31. Danger
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
danger
I keep a running tally of the days that pass in this hospital room on her whiteboard, hoping each day will be the day she wakes up. I squeeze Winnie’s palm just a little, like I’m reminding her not to be late for her own goddamn life.
They’ve turned off most of the machines now. Nothing left but her heart, her lungs, and this new, uneasy quiet where there used to be noise.
It's been a week, Winnie. It's on you, baby. You gotta decide if you're comin' back.
I don’t say it out loud, because if she’s floating out there, lost in whatever kind of dream the drugs and the swelling and the deep-brain sleep have made for her, I don’t want to scare her. I just hope the dreams she’s having are more hopeful than what the world’s offering.
“And you’d never guess it but your mama and I are good friends now.
I don’t know why you never invited me over to eat, but she’s made us dinner and brought it here every night.
Fisher, too. She told me not to tell you that I beat her in Uno, so I need you to wake up so I can see your face once you hear. ”
The funny part is, her mama’s right here, sitting on the other side of the bed, flipping through a glossy magazine without looking at a single page.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she says.
“Bet.”
She shuts the magazine and smiles then reaches across and pats my hand on Winnie’s wrist, then just leaves her hand there.
I get why Winnie turned out like she did: all that softness, that sweet humor, the way she could make you feel like the most interesting person in the room just by listening to you. It had to come from somewhere.
Winnie's mom, Darla, smiles. “You know, when she was little, she used to run a lemonade stand every summer. She’d save every dollar. Come Christmas, she’d tuck the money under the tree and say it was for Santa.”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “She said she felt bad he worked so hard. Thought he deserved something back. Her father and I used it to start a bank account for her.”
“That sounds about right.”
She looks down at her daughter's hand. "It never changed. She thinks she's been helping keep the bakery afloat."
"But she hasn't?"
Her eyes glisten. "Every payment she's made to help us with the bakery, we knew about. I've matched every penny and put it into that same savings account we’ve had for her."
"She doesn't know?"
"She thinks we're drowning." Darla laughs quietly. "Truth is... we're finally coming up for air. These rodeos you've been a big part of, bringing in all those visitors... they've done more for our family than you probably realize."
I scrub a hand across my mouth, buying myself a second to get my shit together.
"Business has been better than it's been in years," she continues.
"We've been able to catch up. Pay things off.
Hell..." She laughs. "Her father and I are actually talking about retiring sooner.
Winnie's been working so hard. She's always been so worried about taking care of us.
She never realized we were trying just as hard to take care of her. "
She touches Winnie's leg, then squeezes. “But most importantly, Winnie, I need you to wake up so I can talk to you about this young man,” she says. “I’m not just saying that because he’s in the room. But I am saying it because he’s in this room every day, every hour. And he’s handsome.”
I almost choke out a laugh.
“I’m going to run out and get dinner ready. Maybe pie.”
From the hallway comes the sound of Fisher’s sneakers scuffing the waxed floor. He pokes his head in, grinning. “Hey, Mrs. Hawthorne, can I come with? You said last time you’d tell me about the raccoon ya’ll got living near the mailbox.”
She laughs. “Only if you like apple pie.”
“Apple pie’s my favorite,” Fisher says, wiggling his eyebrows.
They go, leaving me with Winnie and the IV drip and the clock that keeps going whether or not anyone’s counting.
I slide my chair closer to the bed and brush a piece of her hair back from her forehead. I close my eyes and pretend she’s just napping. In a minute she’ll roll over and give me that look, the one that means she’s about to say something curious and funny at the same time.
“Come on, Win,” I tell her. “Just come back, and I promise I’ll take care of you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.”
My eyes burn. I blame the overhead lights.
There’s a hush, then a shuffle, and then mama walks in. She never liked hospitals, but I know she’s here because she’s worried about me. About Winnie.
She stands in the doorway, arms crossed. “How you holdin’ up?”
I don’t bother sugarcoating it. “Holdin’.”
She looks around the room like it might try to bite her. “The nurses say you’re running the place now. Washing her hair. Giving her massages.”
I shrug. “I just want her to be comfortable.”
Mama moves to the edge of the bed, looks down at Winnie. “I always liked this one,” she says. Not to me, but to herself. “Knew her and Trouble weren’t going to stick, but I liked her.”
She turns, points a finger at me. “You, on the other hand, are a pain in the ass. But maybe you need someone gentle to smooth your edges.” She glances back at Winnie. “Someone with enough love for you and Fisher both.”
I tilt my head back and exhale through my nose.
She leans forward and says, “I will tell you this, though: I’ve never seen your boy pray over nothin’.
But I’ve seen him pray over this girl right here.
” She waits a moment, then adds, “Don’t waste it.
If she comes back, don’t waste it. Don’t live in fear anymore.
Love is real. And just because I didn’t find it doesn’t mean it’s not out there for my boys. ”
I don’t know how to answer. So I just keep looking at Winnie, at the little twitch in her eyelid that I convince myself is the start of a miracle.
After a minute, Mama puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Your granddaddy would be proud of you,” she says, then stands. “I know I am.”
Then we both hear it, a cough from the hallway.
I know that sound—Rylee, slouched and sheepish, wearing sunglasses indoors like she’s in hiding. She lingers at the threshold, then steps in, clearing her throat.
Mama gives Rylee a look as she walks out that says she’s not a fan. Then she yells over her shoulder, “I don’t like the bad energy, I’ll be back later.”
I don’t stand. I don’t offer Rylee anything.
“I’m leaving. This town isn’t for me anymore.”
“Was it ever?”
She shrugs, but there’s a sadness in her that I don’t usually see. “Maybe not. I tried, you know. To figure out if I made the right decision. I really did miss you and wanted you to come with me. Delulu, I know.”
I don’t say anything.
She looks at Winnie, then at me. “Town’s saying she might not make it.”
“Town says a lot of things.”
Rylee chews on her lip. “I’m sorry,” she says. “For making her think something happened between us. Maybe I just needed to feel important. Maybe I was jealous of her… and I went about it the wrong way.”
I consider telling her it doesn’t matter, that the only thing that matters is Winnie waking up. But that’s more words than she deserves.
She keeps going. “If Fisher ever wants to meet me when he gets a little older, maybe you all can come to LA. I’m not meant to be a mom, and that’s something I have to live with. But at least I know he’s taken care of. I know you’re both happy.”
She steps closer to the bed, puts her hand on the railing. “I just wanted to say goodbye. To her. To you.” She swallows once. “And to thank you for raising our son.”
She leaves, closing the door behind her.
I lean over Winnie, brush my thumb over her knuckles, and say, “See, baby? Even the devil came to pay her respects.”