Chapter 33
She’s Got it All
Cash
I’m wearing paper clothes in a sticky plastic chair in a waiting room that smells like disinfectant and fear, and I have never been so relieved in my entire life.
The doctor’s assurance that, for now, Callie is okay grants me the ability to take a full breath for the first time in hours, since the firepit.
Sitting there, looking up at the stars, seems like a lifetime ago.
After a short lecture that he isn’t supposed to tell us about her condition, he gives us the bare minimum. Her parents are dead, her husband is also dead. As far as we know, there isn’t anyone else. No one but us.
So, for now, she’s alive. She had surgery but she’s alive. She isn’t out of the woods yet, and she hasn’t woken up. But she’s alive. And, in thirty-four years, no words have ever made me happier than those.
“Y’all can sit with her if you want,” the nurse behind the desk tells us once visiting hours start.
“Thanks.” I smile at her, and she blushes. My phone vibrates in my pocket and pulling it out, I see it’s a call from Lizzie.
“Hey, Aunt Lizzie,” I answer.
“Oh God, Cash? Thank God. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I can hear the tiredness, the weariness, in my voice.
“What happened at Callie’s house? Of course, nobody will tell us anything, but they called Vickie and Pete, you know.
And they told me she was taken in an ambulance.
And the police—” I look at Duke as he eyes me from his seat.
Lizzie just goes on and on about what she heard but I don’t have the energy or desire to entertain the gossiping hoards today.
Duke holds out his hand, so I give him the phone.
“Lizzie?” he interrupts her. “We are at the hospital.” Pause. “Yes, everyone is alive.” Pause. “Yes, both of us.” Pause. “Okay, we will call you later.” Hanging up, he hands me my phone back.
“Thank you,” I tell him, full of gratitude.
“Let’s go see our girl.” Suddenly, the last two months don’t matter anymore. The nights spent crying, the women I used to hide my pain, the drinks. None of it matters. All that matters is that the girl we love is hurt and dammit, she deserves to know she’s worth it.
I sit on one side of the bed and Duke sits on the other.
We both hold a small, cold hand. She’s pale, a shadow of a bruise on her jaw, a less shadowy one on her cheek.
There’s a ring of livid purple bruising around her throat.
The IV snaking around her gives her antibiotics and fluids.
All the blood has been washed from her flesh but her pale color looks like she could use some more in her body.
She has a new tattoo covering her entire arm.
Duke and I studied it closely as we sat, and we cried as we each found ourselves in the pictures.
The storm cloud and the whiskey tumbler are Duke.
The bull and the little creek are me. She chronicled her journey to us and our journey together in bright colors and it made us both a little sadder knowing no matter how hurt we were, she was just as hurt.
We had each other, but we left her alone.
We can’t change anything about the last two months, but in this hospital room, we pray for her safety and beg God for the chance to prove to her that we deserve her, even if we have to do it side by side, shoulder to shoulder.
She feels worth it. The same thing I told Duke all those months ago when I talked about Callie, before I knew everything.
She feels worth it.
We sit vigil by her bed, only moving to use the attached restroom before returning to grab her hand.
We talk to her, we tell her how sorry we are, what idiots we are, and how lucky we are to have her, any part of her.
The nurses bring us water and snacks, giving us pitying or curious looks, depending.
When visiting hours are over, an older, matronly nurse comes to us to say it’s time to go.
“Can we sit in the waiting room?” I ask her.
“No, you’ll have to leave and come back tomorrow. We will take care of her.”
“Just a few more minutes, please,” Duke requests.
“Fifteen more minutes gentlemen, but that’s it. Rest and quiet is important for healing. You can come back at eight o’clock tomorrow.”
After she leaves, we say our goodbyes.
“Goodnight baby, I want you to wake up, okay? Can you wait until we get back though? I want to be here; I don’t want you to be alone anymore,” I whisper to her, leaning in and kissing her brow.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Duke kisses her other brow, moving a few strands of hair away from her face. “Don’t worry about us out here. Sleep as long as you need. We will be here.” He whispers something inaudible in her ear and when he stands back up, tears fill his eyes, but they don’t spill over.
Walking out of the hospital to Duke’s truck, I realize I have no idea how to navigate this. What do we say? What do we do?
“I was just going to head to a hotel for the night. Is that cool? I know you don’t have your truck, so you’re sort of at my mercy, but Inspiration is too far away,” Duke says in the quiet cab, glancing over at me.
“Yeah, that’s perfect. I don’t want to leave yet. We need to be here. Want to grab some dinner though? Maybe we can…talk?”
“Yeah, okay.” He pulls into a small Mexican restaurant across from the hotel he put in his phone.
We are seated across from each other in a small booth, munching on tortilla chips. We are just watching each other and it’s comically awkward.
“More than thirty years of friendship and we can’t start an awkward conversation?” I joke as I take a sip of my water.
He shrugs. “We’ve never needed to have a conversation to navigate what happens when the girl we both love wakes up from her ex-husband’s murder attempt.” His dry sarcasm is a balm to me and reminds me that even if this is uncomfortable as hell, we can figure it out.
“Correct. You killed him, for her. Dammit, you’re going to win.” I plop my forehead down on the table, sighing loudly.
“You truly are so dramatic,” he tells me, rolling his eyes.
Our food arrives and I tear into the burrito, the first thing I’ve eaten in almost twenty-four hours.
“Nobody is winning, not right now. We have to focus on not losing her first. Let me ask you a question.” He shoves rice in his mouth, swallowing before continuing, “If she wakes up tomorrow and decides it’s both of us.
Or that she can’t decide. What are you going to say? ”
Leaning back, I chew slowly, thinking. I never considered we would be here, having this conversation.
“Hypothetically, because it comes down to what she wants, but hypothetically, are you asking if we could share her or if we could both date her until she chooses one of us?” I just need some clarification from him, where his head is.
“I’m asking you what your thoughts are on either of those possibilities. I am telling you that I cannot, will not, walk away again unless she doesn’t want me.” His answer is straightforward and matter of fact, the exact thing I expect from Duke.
“Okay. So, let’s focus on her waking up, getting better, and then let her decide what she wants. Agree to follow her lead?” I hold out a hand, and he takes it.
“Agreed.”
We are waiting in the fourth floor waiting room at eight o’clock on the dot the next day. We made an emergency shopping trip at a twenty-four-hour Walmart after dinner so at least we’re wearing clean clothes today.
“Y’all can go on in,” the nurse tells us. “Probably another long day sitting.”
We don’t care if we are just sitting, watching her sleep. We’ve missed enough time.
“Good morning, Hurricane,” I greet her as we enter the room.
“‘Morning, Sunshine,” Duke says at the same time.
I’m mildly entertained we have both adopted weather nicknames for her, and how different they are. It doesn’t feel so bad, knowing he’s there. I may have to share her a little, if that’s what she wants, but I can’t imagine a better man by her side than him. Including me.
I pull her necklace from my pocket, holding it up.
“Now, Callie, since you’re in this bed recovering, I won’t put this back on your neck where it belongs, but I have it, okay, baby? When you wake up, it’s yours.”
“How do you have that? We haven’t been home yet.” Duke looks at me curiously.
“It’s been in my wallet every second of every day since she climbed out of my truck.”
“I can’t believe you are worried for one second that I would ‘win,’” he tells me, deadpan.
We spend the remainder of the day the same as yesterday.
And the same as tomorrow.
And the day after.
On the fourth day, we sit quietly, each holding a hand when the machine connected to Callie starts beeping, loudly, scaring both of us.
Duke runs into the hallway yelling, “Help, something’s wrong. Please, help.”
A nurse runs into the room and studies the machine before pressing the button, silencing it.
“Nothing’s wrong honey. She’s waking up.”