Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“Aaron, let her be. Let’s get dinner,” my mom says.
This is weird. Is it a dream? If so, why can’t I see them?
“We’ll be right back,” Dad says.
I try to speak, but I can’t. Why can’t I talk?
“Hey, Maren. I have someone who wants to talk to you.”
Jamie? Is that you?
“Maren, it’s me, Lola. You should wake up for Bandit. He misses you. And you should come home and see your house. It’s so beautiful. My dad and I have been working hard, and it’s almost finished. Dad hung a wood swing on your front porch and a wind chime I picked out. It has butterflies. Tomorrow, we’re going to replace some old boards on the tree house. I can’t wait for you to see everything. So you just need to open your eyes. I know it’s scary. I was scared after my accident, but it’s okay. You’ve got this.”
You’ve got this . . .
“Dad, say something,” Lola says.
“Hey, beautiful. The swing was supposed to be a surprise.” Ozzy chuckles. “But Lola’s right, you need to open your eyes. The world is an infinitely better place with you in it.” He sounds different. Nervous? Scared?
Don’t they know I’m trying to open my eyes? I don’t understand why I can’t see or speak, but I can hear.
“Oh, Lola wanted me to tell you that we’re making a carrot cake with pineapple, of course. But since we’re in Missoula, we need you to come home to eat it. Okay? It’s time to open your eyes and come—” Ozzy’s voice cracks.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Lola whispers.
Ozzy clears his throat. “Come home. I love you.”
Why am I not home?
Everything fades like I’m falling asleep, but when I wake up, I’m not really awake. I come in and out of this peculiar state without awareness of time or space. I feel people touching me, but I can’t move. It’s frustrating. I get angry, but then everything fades. It always fades.
“Get the doctor,” my mom yells. “The shades. Get the shades, Aaron. It’s too bright in here for her eyes. Maren, can you hear me?” She squeezes my hand. “Sweetie,” she cries.
She’s messing with me and being too loud. I can’t talk, and when I move, more people touch me, people I don’t recognize, shining light in my eyes and messing with me!
“Maren, I need you to calm down. Try to relax.”
Who’s that? Why? What’s happening?
“Maren, you have a tube down your throat. Stay calm; I’m going to remove it,” a dark-haired woman in blue scrubs and a white lab coat says to me while my parents cling to each other behind her. “I need you to take a deep breath and exhale or cough as I pull it out. Okay?”
I cough, pressing a hand to my throat. It. Hurts.
Leave me alone. Stop messing with me!
I repeatedly fade away as people come in and out of view, some with smiles, others with pinched brows and tiny frowns. After a few days and lots of tests, I’m more aware of my surroundings, calmer, and able to talk.
The doctor proceeds to explain my injuries and the surgeries to stop the internal bleeding. Aside from two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a slew of lacerations, I’m in one piece and expected to make a full recovery, as long as I remain stable over the next few days.
When she exits the room, my parents breathe a collective sigh and converge on me.
“I’m in Canada?” I ask with a scratchy voice, adjusting the oxygen tube in my nose with my right hand since my left arm is in a sling for my broken collarbone.
Dad chuckles, rubbing my hand. “Yes. You’ve been here for a couple weeks, and you’ve been pretty upset the past few days coming out of your coma.”
“Where’s Ozzy and Lola? They came to Canada?”
My mom shakes her head, eyes narrowed.
“I heard them.”
“You heard them? In your coma?” Dad asks.
I nod.
“Jamie called them and put them on speakerphone,” Mom says, sitting on the edge of my bed.
“They must be worried,” I whisper.
“We all were.” My mom touches my cheek.
“But Lola lost her mom. Ozzy lost his wife.” I touch my neck and clear my throat.
Mom frowns. “We lost Brandon.”
My heart feels like it’s being squeezed. I’m so insensitive. It’s not that I forgot about Brandon. I just can’t think straight. “I know,” I murmur. “I’m sorry.”
Mom wipes her eyes. “Please don’t apologize. You’re alive. That’s all that matters. That’s all that will ever matter.”
“Did Jamie go home?” I ask.
Dad nods. “She stayed a week. Will was here for several days. And Fitz has been by twice. Your boss was here for the first two days. He’s paying for our hotel, but one of us is always here.”
“Jamie started a group text, so I have Ozzy’s number if you want to call him.” Mom holds out her phone.