Chapter 14
Lydia
Beautiful.
That’s the word Colby just wrote on the white board.
And it rendered me speechless.
Yes, Colby flirted shamelessly with me a few minutes ago—as much as a guy on a ventilator can flirt, I suppose. But everything he did before this moment seemed like nothing but painkiller-induced bravado. Loopy fun. But this word he’s written... and the way he’s looking at me right now... This moment feels real. Completely stripped down and raw. Like we’re staring into each other’s souls and connecting in a way I’ve only felt once before in my life.
“Thank you,” I manage to say, my heart whacking against my sternum. “You’re beautiful, too, Colby. Stunningly beautiful. What you did in that fire...” I swallow hard. I can’t say more. I’m too overwhelmed by this unexpected flood of emotion I’m feeling.
Colby motions for the white board again and I move it into place for him.
Soul, he writes. And then he points at the word Beautiful. And then at me.
Warmth floods my core. “Thank you,” I say, clutching my chest. “You have a beautiful soul, too. You’re a man who’s willing to risk your own life to help a stranger in need. That makes your soul more than beautiful. You’ve got a heroic soul.”
Colby waves away my comment and motions for the board again.
Is baby OK?
Oh, for the love of... Colby doesn’t know the baby died two days ago? How is that possible? Has his family actively withheld the tragic news from him to keep him calm while his condition remains precarious? Or was he simply not conscious enough before now to ask the question?
Colby taps the pen against the white board, asking his question again.
Crap. Shouldn’t someone in his family be the one to tell him this awful news? How the hell is this up to me?
Again, Colby taps on the board. His eyes are practically rolling back into his head at this point, but he’s apparently not going to allow himself to slip into unconsciousness until he gets his damned answer.
Sighing, I cradle Colby’s hand in both of mine and say softly, “The baby died on Saturday evening in her parents’ arms.”
Colby closes his eyes.
“It’s my understanding the baby’s parents came to your room on Saturday to thank you for giving them the opportunity to hold their baby one last time. I heard Kat say that you were unconscious when her parents came, so they spoke to your parents and expressed their gratitude.”
Colby opens his beautiful blue eyes. They’re glistening.
I take a deep breath. “I know this is sad news. But take comfort in knowing you gave those parents an amazing gift. Getting to say goodbye to a loved one before...” Without warning, emotion surges inside me and I choke up. I pause for a long moment, swallowing hard, and finally say, “Getting to physically touch someone you love one last time before they’re torn away from you forever and ever...” I stop again. Clamp my lips together and swallow hard again until I’m finally able to continue. “Colby, you gave that baby’s parents a precious gift. Even if she didn’t survive, what you did wasn’t in vain.”
A lone tear falls out the corner of Colby’s eye and trickles toward his temple.
I squeeze his hand. “I don’t presume to know what you’re feeling,” I whisper. “But whatever it is, however hopeless you might feel, or heartbroken, please know you’re not going through this alone. I’m going to heal you, Colby. Not just because I’m your physical therapist, but also because...” I swallow hard again. “Because I feel called to help you.” I clutch his hand in both of mine fiercely. “I’m going to fix you, Colby. I’m going to heal you and make you as good as new.”
We sit quietly together for a long moment, our hands clasped. Finally, when it seems the poor man’s eyelids can’t stay open a moment longer, he motions to the white board again and scrawls a sloppy, illegible message.
“I can’t read that,” I say, tilting my head to the side. “Apple? You’re saying you want an apple? Because that’s a firm no.”
With a roll of his eyes, Colby rewrites the word, this time with great care and attention.
ANGEL.
“Oh. Yes, the baby’s an angel in heaven now,” I say. “I believe that, too.”
Colby shakes his head. He points at the word on the white board and then at me. But before I can reply, Colby’s eyes flutter and close.
I wait to see if this is it, but, nope. He claws his way back to consciousness and motions for me to tilt the white board toward him again.
“This is the last time,” I say. “You need your rest, Colby.”
Colby writes with great care again. But when I turn the board to take a peek, his drug-induced handwriting is so jumbled, I can’t make it out.
“Hmm. You lost your first kite?”
He points at his latest scribble, clearly exasperated.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just can’t...” I squint at his sloppy writing for a moment. “You lick your friends at night?”
Colby’s glazed eyes are practically rolling back into his head. He writes on the board again. Slowly. Like a drunkard taking a written field sobriety test. When he’s done scribbling, his arm thuds to the mattress, pen still in hand. His eyes close and remain that way. He’s out like a light.
I tilt the board around to read his message... and feel my heart lurch and bound and leap out of my chest... and finally explode through my sternum and splatter against a far wall.