All This Time

by Mikki Daughtry

  I swallow, forcing myself to look from Catherine to the bed, my legs feeling like they’re going to give out. She looks so small. Battered. I clench my jaw as my eyes trace every bruise and scrape on her body, working their way up to the bandage wrapped around her head, her eyes tightly shut.

  “I’m sorry,” I manage to get out, her mom turning her head to look at me. Georgia. “It was my fault—”

  Catherine shakes her head, grabbing my hand. “No. None of that. That’s how we got here,” she says, giving my fingers a tight squeeze. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

  Her gaze slides from my face to the monitor, focusing on the steady thumping in Marley’s chest.

  “She’s going to wake up, right?” I ask, taking a step toward the bed, afraid to hear the answer.

  “It’s up to her,” Dr. Benefield says from behind me. “She should already be awake.”

  What? Then why isn’t she?

  I look over at her, confusion painted on my face.

  “She hit her head, but the bleed was light and the scans don’t show any sign of massive trauma,” Dr. Benefield says, pushing her glasses up onto her head, her eyes sad. “She should be waking up, but it seems she doesn’t want to.”

  Catherine begins to sob next to me, her hand pulling away from mine to cover her face.

  “Sometimes the choice to live or die is up to us,” Dr. Benefield says, looking from me to the bed. “Marley’s not fighting.”

  The choice to live or die. I see the dark shadows under her eyes, her words ringing loudly in my head.

  She died because of me.

  I don’t get to be happy.

  Laura.

  But I also hear the other voices. The things I heard while I was asleep that made me keep fighting, that pulled me through.

  Don’t let go.

  Always forward. Never back.

  I take a step toward her, knowing I sure as hell won’t let Marley go this easily. This is not how her story ends. It can’t be.

  I take her hand. Her fingers feel cool in mine, limp, like she’s already gone.

  “I won’t let you leave me,” I whisper. “I told you no more sad stories. That goes both ways, you know.” I try to joke, but my laugh comes out as a garbled choking sound. I squeeze my hand tighter around hers, trying to warm those cold fingers.

  How did she do this? What did she…? Ah. Yes. I hear her words that first day at the cemetery.

  I lean close, my lips against her ear.

  “Once upon a time there was a girl who was sad and alone.”

  An electric jolt zings through me. Maybe, just maybe, I can do this. Maybe I can make her hear me. Believe me.

  “She told stories. Happy stories,” I say as I imagine that worn yellow notebook full of her writing, not knowing where the fairy tales ended and our memories began. It doesn’t matter, though. It was all real to me, every page a part of my life with her.

  I won’t give up until I get it back, get her back, and I know that starts here.

  “But for herself she only told the same sad story, over and over again.”

  Marley hasn’t moved. No flutter of lids, no twitch of fingers, nothing. Instead, I take my cue from the steady beeping of the monitor, urging me to continue.

  “Until she met a boy. They found each other when they thought their stories were at an end. But they started writing a new one, and for the first time in a long time, the girl allowed her story to be a happy one. Her story with him. And he promised her… he would never let her go.”

  Another tingle of electricity skitters along my forehead, right down the length of my scar. Her fingers give the barest twitch in mine—or is that wishful thinking?

  I think of the man in the moon, the wishes the girl made for her love. So I close my eyes and let the story carry me to her, to the girl I know is waiting for me, lost somewhere in a story that is ours and ours alone.

  Suddenly, behind my closed lids, I see the ducks quacking loudly at my feet, waddling down the path to perch under the cherry tree with its falling petals. I look around. It’s our world, Marley’s and mine, but it holds a different hue now, as if covered by a dark-blue gauze. The air is ominous, heavy. My heart thumps in my chest. This doesn’t feel right. This isn’t our story, not the one we were building together.

  Where is Marley? I need to find her. Now.

  I run up the path that will take me to the cemetery. That’s where I’ll find her, at Laura’s grave, where we first met.

  I see a field of pink Stargazers in the distance, the sight pushing me forward. I haul ass, some part of me knowing that I can’t really run this fast, not with my leg, but here, in this world, I am whole. My legs churn, faster now, as they carry me toward that sea of endless pink, extending far past the boundaries of Laura’s plot.

  “Marley!” I race headlong into the wild wave of Stargazers.

  I push aside the flowers, searching. She’s not here. But… she has to be. It’s the only place she would go.

  I keep charging through the pink lilies, calling frantically for Marley, until suddenly I burst out the other side of the flower field. Where am I? It’s darker here, grayer, a thick, roiling mist clinging to the ground. It’s the cemetery, but… different.

  That’s when I spot it, that bare gravestone, lonely and desolate, pronouncing that one aching word: GOODBYE.

  God, I remember this grave. It broke my heart when I saw it, so much so that I placed a single flower upon its stone. I blink, unsure if my eyes are playing tricks on me.

  That flower is still there, exactly where I left it.

  I move closer to pick it up. Sorrow settles on me like a dark cloud. Almost instantly I’m filled with it, the raw emptiness of loss as I stare at the flower.

  Then I hear it. A sniffle. A tiny broken cry. Marley.

  She’s hunched over. Her back is resting against the single word inscribed on the stone.

  GOODBYE.

  Realization floods me. This isn’t just any sad gravestone. It’s Marley’s gravestone. Every time we walked by it, smiling and laughing, it was right here, waiting for her. Taunting her. And I had no idea.

  No! I drop to my knees in front of her, determined to make her hear me.

  “Not like this, Marley,” I tell her. “This is not your fate. This is not the end of your story.”

  My arms reach for her, but she pulls away.

  “Just leave me alone.”

  “No. I won’t. You invited me into the most secret places inside of you, and, Marley, this is not it. This place, this you, is a lie. I know the real you. It doesn’t look like this.”

  As I speak, the world around us seems to listen, to take up the story I’m telling. The sky fights off the dark, growing lighter above us. Green explodes from the ground beneath our feet, rich verdant grass that sweeps past us to cover the whole cemetery. Flowers sprout and bloom. Our world again.

  “This is our story, Marley. This is where you belong. In our place, the one we built together,” I say, so sure I’m getting through to her.

  I pull her close, and for a moment she leans her sweet head against me, her jasmine scent tickling my nose. Yes.

  Then she says softly, brokenly, “I wasn’t meant for that world.”

  What? I cup my hand under her chin, pull her face up to mine, and say the words that I know to be truer than any others: “You were meant for me. Come back with me. Let me show you where our story can go.…”

  Images appear around us like snapshots:

  A college graduation, Marley throwing her cap and grinning wildly.

  Me and Marley running down the aisle, the train of her wedding gown trailing behind us.

  Marley at a book signing, a line of excited kids waiting to meet her.

  Us in a baby’s room. Marley rocking our newborn daughter to sleep.

  More images flash and pop. Kids growing up. Birthday parties. Backyard barbecues. School plays. Football games.

  Marley’s eyes take them all in, hope in her gaze. Hope.
I can work with that.

  “Those are memories just waiting to be made,” I promise her. “You created that dark place because you think it’s what you deserve. It’s not, Marley. You deserve a good life. A happy life. I promise to try every day to give that to you, to build that with you, together.”

  I lean in, leaving just a breath of space between us. Will she close the gap? It’s up to her. I shut my eyes and wait, hoping and praying that she’s heard me. That’s when I feel her lips on mine. Relief makes me weak.

  I kiss her back, then open my eyes, surprised to find she’s crying, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Marley? What’s—”

  A light rises behind me. I feel its warmth through my shirt as it washes over Marley’s face. She stares into the light, a sob escaping her lips.

  Dread creeps up the back of my neck as I turn to see what Marley sees.

  There, standing right in front of that vast field of Stargazer lilies, is Laura.

  She’s backlit by some otherworldly light, standing in a glowing circle, like the sun during an eclipse. She raises her hand as if reaching for something. With a sinking feeling, I know exactly what she’s reaching for.

  Marley.

  Marley pulls herself from my arms.

  “No. Marley, no. Don’t do this,” I beg, the breath leaving my lungs in a plea. “Please, Marley. Stay.”

  She looks up at me, the green in her eyes lighting up the hazel like fireworks. I stare, trying to memorize her face, her eyes, because I’m so afraid this is the last time I’m going to see her.

  She knows what I’m thinking. Her fingers trace my scar, my brow, my cheek, and come to rest against my lips.

  “I love you, Kyle Lafferty,” she whispers fervently. “I will love you forever. Our story will live on forever.”

  She presses her lips to mine, then says, “But I need to do this.”

  She pulls away from me again.

  “No!” I try to run after her, but my feet won’t obey. I watch helplessly as she walks toward Laura.

  “Marley, stop. You don’t have to do this. Stay with me! Marley!”

  My words come out in harsh, broken sobs. She gets closer to Laura and takes her outstretched hand. I want to close my eyes so I don’t have to see her go, but I can’t. If this is my last moment with her, I want my eyes to be open. I want to see it.

  Marley looks back at me, tears flowing from her eyes, as if she can hear my heart breaking. But then she looks to Laura, who wraps an arm around her waist.

  Marley, my Marley, gives me one last smile… then follows Laura into the lilies.

  “No!” The cry that comes from my throat sounds inhuman.

  My shout echoes around me until it becomes the sound of the beeping hospital monitor. I’m there, at Marley’s bedside, my hand around hers. I look at everyone, all of them waiting desperately for some good news, but I have none to give.

  “She’s not… she’s not coming back.”

  “No.” Catherine hurries to the bed, runs her hands along Marley’s face. “Marley, baby. You wake up right now.”

  But the girl in the bed doesn’t move.

  Kimberly covers her mouth and presses her head against Sam’s shoulder, both of them looking at me with so much pity and love that I have to turn away.

  I feel Mom’s hand on my shoulder, offering me any strength she can lend me.

  And the monitor beeps… beeps… beeeeeeeeeps.…

  Flatline.

  Catherine’s anguished scream rips through us all, the sound finding a home in the shattered remnants of my heart.

  Marley. Gone.

  Dr. Benefield shoves us all away from the bed as she starts to call the code blue. But… she hesitates. Catherine yells, “Do something! You have to—”

  Dr. Benefield holds up her hand in a gesture so sure and confident that we all freeze. She nods toward the bed, toward Marley’s hand…

  … where the fingertip monitor now lies in Marley’s palm, her fingers closing around it as we watch in disbelief. My eyes fly to her face, afraid to hope.

  Then her lids flutter and open, those beautiful hazel eyes searching for and finding mine.

  “I had to say goodbye. To Laura.”

  My knees buckle and I collapse onto her bed.

  Catherine smothers her face with kisses. Marley gives her a long look. “I’m back, Mom. I’m back.”

  Everyone in the room loses it. Even Dr. Benefield. The tough doctor turns away to wipe her eyes. I would laugh if I had any room inside me to feel anything but relief and gratitude.

  Marley turns to me, and I memorize all of those features I was afraid I’d never see again. She takes my hand. “I had to say goodbye to my life with Laura… before I could start my life with you.”

  Her life with me. No words have ever been sweeter. I kiss her cheeks, her nose, each tiny freckle precious to me. The soft jasmine scent of her skin makes me dizzy. She’s here. She’s really here. My lips move lower to hover over hers, and just before they meet, I thank every higher being that ever lit up the sky for this second chance.

  Marley closes the distance and kisses me. It’s the world’s most perfect kiss.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for not letting go.”

  Her fingers flutter in my hair, down the back of my neck, as she says, “Thank you for our story.”

  “Our story. What happens next, then?” I tease her, still unable to process my own joy.

  She looks at me like I’ve just asked the dumbest question ever. “We live happily ever after,” she answers. “Obviously.”

  I laugh. “Just like one of your fairy tales?” I ask.

  She smiles that sweet, shy smile that I love so much and brushes her lips against my ear as she whispers, “Yes. Just like that.”

  Her lips pull me in again, and I’m overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, from the shriek of twisting metal to the look in Marley’s hazel eyes the first time I told her I loved her. My breath catches in my throat, knowing this won’t be the last time I see that look. We’ll have a million more moments like this one, an entire story to live together.

  Starting now.

  A Note from Mikki

  I was told once to stop believing in fairy tales. I was told that only dreamers keep their heads in the clouds and their eyes on the stars. I was told that true love was only for books and movies, that life would teach me that none of these things exist in the real world.

  They could not have been more wrong.

  My belief in fairy tales and true love sustains me; it keeps me alive in a world that doesn’t always welcome dreamers, and while my feet never leave the ground, my gaze is forever on the sky above and the universe beyond.

  Like most of my stories, All This Time came to me from a place deep inside myself, a place I inhabit when I’m living in my heart instead of my head. It’s a place of magic and dreams and wild illusions, where my stories come alive and my characters talk to me in voices clear and bright.

  This place, this inner world, is my reality. It’s where I belong and it’s where I thrive. In this place, I’ve known my Marley; I’ve loved my Marley. I’ve loved Kyle. I’ve met Will and Stella, Poe and Barb. I’ve loved them, too. So much. I’ve known true love and true heartache. These are the things that make life worth living, the things that make stories worth telling.

  The choice to fashion All This Time into a kind of fairy tale was an easy one. Like Marley tells Kyle, we live our lives telling stories, creating them as we go. Sometimes these stories are small, everyday moments: folding laundry with our parents, feeding popcorn to ducks beside a tranquil pond.

  Sometimes the stories are so big they consume our imaginations and our hearts: The Man in the Moon who smiles down upon the girl who wishes for love. A boy who meets his true love in a coma and wakes with a mission to find that girl and live happily ever after.

  I believe in all these things. The Man in the Moon? He’s up there. I know he is. The thought that two people can
connect in a world made of stories and dreams and somehow find their soul mate? It can happen. I’m sure of it. These ideas, these notions, are as true to me as the green grass, the blue sky, and the air we breathe.

  Call me crazy. Call me delusional. Call me a dreamer. I’m okay with that. I’m just thankful that you’ve chosen to meet me here, in my world, and have allowed me to share my stories with you, because I will always believe in fairy tales. I will always believe in true love. Just try and stop me.

  Acknowledgments

  As writers, we start with an idea—a seed. We plant that seed into the fertile soil of our imaginations. We warm it with the sunshine of commitment and water it with love and patience. Then we let it sprout and grow, cheering as it blossoms into its own unique being.

  What’s not always acknowledged are the army of gardeners and gatekeepers who stand ready to wrangle weeds and shoo away pests until the flower is in full bloom and ready to be shared.

  To Liz Parker, my kick-ass agent and primary hand-holder. Thank you for battling the elements on my behalf. The wind and the rain could’ve easily twisted themselves into one hell of a tornado and uprooted all of our hard work. Thank you for bearing the brunt of the frenzy.

  To Alexa Pastor, our trusted editor. Thank you for pruning, trimming, and shaping the foliage. Without your guiding hand, this garden wouldn’t have evolved into the beautiful landscape it has become. Thank you!

  Rachael! Rachael, Rachael, Rachael. Thank you for once again digging into the dirt with me. Lugging water and shoveling shit is hard work. I’m so glad I didn’t have to do it alone. Thank you for beautifully adapting another of my screenplays into book form. Love you, lady. I really do.

  To Scott Whitehead, my expert attorney, who kept the brambles of business at bay so I could focus solely on the art. Thank you for always having my back.

  To my “movie” team: David Boxerbaum, Adam Kolbrenner, Sara Nestor, and all of the Verve, Lit, and MWF folks. You guys got this ball rolling years ago when you signed this green, unknown writer. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your faith and belief. I love you all.

  And last but never, never least… to Tobias Iaconis. You are the Great Oak that shelters every garden we build. Under your protective branches, I know that I am always safe to plant and play and dream to my heart’s content, because you’ve got me covered. Ampersand forever—&&&.