“Why would he do that?” Sydney asked, not meaning to say it out loud.
Meghan smiled walking towards the door, hesitating before passing Sydney. “He is your husband, or…he will be.” She winked, “He told me.”
He told her. Who told her? Sydney asked herself. What did she mean he told me? Was she talking about Jackson? She didn’t understand why Jackson would tell Meghan something so personal, or talk to her about anything at all for that matter. Most of their conversations were centered on Mason and how he was doing. Sydney felt her heat beat to the bottom of her chest as her breathing grew nervous. She couldn’t understand the butterflies in her stomach and her instant feeling of lightheadedness as those words came out of Meghan’s mouth. Maybe it was the smile Meghan had on her face when she said it.
But why? What was that about? Sydney asked herself.
Sydney stood in the doorway, unsure if she should take another step or not. It wasn’t Meghan’s smile, but then again it was. Her smile was restrained almost of a spoiled surprise and it was her eyes. When she said it, Meghan’s eyes instinctively rose above Sydney’s left shoulder and glanced behind her to the bed where Mason was lying almost as if to say turn around.
One foot in front of the other, Sydney walked past the curtain that divided Mason’s room and she saw him. His eyes, opened and bright, beheld hers full of pending tears slowly falling, her lips trembling with unspoken words.
He moved his hand to his neck, which was still wrapped in a light bandage, hoping the pressure would help him speak louder than he could otherwise.
“I’ve missed you,” he uttered. His voice was low and hoarse.
As much as she tried, Sydney couldn’t say a word past the tears that streamed down and her excitement at seeing him awake. Before he knew it, her arms were wrapped around him as far as they could reach, her tears dampening the hospital gown that clothed him, and her warmth comforting a longing touch.
She sat on the side of the bed next to him, resting her hands on his chest firmly enough to feel the pulse of his heartbeat through her fingers.
“Mason, I’m so sorry,” she cried.
“Sorry? Sorry for what? For this?” He asked.
His voice was still low and strained, fading into the air.
She nodded her head in agreement, “If I hadn’t said…asked…”
“Look at me, Sydney. None of this is your fault, do you hear me? None of it.”
She looked out of the window, hoping her emotions could in some way be distracted by the trees blowing in the wind.
“I was so scared,” she admitted.
He slowly moved his hand over hers, barely able to wrap his fingers around hers, but it was enough to pull her attention back to him.
“I can’t imagine what this must have been like for you. And I am so sorry for putting you through all of this.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“But it is.”
She brushed the tears from her eyes with the tips of her fingers and cleared her throat, trying to change the subject and lighten the mood.
“So, how do you feel?” she asked.
He chuckled.
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
She laughed. “You’ve been in a coma for three weeks.”
“Yeah, the nurse was kind enough to tell me that much.”
“And what else did she tell you?”
“That you’ve been here every single day.”
“Not every day,” she confessed.
“Every day that mattered,” he assured her.
For the next few hours, Sydney talked and Mason just listened. He wasn’t paying much attention to her words; he was just happy to hear her voice. Dr. Melson and Meghan came in some time later but even with this good news and turn of events, Dr. Melson was still as cynical as ever.
“Well, Mr. Everett, you’ve had us all in a bit of an uproar today.”
“Do I need to apologize for that?” he asked jokingly.
“No, of course not, I’m just glad my nurses are back to work,” he said, looking directly at Meghan. “Now, I’ve gone over your charts and they don’t look too bad. We’re going to keep you under observation for a few days and run some tests just to make sure everything checks out, mainly neurologically. Aside from that we’ll refer you to a rehabilitation center for a short period of time to ensure that you regain proper functionality of that leg of yours,” he paused. “You’re a lucky man; we almost had to take it,” he said with a light chuckle.
“Wow, doc, you really don’t sugarcoat anything do you?”
Dr. Melson laughed it off and continued without answering or even acknowledging Mason’s question. From the expression on Sydney’s face, Mason could tell she was used to him.
“So, what now?” Mason asked, leaning his head towards Sydney. Dr. Meslon and Meghan were long gone, only routinely checking in to make sure he wasn’t in pain or needed anything. Somehow, Sydney found a way to climb into bed next to him without interfering with the IV’s or the brace on his leg.
“What do you mean ‘what now’?”
He titled his head slightly at a thought that came to mind, one that he was almost nervous to mention but he couldn’t keep to himself.
“Was I dreaming… or do we have a wedding to plan?” he asked.
Caught completely off guard, Sydney didn’t know what to say. Had she just heard him correctly? His eyes were so sincere, without doubt or uncertainty. She had definitely heard him correctly, and he knew exactly what he was saying. There was only one way he could have known to ask her that.
“You heard me,” she gasped.
“Every single word.”
The coming months were going to be long, hard, and the most challenging he’d ever known, both physically and mentally. He didn’t remember much about the accident, and what he did remember was so choppy he couldn’t make sense of it. He didn’t need to remember the gory details to see how bad it was, though. Running his hand across the scar where the tube had been placed in his neck, or glancing down at his leg where the pins had been drilled in to hold it together, it was pretty obvious it had been bad. Mason threw his head back against his pillow and looked up at the ceiling, which was empty of color and void of life. Even in his all his pain and frustration of limited mobility, he didn’t feel sorry for himself. He knew he should have died, but he hadn’t. So what now? he asked himself. What now?
“How’s he doing?” he overheard Sydney ask one of the nurses during his physical therapy session. Mason had moved from the hospital to a private facility that specialized in coma patients in recovery. On days Sydney didn’t have to work she would spend most of her time there helping him exercise and, more importantly, going over their wedding plans. It seemed that was the real drive for her being there, Mason laughed to himself. It had already been six months and a lot of his strength had returned, along with many of his healed fractures and bruises. He still wasn’t able to fully walk on his own, but with the help of crutches he was finally able to avoid the wheelchair for the most part.
“The nurse says you’re doing much better today.” Sydney smiled, walking towards him.
He was just nearing the end of his walking routine, and was dripping with sweat. He often worked twice as hard and twice as long, figuring he had more to prove to himself than the doctors, who had their own expectations of his progress.
“I am now!” He smiled, kissing her as he pulled himself to his chair. “I thought you had to work today?”
“I did, but—”
“But what?” he asked, glancing up at her as she pushed him to his room. He knew that sound in her voice and he knew that look. She was up to something.
“Well…” she playfully leaned down close to his ear. “I need you to help me choose the flowers and the venue for the ceremony.”
He laughed.
“I should have known it was something to do with the wedding. And here I am thinking you’re here just to see how I am doing.”
Talking about the wedding was the one thing that broke him away from the frustration of his therapy, the coma, and the accident. He and Sydney hadn’t spoken about any part of it since it happened. There were pieces that he still hadn’t come to grips with, but not talking about it seemed to be working just fine for the moment.
She was so excited picking out floral arrangements, invitations, and favors, she never really noticed that most of the time they talked about the date, or the number of bridesmaids or groomsmen, all Mason did was listen and nod his head at the right moments. It was still hard to believe he was actually getting married. It felt like the accident had changed something in him not only with his decision to get married, but something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Where are you?”
“Huh?” he asked.
“I asked you a question and you were completely zoned out,” she laughed.
“I’m sorry,” he smiled. “I think we should go with the African Violet for the flowers.”
“Okay – but we decided on the flowers twenty minutes ago. I was asking if you had thought any more about the church.”
The church. Of all the places and venues, golf clubs, private mansions, banquet halls, and five star hotels, she had settled on having the ceremony at a church. Beautiful as it may have been, Mason still didn’t feel comfortable with the idea.
“Mason!” he heard her yell out.
“What…what?”
She smirked with her eyebrows squinted. “You must really have a lot on your mind today, I called you three times.”
“I’m sorry,” he smiled.
“Soooo, the church. What do you think?”
Mason didn’t say a word; he just drew a blank stare.
“I know how you feel about it, and I know I’m asking a lot, but come on, Mason. I would really like to get married in a church, with a pastor,” she laughed. “Not in a hotel with an internet ordained buddy of yours from college.”
He still didn’t say anything.
“Please…?” she begged playfully.
“I’ll think about hit,” he mumbled.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Chapter 38
“So what are you going to do?” Jackson asked from the other end of the phone. Mason called him shortly after Sydney had left and told him everything.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I know it’s important to her, but… I don’t know. I mean, she knows why I’m reluctant to get married in a church.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think you’re being a little unreasonable?”
“Unreasonable?” He frowned. “Are you serious?”
“Mason, come on. That was a person, not a church.”
“But Jacks…”
“No buts, man. You almost died, Mason. In fact, you did die, right in front of her. In light of all she went through I don’t think she’s asking for too much.”
“I really don’t know if I can do that Jacks –”
“Mason, stop. I don’t want to hear it. If Sydney wants to get married in a church, give her the church.”
Mason laughed. “This is why I don’t call you with this stuff.”
“You didn’t call me. I called you, remember?”
“No…I’m pretty sure I called you,” he insisted.
Mason was a little confused, but didn’t give much attention to it.
“Are you okay?” Jackson asked.
“I don’t know,” he paused. “I’ve been feeling really weird sometimes, like I’m not here.”
“That’s because you’re not.”
“What did you say?” Mason asked, caught off guard.
“I said, you’re heading home tomorrow, right?” Jackson repeated.
“According to the doctor I am; I can’t wait. I miss my bed, and my sheets, and my house.”
“I can imagine,” he laughed. “Try to take it easy. I’ll swing by after work.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Jackson hung up, but Mason held the phone in his hand for a minute trying to remember if he had called Jackson or if Jackson had called him. The more he thought about it, the more he really didn’t remember. All he knew was that he was talking to Jackson. He sat the phone on the night stand and didn’t think much else of it. He still had to finish packing the few items he had in the drawers before Sydney got there in the morning to pick him up.
He watched the sky for most of the night as if he was searching for an answer to a question he was afraid to ask. He had thought a lot about what Jackson and Sydney had said and what he could remember from the day of the accident. He could still hear her voice, and with it he could still feel the anger he had felt that day at her words at her but the feeling subsided. He looked around the room: bland paint on the walls, a single window, plain furniture, a lamp, and a television. In that moment he did something he’d never done before. He took a step back from everything and looked at his life as a whole, without overlooking a single chapter, a single moment of joy, or a single moment of pain. He looked at everything. He glanced over to a mirror resting on the dresser that he hadn’t looked at since he arrived at the rehab facility.
As the night darkened his room, lit only by the yellow glow of the lamp on his nightstand, he stood there without a shirt or pants on, just shy of being naked. He stood in front of the mirror clothed only in a pair of boxer briefs. He stood straight up on both legs even though pain shot from his ankle to the base of his back. With his hand he traced the scars beneath his chest from his surgery, the scar on the center of his neck, and the dark spots on his arms from where the casts had been. I died, he said to himself, staring at his reflection in the mirror. I died. After all this time, he finally saw his life as more than the pain that encompassed it. As the tears broke and fell one by one down his once dry face, he was able to look at himself in the mirror and know he survived. He survived losing his father at too young an age for a little boy. He survived his stepfather abusing him. He survived death. He saw a small leather-bound book in the corner of the dresser. He remembered seeing it before, but never noticed it to the point of wondering what it was. When he picked it up and opened it, a small folded piece of paper fell out. Curious, he laid the book back on the dresser, unfolded the piece of paper, and read:
What is a memory? What are the thoughts of past feelings that enable us to recall points in our lives that we never wish to look back on; sights, sounds, and experiences? At what cost do we preserve the things that have hurt us?
A memory, as simple as it may be, can be a curse or a blessing. It can be whatever you let it. It can be your end or it can be your beginning. But know this: in the midst of your decision of which it will be to you I heard you when you called.
There was no signature and there didn’t need to be. He saw the writing on the wall. Through his tears, he dropped the letter to the floor and reached for his phone.
“Mason, what’s going on?” Sydney asked, walking him to the car. “Couldn’t this wait until the morning when the doctor actually discharges you?”
“No,” he answered, “It couldn’t, and I’m driving.”
“No you’re not,” she said aggressively.
“My right leg is fine,” he argued. “I’m driving.”
Sydney didn’t argue with him. She could tell something was wrong and whatever it was he needed to be in the driver seat. She helped him into the car and laid his crutches behind him in the back seat then she walked around and got in the car, still curious as to what was going on.
“Are you going to at least tell me where we are going?” she asked.
He didn’t say a word, just put the car in gear and pulled off.
They drove for almost an hour before he finally stopped.
He had parked at the bottom of a hill in front of a long driveway heading up to a large stone house. Every other house on the street either had a porch light on or a light in one of the other rooms, but not this one. The entire house was dark,
the front nearly covered by landscaped trees.
“Where are we?” Sydney asked.
He took a deep breath before answering, “I used to live here.”
Mason opened the door and stepped out of the car. The moment his foot touched the ground pain shot through his body, causing him to flinch.
“Let me get your crutches,” Sydney offered.
“No. I don’t need them.” He braced himself before getting out of the car. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked around the front of the car and began making his way up the long driveway, each step feeling longer and longer, and hurting more and more. He reached the path between the landscaped trees leading to the front door. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, causing his hands to tremble as he reached above the doorframe for the spare key that used to be there. To his surprise it was still there after all this time. He pulled back the heavy screen door and slid the key into the top lock, then the bottom. He hesitated before opening the door, but with a turn of the key and a twist of the knob, it opened. The scent that was carried in the wind as the door opened immediately reminded him of his childhood.
The alarm beeped short beeps, waiting for the code before it went off. He slowly closed the door behind him and walked to the keypad.
0-4-1-3, disarm, and it was off.
The light from the master bedroom just at the top of the stairs flew on, lighting the hallway, glowing against the hardwood floors.
“Who’s there?!” a voice called out from the room.
Mason walked through the dark kitchen, through the dining room, and into the family room. After all these years, nothing much had changed. He turned one of the chairs facing the TV around to face the entrance of the family room and sat down and waited.
“Who’s there?!?!” the voice yelled out louder, with threats of calling the police.
One by one the lights came on – in the foyer first, followed by the light in the kitchen, and then the light in the dining room. As a hand reached around the wall shaking in fear, with the flick of a switch the light in the family room turned on.
Where We Left Off Page 20
