Speed of Life

by Carol Weston

  The doctor leaned in and examined my scalp, lifting up pieces of hair. It felt gross, full of gravel and dirt and…dried blood? “As soon as I catch a break, I’ll put in some staples,” he promised.

  Dad thanked him, doctor to doctor.

  After he left, Kate said, “I wish he’d just do it now.”

  “In an emergency room,” Dad said, “there’s a hierarchy. Trust me, you don’t want to be the most popular patient. If you’re getting neglected, you should thank your stars.”

  Kate nodded, then turned to me. “Sofia, it’s so good to hear you talking in full sentences again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For a while there, you kept repeating the same sentence.”

  “I did?”

  The doctor poked his head in the door. “Okay, princess, what were those words?”

  Huh? Words? I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Not to worry,” he said, Dr. Casual. “I’ll come back later and give you three new words. I’ll do those sutures too.” He left.

  Kate looked anxious, and I sensed that I’d flunked an important quiz. My stomach tightened. “Dad, what am I going to do about my finals?”

  “I have good news. You already took them. And you did really well.”

  “Really? I did?”

  “You aced everything except math, and you did okay in math too. Relax. It’s summer vacation.”

  “It is?” It was all so bewildering. I couldn’t remember my finals, the accident, or, apparently, even three simple words.

  • • •

  More doctors, more words. Hours later, when I finally said, “Car, paper, owl” as if it were no big deal, the doctor high-fived me, Dad acted as if I’d nailed Final Jeopardy, and Kate looked like she might cry. Next, the doctor sat down to clean my head. He gave me a shot and, while talking about his own little boy, used a staple gun to close the gash in my scalp. I thanked him and said that my head ached and I was really thirsty. He said he was sorry but he couldn’t give me water or painkillers yet and then was called away.

  “She’ll have to stay in the hospital overnight,” a nurse stated. “For observation.”

  “Of course,” Dad answered.

  “We’ll move her upstairs as soon as a room becomes ready.”

  “I’m really thirsty,” I said.

  I closed my eyes and heard Kate ask, “Why can’t she have water?”

  “Withholding fluids helps prevent vomiting,” Dad replied. “It’s also important in case she has a seizure or needs surgery as a result of a subdural hematoma.”

  “A subdural—?”

  “Blood around the brain.”

  Kate stopped asking questions, and I dozed on and off, propped against pillows in the hospital bed. After a while, I started staring at the medical monitor. I realized I could control one of the lines with my breathing, so I practiced, as if it were a video game, then said, “Dad, watch.”

  I blew three short breaths followed by three long ones. With each breath, the green middle line on the monitor spiked up, up, up, then down, down, down, making little stair steps.

  Dad laughed. “You are a funny little wolf cub. Can you spell wolf cub backward?”

  I hesitated but did it: B-U-C-F-L-O-W. “Or did you mean like our name? Because I could add the E.”

  Kate hugged us, eyes glistening. Then she excused herself, returning moments later with a clear plastic bag containing my bra, top, and the ripped thong—which was mortifying. “The skirt was too torn to salvage,” she said. “The helmet too. It had a crack down the middle.”

  “Sam made me wear it. I didn’t want to mess up my hair.”

  “Probably saved your life,” Dad said.

  “Can you tell him I’m okay?”

  “It’s almost 10:00 p.m., but I bet he’s up. What’s his last name?”

  “Davison,” Kate said. “On Fox Ridge Road. In Windmill Farm, everyone knows everyone. It’s a little incestuous.”

  “I’ll call him now,” Dad said, getting up. “And then, Katie, you can go home and get some sleep. You can take my car.”

  “I’d rather stay. If that’s all right.”

  “More than all right.” He kissed her, and she hugged him, and I heard him whisper, “I love you,” and heard her whisper it back.

  First I thought, Wow.

  Then I was surprised to realize that I wasn’t more surprised. They were about to spend the night in the hospital with me. They were a couple, in good times and bad.

  When Dad left the room to call Sam, he turned off the light. Kate mumbled, “I’m staying right here, Sofia.” I nodded, exhausted, and when Dad came back, we all three tried to sleep. A nurse had wanted to move me out of the ER, but there were no available beds.

  • • •

  In the middle of the night, a scream pierced the hallway. I woke with a start. I heard: “No! No! No! No!”

  I sat up, alarmed. It was dark, but I saw that Dad and Kate were both wide-awake too.

  Dad got up and reached for my hand.

  The wail continued: “No! No! No! No!” What was it? An animal?

  It was harrowing.

  Then I remembered I was in a hospital. And I knew—I just knew—that it was the cry of a mother hearing news she could not bear.

  I felt sick for her, but her wailing also made me want to leave the hospital. To get out. To get better. To be alive.

  • • •

  In the morning, a speech pathologist in a white smock arrived with a clipboard. She asked me to touch my nose, blink twice, and name the president.

  I did.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “A hospital.” I looked around and saw that during the night, I’d been moved to a different room, which meant I must have fallen fast asleep after all.

  “Do you know where?”

  “No.”

  “She’s not from here,” Kate interjected. “She doesn’t know we’re in Valhalla.” I appreciated her defending me and noticed that she was wearing the same sweater as the day before. Dad had gone out for coffee.

  The woman dismissed Kate with a wave. “What are your favorite foods?” she asked, pencil poised.

  I had to think about that. “Paella, tortilla española, gambas al ajillo, shumai, lamb saag, shrimp tikka masala,” I began. “Sushi, gyoza, curry tom…”

  The speech pathologist looked confused. Kate jumped in again. “She’s a city kid. She has a sophisticated palate.”

  The woman asked, “What about hamburgers, Sofia? You eat hamburgers?”

  “Love ’em. Hot dogs too. Hamburgers with ketchup, hot dogs with mustard.”

  At last, the speech pathologist smiled. “And apple pie?”

  “And chocolate cake. In fact, I’m starving. When can I get out of here?”

  “As soon as the release forms are filled out. You got lucky.”

  “Lucky?” I inspected my torn-up knees and sore shoulder.

  “Lucky,” she repeated.

  • • •

  “Well, well.” Dad was reading a text on his cell phone. “We’re about to have company. Sam’s coming by.”

  I felt a rush of warmth. My knees and shoulder and head hurt, and I was tired, but I could feel myself coming back to life. “When?”

  “Now. He’s on his way.”

  Dad showed me on his phone: Please tell Sofia I’ll be there at noon. Sam.

  “I wish I could wash my hair, and this hospital gown isn’t exactly—”

  “You look gorgeous,” Dad said. Which was sweet. Dad looked awful—rumpled and unshaven. Had he and Kate really spent the whole night with me? I peered at Kate—I’d never seen her so unkempt, and it occurred to me that, in their own way, she and Dad looked a little as if they belonged together. Which was disturbing but also
a teeny tiny bit comforting. (Though it was also disturbing to even think that.)

  Kate helped me stagger to the bathroom, where I inspected myself in the mirror. “I do look better than I thought,” I admitted.

  “You look great. It’s incredible.”

  “I feel like caca, as my mom would’ve said. Caca is poop in Spanish.”

  Kate met my eyes in the mirror. “That’s the first time you’ve mentioned your mother to me.”

  “Actually, it’s not.” Maybe it was because my guard was down or because of the meds, but I wanted to take advantage of this moment and tell her about Catlover and Dear Kate. I wanted to be honest with her, the way I used to be. And I was just about to when Dad knocked on the door.

  “Visitors! Sam and Lori Davison!” he announced. Kate held my arm as I took slow, careful steps back toward my hospital bed.

  “Hi!” Sam said uncomfortably.

  “Hi!” I smiled. “I think you met my dad, playing volleyball.”

  Everyone started trying to piece together what had happened. Apparently, moments after saying good-bye to Kate, I’d flipped over the handlebars. Sam called 911 with his cell and also called his mom, Lori, who drove straight to Kate’s house where, as Lori put it, she honked “like a crazy woman” until Kate got into her car.

  I vaguely remembered Kate and the red blur of an ambulance, but I couldn’t remember the accident at all, which was, no doubt, just as well.

  Lori handed me a bag. “It’s a sundress,” she said. “You can wear it home, and Kate can get it back to me anytime.”

  “And these you can keep,” Sam said and handed me a dozen yellow roses. “I’m really sorry.”

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” I wished I had the nerve to ask the grown-ups to let Sam and me have a moment. One moment and one kiss would have made me feel a whole lot better.

  “Sam, thank you,” Dad said, “for making Sofia wear a helmet.”

  “The ER people threw it out because it got cracked,” I said. Suddenly, I remembered Alexa’s bicycle and said, “Oh no! Is the bike okay?”

  Kate made a face, but Sam said, “It’s fine. I already put it back in the garage.”

  • • •

  I woke up groggy and sore, in a queen-size bed with crisp, lavender sheets and a patchwork quilt comforter. Outside, I heard a concert of songbirds and the faint creak of a…windmill?

  A flood of memories: a train, a helmet, a bicycle, a hospital.

  My eyes rested on a vase of yellow roses on the bed table. I studied their delicate petals and fragile centers. I touched one, then another. I pressed my face into the bouquet, breathed in, and thought, Sam. Yes. Sam.

  I knew where I was: Dear Kate’s guest room. What was nice was that I didn’t feel like a guest.

  I walked downstairs. Dad and Kate were drinking blue smoothies and doing the Times crossword. His assistant must have rescheduled his appointments.

  It was rare that Dad missed work (except when Mom died), but he said that every once in a while, even doctors get to call in sick. Besides, his patients were used to last-minute changes. Whenever a woman went into labor, his whole schedule got thrown off. I’d gone with Mom to the opera twice because, as she used to joke, whenever she and Dad had tickets, someone had twins. Dad said it was an occupational hazard of obstetrics: “Dr. Wolfe, at your cervix.” “Push, push, push, all day long.”

  I entered the kitchen, and Dad and Kate made a fuss over my cuts and scrapes. “Who’s taking care of Pepito?” I asked.

  “He has plenty of kibble and water for a day or two,” Dad assured me. “And I asked Mrs. Russell to run up and look in on him. She has the key.” On cue, Coconut padded over and wound herself around my legs, her soft, white tail caressing the skin beneath my bandaged knees. I crouched and petted her, massaging the scruff of her neck. Soon, she was purring loudly enough for us all to hear.

  “You really are a cat person,” Kate said.

  “Yeah, I love cats.” I studied Kate. “Actually, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Dad must have noticed my serious tone because he looked up from the newspaper. I hadn’t planned to say anything in front of him, but I didn’t want to miss this chance—or hold on to my secret any longer. I needed to tell the truth. “I am a cat lover,” I stated. “A catlover. I love cats. I could have, like, ninety-nine of them.”

  Dad looked confused, like, Did the accident have repercussions after all?

  But Kate’s jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. She stood and smiled. “C’mere,” she said, opening her arms.

  I walked into her embrace and let myself be hugged. Then, without warning, I started to cry. Was it the relief of being honest? The release of the anxiety from the day before? The bittersweet comfort of being in a mother’s arms?

  “Wow,” Kate said softly. “So I’m the Mystery Woman?”

  I nodded.

  “What am I not getting?” Dad asked. Kate’s eyes were wet now too. “Could one of you fill me in?”

  “Not me,” Kate said.

  “Dad,” I began, “you know how Kate visited HSG, and you started going out with her? Well, I started writing her, and she wrote back, and I told her about Mom and then about you meeting someone new, and we wrote a lot before I found out that…you two were going out.”

  “What’s remarkable,” Kate said, “is that with all the mail I get, I really felt for Catlover99. She seemed like a good kid who’d been through a lot.” Kate looked at us both, and Dad smiled and seemed a little choked up. “Maria must have been quite a woman.” Kate added, “But I’m not sure I remember too many other specifics.”

  “That’s okay!” I said too quickly.

  “Of course, I could go through my old mail and reread what you wrote. Would you like me to?”

  “No!”

  She laughed. “Would you prefer I delete them all?”

  “Yes!”

  “Fine. We’ll do that together. Right after breakfast.”

  “There’s nothing bad in them. It’s just…”

  She put up a hand. “I get it. Girls write me because they know whatever they say won’t come back to haunt them.”

  “Thank you,” I said, relieved. “Can I still proofread your column?”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I just sent it off to my editor. Next time, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She refilled Dad’s coffee mug and poured me some orange juice. “And now, Sofia, in the spirit of full disclosure, I have something I think I should tell you, though maybe Sam should be the one?”

  I looked at her, puzzled.

  “Here’s the thing. Sam’s a good guy. I know because, well…he went out with Alexa.”

  “Alexa?” I said. “Alexa-Alexa?”

  “Sam hasn’t been around much lately, but Alexa did mention that he came to say good-bye one evening before she went to Canada. Anyway, last winter they went to the Snow Ball—it’s like a prom. So you might just want to ask him where things stand.”

  I was speechless. No wonder Sam blanched when I pointed out the Bairds’ house. No wonder he knew exactly where to find Alexa’s bike.

  Dad looked surprised too, and when neither of us spoke, he said, “Ladies, any other bombshells?”

  “It’s your turn,” Kate replied. “Are you harboring any secrets, Dr. Wolfe?”

  “Oh, hell,” he said, “as long as we’re coming clean…”

  Kate looked apprehensive, and I braced myself. What had Dad not told us?

  “Remember when I first drove here in February? I said I had a meeting and asked you to sign a book for my niece.” Niece? “Well, I didn’t have a meeting or a niece,” Dad said. “I had an agenda.”

  Kate looked at me and smiled. “What do you think, Sofia? Liar, liar, pants on fire?”

  I shrugged—which hurt. “Oww.”

&n
bsp; Kate stroked my back gently and faced Dad. “Tell you what, Gregg, I won’t count that as a secret. More like a strategy.”

  “It worked,” he said.

  “It did,” Kate agreed.

  I texted Sam to meet me beneath the big maple tree. I needed to know what was going on.

  “I’m going to the club,” I said, grabbing an apple. “But first, Kate, can we delete all those emails, if you really don’t mind?”

  Kate led me to her messy office, and I lifted a framed black-and-white portrait of Alexa as a little kid going down the big slide.

  “Alexa’s father took that picture,” she said.

  Her phone rang and she checked caller ID. “It’s my editor. Give me a minute?”

  “Sure.” She took her cell into the hallway.

  I peeked at a chat on her computer and, feeling slightly guilty, started skimming.

  DearKate: It’s just all happening so fast. I don’t want to be rash.

  TheBryans: You are the least rash person on the planet! You’re the opposite of rash. What’s the opposite of “rash”?

  DearKate: Calamine lotion?

  TheBryans: Exactly! That’s you, soothing and sensible. Which is lovely, truly. But if your heart’s trying to tell your brain something, why not shut up for once and listen?

  DearKate: You’re probably right.

  TheBryans: Oh, I’m definitely right. Is Sofia totally okay?

  DearKate: Yes. Thank God!

  The Bryans: Phew!

  DearKate: Have you heard from Alexa?

  TheBryans: One call, one postcard.

  DearKate: Same. My postcard said, “The Rockies rock.”

  TheBryans: Ours said, “Can you believe I’m someplace where you’ve never been?”

  DearKate: If she calls again, don’t tell her. I need to tell her myself.

  TheBryans: Believe me, we’re not touching that subject. But go for it. You help kids live their lives. You get to live yours.

  Kate came back, and I pretended to be studying the foreign editions of her book, but I was confused. Who were the Bryans? And what subject were they not touching?