Camilla
I pull into the driveway at home, eager to get back into the house.
Three days ago, the moment finally came.
Allee woke up.
After the initial emotional response to her recognizing me and learning that she didn’t appear to have any permanent brain injuries from the event, I immediately jumped into big sister mode. We determined she not only has feeling in her arms and legs, but she also seems very mentally sound as well.
As expected, she has no memory of the attack itself. She doesn’t remember anything from that day, actually, and I soon learned that she also has no memory of Mac, either. At least not yet.
I know it’s not at all uncommon for those who have gone through what she did to struggle with memory for a while. Sometimes forever. But that puts me in a difficult position. She is engaged to Mac, and not only that, she’s pregnant with his child.
Breaking the news to her that she’s pregnant was absolutely the most difficult conversation I’ve ever had. I fear telling her that she’s not going to be able to go back to the profession she loved so much will be even harder.
I figure the best approach is to take things slow and bring things into the picture as if we’re slowly painting a piece of art bit by bit. Let her process things as they come up, and be there to love and support her through her emotional and physical recovery.
“How’s it going?” I ask her as soon as I get inside our new bungalow and head into her bedroom.
“Hey,” she says, but that’s all she says.
It’s no surprise that she’s struggling with an array of emotions, conflicting feelings, and confusion and I worry she’s going to sink into some sort of depression. I know I have to be vigilant to ensure that doesn’t happen. At least, I’m doing my best. So, I start up a conversation as best I can.
“I brought you something,” I tell her. “It’s been in the back of my car for a while, so I kind of forgot about it, but you might want it.”
“What is it?” she asks me, complete disinterest in her features.
“Your backpack,” I say cheerfully. “It was one of the few things they were able to pull from the scene. It’s in one piece and a little beat up, but since it was on your shoulder and not in the Jeep, it survived the blast. I know how much you liked this thing.”
I hold up her bag, and for a wonderful moment, I see some recognition in her eyes.
“I haven’t gone through it, of course, but do you want it?” I ask.
“Would you put it over there for me?”
She nods toward the chair at the foot of the bed, and though I’m a little disappointed that she doesn’t want to explore its contents, I do as she asks.
I know the sight of some things might help trigger some of her memories, just like looking at the pictures on her phone. But, I’m not going to force her to do things she’s not ready for. I set the backpack on the chair, then I turn back to her, putting on my most positive grin.
“Are you hungry for anything in particular?” I ask. “I can only imagine that after not being able to enjoy anything for a few months, you’re bound to have a couple of cravings, huh?”
“I don’t know that I was out for three months,” she says. “For me, it might as well have been yesterday.”
The words hang in the air, and I don’t reply. It’s also not uncommon for someone in Allee’s position to wake up and be incredibly bitter about the situation they’re in, and it’s up to me to be there for her with empathy and understanding.
“Well, there are plenty of times when I wake up hungry for something,” I cheerfully reply, even if I just had it the night before. So what’re you hungry for?”
I consider pointing out that pregnancy might also cause her to have cravings, but I decide not to take that angle. She didn’t appear upset about being pregnant, but I can tell that she’s clearly trying to digest the information. I can’t imagine how that must feel, so I’m trying to be as respectful of the situation as I can be.
“Whatever you make is fine with me,” she says. “I’ve been eating through a tube for the past three months. I don’t care if you want to keep up with that trend.”
I laugh, but she doesn’t. I decide to maintain that it was a joke, and I head to the kitchen to make her something light.
It’s been a relatively easy adjustment to our new living situation. I worked with the people the government sent, and they basically took care of everything. By the time I showed up for work last Monday morning, it had been as though I’d worked at that hospital for years.
They had all my files and information, and I was indeed given the same position that I’d held at my previous facility. The only thing I was really struggling to get used to was that everyone called me Carmen rather than Camilla. But even then, it was close enough to my real name that I responded to it easily enough.
I made a sandwich and poured her a glass of water, then I headed back into the room with the food on a tray.
“How’s work?” she asks, though she doesn’t look too enthusiastic about the sandwich.
“Busy as usual,” I tell her with a warm smile.
“And no one seems to care that you just came out of nowhere?” she asks.
“I was transferred,” I say. “It isn’t a bad thing.”
“It feels like a bad thing,” she snaps. “I mean. Here we are, Alejandra and Camilla now Anna and Carmen. And I’m pregnant. And I’m evidently engaged to someone who doesn’t even know where I am. Here’s this picture of him, but what am I even supposed to do with that? Why weren’t we living together? Were we trying to have kids? Where is he now? Is he looking for me?”
“Hey, hey,” I say as I hold up a hand to calm her. “You’re getting yourself all worked up about this, and you know that’s not going to do you any good.”
“Is anything going to do me any good?” she demands. “I think it’s a little freaky that I wake up to find out that someone tried to blow me up and oh, by the way, I’m engaged and pregnant. Like what the fuck is even going on here?”
Her eyes filled with tears, and I hushed her as I slid into her bed with her. I put my arm around her and held her for a moment, letting her cry silently. Even if all of this emotional turmoil is to be expected, that doesn’t change the fact that it’s not easy for us to deal with.
“Right now, all you have to think about is getting stronger,” I tell her. “You’re going to be up and around in no time, and each day, things will probably start to make more sense. You’ll likely start having some memory recall and then you can think about the bigger picture… including Mac and such. You’ve got five full months until the baby comes, so in that same vein, let’s try to take baby steps, okay? We don’t have to figure it all out now. One day at a time.”
“Easy for you to say when you’re not the one who is growing it,” she retorts.
“I don’t mean to be insensitive,” I tell her softly. “I’m just saying that we don’t have to figure out the answers to everything that is going on right now. I know you have a lot on your mind, and this is going to be a big adjustment but I also know that we can lean on each other and get through it, just like we did when we lost Mama and Papa.”
She doesn’t reply, and I give her another squeeze before getting up. I have to get back to the hospital, and I hate that I have to leave her. I have an extra half hour on my lunch to come home and make sure she’s comfortable and doing okay, but I do have to finish out the rest of my shift.
“Do you want me to bring you anything when I get back tonight?” I ask her.
“No thank you.”
“Okay.”
I walk out of the room and head back to the kitchen, taking a moment to breathe. I remind myself that she’s angry right now and that anger is likely stemming from the fear she’s feeling over her situation. I’m the only person here, so it’s natural for her to take it out on me, even if she’s not intending to do so.
It’s up to me to be there for her and make sure she knows she’s safe now and that no matter what happens, we’re going to be okay. Now that she’s home, I know I can take care of her. I just have to convince her that this is for the best and that she ought to focus on herself and the baby now.
There is a part of me that feels incredibly guilty about leaving Mac in the dark.
Even though I feel in my heart I did the right thing, and I am absolutely going to put Allee above all else. It sucks that I had to ghost Mac in the process, but then, he didn’t show up that Saturday morning when I thought he was going to, so I can easily tell myself that he’s losing interest.
The government is aware that she’s awake. Part of the deal with their protection and relocation program is that you have to sign various documents and non-disclosure agreements. One of those documents required that I tell them if there was any kind of change with her, no matter how small, so I informed them once she did wake up. But I didn’t reach out to Mac. The officials were pretty clear when they discouraged me from staying in contact with Mac. They reiterated that the fewer people that know our details, the better.
There’s another part of me that almost hopes that he’s trying to forget about her and move on with his life. If I don’t know anything about him, how can I trust him? And since Allee never really told me much about their relationship, I haven’t been able to answer her questions as she tries to recall details. I don’t know if they mutually decided on their time frame for milestones like getting engaged, married, and starting a family or if he was the one dragging his feet about things.
I don’t know how they felt about having children – not even my sister. Allee has always been all about her career and working to fight the evil in the world. She’s never really told me how that’s going to translate into her having kids of her own, or if she even wants to.
She and I also haven’t really discussed Mac. I’m trying not to overwhelm her because coming out of a coma and missing three months of your life can’t be easy. I have no idea how to broach the subject of her new identity and the fact that the “old Allee” is essentially dead and the “new Allee” is Anna. Nor am I eager to discuss the details of the protection and relocation program and what that means for her relationship with Mac.
There’s no manual for this kind of thing and I feel like the government left some gaping holes. I mean, shouldn’t they be offering some kind of therapy for PTSD and coping with this kind of life-altering process?
All I know is what they told me scared me and they strongly suggested – more like insisted – that if we wanted to stay safe, we needed to disappear, and they facilitated that.We didn’t really have much say in anything. It’s almost as if they were expecting her to stay comatose. And I was so overwhelmed with everything that I didn’t ask enough questions at the time. I just followed orders thinking they knew best.
My phone chirps, and I realize I have to get back to the hospital.
I head back to Allee’s room to let her know I’m going to be leaving again, and I find her just coming out of the bathroom.
“What?” she asks me.
“It’s just so good to see you up and about,” I reply with a teary smile. “I really was terrified you weren’t going to wake up, sis. Or, if you did, that you weren’t going to be you anymore.”
“Well, I’m still me,” she says with an annoyed sigh. “Though, I don’t feel like me right now. I guess I’m some version of me, anyway. But it’s not going to be this way for long.”
“What isn’t?”
“This version of me,” she says. “As soon as I fully heal and get back on my feet, I plan to get back to work, stronger than ever.”
I admire her positive outlook and determination, but I don’t think that’s going to be her new normal. But I’m not going to dump that on her now. Baby steps.
She’s adjusting herself in bed, and I can tell from her movement that she’s in pain. She’s told me that her lower legs in particular hurt, as do her shoulders. Of course, I explained the reason for that, medically speaking, and told her the impact of the blast broke both of her legs, and she’s bound to have residual problems in her back and neck as well.
“I don’t want to sound like Mom,” I told her. “But you are lucky to be alive after what you went through.”
“Mom did say that a lot to me when I was growing up,” she’d agreed with a chuckle.
I imagine the healing process is going to be a struggle for her. She’s used to being at the peak of her physical condition, and I know it has to be difficult for her to deal with her body not cooperating the way it once did.
She’s going to require a lot of physical therapy to regain the strength she once had, and there’s a good chance she’s never going to be at that level again, regardless of how hard she trains. The fact that she’s pregnant will only complicate things further, and I’m sure that adds to the frustration she feels.
“Hey, do you mind seeing if you can find my safe with my documents?” she asks. “Like, I know you’re working today, but you did say that you had my things put in storage. You know the one?”
“Yes,” I tell her.
She has a fireproof safe where she keeps her important paperwork. When she lingered in the coma, I decided the best option was for us to move her things out of her place and end the lease with her landlord. The man was understanding of the situation, and I hadn’t had to deal with any trouble in that regard.
The easiest thing I could think of to do at the time was to have her things put in a storage unit so they were available to her when she woke up. Her safe was among those things.
“I need to get some contact information out of it,” Allee tells me. “There’s a few people I have to get in touch with and figure out what I’m going to be doing here until I can get back to the field.”
Shit, I wasn’t planning to get into this discussion yet. “Allee – ” I say and pause, and she looks at me. My lower lip quivers despite my attempt to keep control of my emotions, which causes her to raise an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “You look like you’re going to cry.”
“You aren’t going back to work in the field,” I tell her.
“Yes, I am.”
She retorts so quickly that I get the impression she thinks I’m the one making the decision. So I sigh.
I head back out to the kitchen where I take the file the Commander gave me. It details Allee’s discharge from FES field work, and offers information on her options moving forward. I hate that I have to tell her the truth about this, but it seems like this is the best way for me to do that.
I can’t let her continue to think that she’s going to get back to work knowing that she’s not. That’s going to make her hate me even more when the truth comes out.
I have to let her know the truth.
Going back into the bedroom, I hand her the folder.
“What’s this?”
“The man who arranged all of this gave it to me. He said to let you have a look at it when you were awake, but I wanted to make sure you were in the right frame of mind first.”
“Frame of mind for what?”
“Allee,” I say softly. “You’re not going back to fieldwork for the FES.”
She opens the folder, and I watch her face change. The confusion turns emotional, and her expression is a mix of anger and sadness.
“Allee,” I say, but before I have the chance to continue, she hurls the folder across the room.
It smacks the wall opposite her bed and papers fly into the air, drifting down to the ground like falling leaves.
“This is bullshit!” she yells. “Total bullshit!”
“Allee,” I say again, but she shakes her head.
“Go away,” she tells me. “I want to be alone.”
“Honey.”
“I said I want to be alone!”
She yells at me as she points to the door, and with a defeated sigh, I leave her. I don’t know what to say that could possibly make the situation better, but I don’t think she wants to hear it right now, even if I did have the words.
I leave the folder and the papers scattered about the room, turning and walking back through the doorway. I tell her goodbye and that I love her on my way out the door, but she doesn’t answer. I know she’s upset and needs to have her time.
As I lock the door behind me, I can’t shake the heavy feeling in my heart.
I’m trying to keep her safe, and the only way I know how to do that is to follow the directions from the people who are supposed to keep everyone safe. They sent us here, and I trust that they know what they are doing.
It breaks my heart that she’s having such a tough time with everything, even though I had prepared myself for it to be difficult. As I get into my car, I consider texting Mac.
I did feel bad about deleting his number from her phone, but I didn’t want her to reach out to him and say something about us that she shouldn’t. She’s not in a place to make that kind of decision for herself right now, so I had to make the difficult decision to do it for her.
To my credit, I left the photos of him on her phone, which proves I’m not just trying to erase him from her life. But until she begins to recall details about him and their relationship, I feel this is for the best.
I ignore the impulse to text him and head back to work. I was told to keep him in the dark, and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m taking care of my little sister. I’m doing what I have to in order to keep her safe.
And that’s just the way it has to be.