Four
Day four is absolutely no better than day one, two, or three, especially since there’s been no change in Samuel’s condition. Dr. Kepler said this was perfectly normal and these things take time, but I was impatient. I was also a woman on a mission to do all I could to speed up any small progress Sam might make.
I had read that many people who came out of a coma confirmed they could hear and sense everything that was going on around them. They may not have been able to communicate, but they were very aware of the world moving around them. This fact cemented what I had to do.
Since my discovery, I made it my job to talk to Sam every chance I got. And if I wasn’t talking, or reading, or singing to him, his parents, my parents, his friends—hell, even books on audio and my iPod were doing it for me. It didn’t matter that there were no improvements. It just felt good to know I was doing something to help Sam. I’ve barely left his bedside, only taking a break when I needed to use the restroom or stretch out my legs. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Today he’s listening to a mix of Top 40 on my iPod. I figure if anyone can wake someone from a coma it’s the annoying voice of Kanye West.
I’m sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable chair doing a crossword puzzle. My aching muscles scream in protest as I tuck my leg beneath me, getting comfortable for another long day ahead. Just like I do every other day, I plan on replaying our future to Sam. I share my dreams and goals, and where I see us in fifty years. It doesn’t matter that he can’t reply because I know he feels the same way. I avoid talking about the past, as I only want to focus on our future.
“Okay, I need your smarts to help me with two across, nine letters. Phonological awareness consists of…blank…and analysis skills.” I tap my pencil against the paper, racking my brain for the answer.
I peer up while I’m in the midst of asking for a little help, but I suddenly freeze, wheezing in utter disbelief. As the painful seconds tick by, I’m almost afraid to breathe. And I’m definitely too frightened to move. But when I see it again, I jar upright, rubbing my eyes.
“Sam?” I whisper, terrified that what I saw was my imagination playing a cruel trick.
Rising at a pace akin to a sloth, my eyes never waver from Samuel as I beg him to do it again. I beg him to…move his eyelids. It was a mere flicker, but it was a flicker of hope. “Samuel, can you hear me? It’s Lucy.”
I stand, blinking in disbelief as I swallow down my panic and sheer anticipation at what comes next. Shuffling closer and closer, with arms rigid by my side, I furl my fingers into my palms, my nails imprinting crescent moons into my flesh. But I welcome the pain as it confirms that this is real.
“Sam?” The air is charged with a heavy undercurrent, weighing down my entire soul. I gasp and almost fall over my feet. I saw it. The flicker of hope shines brighter than before.
Diving for the call button, I buzz the nurse before skidding on the linoleum as I run towards the door. “I need a doctor!” I shout louder than I have ever bellowed before. The entire hallway looks my way, the nurses thankfully understanding that this is an emergency as they scamper off in different directions.
Dashing back into Sam’s room, I sprint over to his bed, securing his hand in mine. “Sam, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can.” With everything that I am, I will him to give me a sign that he can hear me. Please god, give me a sign.
“What’s happened, Ms. Tucker?” Dr. Kepler asks, rushing into the room.
“He moved his eyes!” I reveal, clutching Sam’s hand. “Three times, I think! But definitely twice.”
“Did he open them?” He reaches into his pocket and produces a pen light. He politely pushes me aside.
“No, but his eyelids flickered. That’s a good sign, right? Right?” I ask again, almost begging when he doesn’t answer.
I intently watch on, biting my nails as Dr. Kepler gently lifts Sam’s upper eyelids and moves the light from side to side. “Samuel? Can you hear me?” he shouts, continuing his examination. “Samuel Stone, can you hear me?” Removing the ear buds, he claps loudly, inches from Samuel’s temple.
The wait is excruciating and I bounce on the spot, looking over his shoulder, awaiting a sign. Nurses and another doctor come charging in, pushing me against the wall as they frantically talk about things I have no knowledge about. They tear off Sam’s sheet, ignoring his modesty as they run a gadget which looks like a knitting needle along the soles of his feet.
The room is pandemonium for minutes, but when the panic dies down and they replace the blanket, tucking Samuel back in, I know the news is not good.
“Doctor?” I ask, beseeching him to tell me good news.
He sighs, writing something down on Sam’s chart. “Ms. Tucker, nothing has changed.”
“No, that can’t be.” I point to Samuel’s bed. “There must be some mistake. I saw it. His eyes, they moved.”
Tucking his pen into his top pocket, he shakes his head. “What you saw was a muscle spasm. It’s quite common.”
“But, but it’s never happened before.” The rational part of my brain is telling me to shut up and believe him because he’s the doctor. But my heart can’t, it won’t accept it. “Are you sure?” My lower lip quivers and I choke back my tears.
“I’m sorry. I really wish I had better news. He didn’t respond to stimuli, light, or sound. His pupils show no response. And his brain activity is still inactive.” He lowers his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose.
A hot tear scores my flesh as it rolls down my cheek.
“I really am sorry.” He closes the door behind him, leaving me alone with my broken dreams. I feel a fool. Even though I know what I saw, it doesn’t matter. A muscle spasm obviously means jack shit in the world of medicine.
A river of sadness cascades down my cheeks. I don’t bother wiping them away. Peering over at a comatose Samuel, I irrationally feel angry at him for not waking up. I’m giving him my all while he’s barely trying. But I know this absurdity is my emotions toying with my head.
I amble over to the window and press my forehead to the cool glass. I close my eyes. I remember the last memory I have of Samuel, the last words he spoke. ‘I love you so much. Never forget, you’re the reason why I smile.’
My heart breaks. Actually, it doesn’t just break; it shatters into a million irreparable pieces. I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. I’ve tried to be strong, but I can’t do this. I can’t go on without him.
I can’t say goodbye. I can’t.
“Lucy?”
A strangled sob gets tangled in my tears because that husky, rugged voice—no, it can’t be. I don’t want to believe because the last time I had faith, it was premature and cruel. But that masculine, familiar bouquet, there is no mistaking that fragrance is infusing the air.
Nothing else matters but turning around. And I do. I spin around so quickly I almost fall flat on my face. However, when I see who stands before me, I know I’m seconds from tumbling like a leaf in fall.
It can’t be, but it is.
Those sea green eyes, licked with a curving swirl of gray, belong to the one man I didn’t even know I was so desperate to see. He shuffles his motorcycle booted feet uncomfortably while running his long fingers over his dark stubble. I know my staring is incredibly impolite, but I can’t stop. I’m afraid once I’ll blink, he’ll disappear.
“Hi, Lucy.”
Our body language tangos in an unfamiliar, yet familiar dance, and when he lifts his chiseled chin, I’m pinned with the stormiest stare of a man who exudes nothing but confidence and allure. The bright fluorescents reveal his eyes are akin to that of angry storm clouds, but they’re also licked with a touch of a soft Russian blue floating in a sea of tranquil waters.
His dirty blond hair is longer on top with shorter sides. It’s kicked to the left, the mussed locks falling over his eye and framing his jagged face. He looks rugged and dangerous, someone who oozes trouble. The colorful, intricate tattoo sleeve running down his right arm perfects the bad boy look. He is the complete opposite of Samuel.
“Saxon?”
When he nods slowly, his jaw firm, I gasp, crossing both hands over my mouth. My brain knows this isn’t my Sam, but my heart, my whimsical center, won’t accept it.
“Sorry for turning up unannounced. I should have called. Do you want me to go? I can leave if you want me to.” He hooks a thumb towards the door.
I’m speechless as I’m experiencing my personal state of unexpected nirvana.
But Saxon mistakes my euphoria for disgust. “I shouldn’t have come.” He spins on his heel, racing towards the door.
Loud alarm bells sound in my ears; it’s the wakeup call I needed. Looking over at Samuel, who is lying still and docile, I realize I need to touch the same life source that flows through his veins.
My shoes pound on the floor as I sprint towards Saxon, still wordless, but a mission firm in mind. The moment he turns, I throw myself into his arms, and just like I knew he would, he catches me.