The Sound of Many Waters
Page 26
“Certainly,” said the receptionist. “Why do you look familiar?”
“I’ve been here before.”
“Thought so. What’s the patient’s name?”
“Leather Heath—” Zane blushed. “Sorry, I mean Heather Reynolds.”
The receptionist typed, paused, and nodded. “Heather Reynolds. Hospice. Room 413.”
Zane tapped the floor of the elevator with his foot as it carried him to the fourth floor. He found room 413 and peaked through the open door. Leather Heather, gaunt and gray without her wig, lay in a hospital bed watching Jeopardy on the television.
“Who is George Thorogood?” she said, her voice a frail hiss.
“Who is Bruce Springsteen?” said a Jeopardy contestant.
“Oh, sorry,” said Alex Trebek. “The correct answer—who is George Thorogood.”
“Dumbass,” said Leather Heather.
Zane smiled. She hadn’t changed a bit.
“Excuse me,” said a voice. Zane spun around to see a female orderly pushing a food cart.
“It’s time for Ms. Reynolds’ dinner,” said the orderly.
“Can I bring it to her?” asked Zane. “I’m visiting.”
“Fine by me. I think you’re the first visitor she’s ever had.”
The orderly handed him a covered tray and continued down the hallway. Zane watched her go, and then he set the tray on the ground, uncovered it, and pulled the water bottle out of his pocket. He poured a few ounces into the mashed potatoes and stirred them, and then he drank half the milk and filled the glass back up with spring water.
“Dinnertime!” he said as he strode into Leather Heather’s room.
Without taking her eyes off the TV, Heather pointed at her bedside table. “It’s about time,” she said.
Zane nodded. “You’re right. It is.”
He pushed away a cluster of pill bottles to make room for the food tray, and one of the bottles tipped over. OxyContin, it read. He looked at it for a long time, and then he put the tray down.
“Be sure to drink your milk,” he said.
“Who are you, my mommy?” she said, still not looking at him. “What is infinity?”
“Sorry?”
“What is infinity is correct,” said Alex Trebek. “That puts you in the lead.”
Zane smiled and crept out of the room. He looked back one last time and watched Heather sip the milk. “Good girl.”
Zane took the stairs to the fifth floor. His breathing quickened as he walked down the familiar hallway, and when he heard the awful mechanical sound of the breathing machine, his heart battered against his chest and his palms went clammy. Suddenly it came into view—Room 519. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. Taking a deep breath, he walked inside.
No matter how many times he had gone inside that room, he always lost his breath when he saw his love reposed like a sleeping princess in her dungeon full of monitors and medical equipment. A clear tube protruded from Lucia’s mouth and her chest swelled with each phumph of the ventilator. Her hair looked like it had been recently brushed, and a bouquet of fresh lilies sat in a vase beside the bed. Their fragrance was intense and nauseating—Lucia’s mother always brought lilies when she visited the hospital.
Zane touched Lucia’s face. “It’s me, Lu. Zane.”
She gave no reaction, but he was not expecting one. In the years since she had gone into the coma, he had never even seen her flinch. He always hoped, however, that she could hear him—that his words somehow infiltrated whatever dark emptiness she had fallen into.
“I miss you so much,” said Zane. His eyes welled with tears. “Forgive me.” He grabbed hold of the breathing tube and ripped it out of her mouth. An alarm blared from one of the monitors. Lucia’s chest sank like a deflating balloon.
A burly male nurse burst into the room and glared at Zane. “What are you doing?”
Zane held the water bottle to Lucia’s mouth. “It’s okay.” He tipped the bottle and sent the water cascading down her throat. The nurse lunged forward and batted the bottle out of Zane’s hand.
“You’ll kill her!” said the nurse. He pulled Zane away and together they crashed into the monitors and apparatuses, sending all of them—including the breathing machine—crashing to the floor. Pieces scattered everywhere.
A white-haired doctor and the female orderly ran into the room. The orderly attended to the breathing machine, frantically trying to reassemble it, while the doctor checked Lucia’s pulse. He looked at Zane and yelled, “Who the hell are you?”
“Please talk nice,” said Lucia.
Everyone looked toward the voice. The doctor’s jaw quivered. “Lucia?”
The orderly dropped part of the breathing machine, but no one turned to investigate the crash. The nurse, focused on the miracle, released his grip on Zane.
“Why’s everyone staring at me?” said Lucia, her eyes dreary, as if just waking from a nap. “What’s going on?”
Zane approached her. “You were in a coma.”
“How?”
“Because of me.”
She paused for a moment, and then something clicked. She took his hand in hers. “How long was I out?”
“Five years.”
“Five years?” Her eyebrows furrowed into that cute, serious look she always got when something puzzled her. “That’s a long time.”
“I know,” said Zane.
“I think I dreamt about you.”
“Good dreams or bad?”
“Good.”
Zane squeezed her hand. “Lu, I know you just woke up, but I have to ask you a question.”
“Okay.”
“There’s something I want us to do together in a few months.”
“What is it?”
“Have you ever seen baby sea turtles hatch?”
Lucia smiled. “No, never in my life.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sean Bloomfield is a third-generation Floridian and former fishing guide. He grew up on Florida’s Space Coast and studied creative writing and filmmaking at The University of Tampa. Working as a documentary filmmaker has helped him travel the world, and Sean has spent a substantial part of his life in such distant places as Bosnia-Herzegovina, New Zealand, Fiji, Brazil, Costa Rica, Croatia and Rwanda. Sean loves the ocean and spends most of his free time either on or in the water. He lives in Florida with his wife and kids. The Sound of Many Waters is Sean’s first novel, so please consider reviewing the book online and telling your family and friends about it.
CRAVING MORE?
Visit www.seanbloomfield.com to connect with the author, discuss the book, order more copies, and learn about the secrets and symbolism in The Sound of Many Waters. Was the novel based on fact? Will there be a sequel? Come and find out. Plus, answer three questions about the book for a chance to win a real Spanish treasure coin that was found in a shipwreck off the coast of Florida.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Copyright
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
&n
bsp; Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CRAVING MORE?
Table of Contents
Dedication
Copyright
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CRAVING MORE?