Jesus, go away. “You’re an incredible woman. But you know we can’t have anything.” What he wanted to say was Pretend this never happened, rewind, erase, delete.
Elizabeth squared her shoulders. “I just wonder if you care about me at all.”
Do I care about you?
I will go from here to visit my unconscious wife.
Do I care about you?
I want you to disappear.
• • •
An hour later Ben read a trial transcript as he ate lunch. He took another tired bite of the turkey sandwich Anne had made him. He turned a page by pushing it with his clean pinkie. One pile of paper had lowered by a few inches.
Ben startled at the ringing phone. He’d asked to have his calls held. “Illica,” he answered.
“Ben? It’s Nurse Bernadette. From the hospital.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not wrong, it’s good.”
“What’s good?”
“We think she’s waking up, Ben.”
His chest pounded. “Did you call her parents?”
“Not yet. We were just about to.”
“Let me,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
• • •
“Maddy?” Ben ran a finger down her arm. He outlined the rough red skin around her mouth where they’d removed the tape when she began breathing on her own. That’s when they’d moved her from intensive care. Jake had insisted on a private room with a private nurse when they took the tube out. The minute it’s out, he’d demanded. A private room with around-the-clock nursing. I don’t care what it costs. He’d glared at Ben, his hands stiffening into fists, as though Ben would argue against his wife’s comfort.
“Maddy. Sweetheart. I’m here.” Ben pulled the chair closer to the bed. He’d sent the nurse out. He and Maddy were truly alone for the first time since the accident.
He put his mouth close to her ear. “Can you hear me, Mad?” He tried willing her awake, awkwardly following Bernadette’s instructions to envision Maddy opening her eyes and smiling. “Press my hand if you hear me.”
The clock on the wall ticked forward one more second. A truck beeped. Midday sun splattered patterns on the bright quilt folded on the chair. Anne put it across Maddy each time she came, despite knowing the nurses would remove it as soon as she left, concerned about temperature control—not believing that Anne’s mother’s instinct trumped their medical wisdom.
“Please wake up.” Ben put his head lightly on her breast, listening to her blood pulse, speaking straight into her heart. “I’m spinning out, baby.”
Anne rushed in. “Is she awake?”
Ben sat up, holding Maddy’s limp hand in his. “I haven’t seen anything.”
“Why didn’t they call me right away?”
“They phoned my office. I called you as soon as I got here.”
“So why didn’t you call me from the office?” Anne approached the bed, the lines on her face emphasized by harsh hospital light. “Maddy, sweetie, baby, I’m here.” Anne enunciated each word. “Daddy’s on his way. With Gracie and Caleb. Vanessa’s picking up Emma.”
She edged him away, stroking Maddy’s cheek as though she were a baby. “You had a car accident, darling.”
Ben looked for a reaction, a sign that Maddy heard. Anne lifted her eyebrows, commanding him to talk. He cleared his throat. “You’re going to be okay, honey. I promise.” His wife’s fingers felt papery, like onionskin.
“The children started school,” Anne said. “Guess what? I offered to make them all sorts of fancy things to take to school, but they chose peanut butter and jelly. Like Mommy makes, they said.”
“Guess what else,” Ben’s stomach cramped in fear. Where was she? “I’ve been taking sandwiches to work also. Your mother is spoiling me—you better get out of bed fast.”
Anne gave a theatrical chuckle. “He wants you to get up so you can work? You wake up, and I’ll take you to a spa like you wouldn’t believe.”
She inclined her head at Ben’s hand holding Maddy’s, where he caressed her knuckles—the part of her that seemed hardiest at the moment. “Move your fingers, Ben. You’ll wear away the skin going over and over the same spot. Right, sweetheart?” Anne lifted her voice on the last two words, including Maddy in the conversation as though some unseen expert whispered in Anne’s ears on how to handle the situation.
Ben heard running footsteps, then his father-in-law’s voice. “Slower, kids. Stop! You’ll break your neck!”
“Mommy?” Gracie’s anxious question preceded her entrance.
“Mommy, are you awake?” Caleb’s words exploded from him as he ran in. “Mommy! You’re alive!”
Ben caught Caleb before his son jumped onto the bed. “Calm down, cowboy.” Neither Gracie nor Caleb had seen Maddy since the accident. Maybe they hadn’t even believed she was alive.
“Where’s Emma?” Gracie asked.
“Aunt Vanessa’s bringing her, darling.” Jake pressed Gracie toward the bed. “Talk to Mommy, honey. Like we said in the car—to bring her back.”
“Maybe,” Ben emphasized. “Maybe to bring her back.”
Anne glared at him. She smoothed Maddy’s uneven hair, avoiding the shiny skin rising around the scar on her left temple.
Jake scowled. “Be positive. We’re bringing Maddy to the light on the surface.” Hearing Jake repeat Anne’s words felt like watching his father-in-law drape chiffon scarves around his razor-scraped neck.
“The kids shouldn’t think that they’re responsible for Maddy waking up,” Ben said.
“Oh, my God,” Anne whispered. “Were we making them think that?”
Gracie wrapped her arms around her grandmother. “Don’t worry, Grandma. Daddy’s not mad at you.”
Vanessa swept into the room, leaving Emma in her wake. “Why are you crying, Mom? What happened? Ben?”
“Daddy didn’t do anything,” Gracie said. “He just wants us to be careful.”
“Nobody’s blaming Daddy.” Jake smoothed the quilt Anne had placed over Maddy. “Why don’t I go get some soda for everyone? The kids must be hungry and thirsty after school.”
“No soda,” Vanessa said. “They’ll just get a sugar high. Look at Caleb.”
Caleb perched so precariously at the edge of Maddy’s bed he could barely stay on without falling.
“Be careful, don’t hurt Mommy,” Vanessa said.
“I’m not.” Caleb’s voice was muffled, his head buried in Maddy’s white hospital blanket. “She likes it. I can tell.”
“We have to be calm. And quiet,” Emma whispered. “Like it says in the book.”
Ben felt as though he’d lost his chance. He’d wanted to be alone with Maddy, to be the first one she saw.
“Daddy, look!” Gracie tugged his jacket sleeve.
Ben looked. Maddy’s thumb swept a slow arc through their son’s hair. Gracie and Emma came to him, one on each side. Holding hands, they walked to the side of the bed next to Caleb and stood.
CHAPTER 20
Maddy
“Want . . . home.” Words weighed so much.
Ben nodded. “I know, baby. I want you to come home, but first, you need the rehabilitation center. Remember?”
Maddy squeezed her eyes.
She tried to concentrate.
“Laigh ning?” she asked.
Everyone kept telling her she was . . . what? Lighting? Lighting up? Hit by lightning? She was lightening?
“Lightening, Maddy,” Ben said. “It’s what you’re going through . . . coming up a little at a time. It feels like coming up from underwater, right?”
She tried to repeat the word. “Laight. Nnnng.” Words, so clear in her head, slipped out soft and slurry. Mercury words.
“Do you remember, Maddy?” her father’s voice boomed.
DO YOU? DO YOU? DO YOU, MADDY?
“We just told you this five minutes ago, honey,” her father insisted. “Remember?”
REMEMBER? REMEMBER? REMEMBER?
/> “She needs to hear things repeatedly.” Ben put a whisper-soft hand on her knee. “Her memory is shaky.”
“I know, I know.” Maddy’s father paced back and forth at the end of her bed. “Where’s Annie, for God’s sake? How long could it take to drive over from Coolidge Corner?”
When she or Vanessa made their father mad, he’d huff and turn to their mother with bullet eyes. Annie, take care of this.
This she remembered.
“She’ll be here soon,” Ben told her father.
“Why the hell is it taking so long?” Her father walked to the window.
Her eyes closed. She opened them again, trying to speak, wondering why her hands were fluttering in slow circles. “Mom? Loost?”
Her father went to the foot of her bed. “Of course she’s not lost, baby.” He grabbed her toes, holding a foot in each of his calloused hands.
“Stoh . . . stoh.” Maddy tried to pull away from his firm grip.
“What’s wrong?”
Why couldn’t she pull her legs away?
Finally. Her feet were free. She could wiggle her toes. “Hat. Hat . . . that.”
“You love having your feet massaged,” he insisted.
“Haaaat,” she tried to scream. She hated it, and she hated her father for not knowing she didn’t like it. Words roared inside and came out as little whispers. “Foook.” Her breath caught with each labored sob. “Foook . . . foook. Foook.”
Her father rubbed her arm until it felt like the Indian burns she and Vanessa gave each other as kids. Up burn. Down burn. Her huffy sobs came faster. “Staa. Staaaa.”
“What, Maddy? What?” Her father gripped her arm until she moaned, and Ben peeled his hands away.
“She’s saying stop,” Ben said. “She doesn’t want you to touch her.”
Salt stung her eyes. Mucus clogged her nose. “Stah.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” Her father spoke too loud. He hurt her ears. I’M SORRY, BABY.
“It’s not you, Jake,” Ben said. “Maddy feels overstimulated. Remember what Dr. Paulo told us? Physical touch overwhelms her—we have to gauge everything through her reactions.”
Ben’s words were soft. Running word rivers. She floated in Ben River. Sun poured . . . Ben-words were cushions for floating.
“We love you,” her father said.
Too loud! “Staaaa.”
“What’s she saying?”
“She’s still trying to say stop,” Ben said. “Why don’t you give us a minute?”
“You want me to leave?” her father asked.
“Just give us a moment alone, okay? I have to get her ready for the transfer. When she gets upset, it’s even harder for her to talk.”
“Noo. Staa.” Quiet, please, please, please, quiet.
“See, she doesn’t want me to go.”
“That’s not why she’s saying no,” Ben said.
She opened her eyes. Trying to focus. Like squeezing a muscle. Concentrating. Pushing baby carriage up a hill. Trying to get a word out. Lost her breath.
“Ben. Waaaaant. Ben. Peeease.” Slop speech. Cement. Last stage before hardening.
Her father backed away from her bed, putting his hands up in front of him. “I’ll call your mother—see what’s keeping her.”
Her breathing slowed. Her father started to bend, looming over her, and then stopped. “I love you, Maddy.”
“La. Lo, Daaa.” He walked away. The door whooshed shut. Ben’s hand soft, soft, teensy touch landed on her cheek. She turned into it. His hand cupped her face. She caught his hand between her face and shoulder. Her tears wet his hand and then came back on her. “La lo, Ben.”
“Shh, shh. I love you too.” Ben reached into his pocket and brought out his folded white handkerchief. After wiping her eyes, he held the white cloth to her nose. “Blow. Can you blow, Mad?”
She tried to blow but didn’t have the power. Panicked, she rocked forward. Tried to clear her nose, her throat. Ben put his broad arm behind her, lifted her forward, stuffed pillows behind her, and traced soft circles. “It’s okay. Breathe out. Breathe slowly. It will come back.”
She tried to breathe through her mouth. In and out. One. Two. One. Two. In time to the circles. Ben put the handkerchief back to her nose. Maddy blew until her nose cleared and then fell back into the pillows. Exhausted. Closed her eyes.
“I’m going to wash your face, Mad. Just shake your head if it doesn’t feel good, hon.”
Ben swept the hot moist cloth over her skin. Over her temples, her cheeks, around her neck. Another little towel. He patted the wet from her face, and then took her hands, one at a time, and wiped each one with the damp cloth. Cleaned each finger separately. Like she’d cleaned Caleb’s hands. Caleb was her sloppy eater.
“Than . . . than.”
“Shh. No thanking needed, honey.”
“I . . . I . . .” She aimed all the power she had into her throat. “Nee tahk.”
“It’s temporary, it will just take time. Remember?”
“Wha ha?”
“You were in a car accident. Remember?”
Remember. Remember. Remember.
“Caah?”
“You hurt your brain.” Ben crouched next to the bed so they were eye to eye. “And the muscles around your mouth have been affected. It’s called dysarthria. Dis-ahr-three-uh. The muscles are slowed. It’s hard for you to move them. It will heal, Mad. I know it’s frustrating. Your speech can’t keep up with your thoughts, and you can’t hear everything right—the processing button is off.”
She stared at him. Processing button! Like their oil burner’s red button. Restart. She needed to push restart. “So . . . so . . .” How to say tired? Exhaustion bore down like a thousand-year flu. “Tar . . . ed.”
“I know. You’re tired. You’ve been sleeping,” he said. “A long time. Weeks.”
“Wex? Many?”
How many weeks had she been sleeping? She remembered nothing. Were the kids in the car? Were the kids hurt? Dead? Did she kill her children? Her breath sped up. Fast jerky catches hurt her chest. “Chil . . . ren. Eem? Grazee. Clab?”
Ben kissed her hand. “The kids are fine. They weren’t in the car. Just us. It’s been three weeks. Well, four now—you woke up a week ago. Shh. It’s okay. You’re going to be just fine, baby. You’ll be in the rehab just for a little while. We’re lucky—your body is okay.”
She tried to shake her head from side to side. More tears leaked out. Ben wiped them. He rubbed her curls back. Where she had hair. His hand brushed the bad spot. She pulled away.
“Sorry. Let me fix you up a little. For the ride. In the ambulance. I’ll be with you.”
She sagged into the bed as Ben opened the drawer in the nightstand. “Here we are.” He took out a little pink brush. “I’m going to crank up the bed a little.” He pushed the pillows to the small of her back. With soft hands, he stroked the baby brush over the outer layer of her thick hair. He brushed it into a lopsided ponytail, looping a red scrunchie around it twice. “I won’t be replacing Lola, that’s for certain.” He smoothed back the hair that escaped.
Lola? She wrinkled her face, trying to remember. “Lo?”
“Your hairdresser,” Ben said.
Hairdresser. Dressed her hair. Put on a little hair shirt and hair skirt. She laughed. Ben tried to tuck in her stray curls, smoothing and touching her as though she were Gracie.
“I love you,” he said. “I missed you. I need you.” He leaned on her shoulder for a moment with a weight she couldn’t bear. She tried to shift, slide him off, and succeeded in moving only millimeters.
“Sorry. I forgot. I know. You’re all raw skin now. That’s what Bernadette said.”
She forced a hand over to his. Tapped his knuckle with a finger.
“Bernadette. She’s the nurse you like. The one who keeps coming in, remember?”
Remember, remember, remember.
No, she didn’t remember. She wanted to go to sleep.
“That’s okay. C
lose your eyes. Rest. I’ll read to you.” She heard Ben reaching. Cotton shirt rubbed against plastic chair—a soft slidey sound. She felt him put his feet up on the bed railing. Safe.
After
* * *
October
CHAPTER 21
Maddy
Rehab—ha!
Prison.
All of them said it, all the prisoners. After group therapy, they said it. Eating the horrible food, they said it. Begging for snacks, they said it. Playing sadistic brain games, they said it.
Maddy sat on the scratchy orange couch in the rehab lounge room. Lounge room! Ha.
Grunge room. That’s what it was. Lavender scent rose from her arm as she reached into her shirt pocket. Vanessa buried her in perfumes, giving her reasons for every one. Lavender soothes. Cinnamon . . . What did cinnamon do? She took out the little notebook they made her carry everywhere, opened it to the last page, and found her morning entry written in her shaky hand: Day 20 rehab hospitl. Thersday October 2. Meat Jack at one. Then do with Zelda.
Ick, Jack the puzzle man. She hated the puzzle man. She went to the Jack puzzle room. Went to the puzzle table where Jack sat.
“You’re late.”
Nice way to say hello—fuck Jack.
“You need to remember to get here on time. It’s part of your rehab. Now, time to get to work. Sit.”
Blah, blah, blah—that’s what he sounded like in her head. Jack made her stare at wooden words that made no sense until she squeezed, squeezed, and squeezed her brain. Her head, crystal clear one moment, tangled like twisted chains the next. No one cared. She’d remember, and then, like a snow globe shaken by an evil god, white layers covered her thoughts.
It’s the drugs, the rehab counselors said.
Sleep, the rehab nurses said. You need lots of sleep.
Your brain is healing, the brain doctor said.
Zelda said that was just the way it was. Up and down. Genius to blockhead and back again. Zelda was her good person helper, the nice one.
“Come on, now, Maddy. You can do it. You did it yesterday,” the puzzle man said.
Puzzle Man was her worst jailer. She hated, hated, hated him. What was his name?
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