Breaking Free (19 page)

Chapter 30
:  August 26

The next morning, I
exit the bathroom to find Marta sitting at the desk in my hotel room with cups of coffee and two muffins in front of her.

“I got us breakfast while you were showering.”

“Thanks.”  I grab mine and sit on the edge of the bed, facing her.

Last night, when we arrived, she told me I could have my own hotel room as long as we kept the door adjoining them open at all times.  Since it was after midnight
, we ended up going straight to bed with plans to visit her daughter in the morning.

“
How much longer will your daughter be in the hospital” I ask, taking a bite of muffin.

“Hopefully, not too much longer.  She’s doing really well.”

“Should we bring her flowers or something?”

“If you’d like.  There’s a florist in the hospital.  We can stop there on the way.”  Marta takes a sip of coffee and then asks, “Did Sheila contact you?”

I reach for my phone and realize it’s not on me.  All that time in the woods without it has made me much less reliant on it.  I scurry up on the bed to reach the nightstand where it’s charging.  I swipe my finger across the screen and see that I have one text: 
What have you done?  We need to talk ASAP!

“Yes
.  She doesn’t seem happy.”

“
What did she say?”

“She wants me to call her.”

“Are you going to?”

“
Are you going to make me?”

“No.”

I throw my phone on the bed and take another bite of muffin.  I’m not sure why, but there’s something empowering to this situation.  It’s like, for once in my life, I make the rules and I don’t have to give her the time of day if I don’t want to.  After everything she’s done to me for the past nine years, I can finally avoid her awful comments about what a terrible person I am.

“How are you feeling?”
Marta asks.

“Fantastic.”  For the first time in months, I actually mean that.

“That’s good to hear.  Are you ready to head over to the hospital?”

With that, we throw out the remnants of our breakfast a
nd walk across the street.  After a quick stop at the florist where I buy a small bouquet of lilies, we head up to the seventh floor.  As soon as the elevator door opens, I become hesitant.  I’ve only had two experiences in the hospital.  They were both in the last few months and neither was good.

“What’s wrong
?” Marta asks, noticing my hesitation.

“Maybe I should wait in the lobby.”  It was actually a really nice lobby that looked more like a hotel than a hospital.  I could easily convince myself that’s where I was.

“Why?”

My phone buzzes. I look at the screen and
see that Sheila is calling.  Ignoring it, I say, “I’ve realized I’m not a huge fan of hospitals.”

“It will
be fine.  Trust me.  Kristen wants to talk to you.”

“Dr. Sanchez,
nice to see you back!” a thirty-something guy in a white lab coat and scrubs says, walking in our direction.  “How was your vacation?”

“One of the best I’
ve ever had, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it.  Where’d you go again?”
he asks, stepping into the elevator and holding the door open while he waits for her answer.

“California.
  LA area.”

He nods and then asks,
“Will you be in rounds later today?”

“Not yet.  I’m
still officially on vacation.”

“Then you need to get out of here!”

She laughs and the door closes on the guy.  I stand frozen with my jaw hanging open.  I can’t believe what I just witnessed.  None of it makes any sense.

“Are you okay,
cariño?” Marta asks, rubbing my shoulder.

I point my finger at her and then at the closed elevator and then back at her.  The whole time, my mouth
moves, but no words come out.

“Come with me and I’ll explain everything.”

I must still be in shock because I follow her without a word.  We walk around a nurses’ station and then down a bright corridor.  At the fourth door on our right, we stop.  She knocks and then opens the door enough to stick her head inside.  She says something in Spanish and then opens the door wider so we can both enter.

What I see knocks the breath out of me.
  I never, in a million years, thought I’d see her again.

“Chris,” I whisper, my eyes wide.
  The lilies fall to the floor and Marta swoops down to pick them up.

“Mal!  I’m so glad m
y mother was able to convince you to come.”

My eyes dart between the two of them, still trying to understand what’s
going on.

“I’m happy you’
re here.  I’ve been worried about you.”

I take a step closer to the bed.

“Sit down,” Marta says, pulling a chair out for me.

I do as she says because
I’m not sure what else to do.

“Would you like me to explain?” Marta asks,
standing between me and Chris.

I nod, still too stunned to speak.

“Kristen, or Kris as you know her, is my daughter.  Everything I told you about her is true.”

“
Kris with a K not a Ch,” I mumble.  “The accident in the woods … Your leg …”

“Yeah
, it’s gone.”

My eyes
wander from Kris’ face, down her body to the noticeably flat blanket where her right leg should be.

“But you’re a nanny in California
…” I say, turning back to Marta.

She sits down next to me and holds my shoulder
.  “I’m a psychiatrist, Mal.  Kris was worried about you after what happened.  She wanted to continue working with you, but, as you can see, that wasn’t possible.  She asked me to help.”

“W—why did you lie to me?  I thought you were a nanny
…”

“We didn’t mean to lie to you, but Sheila wasn’t on board with our plan.  It was the only way to get close to you.”

“You’re a shrink.”

She nods.

“I told you everything.”

She nods again.  “You’ve done very well.  You’ve made significant progress in just a few days.”

“You’re a damn shrink!” I yell, standing up, finally breaking through the shock.  “You manipulated me!”  My phone buzzes again.  I pull it out of my pocket and see Sheila’s name on the screen.  “Leave me alone!” I yell at it before slamming it onto a nearby table.

“
I didn’t mean to manipulate you.  I just wanted you to talk through everything.  I didn’t care if it was with me or Elise or your father.”

“Elise?  She’s in on this, too?”

“Mal, calm down,” Kris says.  “We did this because we care about you.  We wanted to know that you’d be okay.  You’re not alone.  You need to know that there are people who love you and want to help.”

“I’m not okay now!  I trusted you!”  I point my finger at Marta accusingly.  “I thought we were friends!”

“We are friends.”

“Friends don’t keep medical records on each other.”

“I have no medical record for you.  I was doing this as a friend.”

My body starts shaking.  I can’t believe what she’s done after I trusted her.
  I grip the arms of the chair and squeeze.

“Mal, please understand we di
d this out of love.  Mom is who got me through my cutting.  I knew she could help you.”

“You could have told me you were a shrink!”

“No, no.  I wasn’t doing this as a psychiatrist.”  She takes a deep breath and then continues, “I started Wilderness Therapy five years ago.  I’ve seen a lot of teens go through the program.  Some we help, others we don’t.  I knew we could help you.  From the moment I talked to Sheila, I knew we could.  I felt terrible about how everything fell apart before we had that chance.  While we can’t control the weather, we never should have allowed Travon into the group.”

“Bling?” I ask, looking to K
ris.

“Yes, he was a gang member, just as JC suspected.
  None of our background checks indicated there would be a problem between the two of them.  We obviously need to come up with a better procedure.”

“Was
a gang member?”

“
He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

Marta reaches for my hand.  Squeezing it, she says, “We’re not only here to see Kris.  JC didn’t drown in that river; Bling did.”

My head snaps towards her.  “Sheila said JC died.”

“She was mistaken.”

“He’s alive? And here?”  All my anger
disappears at once like darkness with the flip of a light switch.  How can I be mad at people who brought JC back into my life?

My heart starts drumming in my chest,
kicked into action by excitement and nervousness over seeing him again.  I can’t believe it’s true.  I thought he was gone forever.

“Where is he?” I ask, jumping up.

She raises her hand.  “Slow down, Kelsie.  He’s not well.  You need to be prepared for that.”

And with those few little words, my heart stalls.  It was too good to be true.  “What do you mean not well?” I ask quietly, lowering myself back into the chair.

“He’s in a coma.”

I stare straight ahead, watching the clouds drift across the sky through the window. 
“How bad is it?”

“It’s not good.”

With a gulp, I say, “He’s going to die.”

“He could.”

My earlier anger returns with a vengeance.  I turn on Marta and yell, “You bring me 3,000 miles to tell me JC is actually alive only to break the good news by telling me he’s going to die!  What kind of sick person are you?”

“I didn’t say
he was going to die.  We think you might be able to help.”

“How am I going to help?  I’m not a doctor!”

“He cares about you immensely.  There’s a chance that your voice or touch could help him come out of it.”

I scoff at her. 
“You think I might be able to save JC’s life?”

“
Yes,” she replies without hesitation.

Chapter 31
:  August 26

A few minutes later
, we’re back on the elevator and headed to the fifth floor.  During that short time, Sheila calls me twice.

“He’s in the ICU,” Marta says when the door
s open.  “We’ll have to check in and out.”

We stop at a desk, show our ID
s, and write our names on a clipboard.  The security officer gives us new nametags to wear, then we enter a large central area teeming with nurses and doctors.  Rooms with glass walls surround the central area and I look at each trying to get a glimpse of JC.

“This way
,” Marta says, lightly tugging on my arm.  We cross the central area and approach a room with a uniformed security guard standing watch.  He eyes our nametags and then nods as we enter a light and airy room.  There in the middle of the room, lying motionless on the bed with tubes sticking out of his mouth, nose, and arms is JC.

“Omigod,
” I whisper, covering my mouth.  In that instant, any doubt I had over whether I really loved JC completely disappears.  I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it before.  There’s never been a guy who understands my pain.  Who makes it disappear for a while.  Who makes me feel good about myself with a few simple words.  There’s no one else who could ever take my breath away, even while lying completely still in a coma.

I
rush to his side and pick up his hand.  I expect it to be cold like Jenna’s was that last night, but it’s warm and soft.  As awful as he looks, there’s still life inside of him.

“JC,” I whisper, squeezing his fingers.  “
I love you, too.  I can’t believe you’re alive.  Sheila told me you died.  I thought I lost you forever …”

“You must be Mal.”

I jump at the voice with a thick southern drawl, having thought no one was in the room but me and Marta.  I drop JC’s hand and spin around to find an elderly woman with silver hair sitting straight and proper in a chair by the door.  She’s got knitting needles on her lap.

“Yes.”

“I’m Edna, Tyrell’s nana.”  Lowering her knitting gear, she grabs a cane leaning against her chair and then hobbles over to me.  “It’s nice to finally meet you, child.”  She wraps her arms around me in a hug.  “You are a very special person, Mal.”

“
Y—you don’t even know me.”

“No
matter,” she says with a wave of her hand.  “I read Tyrell’s journal.  You’re his first love.  That’s all I need to know.”  She shuffles back to her chair and adds, “He recognizes a pure heart like no one else.”

Since I don’t know how to respond to her, I turn back around and focus on JC.
  His chest rises and falls in time with the whirring of a machine next to him.  His eyes are closed and his face is slack.  I’ve never seen him have no emotion on his face.

I reach out and touch his cheek, expecting him to smile in response, but he does nothing.

“Can he feel my hand?” I ask Marta.

“Possibly.”

“Can he hear me?”

“Maybe.”

“JC, I read your journal.  I love you, too.  I should’ve stayed with you that last night.  Or moved faster for help.  Maybe you wouldn’t be in here, then.”

Marta pushes a chair towards me and says, “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

I shrug and sit down, moving my fingers from his face to his hand.

“You need to stop carrying the
weight of the world on your shoulders, Kelsie.  Bling attacked JC, there’s nothing you could have done to stop that.  You got to the Lodge as quickly as possible.  They still wouldn’t have been able to set out until first light even if you had arrived earlier.”

“Bling attack
ed him?”

“
Yes.  What Neeky says is Kris was going downhill quickly so they made a stretcher out of tree limbs and canvas to try and get her back to the Lodge.  Apparently, Bling must have been stalking them in the woods.  Once they were exhausted from carrying Kris, he rushed them, stabbing Neeky in the leg and JC in the shoulder.”

I glance at JC’s left shoulder and, sure enough, he’s got a bandage there.
  “What happened then?”

“JC fought back.  Neeky said he got some good punches in, but Bling picked up a rock and
hit him in the head.  He went down immediately.”

“
JC didn’t kill Bling?”

“No.  After JC collapsed, Neeky
tried to fend off Bling with a big branch.  He walked him closer and closer to the river until Bling slipped in the mud and fell in.”

I absently rub my thumb over the back of JC’s hand, trying to understand why any of that happened.  I can’t believe Bling hated JC that much.  Ther
e wasn’t any reason for it … unless JC is in a rival gang.  It just doesn’t seem possible, though—he would never be part of something like that.  “Why did Bling do it?” I ask.  “I don’t understand why he wanted to kill JC.”

Marta
peeks at Edna.  They share an unspoken exchange and then she says, “He should tell you that, not us.”

Her words cause my stomach to drop.  “Is JC in a gang?” I
blurt out.  I need to know.

“Heavens no,” Nana says, holding her hand to her chest like I just asked the most ridiculous
question in the world.

I let out a sigh of relief.  I can’t imagine why Bling would want to kill him, but
at least it’s not that.  “What if he never wakes up to tell me?”

“
You need to be positive for him.”

I spend the next four hours trying to keep a positive outlook, but it’s hard when JC doesn’t react to anything I say or do.
  During the entire time, Marta and Edna come and go, but I remain at his bedside, holding his hand.  It’s all I can do.

“Time for lunch
.”  Marta’s voice startles me.  I’m sitting on the chair with my head resting on JC’s arm.

She hands me a sandwich wrapped in cellophane and then ta
kes a seat next to the window.  “The nurse will be coming in soon to take care of some things.  You should join me over here.”

“What kind of things?”

“Hygiene.”

I crinkle my nose at her words.  “Like give him a bath?”

“Yes.  Then change his catheter.”

“
So?  I don’t want to leave him.”

“You can return as soon as she’s done.”

“What’s the problem?” I ask, unwrapping the sandwich.  “Is it because he’ll be naked?  It’s not like I haven’t seen naked men before.”

Marta shakes her head and chuckles.  “
No, I suppose not.  But I doubt he’d want you to see him like that.  I’m sure he …” Her voice fades off and I get the sense that she’s not exactly sure how to end her sentence.  “Would you want him to see you like that—completely vulnerable, being cared for by someone else?” she asks, changing her approach.

I shake my head, finally understanding her point.  It’s bad enough
that he isn’t conscious but having someone else manage every single biological function for you is devastating.  It’s like he’s a baby again.  I suddenly feel even worse and move over to Marta when the nurse arrives.  She pulls a curtain between us and all we hear is the occasional footstep or clank as she moves things around.

While she works, I ask Marta
more about his coma.  “If he wakes up, will he be the same person?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will he remember me?”

“
Probably, although it is possible he could have amnesia.”

“Will he act the same?  He’s
one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.  Will he still be like that?”

“
It’s hard to say, but it’s unlikely the fundamentals of his personality will change if he comes out of the coma with full brain activity.”

“
What do you mean full brain activity?”

She sighs and looks out the window.  I take a bite of sandwich and
allow her to collect her thoughts.  When she focuses on me again, I repeat my question.  “What do you mean?”

“You can never predict what the outcome will be.  He could wake up and be exactly like he was before.”

I nod because that’s what I want.

“Or, he could wake up and
his brain could be compromised.  Worst case scenario, he could be in a vegetative state and be unable to communicate or move or take care of himself.”

“He might as well be dead, then,” I say, slumping into my chair.
  Although no one told me that, the thought was always in the back of my mind.  I may never actually hear his voice again, even if he does wake up.

“Or he could be somewhere between those two extremes.  Again, there’s no way to predict.”

Tossing my mostly uneaten sandwich into the trash, I say, “This sucks,” in what might be the biggest understatement of my life.

The rest of the day drags on.  I remain by JC’s side the entire time, only stepping away to use the bathroom.  His condition doesn’t change at all, though.  Around seven at night, Edna returns with a Tupperware c
ontainer and plastic utensils.

“Here’s supper for you, honey,” she says.

“What is it?”

“Fried chicken, black-eyed peas, and collard greens.”

I open the container and am blown away by the aroma.  I’m immediately starving.  “It smells delicious.  Thanks … E—Edna.”  I stutter over the use of her name and wonder if I should say Mrs. McCoy, but then realize I don’t know if that’s her last name or if she’s even a Mrs.

“
Call me Nana, child.”

I pau
se, chicken leg midway to mouth.  I didn’t even call Jenna’s parents Mom and Dad.  To their faces it was always Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson.  Other times it was Elise and Warren.

I take a few bites and then set the chicken down.  “Did you make this
… Nana?”  It doesn’t feel as weird saying it as I think it should.

“Sure did.  How is it?”

“Delicious.  Best I’ve ever had.”

She beams proudly and takes out her knittin
g tools.  “Wanda, Tyrell’s mama, will be here in a couple hours for the nighttime shift.  I’ll be back in the morning with some cousins.  The docs and nurses are kind of picky about how many people are in here at a time, but we’ll see what we can do.”

As if on cue
, a nurse sticks her head through the door, looking at me.  “Sorry, but visiting hours are over.  Only family can be in here until tomorrow morning.”

I was planning on staying all night.  I open my mout
h to protest, but Nana beats me to it.  “Oh, honey, she’s family,” she says with a wave of her hand, completely dismissing the nurse.

Th
e nurse looks from JC to me to Nana.  “I don’t—“

Nana grabs her cane and hauls herself out of the chair.  “I know you’re not about to make
a disgraceful comment about my youngins.”

The nurse blushes
.

“Because I
’d hate to have to report you for cultural insensitivity.”

She shakes her head.  “
Of course not, ma’am.  My apologies.”

“Thanks,” I say after the nurse leaves.  “Although I don’t think
she believes we’re related.”

“It don’t take blood to make a family.  Just love.  Tyrell loves you so I love you like you’re my own.
  That’s family.”

I feel myself start to get choked up at her words.  I just met this woman today and she’s being nicer to me than Sheila ever was in the nine years she’s been my stepmom.  I can’t even remember a time when Sheila said she loved me.