37. Now
Now: February 7th
T he next thing I know, I wake up in a hospital bed. I’m surrounded by whirring machines and constant beeps. I don’t sense anyone in here with me. I have no idea how I got here or why I’m here. Why am I here?
The room is dark save for the soft glow of glistening snow outside. I’m mesmerized by the steady fall of the snowflakes coating the cars in the parking lot. I watch them fall to the earth one by one.
I let my mind wander for a bit. The last thing I remember is having dinner with Denver and Marvel at their house, and oh… it suddenly hits me. The picture frame. I broke it. A frame can be easily replaced, the mistake I’ve made—the damage I’ve done—cannot.
I feel a warm hand reach out and touch me. At first, I jerk away as though I’ve been burned. I hadn’t known anyone was here with me. As soon as I realize who’s touched me, I reach back out for her with tears running down the sides of my face.
Wendy wraps her arms around me and holds me in place. If only we could stay like this, because I don’t think much else is holding me together. The one piece of my past I’ve kept locked up inside for sixteen years. I’m terrified of what that will look like now that it has come to light.
“Oh, honey… it’s going to be okay.” My best friend assures me.
If only she knew the truth, and pretty soon she might. Nothing has ever seemed okay, and quite possibly, never will be.
I shake underneath her, sobbing into her shirt. I’m a snotty, teary mess, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe being a mom helps you get used to that, although I’m sure it’s a little different coming from a grown woman. I don’t feel like a grown-up at all, I feel like a very small child right now.
I hear someone else come into the room, but my eyes are too blurry to make much of anything out. Wendy softly pulls away and smooths out her clothes. They are now disgusting because of me, but I guess that’s what best friends are for.
I wipe my eyes on my hospital gown and finally see who it is. It’s a female doctor. She’s got darker skin and kind eyes. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and she’s holding a clipboard against her chest. She offers me a sympathetic smile as she introduces herself as Dr. Erica Cline.
“Hi there, Phoenix,” she says, using my real name.
Remembering where we are, I chance a glance over at Wendy, watching for her expression to change at the mention of it. We’ve known each other a long time and my name isn’t a secret to her, but it’s also not something I’ve gone into great detail with her about. I'd said something along the lines of it being an old family name, but I prefer to go by Nicki. She accepted it, no questions asked, because why wouldn’t she?
I nod. I have no words for her. I’m tired, and I still don’t understand why I’m here. Did Wendy bring me here? Where is Marvel? I look at her again, but she’s not looking in my direction. Her eyes are glossy from tears, but the doctor has her full attention. Good, at least one of us is of sound mind here.
The doctor is saying something to me, but I am not listening. My head is swimming, and I can’t remember how to swim. Wendy reaches over and squeezes my hand to reassure me. I squeeze hers back.
“Is it okay if you come back in a little bit? I’d like to have a few minutes with her if that’s okay with you,” Wendy says to Dr. Cline.
The doctor smiles a tiny smile, kind of like the one my therapist gave me on our last day together.
“I just need to check on a few things for her, and then I’ll be out of your hair. You’re welcome to wait in here while I finish up,” she tells Wendy as though I’m not right here in the same room as them.
She quickly checks my vitals and writes a few notes on her chart before she exits the room with a smile and a nod. She closes the door behind her, giving the room back to Wendy and me.
Before I can ask her a million questions, she stands up and looks like she’s about to walk out as well. What? No. I plead with my eyes. Don’t leave me here. Stay, stay, stay.
She must sense my despair because she reassures me. “I’ll be right back, Nicki. But there’s someone else here who wants to see you.” She gathers up her purse and book she must have been reading and walks out.
I should have begged her to stay. Now I’m in here alone. I want to go home, I don’t want to be here. Somebody please tell me what’s going on.
The tears are starting to rain again when the door opens back up. This time, a tall man walks in. A man I would recognize anywhere… Denver Marks.
He comes in and sits down on the edge of my bed. At first he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his uniform. But then he quickly removes them as though he changed his mind and folds them in his lap. His familiar gaze meets mine, and I can almost sense a change in the air when it happens. I hold my breath, waiting for whatever comes next. Maybe he has some answers for me since I haven’t gotten them from anyone else.
“Denver.”
“Nicki.”
We both utter in the same breath.
“You first,” I say. I press two fingers to my temples as I feel a headache coming on, and I rarely get headaches.
He lets out a long sigh. His cheeks are a bit flushed like he rushed here, and he’s still wearing his EMT uniform. Has he been home yet?
“Marvel called me immediately. She said you’d blacked out in the middle of the foyer. What happened, Nicki? Are you okay?”
No, I am not okay. I’m not sure I ever will be.
I shake my head no, and more tears fall.
“Nicki, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on,” he pleads with me.
I should just come out and say it, the real truth I’ve been running from. I’ve been running for so long, and I don’t think I can do it anymore. I can’t outrun myself.
“Tell me about your sister,” I say, quietly—my voice crackly and on the edge of breaking.
He stares at me, confused. Sadness laces his expression. “My sister?” he asks, not understanding.
Why would he?
“Yes. The picture on the table by the front door. I broke one of the picture frames and Marvel said it was of you and your little sister,” I say. I know who she is, but I want to hear it from him. I can’t say what I need to say yet, because I don’t know what it will do to him. Or what it will do to me.
“Right. Oh. She did mention something about that happening right before you blacked out,” he pauses, a second too long.
My bravery is cracking, threatening to flee. No, not this time. I take a deep breath. I will not run.
“I had a younger sister… We were twelve years apart, but we were also really close. She was all I had, and she meant everything to me. She died one winter in a terrible storm…” His voice cracks and I bite my lip, not sure how much more I want to hear. But I force my attention on him. I don’t look away.
“How did she die?” I ask.
He breaks eye contact first, and I find myself grabbing for his hand. As if this is the most natural thing in the world, sitting here in a hospital room, holding hands, talking about his dead sister.
“How did she die?” I repeat softly after a few moments of silence.
“It was an accident… The storm was getting bad and someone just… they were driving too fast down our street, and she’d been sledding down our hill in the front yard. We had this really big hill that was great for sledding in the winter. Her sled was going too fast and she slid right into the street. The driver didn’t see her… she was killed instantly.”
Bile rises in my throat, and I grip his hand tightly. I can feel myself starting to shake. A ripple waves through my body as I fight the start of a panic attack. Denver’s tear-filled eyes find mine. He’s found me. Does he know? Has he figured out the truth?
“What is it, Nicki? Why are you suddenly asking me all of this?”
“Is she the reason you started going to Grieve and Grow?” I ask, genuinely wanting to know. I know it’s not fair to leave him in the dark like this, but he will find out soon enough. Once I explain there is no turning back. I remember the night I’d run out of the group and overheard him talking about his sister. I can’t believe I hadn’t put two and two together. Until now.
I assumed when he’d said he had been going to G&G for the last six or seven years that he meant that’s when grief struck him. It couldn’t have possibly happened a long time ago, sixteen years to be exact. But I was wrong. I was wrong about a lot of things.
I still remember seeing the news article titled Police Still Searching for Hit and Run Driver of 12-Year-Old Girl. There’d been a picture of her, and I recognized her right away. The girl I’d seen standing at the bright red mailbox. And there had been someone waiting for her at the door when she’d gone inside, I remember him now. But somehow I’d cast him from my memory at the time, and his name had been left out of the article. I’d had no idea they were siblings before then, only what had come out in the paper later.
“What does that have to do with anything? Nicki, tell me what’s going on. What does my sister have to do with anything?” He raises his voice an octave. He doesn’t sound angry, just confused and frustrated.
“She has to do with everything ,” my voice breaks, coming out in pieces like shards of glass. I can’t manage to get more words out than that. I know I’m not making sense but I’m trying to. I really am.
“What? What do you mean?” he asks, confused.
“Your sister. She’s part of the reason I went to G&G that night.”
“You knew my sister?” he asks.
No, not really… I want to say.
I shake my head. “No,” I say softly.
He releases our hands and grabs me by the shoulders. His touch is firm, but not rough. He isn’t trying to hurt me, but he’s frustrated and wants me to tell him what I know. What I’ve always known .
My voice fractures as I choke out a sob. “I was there that day. The day that your sister died. It was me that had been driving down your street… and I—I’d been trying to get away from something else terrible that had happened. I didn’t see her. I could barely see out my window and suddenly… I am so, so sorry, Denver. I never meant to. I–I’m sorry.” I am sobbing now. A blubbery mess, as I should be.
He doesn’t move to wipe my tears, and I let them fall.
Denver stares at me, frozen. His eyes scan me as if trying to decipher what I’m saying but it’s not registering. It’s not clicking, and I can’t say that I blame him.
I give him more. “Your sister died because of me, Denver. I’d only made the connection a few hours ago, or was it only a moment ago? I’ve lost track of time. When I recognized the girl from the picture at your house, I had no idea she was someone’s sister… your sister. I never meant to hurt you this way.”
I know there’s nothing I can say to make any of this remotely okay, but I want him to at least believe that it was an accident. Please, believe me. I would never hurt anyone on purpose—I am not my mother.
For the longest time, I thought I’d blacked out that day. I wish that I could blame my diagnosis for that careless, tragic mistake. But it had nothing to do with that. All it’d taken was poor visibility and my phone ringing in the passenger seat for my focus to shift and ruin everything in a matter of seconds. I’d tried calling my dad many times earlier that day, and when he’d finally decided to call me back—I never should have tried to answer his call. If I hadn't, maybe his sister would still be alive.
“No.” He shakes his head and quickly stands to his feet. He shoves his hands through his hair and then down the stubble along his face. The expression on his face dances in front of me like a slideshow. Anger, hatred, hurt, to the most unbearable kind of pain that can only be caused by death itself.
“You’re telling me that you hit my sister with your car and then just drove away? Are you kidding me? You figured this out just now? Then what? Were you even going to tell me, Nicki?” he practically screams at me. This time when he says my name it sounds like a dirty word that leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
I am telling him all of this now! What did he expect me to do? Say, “Hi, my name is Phoenix, and I did something terrible when I was sixteen—I think I killed someone.”
I cower back in the bed, but I have nowhere to go. Nowhere I can hide. I have to face him. I have to face this. I will not run away. I will choose to stay. I am through running. I’m done.
“You don’t understand… I…” I trail off. Where do I go from here? How can I pick up the pieces now? Just a couple of hours ago we’d sat around his dining table eating, laughing, and talking about Valentine’s Day. In a single moment, everything has shattered and broken.
“What don’t I understand, Nicki? Tell me,” he demands.
I’ve never seen this side of him, and it’s scaring me a little, but I know I can take it. I deserve this. Everything he has to fire my way, I deserve it and so much more. What I’ve done is unforgivable .
“I wasn’t okay that day… I’d witnessed something horrible, and I was trying to run away when I hit your sister. I should never have left home, but I couldn’t bear to be there any longer. The storm was getting bad, and I was trying to make it back. I got turned around, and it happened so fast. It was an accident…” My voice breaks on the word ‘accident,’ and I pause for a moment, closing my eyes, forcing myself to remember.
I begin again. “I didn’t see her, I swear. I thought at the time I’d just hit the mailbox. It wasn’t until weeks later that I saw the article in the paper and put two and two together. By then it was too late… Denver, you have no idea how sorry I am. Really… please.”
I’m begging. I don’t know what I expect him to say, but something. Tell me it’s going to be okay, like Wendy had only moments ago. Tell me he somehow forgives me and this can all be put to rest. Tell me I’m not some horrible monster. Tell me that he still cares about me, enough to try and figure our way out of this hell together.
His eyes turn to stone, a color I’d never seen come from him before, and I know I’m not going to like what he says next.
“I’m sorry, too,” he starts, “I’m sorry that I ever met you.”
And with that, he leaves me here the way that he found me, alone. Exactly as I imagined he would once the truth came out. I saw this coming. I expected this. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less. The people I love the most always find a way to leave me, my mother had just been the first.
“I think I’m in love with you,” I tell the now empty room as a tear trickles down my cheek. The snow continues its steady rhythm, like the thrum of my own heart breaking inside my chest.