Chapter 13 Claire
Claire
“Se?ora…Se?ora, can you hear me?”
Claire blinked slowly, vision blurry at the edges from the sun in her eyes. Why was it so bright? It was like someone was holding up a mirror to a flashlight and pointing it straight at her—
Oh.
The skyscraper and the sunset. And the beam that cut straight through Matías.
Claire moaned and squeezed her eyes shut again.
“My colleague is calling for an ambulance,” the woman from reception said. She was kneeling next to Claire, holding her hand. The hand that had, until a few moments ago, contained Matías’s kiss but was now nothing more than an ordinary hand. “You hit your head when you fainted. Are you…How do you feel?”
I feel everything and nothing, all at once, Claire wanted to say. Matías was dead. All her fears since she’d received the phone call in her office—amplified by what she’d been through losing her parents—had come to a head now in the worst possible culmination. At the same time, she’d already wrung out all her emotions during the flight and the hospital visit and the time alone at the hotel. Somehow, there was nothing left inside her.
So Claire lay in the hotel driveway, numb. She opened her eyes and looked at the concern wrinkling the receptionist’s forehead but didn’t have the energy to respond to the woman’s query. Instead, she turned her head toward Matías’s ghost.
But he was gone.
“Wait…Come back!” The sharp knife of grief sliced through Claire’s numbness, and the force of it made her sit up.
“Se?ora, you must lie down!”
It was too late; Claire was already upright.
The receptionist said something in Spanish to another hotel employee nearby. He ran inside, then came back carrying one of the ottomans from the lobby lounge.
“If you will not lie down,” the receptionist said, “then let us help make you stable.”
The man set the ottoman behind Claire so she could lean against it while sitting in the driveway. “Please,” he said, making a stay put gesture with both hands. “Do not move. The ambulance is almost here.”
Claire just stared at the space where Matías had been.
The paramedics arrived shortly, and they brought Claire inside the ambulance to examine her. As she sat on the narrow cot, they asked in English when she last ate, how much water or other liquid she’d drunk today, and whether she felt nauseous. She answered flatly—I don’t know, I don’t know, and I have felt nauseated ever since Aracely’s phone call about the accident.
There was already a bump forming in the back of her head where she’d hit the concrete, and they checked her eyes for signs of concussion. The medics asked if the light was bothering her.
“No, there was a ghost in the light, and I want him to come back.”
The paramedics didn’t know what to make of her answer.
“Se?ora,” one of them said. “I think you have a concussion. We would like to admit you to the hospital overnight for observation.”
“Hospital Universitario La Paz?” That’s where Matías was.
“No, we are associated with La Moraleja University Hospital—”
“Then no. No, gracias, ” Claire said before the medic could finish. If it wasn’t Matías’s hospital, there was no way Claire would let the medics take her. Because if they checked her in as a patient, she would be stuck there. And she needed to get back to the other hospital where Matías was…
Where Matías was dead.
The knife of grief stabbed her again, and Claire almost doubled over. But at the last instant, she held herself still and swallowed the pain. She had to keep herself together. It was imperative that she convince these paramedics that she was okay, that they release her from this ambulance.
“I feel fine,” she said with what she hoped was a winning smile, or at least a persuasive one. “I just need water and aspirin and some food; I’m sure I’m dehydrated from the flight, that’s all.”
The medics consulted each other in Spanish, stealing glances at her every other sentence. Claire kept smiling at them.
Finally, they came to a conclusion. The one who’d been talking to her grabbed a clipboard and a form, then filled out some information.
Dammit, Claire thought. They’re going to admit me to the hospital anyway.
“Okay, se?ora,” the medic said, coming over with the clipboard. “This document confirms that we recommended further medical care but that you declined. If that is correct and you still do not want to come to the hospital, then I need you to sign here.”
Claire stared at the form in all Spanish for a second. But then she realized the medic was giving her an out. “ Gracias , I really appreciate it, you won’t be sorry, I promise I’ll drink lots of water and have a big dinner,” she rambled as she signed the document.
The medic tore off a carbon copy for her, then gave her two boxes of juice and some packages of crackers before helping her down from the ambulance.
“I am going to watch you walk inside, okay?” the paramedic said. “To make sure you are steady.”
She nodded. “ Muchas gracias .”
Claire made a show of puncturing one of the juice boxes with a straw and drinking it while she went back inside. The kind receptionist hurried over, bringing Claire’s laptop and briefcase from where she’d left them in the hotel café.
“They told me I just need to eat, drink, and rest,” Claire said, even though that was a lie. But the receptionist didn’t need to know that Claire likely had a concussion and that they’d wanted to admit her to a hospital.
“We were worried,” the receptionist said.
Claire glanced over her shoulder to see if the ambulance had left yet. But the paramedics were still standing in the driveway, watching her. She couldn’t just ask the receptionist to call a taxi for her to Matías’s hospital; Claire would have to actually get in the elevator to convince the medics she was going upstairs to rest.
“I’ve got my juice and crackers,” she said, holding them out for the receptionist to see. “All good here.”
The receptionist hit the elevator call button.
Claire sipped on her juice.
The elevator didn’t move from the third floor.
Claire finished the juice.
The elevator decided to go up instead of down.
The receptionist smiled awkwardly at her.
Claire smiled awkwardly back. “Um, you don’t have to wait here with me if you—”
“No, no! I am happy to carry your bag and computer and escort you to your room to make sure you are okay.”
Great .
Claire opened a package of crackers and nibbled one. Her stomach was not in the mood for anything to be put in it, but she was under the spotlight for now with the receptionist and the medics all watching her.
Finally, the elevator came to the lobby, and a rush of tourists spilled out, ready to hit Madrid in search of restaurants and bars.
The receptionist accompanied Claire all the way up to her room, looking as if she were afraid Claire might faint again at any second.
“Okay, thank you,” Claire said as she unlocked her door and took the computer and briefcase from the receptionist.
“If you need anything—”
“Thank you!” Claire said, practically closing the door in the receptionist’s face.
Safely back in her room, Claire leaned her back against the door and slid to the ground. Everything that had happened hit her at once.
She’d seen Matías’s ghost.
She had had a conversation with it.
He was dead, and she was losing her mind.
Claire inhaled a jagged breath as the weight of loss began to crush her again, grinding her into the grimy hotel carpet, compressing her lungs so it became harder and harder to get air. Her heart panicked, pounding erratically like a drummer who’s lost all control of the beat, and the only thing she could see was the image of Matías in bed, hooked up to all those machines.
Except now, the machines were quiet. No beeping monitors. No IVs administering medicine.
No need, because Matías was dead.
Claire moaned and tried to bury herself deeper into the carpet.
He couldn’t be gone. It seemed impossible. How could a spark as bright as Matías be snuffed out, as if he were nothing more than a stray ember to be stomped on?
I can’t…
She grappled for her phone in the briefcase. She just wanted to hear his voice one more time—or maybe ten more times or thirty. Claire would dial his number so she could listen to him on his voicemail, so she could pretend for just a little bit that Matías was still alive, that he’d get the message and call her back at any minute.
Claire opened the phone app and was about to key in his number when something occurred to her.
No one had called her. If Matías had died, Aracely would’ve called either Claire’s cellphone or the hotel, right? Unless Matías’s ghost showed up the moment he passed away, and there hadn’t been enough time yet for the hospital to inform the family?
Claire checked the recent calls list.
She hadn’t missed anything.
Her hands trembled. Okay, okay…no missed calls is a good sign.
I think?
Maybe she was just hallucinating. After all, she really hadn’t had much to eat or drink since she’d left New York.
But she needed to be sure. Claire dialed Aracely’s number.
“ ?Hola? ” Aracely answered before the second ring even began.
“Hi, this is Claire. I…”
But suddenly, she couldn’t get the words out. She couldn’t bring herself to ask, Is Matías still alive ?
“ Hola, Claire. Are you all right? I mean, under the circumstances?”
In the background, Claire could hear the noise of Matías’s family. It wasn’t lively, because of course everyone was worried sick. But it didn’t sound hysterical, and neither did Aracely.
“Um,” Claire said. “I was just wondering if there were any…d-developments? I’m sorry to bother you. It’s just that I can’t call the hospital myself because my Spanish is awful, and—”
“You should call me anytime you need to, Claire,” Aracely said gently. “And no, there is no news about Matías other than what we knew when we left the hospital.”
Claire walked up to her window and looked down to the hotel’s driveway. The ambulance was gone now, and of course there was no trace of Matías’s ghost.
“And we’re sure the hospital would call if anything changed for Matías, right?” Claire said.
“Yes, they promised, and they will,” Aracely said.
“Okay,” Claire said. “So he’s…we can assume he’s still the same?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come over here?” Aracely asked. “Maybe it would be good for you not to be alone. Luis can pick you up.”
“No, no, I…I probably need to sleep. You know, jet lag,” Claire said. “But thank you.”
“All right, then. But call me anytime, I mean it.”
“Thanks, Aracely.”
Claire collapsed on the bed, crushing one of the packages of crackers. Matías wasn’t dead. He was in a coma and that was a terrible thing, but he was still alive, still alive.
It wasn’t great, though, that Claire was in bad enough shape that she had imagined his ghost.
She forced herself to eat the broken crackers and drink the other juice box. Then Claire took two sleeping pills and fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of mergers and ambulance lights and Matías, waking from his coma and not remembering who Claire was.