by Emerson Rose
Fiona. Fiona. I roll the name around in my head, and like puzzle pieces coming together, I begin to retrieve bits of what must be memories. Fiona in a swimsuit by a pool. Painting a room with her. Watching her get out of a car I’m driving.
“We swim?”
Her face brightens. “Yes, duh. We swim at Hunter and Edie’s house all the time.”
“And, we paint.”
She looks thoughtful for a few seconds, and then she nods her head. “You helped me paint the dining room of your fraternity house once, yeah. Man, you can remember that? Wild.”
“Wild,” I repeat the word not really understanding what it means.
She takes a huge bite of the sandwich, much too big for such a small mouth, and chews. Then she sucks on the straw of her Slurpee until it makes the sound it’s named after and stands up. “I gotta go back to work. I’m a nurse in case that’s one of the things you can’t remember. Anyway, my lunch break is over. We’re all takin’ turns sitting with you. I don’t know who’s next, but somebody will be in. I’ll be back when my shift is over. Love you,” she says, leaning over to kiss my cheek. Her mayonnaise-and-mustard breath makes me scrunch up my face.
“Gum,” I say, and she laughs.
“Got it, thanks.” She dumps the remainder of her sandwich in the trash and pulls a piece of gum from a pack she has stashed in her pocket. I watch as she unwraps it and pops it into her mouth before leaving. “Ta-ta,” she says, waving, and she’s gone.
I have a friend named Fiona. I have a friend named Fiona. I keep repeating it over and over trying to commit it to memory in case it tries to slip away when I close my eyes again.
The door opens a few minutes later, and I remember why I was chanting ‘angel’ in my sleep. She glides across the floor to my side in her soft blue clothes and adjusts the numbers on a pump next to my bed. When she looks down at me, I’m surprised she doesn’t notice my heart skipping a beat. “Angel,” I whisper.
She smiles. “Hello, Lennon, my name is Trinity. I’m your nurse. Do you remember me?”
“No. I mean yes, I remember you, but you’re not my nurse, you’re the angel who was here when I woke up.”
“I think you remember it that way because of your head injury. I don’t mind if you call me Angel, though.”
I stare at her as she goes about her work checking the settings on the pumps around me, pressing the button that causes a squeeze in my arm and taking my temperature. When she’s happy with the results, she smiles and slips her stethoscope from around her neck to listen to my lungs.
“Are you in any pain?” she asks, leaning down to place the cold piece of metal on my chest. She smells like the air on a fresh spring day after a long winter. I breathe her in forgetting her question. “Lennon? Are you all right?”
I snap from my thoughts and tilt my head until I’m looking straight into her eyes. She’s close, close enough to feel her breath on my cheek. Close enough that I could kiss her if I raise myself two inches. Our eyes lock, and I can tell she’s affected the same way I am. She doesn’t need a heart monitor for me to know her pulse is racing. I can see it in her delicate neck.
“Never better, Angel,” I whisper, and a loud knock on the door causes her to jerk away from me.
“Oh God, my baby. Lennon, I’m so glad you’re awake. I’ve been waiting for forever. I missed you so much,” a woman says breezing into the room talking a mile a minute. Her presence is jarring, and her voice is like a bull horn echoing in my head. The redheaded woman is pretty but not beautiful. Her green eyes convey a lack of sincerity. She seems to know me well, but I don’t recognize her at all.
Angel stands and places a finger against her lips to quiet the woman, but she pays no attention rushing to prop her hip on my bed and take my hand in both of hers.
“How are you feeling? When do you get to come home?” she asks, and I remove my hand from hers, noticing the enormous diamond ring on her left ring finger. Whoever she’s engaged to must have a serious bank account.
“Do I know you?” I ask, and her face bursts into a shocked expression for a moment, only to melt into a sly smile.
“You’re playing with me, Booboo. It’s not nice to tease your fiancée, you know?”
Angel stiffens next to me, glancing down at the ring and back at me. “I don’t know this woman. Angel, make her leave.” Panic is building deep in my gut. I need to get away from this brash woman claiming to be my future wife. “You need to go, you need to go, get out, get out!” I yell at her even though it’s killing my head to do so.
“I’m sorry, miss, but you’re going to have to leave,” Angel says. The redhead looks indignant, sitting up straight and puffing out her chest.
“I will not. I’m engaged to him. If anyone gets to be in here with him, it’s me. I’m family.”
“I understand. Could you please step out into the hall with me for a moment?” Angel asks.
Red looks at me, and I yell, “Go!” She startles, jumping up from the bed and reluctantly follows Angel out the door.
I am not engaged to that wretched woman, there’s no way. I’m not even the least bit attracted to her with her fake red hair, expensive clothing, and that voice, it’s like nails on a chalkboard. My head is pounding, my is pulse racing, and I have the overwhelming urge to run.
I flip back my sheets and try to swing my legs over the side of the bed and see that my ankle is in a cast. I hope I can walk on it. I feel resistance in my arm where the IV is inserted and yank it out. Bright red blood spurts from the site as I put weight on my feet.
A severe, sharp pain shoots up my leg. I cry out and crumple to the floor in a heap. My ankle hurts like hell, but the need to get away is stronger, and I begin to pull myself across the floor when the door flings open.
A group of nurses and doctors rush in and surround me, asking too many questions. My anxiety cranks up a hundred notches, and I thrash about trying to get them to leave me alone. I can’t think, too many people are touching me. My mind keeps repeating run, run, run, but I can’t.
A doctor calls out the name of a medication, and I feel a stab in my leg. Within seconds, my muscles relax, and the darkness I’ve become accustomed to washes over me in a wave taking me back to the nothingness that quiets my mind.
4
Trinity
I thought he was going to kiss me. A patient. A sick, mentally-altered patient. And I was going to let him if he tried. What the hell is wrong with me?
And who on earth was that woman who barged in like a freight train striking panic in his soul? She reminded me of a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes and makeup. The package didn’t properly represent the contents. Her hair was a bad dye job, her clothes were ill-fitting, and her personality was from the Bronx when she clearly wanted people to think she was from Nantucket.
And he is engaged to that? It’s difficult to believe. What could they have in common? From what Evan has told me, Lennon comes from stuffy old money, and he’s an up-and-coming attorney. That woman looked like she could be a waitress in a truck stop. Complete opposites.
I’m still panting with exertion when Dr. Carmichael approaches the nurses station. “Trinity, what happened in there?”
“I was doing an assessment, and this woman came in and told Mr. Berkshire she was his fiancée. He became agitated, and I asked her to step into the hall so I could explain the side effects of a head injury to her. When we left, I think he tried to get out of bed. I heard a crash and went back to the room. He was on the floor, disoriented and confused.”
Dr. Carmichael looks at the woman claiming to be Lennon’s fiancée. “You are Mr. Berkshire’s fiancée?” he asks her.
She holds up her hand, showing him the massive ring. “Yes, and this nurse told me I had to leave,” she says, pointing her long, boney, manicured finger at me.
Dr. Carmichael holds up his hand to the woman. “Ms. Thomas was trying to de-escalate the situation. She did exactly what she’s been trained to do. Patients
with head injuries are easily upset, they often have memory loss which causes them anxiety, fear, and confusion. These patients need to be approached in a calm, quiet manner. Sometimes they don’t have any idea who they are talking to, and it can be very upsetting. It seems that’s the case here today. He’s been given a sedative to calm him down. I won’t have him upset. It could jeopardize the progress we have made so far. I understand that he’s your loved one but, in the future, I would like it if you would check in at the nurses station to see if he’s awake. One of the nurses can talk you through what to expect when you see him again.”
The woman huffs out a breath that blows a stray piece of her hair into the air. I watch it float down and stick in her heavy lip gloss and fight the urge to pick it out. “I’m going to be his wife. I shouldn’t have to check in before seeing him.”
“It’s for his own good. He needs to be kept calm. I can’t force you to do it, but I can have you removed if your presence is a threat to his health. Further trauma to his brain could potentially cause him to fall back into a coma.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not a risk, at least I’ve never seen it happen before. Dr. Carmichael has taken a dislike to this woman, and he’s pulling out all the stops to keep her from seeing Lennon until his memory is intact.
“May I ask your name? We have a visitor list at the desk, and everyone is supposed to check in when they are entering the ICU. If you’re on the list, it will make visiting Mr. Berkshire easier.”
Ha, the list isn’t for everyone, just troublemakers. We tell people it’s for everyone so that the unit clerk can warn staff when an undesirable visitor is in the unit. It’s helpful in cases like this.
“My name is Kelly Striker, soon to be Kelly Berkshire,” she says with a silly air of authority that again reminds me of a child pretending to be a grown-up. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
“Very well, Ms. Striker, let’s go get you added to that list. Mr. Berkshire won’t be awake for several hours if you’d like to come back later.” He offers Kelly his elbow, and she eyes it with suspicion for a moment before slipping her arm through, happy to be the center of attention as he leads her away.
I blow out a breath and roll my eyes to the ceiling. Good Lord, she’s a handful. I can’t imagine dealing with her on a regular basis. How does he stand her? Why do I care?
To each his own. It’s not my business who he marries, anyway. I hardly know the man.
I return to Lennon’s room and clean up the mess of blood all over the floor. When I’m done, I start a new IV and reconnect him to his fluids and pain medication. I switch out his top sheet and blanket for clean ones, and while I have them off, I check his ankle for swelling. I decide to apply ice and elevate it. When I’m satisfied that he is back to pre-fiancée visit state, I sit down to chart all that happened and everything I have done.
By the time I’m done, his eyes are fluttering open. “Hey there, welcome back,” I say, and he turns his head ever so slightly in my direction and finds me with his eyes.
“Angel,” he murmurs. How does he always seem to remember that name for me but nothing else when he wakes up? So far, his short-term memory has been shot except for calling me Angel.
“How is your pain?” I ask, ignoring his pet name for me.
He considers my question before answering, “Bad. My head is pounding, and my ankle is killing me. Where am I?”
“You’re at Trinity Hospital. You had an accident and injured your head a few days ago. Do you know your name?”
“Of course, Lennon Berkshire. Why wouldn’t I know my own name?”
“You’ve been suffering from amnesia. This is the first time you’ve been able to tell me your name since you arrived. Do you know what year it is?”
He looks angry as he searches his memory for the correct year. “I, I’m not sure.”
“That’s okay, some things take longer to remember than others. It’s 2019.”
“I remember you. I died, and you were the angel who met me in heaven.”
Smiling, I stand and walk closer to the bed, so he doesn’t have to strain to see me.
“I’m flattered that you think that, but I’m not an angel. I’m your nurse, and yes, I was here with you when you woke up for the first time. I think that’s why you keep remembering it that way. You’d been in a coma for twenty-four hours, and you were pretty confused when you came around.”
He thinks about that quietly for a while. “You said welcome back when I woke up. Where have I been?”
“Do you remember anything that happened earlier today? Your visitor?”
The skin between his eyes wrinkles in a deep frown. “No. I had a visitor?”
“Yes, your fiancée came to see you. You didn’t recognize her, and it upset you quite a bit.”
He snorts. “That’s because I don’t have a fiancée.”
“No?” That’s news to her.
“No. I may not have all of my memories, but I think I’d know if I were engaged.”
“You’d be surprised the things people forget when they hit their head hard enough.”
“How did I hit my head?”
“I believe you were working on your yacht, and the mast fell on you. You also sprained your ankle pretty bad, that’s why it’s wrapped up in a cast.”
“Oh. I don’t remember that at all, are you sure?”
“That’s what the paramedics said when they brought you in. You were conscious for about twelve hours when you arrived, but then you fell into a coma for the next twenty-four. We were relieved when you woke up on your own. It will take time for your brain to heal, and as it does, your memories should come back.”
“Oh,” he says, looking bewildered.
“All of this can be very overwhelming. Try to rest and stay calm. You will heal faster if you do, I promise. You may not recognize friends or family when they come to visit you. Don’t be alarmed. It’s best to allow them to tell you their name and how you know each other. Ask questions, see if the answers trigger any memories. Don’t pressure yourself. This is called post- traumatic amnesia. It’s pretty common.”
“It is?”
I smile and lay my hand over his. “Yes.”
He looks down at my hand on his. “Did I know you before my accident?”
“No, I’m friends with your friend, Evan, though. Do you remember him? Tall, good-looking black man, always trying to analyze people? He’s a psychiatrist here at Trinity.”
“Sounds vaguely familiar. Are you dating him?”
I jerk my head back in surprise at that question. “Um, no. We’re just friends. We tried dating, but there were no sparks.”
“We have sparks,” he says, slipping his fingers out from under my hand to thread them with mine. I try to pull away, but he grips my hand tighter.
I laugh nervously, but his gaze is serious and steady. “You’re an engaged man, Mr. Berkshire. I’m sure you’ll remember your fiancée the next time she visits. She’s pretty unforgettable.” I slip my hand from his and step away from his bed.
“She can’t be that special if I don’t even remember her name. My brain might be damaged, but the heart always remembers. That’s why I remember you.”
Oh shit, he’s smooth even without all of his faculties. I need to get away from this gorgeous, successful man, whom I could easily fall for before he says something else smooth and enchanting like that. It’s the brain injury causing him to be inappropriate, nothing else. I have to keep telling myself that.
He’s taken, anyway. It doesn’t matter that it’s by a monster with flaming red hair and heavy makeup. Taken is taken.
5
Lennon
My angel exits the room, and suddenly, I feel empty and alone. I can’t remember what happened to me or what year it is. I can’t remember what I do for a living or what my parents’ names are. How is it possible to lose a lifetime of memories from one smack to the head?
Maybe it was more than one. I sure as hell wouldn’t know. I strain to c
ome up with something, anything that will tell me more about myself. It’s like I’m in a room full of things, but I’m the only one who can’t see them.
The door opens a crack, and a man’s head peeks around it. “Hey, buddy, it’s me, Hunter. Are you up for a visit?”
Hunter. That sounds familiar, very familiar. I nod my head, and the door opens wide as he steps in. “Hunter,” I say his name out loud to see if it encourages my memory to come alive. It’s the strangest sensation like when you taste something blindfolded and you know what it is, but you can’t put a name to it.
“Yeah man, how ya doin’? I hear you tried to get up today. Gotta take advantage of the bedrest and hot nurses while you can. You’ll be back on your feet and working before you know it.” He crosses the room and sits in the chair next to my bed.
A memory of this man and I running around a track pops into my head. “We ran track?” I ask, tossing out the random thought for him to analyze.
“Yeah, wow, that was a long time ago. You remember that?”
“Yes, we wore dark maroon running uniforms.”
“That was when we were freshmen in college. We were on the cross-country team together. We were also in the same fraternity house, Delta Eta Nu. That’s where we met all of our best friends. We’ve all been taking turns sitting with you when you were asleep. Hey, is it really true that people can hear their loved ones talking to them when they’re in a coma?”
I nod my head again. “Yes, I heard you. I didn’t understand what you were saying, but I heard you.”
“Just as well, probably said something dorky, anyway. I’m so glad to see you sitting up and talking. Damian felt so fucking bad that he forgot to come help you with the boat. He took a red-eye home from North Carolina when he heard. He says to tell you he’s very sorry.”
Damian, now that’s a face I can put with a name. “I remember Damian.”