Wake

by Abria Mattina

  “Fine.” I excuse myself to ‘do homework’ while Frank and Luke make conversation. I hear Luke invite Frank out to Port Elmsley in the near future, and sigh with relief. That’ll make Frank happy, and it’ll give me some solitude around the house.

  I start preparing dinner for him—ham sandwiches and salad—and do another neurotic message check on my phone. Nothing. I text Elise for an update but she doesn’t get back to me.

  “Frank! Food!”

  Luke doesn’t stay—claims he has to get back, and we part with a civil goodbye. Frank asks if we’re okay now.

  “We’re talking.” That’s more than I want to give him, but it’s what I have to give to make my brother happy. He tucks in to his sandwich and devours half of it before he looks up again.

  “How come Jem isn’t around?” Frank may not like Jem or my relationship with him, but as a creature of habit Frank has become accustomed to visits, particularly around the weekend. If Jem isn’t here, I’m usually at his house.

  “He’s having some testing done.” It’s a fairly benign lie, and one that covers my ass should Frank learn that Jem spent part of the weekend in the hospital.

  “Is he alright?” Frank asks suspiciously.

  I nod. “Just a routine checkup. Cancer’s one of those diseases you have to follow up on occasionally.” I get an eye roll from Frank for stating the obvious. He senses my fickle mood and lets me be without further prodding. I don’t leave the kitchen until bedtime. By the time I retire there is no less than five days’ worth of food in the freezer (Frank is pleased) and I feel marginally better. I fall asleep knowing that feeling won’t last.

  Saturday

  Elise calls me during breakfast to chat. Jem is coming home today. She doesn’t let slip many details about his physical condition, but mentions that he won’t be up for having guests right away.

  “I understand.” I don’t like it, but the best thing I can give him right now is the privacy to rest and heal.

  I change the subject. “Have you applied for work at that camp yet?” I know Elise wants to, even though she doesn’t think she should. She admits to having printed an application off the camp website, but she hasn’t filled it out or sent it in.

  “You should.”

  “Mmm. I need to be here.”

  I have to let the call end to go to work, but not before I extract a promise from Elise that she’ll call to let me know how Jem is doing.

  “I’ll tell him you said hello.”

  “Tell him he’s my favorite asshole, okay? He’ll know what it means.”

  Elise snorts into the phone. “Now I know how you put up with him. Two peas in a screwed up pod.”

  That sounds about right.

  *

  Work drags. It’s a busy day at the B&B because the dining room and garden have been booked for a Christening reception. My mind is elsewhere and each plate of food I bring to the buffet, each batch of lemonade I squeeze for the garden party, gets me one step closer to the end of my shift. Every time I go into the pantry I surreptitiously check my phone for messages. Still nothing from Elise. It’s early, yet. Jem isn’t due to be discharged until this afternoon.

  It’s odd, missing him and not knowing when I’ll see him again. I’ve never missed anyone who wasn’t family before. With every other guy I dated, I couldn’t have cared less where he was or what he was doing when we weren’t directly interacting. This absence from Jem makes me feel strange. I get the sense that if I could hear him or touch him, everything would settle back into its proper place, even though I know that such an idea is beyond naïve.

  Mrs. Elwood can tell I’m a little distracted. She keeps me in the kitchen after noon, because how badly can I screw up washing dishes?

  “Willa.” I jump as Mrs. Elwood speaks right over my shoulder. I quickly try to figure out what I’m in trouble for—did I space out? Forget to shut off the tap?

  “Sorry.”

  Mrs. Elwood gives me a quizzical look. “Phone’s for you.” I slip away to the laundry room and pick up the line there.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Willa.” Elise sounds cautiously optimistic. “Just calling to let you know that Jem’s home safe.” The news doesn’t give me the relief I thought it would. He’s still sick, just in a different location, and I still have to keep my distance so he can recover.

  “Oh. Good.”

  “He was asking for you.”

  “Let him know I miss him and I’ll see him soon.”

  “Um, Mom said it’s cool of you come over later. For a short visit, anyway. It might cheer him up.” Now I wish it were a slow day at the B&B so I could blow off the last half hour of my shift to go see him.

  “I get off work at three. I can come straight after.”

  “That works,” Elise agrees. “See you then.”

  I didn’t think it was possible, but time crawls even slower.

  *

  I drive directly to the Harpers’ house after work, buzzing with nervous excitement the whole time. I’m relieved that I get to see Jem again so soon, but I know it won’t be pretty. He wasn’t in the hospital for nothing.

  When I pull into the driveway, Dr. Harper steps out onto the front porch and waves at me. I half expect him to turn me away at the door—his wife made a mistake; Jem really isn’t well enough for company yet.

  “How are you, Willa?” he asks as I climb the front steps. I follow along with this exchange of pleasantries, and then he invites me into the front room. “I want to talk to you.”

  We sit across from each other on the couch and loveseat. The way he leans forward with his elbows on his knees and speaks carefully, softly, reminds me of the way doctors explain prognoses to next-of-kin. He tells me what to expect from Jem—his level of energy, his symptoms, and how long I’ll be able to stay. He tells me that Jem’s kidney is bruised and still may bleed slightly, so I shouldn’t hug him too hard. I’ll have to wear a mask around him, both to keep him safe from my germs and keep me from catching his, and wash my hands thoroughly.

  “When will he be back to school?”

  “When he’s up to it. I don’t know when that will be.”

  Elise, hovering restlessly during the conversation, interrupts to ask if her dad is done reading the riot act. She takes his stern look as a yes and grabs my hand. I get tugged off the couch and into the kitchen to wash up and don a mask, and then Elise hurries me up the stairs to see Jem.

  “Calm, Elise,” Dr. Harper warns her. “Don’t unsettle him.”

  “We won’t!”

  Elise knocks on Jem’s bedroom door, but doesn’t wait for a response before pushing it open and stepping inside. “Willa’s here!” she announces in a sing-song voice. Her mood almost irks me, because I can’t find it within myself to show so much cheer.

  I didn’t think it would be this hard, seeing him, but he has the telltale signs of a lung problem and it brings back memories I wish I didn’t have. His lips are white and cracked, and I can hear his breathing from across the room. He has a weary look in his eye that is either exhaustion or slight oxygen deprivation.

  Jem holds out his arms and I gather him up in a hug. I push his hat back because I want to feel that little bit of softness. His fingers tug at my sleeves and dig into my arms as I kiss his temple and whisper in his ear. “I missed you.”

  “Take that off.” His voice is hoarse. Jem tugs my mask off and I indulge him with a kiss on the corner of his mouth before putting it back on. I promised his dad I would wear it.

  It hurts Jem to talk, so we don’t. We touch and nuzzle, reacquainting ourselves with the scent and shape of each other. His collarbone seems to stick out more than it did last week. It feels like he’s lost weight, and his hands and the tip of his nose are cold. I hold his hands to my neck for warmth. He uses the hold on me to pull me in closer until I’m cuddled against his shoulder.

  We entirely forget the fact that we’re not alone at this reunion until Elise’s feet shift softly against the floor. She loo
ks a little shocked, and maybe even guilty at intruding, as she backs out of the room.

  “I’ll uh, go now.”

  Jem smiles at me as she shuts the door. “Good,” he whispers. “I want you all to myself.”

  “Hush.” It obviously pains him to talk. It sounds like his throat is swollen and he has patchy bruises around his neck. When he breathes there’s a nasty sucking sound that I know all too well. There’s a plastic bowl set on his bedside table, presumably for this exact purpose. I grab it and a tissue and tell him, “Arms up and cough.” He looks at me like I just told him to pick up dog poop with his bare hand.

  “Give me a minute?” he says. He’s making small gasps—reflexive coughs that he’s trying to suppress. He takes the bowl and glances at the door.

  “I’ve seen you puke at least five different colors and you want privacy for this?” I put an arm around Jem’s back and help him sit up a little farther. It only takes two cupped thumps on the back before the reflex to cough overpowers his self-consciousness, and the wet gob that caught in his throat comes up to say hello.

  “Rinse.” I hand him water to cleanse his mouth and take the bowl away to dispose of the mess.

  “You’re not a nurse,” he scolds me softly when I return from the washroom. “Come cuddle.” Jem just wants to be held. We negotiate a comfortable position that keeps him propped up and comfortable, with room for him to turn away and cough when he feels the need. He rests his head back on my shoulder, half-sitting, half-spooning, and dozes languidly.

  I track the rise and fall of each fragile breath. Old habit has come back in full force, waiting for a hitch or a sign of distress. I have to keep reminding myself that Jem’s situation is different; he’s on the mend, not terminally ill. He’s home, and he’s healing. His hands grip my little ones with living connection. So close and warm, I slip into that comfortable state of relaxation between sleeping and waking, only to be woken a short time later by the pounding in my chest. Something is wrong, and I know it even in my sleep.

  Jem isn’t breathing.

  Jem: June 10 to 11

  Saturday

  I’ve never slept so well or so deeply. I wake up with a soft set of lips pressed to mine, but not my girlfriend’s—my dad’s. I choke back the stale air he forces into my lungs, coughing painfully. The center of my chest is on fire.

  “Jem?” He calls my name over and over again. Dad leans over and shines a pocket flashlight in my eyes. Thank you, I need to be blind on top of everything else.

  He makes me squeeze his hands and tell him the date. I’m on the floor next to my bed and cold without a blanket. I need my blanket. Willa kneels opposite my dad with one hand on my wrist and the other on the phone.

  “I got through.” She passes the phone over to Dad, who says he needs an ambulance at our address.

  “I’m fine.”

  He ignores me and starts rattling off the details of my condition. That can’t be right. Willa’s fingers adjust position on my wrist, looking for a better pulse point.

  Dad hangs up the phone and Willa says that my fingers are turning blue. They are not. It’s really bright in here…

  Suddenly I’m lurched upwards so Dad can set a pillow under my shoulders. He asks if I can breathe. Of course I can. He asks me again, and again, and calls my name.

  “I said yes.” All I can manage is a whisper.

  “You didn’t say anything.”

  My head is splitting and my chest is heavy. It feels like I have to cough, but when I try barely anything happens. It’s like pushing against a solid concrete barrier. Willa’s hand leaves my wrist and a moment later I feel her tugging at my sock. “His feet are blue too.”

  Both their hands are on me then, taking my socks off and pushing my pajamas up my calves. Their hands press along my legs and feet, looking for pulse points.

  “Just a few more minutes,” Dad says to me. There’s a hysterical edge to his voice that unsettles me. If the doctor is worried, I know it’s bad. His fingers rest on my neck while Willa’s resume their place at my wrist. I close my eyes and listen to them compare counts on my heart rate.

  I think I fall asleep, because the next thing I’m aware of is the smooth feel of sterile gloves against my skin. A plastic oxygen mask is fitted over my mouth and nose, and when I open my eyes a man I’ve never seen before is leaning over me.

  “He’s been in and out of consciousness,” Dad says. No I wasn’t. I was sleeping.

  I can’t see Willa anywhere. The EMT attaches a blood pressure cuff to my arm while his partner—a petite blond woman—asks me questions to check my level of consciousness. She presses a digital thermometer into my ear and announces that I’m running a fever. Again? Fuck me.

  I close my eyes as they lift me onto a stretcher. The familiar straps close around my body. I watch languidly as the door and then the hall and stairs pass by, but I still don’t see Willa. I see Elise and Eric, both their faces strained with worry. I want to tell them not to be upset, but my body just wants to sleep.

  The EMT asks Dad if he’s riding along with me. He says he will. Where’s Willa? She was just here a few minutes ago…

  As I’m lifted into the back of the ambulance I see her standing next to Elise. Her face is pale and blank, like a ghost. She’s still here. She didn’t leave.

  As Dad climbs in beside me Willa steps closer and raises a hand to wave. That’s when I see the blood. It’s all over her cheek and neck, running down her jaw. I try to point, to tell her she’s bleeding.

  “Willa.”

  “It’s okay,” she tells me. The whole collar of her shirt is red. Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with her?

  “Will—”

  The doors close, cutting me off. I try to tell Dad that she was bleeding, but he doesn’t get it. He just keeps reassuring me that everything is okay. That’s not the point. I’m talking about her.

  “BP’s dropping.”

  I think I’ll sleep.

  Whenever

  My mouth is dry. How’s that for a coherent thought? My chest hurts like hell and my head is pounding so hard I don’t even want to open my eyes. I’m cold, and I can tell by the smell that I’m in the hospital. I’m not in my own clothes, either, and the oxygen tube under my nose has dried out my airway.

  I mumble ‘water’ and a moment later someone fits a straw between my lips. The water is warm but I don’t care.

  “How you feeling?” It’s Elise’s voice, but the hand that squeezes mine feels like it belongs to Mom. That writer’s bump is hard to mistake.

  I grunt at them and Elise offers more water. “The lights are dimmed. Open your eyes?” she says hopefully. All they want is signs of life, so I crack an eyelid for them.

  “You were in and out, yesterday. How are you feeling now?”

  “Just kill me.”

  Elise knows I’m not serious, just cranky, but she pouts anyway and whines my name.

  “You’d get to see if Thestrals are real after all,” I croak. For a second she looks genuinely tempted. Uh-oh.

  Mom nudges Elise and tells her to go inform Dad and Eric that I’m awake. I tell her not to bother, I’m going right back to sleep. Mom nods to the door anyway and pets my head as Elise leaves. She sound of the door closing makes my ears ring.

  “Just sleep,” she says.

  “W’time is it?”

  “Twelve.”

  “At night?”

  “No, noon. It’s Sunday, sweetie.” I cough and she makes me take another sip of water. Mom tells me my fever is back and that the infection in my lungs has developed into pneumonia. I burst a blood vessel in my throat, so I should be on alert for any more signs of pain or bleeding.

  “What’d the doctor say?”

  “You’re going to be fine.” Mom doesn’t usually bullshit me like that. Either she doesn’t know the prognosis yet or I’m so well and truly screwed that she doesn’t want to admit it. She adjusts my blanket around me for warmth and I wish I was at home, in my own bed, under my own blank
ets, and preferably with a certain someone to cuddle with.

  My memory of last seeing her is vague. She was holding me, I think…and bleeding?

  “Is Willa okay?”

  “She’s fine. Eric drove her to work today.” Mom rubs my back and the gentle vibration makes me want to cough. I resist the urge, knowing it will hurt. “She spent the night.”

  “At our house?”

  “In the waiting room.”

  I close my eyes and I can feel my pulse in my temples. I can’t believe she stayed, knowing that she probably wouldn’t be allowed to see me. She probably got very little sleep, and crappy sleep at that, before going to work. Why would she go to work? She should have gone home to sleep…or stayed with me. I wish she had.

  “She’ll come again?” I don’t know why I’m asking Mom. It’s not like the woman has a crystal ball.

  “Yes, sweetie,” Mom assures me anyway. I’ll take what I can get.

  I think I’ll sleep.

  When I wake up I can hear Dad behind me, talking lowly to someone whose voice I don’t recognize. They’re talking about urine—output and protein content and traces of blood. So I try to doze off again, because I don’t need the humiliation of listening to people talk about my piss, and I don’t need to be reminded that I have a hard rubber tube in my dick.

  The heart monitor gives away my waking state. Dad puts a hand on my shoulder and asks if I’m okay.

  “What time is it?”

  “Two.” Is it so hard to specify morning or afternoon?

  “Can I get some painkillers?”

  “What hurts?”

  Everything. “My head.”

  Dr. Harper uses his connections to get the medication order through quickly, and I get to crash on heavy painkillers. Now I can block out his unpleasant doctor conversations without even trying.

  When is she going to get here?

  And I sleep.

  Willa: June 10 to 13

  Saturday

  A nurse gives me an oversized scrub shirt to wear in place of my bloodied one. She stays with me while I wash the blood off my face and neck over the designated sink, and I try not to be too disgusted with the smell of hospital soap.