by Iris Parker
"And you had no way of knowing what was going to happen when you said those things. That's part of life. We don't always think about what might happen in the future, and then it turns out we're wrong. All we can do is live with the consequences and keep going."
"But what if the consequences are that Dominick dies?" Ali asked, and her words ripped a new hole in my heart. I couldn't bear the idea that it wasn't impossible, that maybe he really could die.
"He won't, honey," I said, projecting a calmness I wished I felt. "He's a fighter. He's strong."
"But maybe he's not strong enough to come out of the coma," Ali said, the pain in her voice obvious.
"It's just an induced coma, sweetie. The doctors did it on purpose," I answered, trying to push away the images of Dominick's swollen brain. "And besides, the accident wasn't your fault. You couldn't have stopped it just by wearing boots."
"Not the boots," Ali said again before bursting into renewed tears, louder and harder than ever. "Oh, Mom, I was so stupid!" she wailed.
I whispered more reassurances and hugged her tighter, letting her continue the story at her own pace.
"Jason—he was behind us, and I wanted to wave at him but I couldn't. The safety belt wouldn't let me move. So I unstrapped it and turned around, and then I fell, and…and now Dominick is hurt real bad because of me," she said finally, her small body racked with sobs. "I told him he wasn't really my dad, and he saved me, and now he's in the hospital. Because of me."
"Oh, Honey…." I said at last, struggling to find the words. "But he did save you. Don't you see? No matter what happened between the two of you, he was still willing to risk his life to save you. He knows you didn't really mean it."
I held her for a long time after that, the two of us at a loss for words. I'd already desperately wanted Dominick to be okay, but now I had another reason for wanting it. Nothing could help Ali as much as seeing him in one piece, or hearing directly from him that he forgave her. I hoped tomorrow would be a brighter day, that we could get through this and begin both Dominick and Ali healing together.
Healing in more ways than one.
I held Ali in my arms until her sobs slowly faded. It took a long time, but eventually she nodded off with her head on my shoulders, finding at last the peace of sleep.
Dominick
"Dominick? Come on, buddy. It's time for you to come out and play again, the doc says so," called a voice from another world. The speaker sounded small, like he was made out of tin.
Trying to understand him was exhausting, and all I could think was that I wanted to go back to sleep. At least sleep didn't hurt, but this—this thing where a robot kept calling out to me—now that hurt. It hurt in my bones, in my chest, and most of all it hurt in my head.
Sleep was definitely the better option.
But something kept waking me up.
Not just the voice, but the promise of something…sweet. Something vital, something I needed to get ahold of. It gnawed at me as I slept and woke me up every time I closed my eyes, the feeling like I'd left the oven on, only a thousand times worse.
Whatever it was, I was missing out on it.
It?
No, her.
For the first time I was able to snatch the memory and hold it in my hands for an instant, just long enough to realize it was actually a girl.
Or maybe she was two girls.
"Dom? Nurse, he's opening his eyes!" the robot voice called, but now he sounded a lot closer and a lot more like a human.
A voice I recognized from childhood.
Alton.
Why didn't you tell me you were a robot? I tried to ask, but I'd forgotten how to use my mouth.
There was a lot of commotion, and the sound of hurried footsteps surrounding me. In the chaos, I slowly realized that Alton probably wasn't a robot after all.
Weird dreams, man. Weird dreams. Whatever the hell I'd been drinking last night, I swore to never touch the stuff again. It just wasn't worth it—this was the mother of all hangovers.
"Dominick?" called another voice, one that was definitely human. It was sweet and feminine, but yet I knew right away it was all wrong.
Whoever this was, it wasn't her.
She was saying something about how long it'd take me to wake up, but that was confusing.
Wasn't I awake now?
Well, if I wasn't awake, then I might as well just get some more sleep.
Maybe I'd see the girl again, whoever she was. Probably just a figment of my imagination, since there was no way she could possibly be real.
Frankly, Alton was more likely to be a robot.
But maybe, just maybe, if I went back to sleep I might have the same dream again.
That was a nice thought.
Dominick
"Dominick? Are you there? It's me," Alton's voice called.
"And me," another voice called. Sweet, feminine, accepting me for all my flaws…yeah, I recognized this voice.
Oh dammit, don't tell me I'd been dreaming about my mother. I might've been rich, but there was no way I could afford those therapy bills.
Ugh.
I opened my eyes and tried to focus, the indistinct shapes forming into Alton and my mom. To my relief, I saw that my mom looked all wrong too—sweet and feminine and accepting, yes, but nothing like the woman I'd imagined. And she certainly looked nothing like the other one, the young girl I'd felt so insanely protective of and proud of.
Well, I guess technically maybe my mom did look a little bit like the girl. They had some similar facial features, anyway.
I guess my brain wasn't very original, so sue me.
But why was I dreaming about a girl in the first place? That was downright bizarre, and completely out of place compared to the rest of my life. And we'd been…building sandcastles together?
Jesus, maybe I did need to see a shrink.
"Hey," I said to Alton and my mother, trying to sit up. A blast of searing pain jolted me awake, and sent me back down into bed.
"Don't!" the two voices cried out in unison.
"It still hurts, doesn't it? You're groaning in your sleep, son," the concern in my mother's voice was palpable. Wincing, I nodded my head.
More pain.
"How is…" I began, unable to finish my thoughts. Who was it? Besides Alton and my mother, there weren't really many people I cared about.
Oh, obviously.
"How's grandma?" I asked, embarrassed I'd forgotten even for a moment.
Something still didn't feel right, though.
"She's good, Sweetheart," my mother said, and I noticed her face was wet. "We've all been worried about you, but things are looking a lot better now. I'm so glad you're awake!"
Worried about me? Why would they be worried? I was the same guy as always—a no good lout and overgrown jock, but I still knew how to take care of myself. Maybe this hangover was a bit much, but I'd be on my feet again soon enough.
But come to think of it, why was my mom checking on me about a hangover? And why did my grandmother know about it, of all people?
And why did I feel like my entire life had been ripped away from me, sharp claws eviscerating me until I was nothing but an empty husk of loneliness and self-loathing?
Tequila, I decided.
It must've been tequila.
No good could ever come from drinking something with a worm in it.
Could I go back to sleep yet? At least when I was sleeping, I didn't know the dream was a dream.
In the dream, I felt whole again.
Dominick
Alton's voice was loud and clear this time.
Loud, clear, and irritating.
"Dom? Wake up, Dom," he began. "It's time for rehab."
Okay, now that was unexpected.
"Rehab?" I asked, opening my eyes only to discover a bright glare around the room. Squinting, I looked at Alton quizzically. "You went into rehab? You? Really? I mean…you?"
Or at least that's what I was trying to say. What noises actuall
y came out of my cotton-feeling mouth and bone-dry throat, I'm not sure. It must've been incomprehensible, because Alton looked at me in total amusement.
Well, at least one of us was happy, I thought, opening my eyes a bit wider. The light was blinding, and searing pain filled my head once again. I hated the feeling, but I didn't want to sleep any more.
The dream felt all wrong now, too. Like I was just torturing myself with what could've been, had my life gone differently.
"Rehabilitation therapy," Alton said. "And it's not mine. It's yours. The doctors say you probably won't need much, but they've been weaning you out of sedation slowly. They want to be sure you have all your abilities back."
"Abilities?" I asked.
Like building sandcastles so big they have porches? I thought to myself, and sighed.
"Yeah. Walking, talking, standing…not sandcastles, though. Pretty sure they don't have a test for that in Massachusetts General Hospital.
"I said that out loud?" I asked. "And why wouldn't I be able to walk? And what do you mean, Massachusetts General—"
I turned to look at my nightstand, only then realizing that I wasn't actually at home.
Oh.
So that's what he meant by Massachusetts General Hospital.
"I…didn't drink tequila, did I?" I asked.
"No, but you should sometime," Alton's answer sounded cheerful. "Like I always say, forget the stupid worm. Do you have any idea how many chopped up worms are in a can of corn?"
"Alton, why am I in the hospital?" I asked, my head pounding.
"You mean you actually don't remember? I thought you were joking around. Uh—well, the thing is, you were in an accident. A pretty bad one, actually. We've all been worried sick."
The pain in my head intensified.
"An accident?" I asked.
"Yeah, on your way to Cape Cod. You got hit by a car, right there on the Interstate," Alton explained, his immature attitude slipping for a moment as he gave me a deathly serious look. "It's kind of a miracle you survived, actually."
I racked my brain trying to remember the accident, but there was nothing.
Nothing but a sense of loss, worry, and failure.
There was a sharp knock on the door, followed immediately by a young woman in her thirties. She gave me a bright smile, but—like every other woman I'd seen—she seemed wrong.
"Glad to see you're awake, Mr. Henderson," she said cheerfully, then introduced herself as my new physical therapist. I tried to smile back, even though a visit was the absolute last thing I wanted.
"He doesn't remember the accident," Alton said to the woman.
"That's not a surprise," the woman said, still smiling as she raised her hand. "Dominick, how many fingers am I holding up?"
"Three," I answered.
"And what is this called?" she asked, pulling a pen out of her pocket.
"A pen," I answered.
"And what's your full name?"
"Dominick Allen Henderson," I said.
"Aren't you going to ask him who the president is?" Alton asked.
"No, I am not," the woman said, shooting Alton a dirty look before turning back to me. "I'll have a nurse give you a more thorough check soon, but it seems like you at least remember the basics."
"Is there anything you could do to, I don't know, jog my memory?" I asked, curious about what exactly had landed me in a hospital where I dreamed constantly.
"Well, we can go over what happened, see if that helps. You were taking a couple of kids to Cape Cod when—"
"Wait, kids?" I asked, my stomach doing backflips and trying to climb out of my throat as I spoke. "I don't have kids."
I don't? That seemed wrong. Very wrong, actually. The wrongest thing I'd ever said.
But it didn't make any sense for it to be wrong. I couldn't remember the accident, but I still remembered who I was—Dominick Henderson.
And Dominick didn't have anyone.
Right?
I looked at Alton for confirmation, but the look on his face was a mix of worry and alarm. It wasn't a look he gave me very often, although it reminded me uncomfortably of the day when he'd warned me about Helena. I'd taken her, Ali, and Jason to the Arena and—
Helena!
Ali!
That's when it all came back to me, a sudden rush of images and jumbled emotions.
Ali's infectious enthusiasm and her eyes, so like mine but so different at the same time. Softer and prettier, the two mismatched colors fit her face better than they ever worked on mine.
Helena, her gorgeous smile and the curve of her belly. I adored everything about her, and couldn't fathom how I could've possibly forgotten her for even an instant.
And wondering that triggered another memory entirely.
The accident.
I remembered the utter horror of seeing the car heading straight for Ali, lying helplessly on the road. The image was wrapped in so much pain, so much terror, that I felt like my heart was going to explode and pop out of my chest.
"Ali!" I shouted suddenly, startling the physical therapist enough that she recoiled back.
"How is Ali?" I asked, not caring that I'd scared the woman. "How is my daughter? Did she—is she—"
"She's fine, Dominick," the woman said, taking a step forward again and smiling. She placed her hand on top of mine, reassuring and comforting. "You saved her life."
"She's fine?" I asked, trembling with relief but still wanting to be sure.
"She had some injuries, but nothing serious. She got through it like a champion," the woman went on. The words probably should've made me feel better, but instead the energy seemed to drain out of me. The woman kept talking, I could see her lips moving, but suddenly I couldn't comprehend anything.
Ali had gotten hurt because of me.
She almost died because of me.
I closed my eyes, but now all I could see was the accident. Ali lying helplessly on the road, crumpled up and unable to move. The image seemed seared into my brain, and I couldn't help but wonder how much pain she'd been in at the time. How hurt was she, exactly? How was Helena? Even if Ali was okay, I knew that Helena must've been hurting terribly.
My earlier memory of Helena's sweet smile was replaced by a new vision, the thought of that smile evaporating as Helena got the news that her daughter was hurt. The look on Helena's face must've been tragic, the tears and the pain and the uncertainty.
How were they doing now? How was the baby doing now, for that matter?
"Mr. Henderson?" the woman asked, and I stared at her blankly. There were so many questions, but I wasn't willing to ask any of them.
In fact, the less I knew, the better. I'd proven what I knew all along, that I really was toxic to anyone who got close to me. I'd known Ali for less than a year, and already I'd inspired her to run away from home and to very nearly get herself killed in a terrible accident. If that was the effect my parenting had, then they were better off without me: Ali, the baby, and most of all, Helena.
I couldn't bear to watch her as she cried even more tears because of me, as I slowly—and with the best of intentions, of course—took away everything she loved or cared about, poisoning her life from the inside out.
Thanks to the accident and the hospital's drugs, I'd forgotten the past summer. And thanks to that, I'd remembered something else.
Who I was before this summer.
A drunken, womanizing mess who never really grew up, and who certainly couldn't be trusted with a baby. Had I really thought that meeting Helena and Ali could change my nature? That a few months of playing house had somehow turned me into a responsible adult?
Right, a responsible adult who takes preteen girls on motorcycle rides.
I couldn't believe how stupid and reckless I'd been.
"I need some time alone," I grumbled to the woman. I still didn't even know her name, nor did I care what it was. That was typical of me, too.
And I'd thought I could have a family.
"I understand. I
'll come back later," the woman said before leaving.
With great difficulty, I sat up in bed and looked directly at Alton. I wanted to yell and scream, but he hadn't done anything wrong. I was furious with myself, but needed to swallow that anger and have a rational discussion.
"How long ago was the accident?" I asked.
"A week. You started waking up a couple days ago."
"And the girl?" I asked, feeling too ashamed to even say her name out loud.
"You mean Ali?" Alton asked.
"Yes," I said tersely.
"From the sound of it, she's great."
"No injuries?" I asked, just to make sure.
"Like the woman said, just some scrapes and bruises. Nothing more, thanks to you."
I nodded in relief, but not real relief. I'd never be able to get over that image of her on the road, or escape the fact that the only reason she'd been in danger was also thanks to me.
I'd been such an idiot. I'd sincerely thought I could keep her safe, to be her dad. Maybe even a good one. But now I understood why Helena had been so reluctant to tell me about the baby, and why her lack of trust had hurt me so much.
Because even then, deep down, I'd known she was right.
"What are you thinking?" Alton asked.
"I tried so hard, you know," I said.
"And you did great," Alton answered.
"Great at putting her in danger, yeah," I croaked, my heart beating furiously against my ears. It wasn't like Alton to talk about feelings, or even acknowledge they existed. I didn't know what had changed, but I wasn't going to let his new attitude stop me from spewing my venom. "I'm not fit to be a father. It's not like we ever got a fucking chance to see a good one in action, did we?"
"No, we didn't," Alton agreed sadly. "But from the sound of it, you've been doing a pretty good job."
"Is that a joke? I've known my daughter for a few months and I already almost got her killed. Even your dad—" I began, but cut myself off quickly. I was upset, but that was no reason to attack Alton below the belt by bringing up his past. "I'm not qualified to be a parent, or a husband, or anything else."
