All This Time

by Mikki Daughtry

  “When I said I heard you talking to me… I heard everything you said, Sam. Everything.” I watch as his face pales, his eyes widening as he realizes what I’m talking about.

  “You owe me. For that missed tackle. For my shoulder. For my career—”

  Sam holds up his hands, shaking his head. I’ve hit the mark. “Hold on—I’m sorry—”

  “Then prove it!” I say as I raise the Post-it note. “Help me. All I’m asking is that you believe me, Sam. It’s her. I know it’s her.”

  His dark eyebrows pull together as he thinks, his eyes turning to the iPad, glowing on the bed. “I know I owe you, and I’ve really tried to be the best friend I could be,” he says softly. “I wasn’t always able to do that. I shouldn’t have let you be blindsided by Kimberly’s acceptance to Berkeley. I should have told you how I felt about Kim, even if I was never going to do anything about it. I should have helped you find something outside of football and us to focus on.” He runs his fingers through his hair, swallowing. “And you’re right—I should have blocked that linebacker. I should have protected you, and I’ve been beating myself up about it ever since.”

  He looks up, his eyes locking with mine. “But I didn’t. And I’ve learned my lesson. I know how to be a real friend now. Not just a good friend.”

  He’ll help me. The guilt I feel for playing that card on Sam is swallowed whole by relief. I grab the iPad, scooping up my crutch from the floor. “Great. Grab my wallet,” I say as I nod to the table in front of him. “Let’s go—”

  “No,” Sam says, the single word stopping me in my tracks, his voice firm. “Here’s me protecting you. The right way.” He takes a deep breath and points to the iPad, at the address still on the screen. “That girl doesn’t know you, Kyle. She is not Marley. There is no Marley. So get over your dream life and start living your real one. This one.”

  He turns and walks out the door, closing it loudly behind him. I look down at the address, at the pile of sticky notes forming a thin layer across my bed.

  It looks completely crazy.

  But the only thing crazier would be giving up on her.

  34

  I squeeze my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep as I wait for the night nurse to leave. I pop one eye open to see her reaching up to flick off the lights, her features disappearing into darkness as I hold my breath, waiting. The second the door clicks shut behind her, I’m on the move.

  I call an Uber, placing the pin a safe distance outside the entrance to the hospital, before throwing my legs over the side of my bed and standing, my bad leg almost buckling under the weight.

  Taking a deep breath, I steady myself, grab my crutches for support, and hobble over to the cabinet. The black duffel bag my mom brought is sitting at the bottom, and I pull out a pair of Nike shorts and a T-shirt. I slide them on as quickly as I can, which is not quick at all, my leg struggling to comprehend the urgency of this entire operation.

  I peer into the hallway, looking in both directions.

  Nine o’clock, right after my vitals were checked, the perfect time to strike. The top of the hour brings with it an empty nurses’ station, ideal for me to hobble from my room to the exit without getting caught.

  I breathe a sigh of relief as the glass doors of the hospital slide shut behind me, my breakout nearly complete.

  Where’s my Uber?

  I stare anxiously at the hospital entrance, my eyes flicking from the main road to the door and back again, praying for John in a red Prius to pull onto the drive before I get dragged back to my room. I try to keep my cool as I wait, but the thought of seeing Marley in just a few minutes makes my heart hammer in my chest. Will she be angry? Will she trust me again? What has this been like for her? Somehow I just know she’ll be the one to understand all of this.

  There’s a flash of headlights, and the Prius glides to a stop in front of me. I yank open the door and quickly slide inside. My head is fuzzy and my leg is throbbing, but I’ve been through a hell of a lot worse.

  We drive and I watch the time tick down on the GPS, the space between me and Marley shortening by the second. The road flies by underneath us, the yellow dividing lines in the center pulling me closer and closer to her.

  Soon we’re turning onto Glendale Street, slowing to a stop in front of a modest white house at the corner, a big tree standing in the front lawn. An uneasy feeling swims into my stomach as I look at the wilted flower bushes lining the porch, the overgrown lawn.

  This is… not quite what I pictured.

  I glance down at my phone to see it’s almost nine thirty.

  Is it too late? Will she answer the door?

  “You want me to wait?” the driver asks, and I hesitate just one more second.

  Then I shake my head. Marley’s inside. I’ve got no reason to leave. I struggle out onto the sidewalk and pause as the car disappears into the distance.

  Every step I take, I get more nervous, the pain in my leg growing by the second, my heart hammering in my chest.

  Soon only the door stands between us. I lean on my crutches, staring at it.

  A ceramic duck statue is perched on top of the welcome sign. A sign on a sign. It spurs me on.

  I reach out slowly, and after a long moment my finger presses the doorbell. One sharp peal sounds and I quickly pull my hand away.

  I hold my breath, listening, until I hear the sound of footsteps coming closer. A wave of dizziness passes over me, but I fight through it. The lock slowly turns; then the handle twists and the door opens.

  I’m so expecting to see her that it’s hard for me to fully process the stocky, middle-aged guy with a thick beard standing in front of me.

  His curiosity turns to a frown when he looks at me.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi,” I say, clearing my throat. “Um, is Marley home?”

  He sizes me up. “How do you know my daughter?”

  Just like that my doubt evaporates and relief plunges through me. I knew it.

  “Sir, I’m—” I start to say, stopping short when a young girl I’ve never seen before peeks around her dad’s shoulder, her eyes wide as she stares at me.

  She can’t be more than ten.

  “Marley,” the man says to her, nodding to me. “Do you know this guy?”

  Her small, round eyes meet mine, and her fear kicks me in the teeth. She’s just some poor kid. But how can this be? I thought all the signs pointed to this Marley. This house.

  The girl shakes her head, but I’m already stumbling back, trying to get the hell out of here, seeing the cracks in the article that I ignored in my excitement.

  Lara, not Laura. Her sister, but not a single mention of twins. Hit at night instead of the morning. I just thought maybe my coma brain had gotten some of the details wrong.

  “I’m sorry,” I manage to get out. “Wrong house.”

  I turn as quickly as I can, desperately struggling to get down the front steps, my vision tunneling. As if this isn’t already bad enough, one of my crutches slips halfway down. I lose my footing and hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of me as my body sprawls across the front yard.

  Gasping, I fight to catch my breath as the dad trots down the steps after me.

  “Why are you here?” he calls out, voice angry.

  I grab my crutches. I have to get back on my feet, but my entire body is screaming. “I got the wrong house. I’m sorry.” I grunt and hoist myself up.

  I hear him call over his shoulder to his daughter a firm “Get inside, Marley.” Just hearing her name is enough to practically knock me over again, but I hobble forward.

  I make it to a streetlight by the road, collapsing against it. Looking back, I see the dad watching me from the porch, glaring, so I keep fighting, stumbling to the curb at the end of the block.

  I slide onto it, under the glow of the streetlight, my vision blurring.

  It wasn’t her. If she’s out there, this was my shot. None of the others made any sense.

  Which means she’s not h
ere.

  And she never was.

  * * *

  I pull my hands away from my face when I hear Kim’s car pull up. She stops right in front of me. Sam’s in the passenger seat, a worried look on his face.

  They came the second I called, just like they always have.

  Both of them hop out and help me off the curb, getting me safely into the front seat, my body too exhausted to do it on my own.

  The three of us sit in silence, Sam’s arms resting on the center console, his eyes downcast.

  I feel like a complete idiot. “You were right. I should have listened to you.”

  He gives a sad shake of his head and lets out a long exhale. “I should have come with you.”

  “No,” I say, defeated. “You knew it wasn’t going to be her.”

  “Which is exactly why I should’ve been here,” he says, frustrated with himself even though I’m the one to blame for all of this.

  “You’re here now,” I say, my voice cracking. I reach for Kimberly’s hand, but she pushes mine away, pulling me into a tight, bone-crushing hug instead.

  She’s stronger than most of the guys from the football team even with one arm in a brace.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” I say, my eyes meeting Sam’s over her shoulder.

  Sam leans over the seat to wrap his arms around both of us, tears running down all of our faces.

  We pull apart and I rub my eyes, trying to get myself back together. “I’m sorry for all this.”

  Kim gives me a sad smile, all of the weirdness since I woke up completely erased. She reaches out to squeeze my hand. “I’m sorry you lost your Marley,” she says, meaning it. “I know how you love, Kyle, and if you love her like this, then…”

  “I’m so fucked,” I say, the three of us laughing through our tears.

  Then my laugh gives way, and I just sob.

  Because Marley isn’t real.

  35

  The next morning, Dr. Benefield checks my IV line while my mom stands in the corner with her arms crossed. Both of them are decidedly not psyched about my nighttime escape. After checking my leg and shining a light into my eyes, she lets out a long sigh.

  “What you did last night was really, really stupid. You could have seriously damaged your leg again,” she says as she hangs a small bag of morphine and attaches it to my IV, clearly disappointed that I’m back on it.

  “I don’t need that,” I say, and her hand freezes in midair.

  “Kyle, just take the medicine,” my mom says. “You were in so much pain last night, you could barely speak.”

  I ignore her, keeping my eyes on Dr. Benefield.

  “You sure?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “You’re not impressing anyone here by playing it tough. Although, maybe the pain will keep you out of trouble.”

  I try to return the smile, but it comes up flat. “I’m done chasing dreams.”

  She gives my hand a small squeeze. “No pain, then?”

  “Not that kind.” I shake my head.

  A flash of sympathy crosses her face, and she removes the bag.

  “Okay,” she says, pointing to the call button. “If you change your mind, just—”

  “I won’t,” I say, cutting her off. After a year of living in a dream, it’s time to know what is real.

  She nods, studying me for a moment before she leaves. I curl up in bed, turning away from my mom, this feeling of loss so overwhelmingly familiar. Because what comes to mind isn’t the big-deal days, where we went to the Winter Festival or celebrated Halloween night. It’s all the small, inconsequential moments I took for granted. Feeding the ducks popcorn together, or watching her make one of her bouquets, or going on walks with her and Georgia. Things I thought we’d do a hundred times more.

  All gone.

  * * *

  The next afternoon, I finally find the strength to get out of bed. To face the world. My mom wheels me down the hall to the courtyard, where the warm sun is making the water around the fountain shimmer.

  “I’m going to go grab a snack real quick,” she says, nodding to the outdoor café, perched just on the other side of the courtyard. “You want anything?”

  I shake my head and give her a small smile. “I won’t make a break for it. Don’t worry.”

  She gives my shoulder a squeeze and heads down the path, disappearing from view.

  I look around at the cherry trees. The honeysuckle. The yellow and pink flowers, their petals intermixing along the path.

  She was never real, but everything I see reminds me of her.

  How’s that for screwed?

  I see Sam making his way toward me, his hands shoved in his pockets as he unknowingly crushes the petals underneath his feet.

  “You okay?” he asks as he comes closer.

  I nod and pull my eyes away from the smooshed petals. “Yeah. You?”

  He nods and sits down next to me on the bench, both of us falling into silence. Sam finally breaks it. “Kim wants to come by later, if you’re up for company.”

  “Will you be coming with her?” I ask, nudging him. “Like with her?”

  Sam shifts uncomfortably, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You know, man, it hasn’t been as long out here as it was in your coma world,” he says, giving me a small smile. “We’re going to feel things out. Maybe see how we feel when she gets back home for fall break. So leave it for now.”

  “That’s not a no,” I say with a grin.

  Sam chuckles. “You’re right. That’s not a no.” He pauses and sizes me up. “What about you? What’s next?”

  I take a deep breath, looking up at the cherry trees, the sunlight trickling through the branches. “I have no idea,” I say, watching the petals slowly fall, my eyes meeting my mom’s as she walks back from the café, coffee in one hand, biscotti in the other.

  I let the wave of grief wash over me, trying not to let it take me under.

  I was able to move on once, and it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But this feels a million times worse. I understand now what Sam meant that day on the field.

  I would never let her go.

  I still love her. I’ll never be able to stop. So what the hell do I do with that?

  * * *

  That night, when my eyes open, I know I’m dreaming again. Georgia’s tiny face is nuzzling mine, covering my cheeks with kisses.

  I smile sadly and reach out to pet her. This may be a dream, but that doesn’t make it feel any less real. And I don’t care, because it’s exactly where I want to be.

  I’d rather live forever in this dream than live out there without Marley.

  I look past Georgia, my eyes registering the rest of the room.

  Yellow.

  Everywhere.

  The bedding, the lampshades, even the ceiling fixtures. The walls are covered in the same yellow Doris Day roses that are in the courtyard.

  Then I see her.

  Marley.

  She stands at the edge of the bed, wearing a long yellow dress, her brown hair hanging over one shoulder. I stare at her, her face clear for the first time since the first dream, as if now that I’ve stopped looking for her everywhere, my brain can finally let her in. I can see her freckles, the traces of green in her eyes, the deep pink of her down-turned lips. And it’s like I forgot just how beautiful she is. How could I forget that?

  I open my arms, and she climbs into them, curling up against me.

  I know it’s not happening, but I can feel her body pressed up against mine, as real as it always used to seem.

  “I can’t let you go,” I whisper to her, smelling the warm jasmine of her hair. No, not jasmine. Honeysuckle. From the courtyard.

  She looks up at me, her face sad. There was so much I wanted to ask her in all the other dreams, but none of it matters now. I just want to hold her for as long as I can.

  I don’t see her lips move, but I can hear her whispered voice echoing around the yellow room we are in.

  “He was awake
now. Living two different lives. One with her…”

  The door to the yellow room creaks open, and sitting on the other side is my hospital room, a scene from earlier today right before my eyes. Me, Kimberly, and Sam, laughing while we eat off-brand M&M’S and Swedish Fish that Kim bought at the gift shop in the hospital lobby.

  “… and one with them,” her voice continues.

  I stare at myself through the door, my figure freezing suddenly and turning to look directly at me. My lips move, but Marley’s voice comes out.

  “Don’t let go.”

  Never.

  I pull her close to me, holding her tighter as rain begins to fall all around us, drenching the yellow lampshades, the Doris Day wallpaper starting to peel off the wall. The only thing that stays dry is us and the bed we’re lying on, Marley safe in my arms.

  The sheets of water get closer and closer, closing in on us. I fight to keep my eyes open, to keep myself there just a few minutes longer. But eventually my brain takes over, and even though I don’t want to, I wake up back in my real hospital room, where it’s still the middle of the night. Arms empty. Alone.

  Water splatters loudly against my window, startling me.

  It stops abruptly only to start again a couple of seconds later. On and off, over and over, the sound filling the room.

  Sprinklers. In the courtyard.

  I roll over to my other side, turning quickly away from the window, my leg screaming out in pain. Frustrated, I roll onto my back, but I can’t get comfortable on this hard-as-hell hospital mattress.

  I turn my head to look outside, watching as the sprinkler noisily batters the glass again. My eyes find a small snail crawling slowly across the window. I watch it fight its way along.

  I want to tell it to just sit there and wait it out. There’s no use in the struggle. But suddenly, without warning, it’s plucked from the glass by a pair of fingers that disappear from view just as quickly as they came.

  Huh?

  I look closer, realizing there’s someone outside in the courtyard. Pushing myself out of bed, I grab my crutches and shuffle to the window. A girl in dark clothes on the other side of the glass is moving up and down the courtyard, plucking snails out of the way of the sprinkler and moving them to safety.