by Monica James
We may not like it, but we need Saxon. I choose to believe he’s not all bad. He can’t be. He’s connected in the most intimate way to the most amazing, considerate person in the world. He’s a part of Sam, and I can only hope that part will overthrow the malice.
All eyes are on me and I suddenly feel nervous. Saxon and I have never really had much of a relationship, and if I were to be honest, I would even go so far to say he’s never really acknowledged me at all. I’ve always felt invisible around him. My attempts to talk to him proved fruitless because the more I talked, the more he pulled away. I know I’m not the type of person he would usually associate with, as the female company he’s kept in the past have been polar opposites of who I am. They’ve all been tall, big breasted, and their lack of clothing matches their lack of maturity and wisdom—but that’s the type of girls he seemed to be drawn to.
Samuel never judged his brother for his promiscuity and accepted him for who he was. That’s the type of person Sam is. It’s just a shame Saxon couldn’t do the same, as he never really accepted me. But now is not the time to dwell on our strained relationship. Now is the time to act on a vow I was so ready to take.
In sickness and in health I remind myself as I step out into the hallway to make the call. My heart thrashes stridently while the blood whooshes through my ears as I listen to the dial tone.
Please pick up, I silently beg. He has to pick up.
The moment I hear his deep, rugged voice, I don’t know whether to celebrate or cry. It’s so much like Samuel’s, but at the same time, it’s not. “Whatever you have to say, I’m pretty certain I don’t want to hear. Goodbye, Kellie.”
“No, no, wait!” I screech on a rushed breath. “Don’t hang up, Saxon! It’s me, Lucy.” When I’m greeted with silence, I yank the phone from my ear to ensure he’s still on the line.
He is.
“Lucy?” He doesn’t conceal his complete surprise.
“Yes, it’s me. Lucy Tucker,” I foolishly clarify.
“I know who you are, Lucy,” he replies, making me feel even stupider. “What do you want?”
His clipped response is exactly what I needed to concentrate on the task at hand. Deciding to use the words my mother did, I take a deep breath before revealing, “There’s been an accident.”
Silence.
“Are you okay?”
I wasn’t expecting that response. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s Samuel.” My voice breaks, my courage nose diving as my eyes fill with tears.
“What about him?”
Slouching against the wall, I sadly divulge, “He’s in a c-coma. It was our wedding day today. I don’t know if you knew?” We sent Saxon an invite, but we never got an RSVP.
“I’m well aware,” he coldly replies.
“Oh?” Maybe our invite got lost in the mail. “Well, he was on the way to the church and…a drunk driver ran him off the road,” I continue, taking deep breaths between each sentence. “It’s bad, Saxon.”
Another pregnant pause.
“Son of a bitch,” he finally mutters.
“We need you here.” I don’t care that I’m begging.
“Why?” he spits, not masking his contempt.
I push off the wall, incensed. “Why? Did you not hear me? Samuel is in a coma.”
“And what am I supposed to do about that?”
I can’t believe my ears. “You’re supposed to be here, supporting your brother, just how he would if the tables were turned!” My anger is spiking, which is a nice change from wanting to cry myself into oblivion.
He scoffs. “I doubt that. Look, Lucy, I’m sorry you’re upset, but there’s nothing I can do.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I blurt out. “Samuel needs your blood! And maybe a kidney!” I curse the moment the insensitive words leave my lips. “I didn’t mean—” But it’s too late.
“So if Samuel didn’t need me, I’m guessing no one would have called?” My silence speaks volumes. “Did Kellie put you up to this?”
“What? No, of course not! Even if he didn’t need your blood, someone would have called you,” I reply, hoping I’m right.
“Don’t count on it.”
Rubbing my forehead, I know he’s right. The fact Greg and Kellie were so reluctant to call Saxon reveals they were probably in no hurry to tell him. We’re all in shock, but Saxon had every right to know the moment it happened. What he decided to do with that piece of information was entirely up to him—just as it’s within his rights to say no if he doesn’t want to help his brother.
“Okay, I understand.” I sigh, hating that I’ve failed Samuel. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
I want to kick and scream, beg him to change his mind, but I know Sam wouldn’t want me to. No matter their differences, Samuel always respected his brother’s wishes. When Saxon ignored Samuel’s continuous contact attempts, Sam didn’t press. He said everyone is entitled to their opinions and choices, just as Saxon is entitled to being a total jerk.
“I’m sorry, Lucy.”
I don’t know what he’s apologizing for, but I accept his apology. “I can text you with updates—if you want me to, of course.” As I look through the sliver of glass on Samuel’s door, I give it one last try. “If you change your mind, not about the blood thing, but if you want to come see him, he’s at St. John Memorial hospital. I know he would love to see you.”
The line goes dead.
I run a hand down my face, attempting to rub away my epic fail.
The door opens and Piper steps out, looking how I feel. “How’d it go?”
“Awful,” I confess. Today, I’ve gone through a range of emotions, but right now I just feel numb. “I have to see Samuel. He needs me.”
Piper nods, but I can sense something is on her mind—the perks of knowing someone for the majority of your life. She has never approved of me dating Sam, and usually, I can respect her opinion, but not today. “Luce, you should go home. Before you bite my head off—” she raises her hands in surrender “—I just meant how about you shower, grab something to eat and a change of clothes, and then come back when you’ve had time to digest this.”
I know she means well, but I’m not going anywhere. “I’m not leaving Samuel, Piper. They can kick me out, and I’ll still loiter outside his door. Outside this damn hospital if I have to.”
She doesn’t argue, which surprises me. “Well, how about I swing past your place and grab you a change of clothes?”
Looking down at my current attire, I realize she’s right. This isn’t really appropriate hospital wear, and when Samuel wakes, I don’t want him seeing me like this. A reminder of what was lost. “Okay, that’ll be great. Thank you. Can you please pack a few days’ worth of clothes? And maybe bring in some of Sam’s stuff, too? That gown is so…” I can’t finish that sentence without wanting to cry.
“Of course.” She dabs at her eyes, her mascara running down her porcelain cheek.
I suddenly realize I didn’t even compliment her on how beautiful she looks as my maid of honor. I remember how excited we were when picking out her pink pastel gown. The soft silk slid underneath our fingertips as we both agreed it was ‘the one.’ Her long brown hair is curled, hugging her heart shaped face, a face which I’ve loved for more than half of my life. She only needed a whisper of makeup as anything else paled in comparison to her natural beauty. “You look beautiful, Piper. Best maid of honor. Ever.”
Her tears mirror mine. “You’re the one who’s beautiful, Lucy. Inside and out.” We hug, not masking our sadness, and not ashamed for the world to know our sorrow. But through sorrow, I’ll find strength, the strength for both Samuel and I to survive.
* * * * *
Hushed voices stir me from a very vivid dream. A nightmare, in fact.
I dreamt Samuel and I never married because he was in a coma. He was drowning in a dense pool of the unknown, and I couldn’t save him. No one could. The only person who could save him was himself.
Just as I�
��m about to bask in Sam’s signature fragrance and wake him up with a kiss, the low voice sounds once again. “That poor girl, can you believe her fiancé was involved in a car accident on the way to the church?”
Gasp. “No?”
“Ah ha. She came here in her wedding dress. Her entire family were dressed in their Sunday best with no place to go.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. Tragic. Have you read his chart?”
“Yes. Doesn’t look good. When he wakes, he won’t be the same man he once was.”
“If he wakes.”
No…no…no!
I demand my body to wake from this awful nightmare, but I can’t because I am awake. This horrible reality is real—it’s my reality. My mind allowed me a moment of reprieve, but now I’m back—back in hell.
I fake sleep as the nurses prattle on about Samuel’s condition, each word tearing down the pillars of strength I tried so hard to build.
When they finally leave, I raise my weary head from the mattress and peer up at Samuel, who is illuminated by the soft glow of the light above his head. Slipping my hand into his still one, my engagement ring catches the light, confirming what I have to do as I vow, “They’re wrong, Sam. You will wake and when you do, everything will be all right. I won’t give up on you, on us. I promise.” My eyes are dry, I can no longer cry.
I don’t know whether he can hear or feel me, but I don’t care. Squeezing his fingers, a new sense of determination hums through my body and I vow to prove those nurses, those doctors wrong.
Four
Day four is absolutely no better than day one, two, or three, especially since there’s been no change in Samuel’s condition. Dr. Kepler said this was perfectly normal and these things take time, but I was impatient. I was also a woman on a mission to do all I could to speed up any small progress Sam might make.
I had read that many people who came out of a coma confirmed they could hear and sense everything that was going on around them. They may not have been able to communicate, but they were very aware of the world moving around them. This fact cemented what I had to do.
Since my discovery, I made it my job to talk to Sam every chance I got. And if I wasn’t talking, or reading, or singing to him, his parents, my parents, his friends—hell, even books on audio and my iPod were doing it for me. It didn’t matter that there were no improvements. It just felt good to know I was doing something to help Sam. I’ve barely left his bedside, only taking a break when I needed to use the restroom or stretch out my legs. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Today he’s listening to a mix of Top 40 on my iPod. I figure if anyone can wake someone from a coma it’s the annoying voice of Kanye West.
I’m sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable chair doing a crossword puzzle. My aching muscles scream in protest as I tuck my leg beneath me, getting comfortable for another long day ahead. Just like I do every other day, I plan on replaying our future to Sam. I share my dreams and goals, and where I see us in fifty years. It doesn’t matter that he can’t reply because I know he feels the same way. I avoid talking about the past, as I only want to focus on our future.
“Okay, I need your smarts to help me with two across, nine letters. Phonological awareness consists of…blank…and analysis skills.” I tap my pencil against the paper, racking my brain for the answer.
I peer up while I’m in the midst of asking for a little help, but I suddenly freeze, wheezing in utter disbelief. As the painful seconds tick by, I’m almost afraid to breathe. And I’m definitely too frightened to move. But when I see it again, I jar upright, rubbing my eyes.
“Sam?” I whisper, terrified that what I saw was my imagination playing a cruel trick.
Rising at a pace akin to a sloth, my eyes never waver from Samuel as I beg him to do it again. I beg him to…move his eyelids. It was a mere flicker, but it was a flicker of hope. “Samuel, can you hear me? It’s Lucy.”
I stand, blinking in disbelief as I swallow down my panic and sheer anticipation at what comes next. Shuffling closer and closer, with arms rigid by my side, I furl my fingers into my palms, my nails imprinting crescent moons into my flesh. But I welcome the pain as it confirms that this is real.
“Sam?” The air is charged with a heavy undercurrent, weighing down my entire soul. I gasp and almost fall over my feet. I saw it. The flicker of hope shines brighter than before.
Diving for the call button, I buzz the nurse before skidding on the linoleum as I run towards the door. “I need a doctor!” I shout louder than I have ever bellowed before. The entire hallway looks my way, the nurses thankfully understanding that this is an emergency as they scamper off in different directions.
Dashing back into Sam’s room, I sprint over to his bed, securing his hand in mine. “Sam, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can.” With everything that I am, I will him to give me a sign that he can hear me. Please god, give me a sign.
“What’s happened, Ms. Tucker?” Dr. Kepler asks, rushing into the room.
“He moved his eyes!” I reveal, clutching Sam’s hand. “Three times, I think! But definitely twice.”
“Did he open them?” He reaches into his pocket and produces a pen light. He politely pushes me aside.
“No, but his eyelids flickered. That’s a good sign, right? Right?” I ask again, almost begging when he doesn’t answer.
I intently watch on, biting my nails as Dr. Kepler gently lifts Sam’s upper eyelids and moves the light from side to side. “Samuel? Can you hear me?” he shouts, continuing his examination. “Samuel Stone, can you hear me?” Removing the ear buds, he claps loudly, inches from Samuel’s temple.
The wait is excruciating and I bounce on the spot, looking over his shoulder, awaiting a sign. Nurses and another doctor come charging in, pushing me against the wall as they frantically talk about things I have no knowledge about. They tear off Sam’s sheet, ignoring his modesty as they run a gadget which looks like a knitting needle along the soles of his feet.
The room is pandemonium for minutes, but when the panic dies down and they replace the blanket, tucking Samuel back in, I know the news is not good.
“Doctor?” I ask, beseeching him to tell me good news.
He sighs, writing something down on Sam’s chart. “Ms. Tucker, nothing has changed.”
“No, that can’t be.” I point to Samuel’s bed. “There must be some mistake. I saw it. His eyes, they moved.”
Tucking his pen into his top pocket, he shakes his head. “What you saw was a muscle spasm. It’s quite common.”
“But, but it’s never happened before.” The rational part of my brain is telling me to shut up and believe him because he’s the doctor. But my heart can’t, it won’t accept it. “Are you sure?” My lower lip quivers and I choke back my tears.
“I’m sorry. I really wish I had better news. He didn’t respond to stimuli, light, or sound. His pupils show no response. And his brain activity is still inactive.” He lowers his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose.
A hot tear scores my flesh as it rolls down my cheek.
“I really am sorry.” He closes the door behind him, leaving me alone with my broken dreams. I feel a fool. Even though I know what I saw, it doesn’t matter. A muscle spasm obviously means jack shit in the world of medicine.
A river of sadness cascades down my cheeks. I don’t bother wiping them away. Peering over at a comatose Samuel, I irrationally feel angry at him for not waking up. I’m giving him my all while he’s barely trying. But I know this absurdity is my emotions toying with my head.
I amble over to the window and press my forehead to the cool glass. I close my eyes. I remember the last memory I have of Samuel, the last words he spoke. ‘I love you so much. Never forget, you’re the reason why I smile.’
My heart breaks. Actually, it doesn’t just break; it shatters into a million irreparable pieces. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. I’ve tried to be strong, but I can’t do this. I can’t go on without him.
I can’t say goodbye. I can’t.
“Lucy?”
A strangled sob gets tangled in my tears because that husky, rugged voice—no, it can’t be. I don’t want to believe because the last time I had faith, it was premature and cruel. But that masculine, familiar bouquet, there is no mistaking that fragrance is infusing the air.
Nothing else matters but turning around. And I do. I spin around so quickly I almost fall flat on my face. However, when I see who stands before me, I know I’m seconds from tumbling like a leaf in fall.
It can’t be, but it is.
Those sea green eyes, licked with a curving swirl of gray, belong to the one man I didn’t even know I was so desperate to see. He shuffles his motorcycle booted feet uncomfortably while running his long fingers over his dark stubble. I know my staring is incredibly impolite, but I can’t stop. I’m afraid once I’ll blink, he’ll disappear.
“Hi, Lucy.”
Our body language tangos in an unfamiliar, yet familiar dance, and when he lifts his chiseled chin, I’m pinned with the stormiest stare of a man who exudes nothing but confidence and allure. The bright fluorescents reveal his eyes are akin to that of angry storm clouds, but they’re also licked with a touch of a soft Russian blue floating in a sea of tranquil waters.
His dirty blond hair is longer on top with shorter sides. It’s kicked to the left, the mussed locks falling over his eye and framing his jagged face. He looks rugged and dangerous, someone who oozes trouble. The colorful, intricate tattoo sleeve running down his right arm perfects the bad boy look. He is the complete opposite of Samuel.
“Saxon?”
When he nods slowly, his jaw firm, I gasp, crossing both hands over my mouth. My brain knows this isn’t my Sam, but my heart, my whimsical center, won’t accept it.
