by Ellie Wade
Her shoulders are hunched, and her torso and upper body are slouched forward against her seat belt. Her hair has fallen, shielding her face, and I can’t tell if she’s breathing. A tree branch broke through the window. Glass shattered everywhere. The end of the branch has impaled her abdomen. I don’t know how deep it goes. It’s impossible to see anything with all of the blood. She’s covered in more blood than I thought possible for her small frame to hold.
I’m going to lose her. This can’t be happening.
Please let this be a nightmare.
Wake up!
I can’t lose her.
“Alma, please.” Sobs erupt from my chest, and I try to reach her again.
I can’t feel her. I can’t see her face. I can’t see her chest moving.
There are voices. Lights. Directions called. Metal creaking.
I feel myself slipping into the darkness, and I welcome it. Without Alma, I just can’t …
The humming and quiet beeping seem familiar, and I try to place the sounds. My body hurts. A bone-deep soreness brings the memory of the accident back. My eyes pop open. I blink, taking in my surroundings.
Alma.
I try to reach for the IV in my hand to yank it out, but my arm isn’t cooperating. Peering to my side, I see the cast, and the image of my broken bone comes to mind. I move my IV’d arm toward my casted one and grab at the needle in my skin with my exposed fingers. They’re heavy and slow.
Fuck!
I raise my left arm to my mouth and yank at the cords with my teeth. The medical tape peels off, and the needle falls out. Once I’m free, I try to sit up. The room starts to spin, and I lie back down. A nurse walks into the room.
“Mr. Harding. What are you doing?” Her voice is concerned as she helps me lie back.
“I need to go,” I insist.
“No, you need to rest. You’re just waking up from surgery. You’re in no state to leave right now.”
“Where is she?” I yell.
“She’s right outside. Just let me get you situated, and I’ll let her come in.” She rubs an alcohol pad over the skin of my hand where the IV once was.
“She’s here?”
“Yes, she’s here. Just be calm, please.” She gets to work on reinserting a new needle into my hand.
“What happened?” I ask, closing my eyes to combat the pounding in my skull.
“You were in a car accident. You broke your arm, a rib, and punctured your lung. You also have a pretty serious concussion. You underwent surgery to set and cast your arm and fix your lung. You’ll recover completely, but you’re going to be pretty sore for a while.”
“No pain meds,” I bark out.
The nurse looks over to me. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m an addict. Don’t give me narcotic pain meds, please. None,” I tell her firmly. I can’t risk it. I won’t.
She purses her lips and nods in understanding. “Don’t worry, Mr. Harding. I’ll mark Tylenol and ibuprofen only on your chart. Those are safe.”
“Thank you.”
The nurse finishes inserting my IV and then checks the machine connected to the bags dripping into the line. She helps me readjust the pillows, so I’m sitting in as comfortable of a position as possible, given my circumstances. Then, she gives me a warm smile and tells me she’ll send her in.
Thank God she’s okay.
There are voices outside of the room, and then the door opens again. The heels clicking against the tiled floor churn the acid in my stomach.
No.
“Hey,” Cat says with a gentle smile.
“Where is she? Where’s Alma?” I demand, desperate.
Cat shakes her head. “I don’t know, Leo.”
“Please find out. She was with me in the car. She was hurt bad.” My voice cracks. “Her best friend was probably her emergency contact—Amos. He might be here somewhere. Ask everyone until you get an answer. Please. I have to know.”
“Okay, don’t worry. I’ll find out.” Cat’s face shows concern and worry, but she nods once, determined, and her high heels click quicker now as she leaves the room on a mission.
FORTY-ONE
Leo
My skin crawls with unease. My body aches. No doubt every inch of my skin is covered in bruises. But that pain doesn’t hold a candle to the agony within my chest. Every tick of the thinnest hand on the analog clock on the wall, every second that passes brings more panic.
I won’t survive if she didn’t make it. I can’t live in a world without her.
Guilt consumes me. All of this is my fault. I was tired and didn’t see the pileup of cars in time. I overcompensated when turning the wheel, flipping the car and sending us flying into a tree. This is on me. If she dies, it will be at my hands. I did this. The truth dawns—even if she did make it, she surely won’t forgive me. She shouldn’t. I’m going to lose her either way.
Hot tears flow down my face, and the sting in my heart is so acute that I want to scream. I want to destroy everything around me, but I can barely fucking move. I’m useless.
She has to make it. I’ll lose her, and it will be a nightmare, but she has to live. The world needs the light that only Alma Weber can shine. Alma must live.
Please. Please. Please. I pray to a god that I haven’t spoken to in years. Maybe this time, my prayers will work.
The door opens, and Cat hurries toward me. “She’s alive,” she blurts out.
I bend my head and sob. Thank you.
“She’s been in surgery for a long time. There were lots of internal injuries that needed to be repaired, but she’s going to make it. She’s coming out of surgery now. She won’t be awake for a while, coming off the anesthesia, but she should be fine.”
“Is she paralyzed?” I ask hesitantly, remembering the branch in her abdomen, not sure if it went clear through to her spine.
Cat shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. Nothing was said about that.” She brings her hand to my face and cups my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re okay. That was a pretty bad wreck.”
“I’m going to lose her anyway,” I utter, barely a whisper.
She presses her lips together, the corners rising slightly. “No, you’re not. She loves you more than anything. She loves you as deeply as you love her. It will all work out. I’m sure of it.”
I turn away from Cat, unable to respond. I hope she’s right.
“Your mom and dad want to come visit you here,” she says.
I whip my head to face her, immediately regretting the movement. The pounding in my head intensifies, and I close my eyes until the nausea passes. “No,” I reply. “It’s a lot, all of this, and I need to focus on getting better and on Alma. That’s all I can deal with at the moment. I don’t want them here.”
“Okay, that’s fair. I’ll tell them. Don’t worry another second about that. There is someone waiting in the hall to see you. It’s Amos.”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”
“Great. I’ll send him in.” Cat retreats, and when she returns, Amos is at her side.
It takes a moment for me to register the raw fury coming from him. I sense it just as he lunges toward me.
He balls up my hospital gown in his fists, and his eyes pop in anger as he screams in my face, “Were you high? What were you on when you almost killed her?”
Cat pulls at his arms. “Get off of him,” she cries.
“I knew you’d destroy her! You almost killed her!” Spit flies from his mouth with each word.
“Stop it! Stop this right now,” Cat begs, tugging harder.
Amos steps back, and I glare at him.
“I wasn’t on anything.” My words are cold.
“Yeah, right,” he scoffs.
“I wasn’t. You want me to call in the nurse and have her read you my toxicology report? I’ve been clean since January. I wouldn’t fucking drive her if I were messed up. Whether you believe it or not, I love her.” There isn’t a strong bite in my tone, as there should be, because though I wa
sn’t on anything, I’m still to blame, and I know it. I’m not going to reveal that fact to him, but I know it all the same.
Amos shakes Cat’s hands away from him. “You almost killed her,” he repeats, his voice quiet, tears lodged in his throat.
“I know, and I’m sorry,” I confess. “Have you seen her?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Well, please let me know when she’s awake,” I request, hopeful that he actually will.
He’s visibly less tense. His rigid body of a few moments ago has relaxed, and he looks tired. He probably hasn’t slept all night.
“Yeah, okay. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that,” he says with sincerity. “I’ve been up all night. I’m exhausted and worried about Alma, and I just assumed the worst. I shouldn’t have.”
“It’s fine, Amos. I would’ve assumed too. Just forget about it.”
Amos examines my injuries, his tired brown eyes giving me a quick once-over. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better. I feel like shit.”
“Well, you look like shit too.” The smallest of grins forms on his face.
“Thanks, man.”
He motions toward the door. “I’m going to go back to the waiting area. The nurses know to look for me there when she wakes up. I’ll see you later.”
“Let me know when she’s up,” I say again as he walks toward the door.
He gives me a thumbs-up on his way out.
A soft voice calls my name, and I stir, groaning as my body wakes.
When I open my eyes, Cat’s leaning in, her face inches from mine. “How are you feeling?” she asks.
I give her a grunt in response.
“Well, Alma’s awake. I talked to the nurse, and they can attach your IV bags to a wheelchair pole if you want to go see her.”
At the mention of Alma’s name, I’m immediately better. “Yes.” I sit up in bed.
“All right. Give me a second to get the nurse, and I’ll be right back.” She exits the room.
She’s still wearing the outfit she showed up in last night. It doesn’t look remotely comfortable, and I wonder if she’s slept at all. She’s way too nice of a person to be with my brother.
A minute later, Cat returns with a nurse and a wheelchair. The nurse is different. The no-nonsense, professional woman from last night has probably gone home for the day. This lady looks like she should be retired and at home, baking cookies for her grandkids. Her smile is warm and puts me at ease.
“Okay, dear. Let me get you situated here.” She removes the IV pump that has fluids running and attaches the pump to the pole on the back of the wheelchair. Then, she guides my legs over the bed and helps me pivot onto the chair.
We leave the room, and she pushes me to the elevator. We take it up a few floors. Exiting the elevator, she leads me down a long hallway. Cat’s heels click behind us.
Parking me in front of Alma’s room, she says, “I’ll be back in a bit to get you. If you need me to get you sooner, just ring down to the third floor and ask for Doris.”
I thank her, and she scurries off.
Cat pushes me into Alma’s room and stops the wheelchair next to her bed. Alma’s eyes are closed. She’s connected to IVs, like me, and I’m sure she has bandages around her middle, where they patched her up. Yet she looks peaceful and beautiful.
“Amos mentioned going to the cafeteria for some coffee. I think I’ll meet him there. I’ll be back soon.” Cat lightly pats my shoulder and retreats from the room.
Alma seems to hear Cat’s clicking as she walks out and opens her eyes. When she sees me, she smiles and starts to cry, holding out her hand for me to grab. I raise my good arm and take her hand in mine.
“Are you okay?” She sniffles.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I say, bringing her hand to my lips. I kiss her skin, below the IV.
“Me too. I’ll be fine too.” She pulls in a deep breath.
I lean forward as far as I can without flipping out of the chair and rest my head at her side. “I’m so sorry, baby. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”
“How is this your fault? It was an accident.”
“I know, but I was exhausted, and I didn’t see the cars in front of me in time. I overcompensated when I turned the wheel, causing us to flip. I should’ve been more alert. I’m so sorry. If I wasn’t so tired, none of this would’ve happened. I know you might not be able to forgive me—” My thought is halted when Alma says my name.
“Leo,” she repeats, and this time, I raise my head from the bed and look at her.
“Listen to me. This is not your fault. There is nothing to forgive because this was an accident. The nurse told me that twenty people from that pileup were seen at this hospital. You weren’t the only one caught off guard. She said the initial accident happened around a bend, and people kept crashing because they didn’t see it in time. You didn’t do this. You hold no blame for this. Do you understand?”
“I know, but—”
“No,” she cuts me off again. “No buts. This isn’t your fault. I don’t care if you were tired. We would’ve crashed just the same.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I tell her.
I kept my exhaustion at the time of the accident from Amos because he doesn’t need to know. Alma’s different. I don’t want to lie to her about anything.
She wipes a piece of hair from my forehead. “It is. I promise you. I know you would never knowingly put me in danger. Just forgive yourself, Leo, and let’s move on. Okay?”
I’m flooded with a relief so powerful that it’s crippling.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you. I’m so glad you’re okay.” A tear rolls down her face.
There are so many things I want to tell her, declarations of love and promises of forever. I want to crawl into bed and hold her, but we’re both too sore and tired. Thankfully, we’ll have time for all of that later. For now, I hold her hand and gently run my thumb over hers until her breathing slows and she drifts back to sleep.
FORTY-TWO
Alma
The ending credits roll to the cheesy romantic comedy we rented. Leo rests beside me in the chaise lounge. His head sleepily fell to my shoulder about thirty minutes ago. It’s been two weeks since we got out of the hospital. Our days are spent snuggling, watching movies, napping, and ordering takeout. It’s pretty awesome, to be honest.
My incisions are healing well. They don’t bother me or hurt anymore. Leo still has the cast on his arm, but other than that, he feels good too. Getting in an accident was horrible, but we were lucky. One or both of us could’ve easily not made it. I feel very blessed to be sitting here, in Leo’s arms, and really not worrying about much.
The doctor wrote me off of work and all physical activity for eight weeks, but I’m not stressed about it. Leo’s taking care of everything, and as much as the strong, independent woman inside of me wants to protest, right now, it’s kind of nice.
There is something that I have to tell Leo, but I’m scared. I’m terrified to tell him because I haven’t truly convinced myself of it. I don’t want to speak the words into existence because then they’ll somehow become true when I so desperately want to pretend that they’re not. But it’s time, more so for me and my well-being than anything else.
Leo stirs beside me, and I turn my head toward his. His sleepy gaze is on me.
“Did they end up together?” he asks in jest.
“No, actually, she left him to move to India to train elephants, and he ended up shacking up with the senior church choir lady.” I pucker my lips in a grin.
“Wow. I did not see that twist coming.”
“I know, right? It was intense. Too bad you fell asleep.”
He pulls me toward him and kisses my temple. “What do you want to eat tonight?”
“Gosh, I don’t know. What haven’t we had lately?”
We’ve ordered carryout so much that I’m starting to get tired of food. I’m c
raving something simple, a bowl of cereal or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but that would require ordering groceries, which seems like a lot of work, and I’m still riding the recovering from surgery lazy train for a little bit longer.
“We haven’t had sushi this week,” Leo suggests.
“Oh, yeah. I could do sushi. That sounds good.”
Less than an hour later, our sushi is delivered, and I’m eating it like I haven’t had sustenance in days. It’s amazing how hungry one can get from lying around and doing absolutely nothing. After dinner, we warm up the rest of a pan of brownies that we got with our pizza last night. Who knew that pizza places made brownies? Leo is opening up a whole new world for me with his takeout knowledge.
The brownie fills the remaining space in my belly, and I’m finally full.
“You want to pick the movie?” Leo asks.
I frown, knowing that I could eat all the takeout and brownies in the world and it’s not going to make me feel better until I acknowledge and accept it.
“What’s wrong?” Leo wipes a strand of hair behind my ear.
I bite my lip and exhale through my nose. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“What is it?” Leo asks, his blue eyes going wide.
“Back at the hospital, when you asked me what I went through during surgery, I wasn’t completely honest with you about all of my injuries.” I suck in a ragged breath, and tears start to form.
“Okay,” Leo says, urging me on.
I know the words that are coming, and the closer they get to the surface, the more panicked I become. I’m terrified to speak them. I didn’t realize how much so until now.
“I might never,” I say on a sob, “have babies.” I bury my face in my hands as my body heaves with sorrow.
When the doctor told me the news, I was in shock, almost unable to believe her.
Leo pulls me toward him with his good arm and rubs gentle circles over my back, waiting for my tears to abate. “How do you know, babe?”
