All the Pretty Lies

by M. Leighton

  As is my habit, I glance over at the monitor. I see the waves and colored numbers that I always see, and they reassure me like they always do. I notice Sloane’s foot has shifted and is uncovered. I walk to the end of the bed and cup her heel, gently moving her leg toward the center of the bed. I try not to feel panicked by how cool her skin is as I tuck the covers around her feet. I guess I should be happy she’s not still burning up.

  I’m just sitting down when I see her leg twitch. Then she kicks. Hard. Hard enough to jar the bed. I reach out to touch her arm and, just as my skin makes contact with hers, she starts to flail.

  Sloane flings her arms and legs, shaking her head back and forth on the pillow.

  “Sloane!” I call, trying to calm her down.

  My first thought is that she’s having a seizure. I’m just turning toward the door to hail the nurse when I see the commotion. Muted alarms are going off, people are scrambling, and Sloane’s nurse bolts up out of her chair and runs toward me. She goes straight to Sloane’s bedside and starts assessing her.

  My pulse is thudding in my head like a bass drum. I feel the horrific sensation that the bottom of the world is about to drop out from under me. Nurses don’t move like that for no reason. Whatever just happened to Sloane can’t be a good thing.

  “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside,” she says in a stern voice. “Now!”

  Like I’m in a dream, or better yet a nightmare, I back out of Sloane’s room. My heart bangs painfully around in my chest as I watch the scene unfold in slow motion. The nurse jerks back Sloane’s covers. I hear voices and noises, but they come to me from a thousand miles away. Two more people file into her room, one of them closing the curtain so that I can no longer see inside.

  “Sir, please step out into the waiting room. We’ll call you back in as soon as we know what’s going on,” a male voice says.

  Like a robot, I make my way toward the exit. I push the button and the automatic doors swing open. I step through them and turn, watching as they close again, separating me from Sloane. From what might be her taking her last breath.

  I stand, staring at the blank wooden doors, praying that God in all His mercy isn’t taking Sloane from me. That He would give me a few more minutes with her, another chance to tell her I love her. When her eyes are open and she can hear how much I mean it.

  I’m still facing them a few minutes later, dumbstruck and in shock, when they part and Sloane’s nurse walks through. She’s smiling and I’m confused.

  “Sloane’s fine. She had some alarming rhythms on her cardiac monitor, but I found that a couple of her leads had come loose. Had you straightened her blankets or something?”

  I’m so relieved, it takes me a minute to answer her. “I, um, yeah. Her foot was uncovered so I moved her leg and covered her back up.”

  The nurse frowns. “And that’s it?”

  “Yes. But she was shaking, too.”

  “What do you mean ‘shaking’?”

  “I thought she was having a seizure. She started kicking her legs and flailing her arms.”

  The nurse’s brow knits. “Hmm, okay. I’ll let the doctor know. Be sure to hit the call button if something like that happens.”

  Like I knew what the hell was going on, I think snidely. But I don’t say that. I’ll be nice as long as she’ll let me stay with Sloane.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She nods and smiles and turns back toward the door. I follow her through and make my way to Sloane’s side. I pull my chair closer to the bed and sit on the edge, taking her hand in mine. I watch her chest move with each breath she takes. I listen to the soothing, reassuring sound of it and I close my eyes, letting my head drop onto our joined hands.

  “Please wake up, Sloane. Please be okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to her.

  I feel her fingers twitch in mine. They do that fairly often. But then they squeeze. And they never do that.

  I jerk my head up and look at Sloane’s face. I look for signs that she’s waking up, that she can hear me or that she can feel me touching her.

  “Sloane? Can you hear me?” I ask softly.

  Her fingers squeeze mine again and I feel my stomach turn over. “Sloane?”

  I see her eyelashes flutter and I hold my breath. After a few seconds, just when I think it might’ve been imagining things, they flutter again, opening just a crack.

  Sloane opens and closes her lids several times before she opens them wide enough to focus on me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen more beautiful eyes or a more beautiful sight than Sloane looking up at me.

  “Hemi?” she croaks.

  “I’m right here, baby.”

  I stand just long enough to reach across her and hit the red call button. If the nurse thinks I’m going to leave Sloane to come and get her, she’s lost her damn mind.

  “I dreamed of you. I was drowning and the darker everything got, the harder I fought to get to you. I was so afraid I’d never see you again.”

  “You kicked your arms and legs. I thought you were having a seizure, but maybe it was just your dream.”

  Oh, God! I hope so!

  Confusion lights her eyes. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital.”

  I watch as a fearful understanding settles in. “Am I sick?”

  I know she knows the answer to that before she even asked.

  “They’re not sure yet. You’ve been unconscious for a while.”

  “How long?”

  “About twenty-nine hours. You fainted on me at my house. Do you remember coming over?”

  She doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

  Relief. “Good. Do you remember me telling you that I love you?” If I get to tell her anything while she’s awake, I want her to hear me say those words.

  Sloane smiles, her perfect, angelic smile. “As long as I live, I will never forget that.”

  My heart explodes. I drop my head to our joined hands again. I don’t want her to see how afraid I am, I don’t want her to remember me this way. I want her only to remember the good. Like the fact that I love her more than the air I breathe. I don’t want her to see that I’ll be lost without her, or that I don’t know what the hell I’ll do with the rest of my life if she dies.

  I fight the sting behind my eyes. I clear my throat before I raise my head, fighting for composure. “Then I hope you have a long memory.”

  Her smile turns sad. “I do, too.”

  She doesn’t know that I know, and I don’t want to discuss it now. I don’t want to tarnish these moments with things like that. I only want her to feel happy and safe and loved.

  The nurse rushes in. She looks first at me and then beyond me to Sloane, then she grins. “Well, hello there!”

  Sloane gives her a small smile. “Hi.”

  “I guess I’ll be giving the doctor a call.” Her expression says she’s more than happy to do so. “Anything I can get you, sleepy girl? Something to drink?”

  Sloane smacks her lips. “Yeah, something to drink. My mouth is dry.”

  “Ice water coming right up. I’ll call your father, too.” With a pleased smile, the nurse leaves us alone again.

  “I’m surprised Dad left.”

  “He didn’t want to, but he had to go. Something about your brother’s case.”

  She doesn’t look bothered by the fact that he’s not here. I know she’s not when she raises her hand to cup the side of my face. “That’s fine. I’m just glad you’re here.”

  “I’ve never left, Sloane. As long as you want me, I will always, always be by your side.”

  Even though she smiles, as the doctor walks in, I know she’s thinking the same thing I am: How long do we have? How long is always for us?

  ********

  I’ve never seen so many people come and go from a room. Of course, I’ve never spent much time in a hospital either.

  As soon as one person leaves, another comes in. Doing tests, hooking her up to machines, drawing blood.
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  I look out at the doctor, where he sits at a separate cubby, flipping through papers. I have to give him credit. He looks busy, taking in all these results and trying to make some kind of sense of them.

  I glance up at Sloane. I can see what a toll all this commotion is taking on her. I mean, she woke up and probably isn’t feeling one hundred percent. But, like the strong-willed person that she is, she smiles through the whole thing, never giving someone even so much as a dirty look. It just makes me love and admire her that much more.

  I watch her eyelids get heavier and heavier. I’m not surprised when she falls asleep just after the nurse leaves for the millionth time. When Sloane’s father arrives, I’m prepared for them to ask me to leave. I’m prepared to argue and give him every reason that I shouldn’t. But her dad saves me the trouble.

  “He can stay. We won’t get in your way,” he assures the nurse.

  She looks undecided at first. She glances at me and I hold her gaze. “Please.”

  “Okay, but when the doctor comes in, he may not let both of you stay. You can work it out between you, who has to leave.”

  With that, she makes her exit. When we are alone, Sloane’s father sits quietly on the other side of the bed, watching his daughter. I know the dread and fear he feels. I know it all too well.

  I don’t know how long we sit like that, both of us silently watching Sloane sleep, but the doctor finally comes in. He keeps his voice low.

  “Gentlemen, it’s been a long twenty-four hours for you, and I’m sorry about that. Considering Sloane’s condition, we needed to be thorough before we made any decisions about her care.”

  I feel a cold knot of alarm rise from the pit of my stomach to stick in my throat. I reach for Sloane’s hand, taking it gently in mine as I listen. Her skin feels like cool satin against mine. It makes my heart ache to think of the similarity it probably has to the lining of a casket.

  The knot grows larger.

  “We’ve gotten most of the results we were waiting for. Only one of them came back positive.”

  I drop down into the chair, bringing Sloane’s hand to my forehead. I feel it turn over and she splays her fingers along my cheek, lifting until my eyes meet hers. She’s awake. And her face is shining with love and fear and bravery.

  I close my eyes. I can’t look at her, knowing that the doctor might say that this is the beginning of the end. However long it might take for the end to get here, it’s too soon.

  “She has the flu.”

  My eyes fly open. Sloane’s are wide as they stare into mine. At the same time, we both glance at the doctor.

  “What?” she asks quietly, like she might be afraid she heard him wrong.

  “You’ve got the flu. We did a nasal swab that tested positive.”

  “All this from the flu?”

  “Well, you had a very high fever and you were severely dehydrated. So much so that you had a significant electrolyte imbalance. It caused a cascade of other problems, but nothing that can’t be fixed.”

  “So, she’s not…” Sloane’s father says in an unsteady voice that trails off.

  “She’ll be fine, Mr. Locke.”

  I see the relief that I feel as it overwhelms him. He slides limply into the other chair at Sloane’s side. “Thank God,” he breathes.

  “No wonder I’ve felt like crap for the last few days,” Sloane says.

  “You could’ve mentioned that, young lady,” Mr. Locke gripes good-naturedly as he raises his hand to brush Sloane’s hair. “You scared the life out of me.”

  Sloane’s brow wrinkles. “You thought…because of Mom…?”

  Mr. Locke nods, his eyes still shining. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I ever lose you, Sloane.”

  She reaches up to still his hand, wrapping her fingers around his. “You can’t live afraid like that, Dad. None of us can. If it happens, it happens. The most important thing is to live life the best we can until then. Nobody has the promise of tomorrow. The only thing we can control is living today with no regret.”

  “I know, hon, but it’s hard for a parent to do that. I hope one day you’ll understand that.”

  “I hope so, too, Dad. But—”

  “No buts,” he says with a smile. “We have today. And today you’ve got the flu. The flu we can handle. The flu you can recover from. The flu is…well, the flu,” he declares with a smile. “So, what’s the plan?” he asks the doctor.

  “All we can really do is treat the symptoms. If she does well the rest of the night, I’ll think about letting her go home tomorrow. She needs to be taking good care of herself, though. Lots of rest and lots of fluids. Tylenol for the fever. Maybe some chicken broth thrown in there until you feel like eating more. We’ll talk more about that in the morning. How does that sound?”

  His smile and demeanor are reassuring. They feel like a cool breeze on a hot day. They ease the ache in my soul, leaving me with only the determination to not lose one more second of time with Sloane. I never want to feel the way I have these last twenty-some hours again. Ever.

  Sloane’s right. None of us have the promise of tomorrow, which means I need to start making the best of today. Right now.

  “We’ll make sure she gets everything she needs, Doctor,” I say, glancing at Mr. Locke meaningfully before I look back down at Sloane.

  He nods. “I’ll let you work out the details then, and I’ll be back in to discuss more in the morning.”

  He smiles at Sloane, pats her foot and then makes his exit.

  “Come to my house,” I ask, not caring that her father is still here. “Let me take care of you. I want to take care of you.” I see the indecision in her eyes. “Please.”

  “But what about work? You can’t just take off to baby me.”

  “The hell I can’t! I own the place. I can do whatever I want.”

  Sloane looks aggravated for just a second before she sighs and rolls her eyes. “You forgot to mention that little detail. I thought you were just the manager.”

  “Nothing but my truth, right?”

  Her smile is slow, but it comes. “Right.”

  “Then come home with me. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. And probably a lot you don’t.”

  Her smile turns soft and she yawns. “Bring it on, big boy,” she says sleepily.

  “You got it, little girl,” I whisper, leaning forward to kiss her cheeks and her nose, her chin and her drooping eyelids. “But tonight, you rest. We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

  I don’t tell her that, until then, I’ll be planning ways to fill her days with happiness and adoration and every wonderful thing her beautiful mind can ever think of.

  If she’ll just say yes.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE- Sloane

  I wake to the smell of frying bacon. My appetite is coming back and I mentioned last night that bacon sounded good. Hemi wanted to go get some and make it right then, but I was tired, so I told him not to bother. Obviously, he didn’t forget.

  He has been absolutely wonderful these last four days.

  Although my father wasn’t too happy about me coming home with Hemi, he didn’t put up too much of a fight, which surprised me. It makes me wonder what kind of conversation they had while I was out.

  My mouth waters reflexively when another burst of delicious aroma comes wafting into the bedroom. I roll over in bed, sliding my hand over the rumpled sheets where Hemi slept and burying my face in his pillow. I could wake to this every morning for eternity and be the happiest girl on the planet.

  I feel the tickle of the sheet receding and I smile into the pillowcase. I don’t move a muscle until I feel Hemi’s lips at the base of my spine. Finally, I turn my head, opening one eye and fixing it on him.

  “Good morning,” I mutter.

  He smiles warmly at me, his eyes holding mine for a few seconds. Then I see them drop down to where I feel his fingers moving over my hip.

  “You ever gonna tell me what this tattoo really means?”

  I roll s
lightly onto my side, exposing more of my hips and ribs to Hemi. “Dad told you about me being sick when I was little, didn’t he?”

  Even before Hemi nods, I knew what his answer would be.

  “I figured.”

  “How did you know?”

  “You’re treating me like glass, like Dad and my brothers always have. I’m too familiar with it not to notice.”

  “I can’t apologize for wanting to take care of you, Sloane. Or for wanting to make sure you’re around for a long time, and that I get to treasure every minute of it with you.”

  My stomach leaps at his words. He’s made several references to the future lately. But I don’t want his desire to spend it with me to have been colored by the uncertainty that lies ahead for me.

  “I don’t want you to. I’m just saying that I’m familiar with it. That’s all.”

  “Just like your dad and your brothers, I do it because I love you.”

  I smile. It spreads across my face like the glow that’s spreading through my heart. “I love you, too. That’s why I don’t mind.”

  He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine. “I’m glad,” he says. I feel the stir of desire, but I don’t want to act on it just yet. I need to let Hemi get this babying out of his system first. I don’t want him to baby me. I want him to love me and touch me and treat me like someone he wants to live life with, not have to cater to and care for forever. “So, the butterflies…”

  “Ever since I was sick, my family, for all intents and purposes, kept me locked away, protected from the world like I was in a big oyster shell,” I explain, reaching down to trace the shell that Hemi inked on my skin all those weeks ago. “But when I turned twenty-one, I drew a line in the sand. I was going to live. Despite my family’s insistence that I have to walk through life like I’m fragile, I was going to live. Like a butterfly, emerging from a cocoon, I was going to spread my wings and live what time I had left flying high, bathed in beautiful colors.” Silently, Hemi touches each butterfly, dancing his way along my ribs. “A butterfly only lives for two weeks, but in those two weeks, they flutter all around, spreading their incredible wings and bringing magnificent color to the world around them. That’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Just like my mom did, I want to bring happiness and beauty to the world while I’m here. I want to smile and laugh and make a difference to the people I love. I want them to carry those good thoughts of me in their heart long after I’m gone. However long I have, be it two weeks or two years or two decades, I want to really live.”