Dominick
Alton's voice was loud and clear this time.
Loud, clear, and irritating.
"Dom? Wake up, Dom," he began. "It's time for rehab."
Okay, now that was unexpected.
"Rehab?" I asked, opening my eyes only to discover a bright glare around the room. Squinting, I looked at Alton quizzically. "You went into rehab? You? Really? I mean…you?"
Or at least that's what I was trying to say. What noises actually came out of my cotton-feeling mouth and bone-dry throat, I'm not sure. It must've been incomprehensible, because Alton looked at me in total amusement.
Well, at least one of us was happy, I thought, opening my eyes a bit wider. The light was blinding, and searing pain filled my head once again. I hated the feeling, but I didn't want to sleep any more.
The dream felt all wrong now, too. Like I was just torturing myself with what could've been, had my life gone differently.
"Rehabilitation therapy," Alton said. "And it's not mine. It's yours. The doctors say you probably won't need much, but they've been weaning you out of sedation slowly. They want to be sure you have all your abilities back."
"Abilities?" I asked.
Like building sandcastles so big they have porches? I thought to myself, and sighed.
"Yeah. Walking, talking, standing…not sandcastles, though. Pretty sure they don't have a test for that in Massachusetts General Hospital.
"I said that out loud?" I asked. "And why wouldn't I be able to walk? And what do you mean, Massachusetts General—"
I turned to look at my nightstand, only then realizing that I wasn't actually at home.
Oh.
So that's what he meant by Massachusetts General Hospital.
"I…didn't drink tequila, did I?" I asked.
"No, but you should sometime," Alton's answer sounded cheerful. "Like I always say, forget the stupid worm. Do you have any idea how many chopped up worms are in a can of corn?"
"Alton, why am I in the hospital?" I asked, my head pounding.
"You mean you actually don't remember? I thought you were joking around. Uh—well, the thing is, you were in an accident. A pretty bad one, actually. We've all been worried sick."
The pain in my head intensified.
"An accident?" I asked.
"Yeah, on your way to Cape Cod. You got hit by a car, right there on the Interstate," Alton explained, his immature attitude slipping for a moment as he gave me a deathly serious look. "It's kind of a miracle you survived, actually."
I racked my brain trying to remember the accident, but there was nothing.
Nothing but a sense of loss, worry, and failure.
There was a sharp knock on the door, followed immediately by a young woman in her thirties. She gave me a bright smile, but—like every other woman I'd seen—she seemed wrong.
"Glad to see you're awake, Mr. Henderson," she said cheerfully, then introduced herself as my new physical therapist. I tried to smile back, even though a visit was the absolute last thing I wanted.
"He doesn't remember the accident," Alton said to the woman.
"That's not a surprise," the woman said, still smiling as she raised her hand. "Dominick, how many fingers am I holding up?"
"Three," I answered.
"And what is this called?" she asked, pulling a pen out of her pocket.
"A pen," I answered.
"And what's your full name?"
"Dominick Allen Henderson," I said.
"Aren't you going to ask him who the president is?" Alton asked.
"No, I am not," the woman said, shooting Alton a dirty look before turning back to me. "I'll have a nurse give you a more thorough check soon, but it seems like you at least remember the basics."
"Is there anything you could do to, I don't know, jog my memory?" I asked, curious about what exactly had landed me in a hospital where I dreamed constantly.
"Well, we can go over what happened, see if that helps. You were taking a couple of kids to Cape Cod when—"
"Wait, kids?" I asked, my stomach doing backflips and trying to climb out of my throat as I spoke. "I don't have kids."
I don't? That seemed wrong. Very wrong, actually. The wrongest thing I'd ever said.
But it didn't make any sense for it to be wrong. I couldn't remember the accident, but I still remembered who I was—Dominick Henderson.
And Dominick didn't have anyone.
Right?
I looked at Alton for confirmation, but the look on his face was a mix of worry and alarm. It wasn't a look he gave me very often, although it reminded me uncomfortably of the day when he'd warned me about Helena. I'd taken her, Ali, and Jason to the Arena and—
Helena!
Ali!
That's when it all came back to me, a sudden rush of images and jumbled emotions.
Ali's infectious enthusiasm and her eyes, so like mine but so different at the same time. Softer and prettier, the two mismatched colors fit her face better than they ever worked on mine.
Helena, her gorgeous smile and the curve of her belly. I adored everything about her, and couldn't fathom how I could've possibly forgotten her for even an instant.
And wondering that triggered another memory entirely.
The accident.
I remembered the utter horror of seeing the car heading straight for Ali, lying helplessly on the road. The image was wrapped in so much pain, so much terror, that I felt like my heart was going to explode and pop out of my chest.
"Ali!" I shouted suddenly, startling the physical therapist enough that she recoiled back.
"How is Ali?" I asked, not caring that I'd scared the woman. "How is my daughter? Did she—is she—"
"She's fine, Dominick," the woman said, taking a step forward again and smiling. She placed her hand on top of mine, reassuring and comforting. "You saved her life."
"She's fine?" I asked, trembling with relief but still wanting to be sure.
"She had some injuries, but nothing serious. She got through it like a champion," the woman went on. The words probably should've made me feel better, but instead the energy seemed to drain out of me. The woman kept talking, I could see her lips moving, but suddenly I couldn't comprehend anything.
Ali had gotten hurt because of me.
She almost died because of me.
I closed my eyes, but now all I could see was the accident. Ali lying helplessly on the road, crumpled up and unable to move. The image seemed seared into my brain, and I couldn't help but wonder how much pain she'd been in at the time. How hurt was she, exactly? How was Helena? Even if Ali was okay, I knew that Helena must've been hurting terribly.
My earlier memory of Helena's sweet smile was replaced by a new vision, the thought of that smile evaporating as Helena got the news that her daughter was hurt. The look on Helena's face must've been tragic, the tears and the pain and the uncertainty.
How were they doing now? How was the baby doing now, for that matter?
"Mr. Henderson?" the woman asked, and I stared at her blankly. There were so many questions, but I wasn't willing to ask any of them.
In fact, the less I knew, the better. I'd proven what I knew all along, that I really was toxic to anyone who got close to me. I'd known Ali for less than a year, and already I'd inspired her to run away from home and to very nearly get herself killed in a terrible accident. If that was the effect my parenting had, then they were better off without me: Ali, the baby, and most of all, Helena.
I couldn't bear to watch her as she cried even more tears because of me, as I slowly—and with the best of intentions, of course—took away everything she loved or cared about, poisoning her life from the inside out.
Thanks to the accident and the hospital's drugs, I'd forgotten the past summer. And thanks to that, I'd remembered something else.
Who I was before this summer.
A drunken, womanizing mess who never really grew up, and who certainly couldn't be trusted with a baby. Had I really thought that meeting Helena and Ali could change my nature? That a few months of playing house had somehow turned me into a responsible adult?
Right, a responsible adult who takes preteen girls on motorcycle rides.
I couldn't believe how stupid and reckless I'd been.
"I need some time alone," I grumbled to the woman. I still didn't even know her name, nor did I care what it was. That was typical of me, too.
And I'd thought I could have a family.
"I understand. I'll come back later," the woman said before leaving.
With great difficulty, I sat up in bed and looked directly at Alton. I wanted to yell and scream, but he hadn't done anything wrong. I was furious with myself, but needed to swallow that anger and have a rational discussion.
"How long ago was the accident?" I asked.
"A week. You started waking up a couple days ago."
"And the girl?" I asked, feeling too ashamed to even say her name out loud.
"You mean Ali?" Alton asked.
"Yes," I said tersely.
"From the sound of it, she's great."
"No injuries?" I asked, just to make sure.
"Like the woman said, just some scrapes and bruises. Nothing more, thanks to you."
I nodded in relief, but not real relief. I'd never be able to get over that image of her on the road, or escape the fact that the only reason she'd been in danger was also thanks to me.
I'd been such an idiot. I'd sincerely thought I could keep her safe, to be her dad. Maybe even a good one. But now I understood why Helena had been so reluctant to tell me about the baby, and why her lack of trust had hurt me so much.
Because even then, deep down, I'd known she was right.
"What are you thinking?" Alton asked.
"I tried so hard, you know," I said.
"And you did great," Alton answered.
"Great at putting her in danger, yeah," I croaked, my heart beating furiously against my ears. It wasn't like Alton to talk about feelings, or even acknowledge they existed. I didn't know what had changed, but I wasn't going to let his new attitude stop me from spewing my venom. "I'm not fit to be a father. It's not like we ever got a fucking chance to see a good one in action, did we?"
"No, we didn't," Alton agreed sadly. "But from the sound of it, you've been doing a pretty good job."
"Is that a joke? I've known my daughter for a few months and I already almost got her killed. Even your dad—" I began, but cut myself off quickly. I was upset, but that was no reason to attack Alton below the belt by bringing up his past. "I'm not qualified to be a parent, or a husband, or anything else."
Alton's eyes went wide with surprise, but kept going. "That's not what I've heard."
"What do you mean, heard? And how do you know so much about the accident anyway?" I asked, already suspecting the answer and not liking it one bit. Alton hated Helena, and the idea that the two of them would have to suffer each other's company just seemed like another of my countless failures.
"Helena's been here a lot. Like, a lot. It's just shitty luck she's not here now, actually. She's…uh, really attached, man." Alton said, fumbling his words and scratching at the back of his neck like the emotionally stunted ten-year-old he really was inside.
That both of us were inside.
I growled, my disgust and self-loathing hitting a new peak. That was the last straw. That a heavily pregnant woman, one with an injured daughter, would risk visiting a hospital regularly despite the danger? That she would waste so much of her time visiting my sorry, unconscious body. The way she must've felt when she saw me, when she heard the news….
I hated it. Hated everything about it.
"She'll probably be here soon, actually," Alton added.
"No," I said sharply.
"No?" Alton asked.
"No, she won't be here. She shouldn't come at all."
"Like that'll matter," Alton cackled. Despite his laughter, I could see the concern in his eyes. "That woman has a mind of her own. She does not take no for an answer, let me tell you."
"She'll have to."
She would. This pathetic charade was over.