Chapter 27

 

 

She lay in bed with her arms at her side. She’d been in a coma for three years but looked good. Her features were a bit gaunt, but she was just as attractive as she’d always been. His gut tightened at seeing her in such a state.

“What are you doing here?” her father asked, his voice hard.

“I’m sorry,” Reed said. “I just . . .”

“You should go,” he said, coming around the bed and tossing his book onto the table. “You don’t belong here.”

“Who doesn’t belong here?” a woman said, entering the room with a bottle of water.

She caught sight of Reed and Jackson and came to a halt. Short and sporting short white hair, she looked up at Reed in surprise, and then abruptly she smiled. She put the water down and pulled Reed into a crushing hug.

“It’s about time you showed up.”

Tears blossomed in Reed’s eyes and he hugged her back, the embrace breaking the barrier in his heart. For several seconds he held onto the woman like she was a lifeboat and he was drowning. When they parted the man growled.

“Sheila,” he said. “He did this to her.”

“Harold,” she said, “sit down before you have an aneurism.”

He grunted and snatched his book before sitting down. Glaring at Reed, he folded his arms and muttered under his breath. Sheila turned her attention to Reed and offered them seats, which they accepted.

“This is Jackson,” Reed said. “My roommate, and the one who dragged me down here.”

“So he’s the one to blame,” Harold said with a grunt.

Sheila ignored him. “Thank you, Jackson. I always knew it would take a lot to get Reed to come back—especially after what Harold said to him.”

Harold jutted his chin out. “He’s the reason—”

“Harold,” she snapped. “He listened to her die. He’s suffered as much as we have.”

He grunted and stood. “I’m getting some coffee,” he said, and stomped out.

Sheila sighed, her eyes on his disappearing form. “It’s been three years but he still blames himself, not that he’d admit it. He’s not really mad at you, Reed.”

“I deserve my share of the blame,” Reed said.

Her eyes settled on him. “A drunk driver deserves the blame—all of it.”

“But I—”

“Did everything you could,” she finished with a nod. “Without you, she wouldn’t be alive. She frowned. “The doctors may disagree on that point. They say she’s dead already and want us to pull the plug. Of course, they don’t use those words. They say things like ‘very little brain activity’ and ‘chances of waking up are astronomically small’ and all that. Doesn’t make a difference. She’s still breathing so we keep praying.”

“I expected her to be thinner,” Reed said.

“Most coma patients gradually lose muscle mass, so when they do wake up they can’t move very well. The doctors here are using some sort of muscle stimulation to keep Aura in shape. I don’t know anything about it, it’s all doctor speak to me. They might as well be speaking Greek. But at least she seems to be doing better.” She picked up a set of crotchet needles and returned to the project she’d been working on. “It’s good to have you here.”

“Can she hear us?” Reed asked, his eyes on Aura.

“The doctors say no,” she said. “But I think she can.” She reached out and patted Aura’s arm. “Don’t you agree?”

Aura didn’t move, but Sheila smiled anyway. Reed and Jackson exchanged a look and Jackson shrugged. Reed wasn’t sure of what to say so he stayed silent. Content to sit, Sheila continued to work, the crochet needles clacking.

“How often do you come to the hospital?” Jackson asked.

“Every day,” she said. “Harold works on the weekends now. You should have come on the weekend to avoid him.” She laughed to herself and Reed and Jackson grinned at each other, the comment easing the tension.

“It’s good to see her,” Reed said.

“She’d be happy you came,” Sheila said, and then looked to Jackson. “Reed’s house was just five houses apart from ours. Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t,” Jackson said, and then glared at Reed. “He didn’t even tell me the whole story until a few weeks ago.”

“Can’t blame him for that,” she said. “After what he went through, I can understand why he doesn’t talk about it. But Reed and Aura were like two peas in a pod for more than ten years. They did everything together, spent every minute side by side. But it wasn’t until they were oh, sixteen? Then he started to like her for real.”

“You knew?” Reed asked.

Sheila laughed. “I always knew. You didn’t act on it, of course. You were afraid it would change your friendship. You didn’t ask her on a date until it was too late, and she was already dating Tim. Of course, this was before Reed changed, before he figured out how to date.”

“How do you know how I date?” Reed asked.

“I keep in touch with your mother,” Sheila said, a sly smile flashing across her face. “But if that wasn’t enough, I’ve been watching the website of your dating life with Kate. You make a good couple.”

Reed looked to Jackson, but he shrugged helplessly. Reed wondered how he could have forgotten Sheila’s intelligence. She may have looked like a grandmother, but he’d been a professor of psychology until Aura’s accident, when she’d retired.

“My favorite was the color war,” Jackson said. “I’ve already signed up for next year.”

The needles stopped clacking. “You’re the Jackson mentioned in the posts. You’ve done good work, especially bringing him to Miami. Reed needs to get over Aura so he can be with Kate.”

“What?” Reed asked. “You want me to be with Kate?”

“Of course,” she said, resuming her crochet. “You can’t very well wait for my daughter. She might never wake up.” She patted her daughter’s leg. “I don’t mean it dear. I know you’ll wake up.”

“I don’t understand,” Reed said.

She lifted her project and examined it for flaws. “You’ve carried your crusade long enough. It’s time to let her go.”

Harold shuffled back into the room and sank into the seat like he wanted to punish it. Then he unfolded a sandwich and began to eat, his eyes never leaving Reed. The seconds ticked by but Reed did not look away.

“I’m sorry,” Reed murmured.

Harold wiped his mouth with a napkin and put the sandwich on the bed.

“Not on the bed, dear.”

He picked it up with a scowl and moved it to the table.

“You should have called faster,” he said. “They would have been able to—”

“No they wouldn’t,” she hummed.

“Woman, will you let me speak?”

“No,” she said firmly. “This boy has been hurting just like you and me. He doesn’t deserve your anger. He deserves an apology.”

“You want me to apologize?”

“Yes.”

Harold’s frown deepened and he looked out the window. Reed opened his mouth to say the man didn’t need to apologize, but Sheila’s eyes flashed dangerously. He shut his mouth. Jackson hid a smile.

“I shouldn’t have to . . .” Harold began, and then growled and stabbed a finger at him. “You know what . . .” he shook his head. The seconds passed until he looked to his wife and she nodded. Then he seemed to wilt. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the muscles spasming in his face.

Tears formed in his eyes and he wiped his face in shame. Then he turned to the bed and wound his fingers into Aura’s hand, more tears flowing down his cheeks. In silence, he cried, all the while massaging her hand.

“I’m so sorry . . .”

Reed stood and moved to him. Unable to speak, he put his hand on the man’s shoulder. He expected Harold to shrug him off or lash out, but he stared at Aura until he wiped his eyes. Then abruptly Harold stood and wrapped his arms around Reed, holding him like he wanted to crush the life from his lungs.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for saving my girl.”

The room blurred through new tears. The emotions Reed had buried for years burst from his chest and he hugged Aura’s father, yearning to fix what had happened yet knowing it could not be fixed.

Abruptly the man pulled away and sniffled. He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and then clapped Reed on his shoulder. Beyond him, Sheila rose to her feet and folded her project neatly.

“Now isn’t that better?” she asked.

Harold didn’t answer, but he met Reed’s gaze and nodded. Sheila came around the bed and took Harold’s hand, pulling him towards the door. He didn’t resist, and followed her past Jackson. Then he seemed to realize what was happening.

“Where are we going?”

“Time to leave,” Sheila said. “Let’s go to lunch.”

“I already have a sandwich,” he said, gesturing to it.

“I know,” Sheila said. “But we need to go.”

“Why?” Harold asked, taking another step towards the door.

“Don’t you see?” she asked, meeting Reed’s gaze and offering a small nod. “He’s here to say goodbye.”