Chapter 35
April
The Day Of The Wedding
The halls of Mount Sinai are dark, a blue glow from machines and the occasional fluorescent bulb casting eerie shadows on the floor.
Nurses sit at their stations, whispering and stifling laughs while patients sleep in nearby rooms. Unfortunately, my heels are back on, and I’m sensitive to their loud clacking on the tile floors.
Visiting hours ended long ago, but a nurse escorts me down a corridor I know will end in a corner room.
I tug on my shawl, covering my upper body completely.
Note to self: Thank Carter later. I’m not sure what strings he had to pull to get me in here after midnight, but clearly, he has some heavyweight influence.
The nurse I’m trailing wears pale blue scrubs with a floral pattern. I keep my eyes down, her orange rubber clogs guiding me like a beacon of light. Her steps slow, and I look up. We’re here. My heart thuds so hard I’m sure it’s visible beneath my shawl.
A smile spreads like warm maple syrup across her face. “Take all the time you need, dear.” She props the door open with one arm.
I take a shaky breath and step over the threshold.
My first time here was painted with anxiety and stark lighting. And the man in the bed before me was still a stranger.
Now, moonlight and city lights illuminate the otherwise dark room. It’s calm, serene. And the man in front of me—
My hand moves to my chest, an ache so palpable I swear there’s a hole there.
It’s as though my brain can’t compute the whole image in front of me, so I take him in pieces at a time. The same cotton gown, covered this time by an extra blanket. I smile, happy someone is looking out for him, making sure he’s warm.
From there, the column of his neck, rough with stubble over his Adam’s apple.
The sharp jawline and then that slanted mouth.
His full lips are dry and wrapped around the breathing tube, their usual pink tinged blue in the light.
On an impulse I move closer to him, my hand trailing along the comforter of the bed and smoothing any wrinkles in the fabric.
A machine beeps rhythmically at his side and I press my eyes shut, bowing my head in silent thanks. He’s here. Stable. I reach for his hand and allow myself to take in the rest of him.
Thick lashes, that freckle by his temple, intimidating eyebrows and hair still mussed. I get the urge to nuzzle my face against all of it, to run my fingers along these pieces of him, memorize the feel of him the same way I’ve memorized the sight.
“I brought you a chair.”
I jump, releasing his fingertips. The same nurse stands in the doorway holding a plastic chair.
“Sorry it’s not more comfortable.” She shuffles around the bed and places it next to me. “But I figured you wouldn’t want to stand in those things all night.” Her eyes travel to my shoes. “Let me know if you want a pair of socks or anything.”
I whisper my thanks and she places a warm palm on my shoulder, giving a sympathetic smile. They probably think I’m his girlfriend. I’m such a fraud and these nice people are going out of their way to make me feel comfortable.
The nurse leaves, and I slide into the chair, the plastic hard against my spine.
I clear my throat and examine the dark circles beneath Trip’s eyes. “I—I came to say goodbye.”
His fingertips are cold when I slide mine underneath, a touch that does nothing to cure the longing inside me. This isn’t his touch, after all. Not really.
The summoning stone burns a hole in my purse, which hangs at my side. I could use it, but I won’t. Even though I’m trying to be brave, it doesn’t mean I’m strong enough for that. If Trip were in front of me—truly in front of me—I wouldn’t be able to do what I need to.
“I wanted to thank you.” My eyes flick to the door.
Thankfully, the nurse closed it when she exited.
“You taught me so much about myself. My strength. What I deserve. I think I always knew, in a way. But you helped me see it.”
It’s a bit awkward, talking to myself. Part of me wishes for his snide reply, a sarcastic remark. But of course, nothing comes.
“I said no to Carter, by the way. I’m choosing myself. So—thank you.” I lift his hand to my lips and press a soft kiss to his knuckles. My mouth hovers there for a beat, and I press my forehead to the back of his hand, not ready to let go of his touch, even one as inadequate as this.
Minutes pass, perhaps hundreds of beeps on the machine, with me resting my head against him. When I finally pull away, his hand is damp. Using my shawl, I brush the moisture away and dab under my eyes.
An incessant vibration rattles the floor and I examine the side of the bed, the machinery, the breathing tube. Nothing seems amiss. On the floor, my purse shakes. Oh, right. My phone.
I reach down, shawl slipping from my shoulders, and dig it out of the bag. There are a series of texts from Sabrina.
Sabrina
It’s done.
Sry. Quite dramatic of me! I meant the cards are in the deck. Still not sure what you’re on about.
Also Carter’s here. Will keep you posted. xx
My hands tap out five messages and delete them before lowering the phone to my lap.
She did it. Sabrina broke the curse. Shouldn’t there be some kind of indication?
A fireworks display or a golden halo wrapping around Trip’s body?
A vibration of the earth as the puzzle pieces realign to this new reality?
Instead, everything is so…quiet.
Babcia will know. It’s too late now, but I’ll go to her apartment tomorrow.
I slip the phone back into my purse and the back of my hand brushes against something cold and smooth. My stomach quivers. Time to let go, Lib.
The stone is heavy in my hand, as though it can sense the weight of this moment.
I reach back into the bag until my fingers close around the diamond earring.
It catches the little light in the room as I pull it out.
With trembling fingers, I place both on the nightstand next to Trip’s bed.
I won’t be needing them anymore. The hard sound as they hit the surface echoes in the silence. A finality, the closing of a door.
The opening of another. When did I become so philosophical?
“Goodbye, Trip.” The words barely escape my mouth—more of a rasp than anything. I stand and take one last look at him. “Maybe we’ll meet again sometime.”
A low whirring fills my ears and I glance down at my bag, looking for my phone again.
But the hum increases in volume until the buzzing overwhelms the room, then switches to an incessant beeping.
My eyes dart to the machine by Trip’s bed.
The screen spits numbers out like tennis balls, one after the other.
A red light blinks in an aggressive way that is surely trying to communicate something.
I move closer and scrunch my eyebrows together at the monitor, but I can’t make heads or tails of it.
The door to the room bursts open and the nurse from earlier, along with three others behind her, push their way to the bed.
“Excuse us, dear.” She places two hands on my shoulders and guides me with a gentle touch away from the machine. Her hands fly over the keyboard, eyes scanning the data.
The other nurses mutter under their breath to each other. I catch snippets, but the pieces don’t add up to a clear picture.
“Showing signs—”
“Vitals are—”
“—movement. Gradual waking—”
My heart thunders in my ears.
“Page Dr. Michaels.” The order comes from the nurse at the monitor. “He’s waking up.”
My head floats, dizzy, above the scene. I step backward and steady myself against the cool window, allowing the cold to shock my limbs into action. But I can’t move. Instead, I stare—one long, endless look—at the man in the bed before me.
Was that a twitch of his hand or a trick of my eye? C’mon, Trip.
I’m not sure if I’m more terrified of him waking up or of the opposite. To be confronted with this real, living person, who has seen all sides of me. What if he doesn’t remember? Isn’t that a thing? In ghost movies?
Who am I kidding, I never watch ghost movies. I thread my fingers together, twisting until my knuckles turn white.
Waiting.
The beeping on the machine steadies its rhythm, less forceful and urgent than before. The nurses hover around the bedside, my presence forgotten.
Trip’s Adam’s apple bobs and time slows entirely. The slightest tremors of his chin, the lines at the sides of his mouth. Movements that in daily life we are virtually unaware of but in near-death make all the difference.
And then, his eyelids flutter open.
It’s a slow, drowsy movement, but clarity and focus return to his pupils bit by bit. His chocolate eyes take in his surroundings through drooping lids, as though even the slightest movement is a burden. They dart to the overhead lights, the beeping machine, the nurses hurrying from the room.
Then they land on me. And stop.
My breath catches.
I search them for any hint of recognition, refusing to drop his gaze. Around us, the nurses shout orders and call for additional resources, but Trip and I stay locked on each other. His breathing tube prevents him from speaking, and my astonishment does the same for me.
I will my eyes to be a channel for my emotions and I silently beg his to reveal something, anything. Two creases between his eyebrows begin to form. Confusion? Anger? Oh, please tell me.
In my periphery, a nurse in lavender scrubs stands in the doorway. “We’ve called the family.”
I break eye contact and look at her. “What?”
“They’re on their way. Your family should be here soon.”
My family. No, not mine. The Coldwells. I need to leave. I look back at Trip, desperate for an indication that I should stay, some kind of sign.
Nothing.
I lift a palm at him and do what is probably one of history’s most pathetic waves, mouthing I’m sorry.
There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes, but it looks too much like confusion. I’m afraid to stick around and have my worst fears confirmed.
Gathering my things, I exit the room. No one asks me where I’m going, and I don’t look back.