The sound of my own throat wakes me. I cough and clear the sleep from the back of my mouth, but I don’t open my eyes. For some reason, I feel a smile play on my lips. Maybe I was dreaming about something nice, but I don’t remember.

The air inside his car is like silk on my skin. My head is leaning against the window; I turn my head to see him. He swallows and I look out the window past him, sitting up, taking in my surroundings just past the window.

“Why are we here?”

I look out the window past him, at the drop-off area of the Emergency Room where my father was brought months ago. I remember like it was yesterday, because I play that day over in my head every day. It’s stayed with me like it’s fresh and new, but every time I remember it, it changes slightly. Maybe that’s my survival instinct taking over, trying to get distance from it so I can move on. Maybe it’s something else entirely. Maybe it’s something I can’t ever understand.

Like what he was wearing. It changes every time I remember the day.

“I wanted to see him,” he says. “And I thought you might want to come with me.”

I clear my throat again as he shifts into gear, slowly driving into a nearby parking space. I pause for a moment as he unbuckles his seatbelt. I don’t know if I want to do this, but I don’t want to leave him. I don’t want to leave Sean’s side, so I unbuckle my seatbelt and let it snap away through my fingers.

The only thing I hear is his feet on the ground beneath us and the slamming of our doors behind us, stopping the faint dinging coming from inside his vehicle. He comes around and I steady myself against his car, falling backwards. I feel lightheaded and a little sick.

“I’ve got you,” he says. “It’s going to be okay.”

He smiles at me softly and nods, sliding his hand around my waist. I feel light in his arms, and even though I struggle to move my feet against the black asphalt, he has me. He’s holding me as we make our way across the freshly painted white lines of the parking lot. There aren’t many cars here tonight.

“What time is it?” I ask. “Visiting hours must have been over a while ago.”

“It’s late,” he says.

We go through the doors into the hospital. It’s a different entrance than I went through the last time I came to visit Dad about three days ago, before the men came and told me it was the final warning for the payment. I kneeled by his bed and kissed his hand before I resolved to be strong and pay and not run away from the debt. I’d clear it for him. I could do it for him. I gave myself the illusion of choice - I could do it or I could run away. I still don’t know if running would have been an option.

“Thank you,” I say. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for all of this.”

“Don’t,” Sean replies.

He keeps me standing up as we make a left down a bright hallway, and we get into an elevator and go to a floor I’m not familiar with. My heart flutters when we get off at the floor with the private rooms. Sean leads me to a spacious room, and I look through the window, and dad’s in there looking peaceful on his bed, surrounded by flowers.

It’s not where I left him. I left him downstairs, in a room where he was crowded in with another patient. He had no privacy, and when I wanted to visit him, I was limited to strict visiting hours.

Sean pushes the door open, and I look up at him before I enter. Hot tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I rush over to Dad, throwing my arms around his chest. I catch myself and back away slowly, careful not to interfere with any of the machines he’s hooked up to.

I swallow thickly as I ease slowly and carefully into a big, oversized chair. Sean’s outside, his arms crossed over his chest, a steely expression on his face. He’s standing guard, but he doesn’t have to. No one else is around. I don’t know how he’s done this, but we’re the only ones on the floor.

Dad’s breathing, though maybe the machines he’s hooked up to are actually doing the breathing for him. He’s been in a coma for three months. At first they put him in the coma to help with the swelling in his brain after the stroke. Now, he’s still in the coma. They don’t know when he’ll come out of it, and what his functionality will be when he does. If he does.

Leaning forward, I take his hand. The last time I saw him, I kissed him on the hand, even though he has an IV drip hooked up. I used to be afraid of needles. Now, after seeing what he’s going through, I’m not.

“So I heard you’re friends with Sean,” I say, laughing. “Turns out we’re engaged. Sort of. You always wanted me to find a nice guy, right?”

All I want is for him to respond. I don’t know what he would say. He was always easy to read, but I have no idea what he would say to me now.

I sniffle a little bit and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.

“I’m not sure if this is what you meant when you said I deserved a good guy.”

The monitors blink with his vitals; I don’t know what any of it means.

I don’t know why I’m here. Even more importantly, I don’t know how I ended up here.

Uneasiness and anxiety sweep over me as I see Dad’s fingers twitch. I’ve seen this before. The first time it happened, I ran out of the room and nearly knocked over a family trying to find Dr. Peterson. I thought it meant something good. But he explained to me that it’s just involuntary muscular movements. He said sometimes the body has memories that the mind can’t access.

So now when I see his fingers move, I don’t become hopeful. It’s just a reminder of what’s happened to him.

Leaning forward, I take his hand.

“I wish I knew what you thought of Sean. He told me to trust him.”

I look back at Sean. He’s still standing outside the room, stoic. He shows no emotion. The muscles in his arm twitch as he curls and uncurls his fists.

Leaning back and closing my eyes, I allow myself to settle in for a moment. If I stay here, nothing bad will happen. If I stay here, nothing will change. The moment will be frozen in amber, and Dad’s condition won’t get worse. If I just stay here, keeping still, he won’t get worse. But he won’t get better, either.

The doctor said Dad may or may not wake up. I don’t know what his odds are. I don’t know if I want to.

The beeping of Dad’s machines is calming, somehow. I feel them measuring out the moments and doling out time. I realize this is the first moment that I’ve been able to just sit and be still. Where I’ve felt the passage of time as it should be.

I feel like I’m in limbo. Stuck. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, but I don’t try to force away the tears.

* * *

I’m not sure if I’m waking up, or if I’m dreaming.

I feel Sean next to me, but I don’t know if I’m imagining it.

He sits down next to me on the big, comfortable chair in Dad’s room. I don’t know how I got here, or how Dad got here. Someone must have brought him here, to this private room. Someone must have brought me here, too, because I wouldn’t have been able to find this place on my own.

We’re out in the desert. I feel the sunless heat, the black night prickling against my skin through the big window.

Sean slides down into the chair next to me, and then picks my limp body up, cradling me in his arms. I’m allowing him to hold me. I don’t know anything about him, but I’m allowing myself to be vulnerable. I’m letting myself sleep in his arms.

Or am I still dreaming?

I feel my eyes flutter open, and I’m completely at peace with the world. I’m suddenly aware of the anger I felt toward Dad, but I don’t feel it. It’s like it’s all just melted away. I don’t know how I could have ever been angry at him, though. He could never have known this would happen, that I’d be responsible for his sins. That I’d have to atone for them.

Sean’s fingers brush the hair away from my forehead. I’m sweating, but my body feels light. His lips brush softly against my forehead, and his arms wrap around my shoulders. I allow myself to lean into him. I feel at peace. Not good, not bad, just...at peace.

“How long was I sleeping?” I close my eyes and rest my head against Sean’s chest. I wrap my arms around his waist, and I can barely get my hands around him. He feels so strong, and big, and good.

“Not long, Cherry. But you needed it. You needed to sleep.”

I swallow thickly. My throat is dry, so dry. Sean shifts beneath me, taking his hands reluctantly off of me, and pours a cup of water for me from the old plastic pitcher, into one of the small paper cups on the night stand.

“Here,” he says, tipping the edge of the cup to my lips. “You’re okay.”

The cool water coats my throat as I swallow, and it feels so good. It feels like it’s the first sip of water I’ve had in years.

“We should get you to my place,” he says. “You’ll be safe there.”