I’M GRATEFUL FOR Pam’s advice. Deciding to wait until Tyler’s settled in to his new living accommodations, I go home, shower and put on decent clothes. Fitted jeans, a long ivory-colored sweater and tall brown boots replace the tattered yoga pants and T-shirts I’ve worn for the past month. I spritz a light scented perfume on, air dry my hair, allowing the shorter locks to fall into soft waves. My face is kept natural with only mascara and lip gloss.
I struggle to understand why my nerves are a bundled ball of yarn; each end entwined with the other, creating a tangled mess.
I’m going to see Tyler just as I had for so many weeks when he lay still in ICU.
Get it together!
My car is parked in the visitor’s lot, and I’m signed in with my identification recorded. Although this facility isn’t the best, its security is top notch. This place is like Fort Knox.
“Room 215. Down the hall, through the double doors. It’s the third door on the left.”
I thank the kind woman and set off to find answers.
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself, finding the courage to enter the room.
With a light knock, I wait for a response, but then I turn abruptly when fear grips me.
The door opens, and I nearly do a complete one-eighty as Stacy stands before me.
“Hi! You came,” she sighs, throwing thin arms around my shoulders. With another deep exhale, I can almost feel the tension dissipate from her body.
I wait for her to release me.
“Hi. I’m not sure if I should be here or not, but I need to talk to him.”
“Of course! I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees you!” She drags me by the hand. “Come!”
Here goes nothing.
“Tyler, I have a surp—”
Wide, shocked eyes lock with mine.
“Hi,” I squeak.
I am not greeted with a kind welcome. His shocked countenance is replaced by a hard scowl and a gritted question.
“What are you doing here?”
Mortified, I step back, preparing to make a mad dash from the room.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Tyler, stop that! What is wrong with you?” Stacy reprimands her grown son as if he were a child.
Unsure about what to do, I stand there awkwardly.
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask Tyler. He responds by turning his head toward the window.
“Why don’t I give you two some time to talk?” Stacy reaches for her purse and rushes out the door after giving her son a meaningful look.
I feel awkward and uncomfortable, instantly regretting my decision to come here.
I begin to utter an apology for my presence when he begins to speak.
“I’m sor—”
“Why—”
Tyler snaps his head in my direction. “Go ahead.”
I force my eyes to pull away from his face as they drop to the floor. My mind races, struggling to remember how to speak coherently. The flutter in my belly is unexpected and unfamiliar. I’m left speechless.
“Fine,” he snaps. “I’ll go first.” His voice drips with condescension. “Why are you here?”
Great question. Why am I here?
My eyes find their way to his. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” The tone in my voice lacks conviction. “How are you?”
A sardonic chuckle releases from his throat. “I was in a coma for months. How do you think I am?”
I stare into those bluish-green eyes, trying to decipher how to respond.
“You were hurt pretty badly. I’m sorry about that.”
“What are you sorry for? Did you cause the accident?”
I feel small and helpless until anger consumes me.
“Look! I don’t know what your problem is with me. For years, you’ve hated me and for no apparent reason. I never did anything to you. I tried so hard to like you and welcome you into our home, but you didn’t want to be a part of it. You just wanted to be Alex’s friend. God only knows what things you got him into.”
I shake my head and look down, whispering.
“I never understood what Alex saw in you.”
I can tell my words are being absorbed by the rapid blinking of his eyes. Perhaps he’s thinking of the reasons he dislikes me so much.
“Wow!” His eyes widen then fall. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel.”
The hurt look on his face makes me want to apologize.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I admit. “I just don’t understand this animosity you have toward me. Every time I’ve ever seen you, you had this scowl on your face.”
“That’s just my face.” A small smile spreads across his face.
I appreciate his efforts to lighten things between us.
“And for the record, I don’t hate you, Karrie. It was never about you…and yet it was.”
Confusion sweeps across my face and I swallow the boulder of emotion in my throat. “What? What does that mean?”
He inhales sharply and shakes his head. “Nothing.”
I should leave and never return, but I still need answers.
“Do you mind if I have a seat?” I motion to the plastic chair beside his bed.
“Sure,” he replies with a quick shrug. “But it’s probably not as comfortable as the other one.”
Tyler looks at me with a slight smirk, followed by roaming eyes which travel the length of my body.
“What other one?” I ask, as I hang my purse on the back of the chair, looking around the room which is so different from the ICU.
“The one you sat in at the hospital.” A meaningful stare laces into me.
His words floor me.
“You knew I was there? But—”
“I could hear you talking sometimes. At first it was fragments, just bits and pieces. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me most of the times. Obviously.”
My gaze falls to the colorful trees outside in the courtyard. My brain trying desperately to remember what I said, what I talked about, what I confessed. There were weeks when days and nights drifted into each other, where one began the other ended. It had become a vicious cycle of waiting for him to wake up. I wanted to tell him about Alex, yet I didn’t want to crush his will to live.
Tyler and I sit in silence for a long while, each wandering in our own isolated thoughts.
My phone chirps with a text notification. Reaching back and retrieving it, I read a message from Stacy. I smile and then text back.
“Your mom is really nice. She’s very sweet.”
“She’s a great person.”
An appreciative smile graces his face before he continues.
“She’s been through a lot. And now this. She’s tough as nails. So much stronger than she looks.”
Admiration rings straight from his words. There’s no question how much he loves his mother.
I pull my eyes away from his and peruse his body until I reach his leg still clad in thick plaster.
“How’s your leg?”
He sits up and curls his fingers into fist, knocking on the cast. “Still broken.”
I feign a smile, but my eyes lock with his and reveal the truth.
Tyler is a walking miracle.
“The doctors said I’m lucky to be alive. Alex saved my life.”
I want to counter his words and argue that it’s Alex’s fault he’s here.
Every time I think about what happened that night, a niggly feeling creeps into my belly. Alex was the safest driver I’ve ever met. There’s no way he lost control of his truck and trailer. It’s impossible.
Something happened in the cab of his truck and I’m determined to find out what it was.
“Did a lot of people go to his funeral?” Tyler’s voice drops to a sad whisper.
My eyebrows wrinkle with skepticism.
“You really want to know who was there?”
He nods.
“I don’t really know. People from work, our friends, neighbors, and a whole group of bikers. It seemed as though a ton of people were there.” The emotion I expect to erupt is absent. “You know how Alex was; he was Mr. Popular. Everybody loved him.” I chuckle lightly, “Especially the women.”
When Tyler doesn’t respond, I continue to tell him about the memorial ride that’s being set up for next spring in Alex’s name.
“Who’s organizing it?”
“Two guys I never met. I think they’re from down south. And I think they said Penny was going to help, too.”
His eyes widen at the mention of his baby mamma’s name.
“Has she been up here?” he asks with a scowl.
I find the question particularly odd. Why wouldn’t she be here? She is having his baby after all. I would assume either she’s moving up here or he’s going down there so they can raise the child together. The night I saw them having sex in the parking lot was definitely a couple in love. Or lust.
Shaking my head, I reply with a “no.”
He seems satisfied with my answer.
“But she was at the funeral. It was weird. She gave me this really long hard hug and just kept saying how sorry she was.”
“And that’s it? That’s the only time she’s been here?”
I shrug. “I guess. I mean, I never saw her at the hospital. And I was there a lot.”
My confession surprises both of us. My cheeks flush pink as embarrassment races through me. My eyes find the tip of my boots, avoiding the look of curiosity on his face.
“Why?”
I look up. “Why what?”
“Why did you come to the hospital so much?”
An expression of something resembling hope fills his eyes.
“I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay.”
His single-word of “And?” indicates he knows there’s more to the story.
I lick my lips before conjuring up the confidence to speak. “I want answers.”
“What do you want t—”
The door swings open and a nurse with long red hair spun into a high bun wheels in a cart, greeting us kindly as Mr. and Mrs. before she begins the routine of checking Tyler’s vitals.
Tyler and I quickly correct her misconception.
Minutes drift by as she continues her assessment.
“Chin down.” She yanks her glasses from the top of her head and slides them onto her face before grabbing his head and inspecting the jagged line on his skull. “Looks good. You’ll have a good story to tell your grandchildren.”
“Great,” he retorts sarcastically.
“You’re a real looker, ya know.” She taps his cheek gently.
He blushes and mumbles, “Thanks.”
“Oh, c’mon lad. Don’t tell me ya don’t hear that all the time.”
“No, ma’am.”
She cocks her head back, looks at me and rolls her eyes. “Does he always tell evil lies?”
Smiling, I raise my hands in the air in defense, removing myself from her line of questioning.
“If it weren’t for that leg of yours, you’d be as healthy as a horse. Strong as an ox.”
I grin at the woman’s frank demeanor whose thick Irish accent is difficult to understand. I find myself laughing quietly as Tyler struggles to decipher her words.
“Name’s Sinead. Let me know if you need anything.” She tosses a word of farewell as she wheels the cart out of the room.
Tyler and I burst into laughter.
“Sinead? Who names their kid Sinead?”
“Sinead O’Connor’s mother did apparently.” I deadpan, suppressing another outburst.
A loud yawn erupts from Tyler as his chest rises and falls.
“You’re tired.” I glance at him quickly, noting his eyes have become glassy. “I’ll let you get some rest.” I stand, but he reaches over and grabs my wrist, letting his fingers slide to mine.
I know the tickle in my belly and the erratic beats of my heart are in direct response to his gentle touch.
“You... don’t have to go.”
I detect a plea in his soft voice.
A swell of emotion forces my chest to rise and fall. I blow a small puff of air through my lips and sigh heavily.
“It’s late.”
“Stay with me,” he murmurs before his voice trails off and only silence fills the room.
My eyes lock with Tyler’s as my brain struggles to grasp the mixed emotions running rampantly through my body, wreaking havoc.
I lick my suddenly dry lips, forcing them to move from their frozen state. “I’m tired and I have to work tomorrow.”
The expression on his face falls and his eyes fill with a sense of sadness mingled with compassion.
“I understand.”
“I’ll come back soon.” I squeeze his fingers, releasing them only to lean over and place a slow and gentle kiss on his cheek. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Tyler.”
With careful eyes, he searches mine, perhaps looking for the truth in my words. “Thanks.”
I gather my purse and turn for the door even though I don’t want to leave just yet. Every fiber in my being is telling me to stay. What am I doing? What is wrong with me? Pulling the door open, I glance back over my shoulder when I hear him call my name.
Gone is the forlorn expression now replaced by a crooked grin. There’s a hint of mischief in his eyes which holds my attention before he speaks.
“Don’t make me wait for another month.”
Inwardly, I’m filled with a sense of elation and excitement. Somehow I manage to simply respond with a small reassuring smile and a quick nod as I pull the door open and step through. Glancing quickly to my right and then my left, I search for the owner of the muffled laughter I hear only to realize it’s coming from behind me.
I don’t turn around.
“Don’t make me wait for another month.”
His words replay in my mind as my legs carry me away.
I whisper to myself.
“I won’t. I can’t.”
***
MY DAD BREEZES into the kitchen and places a kiss on my forehead just as he always does after kissing my mom. The simple act transports me back to my childhood.
“Daddy, will I ever meet a Prince Charming? Will he ride in on a white horse and take me to his castle?”
My father’s brown eyes softened. “Princess, real love isn’t like that.”
“But you sweep Mommy off her feet all the time,” I countered, remembering all the times I spied them sharing a moment of intimacy, a stolen kiss or a long embrace.
My father smiled at my keen observation for an eight-year-old.
“Then maybe you’re right. Maybe a handsome prince will sweep you off your feet and ride off into the sunset with you.”
“Karrie?”
My mom’s voice pulls me from the memory.
I respond with a hum followed by, “What’d you say?”
“I asked how your visit with Connor went,” she asks while standing at the stove sautéing garlic and olive oil.
“Fine.” I shrug, not wanting to admit how helpful he’s actually been. How much we’ve worked through everything that’s happened over the past few months and my unexpected and inexplicable feelings.
“You know you don’t have to see him specifically. There are many other doctors to choose from.”
I realize she’s misconstrued by indifference so I smile warmly, hoping to clarify.
“No, I like talking to Dr. Mancini. He offers a third party unbiased perspective and he plays Devil’s Advocate.” I look down to reply to Pam’s text.
“He is the best at what he does,” she murmurs.
I couldn’t agree more. Our conversations would often begin down one road and lead in a totally different direction. When I ask him about it, he would always say the conversation leads naturally, going where it’s meant to go.
“When are you going to see him again?”
My head snaps up.
“Who? Tyler? I don’t’ know,” I stammer. “I’m not—”
The furrowing of my mother’s eyebrows displays her curiosity laced with whisper of suspicion.
“I was talking about Connor.”
“Oh,” I mumble. “I have another appointment a week from Tuesday. Dr. Mancini is going on vacation.”
“Why don’t you call him by his first name?”
Again I shrug a lackluster response, offering all the reasons for wanting to keep it professional. The truth of the matter is it’s easier for me to open up when I know I can speak freely and it’s confidential.
Only Dr. Mancini and I know what’s hidden in my heart.