Chapter Thirty-Six Maren
Chapter Thirty-Six
Maren
When I was thirteen, I got a remote-controlled airplane for Christmas. Brandon wanted to try it the following spring, and he crashed it. So my dad made him buy me another one. It took all his money and a two-hundred-dollar loan from my parents. My brother swore I’d eventually crash it too.
I didn’t.
I was a natural. Dad said it was my delicate touch. Sometimes, the wind would get a hold of it as I tried to land it, and he’d say, Gentle, Mare. Don’t panic. If you panic, you’ll crash. If you stay calm, you’ll find a suitable place to land it. Easy. Stay calm. That’s it. You’ve got this.
Sometimes, that suitable place was a tree. Once, it was a pond. And more times than I could count, I landed it in a cornfield. Sure, there were a few scratches and the occasional repairs needed, but I never nose-dived the eight-hundred-dollar toy into the driveway, as Brandon had done.
Gentle, Mare.
Don’t panic.
Easy. Stay calm.
You’ve got this.
Over my years of crop-dusting and fighting fires, I’ve repeatedly replayed my dad’s words in my head, but now I hear his voice, and it’s not in my head. I don’t know where it’s coming from.
“My sweet girl, you’re it. You’re all we have left. I know you’ve been hell bent on chasing Brandon, but now is not the time. This is not your time. I won’t give you my blessing to leave us. Do you hear me?”
“Aaron, let her be. Let’s get dinner,” my mom says.
This is weird. Is it a dream? If so, why can’t I see them?
“We’ll be right back,” Dad says.
I try to speak, but I can’t. Why can’t I talk?
“Hey, Maren. I have someone who wants to talk to you.”
Jamie? Is that you?
“Maren, it’s me, Lola. You should wake up for Bandit. He misses you. And you should come home and see your house. It’s so beautiful. My dad and I have been working hard, and it’s almost finished. Dad hung a wood swing on your front porch and a wind chime I picked out. It has butterflies. Tomorrow, we’re going to replace some old boards on the tree house. I can’t wait for you to see everything. So you just need to open your eyes. I know it’s scary. I was scared after my accident, but it’s okay. You’ve got this.”
You’ve got this . . .
“Dad, say something,” Lola says.
“Hey, beautiful. The swing was supposed to be a surprise.” Ozzy chuckles. “But Lola’s right, you need to open your eyes. The world is an infinitely better place with you in it.” He sounds different. Nervous? Scared?
Don’t they know I’m trying to open my eyes? I don’t understand why I can’t see or speak, but I can hear.
“Oh, Lola wanted me to tell you that we’re making a carrot cake with pineapple, of course. But since we’re in Missoula, we need you to come home to eat it. Okay? It’s time to open your eyes and come—” Ozzy’s voice cracks.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Lola whispers.
Ozzy clears his throat. “Come home. I love you.”
Why am I not home?
Everything fades like I’m falling asleep, but when I wake up, I’m not really awake. I come in and out of this peculiar state without awareness of time or space. I feel people touching me, but I can’t move. It’s frustrating. I get angry, but then everything fades. It always fades.
“Get the doctor,” my mom yells. “The shades. Get the shades, Aaron. It’s too bright in here for her eyes. Maren, can you hear me?” She squeezes my hand. “Sweetie,” she cries.
She’s messing with me and being too loud. I can’t talk, and when I move, more people touch me, people I don’t recognize, shining light in my eyes and messing with me!
“Maren, I need you to calm down. Try to relax.”
Who’s that? Why? What’s happening?
“Maren, you have a tube down your throat. Stay calm; I’m going to remove it,” a dark-haired woman in blue scrubs and a white lab coat says to me while my parents cling to each other behind her. “I need you to take a deep breath and exhale or cough as I pull it out. Okay?”
I cough, pressing a hand to my throat. It. Hurts.
Leave me alone. Stop messing with me!
I repeatedly fade away as people come in and out of view, some with smiles, others with pinched brows and tiny frowns. After a few days and lots of tests, I’m more aware of my surroundings, calmer, and able to talk.
The doctor proceeds to explain my injuries and the surgeries to stop the internal bleeding. Aside from two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a slew of lacerations, I’m in one piece and expected to make a full recovery, as long as I remain stable over the next few days.
When she exits the room, my parents breathe a collective sigh and converge on me.
“I’m in Canada?” I ask with a scratchy voice, adjusting the oxygen tube in my nose with my right hand since my left arm is in a sling for my broken collarbone.
Dad chuckles, rubbing my hand. “Yes. You’ve been here for a couple weeks, and you’ve been pretty upset the past few days coming out of your coma.”
“Where’s Ozzy and Lola? They came to Canada?”
My mom shakes her head, eyes narrowed.
“I heard them.”
“You heard them? In your coma?” Dad asks.
I nod.
“Jamie called them and put them on speakerphone,” Mom says, sitting on the edge of my bed.
“They must be worried,” I whisper.
“We all were.” My mom touches my cheek.
“But Lola lost her mom. Ozzy lost his wife.” I touch my neck and clear my throat.
Mom frowns. “We lost Brandon.”
My heart feels like it’s being squeezed. I’m so insensitive. It’s not that I forgot about Brandon. I just can’t think straight. “I know,” I murmur. “I’m sorry.”
Mom wipes her eyes. “Please don’t apologize. You’re alive. That’s all that matters. That’s all that will ever matter.”
“Did Jamie go home?” I ask.
Dad nods. “She stayed a week. Will was here for several days. And Fitz has been by twice. Your boss was here for the first two days. He’s paying for our hotel, but one of us is always here.”
“Jamie started a group text, so I have Ozzy’s number if you want to call him.” Mom holds out her phone.
I stare at it before nodding and taking it from her.
“We’ll take a walk and give you some privacy.” She pats my arm and nods toward the door while eyeing my dad.
“Be right back, sweetie,” he says, following her out of the room.
I press the green button and put it on speaker.
“Hey, Colleen,” Ozzy says.
“It’s me,” I say with a weak voice. “Maren.”
“Jesus,” he whispers.
“I, uh, woke up.”
Nothing.
“Ozzy?”
The call ends.
I stare at the screen for a few seconds before calling him back. It goes straight to his voicemail. He’s probably trying to call me at the same time that I’m trying to call him, so I just hold the phone, gazing at the screen, waiting for him to call.
Nothing.
I give up and call him again. And again, it goes to his voicemail. “Hey, it’s Maren. I don’t know why we got cut off. Call me.”
I need to call Jamie, Fitz, and Will, but I don’t want to be on the phone when Ozzy calls back. So I wait.
And wait.
Eventually, my parents return.
“How’d it go? Was he shocked?” Mom asks before taking a sip of her bottled water.
“We got cut off. I don’t know if it’s an international calling issue or what.”
“But you talked to him?” Dad asks.
“Yes. I mean, he answered. I said it was me. He whispered ‘Jesus,’ and then it ended. And I haven’t been able to reach him since then, and when I call him, it goes straight to his voicemail.”
My parents exchange confused looks before returning their attention to me.
“Well, I have a list of people I’ve been sending updates to, including Taylor Reynolds. He works with Ozzy, right?” Mom asks.
I nod, scrolling through her texts with my good hand until I find Taylor.
Colleen: Maren is awake. She’s having trouble reaching Ozzy. Can you have him call her?
For now, I avoid the “Hey, it’s me, not Colleen” part. I just want Ozzy to call me back before I call anyone else.
Taylor: That’s amazing! Give her a hug from me. I’ll find Ozzy
I give his reply a heart.
“We talked with your doctor on our way out to take a walk,” Dad says. “Dr. Haze said if you don’t have any setbacks, you could go home in a week or less.”
I try to show my excitement, but I can’t focus on anything but Ozzy right now.
Taylor: Ozzy wasn’t feeling well. He went home. I think it hit him hard. He might need some time. Let her know he’s just really overwhelmed. I’m sure he’ll contact her soon. Everyone is elated and grateful that she’s awake. Thanks for the update
Mom glances at the screen. “Oh, Maren.” She kisses my forehead. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard for you to see things through his eyes right now, but I’m sure he’s been running on adrenaline. Every time Jamie put you on speaker for him and Lola to talk to you, my heart broke. He had the saddest voice. Give him a minute to process.”
I stare at the message from Taylor, rereading it. “Process me being alive?” I whisper.
She lifts my chin with her finger until I look at her. “Process you not dying.”
“Same thing,” I mumble.
Mom furrows her brow. “No. It’s not the same. And I know this because I’m still running on adrenaline fumes, but I know when it’s my turn to go back to the hotel for the first time since knowing you’re going to live, I will completely fall apart.” She fights the emotion pooling in her eyes as she swallows hard, keeping her jaw locked while putting on her best smile.
“Mom—”
She quickly shakes her head and steps back, holding up a finger like she used to do when I got a warning for doing something wrong. “Not yet. You need to let me walk out of here without my eyes swollen shut. So we’re going to talk about your dad’s upcoming colonoscopy appointment or your uncle Jeff’s grumbling over watching the farm for us while we’re here. We can even talk about the election or the new manager of Quick Fuel, who likes to ruffle your dad’s feathers by flirting with me. Pick your non-coma topic.”
I open my mouth to speak but stop before my words come to life. My friends and family were preparing to say their final goodbyes. There’s nothing I can say other than that must have been awful.
“I’d like to know more about the new manager at Quick Fuel,” I say with a smile.
Dad rolls his eyes, and the tension melts from my mom’s shoulders. I’m going to let her leave here without swollen eyes. We don’t have to celebrate my recovery until everyone is done mourning the trauma. My scars will be superficial. Theirs are much deeper and may never fully fade.
My parents each share very different accounts of the flirtatious manager. Then I use Mom’s phone to notify everyone else that I’m awake while Dad gets dinner for us. I don’t eat much, but I’m sure that will change in the coming days.
“Go. Both of you,” I say through a yawn.
“I’ll stay,” Dad says.
“No. I’m fine. Go. Please.”
They look at each other and then at me. I make a shooing motion with my hand.
“If you’re sure,” Mom says.
“I’m sure. But before you go, can I see your phone again?”
She hands it to me, and I text Ozzy.
Colleen: It’s me. Maren. Before my mom leaves with her phone, I want you to know I love you. And I’m SO sorry I put you and Lola through this kind of hell. I might go home next week. Take all the time you need and hug Lola for me. x Maren
I wait for a minute until the message changes from delivered to read .
He doesn’t reply. I know it should be okay. Yes, he needs time to process. But that doesn’t make it feel okay. That doesn’t make it hurt any less.