Chapter 19 Lucy
LUCY
{Over ten years ago}
Young Lucy. Another year later.
My hospital room at Brightfield House had become a museum of small kindnesses.
The shelf above my bed displayed origami cranes folded by night nurse Ella—the flock was growing so large that I’d need to expand their nesting grounds soon.
On the small desk sat three books, gifts from Doctor Emerson who believed fiction was as necessary as oxygen.
Though, living without my oxygen would be far harder than living without stories.
One of the desk drawers held a deck of cards, worn soft at the edges from Nurse Marcus’s countless demonstrations of impossible shuffles during his lunch breaks.
These objects mapped the geography of my found family—the people who showed up, day after day, when my blood family failed me.
Doctor Emerson arrived precisely at nine-thirty, his tall frame made bulkier by the protective suit.
His eyes crinkled with genuine pleasure when he smiled at me.
Unlike some of the other doctors who treated my room like a lab experiment with me as the specimen, Doctor Emerson always made me feel like a person first, patient second.
I didn’t like when one of the other doctor’s subbed for him.
"Lucy Graves, defender of books and slayer of boredom," he announced, holding up two plastic-wrapped packages. "I come bearing an adventure to the darkest depths of the ocean. The Nautilus awaits."
I set aside the Civics worksheet I'd been pretending to care about. "Please tell me it's not another Tolstoy. I couldn’t keep up with all the names."
"You wound me," he said, pressing a gloved hand to his chest in mock offense. "Anna Karenina is a balm for the soul.”
"I feel like, just maybe, you’re not exactly in touch with teenage girl reading tastes." I made a silly face, scrunching my nose like I smelled something foul.
He laughed, the sound distorted slightly by his mask but warm, nonetheless.
"I’ll keep that in mind for the next book.
Verne might surprise you though." He unwrapped the package, revealing a book with a glossy cover showing a giant sea creature twisted around an odd submersible.
“This was a favorite of mine when I was a boy.”
He handed it to me, my fingers slicking across the plastic-coated cover. I read the back, and, admittedly, my interest was piqued. Then, I peered at the good doctor. “What’s the other one?”
“Oh, this one?” He held it up, shaking it gently from side to side. “Only a breathtaking photographic tour through Guatemala, Belize, Honduras, El Salvador and more.”
"Real places," I whispered, setting the Vernian tome on my knees and reaching hungrily for the other book he hadn’t unwrapped.
"Real places," he confirmed. "And someday, when we get you healthy, you'll see them all for yourself."
I didn't point out the white lie in his statement.
After two full years at Brightfield House, with no cure in sight, "someday" existed in the same realm as unicorns and pain-free blood draws—theoretical but improbable. Still, once I had it in my clutches, I pressed the second book to my chest, the weight of it solid and reassuring. This room, this building, this life, wasn’t the real world.
"Thank you," I said, meaning it more than the simple words could express.
Doctor Emerson nodded, understanding the unspoken.
He pulled out his tablet and launched into my daily health assessment with his usual mix of medical precision and terrible jokes.
When he left, the book remained—a talisman against the emptiness of isolation, a window to places beyond sterile walls.
At lunchtime, Nurse John arrived with my tray and, as promised the day before, an extra cup of cherry gelatin.
"I had to sneak this out like a spy,” he whispered with exaggerated secrecy. “Don’t tell the cafeteria gals.”
I grinned, shoving things closer together on my tray to make room for the bonus. "Your criminal activities are safe with me. My silence can be bought with sugar and artificial coloring."
He adjusted my IV as I began eating—dessert first, obviously—his movements efficient but gentle. “Checked your numbers earlier. Things are looking pretty good still.”
"Good enough to reduce the isolation protocols?" I asked between bites, already knowing the answer but asking anyway. Hope was a bad habit I couldn't seem to break.
He narrowed his eyes at me. "Not yet, troublemaker. But we're moving in the right direction.”
I nodded, swallowing the disappointment along the cherry Jello which now tried to stick in my throat.
Two years of "not yet" had taught me to make the question sound casual, to accept the answer without visible reaction.
To pretend each negative response didn't chip away at something essential inside me.
The day continued as it always did—vitals, snack time, the ‘changing of the guards’ as the day nurses gave way to the night staff. When it was nearly dinner time, my neighbor patient across the hall appeared on the other side of my airlock.
Skip was a year younger than me and had a variant of my own disease, though far milder, more easily managed. I envied him. He could walk in the garden. He didn’t have to stay in a bubble all the time. Yet, he was still here. Just like me. So, we shared misery.
The intercom buzzed when Skip pressed the exterior button. “Hey, Lucy! Did you hear the news?”
I smiled, standing up and walking slowly over to the airlock. It wouldn’t open without a key card, so there was no risk being close to the entrance.
When I got to the button on my side, I pressed it to respond. “What news?”
I wondered what had him so excited. Maybe we were getting a new flavor of pudding. The little gelatin or pudding cups were a highlight, considering I mostly lived off curated, bland foods because of my illness.
“I’m so stoked I get to be the one to tell you!” He grinned from ear-to-ear.
Something in his tone made my stomach clench. "Tell me what?"
"I'm getting out! The new treatment worked. I can go home next week!"
I fought like hell to keep my face from betraying my feelings. I forced myself to smile wider, until my cheeks ached. The words came out mechanically, but Skip didn’t seem to notice. “That's... that's amazing, Skip. I’m so happy for you.”
“You’ll get out soon too, Lucy. I just know it!”
He said goodbye and practically ran down the hallway, maybe to share the news with others.
In his wake, he left me alone in the misery we once shared.