Only Today

by Jeri Odell

“Where you been? I haven’t seen you in so long I thought you’d found yourself a new woman,” the elderly African-American joked.

  Brady winked. “Not on your life. You’re still my one and only. Hey, did Kendall regain consciousness?”

  “You mean the hit-and-run?” She shook her head in an exaggerated motion. “No, baby, she’s yet to stir.”

  Brady ran his hand through his hair. “How are her vitals?”

  “She’s stable—’bout all I can say, bless her little heart. She’s got a closed head injury, cerebral contusion, and Doc Anderson is concerned about a possible subdural hematoma.”

  Brady nodded. “Those often develop slowly.”

  “She’s toting four broken ribs, two broken arms, two breaks in her leg, and her rib punctured her lung. She won’t be riding any bikes for a long, long time.”

  “Any visitors?”

  Lucille again shook her head. “Not a one.”

  Brady hoped by now someone would know. “Do you mind if I go sit with her awhile?”

  “You go right ahead.” She pointed out Kendall’s doorway. “Me, I’ll be keeping myself busy with charts and meds.”

  Brady slipped into the only chair in the glass-encased room. He watched the steady rise and fall of Kendall’s chest with each breath. He laid his hand on her arm and prayed that her family would come forward, that her head injury would heal, and that when she woke up, she wouldn’t be afraid or alone.

  Brady made a point of stopping by the hospital two or three times a day during the next seventy-two hours. Each time he grew more concerned. Kendall’s condition hadn’t changed and no family had ventured forth.

  ❧

  Kendall heard a guttural sound and realized it came from somewhere deep inside of her. Her head felt as though it weighed four hundred pounds and throbbed. Her eyes were heavy, and though she tried, they refused to open. Every cell of her body hurt. The constant beeping sounds were unfamiliar. She heard some sort of machine purring near her head. Her mouth felt like cotton, and she tried to manufacture some spit to dampen her throat. Breathing in, she realized the scent of rubbing alcohol permeated the sterile air.

  “Kendall?” A deep voice spoke softly near her ear. A warm hand touched her arm.

  She tried again to open her eyes. Finally, one heavy lid raised and then the other. Everything blurred, and she squinted to gain some focus.

  “Kendall?” A man in some sort of uniform leaned over her. His face was earnest and his eyes sincere.

  She tried to answer, but her tongue was heavy and uncooperative.

  He leaned a little closer. “Can you hear me?”

  Her throbbing head wouldn’t budge either.

  “If you can hear me, blink your eyes twice.”

  Now maybe that she could handle. With focused determination, she shut her eyes, forced them to reopen, and shut them again. This time they stayed shut. Who was Kendall? She was. . . Her name was. . . She couldn’t remember. His voice faded until it was far, far away.

  ❧

  “Lucille, Lucille!” Brady hollered from the doorway.

  “What’s all the commotion, boy? You know I run a peaceful ward.”

  “She woke up. Even opened her eyes.” Brady felt like a kid who’d been given free access to the candy store.

  “Well, after almost”—Lucille glanced at her watch—“four and a half days, I say it’s about time.”

  Lucille went into Kendall’s room, where she slept soundly once again. She read all the latest vitals from the various machines. “Any response—other than opening her eyes?”

  “Yes, she swallowed a few times, opened her eyes and focused on me, then blinked when I asked if she could hear me.”

  “Blinked, huh?” A skeptical expression settled over the veteran nurse’s features.

  “At my direction,” Brady assured her. “She was aware—I’m sure of it. It wasn’t just an involuntary response.”

  Tiny frown lines embedded themselves between Lucille’s eyes. “Why are you so invested in this one, Brady? You’re up here more than I am, and they pay me to be here—for twelve-hour shifts.” She peered at him over her bifocals, eyebrows raised.

  Brady shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t know. For some reason, she matters to me.” His explanation sounded foolish, even to him. “And it looks like I may be the only one she matters to. Why isn’t anyone looking for her? Where is her family? Her friends? Who did this to her? Was it intentional? All of these unanswered questions plague me constantly.” He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Then an idea formed.

  “Will you keep an eye on her?” he asked.

  Lucille lifted one brow. “Again, they pay me to do just that.”

  “No, I mean a really close eye. Maybe check on her every fifteen minutes or so. I don’t want her to be lying in there alone if she wakes up again.”

  “If I can, I will, but you may notice she’s not the only patient in my unit.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it. I’m heading to the police station. In the meantime, call me if she stirs again.”

  “You’re getting as bossy as some of these doctor types.” Lucille reached for the card Brady held out.

  “My cell phone number is on there. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Brady promised as he rushed through the swinging doors. Hustling through the hospital corridors, he made his way to the entrance, flipped open his cell phone, and pressed the number two. “Hey, Dad, it’s Brady.” Weaving through the cars on the way to where he’d parked, he continued, “Mind if I stop by your office?”

  “Sure, son. I have a meeting in an hour, but I’m all yours until then.”

  “Great, I’ll be there in a few.”

  The police precinct, where his dad’s office resided, was only a couple of blocks from downtown.

  Five minutes later, Brady pulled into the station parking lot, climbed the stairs two at a time, and rapped on his dad’s partially opened door.

  His dad glanced up from a pile of paperwork spread across his desk. “Come on in.”

  “I came by to ask you some questions about that hit-and-run from the other night. I know Frankie’s in charge of the case, but he left me a message saying he’d been up all night on another case, so he’d be sleeping today.”

  Frank Cooper Sr. nodded. “He mentioned you’d been following the case closely, so he dropped the file off this morning. Said he was pretty sure you’d be by.” Concern creased his father’s brow. “Why the profound interest in this particular case?”

  Brady stood and paced to the window. “People keep asking me that, and I’m not even sure. All I know is that I feel compelled to help her in every way I can.”

  His dad picked up a file folder off the corner of his desk. “You always were the one who brought home every stray dog and kid you could find. Still are, I guess.” His dad flipped open the manila folder and fanned through some paperwork.

  “Don’t you think it’s odd no one is looking for her?”

  “At this point, no. My guess is she’s an out-of-state student, and her parents haven’t realized she’s missing. At the beginning of each semester, things are chaotic down at the university, and it takes time to realize who’s on first and who’s not.”

  Brady chewed on the information for a moment. “Do you think someone ran her down intentionally—an old boyfriend, a jealous woman, a vindictive roommate?”

  “In this line of work, one of those scenarios is never far from our realm of thinking. At this juncture, I can’t even guess. Without at least some idea of who she is or who hit her, we can’t begin to solve the puzzle because there are no pieces to fit facts together.”

  Two

  “What can I do? With my schedule at the department, I have a fair amount of time off. I know Frankie’s working twelve-hour days, and with so many cases open, he doesn’t have much time to devote to this one. Why can’t we put her face on the national news?”

  “We don’t have a photo available, and taking a picture of t
he cut, bruised, and swollen face of an unconscious woman doesn’t show the best decorum. From these photos taken at the scene.” Frank spread them across his desk, “I don’t know that her own mother would recognize her.”

  Brady stopped pacing and returned to the green vinyl chair facing his dad. “Looks pretty hopeless until she wakes up.”

  “There were no eyewitnesses, no ID. A smudged tire track is about all we have. The lab is working on that.” His dad shut the folder. “They took the pieces of her bike, a smashed cell phone, and everything found around the area. The report says there is nothing notable.”

  “Can we search around the college area for a car with a crumpled fender and maybe some red paint off her bike?”

  “Frankie’s already notified the body shops, and I don’t have the manpower to do the kind of search you’re suggesting. At least not right now. It’s been a high crime month, and we have a couple of murders we’re trying to solve. As long as Ms. Doe remains alive, she isn’t top priority. And honestly, Brady, we have no reason to suspect foul play—at least not at this point in the game.” He glanced at his watch.

  “Do you mind if I comb the U and check out dented cars?”

  “It’s your time, but your chances are slim to nil. College campuses are filled with dented cars.” His dad rose.

  “How about students who haven’t done add/drop but haven’t shown up for class, either?”

  His dad chuckled and slipped into his coat. “Again—next to hopeless. You know that.”

  “Yeah.” Brady sighed. “I’m grasping at anything. How about the national missing person file? Can we access their data and search by first name?”

  His dad paused at the door. “Now you’re thinking like a cop. Meet me back here at three and we’ll see what we can find.”

  “Deal.” Until then, Brady decided to head back to the hospital and sit with Kendall. Maybe she’d wake up again.

  Once he was back in her room, he settled into the high-back chair. The room was quiet and dim. He hadn’t seen Lucille but assumed Kendall hadn’t woken up again.

  As was his custom each time he arrived, he laid his hand on her arm and sent up a prayer. God, You know who Kendall is and every detail of her life. Please provide answers for the police and healing for her broken body.

  His dad was right. Flashing pictures of this bruised and battered woman could serve no purpose. His gaze roamed over her face, wondering what she might actually look like. Her thick dark lashes fanned out from her closed eyes, and thick but well-shaped brows arched above them. Her long raven hair lay in stark contrast against the white pillowcase and only intensified the paleness of her face. Long, slender limbs made him wonder how tall she was.

  “No change while you were gone,” Lucille stated in a loud whisper from the doorway.

  “Thanks, Luce,” Brady whispered back. “I’ll hang out here for a while. If she wakes up, I’ll holler.”

  “You will do no such thing, Brady Cooper.” She placed her hands on her hips. “You will quietly and respectfully come find me, but you will not disturb my unit.”

  Brady grinned. Lovable Lucille was no-nonsense and guarded her patients with the petulance of a mama bear.

  “Agreed?” She demanded a verbal response.

  “Agreed.”

  “Better.” She turned and marched away from the door.

  Kendall stirred and groaned. “Water. Please, I need water.”

  Brady touched her arm. “Kendall, I’ll go get your nurse—”

  “Nurse?” Her right eye opened to a small slit. The confused, contorted face exposed how much pain she was in and how little she knew about her condition. “Hurt. Please—help—me.” Her words, barely audible, were filled with pain.

  Brady leaned over her bed, brushing her hair off her forehead. “I’ll help you. You wait right here, and I’ll get help.”

  You wait right here? How stupid! What else could she possibly do?

  ❧

  Kendall’s gaze followed the man out the door. She glanced around the room, trying to make sense of where she was. Nothing seemed familiar. She knew she was lying in a hospital bed in a lot of pain, but why?

  “Hello, darlin’.” A heavy black woman shined a light into her eyes. “Welcome back.”

  “Where was I?”

  “You were in an accident—with your bike. Do you remember?”

  Kendall shook her head. Even that slight movement hurt.

  The nice man from before laid his hand on her arm. Her gaze rested on his compassionate face while the nurse poked and prodded.

  “I paged your doctor. He should be here any minute. He’ll be thrilled to see those green eyes of yours open. You sit tight, and I’ll check on you in a while.” The nurse turned to leave.

  “Am I going to die?” Kendall couldn’t help wondering since she was hooked up to who knew what and in incredible pain.

  “No,” the man with the kind eyes assured her. “It will be awhile before you feel like your old self again, though.”

  Her old self? She couldn’t remember what her old self felt like. The whole experience felt surreal—as if this wasn’t really her but someone else.

  “I’m Brady, by the way.” He lifted his hand from her arm and sort of shook her hand.

  “Do you work here?”

  “No.”

  He had a nice face.

  “I’m a paramedic. My partner, Mitch, and I brought you in.”

  “Brought me in from where?”

  “We picked you up at the scene of the accident and transported you in our ambulance to this hospital.”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “It’s okay. You hit your head pretty hard. It’s not unusual for memory loss to occur.”

  “Kendall, you’re awake!” A man in a white coat stood on the opposite side of her bed from Brady.

  She nodded.

  “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, young lady. It’s good to have you back with us. Did your nurse or this gentleman explain what happened?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You seem a little disoriented, and it’s no wonder. You sustained pretty severe head trauma.” The doctor picked up her chart. “Kendall, can you tell me your last name?”

  She tried and tried, but nothing came. “I—I can’t remember.”

  “How about your parents’ names?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you know where you live?”

  Panic rose within. “I don’t.”

  “Are you family?” His question was directed at Brady.

  “No, sir. I’m the medic from the scene.”

  “The medic?” His face reflected his confusion.

  “Her family hasn’t been notified, so I’ve been keeping an eye on things.”

  The doctor nodded, but his expression questioned Brady’s ulterior motive.

  “Since you’re not family, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  ❧

  Kendall’s head jerked in Brady’s direction, and she grabbed his hand that was resting on the bed rail directly above hers. “No, please don’t leave me.” A panicked look had settled across her features.

  Brady glanced at the doctor. “I’m Brady Cooper, Dr. Anderson.” Brady offered his right hand—the one Kendall didn’t have a death grip on—and the men shook. “My father is Police Chief Frank Cooper. He and I are monitoring this case closely, trying to ID the patient, the family, and the assailant.”

  “If my patient wants you here, then you are welcome to stay.” His tone clearly conveyed his disapproval.

  “I do,” Kendall assured Dr. Anderson. Then her gaze returned to Brady. “Thank you.”

  The terror residing in her eyes evoked a silent vow from him that he’d walk through this difficult time with her—no matter how long it took. No one should face this much devastation alone.

  “Mr. Cooper can probably fill you in about the accident and what took place at the scene. When you arrived here in the ER, you were in pret
ty bad shape.” Dr. Anderson laid her file on the bedside table.

  “You’d been bagged because you’d stopped breathing.”

  Kendall closed her eyes at the news.

  “X-rays revealed multiple arm and leg fractures. The surgeon patched you up with pins and plates. Now that you’re awake, we will do further evaluating and get you into therapy services.”

  “Therapy?” Kendall bit her bottom lip, glancing from Brady to the doctor and back to Brady again.

  “Physical, occupational, and possibly even speech. St. Mary’s is a level one trauma unit, so you’ll have a whole team of specialists determining your individual care based on your specialized needs. But we do know that we need to get you up and moving ASAP.”

  Kendall looked astounded. “You expect me to get up?”

  “Over the years, we’ve discovered that it’s an important component to a fast recovery. Even though you won’t feel like it, it’s imperative for you to be on your feet. Your team will design a plan based on your injuries. No two people have the exact same injuries, and no two people respond to trauma in the exact same way.”

  Kendall nodded.

  Brady squeezed her hand to reassure her.

  “For the next few days, you’ll be asked lots of questions, run through the gamut of tests, and at the end, we’ll have recommendations for the services needed to get you back on your feet and able to function solo.” The doctor grabbed her chart.

  “How long? How long before I can walk?”

  The doctor’s grim expression said it all. “Honestly, it’s too early to tell.”

  “Are we talking weeks, months, never?” Desperation laced her tone.

  “A minimum of weeks.” He shook his head.

  “What about my memory?” Kendall bit her lip.

  “Kendall, after an injury like this, there are no guarantees.”

  She nodded her acceptance of the bad news. Her shoulders drooped from the weight of the truth.

  “Any other questions?” Compassion resounded in his tone.

  Kendall shook her head, but Brady saw confusion, uncertainty, and a million questions in her eyes.

  Dr. Anderson left the room, carrying her chart with him.

  Kendall closed her eyes, but not before a couple of tears rolled out. She still had a death grip on Brady’s hand.