of air, I took several slow shuffle steps until I reached the other side. I happened to glance up and see the patient’s name scrolled across the plate next to the door.
For some reason, I found the name sobering. This was the section of the hospital that housed the more critical and long-term coma patients. The ones who weren’t expected to ever wake.
In some ways, this wing was more like a nursing home than a hospital. Each patient had their own room. T
hey were usually decorated by family and friends, even though the patient most likely would never appreciate their efforts. People visited on a regular basis but hardly ever spent the night. Sometimes patients’ families would bring in their own furniture to place around the room. Things that made them comfortable and probably humanized their loved ones.
L. London was printed on the removable sign.
I stopped and just stared at the name. A. Lyons could just have easily been affixed to that spot, or any of the rooms along this hall.
A shiver ran down my spine. As much as I ached for the afterlife, how would I have felt if I’d known my body was withering away in this realm? My family in limbo, hoping for a day that might never come. They’d lived like that for almost a year, and I’d had no idea.
I was about to move on when the sound of waves tickled my ears. The door to the patient’s room was open a few inches, and soothing notes were coming from within.
I knew better. I knew I shouldn’t. But the ocean had a hold on my heart.
So I gently pushed the door open wider and poked my head through. With a sense of awe, I stepped inside, closing the door behind me without rational thought. Someone had transformed this room into an ocean paradise. The rhythmic lull of the surf was only part of the illusion. A mural of blended blues completely overtook the wall to the right. It looked like I was standing in the curl of a wave right on the cusp of breaking. It was breathtaking.
Several large glass jars filled with shells and sea glass sat on the windowsill. In front of the open window was a wind chime made of rope and shells gently tinkling in the breeze.
Other than the hospital bed, the furniture in the room was a stylish mix of whites and creams. It reminded me of colorful shades of sand. I glanced past the pictures on a small bookshelf, somehow feeling like it would be an invasion of privacy to look too closely—but who was I kidding? I’d already invaded this family’s privacy when I walked in the room. My gaze landed on a large surfboard that was mounted to the wall above the patient’s head.
That’s odd.
The board wasn’t shiny and new but rather faded in places and on the brink of overuse. A pain twisted inside my chest.
The ocean was our place, but knowing this patient had loved his sport as well hit a little too close to home.
I finally let myself look at the form lying in bed—almost unrecognizable as a human being under the machines keeping him or her alive. Ignoring all the machines that littered the room had been easy at first—with the beautiful harmony someone had taken great care to transform this space—but they jumped out in stark contrast when I stared at the patient. They beeped and wheezed, keeping the person before me alive.
Out of a strange sense of curiosity, I took a step forward. I could now tell the patient was a male. Tubes came out of him everywhere, running out from under his blankets. His head was shaved, and sensors were attached to different points on his skull, most likely monitoring brain function that wasn’t even there . . . but I didn’t know enough about these severe cases to do more than guess.
His hair might have been light brown, but the cut was shorn so close to his scalp I could only go by the color of his eyebrows. His eyelids were taped shut, which I found a little disturbing. A flexible plastic tube ran from his mouth. His features were hollow and gaunt. Guessing his age would have been a shot in the dark. I didn’t see evidence of wrinkles, which would suggest he was incredibly old, yet his body had that withered look that one often associates with the elderly.
Then again, I thought, so did mine before I started physical therapy.
His shoulder bones stuck out under his hospital gown—evidence that he’d once had a large build. His right hand peeked out from his thin blanket. He had long, thin fingers that, like the rest of him, were most likely leaner than normal due to whatever time he’d spent here.
I didn’t know what made me scrutinize this poor soul so closely. Perhaps because I sympathized with him? Perhaps because I felt like he could easily be me?
His chest rose and fell to the cadence of the machine that was breathing for him. I was transfixed by that motion, and I honestly didn’t know how long I stood there, just watching him breathe.
“Excuse me, what are you doing in my son’s room?”
I startled and jumped away from the bed. Something on the shelf behind me fell over. I had been so busy with my creeper behavior that I’d missed someone entering the room.
“Oh, g-gosh. I’m sorry.” My mind short-circuited on me, and I just stood there like a complete idiot, looking at a well-dressed lady. She was probably around my mother’s age, but with blonde hair pulled back in a stylish twist. Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked farther into the room . . . her son’s room that I had totally trespassed into.
A small frown pulled the corners of her lips down, and her brows pinched in a way that made me believe she was deciding between confusion and anger. I really hoped for the former.
But then she stepped closer, and I saw her eyes.
I took a step back. For a minute, I couldn’t breathe.
She had his eyes. His exact same eyes.
She said something, but I missed it, transfixed by her cobalt-blue gaze.
Lots of people had blue eyes, I reminded myself, trying to shake off the unnerving recognition. She tilted her head, waiting for an answer to a question I hadn’t even heard.
“I . . . I’m sorry. Wh-what?”
“I asked if you know a patient here.”
“Oh. No. I am a pa-tient. I’m st-ill in re-hab.” That one took a while to spit out. I pointed at my mouth and let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. “See?”
Her features softened at that, as if my hardships excused my bad behavior. Hey, I would take whatever I could get. I wasn’t allowed in her son’s room.
“I’ll j-ust go now.” I went to make a speedy exit, but then I remembered I’d knocked something over on the shelf. I quickly turned to straighten what looked to be a picture frame before retreating, but I stopped once I had repositioned it.
There were several people in the shot. Teenagers. And in the middle, with his arm draped over a beautiful blonde, was a younger version of Logan.
My vision blurred for a moment before snapping back to normal. I clutched the shelf of the bookcase to stay upright, my knuckles turning white with the grip.
“Do you know him, my son . . . Logan?” The woman was right next to me, pointing to his image.
I gaped and floundered for more than a few seconds. How was this possible? He was dead. I knew he was.
But so was I—and here I was.
Reality slammed into me—hard.
I stumbled back a step, and the woman—Logan’s mother—took a hold of my elbow to steady me.
“Are you all right, dear? Do you need to take a seat?”
A distant part of my mind wondered why she was being so nice to me. She had walked in to find a stranger lurking around her son’s hospital room. She should be shooing me away, but she was treating me with kindness instead. Maybe because of my condition?
She steered me toward the loveseat opposite his bed, the one facing his feet.
“I . . . ah.” My hands were shaking and my breathing erratic. I had to get this under control.
I glanced up into her deep-blue eyes and almost lost it again.
This was Logan’s mother. Sitting right next to me. And that meant the gaunt figure lying on the bed was . . . it was Logan.
He was here, with me . . . yet he wasn’t here. I knew that better than anyone.
Did he know he wasn’t actually dead, or was he just as much in the dark about it as I was? A memory tickled my mind, of when we were in the Archives Building and I asked if he’d checked up on his loved ones. “I’ve been avoiding this place. I probably should have at least checked in on my parents, but I’d been too . . .” If Logan had checked on his parents even once, he would have figured out where they spent their time—but by his own admission, he hadn’t. So th
ere was a chance he had no idea, just like I hadn’t known.
His mother stared at me with her brow furrowed. “Maybe I should get some help?”
She went to stand, but I grabbed her wrist. She looked back at me with surprise splashed across her face. I had to say something.
“Uh . . . please no. I’m-I’m s-o sorry.” I swallowed to wet my dry throat. “Your—ur son, Lo-gan. He ta-ught me how to . . . surf. Di-didn’t know h-e was here.”
“Oh, I see.” She sat back down on the sandy-colored loveseat. “That must have been a while ago. He’s been here for almost four years now.”
A tear leaked out of my eye. “I’m . . . so sorry.”
“Oh dear, please don’t say that. It looks like you’ve had your own struggles. Logan will come back to us . . . someday.”
She patted my hand, but I heard the hopelessness that betrayed her words. He wouldn’t be in this wing of the hospital if they thought he was going to come back to them. This wasn’t where they housed the patients they expected would wake up.
But I had, so why couldn’t Logan?
That wasn’t a realistic expectation, I told myself.
But miracles happened every day.
Two sides of my mind warred. I was on overload.
How could he be here? How was it we were both in the same place? Was it because he was going to come back to me, or was it so I could find closure to move on with my life?
I didn’t know, but I wasn’t going to figure it out in this short visit. My world had just been blown apart . . . again. I needed some time.
“Wo-uld you mi-mind telling me wh-at happened?”
“Oh.” The color drained from her face. I shouldn’t have asked.
“Never mind. That was insensitive.” I was able to get it all out at once.
She patted my hand and gave me a weak smile, her eyes filling up with water. “No, it’s all right. It’s supposed to be good for his father and me to talk about this. Can I ask your name, dear?”
