“May I help you?” She had been so wrapped up with her memories that she hadn’t noticed when the receptionist ended her call.
“My…” What was Troy to her? Emma’s stomach lurched. “My friend is here. Troy Nanson. I’d like to see her.”
“Are you family?”
Tears filled Emma’s eyes at the thought that she might not be allowed to see Troy. “She doesn’t have any blood family that she knows of.”
“Please,” Emma’s father said, “my daughter’s been in the hospital for two months. She didn’t know her friend was here until today.”
The woman looked at Emma. She noticed the pallor and the bandages and the hospital-issue robe and wheelchair. “You’ll need to sign in first.” Emma watched as her father printed both their names in his neat, precise handwriting. By the time he had written the time, the purpose of their visit, and the patient they were visiting, Emma wanted to scream and snatch the pen from his hand. “She’s in Room 117, but there’s someone in with her right now.”
Emma’s father was already pushing her in the direction the nurse had indicated by her glance down the hall. He threw the nurse a dazzling smile. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and Emma had the briefest thought that her father could probably have his pick of any number of women, but it wouldn’t matter. He, like Emma, fell in love once in a lifetime. Emma pushed the thought away.
“Here it is. Are you ready to go in?”
Emma looked at the door. Was she ready? How could she ever explain to her father that she had been ready for years?
“Let’s go in,” she said, and her father pushed the door open and began to wheel her into Troy’s room. A man, perhaps her father’s age, sat slumped in a chair. He jumped up when he heard them push through the door. He was short—perhaps five three, maybe a little less. What was left of his wispy jet black hair was tasseled about his head. His bleary eyes flew to Troy’s bed and then back to Emma and her father. Her father topped him by at least ten inches, but he looked prepared to defend Troy if he had to. Emma liked him on sight.
“We’re sorry to disturb you. My daughter here is a friend of Troy’s.” The man seemed to relax when he heard Emma’s father say that.
“And here I thought I was her only friend,” he joked, but his words dropped off unconvincingly.
“You must be Raife,” Emma said.
“Yeah, I’m Raife.”
“She said you were all the family she had.”
Raife pressed his fist against his mouth. His eyes told Emma how choked up he was by what she had just said. Emma realized she had been avoiding looking at Troy. “Push me closer, Daddy.”
Troy’s mess of curls was all over her head. Her skin seemed pale, not golden brown like she remembered it. “She looks so thin.” Emma choked on her words.
“They’ve been feeding her intravenously, but she just—I don’t think she’s getting any better…” The words broke off, and Raife looked away.
Emma reached out and put her fingers in Troy’s hand. She felt the calluses that had created such an electric sensation when they had touched her body. She closed her eyes. Her heart ached at the thought that she and Troy had never actually made love, but there had to be something to her memories of it. After all, even though Troy looked a little different than she remembered, how could she remember Dite? How would she know how her hands would feel? It had not been a dream, not at all. She and Troy had grown close because of that shared horror.
“How long has she been like this?” Emma asked.
“Seven weeks, two days. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. It was all over the papers. Messengers from all over came to help out with the medical bills for her.” Emma could feel Raife’s pride in how Troy’s “family” had come together for her.
“She said she didn’t have many friends.” It was a statement, not a question, from Emma.
“She kept to herself a lot, but once you knew that about her, it was all right. She has friends. Hell, she has a family.”
Seven weeks? I was in a coma longer than Troy? What does that mean? Emma bit her bottom lip. A dull ache had begun at her temples and threatened to break her concentration. It means I didn’t read about her accident in the paper and somehow pull her into my world. I couldn’t have. I’ve never set eyes on her until today. No, that’s not quite true. I know too many intimate things about Troy for us not have known each other.
“What happened to her?” Emma asked.
The look on Raife’s face told her that he had told the story many times and it hadn’t gotten easier for him yet. “She was in a car accident. Her girlfriend was driving. You know about Patricia?”
“Troy told me some. But I don’t know much about her.”
Raife sighed. “Patricia didn’t make it. I don’t know how Troy did, but when they found her floating in the river, her heart wasn’t beating. They were able to resuscitate her, but they aren’t holding out much hope.”
Tears fell down Emma’s cheeks.
“Hey, don’t cry now.” Raife grinned at Emma. “If you know her like you say you do, you know she can be real stubborn. She got lucky being so close to this place. They got a specialist on staff here. Abe Dunham, he specializes in people with brain injuries like hers. If anyone can fix her up, he can.” Raife said the words with the slow steady cadence of a man who had repeated the very same thing to himself and several others so many times that he wasn’t even aware he was saying it.
“Dr. Dunham…”
Emma placed her hand over her father’s to stop him from speaking just as he was about to tell Raife about Dr. Dunham’s death. She wouldn’t take that hope from him. Troy needed all the strength she could get.
Emma laid her forehead on Troy’s bed and closed her eyes. I’ve found you, Troy. I’m here.
Chapter Twenty-One
They had a routine now. Emma would be dressed and ready by nine forty-five every morning. And her father would pick her up, help her to the car, and then drive her over to Troy’s hospital, where she would sit with her until three o’clock. Raife would come in around that time, and they would sit and talk, about Troy for the most part, but sometimes about life in general. Her father would return around five and take her back to the hospital. Today she had changed the routine by asking him to make an unplanned stop.
Curiosity was rolling off her father like a current. Somehow, he refrained from asking questions that Emma could feel crashing around inside his head. Questions like: Who was this woman he had been driving her to visit for the last eight days? What or who was she to Emma? And last, but not least, why were they sitting in the car at the graveyard?
Why are we sitting in a graveyard? Emma asked herself.
“Daddy, will you help me? The grass looks uneven.”
“Of course, sweet…” He was out of the car so fast that she didn’t hear the last part of the endearment.
She had refused to use the walker as soon as she was able, and she had flat-out nixed the use of a cane. No one could understand her fear that it would become a crutch, but she had stuck to her guns, and her physical therapist was amazed at how fast her legs regained their strength.
As much as Emma adored his attentiveness over the last few weeks, she hated that it stemmed from guilt. She sensed that he felt that he should have been able to keep her from being hurt. Irrational though the guilt was, his fear worried Emma more. She didn’t have to work hard to guess what he was afraid of, even though she was determined not to turn into that scared woman who had hidden in her home for two years. There were long periods filled with fear and panic that grabbed hold of her and refused to let go. She fought through them, though, and she hoped that they would become fewer as time went on.
“Do you know someone here?” His words were careful, like the hand he had on her elbow. Emma concentrated on walking for a moment before answering.
“She was Troy’s girlfriend. She died in the car accident.”
“This is a big place. How will you know where t
o find her plot?” he asked.
Once again, Emma marveled at her father’s willingness to help her while asking only minimal questions. “Raife gave me some idea. We should be getting closer. Oh, she’s right there,” Emma said, unprepared for the suddenness of seeing the name Patricia Rose Harvey in front of her. Somehow, she seemed more real. Not just a figment of Troy’s dream world, but a woman who had once breathed, laughed, and made love to Troy. The latter thought made Emma want to turn and walk away.
“I’m going to walk a little down the way here. Do you want me to help you sit down?”
“Yes, the ground should be dry enough. Thanks, Daddy.” He helped her sit down. She could feel his curiosity, but again he refrained from asking any questions, and again she was grateful.
“Take as long as you need.”
“I shouldn’t be long,” she said as he started walking away. She wouldn’t be long because she was there for one reason. To ask a favor.
“Hello, you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Troy’s.” The words sounded dry and silly. “I’m here because I think she might be having a little trouble finding her way. I was hoping you…you could send her the right way. No matter which way she chooses, I just don’t want her in limbo anymore.” The wind stirred around her like the softest sigh, and Emma stood up and waved to her father who was just a short way down the path. She was going home today. Back to the condo where she remembered making love to Troy. It hurt to think that she might never hear her voice again.
“Where to now?”
“I think it’s time for me to go home. To the condo.”
“Did the doctor release you?”
“No, but I think he’s done what he can for me. The rest is up to me.”
*
She would never get used to the sound of her phone ringing. Emma lifted her head and looked at the digital clock on her nightstand. Half past four in the morning. Who in the world would call me so early in the morning?
“Hello?”
“Emma? Emma Webster?” The male voice sounded drunk or excited or perhaps fearful.
“Who—”
“It’s Raife. She’s awake, Emma. She woke up! The hospital called me. They’re working on her now, but she—”
“Oh my God.” Emma said. “Patricia.”
“What?”
“Nothing, I’ll be there as soon as I can, all right?”
“Yes, hurry.” Raife slammed the phone down in Emma’s ear and she sat up, eyes wide, in the darkness.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you. Thank you.”
She was grateful now that her father had insisted that she put their home number into speed dial after she had moved back to the condo. She didn’t have to waste time getting up to turn on the light so that she could dial.
“Hello, Momma?” Her mother was either too sleepy or too annoyed by being awakened because she didn’t ask Emma why she was calling at such an hour. “Just a minute,” she said, and Emma heard the sound of the phone being fumbled.
Come on, Daddy. Hurry up, damn it.
“Hello?”
“Daddy? She’s awake.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said, and for the second time in as many minutes, Emma found herself listening to dead air.
She’s awake. Oh my God, she’s awake. Get going, Emma.
Emma limped to her chest of drawers and pulled out a pair of jeans. She had lost a little weight. Okay, too much weight, but she was eating better. Don’t get self-conscious, Emma. I’m sure Troy won’t be worried about how your jeans make your ass look flat.
It felt like an eternity before her father got there. He looked groggy. He wore a t-shirt, pajama bottoms, and slippers. A leather jacket was the only thing that protected him from the frigid morning air. He helped her to the car as a gentle wind swept his hair up until it was pointed like a steeple. Emma gave him a quick hard hug and a kiss on his stubble-crusted cheek.
“What’s that for?”
“For being here for me.”
“I’m your father.”
“I know. But it doesn’t mean I can’t say thank you.”
He grunted and Emma thought she saw a light pink around his ears. She turned her gaze back to the awaking world of Portland—damp, sleepy, and a tick past chilly.
The reception area was deserted, so Emma hurried past without stopping to sign in. Her father hung back; she no longer needed his arm to keep her balance, but she found herself longing for his support now.
She took a deep, steadying breath before entering Troy’s hospital room. Raife and a man in a white coat were standing next to Troy’s hospital bed, blocking Emma’s view of Troy. Dr. Shorenstein glanced back at the door, then back at his clipboard, and then back at her again. She could see the wheels turning in his head, the question as clear on his face as if he had written it on the clipboard he was holding and passed it to her.
“What are you doing here?” She knew why he was there, but she was tired of pretending that she didn’t know that she and Troy had been lab rats to these people. She really just wanted them all to go away so that she could be alone with Troy. Raife turned at the sound of her voice and stood up. The look on his face made Emma sick inside.
“Emma, wait.” Raife’s voice held a sadness that froze Emma in her place. Something was wrong with Troy. She could see it in his face.
“We should talk first.” Raife put his hands on Emma’s shoulders. “Let’s talk outside, okay?”
“Raife, no. I need to see her.” Emma ignored Dr. Shorenstein and pushed Raife’s hands away. “Hey, you decided to wake up, huh?”
The men in the room ceased to exist as she met Troy’s alert brown eyes. She kept waiting for the smile, the spark of recognition, something. When she did sense Troy’s feelings, the force of them almost bowled her over.
“What’s wrong?” Emma turned to Dr. Shorenstein. “What’s wrong with her? What did you do?”
He looked at her and stood up.
She started toward Troy’s bed, but was stopped by Raife’s hands on her upper arms. “Raife, what…” The look on Troy’s face made it impossible for her to finish her sentence. Emma turned to Dr. Shorenstein, glaring at him. He hadn’t said a word to her since he recognized her. She didn’t need him to tell her what was going on. She felt it when she looked at Troy.
Troy was afraid, confused, and so sad that she seemed unable to process it all. But worst of all, Emma had no impression of happiness when their eyes had met. There was just utter confusion and fear. She let Raife push her gently from the room. Dr. Shorenstein had followed, his clipboard at the ready, as if to document the conversation.
Emma ignored him and focused on Raife. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing, as far as we can tell. Dr. Shorenstein says she’ll be fine.” Raife’s words were clipped as if he didn’t want to say any more than he had to.
“You’re lying.” She started toward Dr. Shorenstein, and Raife put a hand on her arm. “Tell me what’s wrong with her,” she demanded, but Dr. Shorenstein was shaking his head. She sensed his confusion mixed with his excitement, but he offered her no answer and she could feel herself becoming hysterical.
“Emma? What’s going on?” Her father walked up carrying a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and a donut in the other. He glared at Raife’s hand on her arm until Raife removed it.
“I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything.” Emma wanted to run to her father like a small child.
“Look, there’s nothing to tell. She woke up. She’s having trouble talking, but she seems fine.” Raife’s words continued to be cautious, as if he had been coached in what he could and could not say. “She doesn’t remember what happened, and she’s grieving for Patricia. I…I told her you had been here every day waiting for her to wake up and…she, uh…”
“She doesn’t remember me.” The words alone should have hurt, but she felt void of any emotion.
“No. She doesn’t remember you at all.”
; Emma moved toward the seats that were lining the far wall and stumbled. Raife and her father got to her before she hit the floor and helped her into a seat. Tears were streaming down her cheeks by the time they got her seated.
Raife’s suspicion had faded to pity and compassion.
“Ms. Webster, I have a few questions. To start, how are you and Ms. Nanson acquainted?” Emma forced herself to focus on Dr. Shorenstein’s face.
“You have some nerve.” She spat the words out as if they were lava in her mouth.
“Emma, what’s wrong?” Her father’s voice was confused but close, and she thought she felt his hand on her shoulder. Her anger began to build until she felt she might leap out of the chair and beat Dr. Shorenstein with his own clipboard. She looked down at the floor and forced herself to breathe.
“Dr. Shorenstein, I don’t ever want to see you again.” She kept her words slow and deliberate. “If I see you again, I will make things bad for you and everyone involved in this thing. Do you understand?”
They met each other’s eyes, and Emma could feel his excitement build as he realized that she, unlike Troy, did remember something. Emma kept staring at him until she felt understanding dawn upon him, followed by his slow steady disappointment. It didn’t matter if she did remember. She would not be telling him anything.
Dr. Shorenstein began to walk away, but stopped. He raised his pen up in the air as if he were about to hail a cab. “If you plan on implicating people, you’ll want to start with your mother. She’s the one that signed the consent. There was nothing unethical about what we did.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Emma said, but her anger had already begun to ebb away.
“If you should change your mind—”
“Never,” Emma said and turned away from Dr. Shorenstein, pushing him from her mind like a terrible secret better forgotten. The hallway was quiet and Emma found herself wanting to talk.
Never Wake Page 26