He introduced himself as Dr. Michaels, then informed me that I’d been out of it, in some coma for a week and a half that was caused by swelling in my brain from the blow to the back of my head. Along with multiple bruises on various parts of my body, I had three cracked ribs and a gunshot wound in my shoulder, which had required surgery to remove the bullet.
“You were lucky. The bullet only grazed the bone before it became lodged, and there wasn’t a chip or any fragments of bone found.”
Somehow, I didn’t feel lucky.
As I listened to the doctor talk about recovery time and how long I would be in the hospital, my uncle and mom stood to the side. I glanced over and noticed tears ran down my mom’s face. Probably from having to again hear everything that had happened to me.
The most shocking out of everything the doctor said was that I’d been transported from the borough hospital after they’d stabilized me. I was in the trauma hospital in the city, where they specialized in pediatric trauma.
“Pediatric? I’m sixteen, not a baby,” I said, feeling more than a little put out being referred to as a kid.
The doctor’s lips twitched at my put-out tone. “Pediatric covers from birth to usually sixteen. However, even though you are over our cut off by a few months, we decided you would still benefit more from the treatment here.”
I felt my eyelids start to droop and fought against it, but the doctor must have noticed my struggle.
“You’re going to sleep on and off for the next couple of days. Your system has been stressed from the injuries and surgery. Not to mention the swelling in your head. Though the fluid is almost non-existent now, your brain and body still have healing to do. I’ll check back in with you later. Rest.” I nodded, and the doctor and nurse walked out.
As I blinked and started to give in to the heaviness of my eyelids, my uncle moved the chair closer to my bed for my mom to sit. When she sat and rested a hand on my arm, I rolled my head in her direction. There was one thing I needed to know before I succumbed to the tiredness.
“What about Davis? Is he okay?” I asked as my eyes closed.
“Sleep, son. We can talk about Davis when you wake.”
I wanted to know about my friend. No way could I go under without knowing. “Mom, I need to know now if Davis is alright.”
There was a long pause as I battled to stay in the now until finally, my mom’s soft-spoken words followed me into the darkness, “I’m so sorry, honey. Davis didn’t make it.”
A MONTH AFTER BEING released from the hospital, I found myself in the backseat of my uncle’s vehicle watching as the neighborhood I’d grown up in passed by through the window.
I was healed, except for my ribs, I had no issues or underlying problems from being in a coma for over a week. And if I stayed away from quick movements, my ribs weren’t a problem. They would heal in time. However, the verdict was still out with me on whether I considered it a blessing or not to be on the mend.
Remembering everything from the loss of my dad to the loss of my best friend was the hardest for me to accept through it all. It left me wondering why I was allowed a pass on dying, but Davis wasn’t. It bothered me that I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to my friend or my dad. And no matter what anyone said, even the cops, the weight of responsibility for both deaths pressed down on my shoulders. If I’d made better choices—things would be different. So much was out of my control.
Over time maybe the weight would lighten. Then again, did it matter? The end result would be the same.
Hell, I’d not only received a pass on death, but I’d also been given another by the cops. They’d came to the hospital and questioned me about the crew, Travis, and why I had been there that day. My story matched with a few people in the neighborhood who’d witnessed what had taken place before the cops had arrived at Travis’ place—I had no doubt I’d be in jail, instead of on my way to live in Boston, if not for their accounts of what happened matching mine.
It seemed after I went down for the count, the gunfire hadn’t stopped when the police showed up. It continued until everyone in Travis’ crew was dead. Except for Lucas. He’d already been in jail and would be going to prison for my dad’s death. Being the lone survivor paid off. The cops settled for the wipeout of the rest of the crew as a win. My friend, Davis, written off as collateral damage. He’d died in the crossfire as Travis, and the others opened fire on the police when they’d arrived on the scene.
“You doing okay back there, Lucio?” my uncle asked with a quick glance over his shoulder, pulling me away from my thoughts.
“Yeah, Uncle Tony, I’m good,” I answered and leaned my head against the headrest.
“It’ll be nice having my sister and nephew around,” my uncle said.
My mom chuckled. “We’ll see if you say that after we’ve been living in your house for a while, Tony.”
“Gina, you’re always welcome at my house. And you can stay as long as you need to. That’s what family does for one another. Maria is so excited; she’s already notified the high school about Lucio’s attendance. They’ll have the paperwork ready for you when you go in to register him. School starts soon.”
I closed my eyes as if that would keep me from thinking about starting a new school. I kept them closed and listened to my mom and uncle talk. My uncle mentioned again how the move was a good idea since we had nothing holding us in New York. That leaving behind the bad memories and having a fresh start was exactly what we needed.
As I began to doze, my last thought was, I hope he is right.
Her life...
Olivia
Chapter Five
PULLING THE ZIPPER around on my suitcase, I lifted it off the bed and sat it on the floor next to my violin case, then walked out of my room.
“Did you finish packing?” my mom asked as I entered the kitchen.
“Yes, but I still don’t understand why we have to leave a day early just to go shopping. The first scheduled rehearsal isn’t until late afternoon the next day. Why not get there early then, and we can shop either before or after the rehearsal?”
“I thought it would be nice for us to have some girl time. We’ve not done that in a long time. Besides, you need an outfit for the performance,” my mom said, then sighed. “You’re the one who refused to let me buy something here without your presence. I even volunteered to bring them home for your approval.”
I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water before replying. The battle over clothing had been an ongoing affair between my mother and me since...well, forever.
Constance Chambers, my mother, believed appearance meant everything. Even cooking dinner, the woman wore black linen slacks and an off-white blouse. On her neck was a strand of pearls with matching earrings on her lobes. There wasn’t one blonde hair on her head out of place, and if I looked down at her feet, I knew I would find her standard two-inch heeled shoes. What she considered the acceptable ‘in the house’ footwear.
I looked down at what I had on: yoga pants, an oversized t-shirt with my high school’s name on the front, and no shoes on my feet. When it came to clothes, my opinion never came close to comparison with my mom’s. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know when to dress appropriately, it was just she and I had different ideas in what classified as appropriate.
“Because you would have brought home what you like, instead of what I like,” I said as I plucked a slice of cucumber from the salad bowl.
“Stop that. Your dad will be home any minute, and we’ll eat,” Mom said as she swatted my hand away when I went in for another slice. “There’s nothing wrong with my taste in clothing. You just like to be difficult. It would be nice to see you wear something besides black slacks. A skirt for a change.”
“I’m not wearing a floor length skirt, ever. Skirts are annoying. Pants are comfortable, and I don’t have to worry if I’m going to get my foot tangled in the hem when I stand from my seat. People are supposed to be there to enjoy the music, not to inspect our clothing.”
“Sometimes, I wonder how you can be my daughter,” my mom mumbled.
It was something she frequently said when we had a difference of opinions. She never said it to be mean. It was more of a teasing statement. Our likes and dislikes differed for most everything. Heck, we only shared one, no two physical attributes: our body frames were both on the thin side with the slightest of curves, and I had inherited her pale skin. Where she was considered tall at five feet nine with blonde hair and blue eyes, I was average at five feet six with brown hair and brown eyes.
I was my father’s daughter when it came to looks. I just wished I’d gotten his skin tone because instead of tanning, I freckled. I would have liked a smidgeon more in height, too. Though I was told, the height deal was from the women on my father’s side, who were average in height, while the men ranged in height by inches, and all were over six feet. In my dad’s case, he topped off at six feet four.
“You should know how I became your daughter. One night approximately sixteen years ago, I’m guessing in the bedroom, when you and Dad— ” I cut off what I was going to say and started laughing when she gently shoved me on the shoulder.
“Olivia!” Her sounding my name along with the shocked looked on her face, only made me laugh harder.
“What are my favorite two girls up to?” I stopped laughing and smiled at my dad.
“Well, it seems Mom has a little confusion with me being her daughter. I was trying to tell her, but she didn’t want to listen.”
“Because you’re fifteen and I’m your mother. Plus, ladies don’t talk like that.”
“You should have at least corrected her, Constance. She’s wrong,” my dad said as he leaned in and kissed my mom on the cheek.
“Wrong about what?” I asked as I opened the cabinet and reached to grab the dinner plates.
“On the where. It wasn’t night. It was daylight, sometime in the afternoon to be exact, and happened in the living room. I distinctly remember the day. I’d been out of town for a couple of days on a case, and when I walked in the door, she jumped me. It was hours later before we made it to the bedroom.”
“Richard, I did no such thing!”
“You did, and if you play your cards right, Constance, we can reenact that afternoon later in our bedroom.”
“Good Lord, Richard, go change while Olivia and I set the table for dinner. You say the most outrageous things.”
Most teenagers would be doing the finger in the mouth with gagging sounds if their parents said such things in front of them. We liked to think our parents didn’t have sex. I thought it was stupid, but then again, my parents had no problem showing they loved each other. I witnessed it every day, from the way they looked at each other, spoke to each other, the smallest of touches as they passed each other entering or exiting a room. They still held hands when they were out. Not once had I felt embarrassed with their acts of affection. Instead, observing them made me want the same type of relationship one day.
“Yes, sweetheart. We wouldn’t want Olivia to know you are unable to keep your hands off me,” my dad said and turned to head out of the room.
I smiled as my mom shook her head, then spoke loud enough for my dad to hear as he walked down the hallway toward the stairs.
“Choose your husband wisely, Olivia. Bad boys may be exciting and seem like all that, but as you grow older, trust me, they tend to test your last nerve.”
My dad chuckled. “Please, you would have been bored in six months if you’d married the type of man your mother wanted for you. You were smart enough to choose me, and you haven’t regretted a day in seventeen years,” my dad answered loudly, then I heard him climbing the stairs.
I giggled at his teasing. But the fact I couldn’t picture my dad as a bad boy didn’t mean others didn’t see him that way. I mean, I wasn’t deaf; I’d heard whispered remarks by some of the other moms over the years. Especially when he wore short-sleeved pullover shirts revealing the tattoos down his arms. And that was just his arms. My dad had tattoos covering his chest and back, too, from the time he spent in the Navy.
“I swear I don’t know how he stands upright with the swollen head he carries around,” she said.
“Maybe he’s allergic to the ink in all the tattoos, and it caused his head to swell,” I said and tried to hold a straight face as my mom stared at me, but I couldn’t. I broke out into laughter, then so did she.
I’d forgotten how much fun it was to hang with my mom. Probably because my days had been full for the last two years. I was either tied up with a school function or attending practices for the BYSO (Boston Youth Symphony Orchestras), where I was a violinist.
So maybe spending the day shopping with my mom wouldn’t be so bad. I used to love girl time.
Chapter Six
THE CLOSER WE GOT TO New York, the heavier the traffic became. We hadn’t gotten on the road as early as my mom had wanted, and the delay placed us in the middle of lunchtime traffic. Not that traffic in the New York City area was ever mild. Well, maybe in the early hours like three in the morning.
We were staying at the Whitby in Manhattan, and when we reached the area, the traffic was less congested.
“How far to the hotel?” I asked as we stopped at yet another red light.
“Not much longer. A few more blocks. Once we get there, instead of the car, we’ll walk or cab our way around,” Mom said as a driver blew their car horn and then maneuvered around a vehicle in the middle of the intersection in front of us.
“I’m glad Boston isn’t quite this bad. But I guess that’s why not a lot of people get their license here.”
“Boston might not be as heavy in traffic, but we do have more young people on the road than they do.”
“I’ll be one of them soon. Well, after I go through the driver’s education course. I’m not sure when I’ll find the time to take it, though. Just think, though, once I pass, you won’t have to haul me around all the time.”
“You’ve got months until you turn sixteen, Olivia. There’s time to figure it out,” Mom said as the light turned green, and she accelerated.
“I know, but—” The sound of squealing tires stopped me mid-sentence and had my eyes glancing out my mom’s driver side window to see the front end of a huge truck. The next thing I felt was the impact as the truck that must have missed the light change, crashed into our vehicle.
The force buckled the car and glass broke as metal bent. Airbags exploded, and mine slammed me back against my seat. I heard a scream and realized it came from me. Everything happened so fast, and when it was over, the airbags deflated, I raised my hand to my head and felt moisture. I hadn’t even remembered hitting my head, but I must have hit the side window during the accident.
I heard people yelling and looked around and saw movement outside the car, then I turned my head to check on my mom and froze. The sight of her condition was too much. Blood ran down her face, her head at an odd angle, her body turned, and the seat twisted. I reached for the hand closest to me and grabbed hold, then I leaned my head back, and I must have closed my eyes because I no longer saw any light. Darkness had taken over.
Who knew it only took a few seconds to change your life?
Sirens could be heard, the sound growing louder as they neared. Other than that, I was left with the sound of my own breathing, closing out everything else around me. I don’t know how long I sat there. Time seemed to stand still.
Afraid to move, I waited. I’d never felt so alone before. Finally, I was jarred by the sound of doors opening and footsteps drawing nearer on the pavement, followed by voices.
“Passenger awake, in shock.” I guessed the man must’ve been talking about me as the wind hit me when my door was opened.
“Not getting a pulse here. We’re going to need the truck backed away and the jaws to get this side open.” Another man’s voice joined the mix as I listened to everything happening around me.
I wanted to ask who they were talking about. What was happening? But
I knew the answer, and I would never forget because it was the moment my life changed.
“Let’s get a neck brace on her and get her out of the vehicle,” was said by someone, then I heard the rustling of movements all around me before hands touched my neck.
“Just going to put this brace on your neck and give you something to take the edge off while we move you. You’ll probably still have a little discomfort, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”
I felt a prick in my leg, then my head was lifted off the rest only enough for what I guessed was the brace they mentioned.
“Ready to pull her,” came from the one beside me. Then I felt a hand touch mine. The one holding my mom’s hand. “Got to let go of her, honey, so we can get you out.”
As soon as I loosened my grip, my arm and hand were brought to my side. I felt the loss instantly. The final connection to my mom.
Hands grabbed me, and I was lifted out of the car, then lowered. I felt pressure on different points of my body.
“We’re strapping you in for travel. Can you tell us your name, sweetie?” a woman’s voice asked.
I wasn’t sure if I could speak, so I nodded my head instead. Focusing on the question, I struggled to push the word out.
“Olivia,” my voice sounded strained and was barely over a whisper to my own ears.
“Hang in there. We’re going to take care of you, Livi. We’re going to get you to the hospital,” the woman said, using the shortened version of my name.
I didn’t respond, there was no need. My nose and mouth were covered with a mask, and then I was moving. Things seemed to move in slow motion, but I had a feeling that was more me and probably from whatever they’d given me in the shot.
The sounds around me began to blend, and the voices jumbled to where not one stood out above the others, leaving me to fade into myself.
The next clear voices I heard were when I laid on a bed with beeping sounds in the background. The hospital. I was in the hospital just as the woman said they were taking me.
Touched by the Music Page 3
