The doctor looks at everyone in the room and nods. “He’s still unconscious but breathing on his own. He doesn’t seem to have any swelling of the brain, although we’ll have to monitor that since it usually gets worse in the first twenty-four hours. The MRI shows a moderate concussion. At this point, we just need to give him time. Brain injuries can be tricky.”
Ivy runs a hand up and down my back as the doctor explains everything. I imagine similar things were told to Denver when he came to the hospital after my accident. But this is different. He was checking on a victim, not the woman he loved. He wasn’t wondering if he was going to find out if his whole world just got turned upside down.
“Is he going to be okay?” someone behind me asks.
“Son, I just can’t say,” the doctor tells him. “We’re hopeful. I’ve seen people with far worse injuries make a full recovery, and I’ve also seen people with a seemingly minor bump on the head succumb to a brain bleed. Every person is different. Every brain injury is unique.”
“Can we see him?” I ask, not wanting to be the possessive girlfriend who insists on seeing him before his best friends.
“Only one person at a time,” the doctor says.
Bass touches my shoulder. “You go. He’d want you with him.”
“Thank you. I’ll try to be quick, I know you want to see him.”
“No, take all the time you need. We’ll be right out here.”
The doctor leads me down a hallway past several glass-walled rooms, and I wonder if this is what it looked like at the hospital I was in. He stops at the entrance to the room in the corner. “Here we are. Don’t be afraid to touch him. Fortunately, only his forearms were burned and they’ve been treated and covered with bandages.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I walk into the room, hearing some beeps come from a monitor next to his bed. I’m relieved that he’s breathing on his own. I reach up and touch the scar on my neck, a reminder that I couldn’t breathe after my accident.
Other than some bandages on his arms, he looks almost normal. At peace, even. He’s been cleaned up, but I can see traces of soot around one of his ears. I watch his chest rise and fall. I even place my hand on it.
“Denver, I’m here,” I say, a stream of tears dripping off my chin. “I’m not going to leave you.” I pick up his hand and hold it in mine. “I’m never going to leave you.” I wonder if Denver did the same when I was lying in the ICU. He didn’t know me at the time, but still, I imagine him holding my hand.
“It’s my turn to sit here and hold your hand. It’s my turn to take care of you like you did me. But you have to do your part, too. You have to wake up. You have to remember me. Please remember me, Denver. I can’t imagine loving anyone but you. And if you forget that you love me …” Sobs break up my words and I have to stop talking for a minute. “Please don’t forget. Please wake up.”
I remember the stupid videos we took that first night we were together. The declarations of our love. The promises of our future. I’m sure neither of us imagined one of us would need to be reminded—least of all him.
I carefully sit next to him on the bed, wanting to be as close to him as possible. I lean over and place my head on his heart. “Don’t make me bring in all my Beach Boys CDs. I’ll do it if I have to. You know I will.”
“Unnnngh,” I hear, causing me to sit up quickly.
“Denver?”
I see his eyes flutter open. He tries to gain focus. Then he reaches up and grabs his head. “Head hurts.”
“Denver …” I look into his eyes, trying to gauge if he remembers me. “Denver, do you know who I am?”
A nurse comes into the room. “Welcome back, Mr. Andrews,” she says.
I hop off the bed and let her tend to him. It’s like time stands still. He hasn’t answered my question and I can’t breathe until he does.
He looks around the room. Then he looks at me, terrified. “The boy,” he says.
“He’s okay,” I tell him. “You saved him.”
I’ve never seen a person look more relieved than he does right now. Except maybe me. Because if he remembers the boy, he remembers me. He remembers us.
“How long have I been here?” he asks.
“About two hours,” the nurse says. “You had us scared for a while. The doctor will be in to see you shortly.”
I sit down in the chair next to the bed and close my eyes, saying a silent prayer of thanks.
Denver reaches over and grabs my hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart.”
I smile through my tears. But I can’t get any words past the lump in my throat.
“Sara, it’s okay. I’m okay.”
I nod over and over. I want to tell him he’s okay this time, but what about next time? I want to ask him how I’m supposed to deal with him going back to work when I know this could happen again. I want to tell him he can’t go back to work—that I forbid it.
But I don’t say a word. I can’t.
Denver would never tell me I couldn’t paint again. Because he knows that’s what I love. Being a firefighter is who he is, and according to his friends, he’s quickly becoming one of the best ones in the city. What kind of person would I be if I asked him to give that up? Or if I gave him an ultimatum?
No, I can’t say anything. We’re together because he’s a firefighter. And there is a little boy who’s alive because of him. If Denver hadn’t been there, that boy might have died. How many other people will die if Denver isn’t around to save them?
“Sara, sweetheart, are you okay?”
I crawl up on the bed and lie next to him. “I’m okay. As long as you’re with me, I’m okay.”
He wipes my tears away. “I love you.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and hit record. “I’m going to need you to say that again.”
Chapter Thirty-four
“As you know, Mr. Andrews, you have a concussion,” the doctor says. “I’m benching you for four weeks minimum. After two weeks’ rest, you’re free to do desk duty, but you’ll have to be cleared by me or another physician before you can go back on the truck.”
“Got it,” Denver says, shaking the doctor’s hand.
The doctor looks at him strangely. “What? No argument? Usually, I’m met with tons of flak when I bench firefighters.”
Denver looks at me and then back at the doctor. “You won’t get any arguments here,” he says. “I know things could have been a lot worse. Plus, you’ve just told me I need to spend the next two weeks in bed.” He winks at me.
“Resting,” the doctor says, laughing. “The nurse will be in to discharge you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Denver says.
After the doctor leaves, I help Denver get dressed in the fresh clothes I brought him this morning when I went home to take a quick shower.
“You look exhausted,” he says. “I wish you would have gone home last night.”
“Denver, you are in the hospital with a head injury. Staying one night with you was the least I could do after everything you did for me.”
“Were you able to find out more information on the boy?”
I nod sadly. “His name is Joseph Malone, but his parents called him Joey.”
Denver looks surprised. “How do you know that? Isn’t he a bit young to tell you?”
“He’s fifteen months old,” I say. “Bass told me that a family from a neighboring unit came to check on him last night. They knew the parents, but not well enough to know any other relatives. The police are trying to track them down.”
“So where is he now?”
“They said they were keeping him overnight for observation, and also to allow time for a relative to come forth.”
“He’s here, in the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“I want to go see him before I leave. Hopefully, the discharge nurse can find out where he is. The pediatric floor, I assume. Poor kid. He’s awfully young to be joining our club,” he says.
; “Club?”
“The orphan club. At least you and I were older and had time with our parents.”
“Technically, I’m not an orphan.”
He questions me with his eyes.
“As far as I know, my biological father is still alive. I told you I was adopted, didn’t I?”
“Joelle did.” He pats the bed next to him. “Do you want to tell me about it? I didn’t want to pry.”
I sit down next to him and he holds my hand. “Ironically, I was left at a fire station when I was eleven months old.”
“A fire station? Really?”
I nod. “My father left a note saying that he tried, but raising a baby alone was too hard for him. He said my mother had died in childbirth. He said my name was Sara Grace, but he didn’t reveal my last name.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says.
“No need to be. I had great parents. As far as I’m concerned, they are my only parents. And I guess I have to respect my biological father for doing what he did. I mean, things could have turned out much worse for me if he’d kept me. He could have been a drug addict. He could have abused me because he was so frustrated. He could have left me somewhere that wasn’t as safe as a fire station.”
“So you’ve never tried to find him?”
I shake my head confidently. “I never felt the need.”
“And your parents kept your name.”
“They did. They told me that man gave them the greatest gift they’d ever received, and they didn’t want to spoil the miracle by renaming me.”
“Your parents sound like good people.”
“They were. You’d have gotten along great with them. My dad loved watching old movies about firefighters. His favorite one was The Towering Inferno. I’ll bet he would have called you Steve McQueen.”
Denver laughs.
“They wanted to adopt more kids, you know, but they just became too old and nobody would allow it.”
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, they are my heroes,” he says. “If it weren’t for them, I never would have met you.”
“And if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here,” I say. “You’re a hero so many times over. You saved me. You saved Joey. You’ve saved so many others.”
“I’m no hero,” he says. “I’m just doing my job, Sara. Anybody would do the same.”
“No, anybody wouldn’t. It takes a special person to do what you do.”
A nurse walks in with a folder. “I have your discharge papers, Mr. Andrews.”
Denver listens intently to her instructions about not playing sports, doing any heavy lifting, or basically anything that would jostle his brain. Then he sweet-talks her into getting him the room number of the little boy, which would never be given out to anyone—but since Denver is the reason Joey is alive, I guess they made an exception.
Someone comes in the room with a wheelchair.
Denver looks at it. “Uh, no.”
“It’s protocol,” the orderly says. “Just doing my job, sir.”
“Come on, big boy—humor them,” I say.
“But we’re going to see the kid.”
“So we’ll turn around and come right back in.”
Denver rolls his eyes and then sits in the wheelchair. “Is this how it’s going to be? You telling me what to do?” he says with a snarky rise of his brow.
“You two married?” the guy asks.
“No,” I say.
“Engaged?”
I shake my head.
“Well, sir,” he says to Denver as he wheels him out into the hallway. “I suggest you get used to it now. In my experience, the key to a great relationship is that the woman is always right. Always.”
Denver laughs, looking at the orderly who’s barely more than a kid. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen. But my parents have been married for thirty years, and my grandparents—fifty-five.”
“Sounds like you’re going to make some lucky girl very happy one day,” I say.
“I hope so,” he says.
The orderly rolls Denver outside the main doors of the hospital. Then he salutes him. “I heard what you did, sir. I truly admire you. I hope to be a firefighter myself one day. I took the exam last year. Haven’t got the call yet.”
“It can take years for them to get to you,” Denver says. “Don’t lose hope. FDNY needs good people like you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As soon as the orderly leaves, Denver picks up his duffel bag and turns right back around, leading us through the hospital doors.
“I just need to make a stop,” he says, walking into the gift shop on the first floor. He takes a few minutes, looking around at all the choices. He finally picks something out. “This is perfect.”
We go up the elevator to pediatrics on the third floor. I’m glad I brought Denver an FDNY t-shirt to wear; it makes him look more official, like we’re not here to kidnap anyone.
As it turns out, however, I didn’t need to worry at all. As soon as we turn the corner, five nurses and a few others start clapping. One of them steps forward. “We heard what you did for Joey. Your nurse told us you’d be coming to see him.”
Denver looks embarrassed by the attention. “Anyone would have done the same. I’m just sorry about his parents. Have the authorities found his next of kin?”
The woman shakes her head. “I’m afraid not. A social worker has been assigned to his case. She may be able to tell you more, she’s in with him now.”
We’re directed down the hall to Joey’s room. We look inside and see him sitting in a hospital bed that looks like a crib. He’s playing with a stuffed animal. When he sees us walk into the room, he looks scared.
Denver immediately walks to the side of the bed. “Hey, Joey. I brought something for you.” He puts the soft fire truck down next to the boy. “I know all of this is scary for you and I’m sorry.” Denver turns to the social worker. “Can he understand me? Does he know what’s happened? I don’t have any kids, so I’m not sure what I should say.”
“You’re doing just fine,” she says. “He’s only fifteen months old, but he understands simple commands. Your tone of voice is probably more important than what you actually say. He’s scared because at this point, we’re all strangers to him. So don’t be offended, he’s bound to be stand-offish with people, especially men.”
I watch as Joey assesses the stuffed fire truck. He looks at it, maybe not knowing if it’s okay to touch it.
“Go ahead,” Denver says. “It’s a fire truck. Do you know what kind of sound a fire truck makes? It sounds like this—” He makes his best siren noises as he pretends to drive the truck around the bed.
Denver continues to do this for a few minutes and then the boy reaches out and takes the toy from him, mimicking his motions of driving it around. He even makes a high-pitched sound like a siren.
“That’s right,” Denver says. “Maybe one day, you can drive a real fire truck. I can tell you’re going to be very strong.”
While Denver and Joey play with the truck, I pull the social worker aside. “What will happen to him?”
“As it turns out, there is a friend of the family who takes in foster kids. We’re putting through the paperwork now. It will be nice to place him somewhere with people who know him.”
“You haven’t found any family yet?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet. We’ll keep trying.”
“What happens if you can’t find anyone?”
“He’ll be placed in a long-term foster home.”
“The friend of the family isn’t that?”
“No. They take emergency cases like Joey until we can find a more permanent placement.”
“I feel so bad for him.” I look over at the sad little boy and see myself, wondering what could possibly be going through his mind. I pray that he’s still young enough that he won’t remember anything. “Please let us know if there is anything we can do. I’m happy to contribute monetarily for his needs.”
The social worker puts a kind hand on my arm. “You are a dear.” She glances over at Joey. “Oh, wow, would you look at that.”
My jaw drops in surprise when I see Joey holding up his arms to Denver. Denver looks at the social worker, who nods her head encouragingly. Then Denver picks up the boy.
Once Joey is in Denver’s arms, he points to his new toy. “Tuck,” he says.
“That’s right,” Denver tells him. “You’re a smart little guy, aren’t you?”
A half-hour later, Denver and I walk out of the hospital with the social worker’s business card. She told us she would be happy to keep us updated on the case.
“That was incredible,” Denver says. “It was almost like … You don’t think he remembers me from the fire, do you? That’s not possible, right?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I didn’t remember you from my accident, yet I felt an instant connection with you. And I painted the eyes. Obviously, my sub-conscious remembered you. Maybe his does, too.”
“Poor kid,” he says, looking back at the hospital when we reach the street corner.
I grab his hand. “You and I turned out okay. Joey will, too.”
He nods. “I really hope so.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
I put down my phone, having recorded a bit of Aspen as she played the piano. She’s very good.
She sits down next to me, nodding to my phone. “You take a lot of videos. I saw you recording earlier today when I first got here.”
When Aspen arrived home this afternoon, I finally understood what it truly means to have a sibling. The look on her face when she walked through the door and saw her brother, alive and well, is something I always want to remember. I think I might even want to paint it someday. After she wrapped him in her arms, I didn’t think she was ever going to let him go.
“People think I’m strange,” I tell her, fiddling with my phone. “But I just want to remember everything.”
She smiles in understanding. “Of course you do. After what you went through, it’s perfectly understandable.”
I look over at Denver and Sawyer as they’re discussing tonight’s baseball game. Denver couldn’t go, but we did watch it on TV after he napped all afternoon.
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