Come as you Are: Plantain Series Book Two

by Amelia Oliver

  I take Skye’s hand and link her fingers with mine, cupping my other hand around them. I press them to my face. Her skin is cold and smells like gun powder. I keep inhaling, trying to get past it and reach her scent, her sunshine. For the first time, I pray, not to God in particular. To my mom and dad, to anyone that might hear me and forgive me of my past sins and please spare my wife and baby.

  I realize now the nightmare I had, the fear that everything would go to shit in my life due to what I’d done in my past, this was the result. The thought that it would be this, that it would come back as my family being taken from me. This is worse than anything I ever imagined.

  We pull into the hospital and I feel a slight relief that Skye’s heart is still beating, that she’s still alive, that she can be saved. Women and men in scrubs open the back doors to the ambulance and grab the gurney, pulling it out towards them as they continue speaking in a language I don’t know. I follow as they hurry her through the sliding doors and down a long corridor. A short woman steps in front of me and begins speaking. She’s holding a clipboard and I look down at her for a moment before gently moving her aside and walking to the curtain that my wife is behind.

  “Sir.” The woman with the clipboard stands beside me. “Sir, I need you to come out to the waiting room. It’s not doing any good to the nurses and doctors with you standing here.”

  Just then two nurses squeeze past me while another pushes past, nudging my shoulder.

  “I-” the words die on my lips as I hear the monitors that were just beeping, start making a flat line sound, a monotone beep.

  A doctor shouts out some command and I see paddles to shock her heart and I feel my knees begin to buckle. My stomach drops and my skin becomes clammy, hands guide me back to a chair and I collapse onto it. I bury my face into my hands as my chest heaves for air, my head spinning as I just can’t believe that this is actually happening.

  “Sir, here, it’s water.”

  A small paper cup is shoved into my hands and the cold liquid does nothing to regulate my insides.

  “Drag.” I hear to my left and instantly know it’s Dornan. For whatever reason, hearing his voice, seeing him and Missy’s familiar faces come rushing down the hallway towards me, puts me straight back into reality, this is real. I stagger slightly as I rise to my feet, my arm being grabbed by my brother, as Missy reaches up with her shaking hands to cup my face.

  “What is going on?” Missy pants.

  When I called them from the ambulance, I didn’t give details, just that they needed to get to the hospital. Missy asked if Skye was in labor, but all I said was she needed to hurry.

  “Is it the baby?” Missy adds.

  “Her ex,” I swallow hard, “he shot her, she shot him…” I trail off, not sure of anything.

  “She’s fucking dead.” I cover my face with my hands and begin to cry.

  Missy gasps and also starts crying. “What? No, NO! She can’t be-”

  I lean into her as she grips me tightly in her arms.

  “Are you the husband?” I hear, but can barely make out that someone is speaking to me.

  “Drag, brother,” Dornan says with a hard slap to my back.

  I raise my head and see a man wearing a white coat covered in blood. I don’t want to hear his fucking words, that my wife and baby are dead.

  “We’re taking your wife up to surgery, we need to deliver the baby,” he tells me.

  “Oh God,” Missy sobs.

  Dornan moves to her side and I nod at the doctor.

  “We need to get the baby out, and two other surgeons will work on your wife. We won’t know the damage until we get in there, but we located two bullet wounds.”

  “She’s-she’s alive?” I ask.

  Over the doctor’s shoulder I see Skye’s bed being pulled out into the hallway as six people run down the corridor away from us. I step forward to follow, but Dornan grabs my arm to halt me.

  “We need to get her stable, go in the waiting room and someone will come talk to you shortly after we deliver your baby,” the doctor tells me as he turns and hurries down after them.

  A wash of relief that there’s still a chance, hope. But I squash that feeling because I don’t want to get my hopes up. Missy and Dornan follow me into the waiting room and I pace back and forth, watching the clock and every minute feels like hours. I want to pull my hair out, punch something, but even then, nothing would calm this raging sorrow in my heart. I think I hear Missy tell me she’s called Skye’s parents, and at one point I think Dornan’s on his cell phone with Milton.

  I don’t want to ask about Tyler, but I haven’t seen another ambulance come in, so I figure that he’s dead. I wish I could’ve watched him suffer, wished I was there when he broke in and he had to deal with me. Not my tiny, pregnant, defenseless wife, what a piece of shit. I’m so proud of what she did, remembering how to use the gun and killing that motherfucker. Skye, her face flashes behind my eyes. Her face, smiling, and so happy on our wedding day. Us lying in bed with our hands linked and resting on her belly. All the visions I had for us and the future, a life I never imagined for myself, having a family and being loved. My heart cracks and I consider what I will do if Skye and our baby don’t make it, living isn’t an option.

  “Brother, they’re calling for you,” Dornan says.

  I turn and clear my eyes, a woman in a different pair of scrubs is standing by a set of doors looking at me. I rush towards her, my heart pounding in time with my footsteps.

  “This way, Mr. Westmore,” she smiles and opens the door for me.

  I enter then wait as she passes by and I follow. We walk quickly towards a bank of elevators, and she slides a badge through a slot beside one. Instantly the bell dings and we enter, the doors have mirrors and I see my reflection. There’s blood all over me, Skye’s blood. Quickly, my eyes avert down to my boots.

  “Your wife is in surgery, but you can see your daughter.”

  “Daughter?” I ask, my head popping up to look at her.

  “Yes,” she smiles genuinely. “She’s beautiful.”

  A feeling I’ve never experienced before fills me, it’s elation and overwhelming. The elevator stops and the doors part, the walls and floors are white and it’s quiet. She leads me down a maze of hallways and we enter another wing or something. There’s carpet instead of tiles, warm colored walls and wood doors. I glance around and see these are patient rooms, numbers on the outside of every door.

  “Go in and I’ll bring her to you,” the nurse says, stopping at one of the opened doors.

  I enter, the lights are dim and the room is empty. There’s only a chair that looks like it pulls out and that’s it. There’s built in buttons and plugs, lights and other shit I don’t know on the wall where a bed should be. Why the fuck am I here and not in the nursery? Why am I not where Skye’s having surgery? The room is serene and calming and the dread is back. Am I here because…because they are about to let me see my dead baby? Instant vomit comes up my throat and I collapse into the chair. I swallow and bury my face into my hands.

  Oh Jesus, I can’t do this. I can’t see her. I can’t say I won’t go on the rest of my life regretting not seeing my baby just one time, because there’s not life beyond this. A noise comes from the door; the nurse is wheeling in a waist high clear container and I see white blankets inside. I inhale sharply, about to tell her I don’t want to do this. But she smiles at me and stops, reaching in and taking the bundle of blankets into her arms.

  “Isn’t she just the most beautiful baby you’ve ever laid eyes on?”

  Offering me the bundle, I instantly reach out as she sets it into my arms. Nestled amongst the blanket, I see a small pink face. My eyes clear, my heart thumping as I see her, see my daughter for the first time. Her features are petite, a perfect bow mouth, wide eyes with darker eyelashes then the pale blonde hair on her head. She is perfect and looks exactly like Skye.

  “Yes she is,” I answer.
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  Tears fall down my cheeks as I lift her towards my face, kissing her soft forehead.

  “And she’s okay, right?” I ask as an afterthought.

  “Yes, she’s perfect. Probably pretty hungry though so I’ll be back in with a bottle, and I’ll help you feed her.”

  The nurse exits and I look down at this creation. A perfect mix of Skye and me. She makes the sweetest, tiniest, girly sounds I’ve ever heard. She has me smiling, fucking smiling. Through all this terror and despair, I smile down at her and inhale her skin, kissing the tip of her nose.

  “Everything will be okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to her.

  I know that no matter what happens, if Skye doesn’t make it, that I will because of this girl. When the nurse comes back, she hands me a small bottle of premade formula and gives me the run down on what I need to do. Feed, burp, feed, burp. While she’s eating, she shits and I have to have the nurse show me how to change her. My daughter begins to cry as she’s being changed and I take her little hand in my finger, feeling my heart break from her little cry. She settles on my chest and falls asleep, after what seems like hours and another feeding, the sun had begun to rise.

  My eyes are burning, my body exhausted along with my brain. I can’t even remember when we arrived, how long Skye’s been gone. Because she still can’t possibly be in surgery. I wonder if her parents have arrived, maybe the doctors went to speak to them and break the news. The thought of having to go home, to our home with our baby and Skye not with me, I can’t even think about it. I rest my head back on the chair and look out the window, as I begin to hum “Wonderwall,” instantly our baby nuzzles deeper into my chest and my voice breaks with emotion. I barely notice when a different woman in scrubs come into the room, along with a woman in business clothes.

  “Hi, are you Nathan?” she asks and I sit up a little straighter, she sees the baby sleeping and lowers her voice.

  “I’m Dr. Ireland, I was your wife’s surgeon. I want to tell you, after ten hours of surgery, we were able to stop the bleeding. She had a wound in her shoulder that exited, tore a major artery but we were able to fix that. The other wound was by far worse, it was millimeters from your baby but as you can see, she’s fine.”

  She stops and smiles over at my sleeping daughter. I’m waiting for the words, the confirmation that my wife is no longer alive.

  “We had to remove her appendix, spleen, and gallbladder. Whatever kind of bullets he used really did some damage, once we got the baby out we were able to clean all that up and finally get her stable.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see something white, and look over to see a hospital bed being wheeled into the room. I exhale audibly and stand, jostling the baby but covering the back of her head to calm her.

  “Skye,” I say.

  “She’s unconscious still from the surgery, she’s lost a lot of blood and we had to give her three transfusions. She’s very pale as you can see-”

  She is pale, but fuck, she’s alive. She looks so small in the bed as the nurse’s wheel her into place, plugging things in and turning things on. The beep of the heart monitor is like oxygen to my lungs. Relief washing through my veins.

  “I’m Sheila, I’m a pediatrician,” the other woman says.

  “She should come around within the next few days. In the meantime, it’s important that your baby bonds with her. Bring in some of your wife’s clothing so the baby can lay with it, maybe a pillow or pillowcase, anything that smells like her. I also recommend that when the baby is sleeping, since neither of them will be moving much, that you lay the baby on her chest. The connection is critical at this phase of early development.”

  I nod but can’t take my eyes off Skye.

  “I will be back in periodically through the day to check on you guys, if you need anything don’t hesitate to let the nurses know and they will contact me,” Sheila says.

  I nod again and vaguely acknowledge that everyone exits the room. Then I hear Missy and turn to see her, and Skye’s parents enter. Although I’m more than ecstatic about my daughter, I’m happy to pass her off so I can get closer to Skye. There’s a bag on the end of her bed and I open it, but not because I want to see her blood-soaked clothes. I reach in and feel at the bottom, the two items I want her to have. I slip her wedding ring on her finger and attach her dream catcher bracelet to her wrist. There’s a feeling in me that if she wakes up and doesn’t find me, she will see the bracelet and know I’m not far. I don’t know if the hospital will allow me to stay or not. I run my hand down her hair and lean in to inhale her forehead, placing a gentle kiss there.

  “Everything is okay, sleep now and when you’re ready, wake up, our daughter wants to meet you.”

  27

  It’s been seventeen days since we left the hospital, that's almost three weeks that Skye's been in a coma. They don't know why she's still unconscious. I was told that it’s not uncommon, that sometimes the body needs to reboot to heal, so it just goes into neutral. Once she was able to breathe on her own, and her vitals were good, she came home and we turned the living room downstairs into her room.

  We have a bed set up near the window, because the doctors told me the sunlight is good for her. I sleep there with her at night. Our daughter Daisy also has her bassinet in there with us. I'm not sure if Skye will like the name I chose for the baby, but I got tired of referring to my daughter as, 'the baby.' Sometimes I hope Skye doesn't like it, so the more I use it, it might will her awake so she can tell me I made a terrible name choice.

  It was surreal coming home just Daisy and me the day after she was born. We arrived home to her nursery finished and all set up. All the shower gifts were dropped off, since we didn’t make it to the event. Missy and Maven had come over and done everything. Again, I hope Skye doesn't like how I described it looking, so she will wake up to change it. Daisy is a great baby, but everyone is warning me that this is the easy time. Regardless I still think she’s pretty special. All she does is literally eat, sleep, and poop. I don't understand how single parents do it though; parenthood has been the biggest challenge of my life.

  But, I’m not on my own. Everyone’s been helping me Missy comes over a lot during the day so I can do laundry, or clean the house, or even just sleep. Maven has taken Daisy and Irys out on baby dates, and often brings dinner. My mother and father-in-law come on the weekends, visiting with the baby and filling in Skye on the week’s events. A nurse named Maxine comes and helps with Skye, although I bathe her, change the bag for her feeding tube, change her IV, and even empty the bag for her catheter. But sometimes I can't when the baby needs me, so Max usually stays most days and nights just in case.

  The doctors have told me Skye might never wake, and if she does, she might not even remember me. As strange as it may seem to have my wife unconscious, just lying in a bed day and night, I've made sure she's part of our lives. The baby lays with her for naps, and I tell Skye everything Daisy does at the end of the day. I dream sometimes that Skye's waking me to get up with the baby in the night, then when I do wake, she's still lying there but the baby's crying. I know Daisy recognizes her mom, she cries sometimes and nothing I do helps, until I put her on Skye's chest and she calms. I play Skye's music and my music, because the doctors say that might also help. So far, Daisy prefers Skye's music over mine, especially “Wonderwall,” but she does love her some Ray Charles.

  Sometimes, usually at the end of the day, when everything is calm and Daisy is asleep, the sorrow hits me. I thank God every day that Skye's not dead, but seeing her like this, there but unreachable, fucks with me. She's present- physically, but her smile and sunshine, her laugh and teasing eyes, are not. I lie beside her and look at the photos of her on my phone. T

  he night I stumbled onto the video I took of her dancing in the kitchen, broke me down. I watch that video when I really need her, to remind myself she’ll come back, even if my heart is saying she won't. I can only watch the video until I’d set my phone down on
the table. I didn't know until the first time I watched it, that I didn't press stop and even though the picture is black, you can hear us making love. My heart literally hurts, a pain I’ve never known before, not even when my parents were killed.

  When I realized the night she was shot, that this was my karma for all the shit I've done, I understood. But this, this is some cruel fucking joke I don't get. This goes beyond me, Daisy not having her mom, I can't imagine doing anything so wrong to have brought this upon our baby. Officer Milton investigated the shooting, he told me that they looked at Tyler’s phone records which lead back to Skye’s sister Amber. I haven’t told Skye that information, I’ve only told her that Tyler is dead and she doesn’t need to be scared anymore.

  When I heard Amber’s name, I recalled when she’d first made contact with Skye, and how Skye said she was acting odd and pushing for her address. She clearly was trying to help Tyler find her, and I wanted to go kill the bitch, but what she’s getting is worse than anything I could do. Tyler’s dead, she’s in jail awaiting trial for aiding and abetting a fugitive. Her husband’s divorcing her and has filed for sole custody of their daughter. They want to charge Amber with attempted murder, but I want Skye to wake up and make that call. Of course, I want the worst she can get, but it’s Skye she hurt.

  When I feed Daisy, I usually sit in bed beside Skye. Always positioning us so they can smell one another. It never occurred to me that this might be weird, to speak to my unconscious wife as if she's not in a coma. Or to talk to my daughter like her mom is ever present in her life, she doesn't know at this point that I look crazy. The nights are the hardest as I said. The house is quiet and it’s like I forget Skye's not just sleeping. I kiss her face, smell her neck, whisper in her ear. I say all sorts of things. How much I need her to wake up, how Daisy needs her, how strong she is and I know she can fight this.

  When I talk to her, sometimes her hands twitch or her eyes move beneath her closed lids. And I know she's trying so hard to come up from the depths. Then there are the times I get frustrated, tired and overwhelmed, I flip. I don’t yell at her, but I complain and let out my frustration. How I’m pissed she’s being stubborn while I’m busting my ass to take care of our daughter, how she doesn’t have the right to just stay checked out. I feel like I’m on a roller coaster, up and down, constantly. I’m so happy to be a dad, I love it, and I can’t help but smile when I’m with Daisy. Then I see Skye in the bed, and feel the anguish rest on my shoulders. It’s not fair to anyone in this situation and I just want something to happen, good or bad, just I need something to change.