To Fall (The To Fall Trilogy Book 1)

by Donna AnnMarie Smith

  My parents rushed into the room with their eyes wide and mouths open. I could tell they had fallen asleep in the waiting room. Dad’s cropped blond hair was bent to one side and his shirt had imprinted on Mom’s temple. Margaret probably sent them out after their pacing had driven her to the brink of insanity. Margaret was the voice of reason and calm, but the woman had her limits. I appreciated how she handled my parents; they took my heart condition worse than I did.

  Dad’s watery eyes blinked while he scanned the monitors to read the numbers. In his presence, I felt more fragile if that were possible. He was so gentle with me as if I would break in his large hands, and him crying was a big deal. More than likely, Mom’s nails were leaving imprints in his muscular arm, but he wouldn’t pull away from her. Dad would stand there until she was ready to let go. They were predictable and I loved them for it.

  She managed to squeak out, “How are you, Abby?” Until my answer, she would cling to Dad.

  “I’m okay, Mom, really. I need a minute and maybe juice and tissues, please?”

  Margaret’s dark curls bounced behind her as she left to get a juice box, which she knew was down the hall, next to the nurses’ station. Mom relaxed, finally releasing Dad and they hauled two chairs over to the side of the bed. I blew my raw and red nose; unfortunately, the medicinal smell of the hospital wafted up through my now clear sinuses. Mom picked up my hand, stroking the back of it. Her blue eyes were puffy and I felt guilty that she had been crying all day.

  She gave me a tired smile. “Dr. Joe will be in here soon.”

  “Did you see anything cool? No light this time, right?” Dad’s pale brows pinched together, waiting for my response.

  My nightmare made everyone uncomfortable, so I didn’t talk about it anymore. When I was younger, I used to tell them about the evil thing chasing me and the light. It seemed like the “light” comment freaked them out the most. Dad always asked me though, making sure I didn’t ever go near the light again.

  “No, Dad, no light. But I did dream Gino’s was out of barbecue pizza.”

  He cringed. “That would make me wake up screaming, too.” The cringe morphed into a smile as he brushed back my hair.

  Margaret stepped in with my apple juice. “Here ya go, baby girl.”

  I didn’t mind the nickname; Margaret didn’t have children of her own and it made me feel like I was hers. What I did know about Margaret—that I wished I didn’t—was she never missed an episode of Young and the Restless. She spoke of the characters as if they were a part of her life; I knew more about them than I did Margaret. She had subjected me to years of watching her recorded soaps, but she fast-forwarded over the intimate scenes to “keep my eyes pure.” Years ago, I learned to tune out the show and Margaret’s commentary over who was cheating on, sleeping with, or kidnapping whom.

  Dr. Joe breezed in the already cramped room. “Abby, how are you feeling?”

  “I feel okay, a little short of breath.” I craned my head to look at him.

  Without glancing up from his laptop, he said, “You’re also short of patience and short in general.”

  “Nice, good one, Doc. You know the other hospitals don’t treat me like this. Keep it up!”

  His shoulders shook with laughter.

  Unless he needed to deliver bad news, Dr. Joe wore a smile. A real smile, warm and comforting, not a fake one handed out with medical degrees. He was the rare kind of doctor who would sit on the bed with me and talk, or pick up a crayon and help me color a picture. He never let interns anywhere near me, and if he didn’t recognize the hospital staff, he’d kick them out of my room.

  “Dr. Joe, there was a man in here earlier, wearing a cap and mask. What’s his name?” I pleaded.

  His eyes shot down and chuckled. “It’s a big hospital, Abby.”

  I shifted to face him. “I know, but it was five minutes ago. Could you ask?”

  “We had some relief nurses come up from intensive care to help us with our patient load.” He preoccupied his hand with pulling out a pen stuck in his pocket. “I’ll make some inquiries if you like.”

  “Abby,” Dad admonished. “Chasing after guys is the last thing you should be doing. You need to focus on getting better.”

  Why was everyone treating me like a boy-crazy teen all of a sudden? I opened my mouth to argue, but the damn coughing seized me again. Dr. Joe frowned and slipped the oxygen mask back over my face.

  “He’s right, Abby.” Dr. Joe turned toward my parents. “David, Kate. I’m still hopeful a new pacemaker technology will come about that can work for Abby, and why they’ve failed is something we haven’t been able to understand yet. Eventually, we’ll have to put her on the transplant list, but for now, she’s holding okay. We’ll keep her for a couple of days and get this bug in check.” Squeezing my cheek, he flashed a smile.

  5

  Abby

  A hand gently shook my shoulder. I cracked an eye to a pretty nurse with long golden hair, ready to take my vitals and blood sample. Blinking a few times, I could see that even under the fluorescent lamp, “pretty” was an insult. She was movie star gorgeous, one of those girls you wanted to hate because her genes were superior to ninety-nine percent of the human population. What was she doing here? Did anyone tell her she should be on a tropical island, wearing a bikini for a photo shoot? Someone should tell her.

  At first, I thought I was alone, but the pillow and disheveled blanket on the pullout suggested Margaret was staying the night. She was probably recipe swapping with the staff again. After taking my vitals, the nurse helped me climb out of bed and wheeled my fluids over to the restroom.

  Standing on my tiptoes, I looked in the mirror, but I shouldn’t have bothered. Tangles of hair heaped on top of my dingy hospital gown, dark blue rings stained around my eyes, my nose was sore from the constant blowing into rough tissues, and my lips were beyond chapped. I was so pale. I looked sick. Pulling down the gown, I ran my fingers along the scar in the middle of my chest and wished for the millionth time it had disappeared like my pacemaker scars miraculously did.

  Faintly, I felt a familiar tickle in my throat. Fighting the urge turned into an epic fail. Like an alien bursting forth from my lungs, the need to cough overtook me. And I didn’t just cough. I sputtered, hacked, and struggled for breath, gripping the sink. Covering my mouth was not an option, because I couldn’t control my head like a firefighter that lost control of the hose. Right when I thought my eyes would pop out of my head, warm hands touched my bare back. The spasms subsided and the nurse helped me stand. Panting, finding my legs, I thanked her. She urged me to drink the lukewarm tap water and I grimaced from the metallic aftertaste.

  Patiently, the nurse helped me back into bed. Once settled, she prepped me for a blood draw; her touch was warm on my arm, near hot. She was fast and efficient for this late at night. The prick of the needle was absent or I was too exhausted to feel it. My stomach grumbled an embarrassing decibel and I remembered the last time I ate was yesterday morning.

  With her magazine worthy smile, she said, “I’ll be back to fix that.”

  Within seconds, she appeared with crackers and apple juice, not what I had in mind, but I was grateful for it. I turned the television on, but there was nothing to watch and I turned it off. Looking around the room, I noticed the pink roses by my bed. Melanie and Beth must have stopped by while I was sleeping.

  I couldn’t have asked for better friends. Mel and Beth knew everything about me, except that I still had the nightmares and I was in love with an imaginary boy. There was no way to explain that to anyone. I popped my earbuds in and let Dierks Bentley soothe me to sleep as Margaret shuffled in and grumbled about the sofa. I couldn’t blame her; that pullout was more of a deterrent to overnight visitors than an invitation.

  Waking to a bright hospital room, Margaret had pulled the blinds wide open. The windows acted like a magnifying glass letting the heat in, but the mountain view kept the room from feeling confining. I was surprised to feel rested
after sleeping in the hospital; even my throat and nose felt better. Dr. Joe must have given me great drugs yesterday.

  Margaret entered the room already dressed and ready for the day. “Hey, baby girl, how did you sleep?”

  “Fine, I guess. I’m starving, though.” I realized my voice had lost its rasp. With a flash of my puppy dog eyes, I hoped she could get my breakfast order moved along with her secret ways.

  “All right, but please do something with your hair. I can’t be seen with you like this. What are people going to think of me?” Smirking, she helped me out of bed and handed me a bag Mom packed.

  I splashed cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, and tried to tame my hair. Over the hospital gown, I almost did a happy dance when I found my favorite gray sweats and pink T-shirt in my bag. Mom was the best.

  Stepping out of the bathroom, a thick smell of butter and maple syrup filled the room, chasing away the sterile air. I pulled the tray up to my bed and lifted the lid on my plate to find sausages and pancakes.

  Margaret picked up the television remote and plunked down in the pullout. Her soaps wouldn’t be on for another hour, and I could use that time to scope out the floor for Hazel Eyes.

  Dr. Joe came in to check on me as I gave a pancake a syrup bath. “I see you are doing awful today, Abby!” Laughing, he reached down to hug me.

  I playfully scowled. “You are interrupting my one decent moment so far.” Trying to hide my grin, I peeked up at him.

  He glanced at my chart. “Things went well for you last night. Your numbers look better, which is surprising for such a nasty bug. I’m happy. Looks like we’ll get you spruced up before school starts.”

  “Did you find the name of the guy in my room?” A sprig of hope bloomed.

  He shook his head and snapped my sprig. “No, sorry. Do you need a refill on anything?”

  “Nitroglycerin and Digoxin,” I muttered.

  He typed on his laptop. “No problem. I’m tweaking your Enalapril and Lasix for now. We’ll see how that does while you recover and…oh, continue with your potassium supplements. Everyone has the new instructions. Margaret made your ten-day checkup with me already. And you’re always on time every week with your at-home PT/INR test. The numbers are good. We’ll keep you at your current Coumadin dose. After your next visit, I’ll see you in six months for our routine gamut of tests.”

  My definition of “gamut of tests” meant a human pincushion, a science experiment. Another reminder I wasn’t normal. Ignoring the lump forming in my throat, I fixated my eyes back on my pancakes. The syrup soaked through already. I’d add more later.

  The mattress dipped under Dr. Joe’s weight and his hand appeared over mine. “I’m sorry. I wish I could give you some normalcy. I know this isn’t easy and no one so young should have to go through all of this. You are my strongest patient. You are special, Abby.”

  I looked away, biting my lip. This was my go-to trick to keep the tears at bay. If I were physically weak, I wouldn’t show I was emotionally weak, too. I refused to let anyone see me cry.

  After another hug, Dr. Joe said he would check on me later. Margaret’s eyes locked on me—she knew my trick.

  “Don’t tell Mom and Dad, okay?” My voice cracked.

  “Abigail Miller, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Winking, she pointed to my pancakes. It didn’t go unnoticed that Margaret whipped out the full name. I knew this was her way of saying, You had your moment of self-pity. Move on.

  Finishing breakfast, I soaked up every ounce of syrup and checked my phone for texts. The only one was from Melanie, asking me to call her as soon as I was up to it. She and Beth were going to the mall today to pick out bikinis for the rest of the summer parties she was sure to be attending.

  As if the phone was glued to her hand, Mel answered in one ring. “What took you so long to call me? I have been contemplating blue or yellow, and Bethie is no help as usual,” she complained. “How are you?” Her voice turned to mush.

  “I’m fine. Yellow, by the way.”

  I watched Margaret make a face beyond hilarious to me. Her soaps started and she was beside herself, fussing with the sofa and the television volume. I took this as my cue to step outside for a breath of not-so-fresh air in the hospital hallway. Motioning to Margaret that I would be nearby, she waved me off without breaking her stare from the beginning credits. I rolled my eyes and let her enjoy the made-up drama in Genoa City. A shudder ran through me; I couldn’t believe I knew what city her soap opera took place in. That was just wrong.

  “What did Dr. Joe say?” Melanie asked.

  I sighed. “Same as usual. Outta here tomorrow. Six months, I will be a pincushion. Blah, blah, blah.”

  “Well, perk up. You, Beth, and I are going to Tyler’s pool party at his parents’ house next week!”

  I heard a faint grumble from Beth.

  “Mel, I’m not going to parade around in a swimsuit in front of everyone from school.”

  “Oh no! Abby, no! You are going. You can wear a parka for all I care. You have to go with us.” Now she was bordering on whiny and I cringed. “You know Tyler is my soul mate and I have it on good authority he broke up with Rachel. I have to show up! If I don’t he might rebound with some tart like Danielle Quincy.”

  Grinning, I explained, “Mel, people don’t say tart anymore.”

  “Abby, come on!” She almost blew out my eardrum. “Besides, this is the first party to kick off the summer.” It wasn’t—there were parties every Friday or Saturday.

  “Mel, what if you turn out to be the rebound?” I knew better than to resist, but if I didn’t at least point out the obvious, I wouldn’t be much of a friend.

  “Abby, you haven’t seen the bikini yet,” she retorted. “There is no way he would just rebound with me.”

  Another grumble from Beth and a hiss from Mel.

  She was wearing me down and she knew it. And I knew I should have tried harder. I didn’t like Tyler. He had as many exes as Mel had lipsticks in her purse—enough for a drugstore sales rack. But sometimes I had to let Melanie find these things out for herself. She would be insufferable unless I went along with her. I’d heard her “soul mate Tyler Gibson theory” for two years now, but they had never been single at the same time.

  Before she explained in detail how the cosmos had aligned for her, I said, “Okay, but no bathing suit! I’m not even putting a toe in the water.”

  An eternity of squealing passed before Mel promised they would stop by my house after my release. Well, at least I had that to look forward to, because Hazel Eyes wasn’t at the nurse’s station, coffee maker, elevator bank, or in the twenty rooms that had their doors conveniently open.

  6

  Abby

  “That’s great, Mel, but where’s the rest of it?” I examined the yellow bikini for hidden, extendable fabric. There had to be more to this thing.

  “I told you!” Beth smirked at her.

  With a shake of her head, Mel’s auburn pixie hair didn’t move. “Abby, this is it.” She held the bikini closer as if that would make it appear bigger somehow. “Tyler will be putty in my hands after he sees me in this baby.” The bathing suit returned to her oversized purse that had more material to it than the bikini did.

  A dog foot pushed against my leg; apparently, half of my bed wasn’t enough for Bozo. The ceiling fan did its best to keep us cool, but with the temperature at one hundred and thirteen degrees, there was only so much modern technology could do.

  “What are you going to wear to the party?” Mel brightened at the topic of clothes.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Beth, what are you wearing?”

  A caramel ponytail splayed on my bed. “Abby, I’m with you. No bathing suit and I’m not talking to anyone with man-parts.” Weeks ago, Beth caught her boyfriend of eight months, Mark Richards, cheating on her. And the guy before him was stealing money from her wallet.

  Mel slapped my arm. “Abby, I heard Tyler’s best friend, Jake, is single. What
if you two hit it off? We could double date since Beth is off men.” Oh no. Mel was playing matchmaker again.

  Jake Turner was a much better option than Tyler Gibson, but together they thought they ruled high school and our freshman year of college. “Um, let’s go and see what happens, okay?”

  At this, Melanie dropped the double dating idea. The three of us searched my closet to see what would be cute and cover up my scar. Mel flipped through the hangers. “Hmm, I think this calls for a mall trip. Nothing you have will work.”

  Beth groaned.

  I didn’t want to admit it, but Mel was right. I hated my clothes. I wish I could prance around in tank tops and low-cut, tight T-shirts like most girls, but I was too self-conscious for that. The scar on my chest indicating I wasn’t normal couldn’t be a huge turn on.

  “Okay, when do you wanna go?” I sounded tired or defeated, I couldn’t be sure of which.

  Melanie flashed a smile and I knew she had gotten her way again. “Saturday! I will swing by to pick you guys up. Oh, we are going to get you cute new duds!”

  I cringed. “Mel, people don’t say duds anymore.”

  “And almost twenty-year-olds don’t have baby pink rooms with Cinderella furniture,” she snapped.

  My mouth gaped open. “I thought you loved my room!”

  Beth laughed. “When we were seven!”

  After the girls left, I went downstairs to the smell of cleaner and floral candle. Since holding down a job and attending school full-time was an utter failure, my job was housework. I was grateful for the break. One could imagine the mess twin seven-year-old girls made.

  While Mom pored over lesson plans for the next group of kindergarteners she would be teaching, Emma went on and on about a television show involving a blogging dog—I wasn’t listening very well. Olivia had her straight, pale hair in a bun, embracing the role of a prima ballerina from the girls’ summer dance class. My sisters were my parents’ natural children. Well after adopting me, they decided to try in-vitro again, and on their second try, had the twins. They were a handful but sweet girls.