She's Not Here

by Mandi Lynn

  Dr. Fischer didn’t question her. He stepped forward, took the cup from her hands, and pulled the curtains aside so he could leave her little room.

  Sam watched him leave, was thankful once he left, and let out a soft, painful cry, and after a moment it was over. She was numb, and she didn’t want to cry anymore.

  — — — — —

  There was no warning for the news. She didn’t ask for the news. All morning she had been asking for something, any bit of information to know her family was okay. She had finally fallen asleep when a police officer came into the room.

  “Avery,” the man said.

  She sat in her bed, her body sinking into the sheets. She felt sick, like she was going to throw up.

  “Avery?”

  She heard him.

  “My name is Officer Caldwell.”

  She heard the stranger as he introduced himself.

  “Your parents passed away. I’m so sorry.”

  Her consciousness faded in and out of focus. Passed away? Were those the words he said?

  “They’re gone.” Avery’s voice was rough when she spoke, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of the smoke she had inhaled or the fact that she was trying to contain the sobs that demanded to be released.

  “By the time your mother was discovered, it was too late. The team of doctors and nurses tried to revive your father, but there was nothing they could do.”

  Avery could remember the last time she had seen her father. His body was laid parallel to hers in the stretcher. She only caught glimpses of him—his red, shining body. It was an image she tried to push from her mind. But she heard him. She heard his echoing cough, how it sounded as if his entire body was being heaved out of the earth. There were moments she wondered if there was blood in those coughs, if his body was beginning to give up on expelling the smoke. Apparently it had.

  “There’s a social worker here who’s going to be speaking with you.” But before Officer Caldwell could finish speaking, Avery interrupted.

  “Where’s Sam?” The words came out as a demand. When Officer Caldwell looked into her eyes, he saw so many things: fear, anguish, desperation. Her mouth hung open, her eyes wide, tears making a steady flow down her face.

  “You’ll have to talk to the social worker. She has more information.”

  The officer stood in the curtained room. In a moment so private as learning the death of her parents there were no walls, just thin cloth.

  “Avery Ellison?” An older woman poked her head into the room. She wore a pencil skirt with a loose, bright pink blouse, and she held a leather-bound notebook close to her chest. Her hair was dyed blonde; the way a woman might do when her hair is completely gray. Smile lines and laugh lines etched her face. “My name is Paula Tiller. I’m your social worker.”

  Officer Caldwell looked Mrs. Tiller over quickly, and seeing she had the situation covered, made his way out the door.

  “Good luck, Avery,” he said. Avery searched for sarcasm in his voice, but his words were sincere, and that made it all the worse. She didn’t know the officer, but as she watched him part the curtains to make his way out of the room, she felt tears brimming. Is this how it was going to be now? Being passed from stranger to stranger? Avery was nineteen—practically an adult—but for now she felt like a child.

  “Avery, I’ve been looking over your file since I’ve arrived, and I have good news for you,” Mrs. Tiller said.

  Avery wondered if she was serious. Good news? Avery could feel herself shaking. Her legs felt on fire under the thin sheets of the bed, and she remembered that there was a burn on her shin.

  “Can you call in a nurse?” Avery said. Her voice was weak, filled with tears. She wanted to sleep and hope that when she woke up she was home again.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Tiller said. She began to turn to step out of curtained room.

  “There’s a call button.” Avery pointed to the button on the chord next to her bed.

  “Right.” Mrs. Tiller turned again, this time walking over to press the call button. She smiled at Avery, but her smile cracked whatever glue had been holding her together.

  “I’m sorry,” Avery said. “I don’t—I just—I just want to sleep right now.” She struggled to speak. The cries were coming in hiccups, and she wondered if the whole hospital could hear her.

  A few second passed while Mrs. Tiller stood, having no idea what to do with her young client, until a nurse stepped in.

  “Avery?” the nurse said.

  “My leg hurts.” Tears were fresh on Avery’s face as she spoke.

  “It’s okay, we’ll just put more cream and a new bandage on. It was almost time to do that anyway.”

  The nurse got to work, pulling the sheets up and revealing Avery’s leg, her shin wrapped in white gauze. The nurse used soft fingers to unwrap Avery’s leg. The burn screamed against the nurse’s touch as she worked, but the physical pain felt lighter than the emotional.

  Mrs. Tiller stood in the room, not saying a word. She opened the folder in her hand, read over something quickly, and stepped forward.

  “Avery, would you like to speak with me later?” Mrs. Tiller wasn’t pushy when she spoke. She was gentle, and for once, she didn’t smile.

  Avery brushed tears away and looked to Mrs. Tiller. Her words were clear as she spoke. “What’s the good news?” She wanted to smile, but a frown formed instead.

  “Before your parents passed, they made arrangements. Your grandparents will have full custody, but because you’re over eighteen your future is entirely up to you.” Mrs. Tiller smiled once she finished speaking. Avery thought of her future, one without her parents, and it seemed too bleak to imagine.

  Mrs. Tiller watched Avery. After she finished speaking, Avery looked away and watched the nurse work on her leg instead. As the nurse re-wrapped the gauze, a silent tear slip down her cheek. She didn’t hear Mrs. Tilling leave, but she supposed she had, because when she looked up again it was just her and the nurse.

  Chapter 5

  4 months ago

  Tom’s bed was made perfectly. The corners tucked into the edges, crisp, like they had been ironed. The pillow had been smoothed; the way Willow always left it. Every morning, Willow would fluff the pillow, place it in the perfect center of the bed, and then smooth the pillow case. She never made her own bed. Each morning she woke up, she would abandon her bed, sheets strewn about, husband still fast asleep. Usually by the time she made her way out of bed, Tom was already somewhere in the house.

  Willow had always thought about what she could do to keep her father in bed. The option of locking the door to his bedroom always entered her mind, but then anxiety would overrule. What if he fell? What if he needed to leave the room, but she couldn’t get there in time? So, she kept the door unlocked.

  A sensor pad was on the floor, right above where Tom usually stepped to get up. If he put weight on it, an alarm would sound so Willow could know her father was awake. When it failed to go off multiple times, she littered the room with baby monitors and became accustomed to being a light sleeper. Here she was, a woman in her forties, never had a baby, but had tested out all the latest and greatest baby monitors.

  Willow pulled the corner of the sheets away. It was another day past, another ending. She was ready to say goodbye to that day and hope that when she woke up in the morning, things for her father would be better. Hopeful.

  Arms wrapped around her waist. “Bed time?” Randy whispered in Willow’s ear. He looked over her shoulder into the guest bedroom that had become her father’s permanent residence. The room was pristine. The drawers to the dresser was closed, but Randy knew if he opened it all, Tom’s clothes would be perfectly folded.

  “Just about,” Willow said. She entwined her fingers through Randy’s and stepped away from the bed.

  “Want any help getting him settled?”

  “Is my dad still on the couch?”

  “Watching another episode of Dirty Jobs. Want me to get him?”

  Rand
y loosened his grip and Willow turned to look at him. Her eyes were a bright green. When he looked at them he could get lost, but her eyes seemed to wander off somewhere far. He held her in his arms, but he could feel her floating away.

  “It’s fine, I’ll get him,” she said, slipping out of his grip.

  When she was gone, the air felt colder. Randy walked out of the room, careful not to step on the sensor mat on the floor. There was a quiet muffle of the TV in the living room and then it turned off.

  “Dad,” Randy could hear Willow say. Randy thought he heard Tom say something in response but he couldn’t make out the words. “Dad, it’s time for bed.” This time her voice was louder.

  Randy stood up and ran down the hall to the living room. The TV was off and Tom was standing in front of the couch, but he held the remote while Willow tried to keep it in her grip. He knew if Willow tried, she could easily pull the remote out of Tom’s grasp, but she always refused to raise a finger to him.

  “Tom, you can watch TV in bed,” Randy said. He walked towards Willow, and she released the remote. Her face was etched with shock and she stepped backwards. Tom pulled the remote to his chest and sat down on the couch.

  “Move,” Tom said. His voice was rough, and Randy knew he was having another one of his episodes. Tom looked at his daughter with pointed eyes until she cowered away.

  Willow pulled her arms into her chest and slipped out of the room. Randy thought he could spot fresh tears coating her eyes.

  “Tom, it’s time for bed,” Randy said. He learned forward and took the remote out of Tom’s hand while he listened to Willow’s soft footsteps as she walked upstairs.

  “No,” Tom said. The remote was out of his hands and the TV was off but his eyes were still glued to the screen.

  “You can finish watching TV in your room.” Randy took his arm with a firm grip, just enough for Tom to realize that the time for jokes was done. Once Tom stood, Randy loosened his grip and took Tom to his bedroom without another word.

  As Randy pulled the sheets back he listened for Willow up the stairs.

  “What are you doing?” The voice was Tom’s, and it pulled Randy back into the moment. He helped Tom undress, fold the clothes, and put it on top of his dresser next to his bed.

  Randy had a habit of not answering Tom. When he was first diagnosed he always made it a point to answer every question he asked, but as time passed and the questions become more plentiful it became a habit to just ignore them.

  “What are you doing?” Tom asked again, and so the repeating began.

  Randy worked as quickly as Tom would allow him to get his pajamas on. The fleece was loose against Tom’s limbs, like he was shrinking into himself.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s time for bed,” Randy said, finally answering. “Just lie down, okay?”

  “Where’s Willow?” he asked. He lay back in bed and let Randy pull the covers over him. As he stepped back from the bed, he watched the mat to make sure he didn’t touch it.

  “In bed,” Randy said.

  The answer seemed to satisfy Tom, and he relaxed into the mattress, closing his eyes without a peep about wanting his television show turned back on.

  Randy shut the glass door to the room, still watching Tom as he backed away. Willow had insisted on the glass door when her father first moved in. “We’ll be able to check on him whenever we need to without being afraid of waking him up by opening the door.” The point was true, but the glass door made him feel like Tom was a fish in a tank, or maybe it was the other way around.

  “Willow?” Randy said as he made his way up the stairs. She didn’t respond.

  When he turned into their bedroom, he found her on the edge of the bed, sitting up, but slowly sinking into the mattress. She looked up when he stepped into the room and the anguish was coated in her skin. She was a bright piece of panic. The tears were still readily streaming.

  “It’s okay,” Randy said as he reached across the room and took her in his arms.

  Her body was shaking and she curled into him, tucking her knees up as she sunk into his chest. His pulled her hair away from her face and he turned her head into his chest to hide herself.

  “Your dad is just having another one of his episodes, he’s fine now.” He ran his fingers over the skin on her arms. He could feel her quaking, and he held her tighter as if he could pull her back together.

  “There’s nothing I can do,” Willow whispered. Her voice was disgruntled and thick.

  “It’s just part of the disease.”

  She pulled herself up and broke away from his arms. “Then what was the point of all this? What was the point of the tests, all the doctors, all this time, effort, money, hope that maybe he’ll get better or at least stop declining. It’s been three months since we started the treatments. Was all that for nothing?”

  Willow was still sitting on the bed, but her body was strung high and alert. Her spine was as straight as an arrow, her arms holding herself away from Randy when they had once held him close. She was ready to flight.

  “It’s just been a bad day,” Randy said. “These things take time.” He reached out for her hand, and he thought for a moment she was going to pull away. Her body was stiff, but when he wrapped his fingers around hers, she began to thaw. With gentle movement, Randy pulled her closer. With each inch closer, she sank into Randy until he was holding her to him. She surrendered into his body, and as she relaxed the tension left her. She melted into him, each limb uncurling. She let go of control and the tears billowed over.

  “I can’t do anything,” she said again. She mumbled the words to herself over and over until her words got so soft, Randy couldn’t make them out anymore.

  Chapter 6

  Sam tugged the tube beneath her noise. She stared at the threads of the blanket over her body, the only thing she seemed to be able to focus on at the moment. The hospital was cool, and the blanket was thin. Her body was rigid; her heart felt the same.

  “Sam?” Dr. Fischer appeared in her curtained room, an older woman in a pant-suit beside him. Sam pulled the blanket up over her body, wondering how she looked in comparison. “Sam, this is your social worker, Paula Tiller. She wanted to speak with you.”

  “Good morning, Sam,” the woman said. “You can call me Mrs. Tiller.” She offered her hand out and Sam shook it; the woman’s grip was loose.

  Dr. Fischer slipped out of the room as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Sam with Mrs. Tiller.

  “How are you feeling?” Mrs. Tiller stood at the foot of her bed, holding a folder of papers. She thought she could see Avery’s name written at the edge of one of the folders.

  “Tired,” Sam said.

  Mrs. Tiller let the corners of her lips lift and then her smile disappeared as if she caught herself. “Did you want to talk about what happened?” Sam felt her eyes water and wiped the tears away before they could form.

  “Um.” A tear slipped. “My parents are both dead?” She didn’t mean for it to come out as a question.

  Mrs. Tiller paused at the foot of the bed and frowned. “I wish I didn’t have to be standing here in front of you.” She paused and tried to smile before thinking better of it again. “I wish it were your mom or dad here for you, but I’m here to make things easier for you. I’m here to make sure you’re okay, and that we find someone to take care of you.”

  “What about Avery? Is she okay?”

  “She is,” Mrs. Tiller said. Sam felt herself wanting to smile as well, but it seemed like too much energy. “She’s in this hospital right now. She’s okay, a burn on her leg, but she’s okay.”

  Sam’s head began to hurt. She itched at the tube under her nose, longed for more oxygen. Her breathing felt too rapid and her airways still too tight. Her body was fighting against her as she tried to breathe. All the while, she tried not to think of her parents, but again and again their faces came to mind.

  “Can I be alone?” Sam said. Her words seemed weaker.

 
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to anyone right now? It doesn’t have to be me. I could find a doctor or nurse, just someone who will listen,” Mrs. Tiller said. Her hands furled and unfurled in front of her.

  A lone tear trailed down Sam’s face. She shook her head, and it was all Mrs. Tiller needed to leave the room. Sam’s breathing hitched once she left the room. The coughing started soon after and she let herself surrender into it. She closed her eyes and hoped for sleep. For now, Sam didn’t want to handle reality.

  — — — — —

  There was gauze below Avery’s knee. It was wrapped lightly around her leg, but it felt suffocating. Underneath the gauze, her skin was blistering.

  “Ms. Ellison?” Mrs. Tiller walked into the room. “How are you feeling today?”

  Mrs. Tiller was afraid of her steps as she took them, and Avery wondered how she ever became a social worker. She didn’t move to take a seat in the room even though there was a chair next to where she stood and Avery wondered if she was planning on leaving again soon.

  “Someone’s here for you.” Mrs. Tiller smiled when she spoke and the gesture seemed to hurt Avery all the more.

  Avery pulled herself up in her bed. Mrs. Tiller turned to the door, and Avery followed with her eyes but the wrong person walked through the threshold. Avery imagined it would be Sam, and that the two of them could face their new life side-by-side, but instead her grandmother walked in.

  “Avery?”

  “Hey,” Avery said. She looked her grandmother over and wanted to cry. When she blinked, she thought she saw her mom. The way she shifted back and forth on her feet, the way only one corner of her mouth seemed to tip up into a smile. She looked nothing like her mother, but the way she held herself made it feel as if she was staring at a ghost.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Shelly said. She had streaks of mascara under her eyes. “I came as soon as I heard. I wish I could have been here sooner.” Avery looked at the clock. It was 7:08pm. Had this day not passed yet? Avery turned to her grandmother, wishing for the nightmare to end.