Never Wake

by Gabrielle Goldsby

  “How could she not remember?” Even though she spoke out loud, she was asking herself the question, but it was Raife who answered.

  “Dr. Shorenstein says that it might be because of the head trauma caused by the accident. He did say sometimes they regain—”

  “Sometimes. I know. He told me the same thing. Only I was lying about remembering because I didn’t want to be his guinea pig anymore. But Troy isn’t. She didn’t recognize me. She had no more feelings for me then she had for Dr. Shorenstein standing over her with that damn clipboard. Will it upset her if I go in to say goodbye?”

  Raife looked uncertain.

  “Please.” Emma was unable to stop the sob that came out. “I just want to know that she’s okay.”

  “She’s fine.” He handed her a Kleenex from a box sitting on the built-in table next to her. “Clean up before you go in to see her.”

  Emma wiped her eyes, closed them, and took a deep breath. She pasted a smile on her face. “Okay?”

  Neither of the two men gave her the impression that her smile was convincing, but she kept it in place. She had hoped for time alone with Troy, but Raife followed her into the room. She told herself she would have done the same thing in his position, but it still rankled.

  Her father entered the room. “Go ahead and talk to her, Emma.” He looked at Raife. “We’ll both wait here.”

  Emma saw the quick rush of anger pass Raife’s face, but he didn’t seem interested in a confrontation, because he said nothing.

  “Thanks, Daddy.” Emma hoped he heard the unspoken thanks for everything in her voice.

  Troy turned her head when she heard the voices. Emma felt awkward in her baggy jeans. She felt like she would never get to Troy’s bedside. And the eyes—the sharp, brown eyes followed her every move. Saw the limp, saw everything about her, and there was not one pulse of recognition in them.

  Emma hesitated and reached for Troy’s hand. Her fingers were limp at first and then tightened.

  “Hi there.” Emma continued to speak before the confused look on Troy’s face could turn into discomfort. “It’s okay, Raife told me. I wanted to see you anyway. I know you don’t remember me right now. The doctor said that it might come back to you, but I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for being my friend.”

  Troy’s fingers tightened around hers and one of Emma’s tears dropped on her own arm. She kept the smile plastered on her face. She felt it when Troy started to feel agitated and uncomfortable. She released her hand.

  “I’m…sorry…”

  Emma shook her head. “You never have to be sorry. Not for me.” Emma closed her eyes. She wanted to say more. She could have said a lot more. “I’m going to leave so you can get some rest, all right?”

  Troy didn’t say anything and Emma released her hand, although Troy didn’t seem agitated by it. Her father must have convinced Raife to leave the room because they were alone. Emma took one last look at Troy. She wanted to tell her she loved her, but what good would that do?

  “Goodbye for now,” she said, but Troy just continued to stare at her. Emma sensed curiosity and surprise but nothing else. “I’ll send Raife in,” she said and walked out of the room as quickly as her knee would allow.

  Her father and Raife stopped talking when they saw her. She spoke to Raife first. “Will you let me know if…if anything changes?”

  He hesitated. “You could still come and check on her from time to time.”

  Emma shook her head. “I make her nervous. I don’t want to…” She stopped. The idea that her presence would scare Troy hurt more than Emma knew how to express.

  It was no consolation that Raife’s suspicion seemed to be fading because Troy didn’t know who she was. She didn’t remember.

  How could she not remember?

  Emma turned away and fell into her father’s arms. She could hear Raife talking to her back.

  “I’m sure she’ll remember soon. You just need to give her time.”

  The sobs rocked through Emma’s body. Did it really happen if she was the only one with the memories? What if there was nothing for Troy to remember?

  Epilogue

  Emma hadn’t heard from Raife since just after Christmas, and here it was, nearing May, so yes, she was surprised when Dana gave her the message to meet him in front of the federal courthouse at noon. “Don’t be late,” the message read. Emma looked at her wristwatch. She had about a minute to spare.

  She hadn’t been surprised when Raife’s calls had gone from weekly to monthly to even less frequent. Their last conversation had been between Christmas and New Year’s. She had laughed until she was in tears over his description of Troy’s attempt at cooking Christmas dinner.

  They had grown silent during that phone call and Emma had sensed that there would be few, if any, others. She liked Raife, but any mention of Troy would always carry a bittersweet pain. She would never deny her memories of the time they spent together, but knowing she was out there somewhere, living, breathing and awake, yet inaccessible, would always hurt.

  Through Raife she had learned that Troy had shown up at Quick Fast two months after being released from the hospital and sat there until he was forced to send her out on a few calls just to appease her. Within a month, she was back to riding her old route. The danger involved in the job worried Emma, but she would have expected nothing less from her. Troy was continuing with her life as best she could while coping with the loss of a loved one.

  Emma had done the same.

  She felt nervous and fidgety. Her eyes were drawn to the train windows with every street sign that they passed. She found herself studying the faces of her fellow passengers. Their annoyances, pleasures, and pains flowed around her with the occasional strong feelings getting her attention for the seconds it took her to push it out of her conscious mind. There was a time, even before the attack, when the “noise” associated with being around so many people bothered her. Now it made her feel alive. It made her aware of the lives around her. She cherished every minute of it.

  Emma started as she realized she had unwittingly been staring at a woman sitting across from her—olive skin, dark seductive eyes, and a wonderful smile. Emma smiled back, feeling the prick of pride at the woman’s interest.

  She had spent the last year rehabilitating her body. She felt and looked lean. The limp was hers for life, but she was told that it wasn’t noticeable unless you knew what to look for. She had even purchased a mountain bike. She had been too shy to do more than a few trails with the athletic group she had joined, but she was getting there.

  She felt a surge of excitement mixed with apprehension as the train slowed for her stop. Emma hopped off and swung her day pack over one shoulder as she checked the sidewalk for Raife and then looked across the street at the park. Lunchtime meant the park had its usual assortment of homeless and business people. There was an unwritten, unspoken rule in Portland. While in the parks, the homeless could be trusted not to beg. And the business people with their bagged lunches and take-out cartons could be trusted to waste food, leaving a smorgasbord for anyone in need of a good meal.

  Emma sat down on the stone stairs of the courthouse and started rummaging in her pack for the sandwich she hadn’t had time to finish in her rush to meet Raife.

  She saw her shoes first. Then she saw her muscular calves and the rolled-up black Dickies that always seemed two sizes too big for her. She had leaned Dite against her hip and was pulling off a light rain shell.

  Emma’s heart slammed into her chest. Troy doesn’t remember me. It’ll only make her uncomfortable. And I was just starting to make peace with the situation. Did Raife send her on a bogus pick-up so that we could run into each other? Why would he do that? He did it because you’re too scared to do it, that’s why.

  As Troy draped her jacket over the handlebars of the bike, Emma’s eye was drawn to the tattoo on her shoulder. Her fingers pulsed and the ghost of a memory of how the tattoo felt materialized in her mind. She had almost convinced
herself that the memories were a side effect of the drug. She had tried to tell herself that it was a dream so that she could move on, but even though it might be possible for her to have dreamed up a woman that looked, sounded, and acted like Troy, she couldn’t have created memories of Troy’s bike, Troy’s tattoo, and even Troy’s feelings about Patricia. Not without knowing her.

  “I’m thinking about getting it removed,” Troy said in a casual voice that threw Emma’s body into turmoil. She felt her heart beating and air passing through her nostrils, her parted lips, but everything else seemed to have slowed to a near standstill. The buzz of emotions from the nearby park inhabitants—even from the woman in front of her—was suddenly cut off. It was as if someone was giving her something to savor before they snatched Troy away for good.

  “I don’t understand.” She had dreamed of this moment often for the first few weeks after Troy had awakened, soothing herself with the possibility that she and Troy did live in the same city and that they might someday run into each other. But she hadn’t believed it. Portland wasn’t that small and she had never believed in coincidence.

  “Oh, I thought you were looking at the tat.” Troy looked embarrassed and turned to look behind her in a gesture that Emma almost recognized, but didn’t quite. The Troy she knew had not been shy. But things had been different then.

  Emma smiled trying to hide the fact that she was feeling slow and stupid because she sensed nothing from Troy. No nervousness, no curiosity—nothing.

  “I’m in your way.” Emma moved to the side so that Troy could get by.

  Instead of walking up the stairs Troy gestured toward Emma’s leg. “Does that hurt you?” Troy asked.

  Emma glanced down at her leg and expected to see a splotch of mayo or something just as embarrassing. She realized that Troy had picked up on the limp. She couldn’t have picked up on it from just those few steps, could she?

  “How did you—”

  “Your limp was worse when you came to see me in the hospital.”

  Emma looked at the ground so that Troy wouldn’t see how elated she felt at her words. She remembers me coming to the hospital. That was something, right?

  “I forget about it sometimes. I don’t know what causes it. They think it’s nerve damage, but,” she shrugged, “it’s hard to say. It seems to feel better as long as I use it a lot.” Emma forced herself to shut up when she realized she had begun to babble.

  Troy didn’t say anything, and Emma worried that she was making her uncomfortable again.

  “You’re probably busy,” Emma said, giving Troy a way out of the conversation. She couldn’t rely on her senses this time to know if she was making Troy uncomfortable.

  “No, I’m not busy.”

  “Business slow?”

  Troy looked embarrassed again. “No, it’s not too bad. I meant I won’t be busy until Raife sends another call my way.”

  Emma figured that Raife wouldn’t send her on another call if he had gone to so much trouble to get them together.

  “I know you kept in contact with Raife and I’ve wanted to talk to you about what happened, but I don’t know where to begin.”

  Emma looked away from Troy. Over the last year she had been certain that the way she was handling the situation was right. Troy didn’t remember her or what they had shared and one day Emma would be able to accept that. But the fact that she had gone out of her way to avoid her would always hurt.

  “I should…you’re going to be late for your…”

  “Uh, Ms. Webster?”

  “It’s Emma,” she said too loudly. Then more quietly, “You can call me Emma.”

  “Emma…don’t go yet. Please.”

  Emma turned to look at her then, surprised at the sadness she felt coming from Troy. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve gone through so many feelings and I don’t know why I’m feeling half of them. Do you think you’d like to maybe have some coffee?”

  Wait, did she just ask me out? What was that she said about asking someone out for coffee? “It’s exactly like a date without all the awkwardness of asking,” Emma said aloud.

  “What did you just say?”

  Emma recognized the look on Troy’s face. She’d probably been wearing a similar one when she’d realized who was standing in front of her.

  Emma flushed. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You said, ‘Exactly like a date without all the awkwardness of asking.’ Did I tell you that?”

  “Yes, you did,” she admitted. She was afraid, but she was also tired of avoiding the issue. She and Troy had been through a lot together; the tattoo and her own feelings were all she needed to tell her that it had been no dream. She expected to feel some relief, but instead all she felt was an intense longing. The sex—although magnificent—had been too brief, but she missed her friend most of all.

  Troy was searching her face with such intensity that Emma had to fight not to look away. “Raife told me that you came to sit with me every day when I was in a coma. He said you told him that we were friends, but I think we were more than that. Weren’t we?”

  “Yes, we were more than that,” Emma said. She was afraid of where the conversation was going, but she was also ecstatic that they were having it. Even if Troy was still having trouble with Patricia’s death, even if she didn’t believe any of what Emma had to say, it was time to put it out there.

  “So what do we do now?” Emma asked.

  “I think we were going for coffee.”

  “We can go another time if you think Raife will need you,” Emma said, and she could have kicked herself in the ass for suggesting it. She had waited a year for this very moment and now she was offering to postpone?

  “He won’t.” Emma recognized the determination in Troy’s voice. “I asked him to call you. There’s a coffee place down the street.” Troy swung her bag over her head and started pushing Dite down the sidewalk.

  Emma watched after her grinning like the village idiot and then had to hurry to catch up to her. Calm down, girl. She asked you to coffee. She isn’t going anywhere. Now, you just have to make sure you don’t mess this up.

  “Want me to carry that while you push the bike?” Emma asked in order to cover her growing excitement.

  Troy smiled. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I have a ton of stuff in here.” Emma smiled and wanted to say she knew that, but she couldn’t. Not yet, maybe not ever.

  “The coffee shop is a few blocks up. Are you okay with the walk? We could take the MAX if it starts to rain.”

  “No, I’m fine. I like the rain.”

  They continued their walk in silence. Troy seemed to be at war with herself about something, but Emma couldn’t get a clue as to what it was. The skin over her knuckles was lighter as she gripped the handlebars of her bike. Emma’s eyes went back to the tattoo again as the muscle beneath it bulged. She remembered seeing those arms poised above her, while those brown eyes—eyes so far off from her now—had watched her every move, even when she had succumbed to an orgasm.

  Troy caught her looking, and Emma tried to cover. “You said you were going to get it removed. Why?”

  “I don’t need it to remind me anymore,” Troy said as she looked up at the sky and then over at Emma as soft mist began to fall on them. “Do you want to wear my jacket?”

  Emma glanced at Troy in surprise. “It’s not raining that much.”

  Troy looked embarrassed and continued to stare straight ahead. The rain began to peck at the rain jacket laid over Troy’s bike and they kept walking. Emma felt a sense of deja vu as people walked around them as they made their way toward the café to get that coffee.

  “A few days after I woke up, I started to have these—dreams,” Troy blurted out.

  “About what?” The two words felt heavy on her tongue.

  “About you. About us…about a strange time. I didn’t know what to make of it. I knew I had seen you the one time, but I was dreaming of whole conversations, and they seemed so real.” T
roy’s words were carefully selected and she wouldn’t look at Emma. But Emma could sense that she was confused.

  Oh, thank goodness! She had decided from the beginning that she would never tell anyone what she believed happened to her and Troy, in part because she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure what was imagined and what wasn’t. Emma couldn’t help think how easy it would be to blurt everything out now that Troy admitted to having dreams. All she had to do was ask her what she dreamed and fill in the blanks for her. She would just be completing the picture. No, I can’t do that. I can’t put my memories in Troy’s mouth. Either she has to remember on her own or not at all.

  The thought that Troy might never remember hurt so much that Emma stumbled. Troy reached out to steady her, almost dropping her bike in the process. Emma looked up into Troy’s concerned eyes. With her braids tied back she should have looked younger; instead Emma thought she looked exhausted—as if she hadn’t slept through the night in some time. But worst of all, she looked sad.

  “I just remember being with you.” Emma couldn’t leash a sharp barking laugh that escaped her mouth as she realized what Troy was trying to tell her. She’s remembering! She may not remember all of it, but her soul remembers what we shared. A fleeting look of hurt flashed over Troy’s face before it was replaced with a smile so fast that Emma had just registered the change.

  “I remember your laugh. You didn’t do it enough, but I remember.” Troy’s words were spoken so low that Emma wondered if she had sensed the words rather than heard her speak them.

  Emma felt as if a door had opened to her. All of the things Troy felt inside began to tumble out for Emma to see, like a cupful of wishes folded into little triangles for her to unfold and read.

  A bead of water fell from a curl of hair at Troy’s temple and was held captive on her eyebrow. Emma reached up to capture the drop with the tip of her thumb. Her thumb moved as if of its own accord and brushed along Troy’s eyebrow until she was cupping Troy’s cheek. The back of her hand looked so pale against the dark gold of Troy’s skin. Emma met Troy’s eyes.