by Nikki Soarde
“The timing of this is something that I have no control over, Mom. And it’s extremely important to me that I attend.”
She stood in an attempt to dismiss her visitors.
Her mother huffed. “Don, you talk to her. You’re the man of the family. She listens to you.”
Don smiled ruefully. “That’s not true, Mom, and you know it.” But he gave Marnie a slow once-over from head to toe. Don had always taken it upon himself to be responsible for his little sister, whether or not she wanted him to be. He also felt, like her parents, that he knew what was best for her. He directed the lives of his wife and daughter, and obviously, since his sister didn’t have a man in her life, she needed direction as well. He frowned at last, as if he had come to a decision. “Is it a man? Do you have a date tonight?”
That had come out of nowhere, and in complete astonishment Marnie felt herself flush crimson. And then she cursed her overactive blush reflex. “Of course not. I-I—”
“Because if it is, you know we wouldn’t mind so much. It’s about time you had a man in your life to take care of you.”
She licked her lips, which had suddenly drained of moisture. “Actually, this does concern a man, but not in the way you think. He is hardly in a position to take care of himself, let alone anyone else.”
“What?”
She closed her eyes and wished her mouth would pay more attention to her brain. “Nothing. Forget it. It’s too complicated. All you have to know is that I can’t make it tonight. If you like I’ll come to see you this weekend, Mom. And we can go out to dinner or something. But not tonight.” She walked to the door and opened it decisively. “Now, I really have to get going.”
Her expression grim, Helen floated off the loveseat and stepped lightly toward the door. “I see,” she said tightly. “I don’t know about this weekend, though. I might have plans.” She stepped across the threshold. “I’ll let you know.” And she was heading toward the car, nose directed firmly toward the sky.
“Come on, Tiff,” said Don as he led his waif-like daughter by the hand. He stopped in the doorway. “Mom really does ask so little. The least you could do is—”
“Please, Don, I have to go.” Helen demanded far more than Don liked to admit.
He sighed and stepped outside, but then he hesitated and turned around. “You haven’t forgotten about our anniversary weekend, have you?”
“Anniversary?” It sounded familiar, but at that moment Marnie was hard-pressed to remember the details.
“Yes. You promised to take Tiffany for us while we went to Vancouver for the weekend.”
Marnie glanced at her niece, who was once again clutching her father’s pant leg. She was quiet and well-mannered—and a little scary. She was also very difficult to entertain because she was afraid to try anything the least bit out of the ordinary. But Marnie had promised. “Yes, of course. That’s in…what? Another month?”
“Four weeks from Friday. Thanks, Marn.” He pecked her cheek. “Whatever you’re up to tonight I hope it goes well.”
She managed a smile. “Yeah, me too.” And at last he was gone.
Without hesitation, she grabbed her purse and stepped outside. If she didn’t hurry she’d miss Lucky’s big moment. And she wanted to be there for him.
She hesitated to admit it to herself, but she also wanted to be there for her. It wasn’t very often that she did something just for her. It felt odd and selfish after being taught for so many years that the purpose of her existence was essentially to please another—to love and support her husband and raise his children. But she was getting better at self-indulgence. A little better every day.
She slid behind the wheel of her little Honda Civic and was soon darting through the streets of Calgary. She passed the endless steakhouses and Western bars. She cruised by tack shops and leather stores. She was thankful that today the traffic was light. During Stampede days this trip would take her twice as long. The Calgary Stampede was due to start in a few weeks, and the town was already gearing up for the big show that drew more tourists to the area than the mountain vistas and glacier-fed lakes did in a whole year.
She made record time and pulled into her parking spot just ten minutes past the appointed time. She sprinted for the doors and made a dash down the long hall that led to the ICU. She barreled through the double doors, her usual respectful demeanor momentarily forgotten in her haste to make it to Lucky’s bedside.
“Did I miss it?” she asked breathlessly at the reception desk.
“You’re in luck tonight,” said the young girl whose name Marnie couldn’t recall at the moment. “It’s Doctor Hall, and it always takes him forever to get started.”
Marnie noted with relief that Iris had been assigned to Lucky that night. She called to Marnie from the bedside. “Come on, sugar. We’re just about to start.”
She reached the bedside and out of habit picked up Lucky’s hand and squeezed. “Hi, Lucky, it’s Marnie.” Maybe it was silly but she always greeted him first, and she always told him who she was. Conscious or not, she felt he deserved that little courtesy since it was him she was coming to see. But then she focused on Iris. “Sorry I’m late. I had some unexpected visitors.”
Iris waved away the apology. “No problem.” She motioned to an elderly man with silver temples and gold-rimmed glasses who was studying a chart behind her. “Dr. Hall, this is John Doe’s biggest fan, Marnie Grant. She calls him ‘Lucky’, for obvious reasons.”
He looked up and smiled warmly as he extended a fine-boned hand. “It’s good to meet you. I think it’s wonderful what you’ve been doing for him. We know so little about the comatose state. You might just be his lifeline, the key to his recovery.”
Marnie shook his hand. “Do you really think there’s still a chance he might wake up?”
Dr. Hall sighed. “I’m not a neurologist, and this isn’t my specialty, but I’d say there’s still hope. Stranger things have happened.” He dropped the chart on the bedside table. “But that’s not why we’re here, is it? We’re here to see whether I did my job properly.”
Iris shook her head. “He’s so modest. He’s one of the best plastic surgeons in the country.”
“Thanks, Iris,” he teased. “As per our agreement a dozen donuts will be delivered in the morning.”
Iris just chuckled.
Dr. Hall began snipping at the bandages that swathed Lucky’s head. Marnie grasped Lucky’s hand again and squeezed in excitement. “You’re going to look fabulous. I just know it.” He had inevitably lost weight over the last month and his hair had grown shaggy; but Marnie was sure that, no matter what the outcome, she would like his face.
Suddenly, she caught her breath. Her abrupt intake of air was loud enough to startle Iris and the doctor.
“Is something wrong?” asked Iris with concern.
“He squeezed my hand.” This was the first time it had happened since that day three weeks earlier. When there was no repeat of the incident, she had assumed it was an aberration, but now she wasn’t so sure. “It was strong. I don’t believe—” She looked sharply at Lucky’s face. “He just did it again.”
Dr. Hall frowned. “I don’t see any other muscle spasms. That is a bit of a coincidence.” He glanced at Iris who shrugged noncommittally. “But I don’t see any reason to stop what we’re doing.”
“Wait,” breathed Marnie.
“Why? What now?” Iris sounded a trifle irritated. “I think it’s time we—”
“His eyes…” breathed Marnie. “They’re open.”
The other two instantly riveted their attention to their patient’s face, but Marnie felt such a strong draw into those deep blue depths that she hardly noticed. His gaze flitted quickly to Iris and then Dr. Hall. He seemed to be scanning the room, his gaze roaming over the machines and staff and other beds.
“It’s nice to see you’ve joined us at last,” said Dr. Hall. Lucky’s eyes focused on him. But they were wary. In fact, Marnie could swear he looked afraid.
He looked at Iris but just blinked, his gaze unwavering in its intensity.
“I’ve been calling you ‘Lucky’,” said Marnie softly. “But I know that’s not right. Can you tell us what to call you?”
His eyes swung over to her side of the bed, and when they settled on her again Marnie could see the tension and fear ease a little.
Iris and the doctor must have sensed his response to her because they remained silent. She gripped his hand just a little tighter. “I know this must be strange. You’ve been asleep a long time. But we’ve been so curious about you. Can you speak? Can you tell us who you are?” His jaw had healed and the wires had been removed. The bandages on his face shouldn’t inhibit speech. She waited expectantly.
He blinked but remained silent, his gaze never leaving hers.
“That’s all right,” said Dr. Hall quietly. “That will all come in time.” But Marnie wondered if he was concerned by their patient’s apparent reticence. “We’ll give you a chance to get your bearings. Let’s get these bandages off you, and maybe when you’re more comfortable you’ll feel like talking to us.”
He reached for the gauze and was just about to unravel the first layer when John Doe caught them all off guard. He was still staring at Marnie, and his lips seemed to have great difficulty forming the sounds, but there was no mistaking the word that passed his lips. “Mm-Marnie.” It was little more than a whisper, but that one word spoken so softly and so uncertainly melted Marnie’s heart as surely as a blowtorch melts gold.
She swallowed against the tightening in her throat and felt the sting of tears, but was helpless to stop them. “Yes. That’s right. You knew I was here, didn’t you? You know my voice.”
He just stared, but she felt a soft squeeze on her hand as he said that magic word again, a little more certainly this time. “Marnie.”
“Looks like you’ve got an admirer,” said Iris with a twinkle. “Mr. Doe here seems to have a one-track mind where you’re concerned.”
Marnie dabbed at her eyes and directed her words to her new friend. “You cut the chatter now and let the doc take off your bandages. There’ll be lots of time to talk later.”
Dr. Hall began unwrapping, and while their patient kept still and seemed calm, Marnie could feel the tension in his hand and a trace of sweat on his palm. She wasn’t sure if his anxiety stemmed from the uncertainty of what lay beneath the bandages or if he was threatened by the strange environment he found himself in. Maybe he was remembering the events that led him here. Marnie had no doubt that was the stuff of nightmares.
Finally, the last of the bandages fell away and the trio regarded their subject with interest. His eyes swept across each one, his expression intense and unreadable, as if he were looking for something but he didn’t quite know what.
Iris was the one to break the spell. “Well, he’s gorgeous. David Duchovny, move over.”
Marnie smiled at Iris’ comment, and while she couldn’t exactly see their mystery man making it onto the cover of GQ any time soon, he certainly had his charms. His big blue eyes were his most striking feature. The rest of him, however, looked a little ragged and war-torn. A jagged scar etched a line from the inside corner of his left eye over his high cheekbone. His nose looked like he had gone a few rounds with Muhammed Ali and lost. It wasn’t swollen but it wasn’t exactly straight, either. His lips were thin, his mouth wide, and Marnie thought when he smiled his whole face would light up. His jaw was strong but the left side didn’t quite match the right, giving him a roguish, slightly lopsided appearance that Marnie found incredibly endearing. Or perhaps it was the wide-eyed innocence that seemed to shine through those dusky blues despite the fact they were set in a face that had obviously seen more than its share of hardship.
His eyes focused on hers, and though he still hadn’t said a word she thought she read something there. She felt the urge to act on it. “I-I think this is all a little overwhelming for him. I get the feeling he hasn’t quite gotten a handle on where he is and what’s happened. Maybe we should leave him alone for a bit.”
Dr. Hall smiled. “I think you missed your calling, Miss Grant. You have an excellent bedside manner and a talent for reading patients.”
“No,” she said quietly. “Just this one.”
“Well, be that as it may, I think you’re right. We’ll give him a chance to adjust and perhaps the neurologist can get more out of him in the morning.” The doctor gave their patient one more appraising glance. “All in all, I think he turned out pretty well. He’s not completely healed yet, and he may need a couple more surgeries to smooth things over, but I’d say, considering what we started with, he’s come through quite well.” He turned to leave and instructed back to Iris, “Make sure you inform the neurologist that he’s come around. And the police will want to talk to him, but don’t even inform them he’s awake until the neurologist gives the go-ahead.” He tossed an appraising glance at Lucky. “His emotional state may be fragile, and I don’t want to jeopardize it by exposing him to too many probing questions.”
With those final instructions the plastic surgeon strode out of the ICU and exited through the big double doors.
“He seemed nice,” mused Marnie. “But I thought he should have addressed himself directly to Lucky rather than to me.”
“I’m afraid he’s not sure if our patient is processing information yet.” Iris adjusted a pillow. “Are you, Lucky? Do you understand what we’re saying to you?”
Lucky looked from Iris to Marnie and then scanned the ICU ward one more time. At last his eyes came to rest on Marnie and she could see that his breathing had sped up and feel the sweatiness on his palms again. His eyes were full, but at first she wasn’t sure what emotion she read there. He blinked, and she saw his jaw muscles clench and relax rhythmically. Then his eyes turned almost pleading, and when she saw a single tear trickle out of the corner of his eye she thought, maybe, she understood.
Quickly she said, “Turn out his light, Iris. I think he’s tired.”
“What do you mean? He’s been sleeping for more than a month.”
“Please, Iris? Just turn out the light.”
With a puzzled expression Iris did as she was asked, and while her back was turned Marnie quickly wiped away the moisture so that no one else would see. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay to be scared. But don’t worry.” She squeezed his hand in the familiar gesture of support. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll help you through this.”
Whatever this is, she commented to herself. She wasn’t sure exactly what Lucky was experiencing, but there was no doubt in her mind that he was terrified and he didn’t understand what had happened to him. For now, at least, she was his constant, his strength and his support. He needed her, and that knowledge tugged on her soul in ways she had never felt before. The feeling was new and strange, but there was no disputing she liked it.
Chapter Five
The man without a name closed his eyes against the strange sights and sounds that continued to bombard his senses. Light spilled in through the set of wide, bright windows at the opposite end of the room, and he knew instinctively that morning had arrived.
The night before, when he had first awakened and glimpsed his surroundings and the faces that were watching him so intently, he had felt a wave of panic. The images were jumbled, distorted—nothing made sense—and he felt like he had no reference point. Then Marnie had spoken and he had homed in on the familiarity of her voice and the warmth of her touch. It was his anchor, his point of reference. He still felt disoriented, but her nearness had helped to ease the anxiety.
Then they had removed the bandages and looked at him so strangely, making him feel even more vulnerable and exposed. Making him feel like they could see through him into secret places he had yet to discover. At last they had stopped staring, but even as relief washed over him
he had felt a burning desire to speak—to communicate with Marnie. She had wanted to know his name, and he felt he owed her that much. He wanted to explain to her why he couldn’t tell her. He wanted to say so much, but the words refused to come.
The ideas were in his brain, drifting around aimlessly like tendrils of mist and vapor that dissolved in his grasp. He couldn’t seem to connect the ideas to the words and make them come out of his mouth. He knew that all these things had names and labels—he could see them in his mind’s eye so clearly. But it was as if the words were hidden away in another part of his mind, secured and locked up tight. And he didn’t have the key.
The harder he tried, the more elusive his task. And then, when he had shed a tear out of pure frustration and utter fear that he would be never be able to break free of his strange prison, he had felt something new and terrifying. He had felt shame—shame for the tears and shame for his weakness.
Nothing could eradicate that pain, but he had felt oddly comforted by Marnie’s words and touch. He felt an innate trust in her, and when she had finally left hours later, he had been once again thrown into a void without form or structure. But as the hours passed and he watched the activities and heard the conversations buzzing around him, things had gradually begun to take shape again. The feeling of chaos had gradually been displaced by a sense of order. And then, just as the sun had broken through the clouds and its light blasted through the windows of his dismal domain, the locked door had burst open.
The torrent of understanding had been so sudden and fierce it had actually knocked the breath out of him. Nurses had come running as his heart rate skyrocketed and his breath gradually returned. At last he knew the words. At last he knew the thing he was lying on was called a “bed”. He knew that the woman tending to his needs was called a “nurse”. He knew that the distant ringing came from a “phone”. He knew so much, but still there were holes—great, gaping voids of knowledge he couldn’t begin to identify. At last he could speak, but still he couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know.