Christmas Miracles

by MacLean, Julianne

  Holly turned her body slightly on the seat to face me. “It’s more common than you think.”

  “Is it? How would you know?”

  “Because I wrote a paper on it during my final year of undergrad.”

  “No kidding. What did you study?” I asked.

  “Neuroscience at Harvard.”

  Geez. Was she like…a genius?

  I turned to look at her with wonder and felt slightly intimidated, intellectually. “Well, I must say that’s convenient. Maybe you’re the one person in the world who can actually explain what happened to me.”

  Holly shrugged apologetically. “Sorry. I wish I could, but I was only in second year at the time and my conclusion was that the jury’s still out. There are plenty of religious and scientific theories and I could present them all to you—or just let you read my paper. In the end, I suggested that each of us has to make our own choice and believe what makes the most sense to us. It depends on whether you’re a person of religious faith, or a person who needs scientific proof of something tangible.” She looked out the window. “It wasn’t a terribly scientific paper. I got a B minus. It brought my grade down.”

  “Sorry to hear that, but that’s pretty much what your sister said to me.”

  At the mention of Leah, Holly faced forward again and fell silent.

  I drove up the turnpike ramp and merged onto the center lane. “I’m sorry. That sounded flippant. I didn’t mean it to be. I still can’t believe she’s gone. It doesn’t seem real. What seems real is that I was talking to her a week ago and I swear, she wasn’t a ghost. She was always clicking her ball point pen and I touched her hand and wrote my phone number on her arm. She was flesh and blood, I’m telling you.”

  Holly turned her attention to me again and let out a soft chuckle. “Seriously, you wrote your phone number on her arm? Were you trying to pick her up or something?”

  I gave a sheepish look and winced. “Maybe I kind of thought we might start something up when I got out.”

  “And that’s why you came by the house today,” Holly said, as if to clarify my intentions. “To see her again because you liked her.”

  I nodded, and decided to leave the news about Riley for another time, because we had enough on our plate for now.

  “At least you had good taste,” Holly said. “Because she was the most amazing person I ever knew.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  As soon as we arrived at the hospital, Holly reached into the back seat for her lab coat. Her badge was pinned to the pocket. I dropped her off at the main door and told her I’d find a place to park and meet her in the cafeteria.

  Almost an hour later, while I sat alone at a table staring into my black coffee and thinking about Leah’s ALS diagnosis at such a young age, Holly approached and sat down across from me.

  “Well?” I said. “Were you able to read the chart?”

  She leaned forward, folded her hands on the table and stared at me directly. “Yes.”

  “And? Was it Leah’s handwriting?”

  Holly’s chest expanded and contracted with a heavy sigh. “No, because there was no record of any psychiatric consultations at all. No notes about any of the interviews you described, and her name was nowhere to be found.”

  The air wafted out of my lungs and I sat back. “Great. Now you must think I’m a total nutcase. Completely delusional.” I watched the people in the lineup for the cash and shook my head in disbelief. “Would the psych notes be somewhere else, like in the psych department?”

  “No, the only place they’d be is in your chart. In the records department.”

  She continued to watch me intently.

  I sat forward and spoke in a hushed tone. “What about the night I woke up?” I realized I was grasping at straws but I had to grasp at something. “I specifically heard Dr. Crosby order the phych consult. He said it to a nurse. Her name was Gayle. I’m sure she would remember that because she seemed shaken that I knew my spleen had been removed.”

  Holly raised a finger. “I did see the notation for a consult, but there was a line drawn through it, so someone obviously cancelled it. I’m not sure why. Maybe you could talk to your doctor about that because after the trauma you suffered, you’re definitely at risk for PTSD.”

  I leaned back again. “You think I hallucinated everything.”

  “I really don’t know,” she gently said. “All I can say for sure is that there was no sign of Leah in your chart. I’m sorry, Josh.”

  I rested my elbows on the table, pressed my forehead into the heels of my hands. “She was there. I’m sure of it. It couldn’t have been a dream.”

  Holly wrapped a hand around my wrist and lowered my hands to the table. “Did anyone else see her or talk to her? A nurse? Maybe one of your family members who was in the room with you?”

  I struggled to remember, then shook my head. “No, it was always just the two of us alone, talking. I asked her to come by and see my sister and mother, and she said she would try, but she never did.”

  Now I was beginning to wonder if I really was losing my mind.

  But that wouldn’t explain all the things Leah had told me about her brother Riley and how it checked out when Scott looked into it. I hadn’t brought any of that up with Holly yet, but I sure as hell intended to.

  But first…

  “I need to talk to Dr. Crosby,” I said, rising from my chair. “I want to ask him why he cancelled the psych order.”

  “Would you mind if I came with you?” Holly asked.

  “You’ve come this far,” I replied. “You might as well stick around for the rest.” I gestured with a hand for her to follow.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “For some reason,” I said to Dr. Crosby when I found him walking briskly down the corridor outside the ICU, “when I got up this morning, I remembered that you had ordered a psychiatric consult when I woke up from my coma. Do you remember that?”

  I glanced over at Holly who was waiting discreetly by the elevators.

  “Yes,” he replied, and stopped to face me. “But now that you mention it, I don’t recall seeing any notes on that,” he said. “Did someone come and see you?”

  “No,” I answered. “I thought maybe you’d cancelled it.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then frowned. “I apologize, Josh. I wasn’t the one who followed up on your case because Dr. York took over for me. I don’t know how that could have slipped through the cracks. You should definitely have talked to someone. I can set that up for you now, if you’d like.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s not really necessary because I’ll be seeing someone through work.” I wasn’t absolutely certain about that, but I assumed it would be the case.

  Dr. Crosby regarded me intently. “Have you had any other experiences like what you described to me when you first regained consciousness?”

  I looked down at my shoes. “No, and I’m kind of embarrassed about that. I think it was a dream, like you said. I was pretty out of it. I feel better now.”

  “Good to hear.” He nodded reluctantly. “All right then. Just make sure you follow up with your regular physician in a week or two.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  I met Holly’s gaze from across the distance, and shrugged. Then I waved for her to follow me again, because I wanted to see if I could find Nurse Gayle. Maybe she was the one who had cancelled the order, either by mistake or under the instructions of Dr. York.

  * * *

  “So it wasn’t Nurse Gayle or Dr. York who cancelled the order,” Holly said as we got into my car. The rain had finally let up and the sun was peeking out from behind a cloud. “It won’t be easy to find out who cancelled it. You’d have to confront everyone who worked those shifts when you were in recovery because it was just a line drawn through the order in regular blue pen. No one initialed it or anything.”

  “Maybe I was dreaming the whole thing with Leah,” I said as I inserted the key into the ignition and started the
engine. “And maybe I need professional help.”

  “I’m not suggesting that,” she said, somewhat defensively.

  “No, but you’re thinking it and I can’t blame you. What I’m telling you is crazy. It’s beyond crazy.”

  I slung my arm over the back of Holly’s seat to look out the rear window as I reversed the car out of the parking spot. A few minutes later, we were back on the turnpike, moving at a steady clip with the rest of the traffic.

  “I still can’t believe she’s gone,” I softly said as I stared blankly at the car in front of us. “And that she died on the same day I arrived at the hospital. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  “I do,” Holly replied in a solemn tone. She sat quietly until we merged onto the exit that led into her neighborhood. “God, something just occurred to me—something I read in your chart.”

  I turned to glance at her while still keeping most of my attention on the road. “What was it?”

  “I skimmed over everything, Josh, but what’s almost too coincidental to ignore is the fact that you were brought in by ambulance and admitted to the ER at the exact hour of Leah’s death. She may not have worked at Mass General, but that’s where she died.”

  I pulled to a stop at the bottom of the ramp. “What are you suggesting?”

  Holly regarded me soberly. “That maybe she was having an out of body experience as well. Except that—unlike you—she never returned to her body.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  I pulled into Holly’s driveway, parked the car and turned off the engine.

  “In some cases I studied,” she said as she got out of the car and shut the door, “patients described floating out of the room they were in, moving through walls and seeing other things that were happening in the hospital. Maybe that’s what happened to Leah. Maybe she saw you enter the ER, recognized you and wanted to stick around to make sure you were okay.”

  “Now you’re sounding crazy,” I said, as I stepped out of the car as well. I shut the door and pressed the lock button on my key ring. The vehicle beeped.

  Following Holly up the front walk—while trying to ignore the throbbing ache in my thigh after walking too quickly around the hospital—I could barely fathom what we were discussing. This just wasn’t the kind of thing I had ever been into, except for being a fan of movies like Poltergeist or Amityville Horror.

  We climbed the steps and she unlocked the front door. We entered and she set her purse on the small mahogany table by the stairs.

  “I hope you don’t have plans for tonight,” she said, “because I’d love it if you could stay for supper. Clearly there’s a lot to talk about and I’m all alone here anyway. At least for tonight.” There was a melancholy look in her eye, and I knew she was missing Leah.

  “I don’t have plans,” I said.

  “Good. Are you hungry now? And are you okay with leftovers? I made a lasagne last night and hardly ate any of it.”

  “I love lasagne,” I replied.

  “Great.” She pointed a finger. “You can hang your coat up in the back hall, then come on into the kitchen and have a seat.” She glanced down at my leg briefly before leaving me.

  I shrugged out of my jacket and hung it up, then bent over for a minute to take a few deep breaths. My leg was stiff and throbbing and my abdomen was sore. I’d definitely done too much walking.

  A moment later, I found Holly uncorking a bottle of red wine on the center island and pouring two glasses. Maybe that would help numb the pain, I thought as I approached and slid up onto a stool.

  She opened the fridge and withdrew a pan of lasagna wrapped in foil which she carried to the stovetop.

  “How thoughtless of me,” she mentioned as she pressed the power buttons on the oven. “I didn’t even ask if you liked red wine before I poured it. I have beer if you’d prefer that.”

  “Wine is good,” I replied, reaching for the stemmed glass she had placed in front of me.

  She opened the oven door, slid the lasagne inside and set the timer for half an hour. “Are you okay?” she asked, glancing at my leg again. “Is that bothering you?”

  “I’m fine. It just aches sometimes when I overdo it.”

  “Stay seated, then,” she said. “I’ll make us a salad. We can talk while I chop.”

  Holly returned to the fridge and withdrew some lettuce, carrots, cucumbers and tomatoes from the vegetable drawer. She set everything on the island and slid a blade out of the stainless steel knife block.

  “How long were you in a coma?” she asked as she washed the lettuce at the sink.

  “Five days—and this part you might find interesting. Remember when I told you that I watched my life flash before my eyes?”

  “Like a fast motion movie?” she mentioned.

  “Yes. Well…get this. The moment I was reliving, just before I woke up, was the day I visited you in the hospital when you were born. Leah was the one who put you in my arms as I sat in a rocking chair. Then she started saying things like, ‘Open your eyes, Josh. Can you hear me?’ I was confused because I was living in that memory, but when I opened my eyes, there she was.”

  “What do you think it means?” Holly asked, watching me with interest. I still wasn’t sure if she thought I was insane and was just testing me or humoring me, or if she believed there was something real about all this. “Do you think there was some sort of overlap between your memories and your return to the real world?”

  “Maybe.”

  I then recounted everything I could remember about my conversation with Leah that first night. I also told Holly about the questions she’d asked when she returned the next day to conduct the first interview.

  “She seemed to do everything by the book,” I said, “ticking off boxes, asking standard questions. She seemed very competent. It never—not even for a single second—occurred to me that she might not be a genuine doctor.”

  “Oh, she was genuine,” Holly said. “When it comes to medicine and psychiatry, she was brilliant. She graduated at the top of her class and if she hadn’t gotten sick, I’m sure she’d be working somewhere amazing right now, making an incredible difference in people’s lives.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “You must have done pretty well for yourself, to get accepted to the neuroscience program at Harvard. Then med school. Were you always a good student?”

  She shrugged indifferently as she tore the lettuce leaves off the stalks and tossed them into the salad bowl. “I don’t know that I was any smarter than anyone else. I just worked really hard. You wouldn’t believe how strict my dad was about homework and extra-curricular activities.”

  “I do believe it,” I replied, sensing some obvious bitterness. “Remember, I lived down the street from Leah and Riley, so I knew your father. I still feel guilty about the fact that your family moved out of our neighborhood. For a long time, I blamed myself for that.”

  “Why?” She tossed more lettuce into the bowl.

  I went on to tell her the story of Riley and me biking to the old Clipper Lake Hotel and getting locked in the stairwell.

  “That was the night your father warned me to stay away. A For Sale sign went up the following week, and it was the end of our friendship as we knew it.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” Holly said with a shake of her head. “But I’m sure there were other reasons why my dad wanted to move. I saw pictures of that house. I suspect it wasn’t quite good enough for his lavish tastes. It was probably too bourgeois. He always demanded the best. Still does.”

  “Like this place,” I noted, glancing up at the Tiffany-style chandelier over the kitchen island.

  By this time, the Italian seasonings in the lasagne were filling the air with a delicious aroma. Holly grabbed a couple of oven mitts and removed the pan from the oven.

  While she spooned up two servings, I carried the salad bowl and wine to the table in the dining room.

  Pausing a moment, I looked around at the shiny mahogany table, the antique sideboard,
and the expensive looking draperies. It was a room fit for royals.

  “I can’t imagine growing up here.” I pulled out a chair at the table which sat twenty guests.

  Holly paused in the doorway with a plate in each hand. “We could eat in the kitchen if you’d prefer. It’s more casual.”

  “This is fine,” I replied, stretching my leg out. “Just don’t sit at the opposite end or we’ll have to shout.”

  Together, we occupied the nearest corner of the table and continued to talk about our childhoods and academic and professional careers.

  “You know,” she said as she picked up her wine glass and took a sip, “there was a time I wanted to be a cop.”

  “Really?” That surprised me.

  “After something that happened when I was young, I started taking karate lessons to learn how to defend myself. Then I became obsessed with all those police dramas on television. That was a major bone of contention in the house because I was only allowed to watch TV for two hours a week. Weekends only.”

  I nearly spit out my wine. “Two hours a week?”

  “Yes. That’s why I got such good grades. I was reading science textbooks while all the other kids were watching SpongeBob.”

  I set my glass down. “Do you still take karate?”

  “I’m a third degree black belt,” she replied, “and I still practice three times a week.”

  I raised my glass to clink against hers. “I’m impressed.”

  We regarded each other over the rims of our wine glasses with a curious intensity as we sipped. By now the pain was gone.

  “So what happened when you were younger that made you take karate and watch cop shows?” I set my glass down on the table. “Or do you mind if I take a guess?”

  “Go ahead,” she replied, watching me with mild amusement.

  “I think maybe you and your parents were victims of a break-and-enter situation. You were about thirteen or fourteen and had to lock yourself in the bathroom with your mother. But the police came and you were grateful, and that instilled in you a great respect for the brave officers of the law.”