19. Chapter 19
Jake
It’s been a week since the funeral and Lottie has shut down, not just with me but with everyone. She goes about the motions of the day, but she spends most of her time sitting on her terrace, staring out to the ocean with Bella dutifully by her feet or on her lap.
Today marks six weeks since the accident, and Dr Carter wants to check the progress with Lottie’s leg to see if the cast can come off.
It’s earlier than usual, but since it’s been pinned together, he’s hopeful she can have it removed and start using crutches.
This also means she won’t need me as much—or at all.
I finally hooked Lottie up with a new phone, which was a blessing and a curse.
I can now be in constant contact even when I’m not there, but the downside is she didn’t back anything up to the cloud and has lost all of her photos and messages.
Every memory of me and her parents is lost forever.
The noise she made when she realized nothing had been saved was almost as devastating as when she learned of her parents' passing. The way she looked so broken in that moment made me feel like I was personally responsible even though I know that’s impossible.
But I couldn’t do anything right to comfort her—there was nothing I could say—and that’s what destroys me the most: I can’t fix this.
The ride to Dr. Carter’s is deathly silent. I don’t know how to act anymore, and Lottie continuously stares out the window. So, we stay quiet the whole journey, which makes it feel like an eternity before we arrive.
Once we’re in the waiting room, Lottie busies herself by reading her book, so I pull out my phone and open up the group chat with the guys.
*Hockey Guy Chat*
Jake - Gym later? I need to lift something heavy
Theo - Charlie still not talking to you?
Jake - I’m lucky to get one-word answers, I know she’s grieving but it’s hard man.
Louis - I bet it is *winky face emoji* *eggplant emoji*
Codey - You’re such a dick *eye roll emoji*
Codey - You have to play the long game here, let her grieve but don’t let her drive you away.
Theo - You know what she’s like. She may not act like she wants you there but trust me she does.
Theo - But yeah gym works for me
Louis - Same, shall I send Kayla to sit in silence with Charlie?
Jake - Thanks man
Codey - I’ll be there
After about fifteen minutes, we’re called in and I wheel a somber Lottie through into Dr. Carter’s office.
“Welcome, Miss. Bennett. Today, we’re going to check over your injuries and make sure everything is healing as it should be. Hopefully, we can get that cast off for you,” he smiles warmly at her. “How have you been feeling physically since you’ve been discharged?”
Lottie shrugs, and a tiny “I’m ok, I guess,” escapes her lips. She’s hunched in her chair, trying to make herself invisible. I see you, sweet girl, and I know what you’re doing.
“Are you still taking the pain relief I prescribed?”
She nods. “I am, but not as often as before.”
“That’s great news, a sign things are getting better. We’re going to start with doing some X-rays on your ribs and leg, and then I’m going to check your lung function if that’s alright?”
“Thank you, Dr. Carter,” she says as she fiddles with her hands.
Lottie is wheeled off to have the X-rays, and I’m sent back out to the waiting room.
I flip through a couple of magazines and scroll on my phone, but I stop dead when I see news of a potential expansion draft with a new team in Jackson, Texas, being built.
It’s just a rumor right now, but it’s something I need to keep up to speed with.
Hearing the sound of squeaking wheels, I look up to see Lottie is now being brought out to me while the doctor looks over her results. The nurse tells us it’ll be about an hour, so we go and grab a coffee. Then, once we’re back in the doctor’s office, we wait for his verdict.
“So, Charlotte, after looking at the X-rays, your leg looks to be where we would expect after this amount of time, which is great news. What we’ll do is have the cast removed and get you started on physiotherapy straight away, two to three times a week to begin with.
You will be able to walk with crutches, but I would recommend still using your wheelchair for longer distances. ”
Lottie lets out a breath as her shoulders relax and, sounding a lot happier than she did half an hour ago, she responds, “That’s great news, thank you. I’m so ready to see my leg again.”
I chuckle, but deep down I’m worried there will be no need for me to hang around, so I ask the question, “Will Lottie still need help at home?”
“As much as I’d like Charlotte to gather some independence at home, she will need help with certain tasks that require her to stand or walk for long periods of time.”
“No problem at all, I’ll continue to help Lottie out,” I say with a genuine smile on my face. I may be on borrowed time, but I still have some left.
“Don’t forget to make an appointment with the therapist, Charlotte. CBT can be very helpful for amnesia patients,” Dr. Carter mentions, and I make a mental note to ensure she does this. I need my Lottie back.
What takes me aback most is that, on our way to the room to have the cast removed, Lottie turns around to look at me and says, “I’m so excited to have this cast off of my leg, it’s been itching like crazy recently, like my leg is rejecting the plaster and wants to see daylight again.”
I’m struck dumb. It’s almost like having a glimpse of the old Lottie back, and I genuinely don’t know what to say—This is the most she has spoken to me in days.
So, I just nod and smile, but the warmth it leaves behind spreads all the way to my bones like I haven’t seen the sun for days.
That’s how much I need Lottie’s voice; she brings me joy no matter what she’s saying.
Dr. Carter lets Lottie know the process for removing the cast, and as soon as he mentions the word saw—albeit one that is not the same as the ones used for wood cutting and will not even touch her skin—the look of apprehension and sweat beading on her forehead gives away the anxiety riddled throughout her body.
I grab her hand tightly, “Lotts, focus on me, ok? He’s not going to cut your leg, just the cast. Try to relax. I promise to keep my eyes on yours and not on your hairy leg,” I say, smirking at her. She giggles—actually giggles—and swats at my chest for good measure. I’ll take that as a win.
“Is your chest carved from stone or something? I think I nearly broke my hand,” she says as she rubs at her palm. I miss this version of her. These little glimpses give me hope, but also tear me apart inside as that’s all they are: glimpses of what used to be.
“Deep breaths, angel,” I whisper into her ear as I retake the hand she just whacked me with.
I swear my whole body shivers at how close we are right now, and Lottie seems to be feeling something too as she takes full advantage of the situation and snuggles a bit more into me, allowing me to comfort her.
As the saw starts moving through the cast and Lottie realizes her leg isn’t going to be amputated, she begins to relax again—until she sees the scarring she’s been left with.
It’s pink and puckered and still looks slightly angry.
Her head turns and burrows into my chest, and I can feel my T-shirt becoming damp. I need to take her mind off this.
“Don’t cry, Lotts, that hair is nothing a hedge trimmer can’t fix.”
She snorts and hiccups, her body vibrating with laughter. It’s not even that long, but it’s made her feel lighter, and that’s all that matters right now.