Lost in Us (17 page)

"His boss couldn't find someone to replace his Sunday shift so he didn't allow him to take the day off." She breaks into tears. 

I stare at her, searching for the right words, any words really, that might comfort her. But the truth is I've never really been able to comfort anyone. My words have a habit of transforming completely on their way out of my mouth, losing all their meaning, so I put my arm around her shoulders in a tender embrace, hoping the gesture conveys everything I don't say.

James's voice makes me leap to my feet. He's walking toward us, accompanied by a doctor—a tall, balding man in a white coat, carrying a thin file under his arm. Dani trails in silence behind them. Mrs. Haydn stands up too beside me and I turn to her, forcing myself to come up with something, now at the last moment, but the sight of her contorted eyes and trembling lips blocks the words in my throat.

"You can see your daughter now, Mrs. Haydn," the doctor says.

"How is she?" I ask him as James comes by my side, gently squeezing my hand in a silent encouragement.

"She will make a full recovery. But it will take some time," he answers in an official, not unkind tone.

I turn to Ms. Haydn, expecting to find her as relieved as I feel but her expression hasn't relaxed one bit.

"Mrs. Haydn, do you want to go see Jess?" I ask.

She looks at me terrified, as if I'd asked her to walk on burning coal. "You go first, my dear. I'll go right after you."

"Okay," I stutter, looking questioningly at the doctor. He gestures for me to follow him and after a brief hesitation, I do.

"Please take care of her," I whisper to James over my shoulder.

We don't walk for long before the doctor stops, in front of a door. "She is still asleep now. Please remember, it looks worse than it really is."

On that cheery note, he takes off. I stare after him for a few seconds, wondering if going in alone is wise then take a deep breath and push the door open. One glance at the bed and I understand Mrs. Haydn's horror at the thought of seeing Jess. Any part of her body that isn't covered in white bandages is bruised. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, until I get to the head of her bed. There is a long, slim bandage on her cheek, and I dearly pray it won't leave a scar behind. How could this happen to her? I should have never agreed to go to that godforsaken tap house. I should have never left her alone there with that bunch of idiots. I caress her non-bandaged cheek, reminding myself that the doctor said it looks worse than it really is.

I don't know how, but my eyes end up gazing at the vein on the inside of her elbow. Of course they do. That's all I could look at the last time I was in a room not very unlike this one, years ago. I bite my lip, refusing to let any of those tormenting memories invade my thoughts. But they do. One by one, they start pouring in, forming the horror movie I'd give anything to forget. Hot tears fall on my chest. They cut raw gashes into my heart. New ones, right next to the ones that never really healed in all these years.

My dearest Kate. Whom neither my parents nor I could ever really understand. Who retreated in a world of her own, so consuming and self-destructive, no one could reach her. There was nothing left of my Kate toward the end. Not a smile, not a joke. She was like a ghost, like a dry opal, devoid of all of its shine and beauty, so dry and mangled with creases it could shatter at the slightest tap. And shatter she did.

It wasn't the drugs that killed her. At least not directly. My parents, like me, always secretly feared that one day she'd lose any wisp of control she had left and overdose. But she didn't. She got shot. Ironically, she looked so much better than Jess when she was in the hospital. She only had one tiny bandage, right above her heart, and when I tucked the bed sheet over the bandage, also hiding beneath it her arms… her veins—the undeniable proof that there was much more poison in her body than the bullet they couldn't get out—she looked as if she were asleep, ready to wake up any minute.

Only she didn't.

But this won't happen to Jess. She'll get out of the hospital, and probably limp for a while and certainly be cranky, but she'll be all right. I just wish she'd be awake already.

I brush my tears away and leave the room without a last glance at her. Stupid and absurd as it is, I can't stop the tears from forming behind my eyelids when I look at her.

Her mum is leaning against the wall outside the room. To my relief, she looks like her usual self.

"She's still asleep," I say.

"Oh, the doctor said she'll be asleep for a few more hours. I'll just wait by her side until she wakes up."

"Do you need me to bring you anything?"

"Thanks, dear. Your boyfriend already asked. I'm fine."

"Oh, my boyfriend," I stutter.

"He seems like a nice boy."

I stare her. It took her two years for her to finally stop frowning whenever I mentioned Michael. "You don't know him."

"No, but he just ran six blocks to get you Starbucks coffee." She points to something behind me. "That's enough to earn him
nice
in my book."

I turn around and find James sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting room, carrying two coffee cups and a paper bag, which I'm positive contains my favorite Starbucks grilled vegetable sandwich. I refrain from telling Mrs. Haydn that he most certainly didn't
walk
those five blocks, because that doesn't make it less nice of him.

"Go to him honey," she beckons, "you look like you haven't had coffee today."

"I certainly haven't," I say.

"Dani and Parker went to your place to get you something to change into and bring some stuff for Jess. How is she?" James asks when I get to him, handing me the bag.

"Looks horrible, but she'll be fine." I open the brown paper bag. There is a grilled vegetable sandwich inside. "I'm glad Mrs. Haydn is holding up so well. She scared me a little before." I take a bite from the sandwich and a few sips of coffee. "I'll just stay here for whatever she needs."

"And I'll be here for whatever you need," James says, holding up my chin.

"Thanks," I say deeply moved.

"You want to go in there again with her mom?"

"No," I say a little too quickly. "I mean, I don't really… I'll go in when Jess wakes up." I bite into my sandwich again, avoiding his gaze.

"It's all right, you know," James says kindly. "To think about Kate."

My lower lip starts trembling and I grit my teeth because I know what will follow. To no avail. The sobs start before the tears. Loud and choking and I bury myself in his arms like that night in his cinema room.

"Cry, baby," he whispers. "I'm here for you. Let it all out."

So much for other worlds. Kate was lost in hers. I, in mine. And what a wonderful world that was.

One populated by numbers and books. Books in which I could get lost and forget about the outside world at a moment's notice. Even when I was in the outside world, be it at school, college, or one of my countless activities, I was never really anchored in reality. That's the thing with reality and dreams—fantasies—if we try hard enough, we can lose ourselves in them. Then we can call our lives real even when they're not.

Much like Kate, I never let anyone inside my world. Not Mum or Dad, not Jess. Not even Michael.

But as a stream of tears burns my cheeks, I know I managed to let James in it. Or maybe he pulled me out of it, making the reality seem like a dream instead. I'm not sure. It doesn't matter right now. All that matters are his arms are around me, his comforting whispers in my ear.

They are real.

I spend the next two days running from Starbucks to Jess's room and back. Jess is, as I predicted, in the crankiest mood ever. She insisted on the nurse taking off the bandage on her cheek so she could inspect her wound. She became even crankier afterward. 

Her mum is doing remarkably well, taking regular naps on the couch in Jess's room. I tried it too, but my back hurts so badly when I lie on it, I've given up on sleeping altogether. Her dad comes to visit in the evening, after he gets off from work.

James hasn't left my side at all, and is now chanting apology after apology because he has to leave for a meeting with investors he absolutely can't postpone.

"I'll be back in four hours at the latest," he says.

"I'll be fine. Please go home and sleep after your meeting is over James. I can take care of myself."

"Not a chance."

He leans in and brushes my lips in what was supposed to be a quick kiss. But it transforms, as every kiss did in the past two days, into a deep, longing one.

"Hurry," I say when we break off. "You won't impress any investor if you don't have time to shower before showing up at the meeting."

"You could use a shower yourself," he jokes, but I immediately feel uncomfortable. I've been wearing the clothes Dani brought me from the apartment for two days.

He cups my face in his palms and kisses my forehead once before disappearing in an elevator.

The other elevator doors open a few seconds later. At first I think it's empty, then a tiny figure skids out of it. Barefoot, the blue hospital gown far too large for her small body, she's clutching her storybook against her chest. Six year old Maya, one of the little girls I volunteer for.

"Maya, what are you doing here?" I say and take her in my arms not wanting her to get sick from wandering without shoes on the cold floors. I immediately take her to the chairs and slump in one of them, rubbing my back.

"I heard nurse Mary say that you were here," she says, putting her tiny arms around my neck. "Why didn't you come to see me? Are you mad at me because I put cake in your hair at the party?"

I cannot help a smile. "I'm not mad at you at all. I had to take care of other things but I was going to come see you."

"Are you sick?" she says with a frown.

"A friend of mine is."

"Don't be sad. Look, this will make you happy." She clutches her book around her chest. “Will you read me a story?" she asks, looking at me with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Let's go upstairs and I'll read to all of you."

She doesn't answer right away, and I understand the conflict that is going on inside her. There are two sides to Maya. One that allows her to share all the candies she receives from her parents with all the other girls in her ward, and the other side that wants things—usually my attention—only for herself.

"Can we stay here?" she asks in a small, small voice. "Just for one story?"

I pretend to be thinking hard. "Does anyone know you are here?"

"No," she says. "But I don't think they'll notice. I left immediately after nurse Mary left and she won't come for another hour."

I eye her closely. "Just one story."

She opens the book to her favorite story: Cinderella. I must have read it to her at least fifteen times. She leans her head against my chest and I start reading in a loud voice, because the waiting room is empty.

I realize Maya has fallen asleep when I finish the story.

"You should be a professional storyteller."

I raise my head so fast my neck snaps painfully.

"Parker," I blurt. I haven't seen him since I first arrived at the hospital, since he's been busy taking all of James's meetings. His black eye is almost healed. So is his lip. "How long have you been standing here?"

"Not that long," he says with a smile. "Shouldn't we take her to bed?"

"Yeah we should."

"I'll do it."

"There she is," someone exclaims, walking with heavy steps toward us. Nurse Mary. "I knew she'd come to see you. Give her to me, I'll take her upstairs."

Nurse Mary has been working here for as long as I can remember. She changes her haircut at least once a month, and the hair color every six months. The shockingly short, red do, styled in messy spikes with far too much hair gel, is her most endearing experiment yet.

"I'm sorry I didn't pass by to see the girls," I whisper, placing Maya in her arms with great care.

"Please, Serena. I know you're here for your friend. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

"That's very kind of you," I murmur as she takes off with Maya.

I turn to Parker, who sits in the chair next to me. "Did James send you?" It's so like James not to trust that I'd be all right by myself. 

"No, I came by myself," Parker answers with fake affronting. "I know he's in a meeting so I figured you might need my company."

"Why aren't you in the meeting?"

"It's just James who went."

"I thought you'd be in London by now anyway."

"So did I," he says with a smile, "but there's still a lot to do here; I'll probably stay for another month or so."

"Excellent," I say. "Dani needs an ally against James."

He grins proudly. I like Parker. And for some unfathomable reason, he likes me too.

"I'm glad you and James sorted things out."

"So am I."

"You're good for him," he says and in the split second our gazes cross, I realize there's much more to Lara's story than he told me. I also realize he won't tell me more.

It's James's story to tell.

"I don't know about that," I say jokingly, "but he's good for me."

Good is an understatement, really. The best, the perfect one. The only one who can catch my nightmares, pull me out of them, and make them vanish forever. Or at least for as long as I am in his arms. Funny how only a few days ago I was trying to convince myself he was the worst person for me. But that was when he was just a dream I was allowed to immerse myself in from time to time. A dream other women shared.

Now that he's only mine and I am his, now that the dream belongs only to us, there's no reason not to admit he's perfect for me.

Except for that one not-so-little bug I can't get rid of—I'm by far not perfect for him.

"I just don't get what he sees in me," I voice my fear aloud for the first time.

Parker looks at me kindly, with blue eyes that resemble James's too much. "You're different from the girls he usually dates."

"I know that I'm not one of
you
," I say, remembering Natalie's comment. "I don't go on expensive trips in Malaysia or—"