by T. J. Klune
I pushed it away before I could study it further. I pushed it away because I knew it was right and that I was damned.
“No,” I said, feeling my gorge rise like liquid heat. “No. It all matters.
Every piece of it. Every part of it.”
Liar, it whispered.
I felt Creed’s hand drop on my shoulder. “You know we’ll get through this, right? You know that no matter what happens, we’ll still be here? This changes nothing.”
I couldn’t find it in my heart to correct him. “Sure,” I said. “And that kid of yours is going to have the best fucking family. We’ll make sure he knows every day for the rest of his life that he matters. He’ll never want for anything because we’ll give him everything. You’ll see. Otter will love him like he belongs to him, and Mrs. Paquinn will tell him things about UFOs and will teach him how to drive. Your parents will be the happiest fucking grandparents that ever lived. The Kid and Dominic will be his big brothers, and they’ll teach him everything you taught me. And you two….” I sighed.
“You two will love him like he was the most awesome thing in the world.
Because he will be.”
Anna cried quietly. “And what about you?” she asked. “What will you do?”
“Me?” That was easy. “I’ll make sure he knows that it doesn’t always matter where you come from. That even though we’re not blood, it doesn’t matter. He’ll belong to all of us, and we’ll belong to him.”
Anna launched herself at me and crashed into my arms. It was so familiar, her smell so much like home that I felt the ground roll gently beneath my feet. I put my forehead against hers and felt Creed press his head against ours, and we breathed each other in. “Him, huh?” Anna wept.
“Already know it’s a boy?”
I laughed, for the first time in days. “You’ll see.”
THAT night, the sixth night, I held Otter’s hand as the hospital grew quiet around us. I rubbed my thumb over his hand. I told him quietly how he was going to be an uncle, how I was surprised how quickly Creed had seemed to accept his place, how strong our Anna was. I told him that Mrs. Paquinn wasn’t doing so well, that I didn’t know how much longer she would last. I told him about his friends that’d come to see him, how Beer Me had stroked his face just once and had turned and walked out of the room. I told him how his parents looked so much older than they should. I told him how the Kid was putting on a brave face for me. I told him about my plans for our lives, how one day, we would look back on this moment with passing wonder, remembering how sad it all seemed to be, our memories unable to hold onto the sheer horror of it all.
I told him that we would grow old together, that I’d be there to make fun of him when he started to get fat and bald, when he’d get spots on his hands.
I told him we’d build a little house by the beach, and we’d sit on the porch wrapped up in a blanket and that the world would pass us by and that it was okay. It was okay because we’d have lived it all already. We’d have seen everything there was to see and that we’d be content to just sit and watch.
I’d feel his hand in mine just like it was now, and our rings would scrape together, faded and scratched from the toil of years. I’d look up into his eyes and while the rest might fade, the gold and green would be as bright as it’d always been, and it would be mine. It would be for me.
I laid my head down on his arm and watched him sleep.
Eventually, I was gone too.
That’s why I’m down, down on my knee!
ON THE seventh day, when he would normally rest, God finally made his decision.
It may not yet be legal, but it’s better than eating a beagle, so won’t you please marry me?
11.
Where Bear Says Hello,
Where Bear Says Good-bye
A HAND. A hand in my hair.
It’s kind and sweet, the touch gentle and loving. For a moment, I forget where I am, the scratch of the blanket against my cheek unfamiliar and rough. But that hand, that strong hand, is making me want to never move, to never have to lift my head again. It would be so easy, I know, to let my strength slide from me, to let my control go and just let the hand run through my hair. I moan quietly into the blanket, loath to open my eyes, to let this dream end and have the cold splash of reality thrust back at me. I don’t want that. I want to dream.
Reality encroaches. Where am I?
The hospital. Seven days. The hospital. Otter. Mrs. Paquinn. Otter.
Otter.
I open my eyes and raise my head.
And he’s watching me with that gold and green. It’s so bright. It’s so bright, and he’s watching me like I’m the greatest thing he’s ever seen. He tries to smile but there’s a tube down his throat. But he tries. Oh, God, how he tries. He grimaces and brings his hand up and rubs it down over the tape on the sides of his mouth, the tube on his tongue. His eyes widen slightly and then come back to mine. There’s questions there, a knowledge that something has happened, but he doesn’t know what. He reaches out for me again and takes my left hand and rubs it urgently, like he’s trying to tell me something, something important. His thumb brushes over a piece of metal on my finger, and he freezes. He touches it again before lifting my hand up to hold it in front of his face. He focuses on the ring and squeezes his eyes shut. A single tear slips out and slides down his cheek.
And I realize I’m awake.
Oh, God. I’m awake.
And so is he.
He’s watching me again, like he can’t take his eyes off of me. There seems to be recognition there, certainly if he touched the ring, but I have to know. I have to be sure before I start screaming for help. I can feel it starting to bubble up my throat, and I know I only have a few seconds before I break, so I have to know.
I grip his hand tightly as I croak out, “Do you know me? Do you know who I am?”
He looks quizzical for a moment, and my heart starts to sink, and the words “brain damage” flash through my head like lightning, and I ache. My body aches, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because this is my man, and I will wear his ring because I will love him forever. I will—
He struggles to raise his hand from my grasp, and I let him go. He reaches up and cups my face, his eyes narrowed, almost like he’s angry. He rubs his finger clumsily across my nose and then pulls it away. One finger rises up and shakes as it points at me. You. The hand pulls up and points down at his chest.
“You and me?” I ask. “Yes, it’s you and me. You know that, right?”
He shakes his head, but it seems to be in frustration. He frowns around the tube in his throat and then points at me again and points back down at his chest. His finger stays there for a moment, drawing a shape. I watch, not understanding. I’m almost ready to start shouting for someone, anyone, and I know this is going to be the last moment that I can figure out what he is trying to say.
He knows this, somehow he can see this. His hand flashes out and grips mine and presses it against his chest, and I can feel it then, the heartbeat, the strong beat in his chest that vibrates up through my arm and becomes a roar in my ears. He lifts his hand up again and points at me and then drops his hand and presses mine against his chest.
And then it clicks. He knows me. He remembers me.
You are my heart.
“Otter,” I say. “Otter.” I lay my head down against his chest, and his heart beats in my ear, and he cranes his neck to watch me, and it’s gold and it’s green and it’s him, and as my chest begins to hitch and as I begin to shatter into a million tiny pieces, I have a moment where I thank God, where I tell him that I knew he’d understood that I couldn’t make it without Otter, where I tell him that I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted.
Otter watches me, a look of wonder in his eyes as he touches my face, brushing the tears from my cheeks, reaching down to scrape the ring with his hand.
I need to tell people. I need to tell everyone. I raise my head. “You don’t move,” I g
rowl at him. “You don’t do a damn thing. You stay right here, just as you are. I need to get help.”
Otter rolls his eyes. Whatever. I raise his hand to my lips and kiss his knuckles before I’m running out of the room. I collide with a nurse and start babbling at her, and her eyes go wide so I think she gets the gist of what I’m trying to say, and she sits me down in a seat and turns and shouts something at the nurse’s station down the hall, and more people come and go into Otter’s room, and there’s movement and excited chatter, and I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall, suddenly exhausted. Suddenly so very, very tired. I don’t know how long I’m there, but then I hear my name.
I open my eyes and find Alice and Jerry standing in front of me, a look of terror on their faces. I want to tell them no, no, that it’s okay, that everything will be okay. I don’t know why they’re scared, but then I realize I’ve broken, and I’m weeping openly in the hallway.
“Happy,” I manage to say. “This is happy.” I point at my face. “Happy tears. He’s awake. He knows. He knows.”
Alice falls to her knees and lays her head in my lap as her body shakes while Jerry stares down at me in shock and disbelief. I put my hands in her hair, and I pet her soothingly, my mind already back to Otter, wondering when they’ll let me back in, when they’ll take that damn tube out of his throat because I need to hear him speak, need to hear him say my name just once. I want to take him home to the Green Monstrosity now and shut our bedroom door and climb in bed in the Cave of Otter and Bear and never leave again.
We are provided updates over the next hour, but I’m not allowed to return to the room, much to my annoyance. I stand up and pace back and forth, trying to get a peek over the shoulders of everyone in the room.
Apparently only tall people work at Mercy Hospital, because I can’t see a damn thing. They tell us they’re removing his breathing tube and that it can be uncomfortable, and that they need to run some tests, that they would like to get him down to radiology as soon as possible. I’m sick of tests. I’m sick of tubes and machines. He knows who I am. That’s the only test I need.
My family comes in during that time, one by one, their faces stuttering and crumbling when they hear the news. The Kid runs and jumps into my arms, and his hands are in my hair as he babbles in my ear, and I crush him into me, feeling alive for the first time in a week. I go through Creed and Anna. Anna’s parents. Dominic. Isaiah. I hug Jerry and Alice again. I turn, looking for Mrs. Paq—
Then it hits me, what I’ve forgotten. She’s not here because she can’t be. I’m celebrating while she lies alone in her room. That old anger starts to rise, but not at the people around me. At myself. I only thought of Otter. I didn’t think of her. I try to spin it any way I can, to justify my actions. It doesn’t work. Guilt overwhelms me.
But it’s again shoved to the side when a doctor walks out of the room, one I don’t know. I hate myself for it, but it can’t be stopped. We all watch him expectantly.
“Which one of you is Bear?” he asks.
Everyone looks at me.
“He’s asking for you,” the doctor says quietly. “It’s all he said. Your name. I told him he shouldn’t be speaking, not since he’s had the breathing tube down his throat for a week. You can see him for a few minutes, but then we need to get moving on some more tests. Try to keep conversation to a minimum. Talk to him, and if you need to ask questions, make them yes or no answers so he can respond without speaking. He’s going to be out of it for a while, probably sleeping more than he’ll be awake, at least at first.
But… in my opinion, I think he’s going to be okay.”
I look apologetically up at his parents and start to protest (even though I’m having to restrain myself from bolting back into the room), but they’re having none of it. I’m practically shoved toward the door, and the room has emptied out and the last two remaining people part and there he is, still awake, the gold and green still there in his tired eyes. He hears my footsteps and looks up, and then I hear it, one word and one word only, but it means more to me than anything else. “Hey,” he says, his voice rough and low.
“Hey, yourself,” I say back, unsure of what to do next. It’s surreal, this moment.
A first step is as good as any. I go to his good side and grab his hand, and he follows my movements, never looking away, as if I’ll disappear should he blink. I lean down and kiss him sweetly on the lips, and he sighs gently, and it’s like he’s content. It’s like he’s awake and he knows.
“Bear,” he says. Oh, my God.
“Otter,” I say, trying to grab onto the last of the strength I have. “The doctor said you shouldn’t speak. He said—”
Otter shakes his head and I fall silent. “Not in car?” he finally says, pointing at me.
“No, Otter. I wasn’t in the car with you.”
“Dreamt… you were. Was scared. Thought you hurt.” His eyes squeezed shut.
Ah, dammit. “I promise you, I’m okay. I promise. I’m okay now. But I swear to Christ, if you ever scare me like that again, being in the hospital is going to be the least of your worries. You think you’re going to ever drive again, you fucking asshole? You sure as shit better know you’re never leaving my sight ever again! Seven days! Don’t you dare! You hear me, Otter Thompson? Don’t you ever do that again!” By the time I’m finished speaking, I’m shouting at him, and there’s a faint smile on his face as he opens his eyes. I see a nurse start to enter the room, a worried look on her face, but Otter shakes his head at her and she subsides, watching me warily, like I’m going to break his other arm. Bitch, please. Like I’m going to go without a hand job after all I’ve been through. I glare at her until she backs off.
“Hear you,” he grunts.
“Stop talking!” I snap at him. “You’re supposed to be quiet!”
He watches me.
I don’t know what else to say. He touches my ring. Good a place as any to start. But he’s not off the hook yet. “I was just holding on to it,” I grumble at him. “Didn’t want it to get lost.”
Those knowing eyes. He waggles his free hand in front of me. “That’s your right hand, dipshit. Yours is supposed to go on your left, but it’s all swollen and gross and in a cast, and it’ll probably fall off anyways, knowing my luck.”
His eyes laugh for him. I sigh and pull out the chain around my neck, showing him the ring I’ve kept against the skin of my chest since the first day. He sighs and squeezes my hand, and I let the ring drop back against my chest.
“Don’t remember much,” he rasps.
This is expected. The doctor said he probably wouldn’t remember anything about the accident, or even the day of or longer. I tell him this quietly, but by the time I’m finished speaking, he’s already shaking his head. “What?” I ask. “What’s wrong.”
His grip tightens on my hand, his thumb pressing against the ring.
“Can’t remember. Ask you?”
“Ask me what?”
He presses the ring, and it digs into my skin. Oh, Jesus. Oh, God. “No,”
I say hoarsely. “You were on your way. You didn’t ask me.”
He arches an eyebrow in question and grimaces at the pain it causes.
“And?” he rasps. “What you say?”
And then he waits. And watches me.
And I… I am….
I’ve just been proposed to. Huh. I….
Holy hell.
Even though I knew it had been coming, even though I knew the moment I saw the rings and read the poem, and even though I’d already made my decision the moment my ring went on my finger and his went around my neck, it’s still a surreal feeling, one that I never thought would happen in my life. I’m twenty-one years old. I’ve been with Otter just under nine months. It’s too soon. It’s too fast. It’s not even legal. People won’t recognize it. Some people will hate it. I’m too young. We’ve just been through tragedy that’s not over yet. Rash decisions were made. Right.
Right?
&n
bsp; But his words. His words from that day that seems so very long ago.
Nothing’s too fast if it means forever, Bear.
O & B Forever.
I’ve loved him since I’ve known him. I will love him until the day I die.
And I almost lost him. Fuck rash decisions. Fuck my age. Fuck it being too soon. Fuck whatever others will think. And fuck the legality of it, because we’ll know it’s real. We’ll know what it means.
And now he’s worried because I’ve been thinking too much. Again.
“Yeah, you big bastard,” I tell him as his eyes widen. “Yeah, I’ll marry the crap out of you. It’ll be messy and weird, and I’m totally not going to be your wife, but yes. You’re obviously going to need someone to take care of your crippled ass for the rest of your life, so yes. Of course, yes. I’ll fucking marry you, asshole. How could I say no?”
He closes his eyes again as his throat works, bobbing up and down. His eyes are wet when they find mine again. I don’t know how much longer I can stand, and he feels this, my weakness, because he is my strength. He moves over slightly, grimacing as he does so, his leg swinging precariously in the harness, and against my protests he pulls me down next to him. I try not to lay against him too much, because I know he’s got a couple of sprung ribs and is still covered in bruises, but he’s adamant, and as my head reaches his chest and his good arm wraps around me, so strong and alive, I listen to the beat of his heart as his hand runs through my hair. He sighs again, content and happy, and I hear him grumble, “Knew you’d say yes. Can’t resist my awesomeness.”
Thank you.
I WISH I could tell you that Mrs. Paquinn opened her eyes and smiled. I wish I could tell you that she said that she was tired of lying in the bed, and what was her nurse Jorge going to think of her if she got a bedsore? She’d never get coitus after that! And didn’t that doctor in the hallway look slightly like Bigfoot? Oh, did I think the doctors would let her drive her early ’80s Caddy that was the color of shit? They just couldn’t take away her driver’s license! Not when she used to race stock cars! Well, that might not exactly be true, but wouldn’t it be great if it was?