by Emma Scott
“We’re fine,” Roger said. “Aren’t we? Let’s all remain calm.”
“I am perfectly calm,” Delia said, never taking her eyes from me.
I glared right back. “I have to be there when she wakes up,” I said, my stony voice cracking. “I promised her.”
Delia tilted her chin. “That may be, but I’m here now. That’s all she needs.”
A tsunami of emotion raged in me, my limbs vibrated with it.
Alonzo put his hand on my arm. “Come on, Jim. Let’s take a breather. It’s been a tough day for all.” He looked at Roger. “We’ll take some time and regroup when everyone’s had a chance to consider what’s best for Miss Hughes, yes?”
Roger nodded, and his sympathetic expression kept me from flying into a rage and tearing down the goddamn walls of this place.
And then Delia gave me a parting glance. One I’d seen Doris wear a hundred times. A smug, triumphant look that said I was a fucking moron and she held all the cards and always would.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “I promised Thea I’d stay and I’m staying.”
“You aren’t,” Delia said. “Security, please remove him. He’s trespassing.”
“Fuck you, Delia.” I started for Thea’s room.
“Now, Jim, hold on,” Alonzo said.
“We need to stay calm,” Roger put in.
“Get him out of here,” Delia cried.
Security grabbed my arms and started dragging me back.
“Let go,” I raged, struggling within their grip. “Get the fuck off of me.”
“Hey, easy,” Alonzo shouted.
All the raised voices became muted and distant as I fought to break free. To get to Thea at any cost. “I swore to her, Delia,” I shouted. “Do n-n-not let her wake up alone. You better fucking not let her wake up alone.”
I tore one arm free and jabbed my elbow into a guard’s face.
“Okay, that’s it.” The other guard slammed me against the wall. Pain reverberated up my cheek. My arms were wrenched behind me, my shoulder sockets screaming, and then I was on the floor, a knee on my back, pinning me down. They slipped plastic ties around my wrists and hauled me to my feet.
Delia gave a final parting glare at the door of Thea’s room.
I said nothing as the security guards dragged me down the hall. I had no words left. I was slammed into a chair in an office. Time slipped out from under me as voices talked around my head. All I could think was that I’d failed Thea. She was going to wake up and I wouldn’t be there.
Eventually, someone hauled me to my feet, someone else shoved me out the front doors into the bright sunlight and muggy heat of a waning summer afternoon. It took a second to realize I was free.
“You okay?” Alonzo stood with my duffel bag and guitar case strapped over his shoulders. Rita must have taken them from the hospital van.
“No, I am not okay.”
“Dumb question. Let me rephrase: you going to behave yourself now?”
I said nothing.
He knocked a cigarette from a battered pack and offered me one. I shook my head.
“I know nothing’s okay right now,” he said. “But at least you didn’t get yourself arrested.” He took a drag from his smoke.
I sank onto a nearby bench. He sat with me.
“I know this is killing you,” he said, “but you have to go home now. Get some rest.”
“I can’t go home.” My numbness started to crack. “I can’t leave her, Alonzo.”
“You have to, Jim. For now. We’ll see what happens later.”
“Thea doesn’t have a later.”
Our eyes met, and he sighed. “I know.” He put his arm around me, pulling me into his embrace. I resisted at first then sagged against him.
“I got you, son,” he said. “I got you.”
I closed my eyes and let him carry what I couldn’t, at least for a few minutes. After a time, I straightened, wiped my eyes on my shoulder. “My truck is in New York.”
“I’ll give you a lift.”
He drove me to my house in Boones Mill and stayed. We drank a couple of beers and talked the hours away until the exhaustion started to drag at me.
“I’m going back to the hospital,” he said, getting to his feet. “Keep your phone handy. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks.”
We shook hands and then he patted my cheek. “You’re a good man, Jim. One of the best.”
His words bounced off my failure. I’d broken my promise to Thea. Nothing was good in that.
Despite the fatigue, I lay awake, my nerves lit up. I kept my phone close, waiting, but no messages came. I got up and drank another beer.
Still nothing.
Go down there. Break in. Fight for her.
And get arrested for sure.
I needed to be close to Thea or I’d go fucking crazy. I started to open my guitar case but froze with my thumbs on the latches. I had no desire to play—it would hurt like a motherfucker to be accompanied by the memory of Thea watching as I sang at the open mic in New York, her eyes brilliant and full of love for me.
I picked it up anyway, because I had memories still—even if they stabbed me in the heart. Soon, Thea wouldn’t have any. I owed it to her to feel them. To remember.
Remember us… when I can’t.
I opened the case.
A piece of folded paper with my name lay on top of the guitar. I unfolded it with shaking hands. The ArtHouse was embossed across the top.
Dear Jimmy,
By the time you read this, I’ll be gone.
Ha! I’m sorry, that’s bad, right? But I’m scared shitless and you know I make bad jokes when I’m scared shitless. I’m scared because I will be gone. Not dead, but it feels that way. Nothingness. No thoughts.
Anyway, I didn’t write this letter to talk about me. This is about you. I want you to know some things while I’m away. I want to put them on paper, in black and white, so they don’t go anywhere. Like how I wrote my word chains—so my thoughts could stay somewhere when my memory wouldn’t let me keep them for myself.
I see you, Jimmy. The real you. The loving, beautiful, honorable, sexy AF man you are. I know you think you haven’t done much with your life but that’s not true. You help people every day. You help the world even though the world hasn’t been kind to you. You could’ve let your childhood make you bitter. You could’ve ruined yourself with drugs or alcohol, or become a violent, raging asshole. Because why not? No one gave you a reason not to. But you didn’t. Your desire to help burns so strongly, it can’t be put out. It’s a spark in you that won’t ever die. It’s the kindness I saw in your eyes every time we met.
You helped people at Blue Ridge. And you helped me. You saved me. You brought me back to life.
I’m petrified down to my soul to go back. But the only thing that makes it bearable is if I know you’re out there, in the world, being what you were born to be, someone who helps kids that had it tough like you. I think if I know you’re doing that, I could be happy in whatever way the amnesia lets me.
But no pressure, or anything. ;-)
Okay, no more bad jokes. Read this letter and the next time you see me, tell me that you promise. That’s all. I might ask what the heck you’re talking about, but deep down, I’ll know. Somehow, I’ll know. And you know that I can know, in my own way. You were the only one who ever did.
I see you, Jimmy Whelan. And I love you. It makes going away again that much harder, but I’ll take my love with me if you promise to take yours out into the world and share it with those kids. They need you. They’re waiting for you.
And speaking of waiting, don’t. Not for me. It’s too much to ask. If they ever make another magic pill to wake me up and you’re not there, I’ll know, deep in the place beneath thought, you are doing what you were put on this earth to do.
I’ll remember, and I’ll be happy.
All my love to you, forever and always,
~The
a
The letter crumpled in my fist as the tears spilled over. I tried to hold them back, but it was too much. Too much love for her, too much pain at the thought of what she faced so goddamn bravely. For the first time in ten years, I cried. For her. For me. For the kid who’d been shoved against a fence all his life. I’d been afraid if I faced that pain, I’d drown in it.
Doris and her fucking malevolent taunting were drowned instead.
When I was wrung out, a simple truth remained in the sodden debris: losing Thea was fucking agonizing, but it was better than never having her at all.
But I’m not giving up on her. Not fucking ever.
I grabbed my jacket off the hook and was halfway out the door before I realized I had no truck or motorcycle to get to Roanoke. I whipped out my phone to call an Uber, when it rang in my hand, Rita’s name on the display.
“Jim?” she cried. “We need you here.”
My heart dropped to my knees. “What’s going on?”
“She woke up, and it’s bad,” Rita said. “She won’t stop screaming.”
My eyes fell shut. God, baby. I’m too late.
“You need to come right now, Jim.”
“I’m on my way, but shit, Rita,” I said, “Delia’s going to have me arrested.”
A muffled sound and then to my shock, Delia’s tearful voice filled my ear.
“Jim,” she whispered. “Please come.”
Chapter 38
Jim
Alonzo was already on his way back to get me and pulled up to the curb in his old Toyota as I was struggling to get a signal to call an Uber. I climbed in and he drove faster than I expected a sixty-plus-year-old man to drive at night.
It was a twenty-seven-minute drive. We made it in fifteen.
“She’s not great,” Alonzo said on the way. “Be prepared for that.”
We rushed into the hospital and Delia was there, her face half-buried in Roger’s chest. She turned her tear-streaked face to me, and my heart plummeted.
I’m too late. She’s had a stroke. She’s gone.
Delia rose to her feet and calmly walked to me.
“What?” My throat went dry. “What’s happened. Tell me…”
Even if it kills me…
“She’s hysterical. Terrified. But she’s fallen into an exhausted sleep.”
My hands clenched even as the relief made my eyes fall shut. “I need to see her…”
“Not yet,” Delia said. “Can we talk privately a moment? Roger, Mr. Waters, can you leave us, please?”
“Delia,” I said in a low voice. “She’s suffering.”
She only sat and waited for me to do the same. I moved stiffly to the waiting area and sat in an orange chair across from her.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, a tearful whisper. As if it were a secret she was trying to keep from screaming out loud. “She’s suffering and I can’t do this anymore.”
“Delia—”
“I can’t put things back the way they were before the accident. I keep trying and trying. I just want her to be safe.”
“So do I, Delia,” I said. “And I want her to be happy.”
Her face crumpled. “She had so much potential. She was going to be such an amazing artist…”
“She’s still an amazing artist,” I said. “She’s everything she was before. She’s not lost. She’s still here.”
Delia shook her head. “I can’t do it anymore. The endless repetition. The questions. The smile on her face when inside she’s screaming to get out? I can’t stand the thought. It’ll drive me crazy to see her like this.”
“You don’t have to,” I said.
“She’s my sister, of course, I have to.”
“You don’t,” I said. “I’ll come every day. She’s my life. I’m not going to leave her, not ever. You can go, Delia, but only if you let me be with her. Isn’t that why you called me back?”
This is my job interview.
Delia sniffed. “You won’t leave her?”
“Never.”
“You’ll see her every day?”
“Every day.”
Hope flared and died in her eyes. “No. You’ll get bored. You’re a young, handsome man. You’ll need things from her she can’t give so you’ll find them somewhere else.”
“I won’t. I’ll wait for her. However long it takes.”
Delia’s eyes filled again with a hope she didn’t trust. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“Because I love her,” I said.
No stutter. Speaking the purest truth of my heart to the enemy who’d tried to keep me from Thea, I knew I was free of it forever.
“I love her,” I said again. “I will never stop loving her. To the day I die.”
Delia stared at me and it seemed as if a shadow lifted from her. “I believe you,” she whispered. She turned her glance away, her eyes spilling over, shame coloring her cheeks. “I can… I can get your job back…”
“I don’t need it. I made a promise to her about that, too. And I intend to keep it.”
She nodded. “I don’t know what else to say. I’m so torn apart by guilt and yet so relieved.”
“You took care of her for two years,” I said. “You can step back. Live your life. That’s what she wants for all of us.”
She slowly got to her feet. “I’ll tell them to let you visit as much as you want. I’ll rescind my power of attorney and give it to you.” She lifted her head. “I’m trusting you with her life.”
“Thank you,” I said, easing a low breath. “I’ll guard it with mine.”
A scream rippled down the hall then. “Jimmy! Where is Jimmy? God, someone tell me where he is. Jimmy!”
Thea had woken up. Alone.
“Go,” Delia cried. “She needs you.”
I was already out of my chair, racing toward her room, my chest caving in at the ragged pain in Thea’s voice.
“Get away from me!” Thea screamed. “Fuck off. I don’t want it. Where is Jimmy?”
A clattering crash as I entered. Thea knocked a tray to the ground, wrestling against a nurse with a syringe in her hand. All the while Rita tried to calm Thea’s flailing arms.
“She doesn’t want to be drugged,” I barked at the nurse, then bent to take Thea in my arms. “Hey. Hey, I’m here. It’s all right.”
She looked up at me, full of suspicion.
“It’s me,” I said. “I’m here now.”
Recognition dawned in her eyes and then she collapsed into sobs and clutched me. “It’s happening. I can’t hold on to anything. It’s slipping away.”
“I know,” I said. “I know, baby.”
“Come here,” she pleaded.
As I climbed onto the narrow bed, the two nurses left the room, shutting the door softly behind.
Thea sobbed into my chest. My tears dampened her hair. I held her so tight, trying to keep her with me. She was in my arms and slipping away at the same time. And she knew it. She was sliding down a steep, unforgiving slope into the blackness of amnesia; desperately scrabbling for purchase, her fingers clutching my shirt.
“Thea,” I whispered. “Listen to me. Are you listening?”
“Yes,” she said in a faint voice. Sleep was taking her and when she woke up, the amnesia would too.
“I promise,” I said, my voice cracking. “I promise.”
She pulled away and her smile broke my goddamn heart. “You do?” Then her smile crumpled to confusion. “I wrote… something. Did I? I can’t remember…?”
“It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to.”
Her face relaxed into a smile of relief. She kissed me and I savored the taste of her tears and her soft lips before she laid her head down again. “I love you. Jimmy with the kind eyes.”
I held her close, struggled to keep my sobs from shuddering through me.
“I love you, Thea,” I said. “Sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? And every day after. I promise.”
I blinked awake and th
e hospital room materialized around me. Thea lay in my arms. Morning light slanted over the bed.
Slowly she stirred and woke. Studied me for a second. Then her face lit up with recognition, heartbreakingly beautiful. “Jimmy.”
“Hi, baby,” I said, holding back the tears.
The words were barely out of my mouth when an absence seizure paralyzed her. She trembled a few moments, then blinked back into focus.
I saw her.
Beneath the confusion, beneath the amnesia, down in the clear blue depths of her eyes, I saw my Thea.
Her head cocked to the side and her smile faltered.
“How long has it been?”
Epilogue I
Jim
Open mic night was crowded at Haven, as if all of Boones Mill had crammed into the small tavern that Saturday.
Maybe they have, I thought from behind the bar. The town’s small enough.
Or maybe it was to keep warm. Winter was brutally cold this year, and weathermen said Christmas—a few weeks away—was going to be white.
I poured beers for a couple of regulars, Stan and Kevin. Two middle-aged guys who wore baseball caps and T-shirts no matter what the weather.
“Big night tonight,” Kevin said. “You gonna play, Jim?”
“He sure as hell is,” Laura said, sidling up to the bar with a tray full of empties. “Gotta give ’em what they want, right, Jim?” She gave me a wink.
I smiled. “We’ll see.”
“Oh, we will,” Laura said. “Guess who’s in charge of the playlist tonight?” She jerked two thumbs at herself. “This gal right here. Now I need two shots of Fireball, two Buds and a glass of water. The water’s for you. Get your pipes ready.”
The guys chuckled as Laura vanished into the crowd.
“Looks like you’re playing,” Stan said.
“Guess so,” I said. “And here I thought this was a bartending gig.”
It started out that way. I needed to work nights, and Haven’s owner had just lost his best bartender and was desperate. I worked my way up from the shit gigs on Sunday thru Wednesday, to the more lucrative shifts on Thursday through Saturday. It was Laura who caught me singing Pearl Jam’s “Black” while taking inventory one day. Despite the poor first impression I’d made on her all those months ago, she demanded I play at the next open mic.
