Chapter 16
OPEN YOUR EYES
Winter
I get a couple of hours of sleep with BJ wrapped around me.
But I’m anxious and restless, so when six thirty rolls around, I climb out of bed, careful not to disturb him.
I grab my backpack, change in the bathroom, and head downstairs.
The house is quiet as I enter the kitchen.
Huge windows offer a view of the lake and the sun cresting the horizon.
The kitchen itself is bigger than our kitchen, dining room, and living room combined.
The counter is white, polished stone. No empties litter the surface.
There are no cigarette butts in the sink, no clutter on the counter.
My stomach rumbles as I fill my water bottle, and I glance at the pretty bowl piled high with fresh fruit.
I won’t snoop in their cupboards, but it would probably be okay for me to take something from the bowl.
I grab a banana and a shiny, red apple. I eat the banana standing at the sink, trying to savor it.
I drop the peel in the garbage and tuck the apple into my backpack.
I leave a note so they don’t wonder where I’ve disappeared to and hop on my bike.
I arrive at the hospital at seven thirty, half an hour before visiting hours begin, but the nurse at the desk lets me in to visit my mom right away.
A nurse is checking her vitals when I enter the room. She smiles when she sees me. “You must be Lucy’s daughter.”
“I’m Winter. The nurse at the front desk said it was okay that I’m early.” I thumb over my shoulder and bite the inside of my cheek.
“Your timing is perfect. She’s starting to come around again.
She woke up for a few minutes a couple hours ago.
She’ll be groggy, and she might not remember what happened.
That’s normal. It can take anywhere from a few hours to a few days or sometimes longer for the memories to come back. Is your dad with you?”
“Oh, uh, no. I biked over.”
“Ah, okay. Why don’t you have a seat?” She motions to the chair beside the bed. “When she’s alert, you can press this button.”
“Okay.”
The nurse leaves, and I take a seat in the chair beside the bed.
Mom looks frail and small, machines hooked up to her battered body.
I take her hand, noting the scrapes and bruises littering her non-casted arm.
There’s a round, blue spot on her biceps—maybe from where my dad grabbed her the other day.
There might be matching circles on the other side, where his fingers dug in.
I catalog her injuries while I wait for her to come around.
It’s just after nine in the morning when she finally hums and her fingers twitch.
A few minutes later, her eyes flutter open.
She blinks blearily, like she’s struggling to focus.
That happens half a dozen times before her gaze settles on me.
She opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a raspy croak.
“Hey. Hi, Mom.”
Her eyes dart around, panicked.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re in the hospital, but you’re okay.” My voice cracks, and the tears start to fall. “I’m so glad you’re awake. You scared us pretty bad.” I run my thumb over her knuckles. “I’m gonna call the doctor, okay? Let them know you’re awake.”
She watches as I hit the button to call the nurse. “You’ve got a few broken bones and a concussion, but the doctor said you’ll be okay,” I assure her.
The nurse and the doctor arrive, and she introduces herself as Dr. Coule.
She explains that my mom had a bad fall, and she required surgery to repair some of her broken bones, but that they expect her to make a full recovery.
The nurse brings a straw to Mom’s lips, and she takes a small sip, grimacing with the movement.
They give her a moment before Dr. Coule asks the question I’m scared to know the answer to. “Do you remember how you fell?”
She tries to shake her head, but her brow furrows in pain.
“Take it easy. No sudden movements,” Dr. Coule says. “You don’t remember what happened?”
“No,” Mom croaks.
Dr. Coule gives her a reassuring smile. “Event amnesia isn’t uncommon with this kind of accident. The brain has to work hard to protect itself. It’s possible your memory of the events will return over time. Your only job now is to rest and heal.”
“Is there a chance she won’t remember?” I ask.
“It’s possible, but usually the memories come back with time.
” She tests Mom’s reflexes and ability to follow a pen with her eyes.
“Everything looks good. I’ll be back before my shift ends to check in on you, Lucy.
” Dr. Coule turns to me. “Your mom will probably only be awake for short periods of time at first, but as she stabilizes, that will increase.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Once the nurse and Dr. Coule leave, I settle into the chair and take her hand again.
She clears her throat and whispers, “Clay.”
“What about Dad?” I swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Is he here?” Her eyes shift toward the door.
I look over my shoulder, but there’s no one there. I shake my head and bite my tongue.
“Can you call him?” she asks.
“You want him to come to the hospital?” My stomach twists and sinks.
She frowns, like she’s trying to figure out my expression. “Time’s it?”
“It’s a little after nine. I can message him, let him know you’re awake, if you want.”
She starts to nod, but grimaces and croaks out, “Please.”
My hands shake as I send a single message. Maybe seeing him will jog her memory. And it’s better that I’m here when he comes. So I can keep her safe.
“How?” she asks.
“How did you get here?”
She taps her chin.
“What happened to my chin?”
“Yes.”
“It was a hockey accident. I’ve been playing for the women’s team at the Hockey Academy. I tripped and split my chin, but it’s fine. The team doctor stitched me up. I’ll explain, but one thing at a time, okay?”
“Okay.” She licks her lips.
“Do you want some water?”
“Please.”
I bring the straw to her lips, and she takes a small sip.
“You really don’t remember what happened?”
She frowns and whispers, “I remember the university letter.”
“That was the night before last. Dad found the letter and the tuition money in my dresser. He went to see friends and came back late. Do you remember that?”
She swallows. “Yes.”
“I had a game the next morning. I didn’t say anything because I knew it would upset Dad more.
I split my chin during the game. He was drunk when I came home.
You know how he can get when he’s angry.
He was really mean, and I just…was tired of feeling bad, so I left.
I guess you must have gone outside on the deck. The railing gave way.”
Her eyes widen, and she makes a sound, like a hiccup.
“Do you remember?”
She’s quiet, as if she’s searching for the memory. “Did I fall?”
“I don’t know. But if you remember what happened, you can tell me. You’re safe. Dad isn’t here. It’s okay to tell me the truth.”
Her face falls, and she looks away. “I must have leaned on the railing.”
I shake my head. “You knew how rickety it was.”
She squeezes my hand and gives me a weak smile. “I always forget.”
“No, you don’t.” I drop my head, more tears falling as I whisper, “You were knocked unconscious, Mom. You were in surgery for hours. It’s going to take a while for you to heal. Probably at least a few months.”
“I’m sorry you’ll have to quit hockey.”
That this is her solution to the problem is gutting.
I shake my head. “That’s not fair.”
“Then you won’t hurt yourself, and your dad won’t get so upset.” She smiles, like it’s so easy, like she isn’t dragging me right back into the hell I’ve been fighting to get out of my entire life.
I motion to the hospital room. “The Hockey Academy paid the insurance deductible, Mom, and they’re helping me with the supplemental insurance forms so you can get the care you need. I won’t quit.”
“Knock, knock!” My dad’s voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I turn to find him in the doorway, holding a huge bouquet of wildflowers.
Surprisingly, he’s dressed like he gives a shit about his appearance.
He’s wearing a short-sleeve button-down shirt that’s about two sizes too big, black dress pants that are an inch too short, and a pair of old running shoes that have been polished to hide the scuff marks.
The worst part is the way my mother’s face lights up.
My dad’s eyes skim over me, narrowing slightly before he plasters on a smile. “Hey, kiddo, it’s good to see you here.”
“Is it?” I glance between them.
He ignores me and rounds the bed, setting the flowers on the side table. He kisses my mother on the forehead. “How’s my girl? Glad you’re awake. Hopefully you’ll be able to come home soon.”
It’s like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone. What if she never remembers? What if she does and she stays anyway? What if the next time she doesn’t survive?
He turns to me. “You should come home too. Running off to your friend’s house doesn’t look good.”
“Why? Because people might find out the truth about you? That you’re an abusive asshole and the reason Mom is lying here?” My stomach twists into a knot of panic and anger.
His eyes flash with ire, and he glances toward the open door. He lowers his voice to a threatening whisper, “You’d be wise to watch your mouth.”
“Or what? What could you possibly do to hurt me? Especially here, with all these witnesses.”
His gaze darts to my mom and back to me.
“Please don’t fight,” Mom whispers.
I don’t have a chance to respond because a nurse knocks on the door. “Hi, Lucy. It’s good to see you’re awake. The doctor wants to run some tests this morning.”
My mom’s relief is palpable. And I get it. I really do. My dad’s anger is a trigger, and she’ll do anything to avoid it.
“What kind of tests?” I ask.
“Do you need to?” Dad narrows his eyes. “How much they gonna cost?”
“The doctor has ordered a CT scan, X-rays, and some bloodwork. It’s all routine, but it’ll take a few hours and most of it will be covered by your insurance policy. We have payment plans for the balance.”
“The Hockey Academy is helping, too.”
“We’re not looking for handouts,” Dad snaps.
“It’s not a handout. They have a family fund and they’re helping me with supplemental insurance forms. These tests are important.”
He seems to realize fighting with me in front of a nurse over Mom’s care probably isn’t the best idea. “Okay. If she needs them, then.”
I check the time. It’s almost nine thirty. “I’ll come back later, unless you want me to stick around, Mom.”
“It’s okay. The doctor and nurses will take good care of me.” She smiles.
I lean over and press a kiss to her cheek. Dad does the same and tells her he’ll be back when his shift is over.
I thank the nurse and leave. I don’t wait for my dad. I just rush through the doors and take the stairs to the parking lot.
Panic hits me as I ride home. Hope is slipping through my fingers, fear taking its place. Worry that I’m going to end up stuck here forever, unable to escape this life, wraps around me like choking vines.
It takes me a little better than twenty minutes to bike home from the hospital. I don’t know how long my mom will be there, or how long the Ballistics’ invitation to sleep in their spare room will last. But I don’t plan to stay in this cabin. Not with my dad.
I see this place through different eyes as I walk my bike around to the side, out of sight in case Dad comes down the driveway. There’s a path that leads through the woods to the road, so I can leave without running into him again.
With my bike stashed, I open the front door. The smell of cigarettes seems stronger than ever. Empty beer cans litter the counter and the sink. My hands itch to clean up, but it’s not my mess. I don’t even glance at the deck, not yet. First I need to gather as much of my stuff as I can.
I fill a small duffle with clothes and slide my notebooks and the textbook for my online class into my backpack.
Once both bags are stuffed to bursting, I leave my bedroom.
My throat feels tight, and my stomach rolls as I open the sliding door and step outside into the hot summer morning.
Guilt tears through me. An entire section of railing is missing, a gaping hole left behind.
If I hadn’t lied, my mother wouldn’t be broken.