Wagering Home

by C. M. Boers

  Jeremy stood in the doorway. I recognized him right away from the picture sitting next to me. His sandy blond hair hung to his blue eyes. He looked the same, except for a black eye and cut on his lip. His right arm was held in a sling.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  He stepped inside and sat on the edge of the chair next to the bed.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “It hurts . . .” I said. “Everywhere.”

  He nodded and looked to the floor. “Your parents didn’t want me to come.”

  “Why?”

  “They were worried it might upset you. They said . . . you don’t remember . . .” There was a sadness in his voice as he let the words fall away, his eyes searching mine.

  I pulled my lips between my teeth, unsure of how to tell him I didn’t remember a single thing. I settled for shaking my head.

  “I’m really sorry. I should have seen them coming . . . I should have done something. If I had—”

  “This isn’t something you expect. There’s no way you could have prevented it.”

  He was silent for a while. I looked at my breakfast and took a bite. “Do you mind if I call the nurse? I could really use some pain medicine.”

  “Let me.” He jumped up and disappeared into the hall.

  There was no need to go out there, with the button to call her right there, but I imagined, being in his shoes, I would want to do anything I could to help.

  I pushed my breakfast around my plate, nibbling here and there as I did, waiting for his return.

  Wendy appeared, with Jeremy at her heels. She poured water from my pitcher into a foam cup and handed the pills to me.

  “How are we feeling today?”

  “Better than yesterday.”

  “That’s good news. Maybe we can get you up on crutches today.”

  My eyebrows rose. “Uh . . . maybe.”

  She chuckled. “The sooner you get up, the sooner you can leave.”

  “Well, if that’s all I’ve got to do to bust out of here, then sign me up.”

  “You got it. I’ll come back in a bit to check vitals after you finish eating.”

  “Thanks.”

  She left the room, and I turned back to Jeremy, who’d settled himself back in the chair. He looked unsure, nervous somehow.

  I started eating.

  Jeremy didn’t seem to know what to say. And it wasn’t like I did. He was like a complete stranger, yet the way he looked at me, I could see his affection for me. How did one begin to put the pieces of their life back together if they didn’t even know what the puzzle looked like? How could I even begin?

  “Where were we going?”

  “Huh?” Jeremy’s eyes met mine.

  “Where were we going when we got into the accident?”

  A half-grin pushed up his cheek, exposing a dimple. “We’d just left dinner. We decided to go to our place. The preserve. You wanted to skip rocks at the pond in the moonlight. You wanted to see the ripples in the reflection of the moon. The moon was really bright that night, beautiful.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “Yeah, it would have been.” Regret hung on his words.

  “You said, ‘our place’ . . .”

  “Yeah. Almost a year ago, we went walking the trails there. Along the way, you pulled me to the side, and under the shade of some enormous trees right by the pond . . . you told me you loved me.”

  I smiled hearing him speak about our place—I only wished I remembered it.

  No longer hungry, I pushed the rolling table aside.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  “No, you aren’t.” He stood. “I’ve upset you.”

  I looked up at him, unsure of what to say to make it better. Nothing came. I swallowed hard.

  He grabbed a piece of paper from the counter and wrote down something. He picked it up and made his way back over to the bed, stopping next to me.

  “Your cell was destroyed in the accident. This is my number. Call me anytime. And if you want me here, I’ll be here in minutes, no matter what time. I promise. I’m here for you, no matter what.” Jeremy bent, pressing his hand to the crown of my head. He rested his lips on my forehead and inhaled deep, then turned and walked out.

  I ached for him to come back, but not for me; for him. Somehow, it seemed as if leaving wasn’t what he wanted, yet I made no move to stop him.

  After a while, sitting in silence, I flipped on the TV, but I soon found I disliked it. Maybe I always did. I couldn’t know for sure.

  I shut it off and settled my hands in my lap. This was going to be a long day. What did I normally do to occupy myself?

  It seemed suddenly urgent that I knew—Who am I?

  I eyed the table where my parents had stowed the picture frames and books they’d brought.

  I glanced down at my broken leg and back at the table. I debated calling the nurse, but I hated to bother her just to get me something. Instead, I threw off the blanket and lifted my casted leg off the bed, draping my other next to it.

  Inching my butt to the edge was a painstakingly slow process. I pressed off the bed railings and immediately regretted it when pain ripped through my ribcage. I took deep breaths, trying to breathe through it. Then my bare foot hit the cold tile, and it was like I’d finally begun living again.

  On one foot, I brought myself upright, keeping my broken leg off the ground. At first I thought I could use the rolling table as a crutch, until it rolled away from me each time I hopped, making my ribs burn. I shoved it away and smiled to myself when hopping unassisted didn’t hurt as bad. It was a small victory when I made it to the table, but when I stacked the books on top of each other, I realized maybe this had been shortsighted. Hopping back with the heavy books in my arms wouldn’t be easy. I heaved them up, cradling them on one side.

  The first hop was fine, but the second sent everything wobbling, including me. My free arm flailed, trying to balance. As a last-ditch effort, I lunged, tossing the books to the bed as I crashed to the floor, taking the water pitcher on the table down with me.

  Ice cold water splashed everywhere. I sucked in as it made contact with my skin.

  “Ow!” I cried out as my butt hit the floor, the impact vibrating through my spine. Tears stung my eyes.

  A nurse appeared in the doorway within seconds. “What happened?”

  She bent quickly, trying to get the table moved, then turned her attention back to me.

  “I was trying to get those books.” I pointed to the books sprawled across the bed.

  “You should have called for help. You don’t even have crutches yet.” She picked up the pitcher and mopped up the water with the towels by the sink. “Are you hurt?”

  “Besides my ego . . . and a sore butt, not any more than before.” I pulled at the fabric of the wet hospital gown clinging to my legs.

  “Good. Let’s get you up.” She leaned over and hoisted me up by my armpits. My hospital gown flapped open, revealing my backside. The nurse quickly shut it as she slid her hand down my side, helping support me in every way she could as I hopped back to the bed. I dropped onto the mattress and scooted back into place, but she didn’t cover me up.

  She walked over to the drawers next to the sink and pulled out a long nightgown.

  “Your parents brought you some pajamas so you’d be more comfortable. Would you like to put some on?”

  “Yes, please.” Getting out of this stiff, bleach-smelling, wet hospital gown sounded amazing.

  “Okay, I’ll get you a warm washcloth to freshen up, too. Lean forward, and I’ll untie you.”

  She undid my hospital gown and stepped back. “Can you manage on your own, or would you like me to help?”

  “No, I’ve got it.” It was bad enough she’d already seen my behind.

  She nodded, then headed into the bathroom, returning with a washcloth and dry towel. “Wendy will be in to check on you in a bit.”

  She closed
the door behind herself, and I threw the stiff hospital gown to the floor, then proceeded to clean myself up. I couldn’t wait to take a real shower. I felt so much better, even after the miniscule sponge bath, as I slid the soft nightgown over my head.

  Across the room, I spotted a hamper. I lifted the washcloth above my head and tossed it with a flick of my wrist. The door swung open again, and Grace pushed herself into the room. The towel fell to the floor right in front of her. Her eyebrows raised.

  My cheeks heated. “I missed.”

  “I see that. They don’t have you up yet?”

  “We will right now,” Wendy said as she rounded the corner. “Sounds like you tried all by yourself a little bit ago.”

  “It didn’t go so well.”

  “That’s because you didn’t have help. Guess I kept you waiting too long.” She grabbed the crutches and pressed a button with her foot, lowering the bed. “Come on, swing those legs over here.”

  I scooted myself to the edge of the bed once again. Wendy put a crutch on either side of me.

  “All right, upsy-daisy. Use the crutches to support your weight on your hands and arms, not your armpits.”

  Nothing could have prepared me for the burn in my ribcage. Nothing in the world.

  “Make sure you’re supporting yourself with your arms. It’ll hurt your ribs less,” Wendy said.

  “Aww, our little girl is growing up so fast. Already taking her first steps.” Grace tilted her head to the side, watching.

  Wendy shook her head. “Ignore her.”

  At first, I was more unbalanced than I cared to admit. It’s just a broken leg. So many people get around fine like that, but with the pain in my ribs, it was a lot harder than I expected it to be. Though, in minutes, I’d already improved.

  Up and down the hall I went. It reassured me to know if I wanted to get up, I could without help.

  “Okay, let’s not push it. Back to bed.” Wendy pointed back towards my room.

  “Aw, come on. We were just going to race,” Grace teased.

  I giggled.

  “Nope. No racing. Back to bed, Melanie.” Wendy just shook her head. “Grace, you need to get to physical therapy.”

  “I know, I know. Always wanting to get rid of me. But just think about when I’m gone. You’re going to miss me, you’ll see.” She smirked. “I’ll be by later.”

  I nodded and hobbled back to my room. I had yet to make it back in bed when my parents walked in.

  “Oh, honey,” Mom gushed. “You’re up and around. I’m so happy to see that.”

  Out of reflex, I smiled half-heartedly at her.

  “She’s doing much better, now that she has crutches.” Wendy winked.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh? Did you struggle at first?” Dad asked.

  “Oh . . . uh . . .”

  “She tried to do it without telling anyone. She took a spill, but she’s just fine,” Wendy finished for me.

  Mom shook her head. “That’s just like her, to push herself too far.”

  Wendy helped me shift my weight and scoot back into bed. She rested the crutches on the side of the bed. “The doctor arrived a little bit ago. I’ll let him know you’re ready for him to come in.”

  Not even a minute passed before a man entered the room. At first glance his face looked to be younger than my parents, but his salt-and-pepper hair made me question that.

  “I hear you’re doing so much better today.” He looked at me.

  “I am.”

  “Good, good.” He looked over my chart and made a few notes, then searched our faces. “Do we have any questions?”

  “When can she leave?” my mom asked.

  The doctor smiled. “Ah, the most asked question of my day.” He glanced back over his notes on the tablet and took my vitals. He used his flashlight, checked my eyes, and looked over the stitches on my cheek. “Everything looks good. I think we’ll keep her one more night, and she can go home tomorrow, as long as everything still looks good.”

  “Great,” Mom said. I could hear how relieved she was. “Thank you.”

  “Sure. Just let me know if you need anything.” He gave a nod and left.

  My parents’ voices faded into the background as they talked about what would happen tomorrow when I got to go home.

  A short time later, someone brought me lunch. A sandwich and soup. Not very appetizing. I nibbled here and there while my mom fussed over how little I ate and Dad told her to leave me alone. I finished the fruit, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her, and she didn’t say anything else.

  For a while, I watched my parents move about the room, opening the curtains to “let the light in,” changing the water in the flower vases to “keep them fresh,” and organizing the drawers of clothes.

  I couldn’t help wondering what it mattered anyway. It was a hospital room; it’s depressing no matter how much fussing with it you do. Besides, I was leaving tomorrow anyway.

  The doctor’s words echoed in my head. “She can go home tomorrow . . .”

  Getting out of this bed was one step closer to normalcy. Even if I didn’t know what waited for me at home, it had to be better than here, where even the bed hurt.

  I was lost in thought when Dad tapped my hand.

  “Melanie? Are you okay?”

  “Huh? What?”

  “Your mom and I have a benefit tonight. Will you be okay without us here for the evening?”

  “Of course.” For once, I might actually have a chance to go through the books I’d fallen trying to get. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Mom asked.

  “Positive.”

  Mom turned to Dad. “Should we take some of these vases with us so there aren’t so many to take tomorrow?”

  “What do you think, honey? Do you mind if we take some?”

  I shook my head. “Go ahead.”

  After a couple trips back and forth to the car, my parents left for the night.

  The light outside my window was almost gone and diminished by the minute. The books still sat on the table beside me, taunting me with their unseen pages. Not a single moment today had I been alone and able to crack one of them open without watchful eyes on me.

  Grabbing the one on top, I flipped it open. A photo album. Photos of a baby—me, I assumed, with my much younger-looking parents. Pictures of my first birthday and every single one after that, ending with my eighteenth, with Jeremy smiling by my side. It was the last of the birthday pictures, leading me to believe it must have been my last.

  Eighteen. I looked so happy.

  Throughout the faces of people I didn’t know, arms circled my shoulders or my waist, some of their shoulders pressed against mine.

  At one point, someone brought in my dinner, and I ate while I continued to pour over the pages of my life, inspecting each picture with close scrutiny, hoping even a glimmer of recognition might pop out.

  I paid closest attention to the most recent ones. One girl stood out and appeared to be in just about all of them since I was ten. Her black hair and green eyes only accentuated her beauty that progressed as time passed. Braces we both had at the same time now gone, revealing her beautiful smile, and mine.

  It was weird looking at pictures, watching someone grow into a woman without knowing anything about them, like how she got that scar above her eye. I saw the stitches in one picture and found it was all I could think of. I was positive I knew at the time.

  I stared at the latest picture of me and her. Where was she right now? Did my parents tell her to stay away, too?

  Without notice, the book was ripped from my hands.

  “What are you looking at?” Grace grinned down at the book as she flipped through it. “Who are they?”

  I shrugged.

  “You’re staring at pictures of people you don’t even remember? How depressing.” She tossed it aside. “Want to get out of here for a bit?”

  I glanced at the window. It was now completely dark. Ho
w long had I been studying that photo album?

  “Are we allowed?”

  “What are they going to do?”

  I smirked. “Okay.”

  Grace held my crutches steady as I climbed out of bed. She rolled forward ahead of me, peeking around the corner before she rolled out of the room and down the hall, opposite the nurse’s station.

  “Hurry,” she said.

  I ignored the burn in my ribs, going at the fastest pace I could until we were around the corner and out of sight.

  Leaning up against the wall, I took deep breaths, waiting for it to subside. Grace waited, watching me.

  “You good?” she asked.

  I nodded and pushed away from the wall.

  She pressed the elevator button at the end of the hall and held it open for me to get inside.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “My favorite place.”

  When the doors opened to the lobby, she turned to the right and went through a set of automatic doors that opened to an amazing courtyard completely surrounded by the hospital, like a little cave carved out inside it. It gave the illusion we were outside, yet an all-glass roof gleamed overhead.

  A pond bubbled in the furthest corner, sending a small stream weaving throughout the paths in the entire area. A small bridge went over one section where the water accumulated, and large orange goldfish swam below. All types of greenery and flowers filled the area. Their fragrance permeated the large area, making it smell amazing, and fresh.

  Grace rolled herself over the bridge and stopped next to a bench.

  “This place is incredible.” I sat down next to her, resting my crutches on the bench, grateful for a place to sit.

  I was so glad my parents weren’t here tonight. I never would have gotten to come here otherwise.

  “I come down here a lot at night when nobody else does. Sometimes it makes me feel a little less lonely, and sometimes I come here just to think. It’s quieter.”

  I could see what she meant. Just being here gave you a sense of peace, a tranquility the rest of the hospital didn’t offer, with its looming white walls and incessant beeping of monitors.

  “You know, as much as I can’t wait to get out of here, I’m also scared to leave. Nothing will be the same when I get home. My parents already look at me like I’m broken; they probably won’t let me do anything. I definitely won’t be able to ride like I used to. It’s all I’ve ever known, riding and competing. That’s it. That’s me.” She looked down at the fish swimming in the pond. “I don’t even know who I am without that.”