Dreams of Us

by St. James, Brooke

  "The bear?" I asked.

  "Yep," Rebecca said. "We named him in the car on the way over here."

  I laughed. "Hello, Alan," I said, turning to greet the teddy bear.

  We all sat there and stared at him for a few seconds as if waiting for his response. He said nothing.

  "He's shy at first," Lexie said, leaning over to give me an awkward hug that ended up being more of a pat since she didn't know where it was okay to touch me. I reached up to pat her back.

  "I thought you'd have all of Chicago up in here with you," Emily said, looking around.

  "I've had a few visitors, but my mom kicked everybody out."

  "Where is Annie?" Lexie asked, using my mom's first name.

  "She and Carl went to my apartment to take a much needed shower."

  "Ole' Carl," Lexie said as if comforted by the thought of my father.

  "They should be back in a little bit if you guys want to tell them 'hi' before she makes you leave."

  They laughed.

  "We can't stay," Emily said. "I have to go to work."

  "Speaking of work, I got that promotion," Rebecca said, settling onto the small couch near the window.

  Emily and Lexie sat next to her. It was small enough that they pretty much had to squeeze onto it.

  "Congratulations!" I said. "Manager?"

  "Yep," she said. She threw up some sort of gang sign with her hands. "Old Navy for life, baby," she said, making everyone laugh.

  Two taps sounded on the door before it slowly opened. My friends distracted me, so I'd forgotten Dr. Crawford was coming until I saw him peering in. I watched as he inspected me and my new teddy bear before shifting his focus to my three friends who were sitting on the couch.

  Emily got to her feet instantly. "Should we leave?" she asked.

  He smiled and shook his head. "No, I didn't know Bailey had visitors. I can come back after I see a few other patients." He looked at me. "How are you doing this morning?"

  "I'm good," I said, smiling.

  "Should I request a double bed?" he asked pointing at the bear.

  "Do you have double beds?" I asked with wide eyes.

  "No," he said, smiling.

  I narrowed my eyes. "You had Alan's hopes up."

  He looked at my friends as if making sure they were all girls. "Who's Alan?"

  Rebecca pointed back at the bed, and his gaze shifted to me again. I picked up the bear. "This is Alan," I said.

  He let out a little laugh and shook his head. "You had me jealous for a second."

  He was joking, of course, but the statement sent a flittery, jittery, jolt of pure pleasure washing over me. I let out a laugh and thankfully, so did my friends.

  "I'll let you guys catch up, and I'll come back in a few minutes," he said.

  "It's really okay," Rebecca said. "We weren't planning on staying."

  "Yeah, I've got to go to work," Emily added.

  "We just wanted to bring Alan and tell Bay we love her," Lexie said. "And we're glad she didn't die."

  "Are you sure?" he asked. He held up my chart. "I don't mind coming back in a little while."

  "No, no, no," Rebecca said. "We weren't planning on staying anyway."

  Dr. Crawford stood back while the three musketeers gave me hugs and said goodbye. It was hilarious watching them try to tell me how hot he was without him noticing. They circled behind him as they walked out, and all three of them made silly wide-eyed expressions behind his back, indicating their infatuation with him. It was incredibly difficult to keep a straight face as they did so.

  "They didn't have to leave," he said, once they were gone.

  "It's okay," I said. "My mom would have kicked them out anyway."

  "So, you're doing well?" he asked, standing near my bedside.

  I nodded.

  The sun was shining brightly into my room, and he was standing where his face was bathed in light. His dark hair and olive complexion against those amber eyes made him look so exotic.

  "A pirate," I said, staring up at him.

  He smiled at me as if wondering where in the world my off-the-wall statement had come from.

  "You," I said. "You remind me of a pirate. I think it might be your eyes. Maybe they look like gold doubloons. Or maybe you just look a little too dangerous and mysterious to be a doctor."

  He glanced down at my chart and then back at me with a smile. "What exactly do they have you on?" he asked.

  I laughed. "I'm not tripping. This is just how I always act."

  He laughed. "I've never been called a pirate before. I'm not sure how I feel about that."

  "You should feel great about it," I said. "I mean it in the best way possible. You're obviously extremely handsome. My friends were making googly eyes at you behind your back when they walked out just now."

  He laughed. "Well tell your friends I said thank you... I think."

  We talked and laughed for a few minutes about random things before discussing my hand. I asked him questions about my recovery that I hadn't thought of the first time. It was going to be a long process, which would include physical therapy and perhaps a second surgery to remove some of the pins. He said we would just have to see how it went. He ordered an x-ray for later that day to make sure that everything was still in place. My hand would have to stay hooked up to the brace while I was in the hospital, but as long as everything was still secure when I left, I'd be sent home with nothing more than a splint and bandage, which would be exchanged in a week for a cast.

  Another doctor came in that afternoon after I got finished with the x-rays. He removed the bandage from my head and inspected the wound I'd received on the left side of my forehead—a wound I didn't even know was there.

  "What'd you think the bandage was for?" he asked laughing at my surprise.

  "I thought I had a concussion."

  "You did, but the bandage was for the wound. Your nurse has looked at it a few times."

  "She took off my bandage, but I didn't know what she was doing."

  "Well, compared to your hand, it's no big deal, but you have fifteen stitches that'll need to come out soon. We won't leave them in for more than a week since they're on your face."

  "My face?"

  "Well, part of them are up past your hairline, but some of them extend down onto your forehead."

  "Why didn't you tell me this?" I asked, looking at my mom."

  "I thought you knew," she said, shrugging.

  "Can I see it in a mirror?" I asked.

  "Sure," he said, inspecting the site thoroughly. "You can look at it all you want. We're done with this bandage."

  "So, you're just leaving it open?"

  "Yep," he said. "It looks great. I'll have your nurse clean it up for you, and it can stay open after that. You're on the road to recovery. We'll have you out of here in no time."

  After the doctor left and my nurse had a chance to clean my wound, I went to the bathroom and had a nice long stare at my reflection. I hardly recognized myself. It wasn't because I looked all that different, it was just that I hadn't really seen myself in a few days. My long, dark blonde hair was in a low ponytail, and I had on no makeup whatsoever. There was indeed a large wound on the left side of my forehead. It seemed to me like an inch of it was in my hair, and a couple of inches extended out onto my face. It was a fresh wound with black stitches holding it together, but I hoped that once it was all healed up it wouldn't be that noticeable. I figured I could always cut bangs.

  I was only in there for a few minutes, so it didn't surprise me when the nurse and orderly were still in my room when I finished. They'd just finished changing my bed linens, and the orderly was headed out with the old ones bundled in his arms. The nurse was the only one in my room with me at that point. My dad had gone home so he could get back to work, and my mom was downstairs getting a snack from the cafeteria.

  "Looks good, doesn't it?" the nurse said when she saw me coming out of the bathroom.

  "I guess it does," I said. "It looks bad
to me considering I didn't know it was there, but I guess it's good compared to what it was."

  "It's healing up nicely," she said. "You'll barely even notice it after a few months. Dr. Cramer's the best."

  "I like all my doctors," I said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  "Dr. Ross is amazing, too. You've been treated by the best of the best."

  "I haven't met Dr. Ross," I said.

  "You'll meet him for your follow-ups, I'm sure. He's amazing. You'll probably have full function of that hand."

  "That's what Dr. Crawford said. He's the only ortho I've talked to."

  "Isn't he great?" she asked. "He's the real deal, too. I hope he sticks around once he's done with his residency."

  "How much longer does he have?" I asked out of sheer curiosity.

  "He's in his last few months, I believe. He focused on pediatrics last year, and I was down on that floor, so I worked with him all the time."

  She helped me position all my tubes and wires as I settled back into my spot.

  "He's wonderful with children," she continued. "He knows how to fold paper into animals—you know origami or whatever. The kids loved him. He's a total clown. He still gets requests down there from families who know he works here. He must have a patient down there now because he was at the nurse's station earlier asking us if any of us happened to know where he could get his hands on an eye patch."

  Chapter 5

  Dr. Crawford did not have an eye patch on when he came into my room the next morning. That didn't stop me from assuming he had been asking about one for my sake.

  "I heard you know how to do origami," I said after we spoke about my latest set of x-rays. I knew I should probably refrain from saying too many personal things like that to my doctor, but I just couldn't help it with him.

  "I do," he said. "I'm not a master or anything, but I've got a few things memorized—enough to impress most eight-year-olds."

  "I'm easily amused," I said.

  He smiled. "You want me to make you something?"

  "I thought you'd never ask," I said.

  He sat on the foot of my bed and began rifling through my chart for a piece of paper. "I'm just gonna do the crane since it's fast, and they'll get on to me if I take too long in here."

  Less than two minutes later, he handed me a paper crane, complete with wings that moved up and down when you pulled the tail.

  "This is so cool!" I said.

  He smiled again, but it was tinged with something odd. Regret? Disappointment? "I'm glad you like it," he said simply.

  He left as soon as he finished folding it for me. I thought he was acting standoffish compared to our other conversations, but I had to remind myself that he was a doctor and I was his patient, and I should not set my expectations too high. He had come and gone so quickly that I began to doubt whether or not the whole eye patch thing had anything to do with me.

  My mom, who had been at my apartment getting changed and showered, came in not long after Dr. Crawford left. I caught her up on everything he and I talked about, letting her know my x-rays looked good.

  "I'm gonna go down the hall to the lounge to get some coffee, do you want to come?" she asked.

  "Sure," I said, anxious for the opportunity to stretch my legs.

  We set off down the hall toward the lounge. She stayed right by my side even though I was in no danger of losing my balance or falling over.

  "It feels good to be up and around," I said once we arrived at the lounge. I gestured down the long hallway. "I'll walk to the end and back while you make your coffee."

  She shot me a concerned expression. "Are you sure?"

  I smiled. "Mom my legs are fine. I'll be leaving here in a day or two. I better be okay to make it to the end of the hall and back by myself."

  She sighed as she gazed down the hall.

  "I'm fine, Mom," I said, laughing.

  "Okay, I'll be right here. Just holler if you need me."

  She went into the lounge to make her coffee, and I ventured down the long hallway, planning on looking out the window when I got to the end.

  I slowed considerably about halfway when I came to an intersection with another hallway. I thought I heard someone say my name in hushed tones, and it caught my attention.

  "The girl with the broken hand in 402," a woman's voice said.

  402 was most certainly my room, and I turned to the side so I could concentrate on hearing what they were saying.

  "What about her?"

  "Your man was asking Dr. Nelson about her yesterday afternoon, and I nipped that in the bud."

  I heard a frustrated sigh.

  My heart was pounding.

  "What'd you do?" she asked.

  "I heard him asking about her, and I told him that she didn't date men."

  One of them gasped.

  I grew instantly nauseated.

  "Were you lying?"

  "No, it's true. She's some superstar athlete. She has a girlfriend who's a TV host or something. I saw them in the Chicago Tribune. They're like the Ellen and Portia of the Midwest, only both of them are girly and beautiful."

  "Thanks a lot!" she said, sarcastically.

  "It's not like it matters. She's obviously off the market."

  "Are you serious?" she asked, after a brief pause.

  "I'm totally serious."

  "What'd he say? I hope that didn't make him want her more."

  I heard laughter.

  "Yeah right. You know Dr. Crawford. He's not like that."

  My heart sank. I could barely breathe. I wanted to burst into tears.

  "Did he say anything?"

  "Not really, but I could tell he was shocked."

  "What are you doing?" I heard from several feet behind me. It was my mother.

  Horrified, I turned and began jogging toward her. "This way, this way," I whispered, pushing her to turn around.

  "What in heaven's name is wrong with you?" she asked, struggling to balance her coffee. Thankfully, she took a cue from me and was whispering. "What's the matter, Bailey?"

  "Nothing," I whispered frantically. "I just need to get back to my room."

  "You're gonna hurt yourself," my mom scolded.

  "I'm fine."

  We shuffled around the corner and down the hallway that led to my room. I was breathless when we finally made it there.

  "Are you going to tell me what happened, Bailey?"

  "No ma'am." I said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

  "And why not?"

  "Because, Mom, I overheard someone's private conversation, and I don't really want to talk about it."

  "Was it inappropriate?"

  "I said I really don't want to talk about it!"

  My mom sighed and walked to the other side of the room leaving me on my bed. If she hadn't been there I would have lost it. I felt like I wanted to lose it even with her standing there staring at me.

  What are the chances that I would walk up on someone having a conversation like that? It didn't seem real. I knew they were talking about me, but I didn't identify with that person at all. I didn't think of myself as someone who didn't date men, and hearing them say that out loud made me feel sick and defensive.

  It was no wonder Dr. Crawford seemed distant earlier. I thought back to our interaction—thought about him making the crane. What must he have been thinking? I wondered what he was saying to that other doctor before that woman told him about me.

  I hung my head. I didn't want to be defined by my past choices, but there I was, unable to get away from them. Everything that woman said was true. I made my bed and now I had to lie in it. I sat there wondering why God had brought someone like him into my life only to have this happen.

  Maybe it was just to show me that I could be attracted to a man. Maybe he was the first one to stir my attraction, but there would be someone else even better to come.

  "You're gonna have to tell me what's the matter, Bailey," my mom said after giving me ample time to space out and overthink ever
ything.

  "I'm sorry, but I can't, Mom. Let's just leave it as I overheard something that hurt my feelings."

  "Was someone talking about you?" she asked defensively.

  "It's fine, Mom. It's really no big deal. I'm just ready to get out of here."

  "Who in the world would talk about you? What'd they say?"

  "Nothing. It doesn't matter. I'm just overly sensitive since I've been cooped up in here. I don’t even think it was about me."

  "Well, I sure hope not," she said.

  ***

  I left the hospital two days later. Dr. Crawford came to see me every day, but both of us were somewhat guarded and kept the conversation on a mostly professional level. He told me before I left that he wanted to get an eye patch and come into my room looking like a pirate, but he'd been busy and never had the chance to follow through. I thought it was sweet of him to mention it, but somehow it just bummed me out even more.

  I requested Dr. Ross when I set up my follow-up appointments. I remembered that nurse mentioning something about a case study, but I figured Dr. Crawford had enough information on me as it was. I really didn't want to see him again. He had done me a favor by letting me see I had it in me to crush on a guy, and I was thankful for that, but seeing him continually during my recovery would be like salt on an open wound.

  Months passed.

  I changed from a splint to a cast, to another cast before finally having my hand back. Dr. Ross was extremely pleased with my progress and said as long as the pins and wires weren't bothering me they could stay where they were.

  I started going to the physical therapist as soon as I got my cast off. I did everything they told me to do and felt like a full recovery was well within my reach. The scar on my forehead healed up beautifully. I knew it was there, but it was really hard to notice unless you were looking for it.

  It had been several months since my accident, and my scars were fading, but Dr. Crawford was still etched into my memory. I'd gone out with a few different guys—all of whom I compared to Dr. Crawford, and none of them measured up. I stayed positive, though. I held onto the idea that someone else would eventually be able to affect me the way he had.

  I thought, in fact, that tonight might be the night I'd meet the man of my dreams. Ben Knowles, my boss and the owner of the ad agency where I worked, asked me to accompany him to one of Chicago's largest charity balls. He had just broken up with his girlfriend of five years, and didn't really feel like going at all, but had already agreed to it. He and I got along great, and he asked me if I would do him a favor by coming along.