by Shari Arnold
I notice now that there’s an IV needle in the top of my left hand and a bunch of wire thingies strapped to my chest. Images of Jilly flash into my mind. Words like, “donor,” “bone marrow,” “surgery” all surface at once as everything comes back to me.
Right. I’m at the hospital.
“How’s Jilly?” I ask. “Is she next?” Wait. That can’t be right. She’s already had her surgery, hasn’t she? And how do I know that?
“Livy.” Dr. Garrett sits on the side of bed, looking serious. “There was a complication during your surgery. You reacted badly to the anesthesia they gave you and suffered a complex seizure.”
“Right. I know this part,” I say and they both look at me so intently I realize I’ve said something wrong. “But what about Jilly?”
“Jilly?” Dr. Garrett says.
“Do you remember, Livy?” my mother says at the same time. She turns to my doctor and asks, “Would she have any recollection of what happened?”
“I guess it’s possible. She could have felt the reaction. Most people feel a seizure coming on, but she was heavily anesthetized at the time.” He turns to me then, studying me as though I am under a microscope. “Do you remember anything?”
Do I remember? Flashes of color blur my vision for a moment and then I feel wetness slip down my cheeks. Do I remember? I remember an ever-changing sky and the Treasure Islands. I remember Echo and Jane and Alice. I can see it all, feel it so close, like I’ve just awoken from a dream. I close my eyes, wishing I could return to it. And for a moment I think I have. The memory is so strong I can see it. But then my mom touches my hand, drawing me back, and it disappears.
“Are you alright, Livy?” she asks. “Dr. Garrett, is she’s alright?”
I immediately respond to the worry in my mother’s voice and open my eyes. Both my mom and the doctor are leaning close, just staring at me. My mother looks terrified, which I don’t like because even at Jenna’s worst she never looked like this. And Dr. Garrett looks a bit alarmed himself.
“I think she could do with some rest,” he says. “There are a few tests I need to do first, but I believe she’ll be just fine.”
My mom smiles at this. She’s not used to hearing those words.
“Fine,” she says, not completely convinced, but choosing to believe it nonetheless. “I like the sound of that. May I stay here? While you do your tests?” Her words are phrased as questions, but you can tell by her expression she’s not going anywhere.
“Of course,” he says. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
The questions and tests that follow never seem to end. Finally, after countless doctors have evaluated me Dr. Garrett announces once again that I’m fine.
“You worried us for a while there, kid,” he says, rising from the side of my bed. “We weren’t sure if you were going to return to us.”
My mother laughs this off, but I can tell by the bags under her eyes what he’s said isn’t that far off from the truth.
I am heavy with guilt when I look at my mother’s smiling face. I almost stayed. I nearly stayed away.
“If you need anything, just push that button and your nurse will appear.”
“Yes. Alexis,” my mom says. “She’s wonderful. So attentive. And so are the rest of the nurses who work this floor.”
Dr. Garrett smiles at this and after one last check of my vital signs, he leaves.
My mom is fluttering about the room now. Straightening the flowers near the window and pushing the chairs back against the wall. I watch her, wishing she would just sit still, but that wouldn’t be like my mother at all. When she runs out of things to straighten she pulls my blankets up, tucking me in tighter. It’s about a thousand degrees in my room, but I let her do it anyway. I even smile in thanks.
“I want you to tell me about Jilly,” I say, once she’s returned to her seat. She’s pulled it up close next to my bed. But once she’s heard my request, it’s as though she wishes she were across the room. “Mom,” I say again, when she won’t look at me. “How is she? Is she okay?”
“I don’t know, actually,” she tells me. “I haven’t been up there.”
“Why not?” I push against my mattress, wanting to sit up.
“Let me help you,” she says, hurrying to my side. “Maybe you should just lie back, you know, until you’ve had your rest.”
“I want to see her. I want to see Jilly.”
“Well that’s just not possible right now, Livy. You heard Dr. Garrett. You need to rest. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
An ordeal. Is that what I’ve been through?
“You had a seizure, Livy.” Her hands stop and press down against me on the bed. “Do you understand how serious that is? You were in a coma!”
“I know, but—”
“A coma, Livy! Do you know how frightened we’ve been?” The panic is back, draining my mom’s face of color. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help you.” She’s crying again, big salty tears that go unnoticed down her face. “Don’t do that again,” she chokes out, her voice raspy.
I stare back at her completely speechless. I want to fight her on this, but I do feel tired. My head feels heavy and my eyes as well. I rest my head back against the pillows and a look of relief settles into her features.
“Will you check on her?” I ask, my voice faint. “Please, mom? I need to know how she’s doing.”
For a moment I think she’s about to refuse, but then she nods her head and smiles at me.
“I can do that, Livy. While you’re sleeping I’ll slip up there and check on her, alright?”
“Yes,” I say, already giving in to my exhaustion. “Thank you.”
She leaves the room, closing the door behind her and I wait a solid ten seconds, making sure she’s really gone. And she is gone. All of them, gone. Jenna, Meyer, Alice, Jane. Gone. I close my eyes and let the tears fall. And when I fall asleep this time, I don’t dream.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The sound of a door closing startles me awake. It’s much darker in my room now. I can’t tell if it’s nighttime or not because the curtains are all drawn. I wonder if my mom has been back. If she’s seen Jilly or heard how she’s doing. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep.
Something stirs near the back corner of my room. I can barely make out a figure sitting up in a chair. The bathroom light is on, but the door is almost closed, leaving only a sliver of light in my room. The shadow stirs again and this time I make out a familiar shape.
“Daddy?” I whisper, and the shadow springs up from the chair.
“Livy,” he says, moving toward me with caution. “Your mother said you were awake, but I didn’t want to disturb you.”
I smile at him, wishing I could see him better, but it’s so dark in this room.
“If you’re still tired I can—”
“No, I’m not.” I sit up a bit and then reach for the button on my bed that moves me all on its own. The noise is loud in my quiet room and it catches us both off guard.
My father hovers near my bed, he doesn’t sit on the side the way Dr. Garrett did.
“Do you want to…?” I point to his chair near the back of the wall and he hurries over to it, dragging it to the side of my bed.
Once he’s situated he just stares at me, and then neither of us say anything for a really long time. If it weren’t so quiet out in the hallway I wouldn’t have noticed when he starts to cry. He does it so silently.
There is nothing worse than seeing a parent cry, especially when you know you’re the cause of it. My throat feels tight and I worry that we’ll both be crying soon, even though I’m not sure why it is we’re even doing it.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I say, needing to break the silence, not realizing that saying the word sorry is like opening the floodgates. I should be happy that he’s here, outside of our apartment. I should be grateful he doesn’t have a real reason to cry this time. But it’s true, I am sorry. I’m sorry I almost gave up
on him. I almost left him here with two daughters to mourn. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling guilty for that.
He leans his elbows on my bed and grips my hand with both of his hands. He kisses my hand and rubs it against his face. “I thought…” He stops and shakes his head, refusing to say the rest of the words. “I’m glad you’re okay, Livy.”
“Me too,” I whisper, and then realize it’s true. I want to be here. I want to live.
My mother chooses this moment to enter the room and once she sees that I’m awake and I have a visitor, she flips on the light, nearly blinding my poor, emotional father and me.
Once I’ve adjusted to the light I finally get a good look at him. His eyes are swollen and red, which is expected considering he’s crying, but he looks so much older somehow, weakened by the events of the last year. His hair has gone gray around his ears and his skin is so pale he looks unwell. He no longer resembles the dad of my memories, the dad who called me back from Neverland.
“I’m sorry,” I say again — I feel as though I’ve done this to him. My voice is so soft I’m not sure he’s even heard me, but then he squeezes my hand, his grip solid and strong. In his eyes I can make out a flicker of something. It could be a glimmer of hope, and a glimmer is better than nothing.
“Livy! How are you feeling? How long have you been awake?” My mother bustles over to us and sits alongside my father’s chair. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them this close to each other, let alone in the same room. For a moment I don’t answer her, I just take it in.
Finally I say, “I… I don’t know? A few minutes or something?”
“Dr. Garrett wants you to stay here for a few days. He just wants to make sure everything’s okay.”
“Is everything okay?” my father asks, his voice slightly elevated.
“Everything’s fine! You know how they are here.” Her voice drops off when she realizes what she’s said. Yes, both my parents do know how they are here. And being here again is the last place either of them wants to be.
“You don’t have to stay,” I say, feeling the guilt settle heavy and thick inside my stomach. “I’m fine. Just pick me up—”
“Don’t even think about it, Livy,” my mom says. “I’ve been here every night. I’m not leaving here without you.”
“You’ve been here? In the hospital?”
“We both have,” my father says. He’s staring at me, confused by my confusion. “Where else would we be?”
“But…” I stop myself before I say what we’re all thinking: this is where Jenna died. Why would you want to stay here? “But with the election?” I say instead. I’m still not entirely sure how many days I was away, but I’m pretty sure the election is close, if not over.
My parents exchange a look and then my mother gets to her feet with a sudden need to fix my blankets. Again.
“Don’t worry about any of that, Livy. Now, are you hungry? Have they given you anything to eat?”
“I’m not.” I look around noticing how I’m no longer attached to an IV and the wires that were stuck to my chest earlier are now missing. How long was I asleep? Or better yet, how tired was I? How did I miss them removing a large needle from the top of my hand?
Something occurs to me and I grab my mom when she flutters nearby. “Did you see Jilly? How is she?”
My mom tries to distract me by fixing my pillows, but I grab her hand. There’s not much pillow fixing she can do with just one. “She’s recovering. They should know more in a couple of days,” she tells me, avoiding my eyes.
“But did you see her? Did she look okay?” There’s something she’s not telling me, I can feel it.
“I didn’t see her—”
“Well go back then! I need to know how she is!”
“She’s in the PICU, Livy. Only family is allowed in. You know that.”
The PICU. The Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. This isn’t the first time Jilly’s been down there. It shouldn’t surprise me that she’s there. But it terrifies me.
“It’s alright,” my mom says, for the first time meeting my eyes. “It’s going to be okay. I know it.”
I nod my head, wanting to believe her. “I need to see her.”
“In a few days, maybe. Once they release you and she’s up to visitors. Maybe then, alright?
I nod my head again. No, it’s not alright. But it’s all I have right now.
My mother smiles at me, walking backward toward the door. “So, if you’re feeling up to it, I thought maybe you’d like another visitor.”
Sheila bursts into the room as though she’s been listening at the door.
“You bitch!” she yells. “I can’t believe you messed with me like that!”
My mother’s face is priceless. It’s like she doesn’t know whether to be surprised, horrified or furious. She settles on disgusted, but when she catches my eye she pins on a smile. I guess she’s willing to endure anything if it means I’m happy. And I love her for that. I owe her big time, that’s for sure.
The sight of Sheila brings a rare hint of a smile to my dad’s face. He’s always liked Sheila. Whenever he used to drive us places he always loved how she knew all the words, and sang along, to his music. But he hasn’t seen her in months.
“Hey dad,” she says, giving him a hug as though it was just yesterday we were all riding in the car together.
My father has already recovered from her loud entry into our conversation. Unlike my mother.
“Hey kid,” he says, rustling her hair.
Sheila acts like this is no big deal, this new and halfway social version of my father. But when she turns to me, her eyes widen, giving me a look that clearly says, holy shit!
“Hey,” I say, smiling back at her. I don’t want to make too big a deal about it. For all I know, once I’m back home he’ll be safe behind his office door, blaring Simon & Garfunkel.
My parents leave us alone for a while, claiming hunger. But I know they just want to give me some space. Even though I’m hesitant to see my father leave, I know that if my mother stays too much longer that fake smile she’s forcing on Sheila will eventually snap her face in two.
“So you’re alive,” Sheila says once they’re gone. “How’s that feel?”
“Oh, you know. The usual and stuff. Don’t tell me you missed me?”
Sheila rolls her eyes and then throws herself on top of me, squeezing me so tight I squeal.
“Oh, shit!” she says and surges back. “Did I hurt you? Are you like, injured or something?”
“No,” I say, laughing. “I’m not injured. Just human.” I rub my stomach — where her very bony elbow probably left a mark — all the while smiling right back at her. I didn’t realize how much I missed her. For the first time since I woke up I feel a flutter of anticipation in my chest, like I’m excited about something.
“I hate you, you know. I hate you for making me feel like that.” She glares at me before slowly moving closer to give me another hug. “Don’t ever do that to me again, okay?”
“Okay,” I say, scooting over so that she can lie next to me on the bed.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Alright, then,” she says, bumping her shoulder against mine. “You can still be my friend.”
“Good to know,” I say, bumping back. “Now you have to promise.”
“Promise what?”
“You have to promise not to go falling off any more rocks.”
Sheila has pulled out her cell phone and I watch as she changes her Facebook status update to: She’s alive!!!!!
Once she hits enter she turns to me, her expression curious. “What are you talking about, fool?”
“You know. That night… when you almost drowned?” I roll my eyes at her attempt to play it off.
“Yeah, right,” she says, glancing back down at her phone. When I don’t say anything more she looks up. “Seriously, Livy. What are you talking about?”
I shift on the bed so that I can see
her more clearly. “You know what night I’m talking about. The party? The cliff diving? You, me, Grant and Meyer?”
“Who?” Sheila has a look of panic about her now. Her color is pale under the hospital lights. “What are you—” And then she stops and bursts out laughing. “You suck!” she says, slapping my shoulder. “I can’t believe you got me like that. You totally had me freaked out for a minute there.”
“Got you like what?” I ask, still confused.
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. You playing all dumb and weird like there’s something wrong with your brain. Funny, ha ha, Livy. But I don’t want to play anymore. Its not funny.” She frowns at me, letting me know she’s serious, and then her focus is back on her phone.
“Sheila.” Now I’m starting to freak out. “I’m not playing anything. You fell off that rock.” I look at her more closely. Is she the one who’s playing me? Or worse, is something seriously wrong with her?
“I’ve never fallen off a rock — let alone cliff dived — in my entire life! Now knock it off Livy before I hit that nurse button and tell them you’re afraid to go to the bathroom on your own and you need a catheter.”
I stare at Sheila, waiting for her to yell “just kidding!” or, “you’re such a sucker,” or something more Sheila-like, but she just stares right back. She’s serious. She’s really not messing with me.
“And who’s this Meyer kid?” she says, glancing back down at her phone. “Is this someone I’m supposed to know?”
“What?” I choke out, but luckily she’s too distracted by an incoming text to see the expression of horror on my face. By the time she does finally glance back up, I’ve got myself back together.
“So who is he? Someone you met here? While you were sleeping, and scaring us all shitless?”
I am too confused to speak. My brain is frantically trying to put things together.
“No,” I say, pasting on a smile. “Nevermind. Just messing with you.”
Sheila leaves a little while later once my parents return. She promises to come visit me tomorrow, and mentions how she hopes I’ll be allowed to go home soon. I nod and smile, pretending I’m not totally freaking out inside. Apparently she buys it because she leaves and doesn’t ask me what’s wrong.