CHAPTER 4
Morning arrived blindingly bright. It was too sharp, too real and awakening.
She turned onto her right side away from it.
The incision wound on her upper thigh was too fresh and sensitive.
She moaned and moved onto her back. She never noticed the window before.
She never remembered any ICU cubicles that had ever had one. Strange.
Randi turned her head slightly against the pillow, her eyes adjusting slowly as the daylight filtered through the narrow hospital window. The steady rhythm of machines surrounded her - constant, inescapable.
She was alive, the machines confirmed the proof giving meaning to the word.
Alive… but not whole, damn it.
Her gaze drifted to the flat screen hung from a swivel mount screwed to the ceiling slightly off to her right.
It flickered softly, captions scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
It was something else she hadn’t noticed before.
Hadn’t noticed much of anything beyond the weight of her own body…
and the absence she couldn’t stop feeling.
Her hand.
Carefully, slowly, she shifted her eyes toward it. Thickly wrapped, lying elevated atop two fluffy pillows. Still and frightfully unmoving.
It felt foreign to her. Not a part of her. It was like it had been already amputated and the searing pain was phantom, a cry for its loss.
Her chest tightened.
Don’t, she silently commanded. Not yet. Don’t go there.
She forced herself to pull her gaze away and reached instead for the tv’s remote resting beside her. It was a small distraction. Something normal to fill the emptiness and silence that filled the space.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she pressed the button. Immediately the screen came to life, and the volume was too loud for her sensitive ears. She lowered the sound quickly.
The shocking imagery filled the screen, causing her to gasp as the broadcaster’s voice intruded her other senses.
“…breaking news out of Rochester last night -”
Randi stilled.
“…a head-on collision involving a suspected drunk driver -”
Her breath caught.
“…the victim has been identified as rising artist Randi Caleb -”
No. Not this. Don’t want to watch.
Her thumb pressed the remote quickly.
Channel change.
“…scheduled to debut at the Walker Art Center this past evening -”
Another click.
“…community members expressing shock -”
Click.
“…currently listed in critical condition ”
“Stop…”
Her voice trembling. She tried to click it off but the tv wouldn’t respond. She managed to mute it, but captions streamed across the bottom of the screen. She threw the remote and it landed at the foot of her bed, out of reach, and tried to avert her eyes.
Every channel. Everywhere. No escaping. Her life had become national news and reduced to headlines.
It became speculation and something she no longer recognized as her own.
It was out of control and not the recognition nor the notoriety she wanted.
This kind of news increased ratings and hung around for a while.
She didn’t want to be labeled as a headline and defined for the wrong reasons.
A knock sounded lightly at the door before it opened.
Nurse Elena stepped inside, her expression shifting immediately as she took in Randi’s face.
“Hey… what’s going on?”
Randi didn’t answer right away.
She just looked at her. Lost.
“Turn it off, please,” she whispered.
Elena glanced at the screen and understood instantly. She crossed the room quickly, muting the television and turning it off completely.
Silence rushed back in.
“They won’t stop,” Randi said, her voice barely steady. “I can’t… get away from it.”
Elena moved closer, her tone soft but grounded.
“It’ll pass. News cycles move fast. Right now, people are just… concerned.”
Concerned.
The word landed strangely.
“The switchboard’s already lighting up,” Elena added gently. “Calls, messages… people asking about you.”
Randi blinked.
“People?”
“Friends. Collectors. Gallery contacts. You’ve got a lot of people rooting for you.”
A hollow feeling settled in her chest.
“They’re not… mine,” she said quietly.
Elena tilted her head slightly.
“What do you mean?”
Randi looked down.
“I don’t have anyone.”
The room seemed to still.
Elena didn’t press. She didn’t need to, and her empathy kicked into gear. She recognized depression when she saw the signs. She moved closer to her bedside, pointing.
“May I sit?”
Randi nodded.
“I noticed there were no immediate family members listed in your file.”
“I’ve never had any, ever.”
Elena reached and held Randi’s left hand in hers
“Well, I believe you have more than you realize.” She paused a moment before continuing.
“You know, neither do I. My family are the people I work closely with, hang out with outside these walls, have over for dinner, and celebrate the holidays with. You could have the same. All you need to do is let them into your life. There are so many wanting to visit, who care and worry about you, want to be there for you throughout your recovery. Think about that. If you open your heart to receive their kindness and company, your heart will be joyful and full.”
Randi quietly mulled her words over in her mind. She couldn’t argue with the nurse’s advice. It was sound. She had no idea that many people cared about her.
“You know,” Elena interjected, “I’m going to request Dr. Clay lifting the visitor rejection. I swear if he doesn’t, all these people calling for you will storm this floor like a SWAT team to see you.”
Her observation made Randi laugh joyfully.
“That would be nice, Thank you, Elena for your kindness and support. It truly means a lot.
A moment later, the door opened and Brew poked his head inside.
“What means a lot,” he questioned.
Elena rose from the bed and playfully punched his shoulder as she answered.
“What an awesome nurse I am,” she winked at Randi. She redirected her attention to him. “You aren’t scheduled until dinner time. Can’t stay away from us, can ya?”
Was she fishing, he wondered. She was right.
“If you haven’t noticed, we’re booked and so am I, past my scheduled time.”
Elena glanced at the clock, then at him.
“Before I leave, a lot of people are requesting to visit with Ms. Caleb. I think the company is what she needs right now. Please consider lifting the visitor restrictions.”
Brew’s gaze moved immediately to Randi.
Taking in everything.
The tension in her shoulders. The redness in her eyes. The way she held herself just slightly too still.
“Would you like that, to visit with your friends and family?"
She sighed heavily and then attempted to release a quiet breath.
“My face and story is on every channel. I’d prefer not to see that non-stop but yes, I would like that. I could use the diversion.”
He followed her gaze to the now-dark screen and understood.
“It will pass,” he said simply.
He didn’t say it meaning to dismiss her frustration. He was trying to be as grounding as possible for her. He reviewed her file. He knew she had no family. Going through what she had to face alone would be hard for anyone.
“They said my name,” she whispered. “Over and over…”
Brew stepped closer.
Not too close. But closer than necessary.
“You went through something significant,” he said. “People are going to react to that.”
She looked at him then. Really looked.
“Do you always show up when you’re not supposed to?” she asked quietly.
A pause.
“No,” he said. Honesty was important.
Something flickered between them.
“I wanted to check on your progress.”
It wasn’t entirely untrue.
Randi studied him for a moment longer.
Then -
“Elena said people were calling,” she murmured. “Asking about me.”
Brew nodded.
“That’s normal.”
“You’re not going to allow visitation, are you? You didn’t respond when I said I would like to,” she said.
“I’d rather not yet. It’s only been two days. Your wounds aren’t healed. Any jarring could easily split open your stitches. I’d rather not risk that. Let’s wait a full week for friends and associates at least.”
Silence settled between them mere moments.
“You … asked me about family yesterday,” she said.
He held her gaze.
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“There isn’t any.”
The words landed differently coming from her.
Brew didn’t respond immediately. He didn’t want to offer empty comfort. He knew there wasn’t any. The Center’s administrative nursing staff was very thorough. He just didn’t know the story behind the why.
“They died when I was twelve,” she continued, her voice quiet but steady.
“A tornado ripped through our home. Both my parents were lifted away and their bodies smashed when it released its hold on them and they plummeted to the ground. It destroyed everything. Nothing was left. I was located partially buried under the rubble.”
A beat of silence seemed longer. This was her time to share, to open up.
“I was sent to a Group Home after that,” she added. “No in or out for me. I was confined there for six years. I just existed, not lived.”
Brew felt something shift deep in his chest. Was it a paralyzing grief he was feeling, a profound, unexpected ache despite the lack of a deep, daily connection.
He felt a sense of surrealness. She had a familiar, stable, loving beginning, and then, a ‘gut-punching’ loss that probably as a child left her numb and disassociated with the rest of the world.
He could only imagine the sorrow, the deep hollowness, and lingering absence of loss she must have felt, especially with no one to turn to, love and protect her at such a young age.
He had a newfound respect and was awed by her tenacity, strength, and resilience.
“You built a wonderful life and career on your own,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Randi gave the smallest nod.
“I credit that to the two teachers who nurtured and supported my talent until I could transition from the group home. I also had a trust fund created by the court to protect my parents assets. It had amassed a tidy amount over six years and was awarded to me at eighteen along with a four-year scholarship to Art School. Without all that, I would’ve ended up homeless.
In the beginning I didn’t want to live. I just wanted to die. ”
He understood.
Silence settled between them again. It didn’t seem empty. It was something else, he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Is there anyone you want contacted,” he said after a moment, “I can arrange that.”
She looked at him. Really looked and read the concern in his eyes.
“There isn’t,” she said softly, “besides,” she guffawed, “the News has managed that on their own, getting the word out.”
And for the first time - it didn’t sound strong. It sounded… lonely.
Brew exhaled slowly.
Another line shifted between them.
“Then we focus on you, only you,” he said.
Not, your recovery. Not, your case. You.
Her eyes softened slightly.
And something unspoken passed between them.
This wasn’t just treatment or about following up anymore.
And both of them knew it.