Annie reads until the sun crosses the horizon. The rays of light dancing across the page eventually tire her eyes, and she drifts off to sleep.
~ ~ ~
Today is Sunday, the day when Doctor Sharma visits the hospital just once in the afternoon. When he arrives Annie is sound asleep. He slides the book from beneath her hands and places it on the table. Although she doesn’t wake, Oliver’s right eyelid flutters.
It is barely a movement. A flutter so small it could easily go unnoticed by an unskilled eye. Sharma waits and watches. He remains there for a half hour and when there is nothing more, he turns to leave.
The sun is high in the sky, so the shadow of his movement falls across Annie’s face and wakes her.
She stretches and yawns. “I was reading to Oliver and must have fallen asleep. Have you been here long?”
“Only a few moments,” he says. He makes no mention of the fluttering eyelid because it could be nothing. And if it is something, he wants Annie to have the joy of claiming it. “Is there anything new to report?”
“Well, I’m feeling a bit better today,” Annie says. “If I eat a slice of bread before dinner, my tummy is a lot less queasy.”
“Interesting,” Sharma says and nods. “And with Mister Doyle, any changes?”
“Not yet,” Annie says. “But I think maybe today.”
There is a strange new sound of confidence in her voice. It piques Sharma’s curiosity. “Why today?”
“I think I’ve found something powerful enough to pull him out of this coma.” She smiles and taps her finger on the book. “It’s this.”
Sharma angles his head sideways and reads the title. “The Wisdom of Judicial Judgment in the Practice of Law.”
Annie grins. “It’s Oliver’s favorite book.” She lifts it from the table, turns to the opening page and hands it to him. “See, it’s dedicated to Oliver.”
“Interesting.” Sharma holds the book open and scans a few pages. It is like the medical textbooks he studied: words, words, words piled one on top of the other. Sentences so long they became a paragraph.
Thinking back on those tedious hours of reading, he asks, “Do you think a different type of story might be more stimulating? A story of love, perhaps?”
Annie shakes her head. “Nothing could be more special than this book; it was written by his father. It’s the thread that ties everything together.”
~ ~ ~
Throughout the afternoon Annie reads to Oliver. They are long sentences with cumbersome words that stumble across her tongue—amicus curiae, de facto, exculpatory, habeas corpus. She is on page 48 when she looks up and sees his eyes are open.
“Oliver!” she screams.
The book falls to the floor as she jumps up and leans over him.
“Thank God, you’re alright,” she says. “I’ve been praying night and day…”
Suddenly she notices he is not looking at her. His eyes are open, but they seem to see nothing.
“Do you know who I am?” she asks.
His eyes follow the sound and shift slightly to the right where she stands, but there is no other response.
“Oliver, it’s me. Annie!” There is a new desperation in her voice. “Do you know where you are? Do you remember the accident?”
He looks in her direction a few seconds longer, then closes his eyes again.
Annie calls out for the nurse. “Something’s wrong. Oliver opened his eyes but then closed them again.”
“That can happen,” the nurse replies. “It may be the start of him coming out of the coma.”
Annie’s eyes are now filled with tears. “You don’t understand. He didn’t even know who I was.”
The nurse gives Annie’s shoulders a squeeze of reassurance. “Don’t worry. Most of the time they get back to remembering, sooner or later.”
Most of the time? Sooner or later?
The thought keeps racing through Annie’s mind. He was awake but didn’t know me. She cannot help but wonder if this accident will have wiped away all his memories. Her. His family. This book.
It is a long while before Annie picks up the book and begins to read again. This time it is with greater purpose. In between the sentences of legalese, she adds stories of their life. A mention of the wedding. A reference to Max’s plan for the added wing. Memory House. The loft. The nights they spent lying on a blanket beneath the stars. The time they made love beneath the weeping willow.
In the wee hours of the morning, Annie’s words drift off and she falls asleep. When the book falls to the floor, Oliver’s foot twitches. Annie doesn’t see this because her eyes are already closed.
The First Word
On Monday morning when the lab opens at seven, Doctor Sharma is already waiting at the door. Before the attendant switches on the overhead light, Sharma asks for the report on Annie Doyle.
“Let me check if it’s ready,” the attendant says and disappears into the back.
It is fifteen minutes before he reappears with the report. “Looks like you’re gonna have a happy patient,” he says then hands the report to Sharma.
It is as Rahul suspected. Annie is pregnant. Given the circumstances, he is uncertain whether this will be good news or bad.
~ ~ ~
When Annie wakes she glances at the clock. Seven-ten.
“Oh dear,” she says, “I hope I haven’t missed Doctor Sharma.”
This, of all mornings, she needs to talk with him. She needs to tell him of the changes. Even more so, she needs to hear him say Oliver’s blank stare is normal; that given time he will remember her and the life they have together.
If it takes a year or ten years, Annie is determined to make it happen. The book caused Oliver to open his eyes so she will continue to read from it, even if she has to read and then reread all nine hundred and eighty-seven pages.
She squats next to the bed and stretches her arm to reach the book where it has slid under the bed. Her shoulder pushes against the bed and jostles Oliver.
He opens his eyes again and senses the tube taped to his mouth. He wants to reach up and yank it from his lips, but his arms don’t move. His mouth twitches to the right, and his jaw moves.
Once Annie has pulled the book from beneath the bed, she sits in the chair with it in her lap and opens it to page eighty-three. This is where she left off. Before she starts to read she looks across at Oliver.
His eyes are again open, but this time there is a sense of panic in them.
Annie sets the book aside, steps to the bed and lifts his hand into hers. “Don’t be frightened. Everything is going to be okay.”
Her voice is soothing and comfortable, like a familiar song, but Oliver can only faintly remember where he has heard it before.
This time instead of asking questions, Annie gives answers.
“You’re in Mercy General Hospital,” she says. “There was a car accident…” She says nothing more about the accident, because it is something that could send him back into the painless world of not remembering.
“Your name is Oliver Doyle, and I’m your wife, Annie. We were married on June fifth at the Good Shepherd Church in Burnsville.” She hesitates a moment then asks, “Do you remember any of that?”
He blinks his eyes, and Annie suspects he has also made an effort to nod. Although she does not see his head move, there is a distinct shift in the fabric of the pillowcase.
The words that follow are wrapped in a prayer bigger than anything Annie has ever asked for in all of her life. “Oliver, if you can understand what I am saying, squeeze my hand or blink twice.”
For a moment there is nothing. Annie’s hand holds his with a touch so light she can feel even the slightest twinge of movement. She watches his face and then, after what seems an eternity, he blinks twice.
“Thank you, God!” Annie shouts. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Her shout is heard at the nurse’s station, and Nancy Pearl comes running in. “Is there a problem?”
With a gri
n that stretches the full width of her face, Annie says, “Oliver is awake and alive!”
When Doctor Sharma arrives at eight-thirty, Annie is standing beside the bed telling Oliver stories of their life together. There is much he does not remember, but every so often he blinks an acknowledgment of something Annie has mentioned.
Sharma sees this. “Ah, it looks like our patient is finally awake.”
“Not only awake! He understands what I am saying!”
Annie feels compelled to demonstrate this. “Blink twice to show Doctor Sharma.”
He blinks twice.
“Very good.” Sharma nods. “Any muscle movements?”
Oliver makes an effort to answer, but with the breathing tube taped to his mouth it is impossible. The muscle on the right side of his face twitches.
“Very good,” Sharma repeats. “You have a breathing tube in because your sternum was fractured. It is now stabilized and you should be able to breathe on your own, so I am going to remove the tube from your throat. Is that okay?”
Oliver blinks twice.
Sharma goes to the sink, scrubs his hands, then returns to Oliver’s bedside. As he works he talks, explaining each movement. He gently pries the edges of the adhesive tape from Oliver’s skin.
“Removing the intubation will not hurt,” he assures Oliver. “Once it is out you will feel much better. Your throat may be dry and scratchy for a few days, so drink plenty of water…”
He steps back, drops the used tubing into a disposal bag and says, “All done.”
Oliver’s first few gasps of air are labored, and he winces from the pain in his chest. Once the panic of the moment passes, he settles into a rhythmic pattern of shallow breaths.
“Better?” Sharma asks.
Oliver blinks twice.
As his chest rises and falls, Annie leans down, puts her lips to his and kisses him. That gentle kiss is a memory Oliver will hold onto for the rest of his days.
Not all of Doctor Sharma’s patients are success stories. This one is, so he allows himself to stay and enjoy the moment. Happy though it may be, he knows there is still an uphill road ahead.
“Recovery is a slow process,” he warns. “You may feel frustrated by words you can’t remember or motor skills that seem too difficult, but you’ll have physical therapy to help you through it.”
It is a small movement, but Annie notices Oliver draw his brows together as he listens intently.
“You will be able to remember some things,” Sharma says, “but there may be other memories you’ll never recapture.”
“That’s okay.” Annie smiles. “If it’s anything worth remembering, I’ll be around to remind him.”
“Your sternum is still healing, so your chest will probably be painful for a few more weeks,” Sharma continues. “And it will be another six weeks before the cast comes off your leg.”
Rahul Sharma is a doctor who prides himself in his bedside manner. He is prudent in his predictions, careful to never offend and cautious about what he discloses, but today he is caught up in the happiness of this family and the pleasure he derives from being part of it. On top of all the warnings and precautions he offers a bit of good news.
“Given enough rehabilitation and rest,” he says with a grin, “I think you’ll be just fine by time the baby comes along.”
Annie gasps. “Baby?”
“Baby?” Oliver croaks.
Annie turns to Oliver. “You spoke! You said baby!”
The corners of Oliver’s mouth curl into a stiff smile. “Baby,” he repeats.
Annie turns to Sharma. “Are you saying that I’m pregnant?”
“Yes.” Sharma nods. His face is beet red. “I apologize. My intention was just to tell you the results of your blood test so it was in my thoughts, but with all the excitement…” He spreads his hands as a simple gesture of regret and says, “I’m afraid I’ve let the dog out of the sack.”
“Cat out of the bag.” Annie laughs.
“Ah, yes,” Sharma says. “Cat out of the bag.”
“How can I not forgive you?” Annie says. “This day is everything I could possibly wish for. You’ve given me back the love of my life, and now we have another blessing to share.”
That day Doctor Sharma spends nearly two hours with Oliver and Annie, and as a result he is late visiting every one of his patients. It is the first time Rahul has ever been late for anything, and it is also the first time he’s ever been spotted walking with such a jaunty step through the hospital corridors.
Celebration Time
After struggling through all those days of empty silence, Annie is now caught up in a whirlwind of happenings. Within the first few hours Oliver can say words; sentences will come later but for now a single word brings the joy of a song. Every tiny movement is a mountain climbed, a hurdle overcome. Oliver can already move his fingers and wrists but not his arms or legs. Doctor Sharma says in time that will come.
Once they are alone, Annie pulls out her cell phone. “I can’t wait to tell Mom and Dad.”
As she dials the number at Memory House she tries to think of some clever way to give them this exciting news, but when Ethan Allen answers she blurts out, “Oliver is awake and talking!”
“Is this Annie?” Ethan asks. “I don’t think I heard—”
“Yes, it’s me, and you heard me correctly; Oliver is awake, and he’s able to talk! Not a lot, but that will come in time.”
“Thank God,” Ethan says. “Laura! Oliver is awake!”
Annie hears the clip, clip, clop of Laura’s footsteps as she runs to pick up the extension.
“Is it true?” Laura asks. “Is it honest-to-God true?”
“Yes,” Annie answers.
When she hangs up the telephone, she snaps a picture of Oliver with her cell phone. He’s not yet smiling, but he’s awake and for now that’s enough. She attaches it to a quick e-mail and sends it off to Charlie.
Before ten minutes have passed her phone rings.
Charlie’s voice is a mixture of joy and disbelief. “Praise the Lord!” he shouts.
“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Annie says. “I’ll put you on speaker so Oliver can hear you, but he’s not up to answering yet.”
Charlie’s words are short and sweet. “I love you Bro,” he says. The happiness in his voice is obvious.
In less than an hour Ethan and Laura are at the hospital. Oliver has the back of his bed cranked up to an angle where he can see visitors, and his eyes are open.
“You are surely a sight for sore eyes,” Ethan says. He moves close and gives Oliver a gentle hug. It is a cheek-to-cheek thing, not the manly hug he’d prefer, but Oliver is still frail so for now it is enough. Laura comes from behind him and kisses her son on the cheek.
“You gave us quite a scare,” she says. “But all along your daddy knew. He kept telling me, ‘Don’t worry, Laura, if anybody can beat this thing, it’s Oliver.’” As she speaks her hands flutter about him, smoothing the sheet, pushing back a strand of hair fallen across his brow. Even though he is a grown man with a life of his own, she is still his mother and she fusses over him as any mother would.
Oliver tires easily. After a short time his eyes start to droop.
“We should go now,” Ethan says.
Laura reluctantly steps away from the bed then stops and looks back.
“We love you, Oliver,” she says.
He gives a stiff smile; it is answer enough.
After they go Annie asks if Oliver would like to rest for a while. He blinks twice.
“That’s a yes?” she asks.
He again blinks twice. He has words, but they are heavy and cumbersome to use. As Annie lowers the back of his bed, Oliver says, “Yes, rest.” It is the first time he has connected two words.
Annie comes to the side of bed, leans in and kisses his mouth. He moves his fingers to touch her hand.
“Baby,” he says and smiles.
Moments later he is asleep.
Annie s
its in the chair and watches his chest rise and fall with peaceful easy breaths. The breathing machine is gone from the room, and now there is only the sound of Oliver being alive.
The excitement of this day is still pulsing through Annie’s veins, so she calls Ophelia to share the good news.
“You were right,” she says. “I had to find the right memory to bring Oliver back.”
When Ophelia asks what the memory was, Annie tells the story of the book and how it came to her in a dream. “Isn’t it odd how one thing can touch so many people’s lives and tie us all together?”
“It’s not as odd as you might think,” Ophelia says. “I believe all of us are connected in some way or another, but only a few people can reach out and find that connection.” She hesitates then adds, “You’re one of the lucky ones, Annie. It’s a gift. Use it wisely, and hang on to it forever.”
The weight of Ophelia’s words settles in Annie’s heart, and when she promises to do so she knows it is a promise she will forever keep.
The next person Annie calls is Max.
“It’s nothing short of a miracle,” Annie says. “I was reading to Oliver and when I looked up, his eyes were open.” She talks of how he is now breathing on his own and capable of speaking.
“This calls for a celebration!” Max says.
“You bet it does,” Annie replies. “When Oliver comes home…”
Before she can finish her thought, Annie hears a click; then there is nothing.
“Max?”
No answer.
“Max, are you there?”
Still no answer.
Annie looks at the screen of her phone. It is flashing the low battery signal. “Oh, well,” she says and plugs it into the charger.
It almost nine-thirty when Max tiptoes into Oliver’s room. Most of the nurses are gone for the day. Only Phyllis and Liz are on duty.
Max gives a sly grin, then reaches into her tote bag to pull out a bottle of champagne and a stack of plastic party glasses. “Let the celebration begin!”
The Loft Page 16