Give Me Hope

by Zoey Derrick

  “No, I don’t. I don’t really know much about his circle of people. He rarely ever brought business home, it was always done somewhere else. Which really sucked because when they arrested him, they wouldn’t have found any drugs around, nothing that could’ve kept him in jail longer.” She takes a deep breath. “If they’d asked me about this before, I would have told them then, too, but I didn’t have solid evidence that pointed to anything that would’ve helped my case against him, and I doubt even now I have any good information for them.”

  Wow, I think that is the longest speech I’ve ever heard her make, even when she was mad and yelling at me. “Well, I’ve put Stevens off until Monday. For right now at least.”

  “I heard. What’s all this about your apartment and a lawyer?”

  How can I put this so that she doesn’t freak out again? “I, um, I emailed my lawyer asking him to meet with me Monday at my apartment to discuss your situation. I’d like you to be there.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “I’d like to have one lined up for you in case this goes south and you either have to testify or press your own personal charges against Riley. Or both.”

  She’s very stoic, no real reaction to what I’ve said. It’s almost as if she’s shut down. “I’ll think about it.”

  I’m not sure I can take that as an answer, but I don’t push her right now. I don’t need her getting mad at me; I need her to know that I’m on her side so she’ll agree to come stay in the condo I’ve had prepared for her.

  She yawns.

  “You’re exhausted. Get some sleep. I’ll be here in the morning and we can talk some more if you want.”

  She nods. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being here, for...” She pauses. “For rescuing me.”

  My heart swells nearly to the point of explosion at the tenderness in her voice. “I only wish I’d gotten to you sooner.”

  “Don’t. I’m alive, my baby is alive, and you’re here to protect me. That more than makes up for any mistakes you may feel you’ve made.” Her voice is sincere and heartwarming.

  I walk over toward her bed and lean down to kiss her forehead. Again she doesn’t flinch, and I’m thankful for that.

  “Thank you for your forgiveness.” I lower the bed a little more. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll stay off of the phone.”

  She laughs a little and closes her eyes.

  Forty-One

  I don’t linger at going to bed myself, curious as to what the night will bring me. The dream I had earlier seemed to come to an end.

  I settle into bed and, by the light of the bathroom I left on in case she needs it, I watch her sleep until I fall asleep.

  This time it’s different. I’m not in a white room. Or even a room that could be in Elysium for that matter. No, I’m...where am I? I know this room but I can’t place it.

  It’s a bedroom with plush, light tan carpet and a king-size canopy bed made from a dark cherry wood with modern spindles made of what look like stacked blocks. The sheer white curtains flow down on all sides.

  Someone is sleeping in the bed.

  I walk toward it to see who it is. Sprawled out across the pillows is a mane of curly, bright red hair. It’s the beautiful, pale, sleeping form of Vivienne.

  I hungrily look her up and down and notice, under the blankets, the rounded baby bump propped up by something. Judging from the size of the bump, this is in the future, but not too far in the future. I come around to the far side of the bed to see her bare back. And it is covered in the same silvery and black wings as mine. She really is an angel.

  I hear a noise behind me and I turn toward it. It’s me.

  What?

  I watch myself move around the bathroom with a towel around my waist. The wings on my back are vibrant silver and black. On my right shoulder and extending down my right arm is the tattoo from the first dream. I’m shaving and brushing my teeth, the two things I usually do just before crawling into bed. It won’t be long now; I need to get out of here before he sees me. Before I see me.

  I look back to Vivienne, sound asleep on the bed. I could watch her sleep for hours: so peaceful, so angelic.

  The light in the bathroom goes out. Crap. I look around quickly for someplace to hide, but it’s too late; I’m already walking toward myself, looking straight at me. Can he see me here?

  The other me walks straight through me and around the bed.

  Nope. I back away from the bed as I watch myself climb in behind her, moving her hair out of the way so as not to lie on it. It looks a lot longer than I’m used to seeing it.

  The other me wraps his arm around her and snuggles into her neck.

  She moves, rolling backwards into him and turning so he can kiss her.

  “Hello, beautiful. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She laughs at him. “It’s alright. I was missing you anyway.” She smiles and kisses him. I watch as she reaches around his back with her left arm. His eyes roll. She’s touching his wings.

  Her motions have forced the covers down and her chest is now exposed. I feel a surge of excitement.

  Sensing movement elsewhere in the room, I look up. Standing on the opposite side of the bed is Vivienne, just as she was when she left me in the last dream: beautiful, wings extended, and her hand resting gently against the swell of her stomach.

  I look back at the couple on the bed. I now feel as though I’m invading their privacy, but I’m captivated by them.

  I watch as I push the covers down further, exposing more of Vivienne. She’s glowing - a white, blue, and silver aura around her, similar to the one I saw that first night.

  Vivienne rolls over and straddles me - or him - and I watch intently as my hands roam slowly and softly along her breasts and her extended belly. I can feel my own arousal watching the two of them.

  What happens next surprises me. Slowly the wings on Vivienne’s back come alive and extend outward. It is an amazing sight to witness. Her wings are beautiful - white, with the slightest hint of silver accenting many of the feathers, and they shimmer in the dim light of the room.

  I look past the Vivienne on the bed to the Vivienne standing opposite me. Her clothes have changed. She is wearing the gray, too-big t-shirt and black sweatpants I helped her put on before going to bed. I cock my head at her, puzzled.

  Forty-Two

  Suddenly I feel a tug, like someone is pulling on my shirt. I open my eyes and look up into Vivienne’s shadowed face. “Vivienne? What’s wrong?”

  “I-I’m sorry, I can’t sleep, I—”

  “Come here,” I say, and I pull back the covers. She slides in carefully, lying on her left side with her head in the crook of my shoulder. The harsh velcro of the sling rubs against my chest through my shirt. “Are you in?”

  “Yes.”

  I wrap the blankets around us. “Good?”

  “Uh huh.”

  As I start to pull my hand back from covering her up I feel her wrist brace against my arm, stopping me from pulling it back to my side. It takes me only a moment to realize that my hand is resting, open-palmed, across her bump. I have no words for the flood of emotions that wash through me.

  As I lie here with her cascade of hair spread across my body, I contemplate how we got to this point. I can’t imagine what’s changed since I last saw her that has made her so trusting to the point of coming to me for comfort.

  I snuggle into her a bit more. The warmth of her body pressed against mine is the beginning of an addiction I know I will never break.

  Snuggled next to Vivienne, I think back to the dream I just had and the centuries-old story my mother used to tell me about A chuid den tsaol, or soulmates: the belief that there is only one person for everyone and that finding that one perfect person is rare. When you find yours, you know instantly because there is a bright aura surrounding that person; you will see it when you first lay eyes on them.

  I think back to the night I met Vivienne, the night my b
ack led me to her. Up until then, I’d had some indication that something was going on with my back, but I chalked it up to the old stories of the markings on my back and didn’t make much of it.

  I think I see now that it was a sign of what was to come: an omen, like dreams can be. Not like the dreams I’ve had these last few nights – nothing so overt – but something more along the lines of subliminal messages telling me who I am or what I would become.

  The day I met Vivienne, my markings had been bugging me ever since I’d arrived at the site of the groundbreaking. As the afternoon progressed, it got worse, until it was so annoying I had to leave.

  Just before I got in the car to go home, it was like my back took on its own personality, driving me toward my destination. Then, I didn’t know why. But I’m sure now. It was driving me toward my A chuid den tsaol.

  And now that I’ve seen parts of our future, I know that it is not just for her sake that I fight for her. It is for me, too. I can’t imagine my life without her. She is as essential to me as air.

  Is it possible that she is seeing some of the same things that I’m seeing? Is that why she’s changed toward me?

  While I know this battle is far from over, Elton made that very clear earlier tonight, I now know a glimpse of what the future holds for me, for us. Is that future set? Or is it up to me to protect her so that we get to that future?

  Forty-Three

  I can feel Vivienne moving in my arms, and my eyes open lazily to see morning light streaming in through the window.

  “I’m sorry, I just have to go to the bathroom.”

  “It’s okay. Do you need some help?”

  “No, I think I’m okay.”

  “Okay.”

  She gets her legs over the side of the cot, stands up and starts for the bathroom, IV pole in tow. I’ll be dammed – someone changed the bag. She’s gonna be pissed. But I also notice – and it didn’t register last night – that she is without the oxygen. I just shake my head. When she climbed out of her bed and into mine, she removed it.

  No sooner does the bathroom door close than the door to the hospital room opens and Amanda comes in.

  “She went to the bathroom.”

  “Ahh. How’s she doing?” she asks.

  “Don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to ask. We just woke up,” I tell her, and she smiles.

  I can hear the toilet flush in the bathroom and then the water starts running. A few moments later, the door opens. I haven’t moved from where I was in the cot, and she smiles slightly when she sees me. I jerk my head in Amanda’s direction.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask her.

  “Good. Tired, but good.”

  “That’s good. Are you ready for some tests?” Amanda asks her.

  “Um, no.” She scrunches up her face. “Can we finally ditch the IV though?”

  Amanda laughs, “Yeah. You fell asleep so she just changed out the fluids.”

  “I noticed. Can we please take it out?”

  “Yes. Climb back up in the bed.” Amanda says, and I head toward the bathroom.

  “Don’t go far, please?” I hear Vivienne ask.

  “Nope, not a chance, just going to the bathroom.”

  She nods, but I see sadness on her face. I smile at her reassuringly.

  I begin to wonder whether she feels the need to be near me because she feels safe with me. I take great comfort in this thought.

  When I come out, Vivienne is IV-free and Amanda’s pulling up Vivienne’s shirt. I stop dead in my tracks and start to turn around.

  “It’s okay,” Vivienne says. “She’s just checking on the baby.”

  I smile and ask, “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  “Can you wait a little until the tests are done?” Amanda asks.

  “If I have to,” Vivienne says sulkily.

  My smile widens. “I’ll call Red and have him bring up some food.”

  Amanda has finished revealing Vivienne’s stomach. The little mound stands out even further than it did a couple of weeks ago. The sight is actually really sweet. Amanda puts a microphone-shaped thing on the bump, and almost instantly there is a rapid whooshing sound. The image of Baby Callahan’s heartbeat on the ultrasound monitor the last time we were here comes to mind.

  Vivienne’s face lights up at the sound. She smiles and looks right at me, then smiles a little more brightly at my returning smile.

  I don’t know why I feel such a connection to her baby, but I do. I have this strange sense of hope that this is only the beginning of what’s to come with us.

  The whooshing sound stops as Amanda removes the microphone from her tummy.

  “Sounds great, and I got one hundred and forty-nine beats a minute.” She puts the equipment away and turns back to Vivienne. “Are you ready to go for a ride?”

  “Can I walk?”

  “No, you can either ride in a wheelchair or we can push the bed.”

  “Wheelchair then,” she huffs.

  “So feisty,” I say, and she scowls at me. I stick my tongue out at her and she bursts out laughing. “That’s my girl.”

  When Amanda comes back with a wheelchair, Vivienne slides down from the bed and sits down in it.

  “Are you coming?” she asks me.

  I look to Amanda, who shrugs. “That’s up to you,” she says.

  “If you want me to, I’ll come,” I say, looking at Vivienne.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Alright.” I slip into my sneakers and fall in behind Amanda. “Can I push her?”

  “Sure,” she says and steps aside for me to take the handles on the back. “Follow me.”

  Forty-Four

  We return to the room about two hours later to find that Red’s already been here. He’s left sandwich fixings – more of a lunch-type food than breakfast, but that’s good because it’s nearly noon anyway.

  Vivienne’s ultrasound went well, and Dr. Alston seemed pleased with what she saw.

  Once Vivienne and I are alone, I put together a sandwich for her and she digs in. Probably not the best food on a weak stomach, but she dives in with gusto and I’m not going to stop her.

  After a few bites she asks me a question I never thought she’d ask. “Why is helping and feeding me so important to you?”

  I wonder if this is something that she and Dr. Alston talked about last time. I take a sip of water and swallow the bite of sandwich I’d just taken.

  “My dad was not my father,” I begin.

  She looks at me, puzzled.

  “My dad, Shannon, met my mother when she was about six months pregnant with me. When he met her, she was nothing but skin and bones, living on the streets of Dublin. Her own father had kicked her out of his house when she told him she was pregnant, so she did what she needed to in order to survive.

  “When she met my dad, he fought to take care of her. And of me.” Wow, this sounds very familiar. I’d never thought about it like this. “He wasn’t a wealthy man - he worked seventy or eighty hours a week to bring home squat for money and food - but he endured and managed to save enough money to bring my mom and me to the States. That’s when things finally started to look up for our family. There were times when we all still went hungry, but the Irish community in Boston I grew up in was very supportive, and we managed to turn things around.

  “My dad taught me that persistence, perseverance and determination drive any man to do the things they’re good at. Mom taught me never to give up and to always help those that have less than you.”

  I look carefully at her. “Because of that and my mom’s history, I’m a strong supporter of the shelters in Minneapolis and a big contributor to Hope House, which is a home for women, and specifically for pregnant women and their families.

  “While I didn’t know you were pregnant when I met you, I did see a young woman who needed a good meal and a new lease on life, which is why I left you that tip and refused to take it back from you.”

  I reach into my back po
cket and pull out the now extremely wrinkled piece of paper wrapped around the cash still inside. “I’ve never opened this, and I never will. I brought it with me Friday with every intention of making sure you got it back. Now that you know the why, maybe you will accept it?”

  My heart breaks to see the shiny wet spots on her cheeks. “Oh, Vivienne, don’t cry. Please.”

  “I feel so stupid. I feel like...I feel like if I’d accepted your help when you offered it, not kicked you out of my hospital room...or if I hadn’t even shown up at your office that day-”

  She sniffs and I reach for a Kleenex. “I feel like had all that not happened, I wouldn’t be here. After I kicked you out, Dr. Alston said that you really were just trying to help me. That it was a no-strings-attached kind of help and that I might be overreacting to your generosity.” She wipes her nose and the tears from her face with the tissue I hand her.

  “But at the time, I was so determined to prove to myself - and only myself - that I could do all this on my own. I realized very quickly that you both were right, but I didn’t know how to swallow my pride and call you.”

  I’m not entirely sure what to say to her speech. I’m completely blown away. “I understand what it means to swallow your pride. It’s not easy, and I understand why you couldn’t. I’d planned to be here on Friday for your appointment, hoping that I could convince you that all I was really trying to do was help.”

  “I understand that now,” she says. “But you also need to understand where I’m coming from, too. I’ve spent so much of my life without a parental figure, struggling to survive everyday...but somehow someone was always there to pick up the pieces. It was never my mom, it was the little old neighbor lady. Or Riley.” I watch as her face distorts on his name.

  I cock my head at her and she takes a deep breath, as if having decided something. “After my mom had her stroke, I was homeless, with nowhere to go except school and a little cubby inside my old apartment until I met him and he basically took me in.” She shudders. “I grew up in a house full of drugs, alcohol and abuse. It turned out Riley was no different, though instead of doing drugs, he dealt them. And that is something that I will have to deal with the rest of my life.”