Chapter Fourteen
“I hate hospitals,” Kendall said. Her nose was scrunched up like she was smelling garbage. Or maybe it was the sharp, acidic smell of disinfectant that had her wrinkling her face in disgust.
“Really. Why?” Sloane asked. She felt perfectly at home in a place like a hospital.
Aside from her Nonna passing away at a nursing home, and her Pops a few years later, she’d lived a pretty sheltered life when it came to relatives and friends dying.
She hadn’t known anyone who had seen the last few hours of their lives in a hospital and so the big, grey building where both life and death came interchangeably, didn’t carry any emotional baggage.
Sloane could walk in, smiling, and walk out feeling the exact same way.
By the looks of things, Kendall wasn’t as fortunate.
“I don’t know.” Kendall shrugged, her nose still crinkled.
“It’s just suffocating in here. All the bright lights, the smells.
Everything feels so clinical, so detached.
You’d think after all this time they’d learn how to create a healing environment instead of one that sucks the life right out of you. ”
“Are you scared of dying?” Sloane asked.
“Aren’t you?”
Sloane thought about it and shook her head. “No. It’s a part of life.”
“Well, I hope I live forever.”
“No one wants to live forever.”
They walked through a waiting area where a middle aged couple sat beside each other, each holding onto a teddy bear. It was easy to assume by the blissful expressions on their faces that they were about to meet their grandbaby for the first time.
They passed through another waiting room and then ended up where they needed to be.
“Here we go,” Sloane said, shouldering her camera bag as they reached double doors with a bright sign overhead announcing Critical Care in bold letters.
A doctor—mid-thirties with slightly disheveled black hair, and a stethoscope dangling around her neck—scribbling notes on a clipboard looked up. She flashed a smile. “You must be Sloane Pierce. I’m Dr. Brown. We spoke on the phone this morning.”
She shook both their hands. “Christa’s alert and responsive, and her vitals are stable. She’ll need some physical therapy in the near future, but overall, she’s on track for a solid recovery.”
“Amazing.”
Dr. Brown smiled. “She’s in room six. Just a heads-up. It’s important not to overwhelm her. She’s still in the early stages of recovery, so take it at her pace.”
Sloane thanked the doctor and, with Kendall following closely behind, headed for room six.
Christa Saunders was sitting upright in bed. She was connected to a monitor that displayed a series of lines—one tracing her finger, others linked to her chest. Several IV bags hung nearby, their contents steadily flowing into her veins, and her eyes were closed like she was sleeping.
She woke up when they walked through the doors.
“Hi,” Sloane said, cautiously. “I’m sorry if we woke you up.”
She smiled softly. “I was just resting my eyes.”
Sloane introduced herself and Kendall. She then told Christa what the documentary was all about, and of course, got her permission for the interview to be filmed. She then set up the camera and pulled up a chair.
“Are you ready?”
“You’re not going to smear a bunch of makeup all over me first, are you?”
“Not unless you want us to,” Sloane said, though she preferred a more real approach.
Besides, Christa was a pretty girl. Even with half her head shaved and a thick dressing covering the wound, she didn’t need makeup. The look itself was fierce. Strong. Powerful. A beautiful soul.
“No, thank you.”
Sloane took a seat. “Alright, Christa. Let’s rewind to a few days ago. What do you remember about the fire?”
Christa pinched her face tight in concentration.
It was normal for her to have to work at retrieving the memory.
“It was chaotic. Hot. Windy. We were by the edge of Sand Valley Estates. The fire was closing in. You could smell it, see it climbing up the hills to the houses. My crew and I were pulling lines, doing what we could to keep the flames from spreading into the neighborhoods.”
“Do you remember what happened after that?”
She blinked, twisted her hands in the bedsheets, and looked exactly as expected—like a woman who had suffered a significant trauma.
“I remember the flames moving fast. The wind was unbearable. There was a moment when I saw the pole shaking but didn’t think anything of it.
You know, they’re not supposed to snap…” her eyes blanked out like she was reliving a memory in her mind.
“But then time kind of felt like it had frozen, and I looked up and thought ‘this can’t be happening. Not to me.’”
“Do you remember anything about the impact?”
“Not really. The doctor told me yesterday that the pole had hit the edge of the wall next to me. I don’t remember anything after I saw it coming down. I just know that the wall took most of the brunt.”
“You were lucky,” Sloane said. “Someone was looking out for you.”
Christa nodded, her gaze distant. “I guess so.”
Sloane went through a few mental checks of questions she still wanted to ask and settled on, “Do you remember anything about the few days you spent in the coma? I’ve heard that some people have intense dreams that feel more realistic than the usual ones.”
“It’s hard to explain.” Christa touched a finger to the dressing.
Her pressure was so light it barely made contact.
“I’m not actually sure if it was a dream or not, but…
while I was in the coma, it felt like I was drifting on this endless ocean.
Not dark or stormy, just… calm. Peaceful.
Floating without end. All I did was float.
I could hear waves against the shore. The sun on my face.
I could even taste the salt on my fingertips.
And then, somehow, I heard my mom’s voice. ”
“Your mom?” Sloane asked, well aware of the deep breath Kendall had just sucked into her lungs from where she stood well out of the way of the camera.
Christa nodded. Her eyes were wet, brimming with tears. “Yeah. She died when I was a kid. Cancer. It was a long time ago. I thought I’d forgotten her voice. But out there, in that ocean, she was so real. I knew it was her. It was so clear.”
Sloane leaned forward and enveloped Christa’s fidgeting hand. Her fingers were cold. “That must’ve been wonderful. To hear her voice again.”
“It was.” Christa smiled.
The interview went on for another thirty minutes until Christa’s fatigue became apparent and Sloane didn’t want to push her beyond her limits. Rest was vital for her recovery. So, they packed up, said their goodbyes, and headed out of the hospital.
Throughout the entire interview, Kendall kept quiet.
Not a peep out of her. But now, when they were walking into the parking lot, Kendall overflowed with all the questions she hadn’t been able to ask earlier.
“Do you really think she heard her mom’s voice?
I’ve always actually wondered about that, you know.
The light at the end of the tunnel. The afterlife.
What’s your take, Sloane? Do you believe in Heaven? ”
“Hold your horses,” Sloane said, stopping at the Jeep. “How about we get to our Airbnb first, before you hit me with the hard questions?”
“Fine,” Kendall succumbed. “I’ll start making a list.”
~~
Sloane was looking forward to relaxing by the pool. Their Airbnb—she’d booked it this time—was a lovely two-bedroom townhouse with a small splash pool in the back.
They were driving down the street. Kendall’s temple was pushed against the window. Her eyes were closed, lids fluttering in a way that showed she was sleeping.
Sloane watched her out of the corner of her eye while simultaneously keeping her attention on the road. Kendall looked so peaceful, like she was deep in a dream. It was as if she hadn’t just been awake, scribbling in that notebook a mere fifteen minutes ago. The notebook was still open in her lap.
Somewhat curious, Sloane leaned sideways and tried to get a glimpse of what it said. But she was driving, and it would be irresponsible to take her attention off the road.
Besides, the woman’s handwriting was unintelligible, like a doctor’s, and the only thing she could make out was her own name—Sloane—written in cursive.
Sloane slowed down at the stop light and flicked on her blinker, which brought sleepy Kendall back to life. She blinked rapidly until her eyes focused. “Are we there yet?”
“You know, I’ve never actually met someone who can fall asleep that quickly. We barely made it out of the hospital parking lot.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been holding myself back for the last few days,” Kendall said, smiling. “I usually fall asleep instantly when I get into cars, buses, planes. I’ve just forced myself to stay awake to keep you company.”
“How kind of you.”
Kendall chuckled. “So, are we nearly there yet?”
They were close. Sloane had just turned into the street and was slowing down the car. That was when she noticed something… or someone.
“Why is there a woman sitting on the front step of our Airbnb?” Sloane asked, her brows pulling low.
She pulled the car into the driveway and hit the brakes, but she didn’t cut the engine.
Not yet. The woman looked familiar. There was a picture forming in her head, but it was hazy and pixelated.
Sloane couldn’t seem to figure out where the woman belonged in the sea of faces she knew.
And if she couldn’t figure it out, it was safer to make a run for it.
“That’s Reese. My best friend,” Kendall answered the question, oblivious to the live wires in Sloane’s head. A grin was spreading across her face. “I can’t believe she came here.” She snapped off her seatbelt and reached for the handle when Sloane grabbed her arm.
“Did you invite her?” she spluttered, stunned. Annoyed. She was not at all impressed that Kendall had the indecency of inviting over a friend without Sloane’s approval first. They had edits to do. Plans to make. Catch-ups weren’t part of the agenda.
“I didn’t think she’d actually come all the way out here.” Kendall bit down on her bottom lip. “Although, I probably should’ve known. She’s got the weekend off. Reese never has the weekend off.”
“Reese.” The name rolled off Sloane’s tongue as the bulb went off in her head. She then choked on the name. “Is your friend Reese Jones?”
“You know her?”
“She’s Robbie’s cousin. I met her once.” Sloane remembered it well. It was on Robbie’s birthday, right after Sloane and Louise had broken up, and quite literally the day before Robbie’s husband had left him.
Sloane had been drunk. Reese too. She had leaned in to kiss her, and Sloane, who wasn’t interested at all—on the contrary, she was still raw from her breakup—was just about to stand up when her elbow collided with Reese’s nose.
Her nose broke. There was blood everywhere over the white futon Robbie’s ex-husband, Steve, had specifically selected for the living room.
“You did? Because she’s actually the one who set up the blind date.”
Of course she was. A clever little punishment. Reese had probably even concocted the entire thing with Robbie, who secretly loved torturing Sloane. She should’ve known. The woman seemed to have a bit of a revenge streak about her and breaking her nose could warrant revenge.
And now Reese was here, in Santa Clarita, waiting at their Airbnb.
Damn.
Sloane had hoped never to see her again. But then again, she’d also hoped never to see Kendall again. Clearly, the universe had taken a personal interest in making her life more complicated than it needed to be.