by Tiffany Snow
Where was Mia? Why wasn’t she here? Was she okay? Had Clark and Jackson taken care of her?
There was a nurse’s call button next to my bed, and I punched it. I needed answers.
About thirty seconds later the door opened and a doctor walked in, followed by the same nurse. Behind them came Mia and Jackson.
“Aunt Chi,” Mia said, her eyes red and swollen. “You’re awake. I’m so glad.” She looked awful. Pasty white and her nose was pink.
Jackson’s expression was drawn as he walked to the opposite side of the bed. His lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He took my hand in his, which scared me more than anything else.
“Hi, China,” the doctor said. “I’m Dr. Morris. I’m a neurosurgeon here at the hospital. Do you remember what happened before you were brought in?”
“Um, kind of,” I said. “I was with Mia and I didn’t feel well. She drove back and I was lying in the back seat. That’s really the last I remember.”
He smiled kindly. “What about before that? You said you weren’t feeling well. What symptoms were you experiencing?”
“I-I guess I’d had a bad headache for a few days,” I said. “I was tired. I felt a little nauseated, but I thought it was just because of Ja—” I cut myself off.
“Do you remember the car accident you were in a few days ago?” he asked.
I thought. Car accident? Had I been in an accident? I didn’t remember anything, but something about the look on his face said I had been. I tried to remember. Car . . . wreck . . . the deer.
“Yeah,” I said, glad I wasn’t crazy. “I hit a deer.”
He smiled again as though I’d given the correct answer in a pop quiz. “You did. You also hit your head, China. Are you familiar with what a subdural hematoma is?”
The fear in my gut solidified into pure anguish. I knew exactly what that was. Bleeding. On my brain. I swallowed.
“Is . . . is that what I have?”
The doctor nodded. “You do. Between the brain and the skull, you’re bleeding. And it’s putting pressure on the brain. We performed an MRI to confirm this. Yours is slow bleeding, which is why it’s taken a few days before the symptoms have gotten so severe.”
“So what can be done?” I asked.
“With your particular hematoma, we can perform a burr hole trephination, which is the least invasive. Basically, we drill a hole where the hematoma is and suction out the blood, then repair the artery. It’s a common procedure and I’ve done many of them. But at the moment, the accumulated blood is putting too much pressure on the brain, which is why you’re experiencing the symptoms you have. Memory problems and difficulty in coordination are also manifesting.”
I stared at him, trying to take it all in. My brain. My brain was bleeding.
“We need your consent,” he continued. “And it is of some urgency. We’d like to get you into surgery within the next couple of hours.
“I do need to inform you of some complications that may occur,” he continued. “The most common complication after surgery is infection. Other risks include seizures, stroke, bleeding on the brain, coma, and brain damage.”
I couldn’t breathe. The air was too thick and it was stuffing my lungs. I couldn’t see farther than a couple of feet in front of me, so all I could make out was the doctor’s face and Jackson’s.
“Brain damage?” I echoed. I suddenly realized I had a death grip on Jackson’s hand. “What kind of brain damage?”
“There could be memory problems, coordination problems, speech impairments,” he said. “I’m not going to lie to you and say it’s not a risk. And as with any surgery, there’s also a risk of death. But I’ve yet to have someone die on me, and I don’t plan on starting with you.”
The doctor patted my shoulder, and his kind face was very serious. “I know it’s a lot to take in. We have a little bit of time for you to talk it over.”
“We don’t have to do this here,” Jackson interrupted. “I can get her into any hospital in the country. The Mayo Clinic, Johns Hopkins, you name it. The best neurology department in the country is Mayo. We can be there in a few hours.”
Dr. Morris was already shaking his head. “I’m sorry, young man, but the pressure changes of an airline flight would be dangerous for China.”
“Then I’ll have them flown here,” Jackson argued. “Money is no object. I’ll pay whatever it takes.”
“That’s not the issue—”
“They’ll come,” he persisted. “Everyone has a price. I’m more than capable of meeting it. Just give me a name.”
“Jackson, stop.” I tugged on his hand until he looked at me. “You can’t fix this. Not this time.”
His lips thinned and his jaw was set in bands of steel. The color in his cheeks was vivid against the paleness of his skin.
I glanced back at the doctor and swallowed hard. “I consent.” He patted my hand.
“I’ll be back shortly. If you have any questions in the meantime, just buzz for the nurse and she’ll come find me.”
He left, the door easing closed behind him, and I was left trying to wrap my head (ha!) around the fact that my brain was bleeding and they wanted to drill a hole in my skull.
“I need my glasses, please.”
“Here you go.” Mia hurried forward, pulling my glasses from her purse. Her hand shook as she handed them to me, which, conversely, steadied me.
“C’mere,” I said, grasping her fingers and sliding over in the bed.
She carefully climbed up and nestled beside me. I wrapped my non-IV arm around her.
“You took care of me,” I said. “Thank you.”
“I was so scared,” she whispered, sniffling.
“I know. I’m sorry, sweetie.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her blond head.
“Where’s Clark?” I asked.
“Jackson wouldn’t let him come,” Mia answered. I looked at Jackson.
“I didn’t want someone to recognize him,” he said, thin-lipped. “Him getting arrested would pretty much make all of this for nothing.”
The twist in my gut hurt more than I’d expected, but I just nodded. “Yeah, of course. You’re right.”
“I’ll give you two a few minutes,” Jackson said, letting go of my hand. He gave me a meaningful look and left.
I squeezed Mia tighter. She smelled like the shampoo she always used. She insisted it was best for “volumizing,” not that I knew how that applied to hair.
“I need you to call your dad,” I told her. “Can you do that? Tell him what’s going on?”
She nodded against my shoulder. “I can do that.”
We lay there like that for a few minutes. It felt good just to hold her. She was like the sister I’d never had. When she’d moved in six months ago, I never would have thought she’d become such an integral part of my life. I suppose it just showed how nothing is planned, no matter how much you think the future is mapped out.
“Are you all right?” I asked softly. I knew she was physically well, but the circumstances and her actions weren’t normal. I didn’t put much stock in psychology, and as a science, I hated it, but if there was anything I could do to help Mia, I would.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m scared. And you’re so calm. I should be like you. But I . . . I c-can’t . . .” She began to cry.
My heart broke inside at the sound of her crying. Nothing had ever affected me that way before. Usually, tears just made me uncomfortable. But with Mia . . . She’d fixed my hair and makeup. Teased me about my literal world view and language. We’d bonded over Hogwarts Houses. She wasn’t an overly emotional girl, so to hear her cry over me tore at my heart like claws.
“Please don’t cry,” I said. “I’m going to be fine. It-it’s a common procedure, he said. They have to tell you all the possible side effects so you don’t sue them. Like those commercials on TV that list so many possible side effects, you think it’s better to just deal with heartburn rather than possible incontinence.”
I squeezed her again. “You know . . . you know that I love you, right?”
“Of course I do. And I love you.” She stretched up and kissed my cheek. “Do you want me to tell Clark to come in?” she whispered. “He’s outside, sitting in the car.”
The question made tears come to my eyes. I didn’t feel normal. My emotions were weird and my thoughts were scattered. I couldn’t answer, so I just nodded.
“Okay.”
She climbed carefully out of the bed. “I’ll send in Jackson, okay?”
I nodded again.
She caught my hand and we squeezed. Her eyes were as bright with tears as mine felt. I was so proud of her. She was such a good girl. Beautiful and caring and smart. So many things that I wasn’t. But I didn’t have the words to tell her, so I hoped what I couldn’t say showed in my eyes.
“I’ll see you later, Aunt Chi,” she said, her voice resolute.
“Yes,” I said. “I will. I’ll see you later.”
She left the room and a moment later, Jackson entered.
“I’ve had three other neurosurgeons review your charts and scans,” he said. “They all agree with Dr. Morris.” He paused, adding reluctantly, “Two of them knew of him and recommended him.”
I nodded. Jackson had been working the problem. Logical. Exactly what I would do in his position. I expected nothing less. He was used to getting his way. Money plus his name was a powerful incentive for 99 percent of all things.
But he was very pale and was fidgeting, something I’d never seen him do.
“He seemed very . . . competent,” I said, at a loss as to what else to say.
Jackson didn’t say anything. He took my hand in his, threading our fingers together. He wasn’t looking at me, though, gazing at our hands instead.
“I’m sure I’ll be okay,” I said, though I wasn’t sure at all. I felt the need to reassure him. Jackson was usually so confident and decisive. It was strange to see him looking so rattled.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did last night,” he said at last. “You were . . . being honest with me, telling me something that you thought I should know, even though you didn’t have to. And I reacted like a jealous asshole.”
That took me by surprise. Jackson wasn’t someone who behaved out of his emotions rather than logic. It was something we usually had in common, though I hadn’t felt much like myself the past couple of days, and I felt even weirder.
“Yeah, you were,” I said. “But . . . I don’t want to lose you.”
Jackson’s expression was serious as he looked at me. “I don’t want to lose you either, China. What we have is too rare, and too special, for me to give up on you because you’re not fitting into my timetable.”
Tears flooded my eyes. “I’m scared,” I whispered.
He gathered me in his arms, touching me so carefully, I could’ve been made of glass. “I’m scared, too, but you’re going to be all right,” he soothed. “No matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
It made me feel better. Jackson was the rock I could count on and hold on to. Like the father who’d been conspicuously absent in that duty ever since my mom had died. I squeezed Jackson as hard as I could, trying to convey how thankful I was.
When he stood, I saw tears in his eyes as well. “I love you,” he said. “And I’ll be waiting for you afterward.”
I couldn’t speak, my throat was too full, so I just nodded.
The door opened then and another doctor came in. He was in scrubs, with a stethoscope around his neck and one of those little surgical caps on his head. He wore glasses, and his shoes were covered with surgical booties.
My hold on Jackson’s hand was a death grip. This was it. They were taking me in to surgery.
To my surprise, though, the doctor removed his hat and glasses as he approached the bed, and I recognized him.
“Clark! You made it.” Relief flooded me. Even though it was dangerous for him, he’d come.
“I’ll wait outside,” Jackson said. He pressed a kiss to my knuckles, gave Clark a curt nod, and left the room.
“I wasn’t about to let someone drill a hole in your head without seeing you first,” he said. “I knew you hated hospitals, but this isn’t something that can be fixed with a Band-Aid.”
My smile was weak, as was his.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
His eyes focused on mine, seeing too much. “I’m terrified,” I whispered, trying not to cry. “Th-they said I might have brain . . . damage.” I nearly couldn’t get the word out. “Clark, what if something happens to my brain? It’s who I am. It’s what I do. It’s everything. What if I turn into a vegetable? What if I’m not smart anymore? What if—”
“Hold on, stop right there,” he interrupted me. “The chance of that happening is really low. You’re worrying and stressing over something that isn’t going to happen. I promise. It would take more than a hole in your head to make you not smart.”
“But that’s who I am,” I said again.
“No, it’s not.” His expression was resolute. “You’re more than your intellect. The woman I know is scary smart, yeah. But you’re also kind, compassionate, and giving. You’re funny, too literal, and need some serious advice on pajamas. You’re a million things that, taken separately, aren’t anything special, but when you put them all together, they make you you, and you are special.” He paused. “Especially to me.”
It was an incredibly sweet thing to say, and I didn’t take it for granted that Clark had been the one to say it. I was still scared—I was having brain surgery, after all—but he made me feel better.
He cleared his throat. “I’d get all sappy on you and start spouting declarations of devotion and shit, but that’s not really my style. So I’ll do this. Come out of this, be well, and I’ll watch one episode of Star Trek.”
I sat up a little straighter. “The original series?”
His eyes closed as if it pained him to answer. “Yeah. The Spock and Kirk one.”
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. “Awesome. And if I come out of this a vegetable?”
“I’ll make you watch an entire season of Baywatch.”
I grimaced. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Clark shrugged. “A bet isn’t a bet unless it’s worth winning.”
“One episode versus an entire season isn’t really fair,” I argued.
“The man has pointy ears,” he shot back.
“Pointy ears versus bouncy boobs.” I raised an eyebrow, waiting. Finally, he capitulated.
“Okay, a season for a season, but I reserve the right to make fun of it.”
“Ditto.”
“Shake on it.”
He took my hand and pressed it lightly. The teasing light went out of his eyes, and I could see the strain and worry in them. His thumb lightly caressed the top of my hand. There were a lot of unsaid things in his eyes, but for once, I could read what he held back. Like last night, I could see his soul in his eyes.
The door opened and Dr. Morris walked in along with two nurses. Clark glanced at them, then moved closer to me.
“You’re going to be just fine, baby,” he whispered, then pressed his lips to mine. “I’ll catch you on the flip side.”
Before I could reply, he nodded at the nurses and was out the door and gone.
“Okay, Miss China,” Dr. Morris said with a smile. “We’ve come to prep you for surgery, and we have some paperwork for you to look over and sign. The anesthesiologist will be by to discuss his part with you. The nurses here are going to get started, and we’ll have you in the OR shortly. Do you have any questions?”
“No. I’m okay,” I said, swallowing hard. My gut was churning with fear.
Dr. Morris patted my arm. “It’ll be all right. I assure you. I’ve done many of these surgeries. We�
�re going to give you something now that’ll help take the edge off your nerves, okay?”
“That sounds really great.” Anything that eased the fear gripping me would be welcome.
“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s get started.”
14
Mia paced the hospital hallway, chewing her nails. Which sucked because she’d just had them done. At thirty-five bucks a pop, it was an expensive habit. One that Aunt Chi had watched in consternation one afternoon.
“She cuts your regular nails, then puts on fake acrylic ones, then spends the better part of an hour using a drill to file them down,” she’d said. “Wouldn’t it be easier, and cheaper, to just grow your own nails?”
“Yes, but they’re always breaking on me,” Mia had explained.
Aunt Chi hadn’t argued further on the merits of the procedure, just watched with such attention that Mia had no doubt that if suddenly called upon for an emergency manicure, her aunt would be able to do as good a job, if not a better one, than the woman sitting across from them.
They’d become so close over the past few months, Mia couldn’t imagine her life without her aunt. She’d always felt a kinship with China, like they connected in a way that was instinctive. She hadn’t had that with anyone else. Flying down to barge in on her aunt had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, but it had been the right decision. If the surgery didn’t go well—
No. She stopped in her tracks. She couldn’t think like that. When she did, she couldn’t breathe.
Dropping into a chair, she sniffed back tears and pulled out her cell. She needed to call her dad and let him know what was going on.
The phone rang three times before he answered.
“Hey, honey,” Oslo said. “How’s the trip going? Everything okay?”
“Um, no, Dad, it’s not.” It took a few minutes to explain what had happened, but eventually he got the important part. They were in St. Louis. China was in the hospital. She was having emergency brain surgery.
“I’ll call your grandpa and Bill,” he said. “We’ll head out soon. We should be there by morning.”
