All This Time

by Mikki Daughtry

  Now that I’m here, though, I have no clue what to do.

  I glance over at Marley to see her head is buried in a book, her hair covering her face. I watch her for a moment, the way she’s sitting reminding me of those small moments when she’d speak of Laura. When the sad stories she refused to tell would cast a shadow over her.

  I scan the menu, stopping when I see they sell iced tea, another idea coming into my head. Like this moment was meant to be.

  A way to talk to this Marley. I can write it.

  I make my oddly specific request and snag a pen from the cashier, scrawling on the back of the receipt, Marley. You thought I wouldn’t hear you, but I did. I heard your stories, the fairy tales. I lived one—with you. I know you don’t share those memories, but you were my whole world while I was asleep. I miss hearing you talk. Please talk to me again. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.

  I head over and put the glass of tea down in front of her, the note just next to it, her eyes darting up. “Iced green tea, no sugar, fresh mint. Your favorite summer drink.”

  I look at the seat next to her, but I don’t sit. I remember in the dream world how hesitant she was. I don’t want to come on too strong.

  I hobble over to a table a few feet away and slide into one of the chairs, pulling out my phone and pretending to look at it.

  At first she doesn’t read the note.

  She doesn’t even lift her head from her book, her fingers drawing circles on the page in front of her.

  But then, out of the corner of my eye, I see her hand stop abruptly, frozen over a single spot, her eyes now fixed on my messy handwriting.

  She closes her book and gets up, and I try desperately to refocus my attention on my Instagram feed, but it’s no use. I can’t help it.

  I glance up to see she’s looking at me. Her eyes hold mine for the first time out of the coma, and I see something in them debating. I hold my breath, but instead of coming over, she turns and walks out of the outdoor café and back into the hospital, her book tucked under her arm.

  I stare at the untouched mint iced tea, the sweat from the glass bleeding onto the note, the ink blurring as the words all run together.

  Sighing, I text Kim she can meet me at the outdoor café now, and a few minutes later she appears, sliding into the seat across from me, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, an iced coffee still clutched in her hand.

  “All right,” she says, her business face on. She’s taking her role in this very seriously, darting around the hospital like a secret agent. “It took a minute to find someone who even knew who the hell I was talking about, but I finally got a nurse to talk to me on her way out on shift change. She stays here when her mother works,” she says, pulling out a color-coded schedule and pushing her sunglasses up on her forehead.

  “How did you get that…?”

  Kim peers around, eyeing a table next to us suspiciously, still in full recon mode. “Don’t ask,” she says, scanning the sheet and pointing at a blue block labeled CATHERINE PHELPS. “Anyway, her mom works twelve-hour shifts Monday, Tuesday, and Friday through Sunday. They let Marley hang around because she keeps to herself. She reads a lot. Takes a walk around the hospital grounds every day before she has lunch, alone, by the fountain.”

  She shrugs and slides the schedule across the table to me.

  I fold it up and shove it in my pocket, more than a little impressed at how much Kim found out, but she’s not done.

  “The weirdest thing, though? You’re not the only one she won’t talk to. She doesn’t talk at all. So I’m not sure you actually can break through to her.”

  But I know I can. Because I did before. She might not talk to anyone else, but at some point she talked to me. I just have to figure it out, but I can’t explain that to Kim right now.

  Kim leans back in her chair and takes a long sip of her iced coffee, thoughtful. “I wonder why, though? Who refuses to talk when they can?”

  I think about Marley’s hair covering her face, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she walked away, holding every part of her in, like a snail.

  “Someone who’s hiding from life.”

  39

  She doesn’t come see me.

  Two days go by, and then three. Dr. Benefield says we can start talking about discharge soon. The most recent scans on my brain came back normal, and the bones in my leg are healing much better now that I’m not lying unconscious 24/7. My mom is pretty thrilled, but I can’t help feeling nervous.

  I’m afraid she won’t come in time.

  On the fourth day, I head down to the physical therapy room alone to distract myself, slowly working my way through a list of strength exercises Henry gave me to do whenever I feel up for it.

  I pause at the top on my seventh straight leg raise as my mind drifts to Marley at the outdoor café. I can still see the debating look in her eyes after she read my note.

  Maybe I can do something like that again.…

  No. I shake my head and sit up. I told her to come when she’s ready to talk to me. If she hasn’t come yet, it means she isn’t ready. Or… maybe it means everyone was right.

  I fight back against the sinking feeling in my chest, reaching out to grab ahold of a rail and pull myself back up onto my feet.

  Maybe she’s not my Marley after all.

  I move to do a standing calf stretch, stopping short when I look up through the glass door into the hallway to see…

  Marley. Watching me.

  Her eyes widen and she turns, darting out of sight.

  Or maybe she is.

  I try to hurry after her, but my leg slows me down so much she’s long gone by the time I get out into the hallway.

  Dr. Benefield may have let me lose the crutches, but I would probably still get smoked by a turtle.

  I head back upstairs to the Cardiology wing, the elevator moving frustratingly slowly. When the doors slide open, I limp my way over to the waiting room I once found her in, my heart hammering noisily in my chest.

  Only it’s empty. Not a single trace of her backpack or her yellow notebook or the book she was reading a few days ago. Nothing.

  I let out a long exhale and plop into one of the chairs.

  I sit there for a long moment, listening to the hum of the TV across the room, the sound of a nurse’s squeaking shoes moving down the hallway.

  She was watching me.

  She didn’t say anything, but she was there. Standing in the doorway of the physical therapy room. If she thought I was crazy, she never would’ve come looking for me. Right?

  Sighing, I head back to my room and collapse onto my bed, my leg aching from all this running around. I look over as water loudly batters the window, then cuts off completely in the next second. It reappears a moment later.

  The sprinklers in the courtyard. Where I saw her the first time. I’m up and moving before the spray returns.

  I limp as fast as I can down the long hallway and slip quietly through the exit door when I see the nurse on duty caught up in a conversation down the hall. The late-summer air feels warm and sticky. Humid. The sweet aroma of the flowers lining the path fills the air.

  The daylight is fading, and lampposts have flicked on, giving off a warm yellow glow, so much softer than the fluorescent lights of the hospital.

  I zero in on a figure with long hair plucking snails out from under drenched greenery and moving them onto a stone ledge. I hesitate before cautiously walking over, smiling as I see the look of concentration on her face. It feels like déjà vu. A memory come to life.

  “I remember the first time I saw you do this,” I say. She doesn’t look up. “It rained on us at our spot by the pond, and on the way to the car, you stopped to pick up every snail on the path. You were afraid someone would step on them.”

  She just keeps picking them up and moving them, over and over again, as if she can’t hear me.

  “That was one of the first moments I knew I was in trouble,” I say, remembering how she had all the patience
in the world to get each and every snail. “I’d never met anyone quite like you before, Marley. I still haven’t.”

  I keep trying. “You said once that you like talking around me. So… talk to me. It can be about anything. Just talk to me.”

  She carefully moves the next snail out of harm’s way, but as she does, I see the pink sapphire necklace around her neck, the jewel glimmering in the dim light. I almost forget where I am as understanding hits me.

  Laura.

  Is that why she isn’t talking to me, too? Maybe… maybe this Marley is still hurting.

  I open my mouth to say something, but I don’t want to push too far. That Marley had to be ready on her own. This Marley does too.

  So, not knowing what else to do, I bend over and pick up a snail, moving it out of harm’s way while I just stay with her in the silence. Waiting. Hoping she’ll talk to me when she’s ready.

  40

  Marley’s mom has off on Wednesdays and Thursdays, so I try to fill my time until Friday with as many distractions as possible.

  I go to breakfast in the mornings with my mom before she goes to work, and physical therapy in the afternoons to work on my leg strength, then right into spending my evenings with Kim and Sam until it’s time to close my eyes again.

  On the bright side, her mom having off gives me two whole days to plan my final attempt at breaking down the wall between me and Marley.

  Thursday night, Kim and Sam come over with pizza, and the three of us half watch a rerun of Parks and Recreation. I’m staring at my laptop, Sam is staring at Kim, and Kim is… I look up when she nudges my knee, quickly slamming my laptop shut in surprise.

  Jumpy much?

  I laugh at my overreaction and send her a quick grin before turning my attention back to the TV and acting like I haven’t already seen the “Li’l Sebastian” episode eight times. From my periphery, I see her narrow her eyes at me.

  She definitely knows I’m up to something, but she won’t ask me about it with Sam here.

  It feels weird not to have told him yet, but after the incident two weeks ago, I didn’t want to jump the gun and tell him anything too soon in case it all turns out to be another disappointment.

  I smile to myself, watching the two of them try not to look at each other.

  I remember one of my first couple of times at the park with Marley. The way we kept glancing at each other, some unstoppable force moving between us. I can still see her shy smile when we caught eyes, even for just a second.

  I reach out, my fingers drumming impatiently on my laptop.

  “Well,” Kim says when the episode ends, dusting the pizza crumbs off her leggings. “We better get going.”

  She gives Sam a sweet smile. “Want to walk me to my car?”

  I’ve never seen that dude move faster. Not even in a championship game. He’s on his feet and ready to go in under a quarter of a second flat.

  “See you guys later,” I say, quickly throwing open my laptop the second the door clicks shut.

  Luckily, my cart hasn’t timed out yet. I click through the prompts and place my order, a green checkmark appearing on my screen.

  This is it. My last hope.

  * * *

  Three days later, I sit down on a bench in the garden a little before lunchtime, watching the petals of the cherry tree tumble slowly down to the ground. A slight puff of mist wafts over my face from the fountain, and when I look over, my eyes land on a familiar silhouette, sitting on the ledge, long brown hair falling around her face as she looks at her reflection in the water.

  Marley. Here to eat her lunch by the fountain, right on time.

  I stand and walk carefully over, looking down to see my face reflected next to hers, just like it was that day at the pond.

  She closes her eyes and ducks her head, and I wonder if it’s seeing us side by side that is freaking her out. It feels a little surreal to me, too.

  “I just have one more thing to say, and then if you want me to, I’ll walk away,” I say, watching as tiny droplets ripple across the water. “I’m trying… not to be such a control freak anymore. So if it’s what you want, I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”

  I take a deep breath, collecting myself, and start in on the words I’ve finally found. I don’t know if they’re the right ones, but they’re mine. “Of all the sleeping people you could have talked to in that hospital, you chose me,” I say. “I have to believe it was for a reason. The same reason that I couldn’t help but hear you, Marley.”

  I turn to look at her, taking in her profile. The freckles on her nose. The circles around her eyes, the bright hazel I remember, still tired, dulled. I want to take this weight from her, but she has to give it to me. I know that now. “We were meant to find each other. And now here we are. Together, but… not.”

  I think of the two of us tumbling onto the grass at the park, the kite drifting away. Of our kiss under the mistletoe at the Winter Festival, Marley’s cheeks a deep, rosy red from the cold. How it felt to just hold her hand, her fingers enclosed safely in mine.

  “There was a place where I loved you, a place you built with your words, and the happiness we shared was as real as anything here in the real world,” I say, my heart beating unsteadily in my chest. “We knew each other there. Because we talked to each other. We told each other everything. And I fell in love with you—the heart of you. The you in your stories. That Marley—you couldn’t have just made her up. I’m ready to start our story over, at the very beginning, if you’ll just give me a chance to make you happy.”

  I notice tears welling up in her eyes, see her breathing through it, fighting them off.

  I want to know what’s going on in her head, why she’s fighting so hard. Why she’s hiding.

  She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling.

  Finally she whispers a single word.

  “No.”

  I’m so ecstatic just to hear her voice again that I almost don’t register the meaning. Then my lungs collapse in on themselves, that one word pushing all the air out of me.

  “I can’t,” she adds, her voice scratchy, barely audible. “I can’t be happy.”

  Her words from that last night come back to me all at once.

  We were never meant to be this happy.

  “Why not?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, as if my whole world isn’t riding on this moment.

  “If you really know me,” she says, still staring at her reflection, “then you know why not.”

  “Laura.”

  The thing that pulls her away from me each time she gets close.

  “I understand how hard her loss must be, believe me, but, Marley—”

  “She died because of me!” she says, her voice cracking. “I saw that car. I saw it and I couldn’t move. I didn’t save her. I didn’t even try.” She sucks in a long breath, continuing. “Laura would have saved me. She would have…”

  She stops and fights the tears back again.

  “Then wouldn’t Laura save you now?” I ask her, leaning closer, desperate to make her see. “Wouldn’t she tell you to be happy—”

  “I don’t get to be happy. I don’t get to cry and feel bad about Laura, because I’m the reason she can’t feel anything,” she says, frustrated, heartbroken. “So I can’t love you, Kyle. I won’t.”

  Those words bounce around inside my head. I can’t love you, Kyle. I won’t. She said my name like she’s said it a thousand times before, like she knows me. Like… she already loves me. Because how can she say she won’t love me if she doesn’t already want to?

  That’s when I realize that her fingers are clenched tightly around mine. The feeling is so familiar to me that I don’t even know when she grabbed me. I just know that her hand is in mine.

  I turn my palm up, twine my fingers with hers, and I silently plead with the universe to let this work. Please, please, please let this work.

  “I traveled many roads to find this lost treasure, this piece of me,” I say softly.
>
  She looks up, startled, as I reach into my pocket.

  “But it was you who found it and returned it to me,” I say as I hold up my hand, palm up between us, fingers closed around something. “Now I wish to give it to you.”

  Marley looks from my hand up to my face, questioning. She looks down again as I slowly unfurl my fingers.

  Nestled there in the center is one perfect snow-white pearl.

  I hear Marley’s sharp intake of breath as I lift her hand and gently place the pearl in her palm. It’s too much. Her lip quivers, and the dam breaks. Tears she’s held in for years finally rush out. I wrap my arms around her as her shoulders heave, and she buries her face into my chest.

  I sit there, holding her, letting her cry. I keep her safe while she feels the pain she’s never let herself feel.

  After, we sit under the cherry blossom tree, her eyes still red and puffy.

  She plucks little flowers from between the strands of grass, dozens of tiny blooms littering the ground around us.

  “I don’t know what to do now,” she says as her hair falls in front of her face, still shielding her in some small way from me and everyone else.

  My hand brushes lightly against hers, that magnetic pull between us suddenly alive again. Somehow stronger than it’s ever been. “We’ll figure it out as we go,” I say, her hazel eyes shifting up to meet mine. “I’ve waited all this time for you. The slower we take it, the longer it lasts.”

  I reach up to tuck a yellow Doris Day behind her ear. “And I’m okay with that.”

  The smallest trace of a shy smile lets me know she’s okay with that too.

  41

  The next evening we meet up in the Cardiology waiting room, and Marley hands over her yellow notebook of stories.

  It’s so cool to see the story that she wrote for us, a world that I actually lived in for an entire year, here on paper. I see the places my brain filled in the gaps, building, making real memories from every one of her sentences.

  I tell her about those moments. How I thought Kim had died in the accident. How I almost lost my mind trying to cook my mom’s béarnaise sauce. How I got into a fight with Sam at one of our Saturday touch football games.