Just then, some jerk in a red convertible cuts Axel off. “Asshole!” he snaps. I check to see if the Minions heard that. The last thing I need is them jabbering curse words to Luke. He’ll never let me babysit again. I’ll go from Fun Cousin to Bad Influence Cousin in a flash. But no, the girls are out, their heads flopping to the side in a way that looks painful. Little kids must have necks made of rubber.
Axel floors it, veering to the right and edging past the red convertible. “Stop it, Axel,” I scold. I love the guy, but does he really have to go neck-to-neck with this loser? I twist backwards to get a better view of the Minions. They’re still out cold, their little heads bouncing up and down with the movement of the car, like Bobble Head dolls. It’s comical.
Bam! The sound of crunching metal, the thrust of Axel’s car scraping and rebounding off other surfaces. My head whipping to the side, slamming back toward my chest, and my whole body smashing against the dashboard. We must be spinning, because the world blurs around me, and I lose my up and down, my left and right. I hit the inside of one of the doors with my shoulder, my ankle crunches like an accordion . . . and reality starts to melt away.
Am I dying? Darkness creeps into my line of vision, rapidly inching toward the center, but even as my vision goes, I can hear the Minions wailing. I try to hold on for them, I really do, but my reality slips away. I sense Lorelei’s presence, watching over me. Lurking. Hanging her head and wringing her hands, in mock sorrow, as if she hasn’t been hungering for this moment. The game is over, she whispers.
Hanging there in the empty space are two thoughts.
One: “The Minions! Are they okay? I promised Tee I’d take care of them.”
Two: “I’m not ready to die.”
Chapter 20
Except for some periodic beeping, the world feels unreasonably quiet. I focus on breathing for a long time, just centering myself in my skin. Where am I? What happened? My brain feels blank. It takes all my strength to hold on to consciousness . . . I feel myself slipping away again, but I try to hang on.
I breathe deeply, inhaling an antiseptic hospital smell. There’s brightness behind my eyelids. What if I can’t open them? What if I’m in a coma with my brain active and trapped in a slug shell of a body?
My heartbeat accelerates, and I try desperately to open my eyes. My lids weigh a thousand pounds, but they do open, thank god. I’m in a hospital room. It’s empty, aside from a guest chair and an array of medical apparatuses. No roommate. No visitors. No flowers or balloons. How long have I been here? What if I’ve been in a coma for years? What if I’m old?
I scan the room, soaking up as much information as I can. An IV is taped to my hand. I’m strapped to monitors that appear to be tracking my heart rate, among other things. There’s a device around one of my fingers, probably to track oxygen levels. I’m aware of a dull ache with each breath, which tempts me to stop breathing.
I wiggle my finger, and it moves. Good news. I feel like I can wiggle my toes too, but I’ve read somewhere that paralyzed people experience the sensation that they’re moving their feet when they’re really not. I try to move my leg but meet some kind of resistance. It feels heavy—am I even moving it? Shit. A bubble of panic bursts inside me. I find a square red button on the side of the bed and push it.
Nothing happens for a long time. Finally a nurse enters. She’s young, but she moves with a confidence that makes me think she’s been doing this a while.
“Glad to see you awake. I’m Jasmine.” She examines the monitors behind me and checks to make sure the intravenous fluids are flowing. “How’s your pain, on a scale of one to ten with ten being the most extreme you can imagine?”
“Maybe a five. Which makes me scared to ask . . .”
Her lips tilt up slightly, as if she’d like to smile reassuringly, but can’t. “You’re pretty medicated right now. What do you remember about the car accident?”
I start to say, “Nothing,” but her words have jogged my memory. Fragments of images piece together. I visualize being flung around our spinning car. I hear the wailing Minions.
“I didn’t have my seat belt on,” I confess, remembering. “Are the Minions okay?”
Now Nurse Jasmine lets loose a real smile. “Sometimes the medication makes people confused. You might be a little confused right now. You’re asking about Minions?”
“Oh, sorry. That’s just what I call the little girls. My cousins.”
She moves over next to my abdomen and pats the sheets. “They’ll be okay. We ran a bunch of tests to be sure. One of them has a contusion where the seat belt pressed against her, and the other is complaining about some neck pain, which is probably whiplash. We’re keeping them overnight for monitoring, but I think you lucked out.”
I imagine their tiny bodies tucked into white hospital beds, and my heart cracks. I cannot believe we had a car accident while I was watching them. My one job was to keep them safe and I failed.
“So it’s still the same night? I haven’t been in a coma or anything?”
“You’ve been semi-conscious, in and out a bit, which you may or may not remember.”
“I don’t remember.” My lips are suddenly dry, as if they’ve been baked in an oven. “How is my boyfriend?”
“He’s being treated for contusions from the air bag. But otherwise he’s fine.”
I think of the red convertible. “What about the people in the other car?”
“Minor injuries.” Nurse Jasmine unhooks something that leads to my IV.
“Am I going to be okay?”
“You’ve got a laundry list of injuries, all of which you should recover from. You’re lucky you didn’t get thrown from the car.” Her forehead furrows. “You said you didn’t have your seat belt on. How come?”
“I forgot.” I swallow hard. “Can I have a drink of water?”
“You forgot why? Or you forgot to put it on?”
“Both. I think,” I mumble. Maybe the pain meds are wearing off, because my head is beginning to ache, as if it’s being compressed inward on both sides.
“How do you forget to put your belt on?” Nurse Jasmine asks, not unkindly. She moves over to a pitcher I hadn’t noticed and pours a small amount of water into a Styrofoam cup. “Isn’t it automatic, like brushing your teeth in the morning or pouring milk in your cereal bowl?” She places a straw inside and holds it to my lips. “Take a very small sip at first, and let’s make sure it stays down.”
“Yeah. Not for me. I mostly ride without one.” I take a tiny sip, just enough to moisten my lips and mouth. The water soaks into the crevices immediately, so I steal another small sip before she can take it away. I consider explaining that I don’t like confinement—whether it’s from seat belts or tight pants—but that would sound batty.
“Consider yourself lucky then. Hopefully you’ll change that habit.” Nurse Jasmine lists off the damages I’ve sustained: a closed head injury (most likely a concussion—which explains the head-squeezing sensation), a fracture of my right ankle, two broken ribs (hence the ache from breathing), and multiple contusions (the most painful bruises I’ve ever had). She moves back over to the computer by my bed and types information in, checking the monitors periodically. “Would you like to have something more for the pain? It’s important to stay on top of it during these first hours after an accident.”
“Okay.” A thought hits me. Are the Minions all by themselves? “Can I call my sister?”
“She’s here. She’s with the little girls.” Nurse Jasmine flicks her finger against a syringe to rid it of bubbles, and then inserts it into the IV. “You might feel this a bit. Some people say it stings slightly.” I nod. “But I’ll tell your sister that you’re awake and asking for her.”
“Okay.” I do feel the medication enter my veins, circulating quickly through my system. It weighs me down, pulling at my body, making me both sink into the bed and float at the same time . . . until my eyelids sag, and I hover in nothingness.
Chapter 21
/> When I wake again, I sense someone’s presence. My vision is fuzzy at first, and I blink hard, thinking it’s Axel. But as the room comes into haphazard focus, I see Micah’s shaggy curls.
My instinct is to shrink away from him, to hide myself and my stupidity. Even the slightest twist makes me feel like my ribs will snap in half. I start to turn my head, but my compressed brain scolds me, so I stay still. I’m so embarrassed that he’s seeing me this way.
“How ya doing?” He sets his hand on my arm, like that’ll somehow help me feel better. The meds are probably making me hallucinate, but the sensation of his skin on mine seems to send radiating heat up toward my chest.
“I’ve been better. What’re you doing here?”
“Saff called me. She thought someone should be with you, but she didn’t want to leave your cousins.”
Shame creeps into my skin, broiling my cheeks. It’s my fault. I convinced Axel to take the girls out with us so late, and I let him drive, knowing he might take a risk with the kids in the car.
“I feel shitty.” There’s something about being friends with someone since we were both in diapers—I can’t lie to him. I can’t even lie to myself in front of him.
“You look shitty too,” he jokes. I haven’t seen a mirror yet, and I feel a spark of panic, wondering if I’ve permanently disfigured my face. I touch my cheek. “Just kidding. You’re just a little bruised.” He smiles. I reach for the hand that he’d rested on my arm. “I’m sorry you feel shitty.”
“Yeah. Luke and Tee are going to hate me forever.”
He moves his hand off of my arm, but I don’t move mine. It feels good to hold on to something familiar. In a flash I’m back to being seven years old, holding his hand to cross the creek. The creek rocks wobbled, and we figured holding on to each other would decrease the chances of falling in.
“I think Luke is pretty shaken up, yeah. But nobody’s told Tee yet.” Micah sets my hand back on my bed sheets, and for a second I worry that without his touch connecting me to this earth, I might float away into the sky like a wayward helium balloon.
“How do you know?”
“Saff told me. Your boyfriend called her from the accident and she texted Luke. They decided not to tell your aunt right away. Everyone’s mostly okay, and there’s no reason to stress her out. She needs to focus on her recovery.”
“Mostly okay,” I repeat.
“Yeah, except for you. You’re cuckoo in the head, Cay.” Hearing him say this makes me want to shrivel up like those plastic shrinky-dink toaster toys. “Not wearing your seat belt? Come on. It’s not like we’re living in the sixties or something.”
I turn my head away. I don’t need to hear it anymore. “How’s the car?”
“Totaled. But I’ll take pity on you and give you a lift now and then.”
“You’re sweet, Micah.”
“So I’m told.” He points to a meal tray that the nurse must’ve brought when I was sleeping. “Can I get you anything? Lukewarm mystery meat stew? Slimy canned peaches? Gloppy lemon Jell-O?”
“Sounds lovely. You can have it. I need a nap.” It feels like my brain is nearing maximum swell. The lights are too bright. I need to shut my eyes.
“That sounds about right. You’ve been awake a total of five minutes. You should sleep.”
“It’s the pain meds, they make me loopy.”
“You were born loopy, Cayenne,” he teases.
I close my eyes, and my voice sounds miles away. “Do you remember that creek we used to play in?”
“How could I forget?”
“We always held hands so we wouldn’t fall.”
“Yeah, but we did fall. We fell a bunch of times, and we both got drenched.”
“I forgot about that.”
“But it was fun.”
“Yeah.” I’m drifting away. “Suuuuper fuuuuun.” I try to open my eyes, but the lids are too heavy. “Caaan you staaay for a whiiile?”
“I’ll be here,” he promises.
My voice is too far away to use, and my lids are cemented shut, but I sense him stroking my hair, smoothing it, and his gentle touch soothes me. I feel a little like a puppy, but not in a bad way.
With him watching over me, guarding my mystery meat stew and slimy peaches, I relax and let myself float.
Chapter 22
Micah must’ve slept in my room. I spot him curled up on a hospital chair with a blanket, his sleeping face soft, when a nurse checks on me. A different nurse this time—they must’ve changed shifts. This one is grandmotherly, all cinnamon and brown sugar. She smiles, nodding her head toward Micah. “What a sweet boyfriend, sleeping here all night in that awful chair.”
“Oh, he’s not my—” I start to explain, but I stop. Too much work.
I can’t believe Micah is missing school for me. When the doctor stops in during his rounds, Micah straightens up and wipes his eyes and his mouth, trying to act as though he’s been awake all night. He listens while the doctor gives me the rundown. I’ll be staying one more night, and assuming I’m stable, I’ll go home tomorrow morning with medication for pain management. Due to the broken ribs, the doctor will be watching me for any signs of pneumonia and working to prevent lung collapse (which sounds harrowing). They’ll be giving me breathing treatments to expand my lungs.
I’m just offering Micah some of my gloppy cream of wheat and stewed prunes when Saff storms in. She pauses in the doorway, bristling like a porcupine, her lips pressed tightly together as if she can just Ziploc-seal up all that anger inside.
My thoughts swim, drowning in a mess of muddy explanations. “I’m sorry,” I finally squeak out, and I swear my throat nearly closes up before I can finish.
“Why, Cayenne?” Saff glares at me with eyes so scalding they could burn through metal. “You, of all people, know how precious life is, how we can lose someone we love at any moment. Why do you take these idiotic risks? Not wearing your seat belt? Letting your irresponsible boyfriend drive Maggie and Missy in the middle of the night? Don’t you care about anything?”
I turn to Micah for help. He just sort of freezes, like he doesn’t particularly want to be pulled into this family argument and maybe if he stays really, really still, we’ll forget he’s there.
“The girls thought you died, Cayenne. When I got here, they were hysterical. They thought you died in front of them.”
My throat tightens even more. Maybe I’ve injured my windpipe or something. It could be swelling. If I go into anaphylactic shock right here and now, Saff will feel sorry for not at least offering a smidgen of sympathy.
“The girls thought it was their fault for not reminding you to put on your seat belt. What if you had died, Cayenne? They’d have to live with that guilt forever.” Now that she’s opened her mouth, the words stream out, unfiltered. She doesn’t even give me time to respond. “Do you ever stop to think about the people who love you?”
I poke at the IV taped to my hand. I do care. It’s just that my heart is swelling, pumping so full of blood, and aching so badly it might burst inside my chest. I imagine myself popped like a balloon, blood everywhere.
“People survive, Saff,” I say, because I have to say something. “Mom died and we survived.”
Saff looks stung, like I’ve Tasered her from across the room. “Is that what you want for the people who love you, Cay? Survival? Walking around every day feeling like they’re missing a part of themselves? Think of how different our lives would’ve been if Mom hadn’t died. I can’t even believe you said that.” Saff turns halfway toward the door, and Micah slides down low in his chair.
She has a point. I mean, yes, we survived, and I’d like to think we’re mostly well-adjusted—although after witnessing this argument, Micah will probably beg to differ. Plus there are the small details of train dodging and cliff leaping. Still, I’d give almost anything to have my mother back. An arm, a leg, a lung, a kidney . . .
Saff whips back toward me, her need to tell me off overpowering her desire to walk
away. “You’re selfish, Cayenne. You think what you want and what you need trumps everything else.”
I press my hands to my forehead, but this snags the IV, so I lower it. “I am not. Shut up.”
“Do you ever think about me, Cay? How I’d feel if you were gone? You’re all I have left.” Saff steps closer.
“Not true. You have Aunt Tee. You’ve got the Minions.” My words sound flat. Tired.
“Are you seriously saying that to my face? Whatever. You don’t get it. You know what? I’m done. Clearly I care more than you do, and it’s exhausting. Don’t call me when they release you. Get another ride home. Or walk.” On any other occasion the idea of me walking the four miles home in this condition would’ve struck me as funny.
Saff reaches into her bag and pulls out a box of chocolates. She drops it onto my bed near my feet, apparently not caring whether this will cause me any pain—which it really doesn’t because of all the medication the nurses have given me. When she leaves, Micah finally shifts position.
“So that went well,” I tell him, hoping that if I ignore the tears pressing against my ducts, they’ll dry up and disappear.
“Could’ve been worse.”
“Thanks for standing up for me there.” I blink hard, my best crowd control for those pushy tears.
“She scared me,” Micah confesses without the slightest hint of a smile. “I’ve never seen her so mad.”
“Me neither.”
Micah picks up the box of candy. “Want to drown your problems in chocolate-covered caramel?”
I shake my head. My throat is so tight that if I bite into a caramel I’ll clog up my windpipe and suffocate . . . which at this moment does not sound too bad. I sigh. “Where is Axel, anyway?”
“Your sister banned him.” Micah quietly opens the chocolates.
“Excuse me?”
“Does this surprise you? He caused an accident, totaled your car, and sent you and your cousins to the hospital.” He pops a round chocolate into his mouth. “I’d like a few minutes alone with the asshole myself.”
How to Live on the Edge Page 13