PART TWO
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
—Theodore Roethke, “The Waking”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
VALE
IT WAS BLURRY. What was blurry I don’t know, but I had a hard time focusing. There were noises around me I didn’t understand and I felt strapped down. Opening my mouth, I tried to say something, when I heard a voice shout loud enough to leave a ringing in my ears.
“She’s awake!”
Who’s awake? I wondered. Then, in my vision, I saw someone I knew. A face that gave me reassurance. My mother.
“Vale? Sweetheart?” Her voice was becoming clear and she was talking softer now. I liked the way her voice made me feel.
I was Vale McKinley. I knew that, too. So why didn’t I know where I was or what was happening?
“Jonathon, go call the boys,” my mother said. Jonathon was my dad and the boys were my brothers. There were four of them. Dylan, Michea, Jonah, and Knox. Why was she calling them?
“Mom,” I said finally, and my throat felt raw as I said the words.
“Shhh, don’t talk just yet,” she said as she looked down at me with tears in her eyes. I noticed her face was thinner, with dark circles under her eyes. Was she sick?
I started to ask, when two women and a man moved my mother out of the way and began working around me. Talking to me and calling me by name. It took me a moment to realize they were nurses. Turning my head, I finally noticed my surroundings and realized this was a hospital.
Why am I here?
The screeching of tires and my own scream suddenly replayed in my ears, and I saw the terror on Crawford’s face before everything went black. Then I remembered nothing. Crawford. Where was Crawford? I had to find him. He was hurt.
“She’s trying to get up,” a nurse said, as another one put her hands on me and eased me back down. “Not so fast. You can’t move just yet.”
“Crawford,” I said in a raspy whisper, and began struggling against them to get free. I had to find Crawford.
The nurses holding me down were talking gently to me in words I wasn’t listening to. Where was my mom? I had to get to Crawford. The truck was coming straight at us. I remembered that. He had been so scared.
“Honey, sweetheart, please.” Mom’s voice was there again, leaning over me, and her hand was on my forehead as she caressed me in what I knew was her calming manner.
“Crawford,” I said again.
She glanced up at the nurses.
“The doctor is on the way,” one nurse assured my mother.
What did the doctor have to do with this? I had been asleep. I was awake now and I needed to see Crawford. I knew he was hurt.
“He needs to hurry,” my mother said, sounding upset. She looked so sick. Why was she here with me when she needed to be in bed?
“Mom,” I said.
“Baby, please don’t try to talk yet. Just wait on the doctor.”
“The boys are on their way.” My father’s voice, then he was there over me, too. “Hey, baby girl. It’s about time you woke up. I’ve been missing you something fierce.”
Those words made my eyes tear up and I wasn’t sure if that was because I missed him, too, or because I was scared. Scared of what I was about to find out. Scared of what I didn’t know.
“Daddy,” I said, and he bent down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“You’re okay. God took care of you and you’re gonna be okay.” He said the words like he was reassuring himself and not me.
“Crawford,” I said, and like my mother had done, he lifted his eyes to look toward her, then the nurses.
“Sleeping Beauty is awake,” a new, deep voice said, and both my parents took a step back. I wanted them near me. They were all I knew. All I remembered.
“She’s asking about Crawford,” my mother said, and he nodded with a smile.
“She has her memory. That’s something to be thankful for. Does she know who she is?”
“Yes, and she knows us,” my father said.
“She’s been asking about Crawford and trying to talk,” the blond nurse added.
The doctor was a young man with red hair and kind eyes. I felt at ease with him, but I wanted answers … and if someone didn’t give them to me I was getting up out of this bed. I moved my legs and watched as they both shifted under the covers. That was good.
The doctor looked over at the machines I was hooked up to, then back at me. “I’m Dr. Haufman, but so is my father, so I prefer to just go by Dr. Charlie with clients I’ve been working with for an extended period of time. And you would qualify as such. Now let’s check some of that memory. Do you remember your phone number?” Dr. Charlie asked. Why would he ask me something like that? It wasn’t important.
But as I started to speak, I realized I didn’t know it. But I knew my address. So I told him that instead.
“She’s going to have some gaps in her memory. That’s normal, but it appears she knows the big things.”
I pushed up with both my arms again and looked at my mother. “Where is Crawford?” I asked, my voice getting more strength.
“Get her some ice and a little water to sip on,” the doctor told a nurse. Then he glanced back at me. “This is Nurse Everly. She and Nurse Mae have been your two most frequent nurses over the past month. You’ll be seeing a lot of them.”
Nurse Everly had long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She reminded me of a Barbie doll. I wanted to ask about Crawford again.
My throat was so dry.
“It’s best that she know everything now. She remembers,” the doctor said, then looked at me.
“Sip on some water. You’ve had tubes in your throat until last night when you began moving and moaning. We have been expecting you to awaken. Your throat will be raw for a while. Taking small sips of water through a straw will help ease it. If you feel like it later, we will send up some ice cream.”
This was not the answer I was wanting. Wait … tubes?
“Why tubes?” I asked.
The doctor walked around and sat down on the edge of the bed like he was an old friend there for a chat. “You’ve been in a coma, Vale. For one month and three days. You were in a car accident that I think you might remember,” he said, pausing for me to respond.
The redheaded nurse handed me a plastic cup of ice water with a straw. I took a sip. I needed it to help me talk. The cold liquid shocked my throat, but eased the pain some. I took a few more sips. Then I put the cup down.
“Crawford. The truck wasn’t stopping,” I said, thinking about the truck that looked like it had lost control, barreling straight at us. It had come over on our side of the two-way road, and I remembered Crawford jerking the wheel so that the truck would hit him, not me, or the front of the car. But just his side. Then he’d looked at me, and the terror in his eyes was all I remembered.
“The truck you remember was because of a truck driver who had fallen asleep. The truck was coming at you, and Crawford turned the car to the right. In doing so, he saved your life.”
“We’ll call him. He’s fine. He just visited a few days ago. Right now, though, you need to calm down, baby.”
He visited a few days ago? That sounded odd. Not like Crawford at all. Where was he?
“I called Crawford.” Knox’s voice filled the room. “He’s at practice. I left him a message.”