She grinned at the way the endearment affected me; I never was great at masking emotion. What’s more, it shouldn’t have affected me the way it did. Just last night I’d told him to be with her. So why was I standing there? Leave them alone, Heather.
Before I could turn my head away, she put her hands on his chest and lifted to kiss him. Weird, he didn’t seem to want to kiss her back. In fact, he practically turned away. When his head shifted sideways, I thought he might have seen me. But abruptly, she compelled him back into her, and in that instant something changed. His entire demeanor altered. He kissed her back this time, really kissed her, right in front of me, in the cafeteria line, his hand at the small of her back, pulling her closer as if he wanted more.
Like an idiot, I sat there and watched their public display.
“Oh hey, Heather,” Paige turned to me and said when the kiss ended.
Like a dead fish, I didn’t move. I let her stare me down. Just then, I felt a small arm hook around mine. Liz reeled me out of the water and stood beside me, staring at Paige as if she were the worm.
I hugged her arm, both in silent thanks and to keep me upright. I couldn’t look at him. He’d made his choice. There was no point in looking anymore.
“Good to see you guys,” Paige had the gall to say.
“Not so much,” Liz piped back, pulling on my arm. “Come on, Heather.” She gave Nick a sidelong glare and said under her breath, “You both can go choke on your food.” She yanked me away as I watched Nick eye Liz, sharing the beginnings of a grin. He was amused by someone who had just told him to go choke on his food?
“There she is,” someone said from my side. “’Tis the beautiful Scottish Heather of summer.”
“Hey Bart,” I replied, not having to look to my right to know it was my skater friend from Communications class who’d joined the pleasant little cafeteria powwow. But I looked anyway just to be nice.
“We still on for tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Okay. See you at seven,” he said.
When we were almost out of the building, Liz whispered, “That was good. Nick thinks you have a date now. He thinks your moving on. Let him chew on that.”
“Yeah,” I answered with zero enthusiasm.
“You know, it’s probably just a habit for Nick to call her that,” I heard her say after a while of silence.
“It’s a good habit,” I responded, my face placid. “It makes a girl feel special to be called a babe.”
Liz sighed.
“I really need to learn how to turn off my heart before it implodes. There’s got to be a switch somewhere in my body.”
“No. There’s no switch.”
“Then please don’t ever let me run into them again.”
“Okay.”
*******
Crunching numbers was one of my favorite pastimes, so Statistics class wasn’t as bad as everyone said. I actually looked forward to going, which might have had more to do with the dynamics of the class than my love for balancing budgets.
With over a hundred students, most of us were no more than a face and a student number. But in the auditorium-style room there were two steady hand raiser guys who always sat in front—there’s always at least one in every class—whose comments were pretty witty.
It was Monday morning and I was still recovering from Thursday night’s date and Friday afternoon’s kiss in the cafeteria. What bothered me most was that the harder I tried to forget, the more I thought about it. Their kiss haunted me. He haunted me. Distraction was the only sure tool.
So I tuned into the microphone and the statistic’s-laden story being told.
The instruction continued, “The chart on the overhead shows the distribution on the cost of a one night’s hospital stay, for different types of medical conditions. For overnight surgery, what’s the probability…”
I tuned out pretty fast; the numbers on the chart floored me. A one night’s hospital stay was between two and three thousand dollars?!
Because my mind was thinking mathematics, an equation formed in my head. There were three hundred sixty five days in a year, round that to three hundred for ease, at two thousand dollars minimum to be on life support each day, not to mention the cost of surgeries and the extra care I received, that’s almost a million dollars a year. Grandma V could never have afforded that. And she was gone the last year of my coma.
Who paid my medical bills?
*******
“Who paid for my coma?” I asked Doc at my appointment the following day. “I know Grandma V’s money ran out. It had to. There’s no way she could have paid all those medical expenses.”
“No, you’re right. She couldn’t. She kept on top of your bills for a year, then made arrangements with the hospital to pay monthly. We didn’t tell her, but it wasn’t near enough. And since she wasn’t your legal guardian, we weren’t obligated to follow her instructions to keep you on life support.”
“Then how did I stay on the machines for so long?”
“It was a miracle, really. The hospital was up for some medical research grants. A short proposal was submitted to the board on your behalf, with analysis on your brain and heart readings. Because we suspected you a PRS coma patient, we thought the board would grant the funds to keep sustaining your life. We were right.
“To answer your question, the government paid.”
The government paid to save my life. I owed the government? I could make a good joke out of that one, I teased with myself. But on to more important questions. “Who wrote the proposal?”
One of my colleagues. You met him while in the hospital, when you came to from your coma. His name is Bruce Westwood. He’s a brain surgeon, a darn good one, performed your surgery after the accident and then monitored your brain activity for the length of your coma.”
“I think I remember him. He was in the hospital room when I first woke up.”
“Taking your brain readings, yes.”
“So, he wrote the proposal?”
“His research was included in the proposal.” Doc rushed through his next comment. “I gathered all the findings and sent them off to the board. But if I hadn’t, he would have.”
My first thought was: So Nick was right when he’d said we needed each other sometimes and that life would suck if we didn’t. It definitely would have sucked had Doc not “gathered all the findings”.
My second thought was: “Doc, do you realize you saved my life?” I left the couch to hug him, something I’d wanted to do for a long time, but had refrained since I knew it would make him uncomfortable. I didn’t care anymore.
“You don’t need to thank me,” he said, waiting until I was done hugging him to finish talking. “I save people’s lives all the time. It’s what I went to school for. And in all honesty, you owe your life to Dr. Westwood, not me. He saved you. And he was extremely faithful in his follow-up with you. I’d say if you’re going to thank someone, it should be him.”
“Both of you saved me.” I loved doctors. “Do you think it would be too much to ask to see him? I’d like to thank him too, in person.”
“Not at all. In fact, I was with him not a half hour ago, seeing to another one of his surgery patients. I’ll walk you to his office. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch him there.”
I recognized him not by face, but by the large distinguished portrait painting on the far wall of his office, lit by a small spotlight. While his head was down seeing to the papers on his large mahogany desk, I studied the rest of his office. Two standing lamps with leather shades stood in each corner, giving off the only light in the room, and the dark brown walls added to the dimness. Behind the desk, shelves were lined with books, hundreds of large volumes, some bound in leather, others bound in more modern materials. His desk was mostly bare save two or three opened manila folders and a digital picture frame. The green hospital scrubs he wore clashed against his surroundings, but that didn’t take away from the affluent, VIP feel of the room.
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Doc knocked on the open door and Dr. Westwood’s eyes rose.
“Excuse me, Bruce, I have someone who would like to talk to you.”
“Mark,” he said, “Come in.”
It was his voice that I remembered most from a few months ago, the first real voice that woke me from my coma: somber and serious, and conflicted with his gentler words. Doc waved me in and nodded his head in an encouraging, invisible shove. Then he mentioned something about seeing me next month, said his goodbye, and closed the office door behind him.
The office was uncomfortably quiet. Too quiet.
“Hi,” I said.
“Have a seat.” He folded a file closed and carefully slid it to the side of his desk. “How may I help you?”
How stressful to perform brain surgery each day. No wonder he carried himself slowly and meticulously, people’s lives were at stake. Instant admiration was one of my few feelings toward him. Another was respect. A third was how handsome he was for an older man, even with his pepper colored hair and pronounced nose and chin. And a fourth was spoken aloud.
“I wanted to thank you for saving my life. Doc told me…” I cleared my throat, “Doctor Adams told me that you performed my brain surgery three years ago.” I didn’t know why my voice shook; I wasn’t the type to be easily intimidated. “Doctor Adams also told me you monitored my brain while I was in my coma. And then helped write the proposal to fund my life support.”
His eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Ms. Robbins, yes. We referred to you as the miracle girl.”
A small laugh came out. “Yeah, Doctor Adams calls me that all the time.” My head bent down to gather my thoughts and I watched a few of the pictures flash on and off the screen of his digital picture frame; family pictures, I noticed absently. “I’m not really sure what to say.” I kept my eyes on the digital picture screen to gather my thoughts, finally looking up to make eye contact. “How do you thank someone for saving your life?”
“I appreciate that, sweetheart. I take my work very seriously…”
I wanted to hear him, but the pictures from the digital frame kept tugging on my eyes, embarrassingly enough.
And then his words drowned out as a cold, prickly feeling crept down my spine.
Automatically, my eyes centered on the frame, and the pictures inside it. One after another, pictures and people digitized in and out of the screen, scenes that left me speechless. The frame made its way to my hands and I found my voice. “How do you know them?” I turned the screen toward him.
“That’s my daughter. And her fiancé.”
His words tweaked my heart as I stared forward and saw Paige and Nick, the cop that pulled us over, her upscale family.
“Their engagement party last weekend,” he clarified.
“Last weekend, meaning a few days ago?”
“Saturday night,” he confirmed, smiling proudly as any father would when his beautiful daughter had found Mr. Right. “You must be friends with my daughter.”
I almost had a brain aneurism right there, in his office, in a hospital, in front of a brain surgeon. Because that would be Saturday, two days after Thursday. Two days after four wheeling, and uncovering my scar, and kissing my neck, and nibbling on my ear, Thursday? Wow, Nick definitely had made up his mind, and he’d been fast about it. The proof was flashing right in my face, like a big neon sign blinking “fool”, “dupe”, “chump”, “sucker” with each passing picture.
My emotions in check, I nodded. My tongue twisted in a knot when I thanked him again. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
The sun shined too bright on the ride home. The weather was beautiful for the beginning of December. Too bad I couldn’t enjoy it. Not even bothering to think, I went straight to Liz’s house. I didn’t mention to her what happened. Sometimes the spectacularly terrible coincidences of life couldn’t be explained right after they happened. Paige’s father saved my life? Had Paige known, she probably would have snuck in the hospital and pulled the plug. But it was more than that. Sure, I’d told him to choose her, but I didn’t really mean it. I did want his happiness. But I was still hanging on, still hoping without hope that I would be a part of that happiness somehow. Even after our talk, after the kiss in the cafeteria, I didn’t want it to be over. I was hanging by a final thread.
Dr. Westwood tore the last little fiber in two.
I felt nothing, empty, which was a relief after all the pain I’d suffered. I wanted to feel light again. Grief was a monster I was through grappling with. And the pain had wacked me around enough that I was ready to be done with it. At last, the clamp of resignation had taken hold and I knew this was it.
Liz and I went back to my place to work on jewelry for the night. I made two of my best pieces yet. One was a bright red, heart-shaped broach that I’d scuffed up with a pocketknife and then secured on a black chain with grey and black roses. It was eerily gorgeous. The other piece was another necklace, choker length, with jagged beads in randomly loud colors dangling in different lengths all around the piece. It looked like a shattered stain glass window. I tilted my head to survey my newest creations, eventually nodding in silent approval. If I’d known Paige would turn out to be my paranormal-work-of-art muse I would have used her for that purpose sooner. Well goodbye her, and goodbye him.
“Would it be cool if I hung out with Creed?” Liz said while working on the other side of the table.
Whoa, where did that come from?
“You and Creed?” My response might have come out a bit snappish, which was unfair since she hadn’t a clue why my mood was so disagreeable tonight.
“No, it’s nothing like that,” she quickly countered. “I wanted to go see this movie with him that we were talking about last week and I was making sure you were okay with it. You can totally tell me if it’s awkward.”
Put your own troubles aside and tune into your friend, Heather. Now.
It only took a moment to obey, and I looked away from the jewelry and found Liz. “Not at all, Liz. I’m so fine with it.” But was I? Apparently so, because when I said it, I didn’t feel an ounce of offense toward either of them. Maybe I was becoming so strong and calloused that my ability to feel had vanished altogether. No, last I checked my heart it was still beating for a guy who had an engagement party last Saturday.
Liz left at midnight.
Crazy how life works, I thought to myself as I hopped in bed. Maybe all of this happened to bring those two together. My two best friends. If Creed spent more time with Liz—if anyone spent more time with Liz—it would be impossible not to fall for her. She was too quality. And stranger things had happened, I was proof of that. Well, anyhow, if it did work out between them….
I reached under my pillow and pulled out the black watch Nick had given me so long ago. I wasn’t comfortable wearing it while she still wore his ring. But to sleep near it reminded me of my strength. I’d persevered through a three-year battle with a coma, and a broken heart. I could face anything now. Maybe even an estranged father.
I turned the watch over and read the engraving: Heather and Nick ~ Timeless.
*******
It had been a week since Creed and Liz had gone to their movie.
It had been over a month since Liz and I started our business. We’d sold five hundred dollars worth of jewelry to date, with a stack full of orders pending.
It had been twenty-one years since I’d laid eyes on my father. It was about time I see him again. Healing was about making things happen, not sitting back and waiting for them. I was ready to move forward and take the next step. I had an address and a surprise appointment with his front door tomorrow.
It had been three years since my heart was effectively stolen. It was extremely difficult to figure out how to get it back or live my life without it. My only peace was his happiness, which would have to be enough for now.
But it still hurt like the fires of Hell.
Chapter 12
Movies said he would cry. Books said he would explain
why he abandoned us all those years ago. He said nothing, only stared at me.
It took forty-five minutes to drive to my father’s house. Forty-five minutes of mulling over the feelings I’d had toward him over the course of my life. I remembered asking my mom about him once, but she hadn’t said much. I gathered he didn’t want to have anything to do with us since he lived in Missouri yet never called or tried to reach out.
In high school I remembered during sex education class asking myself the question: What kind of person would abandon their own baby, their own flesh and blood, not to mention walk away from the person they impregnated? Sometimes I wondered how anyone could live with himself or herself after doing such a thing. Sometimes I wanted to punish him for ignoring me my entire life. Sometimes I thought I hated him. But most of the time I didn’t think about him at all. I often told myself I didn’t care to meet him. But that wasn’t true. A deep need inside of me wanted this. In truth, lately I longed for the connection.
And I was at a point in my life where I didn’t have a place inside of me anymore to hold onto resentment or anger. Life had taken me through a black abyss and worked me over a bit, but the results were indefinable. I always knew I had a fire for life, but now I knew how to apply that fire. Now I felt like I could accomplish anything. I believed in myself. I wasn’t sure I could have done this at any other time in my life. I felt almost as if the past few months had shaped me for this very moment.
There were no expectations. He might want nothing to do with me, and that would have to be okay. I didn’t want him to think I needed anything from him; I wasn’t looking for money, or even an apology. Neither of us could change the past.
But I had the future, and that’s what I looked to.
I was wearing around my neck my favorite necklace with the old key and Mom’s pearl. This was for her too; she would want me to do this. Not for their relationship because that was their private affair, but because Mom loved me so much, and she’d want my father to know why. And I wondered the same about him: What made my mom fall in love all those years ago?
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